Dimensions of Moral Agency [1 ed.] 9781443871099, 9781443866927

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Dimensions of Moral Agency

Dimensions of Moral Agency

Edited by

David Boersema

Dimensions of Moral Agency, Edited by David Boersema This book first published 2014 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2014 by David Boersema and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-6692-X, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-6692-7

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction: Dimensions of Moral Agency ................................................ 1 David Boersema, Pacific University Part One: Moral Agency Chaos and Constraints .............................................................................. 14 Howard Nye, University of Alberta The Myth of the Mental (Illness) ................................................................ 30 Sarah Vincent, University of Memphis The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations.............................................. 39 Chiara Bandini, San Francisco State University Emotions, Ethics, and Equality: Humanity (Ren) as “True Moral Feeling”..................................................................................................... 61 Mary I. Bockover, Humboldt State University Epictetus’ Serenity Meditation .................................................................. 97 Morgan Rempel, University of Southern Mississippi Species Egalitarianism and Respect for Nature ...................................... 108 Pierson Tse, University of Calgary Berkeley on Human Freedom and Moral Responsibility ......................... 117 Brandon Bowen, University of Utah Part Two: Moral Agency and Society Aristotle, Virtue, and the Wrong Kind of Reason .................................... 126 Noell Birondo, Wichita State University The Green Problem: How Green Consumption Creates Overconsumption ..................................................................................... 140 Colton Markham, Pacific University

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Habermas and Practical Moral Discourse.............................................. 157 Kari Middleton, Independent Scholar Happiness as Resistance: Moral Obligations of the Oppressed .............. 164 Kameron Johnston St. Clare, University of Oxford, St. Hilda’s College Beyond the Dilemma of Desire Satisfaction in Well-Being ..................... 174 Ryan Michael Murphy, San Francisco State University The Ethics of Debt Today: Hegelian Reflections on Abusive Lending and the Financial Crisis .......................................................................... 182 Kate Padgett Walsh, Iowa State University Prostitution Law and Paternalism ........................................................... 194 Jeffrey A. Gauthier, University of Portland Contributors ............................................................................................. 203

INTRODUCTION: DIMENSIONS OF MORAL AGENCY DAVID BOERSEMA

Modern Moral Philosophy Modern moral philosophy is multi-dimensional in its taxonomy. At one level, philosophers have the tri-partite division of normative ethics, metaethics, and applied ethics. Normative ethics concerns focus on theories of right action and how one ought to live. Standard philosophical theories at this level include those that are goal-based, or consequentialist, such as utilitarianism, with its emphasis on right action as determined by what has utility in maximizing happiness. They also include theories that are duty-based, such as deontologism, with its emphasis on right action as determined by externally set duties or obligations; religious ethics, for instance, are deontological, in the sense of right actions being decreed by a divine being. Yet another form of normative ethics is rights-based, with its emphasis on right action as determined by the securing and exercise of basic (human) rights and a recognition of a moral agent’s inherent dignity as a moral agent. Most normative ethical views acknowledge all three components (goals, duties, rights). For example, utilitarianism can and does acknowledge the importance of securing a moral agent’s rights as an important factor in maximizing happiness; likewise, deontologism can and does recognize the importance of a principle of utility and of the consequences of actions in the formulation of one’s obligations. The focus of metaethics, unlike that of normative ethics, is on the very nature of moral values rather than on enunciating theories of right action. For example, the question of whether moral values are objective or subjective is a metaethical one. What distinguishes moral values from other sorts of values, such as, say, aesthetic values, is a metaethical concern. Rather than asking, or stating, what right action consists in, metaethics asks what it means for an action to be moral. Where normative ethics speaks to the difference between an action as moral or immoral, metaethics speaks to the difference between an action as moral or amoral.

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Other metaethical concerns include what counts as being a moral agent; that is, the kind of being to which morality applies. Much of the moral philosophy of the first half of the 20th century was primarily focused on metaethics; for instance, the view that came to be known as emotivism, in which it was claimed that moral judgments are essentially emotional responses. (This was sometimes referred to as the “Boo-Hooray” theory, in which claiming that an act was wrong boiled down to a negative emotional response while claiming that an act was right boiled down to a positive emotional response.) Another point of concern for metaethics is how one can know whether or not an action is right or wrong. Are there moral facts that could determine this? Yet another topic within metaethics is the distinction between what is right and what is good. Both are moral concepts, but they are not the same thing. Good is contrasted with bad and right is contrasted with wrong. Good has to do with what is beneficial to, or in the interests of, something, while right has to do with an appropriate choice among options. The nature of the two, and their relevance to one another, is a focus of metaethical concern, as well as of practical social morality (e.g., to what extent and in what ways civil laws should range over the good as well as over the right). Applied ethics, as the term suggests, is applying normative ethical theories to specific contexts. Such contexts include areas such as bioethics, media ethics, business ethics, sports ethics, etc. The application is often taken as demonstrating how a particular normative moral theory applies to these various contexts; for instance, how a given utilitarian perspective would approach the topic of abortion or capital punishment or euthanasia. However, the “application” can go in the other direction. That is, decisions about abortion, etc., can be and often are taken as points of assessment about normative moral theories, in the sense that assessments about the contextually-situated judgments are used to evaluate the practicability of a given normative moral theory. If, say, a rights-based normative theory failed to elucidate what to do in particular moral conflicts or problems, this can be, and often is, taken as a reason to question or even reject that normative theory. Quite simply, a normative moral theory that failed to provide (reasonable) guidance for moral decision-making is a weak theory, just as a scientific theory that failed to account for specific empirical results is a weak theory. Besides the tri-partite division of moral concerns, there is another dimension of moral philosophy. It is sometimes portrayed as principlebased ethics vs. character-based ethics (or, virtue ethics). Principle-based ethics emphasizes the enunciation and justification of principles of right action, such as maximizing happiness, performing one’s duties or securing

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a moral agent’s rights. Principles of action are what matter, with right action being those actions that flow from, are consistent with, or are implied by the identified principle(s). Character-based ethics, however, emphasizes the enunciation and justification of particular moral virtues and vices, such as honesty, humility, courage, loyalty, compassion, etc. Good character is what matters (with right action being those actions that flow from, are consistent with, or are implied by the exercise of moral virtues). Character-based ethics places the emphasis of morality on being a good person, with the assumption that a good person will do what is right; principle-based ethics places the emphasis on right action, with the assumption that even good people can have moral conflict and problems, such that being good will not necessarily inform one of what is the right thing to do vis-à-vis someone else. Yet another approach to the multi-dimensionality of moral theory is that of considering the metaphysics of morality, the epistemology of morality, and the axiology of morality. The metaphysics of morality refers to the “what” of morality; the epistemology of morality the “how”; and the axiology of morality the “why”. That is to say, the metaphysics of morality concerns things such as what moral action is (as opposed to immoral or amoral action), what sorts of things can be moral agents (such as a human, capable of behaving in moral ways) or moral patients (such as non-human animals, capable of being acted upon in moral ways), what constitutes a moral good, etc. Moral epistemology concerns how we know, or believe, what is good or right. Can there be moral knowledge, as opposed to mere opinion? Does the concept of moral knowledge imply that there are moral facts, analogous to scientific knowledge implying that there are empirical facts? What would constitute moral truth or falsehood? Finally, the axiology of morality concerns questions and issues of the value of behaving morally. In a phrase: why be moral? Axiological questions about morality apply not only to normative ethics (again: why be moral?), but also to metaethics (what good is moral theory or moral theorizing?). These various approaches to morality can and do include topics such as the psychology of morality (how we cognitively process behavior that we deem as moral), evolutionary ethics (understanding ethical behavior and theory via the lens of having adaptive survival value), moral agency and identity (how we understand who we are as moral beings), and other lens via which we engage in the world morally. These emphases on the what, how, and why of morality, however, all ultimately relate to the issue of “who”. That is to say, they matter only to the extent that they relate finally to some moral agent. After all, what do we want a moral theory (or principle or virtue) to do, if not provide

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guidance to behavior? In the final analysis, the desiderata of moral theory and moral philosophy are not merely to be descriptive, but to be exhortative—to help agents engage in the world. It is moral agency, then, that at the end of the day is the appropriate concern of moral theory and moral philosophy. Moral knowledge, principles of moral justification, and motivations for moral action: these concerns and more matter only because there are moral agents. Explicitly addressing the nature of moral agents, then, is fundamental to any worthwhile moral theorizing.

Papers in this volume In his essay “How Not to Solve Ethical Problems”, Harvard philosopher Hilary Putnam quipped, “When a philosopher ‘solves’ an ethical problem for one, one feels as if he had asked for a subway token and had been given a passenger ticket valid for the first interplanetary passengercarrying spaceship instead.” The papers that comprise this volume belie and help to rectify this problem. All but two of the papers included herein were presented at the 65th Northwest Philosophy Conference, which was held at Pacific University, in Oregon, USA, in October 2013. They range over a variety of dimensions of moral theory and demonstrate the rich and fecund soil of contemporary moral philosophy.

Moral Agency The first topic is moral agency itself; not in a removed, abstract sense, but with respect to lived, experienced agency (such as matters of love, emotion, illness, etc.) The field of moral agency is wide-ranging and overlaps with matters of personhood, free will, belief and knowledge as bases for action, and responsibility, among others. Some philosophical work on moral agency has fairly theoretical emphases, which is true of the papers by Howard Nye and Sarah Vincent. This is not to say that there are not definite practical aspects to them, but their emphasis is on the conditions and criteria of agency. Nye (“Chaos and Constraints”), for instance, argues that all plausible theories of agent-centered constraints against causing harm are undermined by the likelihood that our actions will make the world drastically different than it would have been. Theories that impose constraints against intended harming but none against foreseen harming have unacceptable implications for choices between more and less harmful ways of securing greater goods. Theories that impose constraints against proximally caused harm but none against distally caused harm have similarly unacceptable implications. This leaves as

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plausible only theories that impose constraints against some distally caused harm. Nye argues that, given the dramatic distal effects our actions are likely to have, these theories entail that any way we could live our lives involves unjustified killing, and that any version of them that is strong enough to be plausible entails that we are morally required either to allow ourselves to waste away or kill ourselves. For her part, Vincent, in her paper, “The Myth of the Mental (Illness)”, wrestles with the issue of moral agency from the perspective of matters related to mentality and mental illness, particularly by engaging with the work of the well-known anti-realist about mental illness, Thomas Szasz. With new research indicating that as much as 25% of the (U.S.) population has been diagnosed with a mental illness, there is perhaps good reason to take the challenge implicit in Szasz and be critical about our concept, mental illness. In her essay, Vincent sketches Szasz’s two most provocative papers, detailing his reasons for arguing that mental illness does in fact not exist. She then proceeds to highlight both where she thinks Szasz’s argument is productive and where she thinks it is both empirically and philosophically dubious. Still, she concludes that his argument is best left behind, as an antiquated take on a burgeoning field of medicine. But to avoid stopping short, she goes on to propose what she sees as a more promising alternative to Szasz’s view that there is a myth around mental illness that still takes some of his concerns seriously. There is a myth indeed, but it surrounds the “mental” rather than the “illness”. With new developments in embodied cognition, she urges a revisiting of the question of mental illness from this perspective, to correctly diagnose the problematic myth that must be confronted by the psychiatric community, and to explore what the myth of the mental means for mental illness, including implications for concerns about agency generally, including moral agency. Related to concerns of both moral agency and moral character are matters that pertain to the nature and scope of our non-cognitive moral experiences. Among such matters are love and emotions. These matters are the focus of essays by Chiara Bandini and Mary I. Bockover. In “The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations” Bandini presents a reading of the Meditations through Descartes’ conception of love and argues that, for Descartes, love supports and facilitates the meditative process by which ideas are rendered clear and distinct in the mind. To ground her position, Bandini reviews William Beardsley’s views on this issue and offers an alternative interpretation of love, one that is consistent with Descartes’ work. Such an interpretation, for Bandini, provides support and justification

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that some emotions, most notably love, play a role in the search after truth, extendable to moral truth. Continuing the conception of the relational nature of morality, Bockover argues that the “feeling” relevant to understanding emotion is an irreducible unity of affect and cognition, in her essay, “Emotions, Ethics, and Equality: Humanity (Ren) as ‘True Moral Feeling’”. These emotionally relevant feelings (what she calls ERFs) are cognitive, but cannot be equated with belief; they entail belief, but are not entailed by it and, so, must be distinguished on conceptual grounds. Nor, for Bockover, do ERFs require the experience of specific bodily sensations and, so, are not a combination of cognition and affect, either. In the West, she claims, emotion has historically been misconceived because reason and affect have been treated as independent and often mutually exclusive faculties. Bockover goes on to tie her notion of emotion to a new way of thinking about (gender) ethics by arguing that feeling is moral only when one feels truly that, for example, a wrong exists that dehumanizes a person or group. This intensional affect links us to the humanity of others, and more specifically can give rise to concerns about the parity and fairness (or lack thereof) that can accompany imbalances of power. She further argues that an ethic that focuses on diversity alone cannot adequately account for the good life because it cannot show how equality is linking to human flourishing in general. This moral feeling of equality appeals to a deeper “universal” human reality that becomes key to challenging arbitrary or unjust designations of power and privilege that benefit some at the expense of others. Along with the concerns about conditions for moral agency, as touched on in the previous papers, Morgan Rempel (“Epictetus’ Serenity Meditation”) suggests revisiting Stoic philosophy as a serious vehicle for applying theoretical explorations about moral agency to very practical concerns of getting along in the world. He claims that one of the things that recommend the comparison of Alcoholics Anonymous and Stoic philosophy is that, like A.A., Stoicism offers real-world guidance for the art of living, the ultimate goal of philosophical theorizing about moral agency. More precisely, it provides practical guidance for living a flourishing, purposeful life of enduring serenity. As his paper demonstrates, a version of A.A.’s basic goal of “peace, patience, and contentment” was articulated by Stoic philosophers centuries ago. Rempel proposes that the parallel examination of several key aspects of these two traditions will serve as a reminder both of Stoicism’s practical message of personal transformation and empowerment, and the enduring, therapeutic wisdom at the heart of Alcoholics Anonymous and the Serenity Prayer.

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In a further paper herein that focuses directly on questions of moral agency, Piersen Tse’s “Species Egalitarianism and Respect for Nature”, attention is shifted from “mere” human agency to placing concerns about such agency within a larger, global and environmental scope. Tse considers agency within the context of our relationships with other species. While recognizing that other species might not be moral agents (that is, capable of acting morally or immorally) and are considered moral patients (that is, capable of being acted upon morally or immorally), he rejects the attitude that is often characterized as: Humans aren’t the only species in the world; they just act as if they are. Against such a position, Tse investigates and expounds upon the alternative position of species egalitarianism. Species egalitarianism is the view that all living things have equal moral standing, and thus command equal respect. There is considerable debate over whether or not species egalitarianism is true, and Tse argues that the truth of the matter is not something that can be proven empirically. However, he adds, respect for nature requires the belief in species egalitarianism. Consequently, Tse argues that one should support species egalitarianism. Particularly if long-term sustainability is our desired goal, the only way to reach it is to adopt belief in species egalitarianism. Unquestionably, an important topic connected to agency that has generated much attention among moral philosophers is moral responsibility. The issue has a long philosophical pedigree, going back at least as far as Plato. We commonly expect people to be accountable for their actions; we hold them to be praiseworthy for good behavior and blameworthy for bad. Nevertheless, questions about moral responsibility have been part and parcel of philosophical analysis from the outset—under what conditions might agents not be (morally) responsible for their actions; when are seemingly bad behaviors excused or at least excusable; how is moral responsibility related to legal responsibility; must moral responsibility entail that a person has committed an action as opposed to a person refraining from acting? This concern about moral responsibility is the focus of Brandon Bowen, who approaches it via a historical investigation of the work of George Berkeley and relevant metaphysical and epistemological underpinnings of moral agency. Bowen argues that in a recent book on Berkeley, George Dicker (Berkeley’s Idealism) asserts that Berkeley’s idealism leads to a lack of moral responsibility. On Dicker’s reading of Berkeley, claims Bowen, one is unable to effect action that results in a consequence through a causal chain of events due to the idealist nature of the world. One’s will is not linked to action. If one is unable to effect any real change in the world, one could not possibly be held responsible for it. Dicker concludes that according to Berkeley we

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have neither human freedom nor moral responsibility. Bowen argues that this conclusion rests on a misinterpretation of Berkeley’s view of human freedom and the implications of his idealism. Berkeley’s view of human freedom is less about freedom of action and more about the freedom to will. The mind, according to Berkeley, is not material, and is, therefore, not subject to common notions of causation that provide a foundation for the theory of human determinism. Moreover, moral responsibility rests on the will directly, not the ability of the will to effect physical change, though Berkeley does not deny the ability to effect change via the will. Consequently, according to Berkeley a person is both free to will and can be morally responsible.

Moral Agency and Society Moral agents do not live in vacuums. We are social beings and the sociality of moral agency is central to any serious concerns regarding moral theory and moral practice. One specific issue inherent in the sociality of morality is: Why be moral? That is, why should any given agent be concerned with moral behavior, much less moral principles or justifications? Moral agents, after all, are individuals. Granted, individual humans are social—they are born into and live within social contexts—but why should those individual agents behave in certain ways and not in other ways? The question of “why” has been interpreted descriptively and prescriptively. In the descriptive sense, the question looks for empirical data to account for, say, what motivates agents to behave in certain ways and not in other ways. Or, again, in a descriptive sense the question looks for empirically relevant data to give an account for the prevalence or desirability of certain moral practices and principles over others. For instance, there might be greater survival value for individual organisms if they behave in certain ways and not in others. The point is that understanding “why” in a descriptive sense is to seek explanations for moral behavior and values. However, the question of “why” has also been interpreted in a prescriptive sense; that is, in the sense of seeking justification, not merely explanation. What would justify, say, capital punishment or, utilitarian principles, or enforcement of human rights? For many, the only legitimate or plausible answer to such questions is via the descriptive accounts just mentioned. What justifies, for example, the prohibition against incest, under this view is that such prohibition contributes to the survival of the group. Or what justifies, say, the practice of capital punishment is that it deters future crime. However, these sorts of accounts, for many, are not satisfactory. Why should I—this particular

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moral agent—care whether or not there is group survival value to the prohibition of incest or to the permission of capital punishment? This concern points to the broad background issue of moral realism; that is, the issue of whether or not there are moral facts about the world in the same sense in which there are non-moral facts about the world. Are there, independent of the beliefs or values that individuals might have, facts about the world that correspond to the goodness or badness of an action or a principle? If lying for personal gain is wrong, what makes it wrong (or, for that matter, if it is right, what makes it right?), and, again, why should I, as a particular individual, restrain myself from doing what is wrong or commit to doing what is right? While moral realists say that there are (objective) moral facts about the world, others have argued that the only means we have of determining appropriate behavior—and so, of answering why should I be moral—is via social agreement. Why, and in what ways, I should be moral can only be determined, they say, not by the application of moral principles to specific cases, but rather by a bottom-up approach that identifies morality within the specific contexts in which moral dispute and problems arise. For instance, as American legal theorist, Alan Derschowitz, remarked, rights come from wrongs. Both the concept and the content of civil and human rights did not wait to be discovered, but emerged from how people interacted with one another. This does not in any way imply that there are not relevant empirical facts to how and why moral values and justification of those values emerge, but it is to imply that such facts do not settle the moral matter. How can—and, for that matter, how ought—one answer the question of why be moral? In “Aristotle, Virtue, and the Wrong Kind of Reason” Noell Birondo suggests that while many discussions in metaethics focus on the nature of ethical reasons and, especially, on the nature of reasons for action, recent discussions have begun to focus instead on reasons for holding various ethically relevant attitudes. Birondo examines one such position, generated from the work of Pamela Hieronymi. The type of reasoning deployed in Hieronymi’s discussion, and in similar contemporary discussions, contrasts sharply, says Birondo, with reasoning deployed on related topics by, for instance, Aristotle. In analyzing and evaluating such current discussion, Birondo claims that the problem is not the wrong kind of reason, but rather the wrong kind of reasoning. Colton Markham also addresses the issue of why we should be moral, but in a more concrete way, focusing on two approaches—namely, a consequentialist approach and a virtue ethics approach—to what he takes as the problem of overconsumption. In this case, the question of why be moral comes down to why I should consume in certain ways rather than in

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other ways, or consume certain products rather than other products. Markham argues that green consumption—that is, the practice of consuming certain kinds of products, based on the belief that we can adequately address and perhaps even solve current environmental problems through consumption of those more earth-friendly products—cannot be accounted for or justified on the basis of consequentialst ethics. For Markham, the true source of climate change is not what we consume, but how much we consume. Consumption-based solutions, including green consumption, are ineffective, and further contribute to overconsumption, because, he says, we mistakenly believe that we can consume more products precisely because those products are earth-friendly. It is only via the cultivation of certain moral habits and virtues that we will adequately address this problem, for Markham, and, more broadly, it is only a virtue-ethics based perspective that will adequately answer the question of why be moral. The issue of answering the question of why be moral is also one that Kari Middleton investigates. She considers the views of Jürgen Habermas and his claims that the only plausible approach to such concerns is what he calls practical moral discourse. Middleton considers Habermas’s position and offers a critique motivated by the moral realist work of John McDowell, but in the end comes down, with some reservation, on the side of Habermas and the bottom-up consensus-generated approach to answering why we should be moral. Related to virtue ethics, and which particular behaviors are virtuous, is the arena of the broad moral question of living a good life. A longstanding theme within moral theory, and a fundamental focus of normative ethics, is guidance on living a good life and achieving happiness, stretching as far back in Western philosophical moral theory to Aristotle’s treatment of eudaimonia. The issue of happiness and its relation to living a good life is the subject of the four essays by Kameron Johnston St. Clare, Ryan Michael Murphy, Kate Padgett Walsh, and Jeffrey A. Gauthier. In what could seem to be a surprising take on happiness, St. Clare argues that while victims of oppression have a moral duty to resist their oppressors, in some cases this obligation is met by achieving a state of happiness, and hence undercutting the force of oppression. Indeed, happiness itself is, says St. Clare, a form of resistance. Where St. Clare’s notion of happiness is a form of internal peace, the essay by Murphy (“Beyond the Dilemma of Desire Satisfactionism in Well-Being”) also looks at happiness and well-being, but from alternative approaches. Murphy uses the lens of desire satisfaction as the means of considering well-being. Desire satisfaction—the claim that what is best for a person is to satisfy desires—has long been a topic of philosophical

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debate, including recently by Robert Nozick, Harry Frankfurt, Derek Parfit, L.W. Sumner, and others. Murphy suggests that the disparate views and claims by philosophers about this issue result from pursuing different theoretical objectives. So, desire satisfaction formulated as a theory of well-being is at odds with desire satisfaction articulated as a welfarist theory. Murphy concludes by claiming that the topic is still very much unsettled and alive, but that these two conceptions are fruitful toward attaining a fuller understanding of desire satisfaction, and, by implication, of what constitutes a good life. The final two essays are the most immediately focused on the sociality of moral agency, both in the sense of our very nature as (moral) agents, being ones that are inherently concerned with matters of interrelations with others, and also as being housed within moral matters that emerge because of our social interactions. In “The Ethics of Debt Today: Hegelian Reflections on Abusive Lending and the Financial Crisis”, Padgett Walsh specifically considers the economic conditions within which we live as constitutive of our moral practices and agency. In particular, she looks at the recent global economic downturn as a venue for evaluating the interrelations between individual moral agency and social practice and policy. The 2008 mortgage crisis, she argues, brought to light many ethically questionable lending and borrowing practices. As we continue to learn about what caused this crisis, it has become urgent that we think more carefully about conditions under which loans can be ethically offered and accepted, but also about when is might be morally permissible to default on debt. Padgett Walsh examines two standard philosophical approaches to assessing the ethics of debt and default. Both approaches, she claims, are impoverished because they focus only on individual borrowers and lenders. Both approaches thus overlook the real importance of broader social and economic factors that directly caused the crisis. Only by taking a wider view of the matter can we fully understand the moral dimensions of debt and default today. Finally, Gauthier, in his “Prostitution Law and Paternalism”, looks at the issue of moral agency within the context of social mores and legal practice. He notes that liberals and feminists have long criticized the paternalistic approach to prostitution found in most jurisdictions in the U.S. In his recent book Prostitution and Liberalism, Peter de Marneffe defends just such an intervention, arguing that the demonstrated harmfulness of a life of prostitution justifies paternalistic policies aimed at reducing the number of women who are involved in it. Although de Marneffe does not endorse the prohibitionist approach typical in the U.S., he argues that the best reasons for alternative approaches to the practice

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(including some forms of regulated legalization) are necessarily paternalistic. In his essay, Gauthier questions de Marneffe’s contention that the strongest reasons for state intervention with regard to prostitution are paternalistic in nature. Rather, he argues that reasonable state action toward prostitution is best understood not as a paternalistic intervention to remedy some moral or epistemological failure on the part of prostitutes, but rather as an attempt to advance the interests of vulnerable parties more generally concerning what they reasonably desire but could not otherwise ensure. Further, Gauthier argues that such an approach might favor abolitionist over regulatory policies, depending upon how the vulnerable class is defined.

PART ONE: MORAL AGENCY

CHAOS AND CONSTRAINTS HOWARD NYE

Introduction Chaos theory tells us that our world exhibits “sensitive dependence on initial conditions,” or that small changes at any point can lead to dramatically different outcomes. These have become known as “butterfly effects,” after Edward Lorenz’s vivid example of “the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil set[ting] off a tornado in Texas.”1 Laura Cannon suggested that the pervasiveness of these effects might be morally important when she “consider[ed] the plight of Lorenz’s butterfly,” and “wondered how a butterfly might feel if it had the mental capacities to comprehend Lorenz’s discovery. What sense of responsibility might it feel, knowing that its movement might be the cause of great suffering? Might some butterflies sit paralyzed on the branch in an attempt to avoid being the cause of such harm?”2 Cannon, following Samuel Scheffler (1995), claimed that the farreaching effects of our economic decisions create trouble for commonsense notions of responsibility. But I believe that Cannon and Scheffler underappreciated the pervasiveness of the problem that butterfly effects pose for views according to which we have stronger moral responsibilities to avoid causing harm ourselves than we have to prevent harms that would occur in the absence of our interference. In this paper I argue that, given the harmful butterfly effects our actions are likely to have, all plausible theories of agent-centered constraints on harming entail that we must sit paralyzed—or kill ourselves—in order to avoid causing harm.3 I believe that this result is extremely important for ethical theory. Shelly Kagan, Frank Jackson, and Michael Smith have argued that absolute constraints against inflicting serious harms on innocents regardless of the benefits of doing so lead to paralysis under conditions of risk.4 But to many of us, the most plausible constraints on harming are not absolute. Even if inflicting harm is significantly harder to justify than failing to prevent harm, it seems that we should still be permitted to painlessly kill one individual to save the rest of the world’s billions from dying the most excruciating deaths imaginable. I shall argue, however, that the likelihood that our actions will

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have dramatic butterfly effects undermines all plausible non-absolutist understandings of constraints, according to which it is harder but not impossible to justify inflicting serious harms.5

1. An Overview of the Argument My argument begins with the observation that for any way we might sustain our lives, we will have to perform some set of actions, A, of which it is reasonable to believe that some members will have butterfly effects. As chaos theory shows, it is not just the consumption choices of westerners in a global economy that can lead to dramatically different outcomes. The most non-intrusive existence that could sustain our lives— say that of a hermit who expends minimal effort tending his garden before dutifully returning to the fetal position—will run a far greater risk of causing a dramatic cascade of events than Lorenz’s butterfly. The minimal life-sustaining actions our hermit must perform, repeated millions of times over the course of his life, will make it virtually certain that his actions will somewhere make things dramatically more different than they would have been had he not performed them. In fact, it is reasonable to believe that his actions over the course of his life will have many such effects. Because butterfly effects result in such dramatic events as tornadoes, it is reasonable to believe that at least some of these effects of A will make some individuals worse off and others better off than they would have been had A not been performed. Call the former the “butterfly effect harms of A,” or BH(A), and call the latter the “butterfly effect benefits of A,” or BB(A). It is, in particular, reasonable to believe that for any acts A that could sustain our lives, there will be at least some deaths in BH(A) and some life-savings in BB(A). Such are the results of causing and preventing such momentous events as tornadoes. There is, however, no reason to believe that BB(A) will tend to be either greater or less than BH(A). As such, it is reasonable to expect that BB(A) will on average be about equal to BH(A). If the beneficial upshots of our conduct were able to justify the harmful upshots, so long as the benefits were equal to or greater than the harms, then the expected butterfly effect benefits in BB(A) would exactly justify the expected butterfly effect harms in BH(A), and we could—as it seems we should—treat the unpredictable butterfly effects of our actions as something we can ignore for practical purposes. But agent-centered constraints on harming hold that some harmful upshots of our conduct cannot be justified by equal or somewhat greater benefits. These constraints hold, for instance, that the benefits of saving five individuals

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from dying of organ failure cannot justify the harms we would cause to one healthy individual by removing her organs and transplanting them into the five.6 But if the harms our conduct inflicts on some cannot be justified by the equal or somewhat greater benefits it brings to others, there is a serious worry that for any course of action A that would be needed to sustain our lives, BH(A) cannot be justified by BB(A). One way to prevent butterfly effects from making trouble for agentcentered constraints on harming would be to claim that these constraints make it difficult to justify inflicting only those harms we intend. I will argue that this is implausible in Section 2, but for now I simply note that most proponents of agent-centered constraints hold—plausibly—that the benefits of saving five cannot justify certain ways of causing foreseen but unintended harms to one, like running her over if this is the only way to reach the five in time to save them from drowning.7 Another way to prevent butterfly effects from making trouble for constraints on harming would be to claim that these constraints make it difficult to justify actions only if they are “proximate” causes of harm, or if we can foresee who the victims of these actions will be. I will argue that this is implausible in Section 3, but for now I simply suggest that most proponents of constraints will hold—plausibly—that somewhat greater benefits cannot justify certain ways of causing harm distally or to unknown victims. These would presumably include saving five by pulling a trigger that sets off an elaborate Rube-Goldberg device that kills one, or sets off a device that fires thousands of rifles at thousands of victims, an unknown one of which is loaded with live ammunition. If this is right, then any plausible theory of agent-centered constraints on harming will hold that the infliction of certain unintended distal harms cannot be justified by equal or somewhat greater benefits. I will argue in Section 4 that because of the drastic nature of butterfly effects, it is reasonable to believe that some of these difficult-to-justify harms will be among the butterfly effect harms in BH(A). Because each benefit in BB(A) is needed to justify a corresponding harm of equal magnitude in BH(A), this will mean that some deaths in BH(A) will remain unjustified by lifesavings and other reasonably expected benefits in BB(A). So all plausible theories of constraints on harming will hold that for any way we could sustain our lives, the butterfly effects of our actions can be expected to kill others in ways that cannot be justified by the lives they will save. Moreover, I observe in Section 5 that on any plausible theory of constraints on harming, the benefits of saving oneself and N individuals are insufficient to justify killing N other innocent individuals in ways that are difficult to justify. If this is right, then all otherwise plausible theories

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of agent-centered constraints on harming entail that we are morally required either to allow ourselves to waste away or kill ourselves. This, I argue, undermines the plausibility of agent-centered constraints on harming.

2. Constraints Against Only Intended Harm? Once we know about butterfly effects, we can foresee with reasonable certainty that if we act to sustain our lives, we will make some individuals worse off than they would have been. As I mentioned, one way to deny that this makes trouble for agent-centered constraints on harming is to insist that these constraints make it difficult to justify causing only those harms we intend, while harms we merely foresee can be justified by the equal or slightly greater benefits of causing them. Although a few authors have suggested something like this view of agent-centered constraints,8 I think they fail to appreciate how unattractive it really is. If we read “intending harm” literally, then you need to intend a victim to suffer the harm of death only if her dying plays a causal role in what you aim at. But then a prohibition against causing only intended harm would permit you to save five individuals dying of organ failure by harvesting the organs of one healthy individual while she is alive, since her dying as a result of your removing her organs would be a byproduct that plays no role in saving the five.9 This would seem to undermine the entire motivation for believing in agent-centered constraints on harming. If, on the other hand, we interpret “intending harm” a bit less strictly, as something like intending a harmful effect on someone’s body or intending someone to instantiate a property that ends up harming her, then you must intend harm in harvesting the organs of one to save five, although you need not intend harm in driving over one individual trapped in the road to save five others from drowning.10 But because it seems about as abhorrent to knowingly run over one to save five as to harvest her organs to save them, this understanding of constraints against only causing intended harm, which prohibits the latter but permits the former, also seems to undermine the entire motivation for believing in agent-centered constraints on harming. To appreciate the absurdity of such a theory of constraints, consider the following cases: Less Harmful Transplant. You have two ways of saving five individuals from dying of organ failure: (1) remove the organs of one healthy individual and transplant them into the five, or (2) run over four healthy

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individuals who are trapped in the road that you would need to drive over to get organ-failure-preventing drugs to the five. Less Harmful Terrorism. The only way to save five from being killed by a cannon is to drop bombs that will have two effects: (a) destroy the cannon’s ammunition and (b) demoralize the terrorists operating the cannon into surrendering by killing some of four innocent bystanders they care about, where both (a) and (b) would be sufficient by itself to save the five. Suppose that if you (1) drop your bombs with an intention of killing one bystander, a mind-reading demigod will shield the other three from your bombs and you will kill only one, but if you (2) drop your bombs with the intention merely of destroying the ammunition, the demigod will leave the three unshielded and you will kill all four.11 A theory according to which there are constraints against inflicting only intended harms (which are strong enough to make it wrong to harvest one individual’s organs to save five) would in these cases tell us to take option 2 and save the five by killing four individuals instead of only one.12 But the mere fact that by killing the four we could avoid having a problematic intention towards the one is a preposterously narcissistic justification for killing three additional individuals. If we are not permitted in these cases to inflict lethal harm on the one with the intention of doing so, then we cannot be permitted to do what we foresee will certainly kill the four either.13

3. Constraints Against Only Proximal or Identifiable Harm? I have thus argued that plausible theories of agent-centered constraints on harming must apply these constraints to some harms that are foreseen but unintended. As I mentioned, one might still deny that constraints on harming apply to harms caused by butterfly effects by holding that these constraints make it more difficult to justify actions only if they are “proximal” causes of harm, or one can foresee who the victims of the actions will be.14 But it seems quite implausible that how proximally an action causes harm, or whether one can identify its victims, matters in itself, quite independently of this indicating a greater risk of causing harm. Consider: Greater Distal Harm. You have two ways of saving five from drowning: (1) drive straight, which will kill one when you drive over a platform, the

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depression of which will crush her, or (2) take an alternate road, which will kill four when you drive over a different platform, the depression of which will crush them. But while the four are located directly under the second platform, the depression of its top half will kill them by setting off an elaborate Rube-Goldberg device with hundreds of causal intermediaries that will eventually cause the downward movement of its bottom half, which will crush them. More Unknown Victims. You have two ways to prevent the sadistic dictator Pedro from shooting five innocents: (1) shoot one other innocent yourself, or (2) press a button that will select four other innocents from a databank of everyone in the world and send reliable kill-bots after them, which you know with certainty will kill the four. A theory of constraints that applied only to proximally caused harms or harms with known victims (and was strong enough to make it wrong to drive over one to save five) would in these cases tell us to take option 2 and save the five by killing four individuals instead of only one.15 But the mere fact that we would kill the four by a longer sequence of causal intermediaries or that we don’t know who they will be are ridiculous reasons to kill three additional individuals. If we are not permitted in these cases to proximally cause the death of the identifiable one, we cannot be permitted to distally cause the death of the possibly unidentifiable four either.

4. Plausible Constraints Against Distal Harm I have thus argued that plausible theories of agent-centered constraints on harming must hold that they apply to causing some merely foreseen distal harms to unknown victims. But these theories are directly vulnerable to the butterfly effect argument. I should emphasize that there are many forms such theories can take. Some will hold that it is difficult to justify harms so long as they counterfactually depend on events that constitute our actions.16 These will make all the harms in BH(A) difficult to justify, and consequently unjustified by the roughly equal benefits in BB(A). Other theories of constraints against merely foreseen, distally caused harm will hold something more like the view that it is difficult to justify a harm if one’s actions produce it, or there is a continuous, transitive chain of causal events linking one’s action to the harm.17 Since some harms in BH(A) will not be produced by A, these theories may allow some harms in BH(A) to be justified by equally great benefits in BB(A). But it is

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reasonable to believe that for any act A that will sustain our lives, some lethal harms in BH(A) will be produced by A—this, after all, is the way butterflies’ wings kill the victims of the tornadoes they set off. Moreover, since the expected benefits in BB(A) are equal to the expected harms in BH(A), for BB(A) to justify BH(A), each harm in BH(A) must be justified by a corresponding benefit of equal magnitude in BB(A). In particular, each harm in BH(A) that is produced by A must be justified by a corresponding benefit of equal magnitude in BB(A)—since all other benefits in BB(A) are already needed to justify the harms in BH(A) that are not produced by A. So, since theories which posit constraints against producing distal harm entail that these harms in BH(A) that are produced by A cannot be justified by equal or somewhat greater benefits, they too will entail that the benefits in BB(A) cannot justify the harms in BH(A). The same logic applies to more elaborate theories of constraints against causing distal harm. Some, for instance, will have “distributive exemptions” for actions that cause harm to some individuals with the same materials or forces that would have caused harm to others had they not been performed.18 While some lethal harms in BH(A) may be caused in this way, the pervasive nature of butterfly effects makes it reasonable to believe that there will be other lethal harms in BH(A) that are not caused in this way (like deaths caused by tornadoes that wouldn’t have formed had one not acted), making it impossible for BH(A) to be entirely justified by BB(A). Other theories may hold that benefits cannot easily justify harms if elaborate explanatory relations accumulate between them. For instance, Frances Kamm proposes that a benefit cannot easily justify causing a harm if “something—[the] means [to the benefit]—brings along with it causes [an effect on a victim that harms her] either directly or by overlapping with the direct cause of [this effect].”19 But whatever one takes the distally caused harms to be that are difficult to justify, the drastic nature of butterfly effects makes it reasonable to believe that some of these will be in BH(A), making it impossible for BB(A) to entirely justify BH(A). For instance, it is reasonable to believe that some of your actions will cause lethal disasters, but that some aspects of these disasters will cause lives to be saved later on—which fits Kamm’s criterion for actions, the lethal harms of which cannot be justified by their life-saving benefits.

5. Is this an Argument for Universal Suicide? I have thus argued that, given the likelihood that our actions will have butterfly effects, all plausible theories of agent-centered constraints on harming entail that for any way we could sustain our lives, it is reasonable

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to expect that it will involve at least N t 1 instances of difficult-to-justify killing, which are not justified by the corresponding N lives that it can be reasonably expected to save.20 Now any theory of agent-centered constraints strong enough to make it wrong to kill one individual in the difficult-to-justify way to save five others will entail that we are not permitted to kill N individuals in the difficult-to-justify way to save N+1 others. Moreover, any plausible theory of constraints on harming will apply them to cases where we would be one of the beneficiaries of the harming—and consequently will not permit us to kill N individuals in the difficult-to-justify way to save N other individuals and ourselves. If, for instance, we are morally prohibited from harvesting the organs of one person to transplant into two others, then surely we remain morally prohibited from doing so if we are one of the two who need organs. So any theory of agent-centered constraints on harming that is strong enough to be plausible will not permit us to perform a set of acts that would sustain our lives, even though this would save our lives and the lives of N others, if it would in a difficult-to-justify way kill a different group of N individuals. Since, as I have argued, on any plausible theory of agent-centered constraints, the butterfly effects of our actions make it overwhelmingly likely that any set of acts that would sustain our lives will involve at least N instances of killing that are difficult-to-justify and consequently unjustified by the fact that it will save our lives and those of N others, any otherwise plausible theory of agent-centered constraints will not permit us to sustain our lives. It will require us either to let ourselves waste away or kill ourselves.21 If I am correct that, because of the likely butterfly effects of our actions, all otherwise plausible theories of agent-centered constraints on harming require us either to allow ourselves to waste away or kill ourselves, what should we conclude? Should we conclude that there are no agent-centered constraints on harming, or should we conclude that we are in fact morally required to let ourselves waste away or kill ourselves? A moral theory should not be dismissed simply because it entails that, given our contingent circumstances, we are all morally required to let ourselves die or kill ourselves.22 But there seems to be something absurd about the view that we must waste away or kill ourselves simply because of the harms that would be wrought by the unpredictable butterfly effects of our actions, when we can reasonably expect these butterfly effects to prevent comparable amounts of harm, and we can live our lives in ways that are predictably beneficial to others and can consequently be expected to do more good than harm on the whole.23 The implausibility of the idea that the unpredictable harms our lives are likely to cause cannot be justified by

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the fact that that our lives are likely to prevent even greater harms seems to illustrate the direct implausibility of the view embodied in otherwise plausible constraints on harming—namely that such factors as whether a harmful upshot of our conduct was produced by our actions or would have occurred in their absence make a significant intrinsic moral difference.24 So I think we should continue to believe that we are not morally required to waste away or kill ourselves, and conclude from my argument that there are no agent-centered constraints on harming. The great irony is that it is the view that killing is worse than letting die, rather than the view that letting die is just as bad as killing, that seems to make morality too demanding.

References Aboodi, Ron, Adi Borer, and David Enoch. 2008. “Deontology, Individualism, and Uncertainty: A Reply to Jackson and Smith.” The Journal of Philosophy, 105: 259-272. Bennett, Jonathan. 1981. “Morality and Consequences.” In S. McMurrin (ed.), The Tanner Lectures on Human Values, Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 46-116. —. 1995. The Act Itself. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Cannon, Laura. 2003. “The Butterfly Effect and the Virtues of the American Dream.” Journal of Social Philosophy, 34: 545-555. Draper, Kai. 2005. “Rights and the Doctrine of Doing and Allowing.” Philosophy and Public Affairs, 33: 253-280. Donagan, Alan. 1977. The Theory of Morality. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Finnis, John, Germain Grisez, and Joseph Boyle. 2001. “‘Direct’ and ‘Indirect’: A Reply to Critics of Our Action Theory.” The Thomist, 65: 1-44. Fitzpatrick, William. 2006. “The Intend/Foresee Distinction and the Problem of ‘Closeness.’” Philosophical Studies, 128: 585-617. Foot, Philippa. 1967. “The Problem of Abortion and the Doctrine of Double Effect.” Oxford Review, 5: 5-15. Reprinted in P. Foot, Virtues and Vices, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 19-31. —. 1984. “Killing and Letting Die.” In J.L. Garfield and P. Hennessey (eds.), Abortion: Moral and Legal Perspectives, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 177-185. Hall, Ned. 2004. “Two Concepts of Causation.” In J. Collins, N. Hall, and L. Paul, Causation and Counterfactuals, Cambridge, Massachusetts: the MIT Press, 225-276.

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Hanser, Matthew. 1999. “Killing, Letting Die, and Preventing People from Being Saved.” Utilitas, 11: 277-295. Hart, H.L.A. 1967. “Intention and Punishment.” Oxford Review, 4. Reprinted in H.L.A. Hart, Punishment and Responsibility, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hart, H.L.A., and Tony Honoré. 1985. Causation in the Law. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hilborn, Robert. 2001. Chaos and Nonlinear Dynamics: An Introduction for Scientists and Engineers, 2nd edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Howard-Snyder, Frances. 2011. “Doing vs. Allowing Harm.” In Edward N. Zalta (ed.), The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Winter 2011 Edition, URL =

Jackson, Frank and Michael Smith. 2006. “Absolutist Moral Theories and Uncertainty.” The Journal of Philosophy, 103: 267-283. Kagan, Shelly. 1989. The Limits of Morality. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kamm, Frances. 2007. Intricate Ethics: Rights, Responsibilities, and Permissible Harm. New York: Oxford University Press. Lorenz, Edward. 1972. “Predictability; Does the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wings in Brazil Set Off a Tornado in Texas?” American Association for the Advancement of Science, 139th meeting. Mack, Eric. 1985. “Three Ways to Kill Innocent Bystanders: Some Conundrums Concerning the Morality of War.” Social Philosophy and Policy, 3: 1-26. McMahan, Jeff. 1993. “Killing, Letting Die, and Withdrawing Aid.” Ethics, 103: 250-279. —. 2009. “Intention, Permissibility, Terrorism, and War.” Philosophical Perspectives, 23: 345-372. Mikhail, John. 2007. “Universal Moral Grammar: Theory, Evidence, and the Future.” Trends in Cognitive Science, 11: 143-152. —. 2011. Elements of Moral Cognition: Rawls’ Linguistic Analogy and the Cognitive Science of Moral and Legal Judgment. New York: Cambridge University Press. Moore, Michael. 2009. Causation and Responsibility: An Essay in Law, Morals, and Metaphysics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Norcross, Alastair. 2003. “Killing and Letting Die.” In R.G. Frey and C.H. Wellman (eds.), A Companion to Applied Ethics, Oxford and Boston: Basil Blackwell, 451-463.

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Pruss, Alexander. 2013. “The Accomplishment of Plans: a New Version of the Principle of Double Effect.” Philosophical Studies, 165: 49-69. Quinn, Warren. 1989a. “Actions, Intentions, and Consequences: The Doctrine of Doing and Allowing.” Philosophical Review, 98: 287-312. —. 1989b. “Actions, Intentions, and Consequences: The Doctrine of Double Effect.” Philosophy and Public Affairs, 18: 334-351. Ross, W.D. 1930. The Right and the Good. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Rickless, Samuel. 2011. “The Moral Status of Enabling Harm.” Pacific Philosophical Quarterly, 92: 66–86. Russell, Bruce. 1977. “On the Relative Strictness of Negative and Positive Duties.” American Philosophical Quarterly, 14: 87-97. Scanlon, T.M. 2008. Moral Dimensions: Permissibility, Meaning, Blame. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Scheffler, Samuel. 1995. “Individual Responsibility in a Global Age.” Social Philosophy and Policy, 12: 219-236. Shaw, Joseph. 2006. “Intentions and Trolleys.” Philosophical Quarterly, 56: 63-83. Thomson, Judith. 1976. “Killing, Letting Die, and the Trolley Problem.” The Monist, 59: 204-217. —. 1985. “The Trolley Problem.” Yale Law Journal, 94: 1395-1415. —. 2008. “Turning the Trolley.” Philosophy and Public Affairs, 36: 359374. Vihvelin, Kadri and Terrance Tomknow. 2005. “The Dif.” The Journal of Philosophy, 102: 183-205.

Notes 1

The example is from Lorenz 1972. For a systematic introduction to chaos theory, see Hilborn 2001. 2 Cannon 2003, 145. 3 The basic idea of this argument was suggested to me by Allan Gibbard. I am also grateful to John Ku for many extremely helpful discussions of it. But any problems with the argument as I develop it here should be attributed entirely to me. 4 That is, under conditions where we can reasonably assign probabilities to the various possible outcomes of our conduct, but we cannot know these outcomes with certainty. See Kagan 1989, 87-91 and Jackson and Smith 2006. 5 Besides applying only to absolute constraints on harming, another limitation of Kagan, Jackson, and Smith’s arguments is that they allow defenders of constraints to avoid the conclusion that constraints require paralysis by applying constraints only in cases where the probability of causing harm exceeds a certain threshold (see Kagan 1989, 90n5; Jackson and Smith 275-278; and Aboodi et al. 2008. Jackson and Smith argue that this response is problematic, to which Aboodi et al.

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respond). But because keeping ourselves alive seems overwhelmingly likely to cause harmful butterfly effects somewhere down the line, the probability of causing harms, to which my argument appeals, seems to surpass any thresholds for the application of constraints to which their defenders might appeal. 6 See Foot 1967. 7 See Foot (1967, 1984), as well as (among others) Thomson (1976, 2008), Donagan (1977), Hanser (1999), Vihvelin and Tomkow (2005), Draper (2005), Kamm (2007), and Rickless (2011). Even authors like Quinn (1989b) and McMahan (2009), who believe that there are stronger constraints against intended harming than foreseen harming, still accept that there are constraints against certain ways of inflicting foreseen but unintended harms, which entail that the infliction of these harms cannot be justified simply by the equal or somewhat greater benefits of inflicting them (see Quinn 1989a and McMahan 1993). 8 See Mack (1985); Aboodi et al. (2008, 267); and Pruss (2013, 50). 9 To see this, observe that in such a case if the one were somehow to survive the removal of her organs, you would have cause to rejoice. This point has been noted in the literature at least since Hart 1967, and was well discussed by Foot (1967, 2122), Russell (1977, 95-96), and Bennett (1981, 110-111; 1995, 210-213). For a version of the Doctrine of Double Effect that seems to embrace this conclusion, see Finnis, Grisez, and Boyle 2001. (Note, moreover, that it would be implausible to think that there is a serious constraint against causing intended “harms” like mere organ removal, independent of their lethal consequences. If the only way to save five from dying was to remove the organs of one, but the procedure was guaranteed to be painless, intrude in no way into the life of the one, and result in the one having better organs that would cause her to live longer than she would have with the organs we removed, I think that there could be no serious moral objection to removing her organs to save the five. At the very least, the objection could be nowhere near as strong as the one there seems to be to lethally removing her organs). 10 This is because any effect on the individual’s body plays no causal role in your saving the five—you would have saved them just as well if she failed to instantiate any properties at all. For this kind of interpretation of the constraint against causing intended harm see Mack 1985; Quinn 1989b; Shaw 2006, 69-71; and Mikhail 2007, 145; 2011, 133-136, 148-152. Quinn at least was well aware that such constraints would not by themselves prohibit running over one to save five, but in addition to them he defended constraints against causing certain unintended harms (1989a), which would not permit us to run over one to save five. 11 One might worry that the intentions with which you drop your bombs are not within your voluntary control, so (1) and (2) are not legitimately distinct options in Less Harmful Terrorism (see e.g. Ross 1930, 4-6; Bennett 1981, 96-98; 1995, 194196; and Scanlon 2008, chapter 2). This actually constitutes an important objection to the view that there are constraints against inflicting only intended harms, but it is not the objection I am presenting here. We can, for my purposes, assume that your intentions are under your voluntary control in Less Harmful Terrorism—say,

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because you have pills that you can take that you know will induce the relevant intentions. 12 Such a theory would forbid us from taking option 1 (since it would involve inflicting intended harm) and permit us to take option 2 (since the harm it inflicts is not intended and it does more good than harm). It would, moreover, treat option 2 as more strongly favored by moral reasons than simply not saving the five in the same way that we would commonsensically treat saving five as more strongly favored by moral reasons than saving four instead. 13 Fitzpatrick (2006) might try saying that in these cases, the events of your car moving where it does or your bombs exploding where they do—which you intend—“constitute” the death or lethal injury of the four, so the choice is actually between more or less intended harm rather than between more foreseen harm or less intended harm. It is, however, preposterous to say that the event of the four dying is identical to, or constituted by, the event of your car moving where it does or your bombs exploding where they do. The former could take place several minutes or hours after the latter and at completely different locations (if the four were rushed to hospital). Moreover, it does not matter whether an intended event “constitutes lethal injury” so long as it is equally sure to kill its victims. Suppose that instead of driving over the four or blowing up the cannon’s ammo, you could hire a giant to get the medicine to the five or destroy the cannon’s ammo by telling him the hiding place of the four, who he would very much like to eat. Obviously, you need not here intend any injury to the four, but if telling the giant about their hiding place is just as sure to kill them as driving over them or exploding bombs in their vicinity, it is no easier to justify. 14 For suggestions along these lines, see the ordinary causal claims described in Hart and Honore (1985), Moore (2009), and Pruss (2013, 61-63). 15 Such theories would forbid us from taking option 1 (since it would involve inflicting proximal harm, or harm to identifiable victims) and permit us to take option 2 (since the harm it inflicts is not proximal or to known victims, and it does more good than harm). These theories would also treat option 2 as more strongly favored by moral reasons than simply not saving the five in the same way that we would commonsensically treat saving five as more strongly favored by moral reasons than saving four instead. 16 In contrast to harms—like those that result from our simply failing to save others—that counterfactually depend only on those features of our conduct that constitute omissions, or non-occurrences of events that would have constituted actions on our parts. Something like this is the most natural way of understanding Donagan’s (1977) view, Quinn’s (1989a, 294) initial suggestion for clarifying the DDA (before he incorporated elements concerning wrongful omissions), and Vihvelin and Tomkow’s (2005) view. 17 On the distinction between production and other kinds of causation, see Hall 2004. Theories of agent-centered constraints that apply them primarily to something like harms produced by one’s actions include those of Hanser (1999), Draper (2005), and Rickless (2011) (although Rickless (79-81) seems to describe some events—like removing a trap-door that is preventing someone from being

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hanged (but not removing a laser-beam that is preventing someone from being hanged)—as “initiating causal sequences” that lead to harm even when they are not producers of harm; the basis of his categorization is unclear and seems to have been influenced by salience). 18 See Thomson 1976, 1985—although Thomson (2008) has since rejected this idea. 19 Kamm 2007, 149. I do not mean to suggest that this has even the slightest shred of plausibility as a theory of agent-centered constraints. I mention it only to illustrate the point that whatever one takes to be the principled distinction between the distal harms that are (as opposed to the distal harms that are not) difficult to justify, the butterfly effect argument will still apply. 20 Note that N is not necessarily the number of lethal harms in BH(A), since as I discussed a theory of constraints might hold that some of these harms are not of the kind that cannot be justified by equally important life-savings in BB(A). If so, then the expected number of lethal harms in BH(A) is N+M, where M is the expected number of easy-to-justify deaths A causes, which are justified by a corresponding number M of expected life savings in BB(A). Because the M lives saved exactly justify the M deaths caused, I omit them from discussion below for the sake of simplicity. 21 Whether the theory of constraints requires us to stay as still as we can until we waste away, requires us to actively kill ourselves, or permits us to do either, depends upon exactly which harmful upshots of our bodily processes it counts as difficult-to-justify. For instance, a theory like Donagan’s (1977, 42-43) might count only harms that counterfactually depend on actions produced in the right way by our deliberate decisions. Such a theory would seem to require us to stay as still as we can until we waste away, since any deliberate bodily movements (including those involved in actively hastening our deaths) would risk causing difficult-to-justify harms via butterfly effects, while staying as still as we can is guaranteed not to do so. But as Alastair Norcross (2003, 455-456) observes, it seems implausible to treat harms as easier to justify if they are caused by our own (easily controllable) reflexes, and as Frances Howard-Snyder (2011, §6) observes, it can seem implausible to treat certain harms as easier to justify even if they are caused simply by the position of our own (easily movable) bodies. On a view of constraints that counts harms caused by our automatic bodily processes or even the positions of our own bodies as difficult-to-justify, simply staying as still as we can until we waste away would not be guaranteed to avoid all risks of causing difficult-to-justify harms as a result of the butterfly effects of our conduct. Since the expected harms that will result from the butterfly effects of our bodily processes will be much less if we stay as still as we can until we waste away than if we actually sustain our lives, these views of constraints will hold that sustaining our lives is more deeply morally wrong than staying as still as we can until we waste away—in the same way that killing five individuals, each of whom has a different organ you need to survive, is more deeply wrong than killing only one of the five. But the expected harms that will result from the butterfly effects of our actively killing ourselves may be even less than the expected harms that will

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result from the butterfly effects of our bodily processes if we stay as still as we can until we waste away. If (as seems plausible) this is so, then theories of constraints that count harms caused by our bodily processes as difficult to justify will presumably require us to actively kill ourselves so as to minimize the amount of harm we can be expected to inflict on others. (Just because running some risk of inflicting harm is unavoidable or permissible does not mean that we cannot be required to minimize the harm we can be expected to inflict by sacrificing our own lives. For instance, as Philippa Foot (1967) and Judith Thomson (2008) would presumably argue, if the only way to prevent ourselves from killing five individuals with the trolley we are driving is to ram it into a wall that will certainly kill ourselves and run some small chance of killing one other innocent, we would be morally required to do so. Similarly, if the only way to save ten billion from dying is to either (1) kill five individuals or (2) kill ourselves and one other individual, it seems plausible that we would be required to take option (2) and kill ourselves and the one other.) I am grateful to Octavian Ion, Bradley Strawser, Julie Tannenbaum, and Justin Weinberg for very helpful discussion of this issue. 22 For instance, our contingent circumstances might be so bad that the only way for us to save billions of others from even more painful deaths was to kill ourselves, in which case a moral theory should require us to kill ourselves. 23 For simplicity I omitted the benefits we can confer on others by acting in predictably more beneficial ways in my argument that, because of the likely butterfly effects of our actions, any plausible theory of agent-centered constraints will require us to let ourselves waste away or kill ourselves. To see why this conclusion still follows, note that theories of constraints according to which killing is only marginally harder to justify than letting die do not seem plausible. If killing is harder to justify, it is much harder—although presumably not impossible—to justify. As such, plausible theories of constraints will permit us to remain alive only if the number of others we save by doing so is much greater than the number we can be expected to kill in difficult-to-justify ways through the butterfly effects of our actions (after removing the life-savings needed to justify any easy-to-justify harms that we inflict over the course of our lives). The most beneficial lives most of us could lead—say working optimally hard in optimally lucrative careers and giving our earnings to organizations like Oxfam—might be reasonably predicted to save some hundreds or thousands of individuals. But it would seem reasonable to expect that, given the sensitive dependence of future events on initial conditions, such lives will over the course of all future history cause unpredictable butterfly effects that will kill much greater numbers of individuals in what plausible theories of constraints will regard as difficult-to-justify ways (while of course saving similar numbers of individuals too). As such, it does not seem that the number of individuals one could save by living even the most beneficial life possible would (after removing the life-savings needed to justify any easy-to-justify harming) be much greater than the number of individuals one would kill in ways that plausible theories of constraints will regard as difficult-to-justify.

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24 That is to say, the implausible requirement to forgo living lives that would on balance do more good than harm simply because of the harms caused by the butterfly effects of our actions seems to be more than a mere counter-intuitive consequence of otherwise plausible agent-centered constraints on harming. The implausibility of this requirement seems to illustrate a generally implausible aspect of these constraints, considered in themselves and independent of what else they entail—namely that they place a great deal of weight on such factors as whether a harmful upshot of our conduct was produced by our actions or would have occurred in their absence, which seem on reflection to be rather arbitrary or devoid of significant intrinsic moral importance.

THE MYTH OF THE MENTAL (ILLNESS) SARAH VINCENT

Introductory Remarks According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), one in four people suffers with some form of mental illness. 1 With so many people affected by mental illness, a number of questions become immediate: How do we best meet their needs? How do we envision the relationship between therapy and psychiatric medications? What counts as mental illness, and what causes it? But one less obvious question has plagued Thomas Szasz for roughly the last 50 years: Does mental illness even exist? In the following work, I will sketch two provocative papers by Szasz and detail his reasons for arguing that mental illness does in fact not exist. I will proceed to highlight where I think Szasz’s writing is philosophically dubious, despite its nevertheless well-deserved success, granted its role in forcing us to think critically about “mental illness.” After some final considerations regarding the implications of Szasz’s work, I will conclude that his argument is best left behind, as an antiquated take on a burgeoning field of medicine. But to avoid stopping short, I will propose what I think is a more promising alternative to Szasz’s view that there is a myth around mental illness. There is a myth indeed, but it surrounds the mental. With new developments in embodied cognition (EC), I will ask us to revisit the question of mental illness from this perspective, to correctly diagnose the problematic myth that must be confronted by the psychiatric community, and to explore what the myth of the mental means for mental illness.

Szasz’s Thought Summarized For the purposes of the present work, I will be concerned with two pieces by Szasz: “The Myth of Mental Illness” (1960) and “Mental Illness Is Still a Myth” (1994). These two articles have essentially the same underlying commitments, though as we will see, their focus varies slightly. For the sake of space, I will move quickly through a sketch of these pieces,

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as I am sure many readers are already somewhat familiar with Szaszian thought. So, let us begin with the first: “The Myth of Mental Illness.” Szasz’s central claim is that there is no such thing as mental illness.2 In fact, he goes so far as to compare the unreality of “mental illnesses” to that of “witches.”3 His reasoning for this thesis begins with an assertion about what he takes to be a problematic tenant of modern thinking about psychiatry: that all so-called “mental illnesses” have some neurological component.4 He goes on to add that for those who hold this position (let’s call them mental illness realists) that mental illnesses are essentially like physical diseases. 5 But Szasz argues mental illness realists make two errors. The first is to conflate the idea of “disease” with what Szasz calls “problems in living,”6 which he takes to be more or less behavioral defects judged as such by various social norms (as opposed to physical diseases that presumably stand outside of social norms and evidence transhistorical truths of medicine). The second error made by mental illness realists is that they neglect that there are social contexts in which mental illnesses are defined that sharply differentiate between mental illnesses and bodily illnesses. 7 So in short, mental illness realists both conflate disease and mental illness and disregard the social norms that are responsible for mental illness designations. So, where does this leave psychiatry? Szasz is careful to differentiate psychiatry from neurology, the former of which deals with problems of living and the latter of which deals with diseases of the brain (e.g., Alzheimer’s).8 As such, “Psychiatry…is very much more intimately tied to problems of ethics than is medicine.”9 So then, at best psychiatry is a form of treatment for the difficulties humans face in interacting peacefully with one another, but not a form of medicine that deals with mental disease.10 With this groundwork in place, we can now turn our attention to the development of Szasz’s ideas found in his “Mental Illness Is Still a Myth.” In this text, Szasz assumes familiarity with his previous essay and defends what he takes to be key implications of his work. But as we will see, there are some important clarifications or contradictions, depending on how one reads Szasz. As a trained psychiatrist, he feels comfortable defining “disease” and “diagnosis.” Of the former, he writes that they are “phenomena independent of human motivation or will.” 11 This seems different from and possibly inconsistent with his earlier, albeit implied, definition. Recall that he referred to diseases as contrasted primarily with mental illnesses insofar as the latter deals only with social norms, which would seem to suggest that the former is free of them (or resistant to them, at least).12

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This gets even more difficult when we look at his definition of diagnoses: as “…social constructs, they vary from time to time, and from culture to culture.”13 So, now it looks like both mental illnesses and bodily illnesses (as Szasz understands them) are subject to cultural and social norms. It is getting a bit more difficult to see how he wants to differentiate so sharply between the two, but let’s progress in any case. Szasz’s main agenda in this second article is to outline some important implications of his work. The most pressing of these relates to involuntary treatment of mental patients, a practice Szasz aggressively opposes. 14 Granted that he thinks mental illnesses are invented at worst or societally relative at best, we can see why he would oppose involuntary treatment.15 He is also careful to address the anti-psychiatry movement, outside of which he locates himself. One might be wondering how he can be described as not falling within this category, but Szasz clarifies that he has no problem with “mutually consenting psychiatric” treatment. 16 This position may surprise Szasz’s readers, but since he often compares mental illness and religion, we can again understand how he comes to this belief. So then, we find in this essay some new information about Szasz: He is opposed to the involuntary treatment of mental illnesses, he resists being called part of the anti-psychiatry movement, and he approves of people voluntarily seeking mental health treatment (albeit for reasons of social and ethical freedom rather than medical diagnosis).

Comments on the Szaszian Line I have confessed that I am persuaded that mental illness is real, that it exists, contra Szasz. There are, I would contend, four main problems in Szasz’s work: An oversimplification of physical disease, a failure to address the similarities between physical and mental illness, an unfair and anachronistic view of psychiatry, and a philosophically dubious dualism. So, let us now address these one by one, albeit quickly. First, Szasz offers an oversimplification of physical diseases that can be misleading in this discussion. He writes, in reference to mental illness realists who claim mental illness is like a physical disease: “If this were true, one could catch or get a ‘mental illness,’ one might have or harbor it, one might transmit it to others, and finally one could get rid of it.”17 At best, this is an oversimplification of disease meant to contrast it to mental illness, but it can only do so by being inaccurately characterized in the first place. If it turns out that this misleading characterization of physical disease is necessary to draw the kind of sharp distinction between physical

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and mental illness that Szasz is after, then his argument faces a significant problem. Also problematically, Szasz claims it is beyond the scope of his work to address the similarities between physical and mental illnesses. 18 But I would argue there are phenomenological similarities between physical and mental illness that weaken Szasz’s claim that they are profoundly different phenomena (e.g., it is difficult to find any personal cause or choice in the manifestation of the disease, one may well struggle with either disease for a lifetime, one may or may not be able to control the disease with medicine, one’s disease can cause unfortunate consequences for family members or loved ones, and anyone can seem to be affected). Put more to the point, the phenomenological experience of getting a disease is similar for the patient whether the disease is of the mental or physical variety. Again, we are left to wonder why Szasz wants us to believe the phenomena are so different. A third concern I have with Szasz’s work relates to his characterization of psychiatry, a characterization that is anachronistic and subsequently problematic. Perhaps the reason that we observe so many changes in psychiatry (e.g., what counts as a mental illness or how we treat mental illnesses) is just a function of that fact that psychiatry is newer than other medical sciences. When Szasz writes, “It is no coincidence that most psychiatric diagnoses are twentieth-century inventions,”19 he is trying to suggest that this lends evidence to his view that we have recently made these things up. But in contrast, I would suggest his statement is a bit like saying, “It is no coincidence that most physical diagnoses have first been described in the last two centuries.” Of course, it’s not! He is just being anachronistically critical of psychiatry because it is a relatively new science. I think my final criticism of Szasz is perhaps the most philosophically damning. His entire argument seems to rely on a form of dualism between the physical and mental, as has been noted by other critics of Szasz.20 If there is a myth about mental illness, it lies in the “mental” not in the “illness.” When we look at recent philosophical research, there is a consistent rejection of dualistic thinking by most philosophers of mind, beginning most famously with Gilbert Ryle (1949). Dualism has fallen out of philosophical favor for good reason, and I imagine many of us would easily reject Szasz’s commitment to a sharp differentiation between the mental and physical. One aggressive rejection of dualism comes from within embodied cognition (EC) theories, so I would now like to turn to the constructive part of this project, namely, engaging EC with the concept “mental illness.”

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Before moving forward in this way, though, let me briefly note that there are other criticisms of Szasz on which I have chosen not to concentrate. Allen Frances, a psychiatrist, has criticized Szasz on the grounds that something might not be a disease but may still not be a myth.21 Additionally, in a debate with Szasz, two medical doctors, namely Donald Klein and Frederick Goodwin, argued that the success of medication in treating mental illnesses (e.g., depression) lends credibility to our interpretation that they are rightly called mental illnesses and are well within the purview of medicine.22

A Proposal Based on Embodied Cognition So, there are good reasons to be skeptical of anti-realist thinking about mental illness. But can we find defense for realism in recent philosophy of mind, particularly EC? I will argue that we can. Consider these questions: What is the link between how we characterize mental illness and developments in EC? What does “mental illness” mean if we so sharply redraw the lines of the “mental?” What does “mental illness” mean if the “mental” is always embedded? In this final section, I will offer some responses to these questions and urge readers to begin to think about what new developments in philosophy of mind could mean for mental illness, and whether or not those implications can productively respond to some of the concerns expressed by Szasz (and other anti-realists about mental illness). First, let’s get clear on what EC tends to entail as a theory, or perhaps more accurately as a set of theories. There are importantly distinct varieties of EC, and I obviously cannot capture that variety here. But I will do my best to paint fairly what is shared by the approaches that we collectively label EC. And to do this, I turn to Larry Shapiro, a wellknown proponent of EC. In his article, “The Embodied Cognition Research Programme” (2007), he offers a gloss of the varieties of EC that will prove useful for the sort of discussion we are having here. Of EC, broadly construed, he writes, “[EC] departs from more traditional cognitive science in the emphasis it places on the role the body plays in an organism’s cognitive processes.”23 Immediately, we are clued into the fact that the “mind” for the EC theorist is neither coextensive with the brain or nervous system nor is it some entity that resides apart from and is separable from the body. This is the second of three claims that Shapiro attributes to all varieties of EC. The first is that the steps in the cognitive process emerge from the body rather than from the manipulation of symbols; and the third is that cognition is no longer understood as a

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system of nerves and signals, but rather as a set of processes that necessarily involve interplay with the environment in which a body is located.24 So, with this overview in mind, let me pause to reflect on why I think EC could be a helpful lens through which to consider mental illness. Note that in the earlier discussion of Szasz, one of his primary commitments was to philosophical dualism. For a view like Szasz’s (i.e., that mental illnesses and bodily illnesses are profoundly different) to get off the ground, one must have a commitment to a sharp distinction between the mind and the body. But EC does away with that and leaves us to wonder what mental illness actually is in a world where the mind becomes coextensive with the body and perhaps even the environment in which that body is embedded. Put more sharply, a mental illness must necessarily be a bodily illness for the EC theorist. But what exactly are the implications of this? Let’s return to the questions I posed at the beginning of this section and address them, though as we will see they overlap quite a bit. First, what is the link between how we characterize mental illness and developments in EC? There are several important links, I believe. Obviously, EC forces us to reconceptualize the mind, cognition, and the mental. And how we think of these concepts quite clearly influences what we mean when we refer to something as “mental illness.” So the relevant question becomes: what does it mean for “the mental” from within this EC framework to be ill? For the EC theorist, mental illness is an illness of the body that affects the cognitive processes in a prolonged and systemically debilitating way, a claim that is a subset of the claim that all mental illnesses are bodily illnesses. Both of these claims are entailed by the EC view. If that is true, Szasz’s distinction between neurological and mental illness is maintained because there will still be a difference between illnesses that affect the neurological strictly, versus those that affect other levels of one’s cognitive processes (e.g., embodied coping). I take this (i.e., the fact that Szasz’s distinction between neurological and mental illness is somewhat maintained) to be an attractive implication of EC. There is a previously undiscussed implication of Szasz’s work that I will note here. If Szasz is right in that mental illnesses are not bodily illnesses or illnesses of any kind, then what we have called mental illnesses fall outside of the purview of medicine. We can imagine insurance companies refusing to provide for treatment for “problems with living” and companies refusing to offer medical leaves for such problems. So there is a socio-political upshot to taking the EC view instead. If, as we

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have been discussing, all mental illnesses are necessarily bodily illnesses, then we avoid these negative implications of anti-realism. Illnesses of the body are clearly within the realm of medicine, and so the legitimacy of psychiatry as a proper medical field is preserved by EC. I take this to be another benefit of the EC view. The second question I noted in the introduction of this section is: what does “mental illness” mean if we so sharply redraw the lines of the “mental?” As I predicted, there is overlap here with what we have already covered. Most succinctly, mental illness is a type of bodily illness affecting the cognitive processes in a prolonged and systemically debilitating way.25 Relevant cognitive processes that might be affected are not limited to the motor system, but also include mental constructs (e.g., concepts), processes of reasoning and judgment, perception, and embeddedness (i.e., interactions with the environment). Granted this expansive understanding of cognition, we seem to be able to incorporate most of the things we currently call mental illness into this new framework. Third, what does “mental illness” mean if the “mental” is always embedded? Most immediately, this means that mental illnesses may well affect and involve complex interactions with one’s environment. I think this may move us in the direction of addressing Szasz’s concerns about the role of social constructs in mental illness. But obviously we would be reframing what counts for him as a concern into what counts for EC as a fact of nature. We are not autonomous agents in rigidly demarcated and isolated spheres. Granted our embeddedness, it follows that mental illnesses are going to have necessarily the components that Szasz refers to under his concept “problems in living.” With our new understanding of cognition, then we can reject the need for the differentiation drawn by Szasz between illnesses of cognition and problems in living. For the EC theorist, many if not most mental illnesses will involve interactions with our environments (and subsequently may involve interactions with social norms). Finally, I want to return to the heart of the matter, to my thesis that the myth around mental illness has to do with the “mental” rather than with the “illness” as Szasz proposed. I think Szasz correctly realizes that there is a problem with how we define “mental illness.” As we have been discussing, Szasz’s solution was to say that “problems in living” (what we conventionally call “mental illnesses”) are not illnesses at all. But I think I have shown that he relies on some questionable assumptions to do so. As an alternative, I have herein sketched a proposal from EC, that the problem with “mental illness” is that we do not properly understand the nature of the mental. The idea that there is a myth around the mental was, of course,

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popularized by Dreyfus (2006), wherein he argued that the mental does not reside only at the level of the conceptual but is present all the way down, so to speak (including nonconceptual embodied coping skills). EC takes the work of Dreyfus and others seriously, and offers an expansive view of the mental that has important and helpful implications for delineating mental illness. Mental illnesses need not be confined to the realm of the neurological (as both proponents of brainism and Szaszian anti-realists have contended) nor need they be sharply distinguished from bodily illnesses if we are persuaded by developments in EC.

References Debatesdebates Transcripts: “Is An Egalitarian Healthcare Workable?” From Szasz.com. A “debatesdebates” show (Taped on August 19, 1997, Show #210). Dreyfus, Hubert. “Overcoming the Myth of the Mental.” Topoi 25 (1-2) (2006), 43-49. Foucault, Michel. Trans. R. Howard. Madness and Civilization. New York: Pantheon, 1965. Kelly, B.D., Bracken, P., Cavendish, H., Crumlish, N., MacSuibhne, S., Szasz, T.S., and T. Thornton. “The Myth of Mental Illness: 50 Years After Publication: What Does It Mean Today?” (MMIAP). Irish Journal of Psychological Medicine 27 (March 2010), 35–43. Phillips, James et al. (January 13 2012). “The Six Most Essential Questions in Psychiatric Diagnosis: A Pluralogue. Part 1: Conceptual and Definitional Issues in Psychiatric Diagnosis”. In Philosophy, Ethics, and Humanities in Medicine (BioMed Central) 7 (3): 1–51. Ryle, Gilbert. Descartes’ Myth. In The Concept of Mind. London: Hutchinson, 1949. Shapiro, Larry. “The Embodied Cognition Research Programme.” Philosophy Compass 2/2 (2007): 338-346. Szasz, Thomas. “Mental Illness Is Still a Myth.” (MISM). Society 31 (May–June 1994), 34–39. —. “The Myth of Mental Illness.” (MMI). American Psychologist 15 (February 1960), 113–118.

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Notes 1

http://www.nami.org/. Thomas Szasz, “The Myth of Mental Illness,” in American Psychologist 15 (February 1960), 113. 3 Ibid., 117. 4 Ibid., 113. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid., 114. 8 Ibid., 116. 9 Ibid. 10 Ibid., 117. 11 Thomas Szasz, “Mental Illness Is Still a Myth,” in Society 31 (May–June 1994), 36. 12 MMI, 113. 13 MISM, 36. 14 Ibid., 38. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid. 17 MMI, 116. 18 Ibid., 116. 19 MISM, 37. 20 Kelly, B.D., et al., “The Myth of Mental Illness: 50 Years After Publication: What Does It Mean Today?” In Irish Journal of Psychological Medicine 27 (March 2010), 35-37. 21 James Phillips et al. (January 13 2012), “The Six Most Essential Questions in Psychiatric Diagnosis: A Pluralogue. Part 1: Conceptual and Definitional Issues in Psychiatric Diagnosis.” In Philosophy, Ethics, and Humanities in Medicine (BioMed Central) 7 (3): 1–51. 22 Debatesdebates Transcripts: “Is An Egalitarian Healthcare Workable?” from Szasz.com. A “debatesdebates” show, Taped on August 19, 1997, Show #210. 23 Larry Shapiro, “The Embodied Cognition Research Programme,” in Philosophy Compass 2/2 (2007): 338. 24 Ibid., 340. 25 The reason I suggest that these effects must be prolonged and debilitating is to exclude other physical illnesses that more temporarily affect cognitive processes (e.g., a high fever). In cases where there is, for example, a terminal physical illness like cancer or AIDS that has prolonged effects on cognition, I offer the suggestion that a mental illness (as another type of physical illness) has manifested as a consequence of the first illness. 2

THE ROLE OF LOVE IN DESCARTES’ MEDITATIONS CHIARA BANDINI

Introduction Most scholars hold the work of the Meditations to be a rationalist project by which Descartes was able to present a method for the acquisition of truth. With a few significant exceptions, 1 there is also a general agreement among commentators that this method requires a disengagement from bodily-related perceptions. Nevertheless, in the Third Meditation, Descartes indicates that emotions of wonder, adoration and joy are experienced as a result of a clear and distinct perception of God (Meditations; ATVII 52, CSMII 36). Since emotions are involved in the process of meditation, it is possible to infer that, for Descartes, emotions also play a role in the search for truth. William Beardsley2 is one of the few contemporary philosophers who have done research describing the role emotions play in the Meditations. He argues that both intellectual and passionate love are involved in the clarification of perception during the meditative process by which ideas are rendered clear and distinct. In presenting his argument, Beardsley suggests that passionate emotional love plays its role in this process by disposing the soul to intellectual love (Beardsley, 43-5). He holds that the feeling of “adoration” experienced at the end of the Third Meditation is a passionate love for God (Beardsley, 44). Given this, Beardsley argues that a genuine passionate love for God disposes the soul to future acts of intellectual love, which in turn yield both clarity of perception and clear and distinct perception (Beardsley, 45-6). Beardsley’s view is very exciting, as it highlights the role of love in the work of the Meditations. In the spirit of this enthusiasm, I offer a concern with regards to his interpretation of the relation between passionate and intellectual love. That is, it is unclear how, for Descartes, a confused thought of passionate love can dispose the soul to experience the clear thought of rational or intellectual love. Evidence shows that Beardsley is

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committed to the view that passionate love directly disposes the soul to intellectual love (Beardsley, 45). He claims that “the image of God as the source of truth and light and as specially related to the thinker agitates the spirits and causes a passionate love which incites acts of intellectual or rational love and sustains previous acts of union” (Beardsley, 45; my emphasis). This interpretation of Descartes, I argue, is in tension with the work of the Meditations. Because Descartes’ causal principle states that whatever is contained objectively in an idea must be contained formally or eminently in the cause of that idea, I argue that something with as high a degree of perfection as the clear thought of intellectual love cannot arise from something with the lower degree of perfection as the confused thought of passionate love. In this paper, I shall flesh out Descartes’ causal principle with regards to the relation between passionate and intellectual love. In doing so, I show that only if we interpret Descartes to say that passionate love indirectly disposes the soul to intellectual love can we avoid any inconsistencies. One benefit is that, on this account, we can see that passionate love disposes the soul to intellectual love by means of meditation. In the first section of this paper, I set forward a general description of passionate and intellectual love. This consideration introduces the reader to some of the main points about Cartesian emotions and, more importantly, to the relation between passionate and intellectual love. Further, in the second section, I present my argument, which I will call the Indirect Disposition View. Here I show the importance of differentiating between what I refer to as “direct” and “indirect disposition,” and I argue that only if we interpret the disposition between passionate and intellectual love to be indirect can we avoid any tensions with Descartes’ causal principle. Because my intent is to describe the roles passionate and intellectual love play during meditation, in the next section I present Beardsley’s account of emotions, particularly his view on passionate and intellectual love. Thereby, I distinguish between Beardsley’s account and mine, which I will call Direct and Indirect Disposition View respectively. Last, I will focus on the Indirect Disposition View and demonstrate that the persistent act of meditation plays an essential role in sustaining intellectual love and clear and distinct perception of ideas.

Passionate and Intellectual Love In The Passions of the Soul, Descartes sets forward a general account of action and passion. He defines actions as all those “thoughts” or “volitions” that we experience as being caused by the soul alone (such as

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the will to love God or the will to walk) 3 and passions as all those “thoughts,” “perceptions,” or “modes of knowledge” that do not have the soul as their proper cause but, as Descartes suggests, the soul “receives them from the things that are represented by them” (PS. art.17-8; ATXI 342-3, CSMI 335). Provided with a general account of passion and action, in article 27 Descartes describes the passions of the soul as follows: [W]e may define them generally as those perceptions, sensations, or emotions of the soul which we refer particularly to it, and which are caused, maintained and strengthened by some movements of the spirits. (PS. art.27; ATXI 349, CSMI 338-9)

Descartes specifies that passions should be regarded as “perceptions” because they are not actions or volitions of the soul; that is, they do not have the soul as their proper cause (PS. art.28; ATXI 350, CSMI 339). Further, passions are taken to be “sensations” because they are “received into the soul in the same way as the objects of the external senses” (PS. art.28; ATXI 350, CSMI 339). What Descartes means by this claim is that, depending on whether objects outside of us have previously been harmful or good for the mind-body composite, the perception of these objects affects the disposition of our brain, particularly very small bodies, which Descartes calls animal spirits,4 which, in turn, enter and agitate the brain’s cavity, thus causing some specific passion to be felt in the soul (PS. art.367; ATXI 356-7, CSMI 342). For example, the perception of food that had previously made us sick might affect the disposition of our brain, causing us to feel disgust. 5 Lastly, Descartes regards passions as “emotions” because, among all the thoughts the soul might have, passions are the ones which “agitate and disturb” the soul the most (PS. art.28; ATXI 350, CSMI 339). Since passions are experienced in the soul as the result of some bodyrelated activities, they should be distinguished from other kinds of thoughts that are experienced in the soul as a result of an action of the soul itself. This distinction is made explicit in the letter to Chanut. Here, Descartes claims that while passionate love is “nothing but a confused thought, aroused in the soul by the motions of the nerves”, such love should be distinguished from an intellectual kind of love, which is instead “a clear” and “rational thought” aroused in the soul by means of a judgment towards some object of perception (The Correspondence; ATIV 601-2, CSMK 306). Contrary to passionate love, which is a confused thought experienced as a result of some body-related activities, Descartes defines intellectual love as “movements of the will” of which the soul can

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“be perfectly aware, provided it reflected on its own thoughts” (The Correspondence; ATIV 602, CSMK 306). Evidence of a distinction between perceptions that have the body as their proper cause and others that have the soul is presented by Descartes in article 19 of The Passions of the Soul. In describing perceptions caused by the soul, Descartes writes: [P]erception of such willing may be said to be a passion in the soul. But because this perception is really one and the same thing as the volition, and names are always determined by whatever is most noble, we do not normally call it a “passion”, but solely an “action.”(PS. art.19; ATXI 343, CSMI 335-6)

Perceptions of actions of the soul are therefore defined by Descartes as actions rather than passions because they are experienced as a result of some proper action of the soul itself. For this reason, Descartes is careful to distinguish passionate love, which is experienced as a result of some body-related activities, from intellectual love, which is instead a perception of our willing; that is, a perception of the soul’s own judgment. Descartes makes this distinction explicit in article 79 of the Passions. He writes that while passionate love is an emotion which disposes the soul to join with the objects that “appear to be agreeable” to the soul, such emotion should be distinguished from other kinds of emotions that result from “judgments which also bring the soul to join itself willingly to things” (PS. art.79; ATXI 387, CSMI 356). Passionate love is generated from some body-related activities and considered by Descartes to be “confused,” while its intellectual counterpart—experienced as a result of some proper judgments of the soul—is taken to be “clear and rational” (PS. art.28; ATXI 350, CSMI 339; The Correspondence; ATIV 601-3, CSMK 306). In Passions and Embodiment Intentionality, Lilli Alanen6 also noted this distinction between these two kinds of emotions, one being passionate the other intellectual. While passions have as their antecedent the agitations of the animal spirits—that is, extremely small bodies that enter and agitate the brain’s cavity—intellectual emotions have as their proper cause rational judgments concerning the worth of the object perceived. Passionate love, caused by some bodily activities, does not preclude any rational considerations from the soul; instead, its intellectual counterpart results from rational evaluative judgments the soul makes independently from any body-related dispositions. Moreover, while passionate love is subject to falsity regarding the worth of the object we perceive, the

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intellectual emotion of love, resulting from proper judgment, cannot be wrong with regards to the object of perception. Intellectual and passionate love—one being clear and rational, the other confused—seem to have no relation to each other. Nevertheless, in the letter to Chanut, Descartes claims that usually these two kinds of love “occur together” (The Correspondence; ATIV 603, CSMK 307): [T]his rational love is commonly accompanied by the other kind of love, which can be called sensual or sensuous. This is nothing but a confused thought, aroused in the soul by the motion of the nerves, which makes it disposed to have the other, clearer, thought, which constitutes rational love. (The Correspondence; ATIV 602-3, CSMK 306)

The close union between our soul and our body is such that Descartes goes on to add: The two [loves] are so linked that when the soul judges an object to be worthy of it, this immediately makes the heart disposed to the motions which excite the passion of love; and when the heart is similarly disposed to other causes, that makes the soul imagine the lovable qualities in objects in which, at another time, it would see nothing but faults. (The Correspondence; ATIV 603, CSMK 307)

To explain this relation, Descartes compares intellectual and passionate love with language (The Correspondence; ATIV 604, CSMK 307). He claims that a language is learned by association of certain letters to certain meanings, so that later we are able to associate each word with its corresponding meaning, and each meaning with its corresponding word (The Correspondence; ATIV 604, CSMK 307). Similarly, Descartes asserts that the close union with a body “brings with it the possibility that the same conditions [motions] recur in the body, they induce the soul to have the same thought” and when “the same thought recurs, it disposes the body to return to the same condition” (The Correspondence; ATIV 604, CSMK 307). Moreover, although Descartes argues that intellectual love “can exist in our soul even if it had no body,” insofar as our soul is joined with a body, it appears that it will never be able to experience intellectual love alone, but such love is always followed by a bodily love 7 (The Correspondence; ATIV 602, CSMK 306). As Descartes tells us in the letter to Chanut, the “clear and rational thought” of intellectual love cannot fail to produce the other “confused thought” that constitutes passionate love (The Correspondence; ATIV 603-4, CSMK 306-7). A problem arises, however, with regards to the relation between these two emotions. Namely, it is unclear how, for

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The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations

Descartes, passionate love can dispose the soul to experience intellectual love. That is, if we consider the causal principle 8 by which Descartes claims that something with a high degree of perfection cannot be caused by something with a lower degree of perfection, we might wonder how, for Descartes, a confused thought can dispose the soul to experience the other clear and rational kind of love. In what follows, I will present my Indirect Disposition View. The Indirect Disposition View, I argue, will provide a solution to the issue raised with regards with the causal principle.

Indirect Disposition View In the previous section, I have presented Descartes’ conception of passionate and intellectual emotions. Particularly, I have provided a description of the relation between passionate and intellectual love. What I have yet to do is advance an interpretation that would avoid any inconsistencies with regards to the causal principle. In the pages that follow, I shall set forward the Indirect Disposition View and prove how this account would help explain Descartes’ assertion that a confused thought, such as passionate love, can dispose the soul to experience the other clear thought of intellectual love. According to Descartes, passionate love is experienced in the soul as a result of some body-related activities (i.e., the agitations of the animal spirits); its intellectual counterpart is experienced as the result of the soul’s proper judgment (The Correspondence; ATIV 601-3, CSMK 306). These two kinds of love, Descartes indicates, usually occur together. That is, as explained in the previous section, due to the soul’s union with the body, the clear and rational thought of intellectual love is usually followed or accompanied by the other confused thought of passionate love. Additionally, passionate love can dispose the soul to experience the intellectual kind of love. This latter claim is made explicit in the letter to Chanut. Descartes asserts that passionate love “is nothing but a confused thought, aroused in the soul by some motions of the nerves, which makes it disposed to have the other, clearer, thought which constitutes rational love” (The Correspondence; ATIV 602, CSMK 306). Additional remarks are made by Descartes proving that a disposition between these two thoughts, namely passionate and intellectual love, may occur in the soul. In the letter to Chanut, Descartes asserts that, “the soul’s natural capacity for union with a body brings with it the possibility of an association…so that when the same conditions recur in the body, they induce the soul to have the same thought” (The Correspondence; ATIV

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604, CSMK 307). This claim and further evidence in Descartes’ work seem to suggest that, indeed, there exists a strict relation between passionate and intellectual love. However, how we take this relation to be, I argue, is a point that necessitates further explanations in order to understand how, for Descartes, the confused thought of passionate love can dispose or incite the soul to experience the clear or rational thought of intellectual love. This consideration, I contend, will also help us demonstrate how the claims made regarding the relation between passionate and intellectual love are consistent with the causal principle. Descartes presents the causal principle in the work of the Meditations. Here, he explains that “what is more perfect—that is, contains in itself more reality—cannot arise from what is less perfect” (Meditations; ATVII 40-1, CSMII 28). In other words, something with a higher degree of perfection cannot arise from something with a lower degree of perfection. Additional remarks regarding the causal principle are made by Descartes in the Principles of Philosophy. Particularly, in article 17 Descartes asserts that “the greater the objective perfection in any of our ideas, the greater its cause must be” (PP. art.17; ATVIIIA 11, CSMI 198). Also, in article 18 Descartes writes, “what is more perfect cannot be produced by—that is, cannot have as its efficient and total cause—what is less perfect” (PP. art.18; ATVIIIA 11-2, CSMI 198-9). In the Meditations, Descartes adds that, “…in order for a given idea to contain such and such objective reality, it must surely derive it from some cause which contains at least as much formal reality as there is objective reality in the idea” (Meditations; ATVII 41, CSMII 28). What he means by this claim is that something, in this case the clear thought of intellectual love, must be caused by something that contains the reality of that thought either actually (i.e., formally) or in some higher form (i.e., eminently). Intellectual love, as Descartes explicates in the letter to Chanut, is a thought that derives or is experienced from the soul’s judgment (regarding some object of perception). Passionate love is experienced as the result of some body-related activities (The Correspondence; ATIV 601-3, CSMK 306). Therefore, there is a difference between the confused thought of passionate love, which represents an object as being good, and the clear thought of intellectual love, which represents an object as truly good (because judged to be so according to our reason); the former has a lower and the latter has a higher degree of perfection. Now, if we apply the causal principle to the relation between passionate and intellectual love it appears that the clear thought of intellectual love, which has a higher degree of perfection, can dispose the

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The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations

soul to experience the confused thought of passionate love, which has a lower degree of perfection, but not vice versa. Nevertheless, if we recall the passage from the letter to Chanut where Descartes explicitly says that “the other kind of love, which can be called sensual or sensuous” is “nothing but a confused thought aroused in the soul by some motions of the nerves, which makes it disposed to have the other, clearer thought which constitutes rational love,” it appears that, in this case, something with a lower degree of perfection can cause the soul to experience something with a higher degree of perfection (The Correspondence; ATIV 602-3, CSMK 306; my emphasis). However, Descartes does not specify whether passionate love itself allows the soul to experience intellectual love, or if some other action or event is involved in this process. If we take Descartes to mean that passionate love alone causes the soul to experience intellectual love, this reading would be in tension with the causal principle. The solution that I offer, the Indirect Disposition View, suggests that the disposition between passionate and intellectual love should not be interpreted as being direct. That is, when Descartes claims that the “confused thought” of passionate love “makes it disposed to have the other, clearer thought which constitutes rational love” he does not mean that passionate love directly causes the soul to experience intellectual love (The Correspondence; ATIV 602-3, CSMK 306). Rather, I argue that we can interpret Descartes to mean that passionate love allows the soul to experience intellectual love by means of some other actions. Through the Indirect Disposition View, I contend that when passionate love is felt in the soul, such love incites the soul to some other volitions or actions, which in turn disposes the soul to experience intellectual love. If we take passionate love to indirectly dispose the soul to intellectual love, I argue, we can avoid any tensions between the claims Descartes makes regarding the relations between passionate and intellectual love, and the causal principle presented in excerpts of the Meditations and the Principles of Philosophy. Because my intent is to explain how these two kinds of love are involved in the meditative process by means of which ideas are rendered clear and distinct, I shall turn to William Beardsley, a contemporary scholar who has recently provided an account of love in the work of the Meditations. In the section that follows, I shall present Beardsley’s view on love. His view is worthy of consideration insofar as it directs our attention towards the relation between passionate and intellectual love during meditation.

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Beardsley’s Account of Love In Love in the Ruins, Beardsley provides a reading of the Meditations through an account of emotions. Particularly, he suggests that passionate and intellectual love are involved in the meditative process by means of which ideas are rendered clear and distinct in the mind. Beardsley characterizes the work of the Meditations as a “drama of separation and renewed commitment” (Beardsley, 34). What Beardsley means is that an idea becomes clear and distinct as a result of what he refers to as “negative” and “positive” phases (Beardsley, 40). Citing Descartes, he claims that the “negative” phase of meditation requires acts of disengagement from false opinions or objects that “appear harmful or unsuitable to the mind’s nature as a thinking thing” (Beardsley, 35). In other words, Beardsley maintains that perceptions are made distinct “by stripping away features that, while part of the original manifest or explicit content, are not in fact linked to the perception in the proper way” (Beardsley, 39). He provides the example of wax to show what he means (Beardsley, 39-40). The perception of the idea of wax becomes distinct through a process by which the meditator is able to successfully exclude some features—such as the taste and smell of the honeycomb—from the idea of wax (Beardsley, 39-40). Because these features should remain excluded in the future—insofar as they do not belong to the essence of wax—Beardsley suggests that something like the passion of hate is evoked in early meditation in order to “dispose the soul to ‘separate itself willingly’ from objects now perceived to be dangerous and unsuitable” (Beardsley, 40). Beardsley indicates that the passion of hate is the result of Descartes’ “deliberate strategy” to construct the image of the evil deceiver (Beardsley, 40, 45). He claims: [T]he demon is invoked as the cause of all deception and as related to the thinker in a personal way (all of his energies are employed to deceive and ensnare her judgment) in order to mobilize the passion of hate and dispose the soul towards sustained separation from the harmful objects of the senses. (Beardsley, 45)

The passion of hate, for Beardsley, disposes the soul to acts of intellectual hatred; that is, to “separate willingly” from objects that are “unsuitable” to the soul (Beardsley, 40). If I understand Beardsley correctly, the “negative” phase of meditation involves both intellectual and passionate hatred. Initially, intellectual hatred “strips away features” that render an idea obscure and confused, and later the passion of hate sustains

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The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations

this exclusion by disposing the soul to renew acts of intellectual hatred (Beardsley, 39-40). While it is important to acknowledge the “negative” phase of meditation, Beardsley also believes that, for Descartes, an idea becomes clear and distinct through what he defines as a “positive” phase of clarification of perception by which the mind willfully acknowledges features that make up the full idea content (Beardsley, 42, 46). In other words, by the “positive” phase of meditation, Beardsley denotes the process of clarification of perception by which the meditator progressively gains a richer self-understanding 9 by willfully incorporating all those features that pertain to the essence of an idea (Beardsley, 41). Citing Descartes, Beardsley indicates that, “a perception is clear when ‘it is present and accessible to the attentive mind,’” and “it becomes clearer ‘the more properties or qualities we perceive in that thing’” (Beardsley, 39). Thus, Beardsley claims that a perception is clarified when “the more implicit features of the conceived object are acknowledged and joined with the growing explicit or manifest content” (Beardsley, 39). He writes, “the thought of existence, for example, can no more be separated from her thought of a supremely perfect being than her ‘idea of a mountain can be separated from an idea of a valley’” (Beardsley, 35). Being in so much harmony with our nature as thinkers, the soul cannot help but consider existence as part of the content of the idea of God. According to Beardsley’s interpretation, to recognize that “existence” cannot be separated from the idea of “a supremely perfect being” is analogous to a judgment or act of will towards a perception. This judgment, he suggests, is made explicit through an act of intellectual love. Employing Descartes’ language, Beardsley interprets intellectual love as “an act of the will directed towards some representation, in this case, the complex of perception of the present or absent good and perception of the soul itself” (Beardsley, 37-8). Like affirming and denying, he claims, intellectual love is an “action or movement of the will” experienced whenever the soul “considers itself and its object as forming ‘two parts of a single whole’” (Beardsley, 42). Beardsley maintains that Descartes believes all perceptions or representations that are in harmony with our essence as thinkers are acknowledged through a “willful attitude” of intellectual love (Beardsley, 38). By setting forward this view, he wishes to prove that intellectual love is involved in the process of clarification of perception (Beardsley, 42-3; 45). He writes: The harmonies are there in the soul all along, of course. I am suggesting that the positive phase of the task requires not just that they be noticed,

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perhaps only to be put aside, but that they be acknowledged, endorsed and embraced. Clarity requires the appropriation of new idea content. This is the role of intellectual love. (Beardsley, 42)

Intellectual love makes explicit features or inferential patterns that are part of the content of an idea. As a result, according to Beardsley, this intellectual emotion facilitates the meditative process by which an idea becomes clear and distinct in the mind. Nevertheless, will intellectual love alone be sufficient to sustain clarity of perception, and further, clear and distinct perception in the future? Beardsley’s answer is no. He argues that meditation is not simply a means by which truths are revealed or made explicit, but it also functions as a practice and method by which proper habits are formed in the soul (Beardsley, 43). Beardsley believes that all those features or inferential patterns made explicit through acts of intellectual love cannot be attended to in the future unless some proper disposition is installed in the soul (Beardsley, 42-3). In order to overcome the meditator’s limited attentive capacity, Beardsley argues that passionate love plays a subsidiary role during meditation in Descartes’ understanding (Beardsley, 43). That is, he suggests that passionate love (experienced during meditation) plays its role by training the soul to renew acts of intellectual love. Since the passions’ proper function is to dispose the soul to some volitions or actions of the soul, Beardsley contends that passionate love: [D]isposes the soul toward continued acts of joining and strengthens and sustains volitional unions by causing the soul to dwell on perceptions of failed attempts at exclusion and conditioning habits of thought. (Beardsley, 43)

According to Beardsley, passionate love is the means by which acts of intellectual love are renewed in the soul so that the same features or inferential connections that we have come to see pertaining to an idea can be maintained and acknowledged in the future. He interprets Descartes in this way based on one specific claim made in a letter addressed to Chanut. Here, Descartes writes, “sensual or sensuous love is nothing but a confused thought, aroused in the soul by some motion of the nerves, which makes it disposed to have the other, clearer, thought which constitutes rational love” (The Correspondence; ATIV 602-3, CSMK 306). For Beardsley, the feeling of “adoration” 10 —as a result of the contemplation of the idea of God in the Third Meditation—is a genuine passionate love for God (Beardsley, 45). Descartes truly believed, Beardsley claims, that a genuine passionate love for God would help the

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The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations

soul in sustaining future acts of intellectual love, and, in turn, clarity of perception (Beardsley, 45). He writes: [W]hen some lovable object is presented to the soul an impression is formed in the brain, which in turn leads to a complex set of changes in the animal spirit system involving the heart. These bodily changes are the cause of that thought which is the passion of love. This thought both strengthens the original perception and incites the soul to a subsequent movement of the will. (Beardsley, 37; my emphasis)

Here, Beardsley appears to suggest that passionate love directly disposes the soul to intellectual love. Although Beardsley is never explicit about what kind of disposition he is referring to, additional remarks made at the end of his essay seem to confirm that he must be upholding such a view, which I will call a Direct Disposition View. He claims: An image of God as the source of truth and light and as specifically related to the thinker...agitates the spirits and causes a passionate love which incites acts of intellectual or rational love and sustains previous acts of union. (Beardsley, 45)

My concern with Beardsley’s view is about the claims he makes with regards to the relationship between passionate and intellectual love. That is, how could a confused thought as passionate love dispose the soul to the clear thought of rational or intellectual love? Since Beardsley contends that passionate love “incites” the soul to experience intellectual love, I argue that his view is inconsistent with the causal principle by which Descartes claims “which is more perfect cannot arise from what is less perfect” or that “for an idea to contain such and such objective reality, it must surely derive it from some cause which contains at least as much formal reality as there is objective reality in the idea” (Meditations; ATVII 40-1, CSMII 28). Beardsley attempts to solve this issue by simply arguing that Descartes must be referring to the passionate love for God (Beardsley, 44-5). Since God created those features that make up the content of an idea, Beardsley holds that a genuine passionate love for God would dispose the soul to dwell on past perceptions of failed attempts at exclusion and future acts of intellectual love (Beardsley 43-5). Beardsley relies on Descartes’ assertion at the end of the Third Meditation to suggest that passionate love for God can be experienced during meditation. Once the mind clearly and distinctly perceives God, Descartes writes, “I should like to pause here and spend some time in the contemplation of God; to reflect on his attributes and to gaze with wonder and adoration on the beauty of this immense

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light” (Meditations; ATVII 53, CSMII 36; my emphasis). This claim and further evidence presented in Descartes’ letter to Chanut11 gives Beardsley reason to think that, indeed, passionate love for God guarantees proper habits of thought by directly disposing the soul to intellectual love. The simplified description below indicates how we might apply Beardsley’s Direct Disposition View to show how, for Descartes, the perception of God is rendered clear and distinct and how such clarity and distinctness of perception is maintained in the future. (See Figure 1) According to Beardsley, meditation enables the soul to acknowledge the inferential connections by which the idea of God is perceived clearly. When the soul is freed from false opinions and has disrupted all the wrong habits formed in the soul during childhood, the meditator would be able to consider the idea of God and the soul’s relation to such an idea. In the Third Meditation Descartes writes, “I perceive that likeness [with God], which includes the idea of God, by the same faculty which enables me to perceive myself” (Meditations; ATVII 52, CSMII 35). The “likeness” by which Descartes is able to perceive God is, according to Beardsley, made explicit through acts of intellectual love, which has the function to allow the meditator to acknowledge the relation between finite minds and God’s infinity, as well as their dependence upon God (Beardsley, 44-5). Once these links or features are embraced by means of intellectual love (and the inferential patterns that do not pertain to the idea of God remain excluded), the mind would be able to clearly and distinctly perceive God, developing, as a result, a sincere passionate love for God. In turn, such passionate love sustains a clear and distinct perception of God later in the Fifth Meditation by disposing the soul to acts of intellectual love, therefore enabling the soul to clearly and distinctly perceive God a second time at the end of the Fifth Meditation. Beardsley’s Direct Disposition View provides us with a better understanding of the process by which an idea—in this case, the idea of God—becomes clear and distinct in the mind. Nevertheless, does Beardsley’s account sufficiently demonstrate how the Cartesian idea of the confused thought of passionate love can dispose the soul to the clearer thought of intellectual or rational love? I suggest that it does not. In the next section I will address this issue. Then, I shall provide a solution to the problem allowing us to avoid any inconsistencies that Beardsley’s stance might raise.

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The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations

Fig.1. The Direct Disposition View: Meditation yields intellectual love. In turn, intellectual love yields clarity of perception, and further clear and distinct perception and passionate love for God in the Third Meditation. Passionate love for God disposes the soul to intellectual love, which in turn yields clarity of perception and further clear and distinct perception of God a second time in the Fifth Meditation.

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Critique Beardsley’s Direct Disposition View lacks some further explanations that would help us answer the concern raised in the previous section about the relation between passionate and intellectual love. In what follows, I will examine Beardsley’s answer to this issue and argue that his account is insufficient. Beardsley holds that a genuine passion of love for God results from the Third Meditation once the mind clearly and distinctly perceives the idea of God (Beardsley, 44). However, he also claims that his focus is to explain the role played by passionate and intellectual love in the Fifth Meditation; namely, how passionate and intellectual love play their role in the process by which an idea is rendered clear in the mind (Beardsley, 45). As Beardsley focuses primarily on the Fifth Meditation to prove the Direct Disposition View, we shall assume that acts of intellectual love are renewed in the soul only during the Fifth Meditation, when the meditator contemplates the idea of God a second time. Now, if Beardsley were committed to understanding the relation between passionate and intellectual love as a direct disposition, it is inexplicable how a passionate love for God—experienced in the Third Meditation—can directly dispose the soul to new acts of intellectual love in the Fifth Meditation. Additionally, it is well understood that Descartes’ Fourth Meditation is essential to the process of meditation because it teaches the meditator how to avoid error and provides her with the proper tools to acquire the truth (Meditations; ATVII 62, CSMII 43). According to Descartes, the meditator must learn that error derives from a misuse of her will; namely, when we make judgments about things that we don’t fully understand (Meditations; ATVII 61, CSMII 42). Only if we are equipped with this knowledge can we pave the way for the attainment of truth. Also, the Fourth Meditation plays a major role in the work of the Meditations because it supplies the meditator with proper solutions to avoid errors and to make judgments only when we clearly and distinctly perceive something; that is, to restrain the will so that it only extends to what the intellect clearly and distinctly perceives (Meditations; ATVII 62, CSMII 43). Furthermore, since meditation requires a level of engagement with the concepts of truth and falsity before considering any ideas anew, passionate love for God cannot directly dispose the soul to intellectual love without first undergoing the proper steps necessary for such disposition to occur. Beardsley could argue that passionate love for God is felt in the soul both in the Fourth and Fifth Meditations. Indeed, he might contend that

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The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations

Descartes’ references to the idea of God throughout the Fourth Meditation are meant to stir up and strengthen the passionate love for God felt at the end of the Third Meditation. It is also likely that Beardsley would interpret such references to God’s idea as acts of intellectual love. In other words, he might suggest that when Descartes asserts that there is “no doubt that God could have given me a nature such that I was never mistaken” and that “there is no doubt that he always wills what is best”, this consideration of the idea of God is supposed to stir up some passionate love for God and, further, some intellectual love that makes us join with those inferential patterns of thought that allow our soul to perceive things clearly12 (Meditations; ATVII 55, CSMII 38). To interpret Descartes in this way would still raise the question of how a confused thought such as passionate love can directly dispose the soul to the clear thought of intellectual love in Descartes’ rationalist project of the Meditations. In the Third Meditation, Descartes presents the causal principle. Such principle suggests that something more perfect cannot be caused by something less perfect (Meditations; ATVII 40-1, CSMII 28). Here, Descartes writes, “for an idea to contain such and such objective reality, it must surely derive it from some cause which contains at least as much formal reality as there is objective reality in the idea (Meditations; ATVII 41, CSMII 28). The main point Descartes is trying to convey with the causal principle is that something—in this case, the clear thought of intellectual love—must be caused by something that contains the reality of that thought either actually (i.e., formally) or in some higher form (i.e., eminently). Beardsley’s Direct Disposition View, I argue, is inconsistent with respect to such a principle. Further, Beardsley’s account is in tension with Descartes’ meditative practice. Descartes meant to write the Meditations to escape from obscurity and confusion, not to use confused thoughts (such as passions) for the attainment of clear and distinct perception of ideas. Although Beardsley acknowledges that the confused thought of passionate love simply plays a subsidiary role in the process by which a perception of an idea is rendered clear in the mind, he also holds a Direct Disposition View by which a confused thought, in this case passionate love, is thought to directly cause the soul to experience the clear thought of rational or intellectual love. To interpret the relation between passionate and intellectual love in this way, I argue, is in tension with Descartes’ goal in the Meditations and with a systematic point about Descartes’ philosophy regarding the causal principle. It is true that, for Descartes, the function of all the passions is to “dispose our soul to want the things which nature deems useful for us, and

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to persist in this volition” (PS.art.52;ATXI372,CSMI349). Nevertheless, should we interpret this action or volition to be the clear thought of intellectual love? I suggest that we should not. As main evidence to his view, Beardsley provides the following passage, which is from a letter Descartes wrote to Chanut: “sensual or sensuous love is nothing but a confused thought, aroused in the soul by some motion of the nerves, which makes it disposed to have the other, clearer, thought which constitutes rational love” (The Correspondence; ATIV 602-3, CSMK 306). Although this passage appears to support Beardsley’s Direct Disposition View, as shown, such interpretation is inconsistent with regard to the larger project of the Meditations. Moreover, before making any further suggestions, I shall first explain how this passage can be understood in a way that would avoid any worries Beardsley’s interpretation might raise concerning the relation between passionate and intellectual love.

Application of the Indirect Disposition View to The Meditations The letter to Chanut—cited directly by Beardsley to support his reading of Descartes—should not be interpreted as implying the Direct Disposition View. Rather, as I have argued through the Indirect Disposition View, we can take Descartes’ claim that “sensual or sensuous love is nothing but a confused thought, aroused in the soul by some motion of the nerves, which makes it disposed to have the other, clear thought which constitute rational love” to simply suggest that an indirect relation or disposition exists between the two thoughts, passionate and intellectual love (The Correspondence; ATIV 6023, CSMK 306). In other words, when Descartes writes that the “confused thought of sensual or sensuous love” can dispose the soul “to the other, clearer, thought of rational or intellectual love”, he must mean that passionate love causes some other volitions or actions in the soul to occur, which in turn dispose the soul to the clear thought of intellectual love. As shown in the previous pages, passionate love for God is experienced as a result of the Third Meditation. At this point in the meditation, the idea of God is clear and distinct in the mind, and, as a result, the reader will be able to develop a sincere passionate love for God. However, we see that once passionate love for God is felt in the soul, the meditator must undertake more meditation about truth and falsity as a prerequisite for future contemplation of the idea of God and for disposing the soul to future acts of intellectual love. Thus, I argue, meditation is the means or action by which passionate love indirectly disposes the soul to

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The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations

Fig.2. The Indirect Disposition View: Meditation yields intellectual love. In turn, intellectual love yields clarity of perception, and further, clear and distinct perception of God and passionate love for God at the end of the Third Meditation. Passionate love for God disposes the meditator to more meditation (Fourth Meditation), which in turn yields intellectual love. Further, intellectual love yields clarity of perception and clear and distinct perception of God a second time in the Fifth Meditation.

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intellectual love; this is illustrated by the figure below (See figure 2). In the Meditations, Descartes makes it clear that a further effort must be made to guarantee our understanding of God. This effort is the reader’s willingness to pursue more meditation despite her last accomplishment, i.e., the clear and distinct perception of God. The Fourth Meditation is essential for Descartes because it allows the soul to gain an understanding regarding the concepts of truth and falsity; further, it provides the meditator with proper weapons to avoid error in later meditations. Since the Fourth Meditation is an essential step one must undergo in order to clearly and distinctly perceive ideas in the future, I argue that passionate love can be understood as disposing the soul to intellectual love by means of meditation—namely the cognitive exercises involved in each of Descartes’ six meditations. In other words, the passionate love for God resulting from the meditative practice, by which the idea of God is clearly and distinctly perceived, motivates the soul to pursue more meditation about truth and falsity, which in turn disposes the soul to future acts of intellectual love later in the Fifth Meditation. This interpretation will be consistent with Descartes’ view on the passions, particularly with regards to the passions’ proper function, because it presents an account of how passionate love disposes the soul to some volitions that are good for the soul. Also, the Indirect Disposition View provides an account of the relationship between passionate and intellectual love that is coherent with regard to the causal principle, which suggests that something more perfect cannot be caused by something less perfect. If we accept the Indirect Disposition View, we would be able to shed light on Descartes’ claim made in the letter addressed to Chanut, and it would also allow Descartes to consistently hold the causal principle. Also, this interpretation would help solve any inconsistencies the Direct Disposition View raises without harming Beardsley’s interpretation of Descartes.

Conclusion As it is well known, Descartes wrote the Meditations to provide arguments that would lead us to knowledge of our own nature as thinkers, as well as knowledge of God and the physical world. Since the Meditations is considered to be strictly a rationalist project, it has been far harder to present a reading of such work through an account of emotions. On the other hand, in contemporary times, few scholars13 have gone to great lengths to demonstrate that Descartes believed emotions play an essential role in the work of the Meditations. William Beardsley is one of

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The Role of Love in Descartes’ Meditations

those few scholars that have attempted this task. He believes that passionate and intellectual love are involved in the attainment and sustainment of clarification of the perception of innate ideas. Despite Beardsley’s effort to provide a sufficient view of emotions in the Cartesian work of the Meditations, his Direct Disposition View poses some issues with regard to our general understanding of the meditations. In setting forward the Indirect Disposition View, I have showed that meditation is the means by which passionate love can dispose the soul to experience intellectual love. That is, Descartes’ meditator comes to experience intellectual love in the Fifth Meditation as a result of some properly motivated meditation. Once passionate love for God disposes the meditator to engage in more meditation, intellectual love will be experienced in the soul, and clarity of perception and further clear and distinct perception of ideas result from this further effort. With this new understanding of the relationship between passionate and intellectual love, I argue, it is possible to provide an account of emotions in the Cartesian work of the Meditations and avoid any inconsistencies raised in Beardsley’s Direct Disposition View.

References Alanen, Lilli. “Passions and Embodiment Intentionality.” In Descartes’s Concept of Mind, Harvard University Press, (2003), pp. 165-207. Beardsley, William. “Love in the Ruins: Passion in Descartes’ Meditations.” In Persons and Passions: Essays in Honor of Annette Baier, University of Notre Dame Press, (May 28, 2005), pp. 34-47. Brown, Deborah J. “Wonder and Love: Extending the Boundaries of the Cartesian Knower and the Cartesian Self.” In Descartes and the Passionate Mind, Cambridge University Press, (2008), p. 141-164. Descartes, René. The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, vols. I and II, edited and translated by J. Cottingham, R. Stoothoff, and D. Murdoch, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, (1984-1985); and The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, vol. III, edited and translated by J. Cottingham, R. Stoothoff, D. Murdoch, and A. Kenny, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, (1991). Hoffman, Paul. “Three Dualist Theories of the Passions.” Philosophical Topics, 19 (1991): 153-200. Schmitter, Amy Morgan. “Descartes and the Primacy of Practice: the Role of the Passions in the Search for Truth.” Philosophical Studies, (108: 99-108, 2002), Kluwer Academic Publishers.

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—. “The Passionate Intellect: Reading the (Non-)Opposition of Reason and Emotions in Descartes.” In Persons and Passions: Essays in Honor of Annette Baier. University of Notre Dame Press, 2005, pp.4882. —. “Representation, Self-Representation, and the Passions in Descartes.” Review of Metaphysics, 48 (1994): 331-357. Shapiro, Lisa. “What Are the Passions Doing in the Meditations?” In Persons and Passions: Essays in Honor of Annette Baier. University of Notre Dame Press, 2005, pp.14-33. Williston, Byron. “Descartes on Love and/as Error.” Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol.58 (1997): 429-444.

Notes 1 See Shapiro, Lisa; “What are the Passions Doing in the Meditations?” In Persons and Passions: Essays in Honor of Annette Baier. See also Beardsley, William “Love in the Ruins: Passion in Descartes’ Meditations” in Persons and Passions: Essays in Honor of Annette Baier, University of Notre Dame Press, (May 28, 2005), p.34-47. 2 See Beardsley, William; “Love in the Ruins: Passion in Descartes’ Meditations” in Persons and Passions: Essays in Honor of Annette Baier, University of Notre Dame Press (May 28, 2005), p.34-47. 3 Descartes makes a further distinction between volitions that terminate in our body (e.g. the will to walk) and the volitions that terminate in our soul (e.g. the will to love God). See PS. art.18;ATXI 343, CSMI 335. 4 See PS. art.10; ATXI 335, CSMI 331-2. 5 See PS. art.50; ATXI 369-70, CSMI 348. 6 See Alanen, Lilli; Passions and Embodiment Intentionality” In Descartes’s Concept of Mind, Harvard University Press, (2003), p. 195. For more references about the distinction between passionate and intellectual emotions in Descartes’ work See Williston, Byron; “Descartes on Love and/as Error,” Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol.58, No.3, (July 1997), p. 434-5 and p. 442. See also Hoffman, Paul; “Three Dualist Theories of the Passions,” Philosophical Topics, Vol.19, No.1, (1991), p.164-5. 7 Lilli Alanen argues that it is quasi impossible that any embodied mind will experience an intellectual emotion in its “purity.”She claims that “Because no thoughts ever come slightly to a Cartesian mind, and because the institution of nature has joined each thought to some bodily movement, all intellectual emotions are immediately followed by cerebral movements, which, according to mechanical laws, cause other thoughts and emotions. Thus the intellectual love for the purest objects, whether God or rational knowledge, normally comes with all the obscure feelings and sentiments that were connected with that emotion during our first

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experience of love.” See Alanen, Lilli in“Passions and Embodiment Intentionality” in Descartes’s Concept of Mind, Harvard University Press, (2003), p. 196. 8 See Descartes, Meditations; ATVII 40-1, CSMII 28; and PP art.18; ATVIIIA 112, CSMI 199. 9 Albeit in a different fashion, a similar account regarding the attainment of selfunderstanding or self-representation during the process of meditation is presented by Amy Morgan Schmitter in “Representation, Self-Representation and the Passions, in Descartes,” Review of Metaphysics, Vol.48, No.2, (December 1994): 331-357. 10 As a result of clear and distinct perception of God, Descartes asserts that, “I should like to pause here and spend some time in contemplation of God; to reflect on his attributes, and to gaze with wonder and adoration on the beauty of this immense light, so far as the eye of my darkened intellect can bear it.” (Meditations; ATVII 52, CSMII 36; my emphasis). 11 See To Chanut, 1 February 1647 (The Correspondence; 608-10, CSMK 30910). 12 See also Descartes’inquiries about the cause of truth and falsity later in Meditation Four. Here Descartes asserts that, “…every clear and distinct perception is undoubtedly something, and hence cannot come from nothing, but must necessarily have God for its author. Its author, I say, is supremely perfect, and who cannot be a deceiver on pain of contradiction; hence the perception is undoubtedly true” (Meditations; ATVII 62, CSMII 43). 13 See Shapiro, Lisa; “What are the Passions Doing in the Meditations?” in Persons and Passions: Essays in Honor of Annette Baier, University of Notre Dame Press, (May 28, 2005), p. 14-33. Schmitter, Amy Morgan; “Descartes and the Primacy of Practice: the Role of the Passions in the Search for Truth,” Philosophical Studies,(108: 99-108, 2002),Kluwer Academic Publishers. Schmitter, Amy Morgan; “The Passionate Intellect: Reading the (Non-)Opposition of Reason and Emotions in Descartes” in Persons and Passions: Essays in Honor of Annette Baier, University of Notre Dame Press, (May 28, 2005), p.48-82. For how emotions play a role in the search for truth see also, Brown, Deborah J.; “Wonder and Love; Extending the Boundaries of the Cartesian Knower and the Cartesian Self” in Descartes and the Passionate Mind, Cambridge University Press (2008), p. 141-164.

EMOTIONS, ETHICS, AND EQUALITY: HUMANITY (REN) AS “TRUE MORAL FEELING” MARY I. BOCKOVER

Introduction In this article, I use a comparative Western and ancient Chinese conceptual framework to show that emotions are comprised of an irreducible unity of affect and cognition,1 and also to explain that there is a “true moral feeling” about the humanity (ren) of others that—to be fair (yi)—must entail a feeling that these others possess value equal to our own.2 As for my first aim, I discuss how “emotionally relevant feelings” (ERFs) are “cognitive” but cannot be equated with belief, for ERFs entail belief but are not entailed by belief, and so they must be conceptually distinguished. Nor do ERFs entail the experience of specific bodily sensations, and so are not a combination of cognition and affect either. In the West, feelings have been misconceived because reason and affect have been taken to be independent, often mutually exclusive faculties. My second aim, using the ancient Chinese philosophies of Confucius and Mencius, is to account for how the true moral feeling or “virtue” for “realizing humaneness” (ren) can be assisted in its aim by yi: the (true) moral feeling that others should be treated as morally equal to us despite our differences. My analysis provides an explicit mechanism lacking in Confucianism for critiquing unjust designations of power and privilege. I bring to light the problem that role differences may not be ren or “truly humanizing” even when they are mutually beneficial. Progressively higher levels of human flourishing (ren) may indeed require reflective critique of roles that are not “equal” in not embodying reciprocal benefits, which is often the case when one group (e.g., males) benefits at the expense of another (e.g., females). As such, I explicitly show how social critique is consistent with the ultimate Confucian aim of extending humanity (ren) to others.3



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Emotions Marginalized in Western Philosophy The concept of emotion has been misconceived in the West because reason and affect have been treated as independent, and often mutually exclusive faculties. This misconception has only grown worse in the history of ideas in the West. In ancient Greece, the relationship between reason and the “passions” was at least seen as co-operative. Aristotle saw virtues as “passions and actions in the right amount,” where the role of reason was to regulate the passions so that they could become proper feelings—or reasonable and right responses to a situation.4 Feeling was the raw material to be moulded into right action, and reason was the tool that gave “affect” its proper shape, that conditioned us to feel the right thing at the right time. The goal was not to eliminate the passions but rather, to make us consistently able to feel appropriately, which in turn would motivate us to act appropriately—that is, virtuously. Excellence in action was conceptually tied to developing the skill of feeling the right way, which of course was the reasonable way, but reason did not operate on its own. In this way, Aristotle made emotion essential to our being ethical. Even though reason was still distinguished as the faculty making us uniquely human—a separate faculty that regulates the passions—the role of emotion was still vital in the understanding of what it meant to live an ethical, fully flourishing human life. Modernity was not so charitable when it came to understanding emotion. This is seen in the philosophy of Descartes who concluded that the “mind”, cogito, or “thing which thinks”—in being the only “thing” we can know with certainty—is the foundation for all else we can come to know by extension.5 We can know the cogito indubitably or without doubt, while the content, or what we think, is questionable. In effect, we cannot clearly determine whether or not we are being deceived,6 and we can even come to question the veracity of what we take to be necessary conceptual truths.7 But that we are experiencing something cannot be questioned. The content of what we consciously experience can be doubted but that we are conscious cannot. Descartes put his conceptual finger on the very “thing” that allows us to have any experience in the first place—the cogito or “thing which thinks”. That is, the only “thing” that we can know without doubt is that we are conscious beings most fundamentally. I would refine this by saying that Descartes identified self-consciousness as what defines us most essentially. He came to this conclusion through a reflective meditation that aimed to establish what we could “know” beyond question. I point out here that, technically, it was not just



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consciousness left standing. It was the realization that I am conscious. This is indubitable regardless of whether or not I can trust the content of my conscious experiences, as their content can be either true or false (which is the problem). So the “I am” of Descartes’ dictum, “I think, therefore, I am” really is “I am aware that ‘I am conscious’.” None of us can doubt our own subjectivity. Rather than identifying this essence of our being with “thinking,” then, Descartes actually identified self-awareness. This is no small point. In the Second Meditation, he asks, “But what then am I? A thinking being. What is a thinking being? It is a being which doubts, which understands, which affirms, which denies, which wills, which rejects, which imagines also, and which perceives” (Descartes, 27). The cogito or “thing” that does all this “thinking” is what we can know indubitably, every time we consider it. But what the cogito thinks can be either true or false, so the contents of our (self-) conscious experiences are always thrown into doubt. Nonetheless, the cogito’s knowledge—or awareness of itself—is indubitable. The relevance of this technical point is this: Descartes’ identification of “the thinker” or faculty of thought as the one that can take us beyond doubt, went so far as to abstract thinking as a faculty from its content, but moreover, elevated thinking as the faculty by which all knowledge is gained. Western philosophy has viewed reason as the superior human faculty from the time of ancient Greece. Then Descartes’ equivocation of cognition with “thinking”, and by extension the faculty of reason, only served to reinforce that view, as well as the view that mental events like beliefs and judgments, in contrast with events he linked to the body like passions and sensations, are qualitatively different. In his Passions of the Soul,8 Descartes says the passions are: “the perceptions, sensations, or commotions of the soul which we relate particularly to the soul and are caused, maintained, and strengthened by some movement of the spirits” (art. 27). These “spirits” were “animal spirits”, a notion that Descartes tied to physiology. Passions thus were taken to be akin to bodily sensations that are dubitable precisely because they are bodily. In short, in the Passions, the mind-body dichotomy that Descartes is renowned for crystallizing in the West, led him to conclude that what we now call emotions are caused by animal spirits produced in the blood, that are responsible for the physical stimulation causing the body to move. So for Descartes, the passions of the soul were bodily as opposed to our thoughts which were essentially cognitive, which I claim misrepresents the faculty of cognition itself. All cognitive acts are intensional—thoughts, dreams, feelings, perceptions, images, and even sensations—so long as they have “objective” content that can be either true or false.9 The content of our



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thoughts gain no special privilege. In conclusion, then, that Descartes found the “self”, “mind”, or cogito’s knowledge of itself to be doubtless, does not lead to the conclusion that what is thought is more immune from doubt than the content of any other kind of cognitive event. Nor should we conclude that other types of conscious experience are not cognitive in being tied to the body. Descartes’ cogito ergo sum or “I think, therefore I am”, marginalized emotion from the category of cognition, first, in making mind and body metaphysically distinct, and then in identifying emotion with non-intensional bodily events that do not have a truth-value. Without covering the entire history of ideas in the West that excluded emotion from the category of cognition, it is worth noting that Kant, another towering figure in Western philosophy, even further reinforced the view that reason was qualitatively different from affect.10 Not only was reason thought to be categorically different, according to Kant, it was clearly superior to contingent, subjective, “psychological” states like emotions. And the fact that emotion entailed an affective quality was precisely what made it unreliable. Reason was the only faculty that could give rise to maxims that could be valid universally and so was the very source of objectivity. One of Kant’s most brilliant contributions was his argument for how moral agency rests on the will being determined a priori or “before the fact” to be rational and autonomous (i.e., free).11 Morality is possible only because we are rational, free agents. The role that contingent psychological states played for Kant was a purely subjective one that did not aid, and often interfered with the execution of reason. The emotions were steadily and thoroughly marginalized after Descartes because they were identified as being a type of experience that cannot be trusted, at least not with the veracity of reason. Reason—and the intellectual processes identified with it—was abstracted away from the stuff of experience that might interfere with our ability to think clearly. Reason was identified as superior in being the faculty that distinguishes true from false, right from wrong. From the time of the ancient Greeks down to the present age in the West, reason has been regarded as special, and we humans have regarded ourselves as special, or at least as distinctive, by virtue of our rationality. There is something right about this observation. Passion does have the tendency to make it hard to think clearly. But there is something wrong about it too—because our feelings can be critical to understanding a situation more broadly. Moreover, in practice it may be impossible to separate “purely rational” from “affective” experience. If this is the case—if we identify the roles of reason and affect abstractly and only after the fact of the experience—we have to at least question the implications that metaphysical bifurcation



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may have produced that could distort our understanding of that experience. I will argue in the next section that the truth or falsity that attaches to reason also attaches to our emotions once we see that they have cognitive content too. Indeed, once we see affect as also being objectively directed and entailing a truth-value, the affective quality of the experience can be brought into finer focus.

Preface to the Argument for the “Intensionality” of Emotions In response to the historical marginalization of the concept of emotion, one that excluded emotions from the category of cognitive activities altogether, 20th century philosophers like Bedford12 and Solomon13 argued that emotions were judgments or beliefs. This radical view put emotion back into a category of things that could be considered reasonable, moral, and essential to living a full human life. As I see it, the problem is that Bedford and Solomon were responding to a false dichotomy between reason and affect that had already become so conceptually entrenched, that their response was simply to take emotion from the side of the dichotomy that included all of the stuff of experience that has no truth-value, like sensations that at least typically are not thought of as being true or false, and put it into the other “cognitive” side. My solution to false dichotomies is to take the “bull by the horns” and go through the middle, so to speak. I claim that the concept of “feeling” relevant to understanding emotion forms an irreducible unity of affect and cognition. The problem is with the dichotomy itself, or the way emotions were conceptually stripped of their cognitive quality and put into an opposing category comprised of experiences with no cognitive content (such as sensations, reflexes, and the like). This is the underlying thesis of this article: emotions, as well as what we feel in having them, are cognitive activities. The affective quality of emotion—or what I call “Emotionally Relevant Feeling” (ERF)—is cognitive but cannot be equated with belief: ERFs entail belief, but are not entailed by belief, and so must be conceptually distinguished. The application of this thesis to (gender) inequity will be made after elucidating the concept of emotion, in order to show that a feeling of humanity (ren), to be truly moral, must be tied to a correlative feeling of equality (yi). I will use ancient Chinese thought—mainly Confucian ethics—to show how emotions can be morally relevant as well as “true”.



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The Argument for the Intensionality of Emotions To restate the thesis of the first main argument: emotion conceptually entails a unity of affect and cognition—inseparable qualities of the same emotion that can be “separated” for the purpose of analysis only. When the emotion is occurring or being “felt”, that ERF is a cognitive event of an affective quality. Or, the ERF is an affective event that is cognitive in nature. It does not matter which way the event is described because the ERF entails both affect and objective or “cognitive” direction. More accurately, the affect is cognitive. The ERF does not consist of affective experience on the one hand, and cognitive event on the other. The affective experience of the emotion is cognitive in and of itself. Consider this example. Carmen is angry with her roommate for taking her book again without asking. Carmen’s anger entails her believing that “her roommate took her book without asking”, but Carmen’s having this belief does not entail that she feels angry with her roommate. For example, she could feel sorry for her for being so absent-minded. Or she could feel resentful that her roommate can take so much for granted that she does not question how much this impacts Carmen’s ability to study. Or Carmen might feel happy that her roommate took her book without asking because she again has a legitimate excuse to put off studying for that dreaded test, etc. The point of this example is, first, to show that the emotion (or ERF) of anger is cognitive and so has a truth-value. Second, it shows that the emotion being experienced is distinctively affective in entailing belief but not in being entailed by that belief. If Carmen were to find her book where she forgot she left it, her anger toward Carmen for “taking it” would no longer be justified. It would not be justified because the cognitive content of Carmen’s anger—that her roommate took her book without asking—is false. This would give Carmen good reason to stop feeling angry, and perhaps even to feel something else instead—like shame, embarrassment, relief, happiness, etc.—upon finding that she had misplaced the book instead of believing that her roommate had taken it. Emotions in general, and ERFs in particular, entail belief but are not entailed by belief, which is to say that the cognitive content of the emotion is just too vague and too general to capture the distinctive feeling connected with it.

The “Cognitive” and Dispositional Qualities of Emotion Emotions are motivational experiences that are felt and (cognitively) directed based on what one believes is true about a situation. Carmen’s



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anger at her roommate for taking her book without asking entails her believing that this is true. The object or cognitive content of Carmen’s anger—that “her roommate took her book without asking”—is the reason she is angry with her. The ERF, or emotion as it is presently felt, will influence the way Carmen will interact with her. As long as she continues to believe that the content of her experience is true, she will continue to “feel” this way about her roommate, presently or as a disposition to feel anger, until she has reason to feel otherwise. Of course Carmen will not necessarily feel the anger for the whole time she takes the belief to be true. The concept of emotion entails the disposition to feel (anger) as well. For example, Carmen may shift her attention away from this object in order to focus on something less distressing. In effect, the object of her anger then retreats from the centre of her awareness. But when her roommate comes home, the feeling will have a tendency to return, with more or less strength. The time in between the first, and later, occurrences of the feeling often makes a difference. Carmen may have “cooled off” during that time, which is a reason many people choose to wait on acting on their emotions even if they think them justified. But there is no certain formula to this. Even if Carmen was distracted by enjoyable experiences during the time between the first feeling and its reoccurrence, she may feel the recurrent anger even more strongly. One could imagine that the emotion had time to “fester”, which I think means an accumulation of experiences had time to coalesce in a way that reinforced her anger even more. Having a disposition means having a tendency to think, feel, and act in particular ways. A disposition can be supported by something inherent in one’s personality or the result of conditioning or accumulated experience. But to the degree that the event supporting it has cognitive content as emotions do, the justifiability of the emotion at least should make a difference.

The “Affective” and Motivational Qualities of Emotion Emotions, and what we feel in having them, are cognitive in having a truth-value, like propositions more generally. From this, Bedford claimed that emotions were “judgments”, and Solomon, that they were “beliefs”. My objection to saying that emotion is a judgment or a belief is that that type of cognitive event is not specific enough to capture the distinctively affective quality of emotion and therefore misrepresents the type of cognitive activity that emotion is. Emotions are essentially affective and entail cognitive content and direction in and of themselves. Equivocating emotion with “purely” cognitive events like judgments or beliefs, simply cannot sufficiently account for differences between emotions.



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Another way to say this is that emotions are not “just cognitive”, if what we mean by “cognitive” is exhausted by activities more “purely” associated with reason, such as judgment and belief. My affective account of emotion requires the deconstruction of the dichotomy between thought and affect that has been in place in the mainstream Western philosophical tradition since its inception. Treating thought and affect as independent— even mutually exclusive—categories has led us to misunderstand emotion that is cognitive and affective. The misunderstanding can be clarified by recognizing that cognition is a broader category than either thought or affect. Experiences, activities and events are cognitive in virtue of entailing objects that—at least in principle—can be propositionally identified. That is to say, they have intensional direction or are about something, which would include the more standard “rational” activities such as judging and believing, as well as our experiences of emotions, dreams, memories, our speculations, and the like. Any intensional activity, i.e., with content that can (in principle) be identified, is cognitive. Even when these activities become less “active” and join the reservoir of other dispositions, they are still a part of our experiential history, and most critically, are amenable to rational critique. Experiences of beauty— another kind of affective experience—can also be added to this list, as long as they are experiences that are about something. What distinguishes that “something” for affective experiences, as opposed to a non-intensional event such as feeling hot or tired, is precisely that it can be assigned a truth-value. I am clear that for the less “purely” rational, or highly affective events we experience, it is more difficult to both identify and thereby assign the appropriate truth-value. However, that this can be done in principle is all that is needed to establish the intensionality of such experiences—or to establish that they have cognitive content and objective direction. To recap my first main argument, ERFs, and emotions more generally, entail beliefs but not the other way around. Stated another way, having an emotion requires believing that what the emotion is about is true, while the belief entailed in the emotion does not have to entail any one particular affective quality. Emotions form an irreducible unity of cognition and affect: a “feeling that” or “feeling about”, not adequately captured by nonaffective cognitive terms such as judgment and belief. Emotions are specific, affective and intensional activities that are also motivational. Because of her anger, Carmen may be motivated to have a conversation with her roommate about taking her things again without asking. Or she may be motivated to seek another living arrangement. Or she may be motivated to avoid the situation entirely because it involves



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personal confrontation, which may be distressful for Carmen. I must reiterate that, even though Carmen’s felt emotion has an object with a truth-value, this is not sufficient to account for what she feels, in addition to how she will be motivated to act in light of having the emotion. Instead of feeling angry, Carmen could have felt sorry, sad, happy, relieved, indignant, etc.—all of which would be different ways of feeling about the same emotional object. What is felt cannot be sufficiently accounted for by the belief it entails, but the belief does supply the reason for one’s feeling that way. Another key feature of my argument is that while emotions have a more specific affective-motivational quality than beliefs, they do not entail the experience of specific bodily sensations. They are embodied but the felt experience is contingent—i.e., cannot necessarily be identified with specific sensations even when discrete sensations are experienced. It is interesting to investigate how different sensations can be connected to certain emotions, on both cultural and personal levels. One may feel angry sensations as tightness in the throat, another as tightness in the chest or fists, and yet another, as heat that permeates the face. Some might go livid instead of becoming reddened in the face. Others may not feel any angry sensation at all, at least not that can be tied to a particular bodily event. The point is this. Emotions cannot be identified with beliefs, nor can they be identified with bodily sensations. Even more, they cannot be identified with a combination of belief and sensation either, since belief is too general to account for the kind of act of cognition emotion is, and since specific bodily sensations cannot account for that affective quality as well. Emotions and ERFs are not a combination of cognition and affect (as two distinct faculties), but rather, are intensional feelings or emotions that are about something in, and of, themselves.

Xin or Heart-Mind: A Non-Dualistic Chinese Concept of Intensionality We see from this discussion how the history of ideas in the West ended up excluding affect from the realm of cognitive activity—or how reason came to be put into a totally different metaphysical category than affect. Reason was that “pure” faculty whereby objective truth could be established, as well as the paradigmatic feature defining us as human beings. In short, especially after Kant, reason came to be falsely equivocated with cognition, and affect came to be seen as different in kind from reason, more akin to non-cognitive bodily events. Affect was thought to be contingent, subjective, and often opposed to the more abstract,



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“universally valid” operations of reason. On a more fundamental level, this bifurcation of reason and affect resulted from abstracting cognitive activity from the body having it. That is, conscious experience was located in the “mind”—the site of experience or “where” it was thought to occur—and the body was conceived in turn as intrinsically devoid of conscious experience. But the body is living, and I propose that consciousness is an extension of living, and could not occur without a body. Even the most abstract thinking for human beings requires a living body, and the huge variety of experiences we can have because we have a body are pervasive throughout it and cannot be located in any one particular site. As is commonly done in the West, identifying the site of cognitive activity in the brain does not solve the mind-body problem but just reminds us of its persistence. “Mind” is a concept that attempts to capture our experience as conscious phenomena, but philosophy still has not settled what that is, how it works, or how it relates to the body. So far, all we can safely posit is that human experience, even in its most “pure” form, requires embodiment. To relegate affect to the “non-cognitive” body and reason to the “mind” rests on a mind-body distinction that is as problematic now as it ever was. By way of contrast, ancient China had a concept of the human “mind”—rather, the “heart-mind”—that took the intellectual and affective functions of cognition to be different aspects of the same “organ”.14 How we think and what we feel were inescapably connected, or more accurately, thinking was never “pure” but always occurred in context. The heart-mind was conceived as having content beyond the “thing which thinks” and the body was not a mere appendage devoid of experience but was the vessel for experience itself. Even sensations were taken to be intrinsically informative, not in terms of having a truth-value per se, but in terms of supplying us with experiences about qualities in world around us. It may not make sense to think of the pain I felt by taking a sip of very hot tea as being true (as opposed to false)—it is just a feeling of pain and not a feeling about something that I deem true (as opposed to false). However, the “mere” sensation, in being experienced as “pain”, has interpretive content already, and engages a cognitive process that extends into my awareness a kind of “knowledge” whereby I aim not to make the same mistake again. This is the defining feature of early Chinese philosophy: it was overwhelmingly practical. Even the early Chinese logicians used their trade to bring about concrete, practical, often ethical, results in the world.15 Virtually nothing was done for purely theoretical reasons. Seeing cognitive activity in this non-dualistic manner, my pain is an experience that can immediately be extended (tui) into an intensional



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feeling whereby my intellect assents to the proposition that “I should let the tea cool first before drinking it”. The flow from one type of experience is continuous, different in degree more than in kind. Once the feeling has such intensional content, the name I might give it as I bring the still steaming cup (this time more slowly) to my lips after letting some time pass, is a feeling of cautious anticipation. It readies me to respond more appropriately, based on past experience. We learn from what we sense, and we cannot have sensations without having a body. So while sensations may not have a truth-value, as experiences, they figure immediately into what we think is true or false about the world. This lends credence to the view that consciousness is inseparably linked to embodiment, but without our knowing how this is the case. We cannot identify conclusively the precise mechanism by which “mind-body” interactions occur. Correlatively, this shows just how many traditional Western notions—of body, sensation, feeling, affect, emotion, mind, reason, intellect, cognition, and the like—are more ambiguous that we might like.

The Non-Dualistic Chinese Concept of “Personhood”: Persons as Relations The frequently dualistic treatment of mind in the West was (and still is) different from the ancient Chinese view that sees things as defined by otherness instead of as alienated from it. For ancient Chinese thought, the body is not just “physical” as opposed to conscious; it is the vessel for all things human, those things conceived as being essentially connected and mutually defining. We have just seen that the Chinese notion of xin has “mind” and “heart” comprising a unity of intellect and affect. This tendency of Chinese thought to see things as aspects of a greater whole, where the “parts” of the whole are taken to be mutually defining, also applies to their notion of personhood. What it means to be a person is to be a part of a larger whole—a family, community, culture, state, world, etc. Persons are not conceived in individualistic terms; rather, to be a person is to be a social being. From a Chinese, non-dual view of “self”, there is no metaphysical essence making us who we are “in and of ourselves”. To the contrary, the “essence” of personhood is relational, defined by a larger context that is role-based or about others.16 This social concept of personhood goes hand in hand with how the ancient Chinese conceived of humanity in general, as well has how they thought the heart-mind functioned. We have seen that the heart-mind takes intellectual and affective processes to be mutually influencing and defining. These processes comprise a greater unity precisely because their



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main function is social or connective: xin is an intelligent, feeling organ necessarily linking the “person” to others. Mencius held that the heartmind contains four basic human feelings or “sprouts” that were the “beginnings of virtue”. In 2A6.4 of the Mengzi (Mencius), we read: “…if one is without the feeling of compassion, one is not human. If one is without the feeling of distain, one is not human. If one is without the feeling of deference, one is not human. If one is without the feeling of approval and disapproval, one is not human” (p. 46).17 Then in the next passage (2A6.5) we read: “The feeling of compassion is the sprout of benevolence [ren]. The feeling of distain is the sprout of righteousness [yi]. The feeling of deference is the sprout of propriety [li]. The feeling of approval and disapproval is the sprout of wisdom [zhi]” (p. 46-47).18 The heart-mind contains feelings, the aim of which is to cultivate proper relations so we can become responsible to others and fully human as a result. The aim of these feelings is to grow into virtues, but I argue they are intensional in having to be appropriately and reasonably directed. Consider an earlier passage (2A6.3) where Mengzi says, “Suppose someone suddenly saw a child about to fall into a well: anyone in such a situation would have a feeling of alarm and compassion—not because one sought to get in good with the child’s parents, not because one wanted fame among one’s neighbors and friends, and not because one would dislike the sound of the child’s cries” (p. 46).19 We would feel alarmed and would do so rightly, simply because a child is about to fall into a well. Our compassion is an intensional feeling about a child in danger, and it is a moral feeling in being concerned with that child’s wellbeing. The main aim of human action here is ethical. Our nature (xing) is to become “virtuous” or responsible persons, which requires feeling rightly so that our feelings can be intelligently directed or put into action.20 The heart-mind is the seat of morality and what makes us human. For Confucius (or Kongfuzi), this defining feature is called ren or “humaneness”. Most importantly, we can be humane—or humanized— only in relation to others. Other people are not just contingently related; our personhood is constituted by our relationship to others. A parent must have a child, a sibling must have a sibling, a spouse must have a spouse, a ruler must have subjects and a friend must have a friend. The “five basic relationships” articulated by Mencius and implied earlier by Confucius, were taken to be fundamental to our humanity, and the heart-mind (xin) was the organ whose function it was to cultivate those relationships.21 Because Confucian personhood is defined in terms of the roles we embody, having a “body” is not thought of as separate from our personhood. The Confucian person or “self” is not identified with having a



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“mind” as opposed to a “body”. Rather, personhood requires embodiment, and the “body” is conceived as a vessel for human experience and action in general. Intellectual, affective, and moral functions are also conceived as being mutually related as well as intensional or outwardly directed. In short, the ancient Chinese account of personhood is social, as is their account of mind and affect. Most critically, affect (heart) and mind are taken to be aspects of the same cognitive faculty in the same way that the body is taken to be necessary to cognition. Heart-mind is conceived of as embodied as well as of being the very vessel for following the rendao or “way of humanity”.

The “New” Confucian Connection Between Li and Ren: A New Ethical Orientation We have seen that moral philosophers in ancient China, such as Confucius and Mencius, thought of persons as socially constituted and outwardly oriented towards others—in particular, to those we learn from, are responsible for, and who confer “humanity” (ren) upon us in so doing. To be a person is to be a social being and the type of activity making us human is moral in nature. Correlatively, human virtue has to be cultivated; our humanity is not a given, at least not in the fullest sense of the word. We become persons by learning how to properly interact with others, by learning how to embody the roles that allow us to take our stand in the world. This process of socialization takes what we have been given by nature, and gives it a cultural form. That is, we must be humanized, and our ability to grow into fully flourishing or “true” human beings is achieved by helping others to flourish. Our social nature is conceived as being inextricably tied to our moral nature, and our moral nature is conceived as being inextricably tied to what we do—to “human” ren activity. Tzu-kung said, “If there were a man who gave extensively to the common people and brought help to the multitude, what would you think of him? Could he be called benevolent? [ren]” The Master said, “It is no longer a matter of benevolence [ren] with such a man. If you must describe him, ‘sage’ is, perhaps, the right word. Even Yao and Shun would have found it difficult to accomplish as much. Now, on the other hand, a benevolent [ren] man helps others to take their stand in so far as he himself wishes to take his stand, and gets others there in so far as he himself wishes to get there. The ability to take the analogy from what is near at hand can be called the method of benevolence [ren]” (Analects 6:30).22



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D. C. Lau’s translation of the passage above renders ren as “benevolence”. Ren has been translated in many other ways, such as: humanity, humaneness, goodness, nobility, compassion, love, authoritative conduct,23 truly human conduct, the human spirit at its best, human flourishing, etc. For Confucius, ren is the virtue that makes us truly human. Raymond Dawson translates the last sentence of the passage above as: “To be able to take one’s own familiar feelings as a guide may definitely be called the method of humaneness [ren]” (p. 23).24 One’s ability to “take the analogy from what is near” or to “take one’s own familiar feelings as a guide” is what makes one “humane”, “benevolent”, or truly human. It is in recognizing and properly responding to the humanity of others, that we become human ourselves. We become “human” insofar as we interact with others morally or in a way that promotes their interests, and in so doing we establish ourselves as “true” ren persons. Put another way, personhood is a social or relational concept that requires that we must care about others in a way that successfully helps them “take their stand” or get “established” (Dawson’s translation). We are “humanized” only by our efforts to humanize others. For Confucius, human “goodness” or ren is an activity. This is critical to understand because Westerners have a tendency to put human goodness in the mind—as an intention or some other kind of psychological state— and to put action in the body. Now we can see that this type of mind-body bifurcation is neither universal nor necessarily the best way to understand human activities. For Confucius, what defines us as human beings is the moral conduct we learn by nature to embody. Moral conduct has both a cultural as well as human aspect. The human aspect—ren or humaneness—we all share. Ren is our inherent capacity for goodness that must be cultivated and put into practice in order to deserve the name.25 Li or “ritual propriety” is the more specific, socially prescribed manner that ren is expressed. Li is the cultural aspect or “body language” of moral conduct, i.e., the social conventions that communicate our aim to interact with others in a way that is mutually beneficial. Li is also context dependent and often not cross-cultural; however, the ren or authentically humane aim to interact with others is “universal”.26 For example, there are many ways to greet other people, and the customs or li for doing so differ across cultures, across historical periods, and across relationships. Li is the aspect of moral conduct rooted in the particular—the cultural norms and conventions that give intensional form and social meaning to our gestures. Regardless of the conventional differences—or of whether it is a salute, high-five, handshake, curtsey, chest-bump, tipping of the cap, etc.—the gestures carry a universal human



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meaning. All are various (cultural) forms of greeting that serve a unifying social function. This is what makes them good; once we learn the li of our culture we can recognize and appropriately respond to others without having to give it a thought. Moral conduct—where the basic human impulse to cooperatively interact with others is given cultural expression—is the human way, or rendao. For any community to flourish (ren), the participants of that culture must recognize the specific ways to interact with others within the proper context, which entails “knowing” what the gestures mean or what significance is attached to them. Li, or ritual propriety, refers to the social forms or “body language” for such harmonious interaction. Ren—the human spirit or aim to interact with our fellow human beings in mutually beneficial ways—is what these gestures, customs, or conventions express on a most general—human—level. Our humanity (intensionally) aims by nature to embody this community spirit; we also aim by nature to learn the li rituals of our culture that enable us to achieve this aim. Li has a shared meaning for us because we are part of the same culture. In this way, li serves a concrete and unifying social function, while ren is that basic spirit of human decency and good will toward our fellow human being that li brings to life. Only through li or such ritualized action can the body of our community take on a life that is both fully human and culturally distinctive at once.

A Start to Setting Up the Basic Problem of “Harmony” Without Flourishing One basic problem that a role-based social ethic, such as a Confucian ethic, will need to address is this: Social norms and traditions may create social “harmony”, stability or order, but are not always conducive to human flourishing (ren). To analyse how this may be the case in order to critique social practices that do not treat people fairly or as “equals”—such as is generally the case with traditional gender relations—an inescapable, even more basic problem must be clarified. That problem is that we cannot conclusively identify whether a social custom, tradition, or convention is truly li, or whether it is truly “proper” or conducive to human flourishing (ren). It is the “goodness” of li-action—or the ren necessary to make the action li—that cannot conclusively be identified. Ren is the aspect of moral conduct that will remain obscure because it is the human “spirit” expressed by li. To truly be li, a social practice must embody ren, which means that the participants willingly interact in the spirit of mutual wellbeing and create a humane environment in so doing. That is, li is not



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just an observable, scientifically measurable social behaviour, and so must not be equivocated with those mere “social” forms. Li has to be authentically humane and conducive to human flourishing, and while we can make such a claim about some “ritualized” cultural practice, it is only something we can speculate on and argue for, but as a moral subject it cannot be conclusively decided. Put another way, as a body language with a meaning, li must not be reduced to the social form used to communicate its meaning. All languages involve such ambiguity—where the forms used to communicate must be conceptually distinguished from, and are underdetermined by, their meanings. Li is a cultural vehicle for expressing those shared meanings, but the meanings are not identical to their expression. Li and ren are both necessary aspects of the same moral gesture and the “goodness” we communicate requires some specific cultural form in order to be communicated. Otherwise others could not recognize and respond to us in any meaningful way. This is necessary for harmonious human interaction to occur. For the purpose of this article though, we must remember that our interactions must also be conducive to human flourishing more generally, and this is where we are called to be sensitive to the more far-reaching implications of our actions, beyond whether some particular interaction is successful. I aim to do more here than clarify that my method for analysing social inequality is philosophical, or more specifically, ethical and necessarily speculative. To do this, I only need to point out that, as a speculative discipline, ethics can only “justify” moral claims with valid arguments. It offers no way to conclusively decide which (valid) argument is better in cases of conflict.27 Beyond citing the methodological parameters of this analysis, I want to bring out a key feature of Confucian ethics in light of the relation of li and ren, which will help elucidate why we cannot conclusively decide whether an action is truly moral or not. This problem of under-determination—of li or truly humane social customs being underdetermined by the ren-aim of the action—will now be discussed in greater depth, and in light of the fact that the meaning of the term “social” is ambiguous.

The Under-Determination of Li and Ambiguity of the Meaning of “Social” “Social” is often taken to refer to communal behaviours, actions, and events that can explicitly be identified, observed and measured. This assumption is very prevalent now, particularly since the social sciences have come on the scene. The positive effect of viewing subject matter



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through a scientific lens is that methodologically more conclusive data can be established precisely because it can be (in principle) falsified. Employing the scientific method is not problematic in itself. But when the meaning of “social” is exclusively relegated to subject matter that can be ostensibly observed, unambiguously described, repeated, and in principle falsified, the effect is that ethical or value-based concerns are removed from the analysis. So to continue to set up the problem of critiquing practices that may be conducive to social order but not to human flourishing, as a comparative ethicist I will employ a broader notion of “social” that includes activities—such as ren or human benevolence—that are not of a type that can be scientifically measured. While the forms of li or the social customs and conventions that carry the human spirit of (ren) goodness are explicitly observable, the ren itself is not. Ren is the conscious orientation—the intensional commitment—that the more concrete social conventions transmit. Ren is a type of conscious activity, the human spirit at its best, a benevolent orientation that we embody and make real in the world. Ren is not on the “inside” of the person while li is on the “outside”, however. Ren is carried by li, and if our actions do not embody ren, then they are not li, despite the fact that the observable social forms may appear to be the same whether they uphold ren humaneness or not. This point is vital to understanding Confucian ethics and the ancient Chinese way of viewing the world more generally: ren is not separate from the li that transmits it. To the contrary, li and ren are mutually entailing aspects of the same “human-hearted” activity. To continue with the earlier example, the handshake communicates the greeting, and only with both aspects of this simple moral gesture by which people recognize and respond to each other on a basic human level, can the greeting be said to have truly taken place. The reason for conceptually distinguishing between li and ren is because the forms that, for example, greetings can take are culturally specific (li), while the more general human aim they must embody is “universal” and characteristically human (ren)—there is no human community that lacks a tangible and socially prescribed way for people to greet one another. Repeatedly, Confucius makes it clear that the gesture is not li without embodying the proper conscious orientation (ren). We have to mean what it is we are doing in order to act in a li fashion, but it is not about choosing the action in any deliberate sense of the word. This must be stressed, as it is a key difference between Confucian and most Western ethical traditions. Again, consider the example of shaking hands, an intensional interaction wherein the participants must consciously aim to greet each other. If one



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or both of the participants do not actually mean to engage in a greeting, the gesture is rendered inauthentic. However, ritualized social gestures also become “actionless” or wuwei once well learned. As a routine cultural form, the handshake becomes spontaneous, carrying a meaning that allows people to sincerely greet one another without their having to reflect upon it. Put another way, the handshake greeting is intensional but not intentional; it does not require a second order, self-conscious awareness that “we are greeting another”. We simply greet in virtue of having the conscious aim and social means to do so, without having to be able to explicitly identify and assent to what the gesture means. Moreover, we most effectively participate in community in this way—merely by mutually recognizing and responding to each other with “actionless” ritualized actions that communicate a shared meaning and aim, but that do not require us to deliberately choose that aim.28 We confer benefits more easily when social interactions are ritualized in this way exactly because they do not involve deliberation and choice. Our harmonious human interactions (ren) occur at their best when the goodness motivated by “familiar feelings” and expressed by shared conventions are as effortless and spontaneous as “wind over grass”, when we “know” them so well that they are second nature for us.29 The less visible dimension of the action— the ren aim—is carried by the more visible “social” custom. But the moral action (e.g., of greeting) requires both dimensions of the activity for it to be li or a ren-action. Li and ren are not separate activities. They are different—and both necessary—aspects to the same good action. My broader notion of “social”, that includes the embodiment and communication of values, allows us to see how li is under-determined by ren. We can see the concrete gesture, the li aspect of a genuinely humane interaction, much more easily than the conscious aim that is embodied by, and communicated through, that gesture. Li is under-determined by ren because it is not possible to conclusively (e.g., scientifically) identify whether an action authentically embodies ren just by looking at the social form used to communicate it. That is, the conscious ren aim, whereby one authentically and humanely interacts with another, cannot be conclusively verified in practice. One must wilfully act, and accomplish one’s aim through the action. If one only has the intention to greet but does not follow through with it in a way that effectively transmits the greeting, then the greeting is not accomplished. The action is not li despite the best of intentions if the action does not culminate in a proper ritual interaction. The problem of under-determination, where li or truly authentic and humane social practices are under-determined by ren so that they cannot be conclusively identified (as a truly li or ren-action), may be



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insurmountable for a social science, but is a perfect subject for ethical investigation. Ren has to be discussed in a speculative ethical context, or within a moral framework rather than a scientific one. The social interactions or “ritual propriety” of li have a moral dimension—thus, “social” in my use is a normative concept that goes beyond a statistical usage in also entailing a standard with moral content. It is precisely because of this problem of moral under-determination that we must acknowledge that a society may ostensibly be “harmonious” in the sense that people are embodying roles that allow them to get along without conflict, but that are not flourishing in another moral sense. Things may run in a smooth and orderly fashion, but may not be “good” for people more generally, or at least for some members of that group. And because we cannot conclusively measure social wellbeing by simply looking at the more ostensible patterns of behaviour that allow other goals to be accomplished, such as social stability, it is easy to equivocate such stability—which maintains a balance of power that privileges one group at another’s expense—for a deeper moral sense of wellbeing.

Ren as the True Moral Feeling that Connects Us to the Wellbeing of Others Along with Confucius, I concur that ren is the most basic activity of the heart-mind—a true moral feeling not to be understood just as some inner psychological state, but rather, as an ERF whose main function is to humanize us—to make us truly human. We become truly human by developing the actionless skill of being aware of, and properly responsive to, the humanity of others. This conscious activity of ren is about others, about how to rightly take our stand in relationship to them. As a mother, my love for my children is not so much a “subjective” state as it is a feeling that is objectively directed toward them, and, inseparably, about what my responsibilities are to them. This love is “true” in the sense that a compass is; it allows us to be aligned with each other, to actionlessly and effectively promote each other’s best interests through the roles we embody and responsibilities we fulfil in the larger context of family. We do not “play” our roles; we are our roles. I am a mother with all my heart and mind, with feelings that connect me to my children as well as motivate me to do well by them. This is how we become the people we are; my identity as a mother begins with my love for my children that is “true” only to the degree that I benefit them through my actions—that is, by being a good parent to them. Of course, how we embody our roles will be largely context dependent; but the feelings that we have, especially for



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those who are important to us, are objective as well as universal. Despite the vast cultural differences that motherhood involves, being a good mother requires feeling properly toward one’s children. From a Confucian point of view, one who does not love or care for her children does not deserve the name of “mother”.30 From this, we see that being a “person” is almost always a moral endeavour. Human beings are moral beings, and our personhood depends on how well we fulfil our roles and responsibilities to others. To continue with the example, “motherhood” is not a biological fact, but rather, a moral accomplishment. One becomes a mother only by embodying the role as mother authentically and effectively. Personhood in general works the same way. One becomes a person by embodying roles authentically and effectively, which depends on proper social development that teaches one how to feel the right way towards others. Then these basic human feelings must mature into “virtues” that motivate us to skilfully fulfil our obligations to others, even when doing so is challenging. In effect, ERFs in general, and ren in particular, must be thought of as “wilful” (but often actionless) activities in entailing a commitment to others to humanize instead of dehumanize them. At it best, however, this commitment is mutual because personhood is relational. As being a mother depends on my giving my children the love and care they need, being a person more generally depends on my treating others as persons. Social roles must promote human flourishing in order to be ren or moral; but because personhood is relational, to the degree that we benefit others through our feelings and actions, we benefit, or build a moral ren identity for ourselves as “true” persons. True moral feelings are vital to such development because it is through them that we are able to stand in right relationship with others—by appropriate sensitivity and responsiveness to them as human beings. So, many true moral feelings will be even more fundamentally rooted in ren by aiming to respect and support the humanity of others. In effect, being a moral person is not just a matter of taking on socially prescribed roles. To be ren or moral, those roles must make us feel the right thing—that we ought to promote the good life for others—as well as motivate us to accomplish that aim. Our roles and actions that dehumanize others dehumanize us in turn. Ren is the most foundational “true” moral feeling because, without it, we treat others in a dehumanizing way, starting with how we feel about them as human beings. We diminish ourselves as persons in so doing.



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Now to the Basic Problem: “Harmony” without Flourishing Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “some ‘good’ people were more devoted to order than to justice” in his quest for civil rights for African Americans in the 1960s.31 These “good” people were white clergy voicing dissent over MLK’s protests against the discriminatory policies and powerful white privilege that gave Caucasians clear social advantages over African Americans. MLK believed that unrest was necessary to change an unjust status quo, and he organized African Americans to change that unjust order. Mohandas K. Gandhi also used this technique to create social change, effectively displacing the British colonial grip over his native country of India and restoring power to the Indians themselves in the 1940s. The strategy that they both employed has been named “civil disobedience”, referring to the intentional32 violation of unjust laws and policies through organized protests that expose the injustice and bring about social change in a nonviolent but effective way. I would like to stress that the problem that people like MLK and Gandhi saw, as well as the solution envisioned, rests on the notion that there is something fundamentally unjust or immoral about the “civility” of their culture. Indeed, their protests aimed to establish civility against laws and policies that were unfair to their people. For example, in protest against the highly racist practices of Birmingham, Alabama, where white supremacy reigned and was supported not only by the status quo infrastructure of that city but also by clandestine and vicious organizations such as the Ku Klux Klan, MLK was imprisoned in 1963, where he wrote his “Letter from Birmingham Jail”, a document that became instrumental to the creation and passage of the Civil Rights Act in 1964. The Civil Rights Act outlawed discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin, as well as ending unequal application of voter registration requirements and racial segregation in schools and the workplace that served the general public. To put it mildly, this federal statute was a major milestone in the establishment and protection of civil rights in the USA. As federal legislation, it aimed to create “equal” rights for American citizens who had traditionally been dehumanized—or whose wellbeing had systematically been compromised—because of their race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. In practice, the Civil Rights Act helped to establish equal and fair treatment for those whose interests had been compromised for the sake of maintaining a status quo order that benefitted one group at the expense of another.



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Since the Civil Rights Act of 1964, civil rights for many marginalized groups, such as African Americans, Native Americans, women, the LGBTQ community, and many others, have been addressed and expanded. For example, since 2008, Gay and Lesbian Americans have steadily made headway in having their “inalienable human rights” protected—as seen in the domino effect of states declaring that their own laws against same-sex marriage are unconstitutional. Such changes could not begin to occur without people who believe in the change and are willing to help make it happen. Such people make a personal commitment and are even willing to sacrifice much and suffer themselves in order to help the change along. These social movements are often motivated by a group wanting greater social privileges—such as to better education, work, voting and living conditions, rights to marry, and the like. People in the group who want a better life do not only aim to protect their own individual interests, but are often willing to sacrifice even more in order to protect people they care about. But all people want the best for those they care about. Because of this, a central problem that arises by maintaining a “harmonious” society in the sense that a traditional—and unfair—social order is maintained is this: many resources are limited and their redistribution poses a conflict of interest between groups, so in effect, defaulting to the status quo order of things may be seen as a basic good by the privileged group, even if it has been gained at the expense of the marginalized group. For such a change to be seen as justified from the privileged group’s perspective, they will need to recognize, and perhaps even be willing to relinquish power to be fair to the marginalized group. Again, the most charitable view to understand the resistance to such a change is to see that for the more privileged in such situations, the concern is often about how this loss of power will affect loved ones. It is especially when a tangible loss to those we care about may be associated with doing the right thing for others to whom we bear no such close personal relation, that people will need to be motivated by feeling the moral gravity of the inequality, injustice, and unfairness their privilege has brought about for those others. I do not believe that it would be likely in such circumstances that a purely rational principle for helping those in need to flourish could bring most privileged people to the aid of the less privileged, for the very reason that the envisioned social changes are felt to be harmful to the people those in the privileged group care about—and identify with—the most.33



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The True Moral Feeling of Ren Must Appeal to the Confucian Virtue of Yi or “Equality” Confucius makes it obvious in the Analects that society works best when its members embody different roles that function harmoniously. That humans must flourish in general can be taken for granted, exactly because Confucius was appealing to a homogeneous Han culture.34 But within that culture, clear social differences were embodied that implied that different worth, as well as different allocations of social power, should be attached to some role differences. For example, elders generally occupied a “superior” social position to those younger than them, but in practice this meant having the responsibility to be benefactors to the young. The same can be said of the relationships between parents and their children, husbands and their wives, rulers and their subjects, and teachers and their students. Those in the superior position were thought to have authority (ren) over those in their charge, but this meant that their roles carried the greater burden of responsibility. In practice, people in “superior” positions should feel motivated by that moral burden to carry out their duties to those whose wellbeing is dependent on their care. It is precisely the hierarchical social structure of Confucian relations that makes them problematic, however, at least from the point of view that in many cases human beings should be treated as “moral equals” despite irrelevant differences such as race, color, religion, sex, gender, national origin, sexual orientation, and the like. Some social differences are morally relevant, though. As a mother, I have special duties to my children that I do not have in just the same way to other people’s children. Moreover, my duties to my children—e.g., to love, protect, support, and nurture them—are different than the duties they have to me as a parent. My “parentalism” and protectiveness, especially when they were young and unable to protect themselves, was appropriate. But I can also imagine that other mothers feel the same love and sense of responsibility to their children as I do toward my own. Thus, only defining ourselves in terms of social differences cannot provide an adequate or appropriate account of ren flourishing. I will provide this account in the rest of this article, and from a feminist point of view. My strategy is to use Confucian principles to argue against unjust, unequal allocations of power and privilege. I will start by considering that in the Analects, people were also conceived of as generally being alike in virtue of embodying the same roles. For example, males were alike in their roles of father, brother, husband, uncle, ruler, teacher, etc.35 The risk that Confucian ethics runs, especially as articulated in the Analects, is not that people are thought of as



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having different social roles. The problem occurs when one group unjustly subordinates another because of this difference. This is highly problematic when the ordinate group maintains their power and privilege at the expense of the subordinate group’s wellbeing. A caveat that will need to be addressed in proceeding with my “Confucian” critique of inequality has already been touched on: namely, that the motives for a privileged group to maintain an unjust social order may be good on some level. For example, when those who are privileged envision harm, especially to loved-ones from the social change, they then have good reason not to promote the change and even have reason to resist it. Benefiting distant others, in other words, may not supply a good enough motive to assist a change that involves even the possibility of harming those to whom we have our greatest personal responsibilities.36 So the moral task is to get a privileged group to be willing to put their own social standing at risk because it is the right thing to do. In the last two sections, I will give a two-prong pragmatic account of the mechanism whereby a privileged group could be motivated to move in the direction of such a social change. I will do this by appealing to yet another Confucian virtue—yi or “equality”—not held in the highest esteem in the Analects, but that is one of the four basic virtues in the Mencius. I will argue that yi is a basic human feeling or value that can be used in the service of ren in order to create a moral atmosphere embracing “equality” and promoting a more equitable, fair and just distribution of social power that may end up privileging everyone as a result.

Yi: The Value of “Equality”, “Fairness”, “Righteousness”, “Right Conduct”, or “Parity” We have seen that the Confucian virtues, such as ren or “humanheartedness”, are broad concepts that must be carried out in heart-mind and action in order to deserve their name. Besides ren, there is another Confucian value that I argue can be used to promote ren or to extend (tui) it to a larger domain of people. That value or true moral feeling is yi, the value held in the heart-mind that what others value for themselves is as weighty as what one values for oneself.37 As an intensional feeling, yi motivates us to recognize and properly respond to the humanity of others in the same way we would want to be treated (including those who we care about). Yi is an “equalizing” value when used to appeal to what is alike about us—in virtue of our being human or occupying the same social role—instead of by appealing to social differences only. This does not mean that social differences do not matter, but only that they must be



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subject to moral appraisal. For instance, while it is appropriate for one to treat young children parentalistically, it is not appropriate to do so to one’s peers because of their skin color. Skin color does not make one a child. From a Confucian point of view, to be a child is to be a certain kind of relation, and in general, to be of the younger generation. If people are adults from the same generation, then they should treat each other as “moral equals” deserving the same basic privileges unless other compelling reasons would justify discriminating against them.38 To continue, yi or “equality” is the true moral feeling that we all deserve the same basic human goods (whatever they may be). We deserve them for ourselves, for those we care about, and should feel obliged to extend them to others with whom we have no direct personal relation other than the fact that we all are human (ren). We come to see the moral “imperative” of this value in recognizing that being human leads all of us to care in the same deeply personal way. We come to see that even people who are very different from us can come to love the significant others in their lives in the same profound way that we love our own. Indeed, this moral feeling makes us “see” people through a more humane lens. As such, we come to embody yi through a psychological shift in perspective that broadens our moral vision. We develop morally, that is, by a change of heart-mind often precipitated by a social change that sets the context for fostering this development.39 To create an equality among persons that is stable, however, such a change also has to occur in the heart-minds of those whose identity does not yet include people regarded as “other” or who are not yet morally considered to be part of one’s own culture or group. I have seen this shift occur—through a process of social development whereby people learn how to imagine, and then to feel that those others are as valuable to the one’s who love them as the one’s we love are to us. The first prong for advancing ren by an appeal to yi is not only a “moral” argument but also calls for a psychological shift whereby people come to experience a “self” that was previously alienated from some “other” (group) as increasingly belonging to the same moral sphere. Yi calls us to be fair, even to demand equal treatment for all based on what we share. Most generally, we are all human (ren), and we can more specifically embody the same kind of role. While ren supplies the basic impulse for interacting with our fellow human beings in mutually beneficial ways, yi then is needed for us to care about whether the benefits are distributed fairly (with parity). For example, historically and even now, females generally have gained the social benefits of being protected and supported by males in exchange for having less (or no) role in the public



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sphere. This social arrangement, where males have greater social mobility and hence, more social power and privilege, takes on particular value in a culture that places a very high premium on reproduction—and in turn on safeguarding females and their dependent children. This scenario can be described quite differently, however. One could also say that males have maintained this distribution of power in order to safeguard their own social power and privilege at the expense of females—which for females would be a kind of voluntary servitude to the degree that they were complicit in this social arrangement. Because of the problem of under-determination, I cannot conclusively determine the motives, especially on a grand historical scene. Rather, I am interested in articulating a mechanism whereby we can change people’s motives in order to make a better, fairer world for everyone. The first prong then, is to socialize people so they feel good about serving the interests of others, which involves having one start to identify with those others on a fundamental—human—level. This is a process of graduation inclusion that is vital in both the Analects and the Mencius. We have to get people to feel that it is right to include more people in their own moral sphere, and I add, because being more inclusive is only fair and what is due in equal measure to those others. Notice that this shift makes the “other” one of us. This is what the true moral feeling of equality (yi) can achieve that ren cannot achieve just by itself. This moral feeling of equality (parity and fairness) is particular, affective, personal, and nonabstract (in contrast to most Western ethical principles). We feel a wrong is done in keeping others who deserve the same basic goods as we entitle ourselves to, from being able to enjoy them. This “appeal to diversity” also appeals to a more universal human reality even when greater social unity is achieved by coming to identify with others on some basic social level (through this process of gradual inclusion).40 For example, in the 1940s, Branch Rickey, an executive manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers, flagrantly violated tradition by recruiting Jackie Robinson (number 42) to play baseball in the Major League. Robinson was the first African-American man in the modern era to do so. His struggle, and gradual acceptance, as an outstanding baseball player set the precedent for other black players to follow in his steps. Most of his white teammates (and white culture generally, especially in the South) put up tremendous resistance to this social change. But with time, Robinson’s teammates became his respectful advocates in coming to see his race as being irrelevant to his vocational talent—which went hand in hand with seeing it as irrelevant to his being a man. Note that females (of any race) have not met with the same level of success when it comes to being given the opportunity to play for the



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National League. The general point of this example though, is to show that as human beings we are social beings who by our nature interact with each other in mutually beneficial (ren) ways, and who, because of yi, can come to see that we also all deserve the same treatment in occupying the same social roles. Baseball players should be judged by how well they play ball in the same way that parents should be judged by how well they raise their children. A community will flourish when its participants interact in ways that are mutually beneficial, but these interactions may not be reciprocally beneficial. Parents and children benefit differently from each other even in a flourishing relationship. But as parents, there are feelings and actions appropriate to that role despite the differences, and this is what the true moral feeling of yi promotes us to come to value. The second prong for achieving greater equality to humanize a society requires its individual members to see that the reciprocal benefit we confer upon one another is more than just moral. The more people feel that others possess equal value, the more cohesive and unified that society will be. The more cohesive and unified a society is, the more stable it is, and often, the more resources it will have. The more resources a society has, the more benefits41 it will have to confer upon its members in general. We know that Confucianism is a relational ethic (and religion)—so in diminishing the humanity of others, one diminishes one’s own “self”. Humans build their identities through others, and we build them as good or true (ren) persons to the degree that we act according to li or in humanizing as opposed to dehumanizing ways. As such, our motives ought to be reasonably self-interested for the very reason that our selfinterest is so bound up with promoting the wellbeing of others. But because people are often motivated to do the most to benefit the people they love and to whom they feel they “belong”, redistribution of privilege can meet with fierce resistance from those already in power. Because of this, the second prong is best achieved by offering more than just a moral benefit. It comes more easily when a privileged group recognizes that such gradual inclusion will increase the scope, cohesion, and resources of their own culture. That is, by extending ren to others through yi, we make the “other” one of “us” and so gain greater moral identity as well as potentially much greater resources in general. Since more people obtain tangible benefits from being regarded as equal, we also stand to obtain the strengths conferred on them that now can come back to benefit us. The “them” becomes part of “us” and we gain social strength and resource from that, regardless of the other costs that may be involved.



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Ren, Yi, and “Autonomy” Applied to Gender Ethics For example, there currently is a movement called “Half the Sky” that advocates for females across the globe who are victims of violence and other dehumanizing practices.42 Today, in many cultures females still are generally dependent on their male benefactors in a way that compromises their ability to flourish as persons. That is, there is an unequal distribution of power and privilege that benefits males at the expense of females. While I am not able or interested in determining the motives for this social arrangement, the predicament that has arisen out of female dependency and has been described by feminists for decades, seems to boil down to female “autonomy” being inappropriately constricted. Traditionally, females have been treated more like children in their dependency than like moral equals. Due to a lack of economic solvency and other social means, females are left not able to take care of themselves. The traditional scope of social roles for females has generally been restricted to daughter, sister, aunt, (female) cousin, wife, mother, and “home maker”. All of these roles are domestic, defined by the duties to take care of others. A woman’s work traditionally is inside the home, and revolves mainly around providing basic services connected with the reproduction and care of children. Unfortunately, such limited roles preclude females from the privileges of being educated in skills that would allow them to have a vocation outside of the home and, by extension, to have a meaningful role in the larger society. Men can also be sons, brothers, uncles, (male) cousins, husbands, fathers, but part of what allows them to be the “head of the family” is their role of working outside of the home and making the money to support their families. The domestic labour that females provide is typically not taken to be as valuable as male labour precisely because it is unpaid and I would argue, is not conducive to the social mobility generally entitled to, and expected of men. Crucially, because females traditionally do not earn their own income, they have little opportunity to change their living arrangements even when their husbands are abusive.43 So, regardless of intention, these traditional gender roles limit female flourishing from the start in limiting their educational and vocational opportunities, restricting their “appropriate” activities to the realm of domestic servitude that puts them in an unequal and unfair position of dependency on males. The attitude I am expressing may appear at first glance not to be very Confucian, since from that point of view all of us are dependent on each other. We are interdependent, that is, but a person who is ren or authentically humane, has a legitimate authority and power (de) over others. Because this is proper and good (ren), this power needs to be



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understood as being the social means by which one fulfils one’s responsibilities to others, and it is by fulfilling these responsibilities well that one establishes oneself in society. I am arguing that such a person has greater “autonomy” or “freedom” in turn, although admittedly in a paradoxical sense since one is encumbered by roles.44 For Confucianism, however, we are inescapably encumbered by roles. “Autonomy” or “freedom”—which is a distinctively modern and Western concept—for comparative purposes I give here with a Confucian interpretation. In my view, “autonomy” works like one of Mencius’ “seeds” or “sprouts of virtue”: that is, with proper socialization the feeling (ERF) of freedom grows into the virtue or true moral feeling of responsibility. My idea of freedom does not just entail the personal independence characteristic of the Western concept, but is more like the Confucian notion of “authority” or ren that is the mark of true personhood and entitles one to have greater moral power and to operate in greater social spheres. It marks a kind of social mobility that males generally have been expected to embody but females have not.45 This unequal, unfair distribution of social power that restricts the opportunities for females to develop moral power or “autonomy”, or to be able to learn how to responsibly embody the ren privilege and range of social obligations commensurate with males, is problematic. My view is that human flourishing requires that we all have the “freedom” to embody the same scope of social roles insofar as they are justified by our actions. For this to happen, we must be given opportunities to truly flourish as persons (ren), which I have shown requires social parity (yi). Beyond this moral imperative, the benefit is that the potential (de) of roughly half the human population can be tapped to provide greater goods for everyone, which after all is the true aim of ren humanity.



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Appendix dao (way or path): ੊ de ([moral] power, virtue, potency, “autonomy”*): ♈ li (observing ritual propriety, appropriate interpersonal conduct*): ᱐ ren (humanity, benevolence, humaneness, authoritative or “truly human”* conduct): ึ rendao (the way of humanity): ึ ੊ yi (equality*, fairness, parity, righteousness, right conduct, justice): ⃘ tui (extend, push forward): ௓ xin (heart-mind or mind-heart): ੱ xing (nature, quality, character): ਙ * My translation

References Ames, Roger T. Ames and Rosemont, Jr., Henry, trans. The Analects of Confucius: A Philosophical Translation. New York: Ballantine, 1998. Beck, L. W., trans. Kant’s Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill Educational Publishing, 1959. 20th printing in 1980. Bedford, Errol. Emotions. In the Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society. 57 (1957): 281-304. Bennett, Jonathan, trans. Descartes’ Passions of the Soul. Some Texts from Early Modern Philosophy, 2010. Now in the public domain at: http://www.earlymoderntexts.com/authors/descartes.html Bockover, Mary. “Confucian Ritual as Body Language of Self, Society, and Spirit.” Sophia. 51 (2012): 177-194.



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—. “Confucianism and Ethics in the Western Philosophical Tradition I: Foundational Concepts [I] and Confucianism and Ethics in the Western Philosophical Tradition II: A Comparative Analysis of Personhood.” Philosophy Compass, Vol. 5, No. 4. (2010): 307-316 and 317-325. —. “The Rendao of Confucius: A Spiritual Account of Humanity.” In Confucius Now: Contemporary Encounters with the Analects. Edited by David Jones. Chicago and La Salle, IL: Open Court, 2008. Pages 189-208. —. “The Virtue of Freedom.” In Polishing the Chinese Mirror: Essays in Honor of Henry Rosemont, Jr. Chandler, Marthe and Littlelohn, Ronnie, eds. New York: Global Scholarly Publications, 2008. Pages 127-145. —. “Ethics, Relativism, and the Self.” In Culture and Self: Philosophical and Religious Perspectives, East and West, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997. Pages 43-61. Dawson, Raymond, trans. The Analects. New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1993, 2000, 2008. Descartes, René. Descartes: Meditations on First Philosophy. Trans. Lafluer, Laurence. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1960. (First published in 1641.) Fausto-Sterling, Anne. “The Five Sexes: Why Male and Female are Not Enough.” In The Sciences. Published by The New York Academy of Science. March/April 1993. Pages 20-24. Hoff Sommers, Christine. “Filial Morality.” Journal of Philosophy 83 (1986): 439-456. Kemp-Smith, Norman, trans. Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. London, England: MacMillan and Company Limited, 1929. King, Jr., Martin Luther. Letter from Birmingham Jail. 1963. Available online at: http://www.stanford.edu/group/King/frequentdocs/birmingham.pdf Lai, Karyn. An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Lau, D. C., trans. The Analects. Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England: Penguin Books, Ltd., 1979, 1983, 1992. Paton, H. J., trans. Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals. New York, NY: Harper Collins Publishers, 1948, 1953, 1956, 1964, 2009. Selby-Bigge, L. A., ed. Hume’s Treatise of Human Nature. Part 4, Chapter 6: “Of Personal Identity.” Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press, 1896. (Hume’s text first published in 1739.) Solomon, Robert. “Emotions and Choice.” The Review of Metaphysics. 27 (1973): 20-41.



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Ross, David, trans. Aristotle: The Nicomachean Ethics. New York: Oxford University Press. (Ross trans. first published in 1925). Tu, Wei-ming. Confucian Thought: Selfhood as Creative Transformation, Albany: SUNY, 1985; Chinese translation, 1991 (China) & 1997 (Taiwan). —. Humanity and Self-Cultivation, Berkeley: Asian Humanities Press, 1979; Boston: Cheng & Tsui Company, 1998; Chinese translation, 1988 (China) & 1992 (Taiwan). —. Li as a Process of Humanization. Philosophy East and West Hawaii (1972): 187-201. Van Norden, Bryan W., trans. Mengzi: With Selections from Traditional Commentaries. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 2008. Williams, Bernard. “The Truth in Relativism.” The Aristotelian Society Proceedings. 75 (1974): 215-228.

Notes 

1 I originally made this argument in my MA thesis on The Concept of Emotion (1984) and then in more depth in my PhD dissertation on Emotionally Relevant Feelings (1990) at the University of California at Santa Barbara, before learning that ancient Chinese already has an analogous concept. 2 I first presented this topic at the Society for Asian and Comparative Philosophy conference in Singapore in July, 2013, and then presented a revised version at the 65th Northwest Philosophy conference at Pacific University in October of the same year. 3 I realize that distinguishing between “male” and “female” in this way runs the risk of “essentializing” a binary of sexual opposition when gender identities may be much more fluid and open to construction. For example, Anne Fausto-Sterling has written in “The Five Sexes: Why Male and Female are Not Enough” that, even biologically, “there are gradations running from male to female; and depending on how one calls the shots, one can argue that along that spectrum lies at least five sexes—and perhaps even more” (March/April 1993). 4 See Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (Ross 1925). 5 See Descartes’ Meditations on First Philosophy (Lafleur 1641/1960). 6 This is mainly addressed in terms of the unreliability of sense perception, found in Descartes’ “First Meditation” (Lafleur 1641/1960). 7 This is mainly addressed in terms of the unreliability of our ability to form specific concepts, found in Descartes’ “Second Meditation” (Lafleur 1641/1960). 8 See Descartes’ Passions of the Soul (Bennett 1643/2010). 9 I discuss the intensional—as opposed to intentional—nature of feelings (such as Confucian ren) in more depth in “The Ren-Dao of Confucius: A Spiritual Account of Humanity” (2008). 10 For example, see Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason (Smith 1781/1965).



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11 For example, see Kant’s Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals (Paton 1785/1964). 12 See the article, “Emotions” (Bedford 1956-57). 13 See the article, “Emotions and Choice” (Solomon 1973). 14 For example, see Mengzi (Van Norden 2008). 15 For example, see Karyn Lai’s discussion of both the early and later Mohists, chapters four and seven, respectively, in An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy (2008). 16 I have discussed this at length in “Confucianism and Ethics in the Western Philosophical Tradition, I & II” (2010). 17 See Mengzi (Van Norden 2008). 18 ibid. 19 ibid. 20 Some have questioned the use of the terms “virtue” or “virtuous” when referring to Confucian moral excellences because of their Greek connotation of being a “condition of the soul”. The complaint is that the ancient Chinese did not have a concept of “soul” as being an internal entity giving one an essence as a certain type of living being in and of oneself. For ancient Chinese thought, one becomes a “self” only in and through others. Having cited this difference, I will still use the term “virtue” in connection with the ancient Chinese notion of xin, the heart-mind that is a kind of internal “organ” with feelings that—like Greek virtues—must also cultivated and properly put into practice in order to become virtues. The point is mainly that Confucian virtues, like Greek virtues, are also social activities. 21 For Mencius’ explicit formulation of the five basic human relationships see Mengzi, 3A4.8 (Van Norden 2008). 22 This comes from D. C. Lau’s translation of the Analects that was first published in 1979 and then again in 1983 and 1982. I have added the pinyin transliterations to this passage. 23 Ames and Rosemont translate ren as “authoritative conduct” in order to bring out that ren is a socially embedded activity as opposed to an inner, subjective state like an intention. See The Analects of Confucius: A Philosophical Translation (1998). 24 See Raymond Dawson’s translation of the Analects (1993). 25 This is the Confucian “rectification of names”, which holds that a name is a social title that is earned based on one’s “conduct”. In light of this discussion, it should now be clear that, for example, humane conduct also entails a way of feeling—a conscious orientation that aims to treat another in the appropriate way that is ren to the degree that it accomplishes that aim. 26 I have described the relationship between li and ren in depth in “Confucian Ritual as Body Language of Self, Society, and Spirit” (2012). In that same article I also discuss the problem of li being “under-determined” by ren, which is discussed later in this article too. 27 Bernard Williams discusses this problem in his article, “The Truth in Relativism” (Williams 1974-75). I also raise this problem in a different way in my article, “Ethics, Relativism, and the Self” (1997).



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I thank my colleague and scholar of Japanese philosophy and religion, David Bradna from the University of Pardubice in the Czech Republic, for many discussions about wuwei or the “actionless”, effortlessness actions we perform so well precisely because we “know” how to do them intuitively. Wuwei entails a practical knowledge or “know how” rather than the “knowing that” so characteristic of Western moral discourse. David Bradna is also an accomplished Black Belt master and teacher of Aikido. 29 For example, see Analects, 12.19 (Lau 1979) and Mengzi (Mencius), 3A2.4 (Van Norden 2008). 30 I use this example because it calls into question whether our roles as parents should be the same, despite the fact we have different—female as “opposed to” male—gender identities. How much do—or should—our bodies influence what our roles should be? This question is particularly pressing in light of feminist efforts to become more involved in social roles outside of the ones traditionally designated for females. To promote more social equality in this way would require a correlative effort for males to move beyond the roles traditionally designated for them too; for example, to become more active parents. Again, I am not trying to reinforce the “male versus female” gender binary, but want to acknowledge the force it has had historically to govern our roles and our lives. Only then can we effectively envision a way of moving beyond those roles when morally called to do so. Pragmatically, it may be the case one day we will all just be “parents” without needing to make a social distinction between mother and father. 31 Martin Luther King’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail” was written on 16 April 1963 and is now widely available in the public domain. For example, see a PDF copy of the full text at http://www.stanford.edu/group/King/frequentdocs/birmingham.pdf as well other places. 32 Sometimes such intentional, deliberate calls to action are needed—for us to reflect on a social problem as well as to devise a plan that aims in a self-conscious, pre-meditated way to solve it. Because there can be greater moral power (de) in number, people organized under a leader and cooperatively interacting to promote the change can be the best way strategically to bring it about (as with MLK’s social activism that established greater civil rights in the USA in the 1960s). My view is that a broader view of human flourishing rests on more than our ability to embody social roles. We must also reflect on whether social roles are morally justified to make them truly ren or beneficial in a deeper moral sense—which may well demand social critique and deliberate organized activism so the larger social body can be transformed to be more ren or “truly human” as a result. 33 This attitude is reminiscent of Hume’s view that “Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them” (p. 415). As such, reason alone cannot be a motive of the will. See the Treatise of Human Nature, “Of the Morals” (Selby-Bigge 1738/1978). 34 The homogeneity of “the black haired people” was not enough to keep social strife at bay. Recall that Confucius’ time marked a transition from the Time of the Warring States, and his main aim was to have his culture recapture the glory of the



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 earlier Golden Age. I also argue in another forthcoming work (in “Birds, Beasts, and Women in the Analects”) that Confucius’ homogeneous moral community was also exclusively male. That is, I think that Confucius, like Aristotle, held that only males could reach the highest human goal (of ren and eudaimonia, respectively). For females, the highest role was to be human vessels for the (re)production of potential moral exemplars by giving birth to male children. 35 I do not want to oversimplify the problem, e.g., farmers and rulers may both be alike in their role as fathers, e.g., at least in terms of how much they love their sons, but may also have very different expectations of their sons due to their differences in socio-political and economic status. 36 See “Filial Morality”, by Christina Hoff Summers, who argues against the “equal pull thesis” in order to support the claim that our own children should have a greater pull on our moral sensibilities than those to whom we are not as directly related (1986/2003). 37 I define the value of yi in this way in order to explicitly bring out its relational features. 38 Notice that it can be argued that one can still justifiability treat a moral equal differently because that person is a moral equal. For example, a moral equal will be competent and so may justifiably be put in prison for an offense. Such “discrimination” of this equal is justified, say, due to that person’s violent behavior. As such, he deserves to lose his privilege to move freely in the community and we deserve to be protected from him. Of course, where to draw the line in such cases is the source of great moral debate. 39 The Civil Rights Movement in the USA in the 1960s is a good example of this. 40 See Tu Wei-Ming’s “Li as a Process of Humanization” (April 1972), Humanity and Self-Cultivation (1979), and Confucian Thought: Selfhood as Creative Transformation (1985). 41 These benefits do not have to just be material in nature. Some communities have come to value, and in turn possess, many non-material resources as well, e.g., the country of Bhutan that measures its worth in terms of “gross national happiness”. I also recall as a child, when traditional gender roles were still very prevalent in the USA, a televised discussion on the new wave of feminism that stood to “threaten the very foundation of family life, especially the care and wellbeing of children”. There were three men involved in the discussion only. Two argued that women were immoral in seeking such a social change due to their selfish motives that mostly stood to hurt their children, e.g., by leaving them unsupervised while the mother’s went off to work. I do not remember who he was, but the last speaker, a young male medical doctor, responded by saying he wanted the same benefits for his daughter that his son was simply entitled to. He also said that the medical field would be benefitted greatly by having more female doctors. He cited, first, that it could well be a female who has the know-how to discover cures to some diseases. Second, he described the current state of the practice as being insensitive (grueling hours, etc.), and said that females would force those things to change because they have families to care for too. Interestingly, much of what he said has come true. 42 To learn more about the “Half the Sky” movement, go to



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 http://www.halftheskymovement.org/ as well as the book by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn (2009) of the same name. This is an amazing movement advocating for females who are treated as “unequals” by virtue of a huge range of violent and abusive patriarchal practices that are normalized in many places. 43 The success that microloans supporting the small businesses of women from poor communities have had, and how women are now seen as holding greater social value even within their own family because of their socio-economic contributions (and who previously had been totally dependent on their husbands or fathers), shows how fast such a social transformation can take place. 44 See my article, “The Virtue of Freedom” (2008). 45 I am not trying to suggest that males are equal to one another in mobility—for example, Caucasian males in the USA have traditionally had far more social mobility than African-American males. Also, in the African-American community in the USA females have far more frequently been the sole caregivers of their children than Caucasian females have been, including the responsibility to provide economically for them. I am aware that what “traditional” means is ambiguous and also very context dependent, and trying to fathom the complexity of social relations requires an intersectional analysis of a large variety of factors that will often involve subtle differences of degree instead of kind. For example, gender is best seen as a concept that has “male” and “female” existing on a continuum, and “black” as opposed to “white” culture is now becoming more like this as the racial designations become less distinct as well.



EPICTETUS’ SERENITY MEDITATION1 MORGAN REMPEL

“The philosopher’s school is a doctor’s clinic.” —Epictetus

Every day, millions of people all over the world begin a Twelve-Step recovery meeting with the Serenity Prayer: “God, grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change; Courage to change the things we can; And wisdom to know the difference.”2 Alcoholics Anonymous cofounder Bill W. wrote of the prayer: “Never had we seen so much A.A. in so few words.”3 While this particular form of the prayer is generally attributed to theologian Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971), those familiar with ancient philosophy may hear in the Serenity Prayer echoes of a much older wisdom tradition: Stoicism. Close examination reveals that there are a number of aspects of this practical, tonic ancient philosophy that find resonance in twentieth century Twelve-Step programs. In the following pages, several such connections are examined. More specifically: (1) the cardinal theme of promoting serenity by distinguishing those matters over which we have control from those we haven’t and (2) the central importance of the allied themes of self-examination and self-improvement. Indeed, at the heart of both Stoic philosophy and Alcoholics Anonymous, one finds a series of practical, straightforward—though by no means easy—psychotherapeutic exercises focusing on self-knowledge and gradual self-improvement. As we see below, one of the things that recommend the comparison of A.A. and Stoicism is that both offer real-world guidance for the art of living purposeful lives of enduring serenity. Indeed, a version of A.A.’s goal of “peace, patience, and contentment”4 was articulated by Stoic philosophers centuries ago. My hope is that the parallel examination of several key aspects of these two wisdom traditions will serve as both a helpful introduction to a routinely neglected ancient philosophy of personal transformation and empowerment, and a reminder of the enduring, therapeutic wisdom at the heart of Alcoholics Anonymous and the Serenity Prayer.

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In Our Power to Control/Not In Our Power to Control Epictetus’ Handbook begins with what we might call Stoicism’s “serenity meditation.”5 Of things, some are in our power and some things are not in our power. In our power are our judgments, our pursuits, our desires, aversions, and our mental faculties in general. Not in our power are our bodies, material possessions, our reputations, status—in a word, anything not in our power to control. Now, the things in our power are naturally free, unrestrained and unimpeded, but those not in our power are frail, inferior, subject to restraint—and none of our affair. Remember that if you mistake what is naturally inferior for what is sovereign and free, and what is not your business for your own, you’ll meet with disappointment, grief and worry and be at odds with God and man. But if you have the right idea about what really belongs to you and what does not, you will never be subject to force or hindrance, you will never blame or criticize anyone, and everything you do will be done willingly (Handbook, 1).6

At first glance it may appear—particularly to our money, status, and fitness focused society—that Epictetus wrongly places “our bodies… material possessions…[and] status” on his “not in our power to control” list. But I think most would be willing to grant Epictetus that we do not have any control over whether we were born male or female; whether we are six feet or five feet tall; born to an impoverished third-world family or the wealthiest noble family in Rome, etc. Likewise, I think most would agree that our “power to control” things such as what other people say or think about us (“our reputations”), or whether we attain all the “material possessions” and “status” we hoped for, is limited indeed.7 Epictetus offers more straightforward examples of the in my power to control / not in my power to control dichotomy. He points to the cold fact that all our loved ones will eventually die as a clear example of something not in our power to control. Cautions Epictetus: “You are a fool to want your children, wife or friends to be immortal; it calls for powers beyond you, and gifts not yours to either own or give.” (Handbook, 14) Since, as Seneca reminds us, “all things human are short-lived and perishable,”8 it is not only foolish but also entirely unproductive to resent or be angered by something as inescapable and beyond our power of control as the inevitability of death. Far better to focus one’s energies on those few things over which one can exert control and effect change than squander one’s energies on the myriad of things over which one can do neither. The

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former, argue the Stoics, is the rational path to effective living and serenity. The latter, they consistently warn us, is but an invitation to anxiety, blighted hope and sorrow. Sounding not unlike the Buddha, Epictetus cautions: “So direct aversion only towards things that are under your control and alien to your nature, and you will not fall victim to any of the things you dislike. But if your resentment is directed at illness, death or poverty, you are headed for disappointment” (Handbook, 2). Nicely summing up this practical, therapeutic theme in Stoic philosophy, Connolly notes: Toward those unfortunate things that are not within our power which we cannot avoid (for example, death and the actions and opinions of others) the proper attitude is one of apathy…It is absurd to become distraught over externals for the same reason that it is absurd to become distressed over the past; both are beyond our power. The Stoic is simply adopting toward all things [beyond our power to control] the only logical attitude appropriate to the past—indifference.9

While my past is fixed, unchangeable and therefore, for the Stoics, a matter of “indifference,” my future is another matter altogether.10 Despite its association with determinism, fate, and even fatalism, Stoicism, as we see below, is a philosophy that allows for freedom of choice and indeed calls for the shaping and improving of oneself and one’s future.11 Writing of Stoicism, the Roman historian Tacitus notes that though “things happen according to fate…this school concedes to us the freedom to choose our own lives.”12 “Not even God,” Epictetus insists triumphantly, “has the power of coercion over us.”13 And for the Stoics, the principal way we can (simultaneously) exercise our freedom, improve ourselves, and increase our serenity, is by changing our judgments, attitudes and overall mental outlook. It is no accident that “our judgments” sit at the top of Epictetus’ deliberately short list of things “in our power.”14 Indeed, one cannot overestimate the importance Stoic philosophy assigns to recognizing that our “judgments” (sometimes translated as “opinions”) are “in our power.” And for the Stoics, our judgments, opinions, and attitudes have very real consequences for our psychological well-being. Asserting that, “anxieties can only come from your internal judgment,” Marcus succinctly underscores this all-important theme when he insists: “Life is judgment.” (Meditations 4, 3-4). In a well-known aphorism, Epictetus emphasizes that: It is not events that disturb people, it is their judgments concerning them. Death, for example, is nothing frightening, otherwise it would have

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Epictetus’ Serenity Meditation frightened Socrates. But the judgment that death is frightening—now that is something to be afraid of. So when we are frustrated, angry or unhappy, never hold anyone except ourselves—that is, our judgments—accountable. (Handbook, 5)

In the Discourses, Epictetus again discusses the manner in which we face our inevitable mortality in order to underscore the importance of one’s attitude and judgments. “I must die. But must I die bawling? I must be put in chains—but moaning and groaning too? I must be exiled; but is there anything to keep me from going with a smile, calm and selfcomposed?”15 Elsewhere, he offers this equally therapeutic (and equally difficult) advice: “Remember, it is not enough to be hit or insulted to be harmed, you must believe that you are being harmed. If someone succeeds in provoking you, realize that your mind is complicit in the provocation”. (Handbook, 20) 16 According to Stoic philosophy, by changing the way one thinks, one changes the person one is (and will be). By learning to think like a Stoic— particularly vis-à-vis one’s attitude toward those things in, and not in, our power of control—we wrest control of our mental well-being from other people and the vicissitudes of life, and place it firmly in our own hands. Put into practice, this straightforward (but by no means easy) message is at once liberating and empowering. No longer are one’s happiness and serenity dependent upon “externals” (things outside one’s sphere of control). Our happiness and serenity, to a remarkable degree, really are “up to us.” Stoic philosophy, declares Seneca, builds “an impregnable wall” around the individual. “Though it be assaulted by many engines, Fortune can find no passage into it. The soul stands on unassailable ground, if it has abandoned external things; it is independent in its own fortress; and every weapon that is hurled falls short of the mark.” (Letters, 82.5)

A.A./Power/Powerlessness A.A.’s emphasis on personal “powerlessness” is well known. Indeed, the first and likely most famous of A.A.’s Twelve Steps reads: “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.”17 But this well-known Step is only one side of the issue of personal power in the A.A. tradition. As with Stoic philosophy, much of the good news of Alcoholics Anonymous lies with its treatment of the other side of this issue—those things squarely in our power to change and control. After quoting Step One, an A.A. reflection on powerlessness continues:

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It is no coincidence that the very first step mentions powerlessness: an admission of personal powerlessness over alcohol is a cornerstone of the foundation of recovery. I’ve learned that I do not have the power and control I once thought I had. I am powerless over what people think about me. I am powerless over having just missed the bus…But I’ve also learned I am not powerless over some things. I am not powerless over my attitudes. I am not powerless over negativity. I am not powerless over assuming responsibility for my own recovery.18

From the perspective of Stoic philosophy, A.A. passages such as this are interesting indeed. Like the Serenity Prayer, it shares with Stoicism an emphasis on the therapeutic value of distinguishing those things that are in my power to control from those things that are not. Among the latter are such familiar things as what other people think about me, the past (“having just missed the bus”), and of course, alcohol. Among the former is the allimportant matter of my attitudes (with particular emphasis on doing something about negative attitudes); and my ability to freely choose to be a positive force of change in my life. Another A.A. reflection, “The Past is Over,” employs similar examples to illustrate this familiar dichotomy of control. “Whatever is done is over. It cannot be changed. But my attitude about it can be changed…I won’t have to wish the past away. I can change my feelings and attitudes.”19 Interestingly, with respect to the past, Twelve Step thinking at once reiterates and parts company with Stoic philosophy. As we have seen, Stoicism recommends treating the past—like all matters over which we have no power of control—with indifference. Alcoholics Anonymous, however, while recognizing that the past is indeed something I cannot change, strongly emphasizes learning from it. For example, A.A. literature suggests that, when recovering alcoholics are tempted by an offer of a drink, “we now try to remember the whole train of consequences of starting with just ‘a drink.’ We think the drink all the way through, down to our last miserable drunk and hangover…We are careful to recall the full suffering of our last drinking episode.”20 What is more, a significant component of the Twelve Step recovery strategy is that others can learn from your past, no matter how troubled. The tellingly titled reflection, “The Treasure of the Past”, begins by quoting Alcoholics Anonymous: “The dark past is the greatest possession you have—the key to life and happiness for others. With it you can avert death and misery for them.” It then goes on to observe, “What a gift it is for me to realize that all those seemingly useless years were not wasted. The most degrading and humiliating experiences turn out to be the most powerful tools in helping others to recover.”21

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The past, in the A.A. tradition then, is a more complex matter than for the Stoics. Indeed, for A.A., the same past that I am powerless to change can be truly empowering, both to myself and to other sufferers.

Self-examination / Self-improvement Not surprisingly, the ancient philosophical themes of self-examination and self-knowledge figure prominently in both Stoic philosophy and Twelve-Step recovery programs. In both traditions, self-examination and self-knowledge are regarded as necessary steps in one’s journey of selfimprovement. A.A.’s emphasis on regular personal “inventories”—what Alcoholics Anonymous characterizes as “drastic self-appraisals”22—is well known. Indeed, two of A.A.’s Twelve Steps, and much of its therapeutic methodology, rest on the importance of ongoing “searching and fearless personal inventories” (Step Four). In a passage that seems to reverberate with Stoic wisdom, A.A.’s Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions notes: A continuous look at our assets and liabilities, and a real desire to learn and grow by this means, are necessities for us. We alcoholics have learned this the hard way. More experienced people, of course, in all times and places have practiced unsparing self-survey and criticism. For the wise have always known that no one can make much of his life until self-searching becomes a regular habit, until he is able to admit and accept what he finds, and until he patiently and persistently tries to correct what is wrong.23

Reviewing different ways to conduct such inner inventories, this volume advises: “There’s the one we take at day’s end…Here we cast up a balance sheet, crediting ourselves with things well done, and chalking up debits where due.”24 Alcoholics Anonymous is even more specific: “When we retire at night, we constructively review our day. Were we resentful, selfish, dishonest or afraid? Do we owe an apology?…What could we have done better?”25 The strategy is straightforward, though by no means easy: One scrutinizes one’s day and one’s self and makes note of, and reflects upon, both “things well done” and areas in need of improvement (“debits”). Over time, through trial and error, one endeavors to gradually decrease the debits in subsequent inventories as one moves in the direction of the better person one wishes to be. By emphasizing “inner” matters of opinion and attitude—resentfulness, selfishness, fears, etc.—A.A., like Stoic philosophy, wisely focuses one’s self-improvement efforts on those things truly “in our power” to change.

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Despite its positive approach to self-examination and self-improvement, there is nothing Pollyannaish about A.A.’s approach to these matters. A.A. is well aware that self-awareness and self-improvement are lifelong endeavors. Indeed, self-knowledge and improvement are not things one fully achieves, but rather continually strives for. This realistic insight informs the movement’s famous claim that “the principles we have set down are guides to progress. We claim spiritual progress rather than spiritual perfection.”26 So it is that many in the recovery community characterize themselves as “recovering” rather than “recovered.” Moreover, A.A. is truthful about the likelihood of setbacks in one’s journey: “Maybe we have fallen short somehow, backslid a bit in our thinking or actions, despite knowing better. So what? We are not perfect creatures…some of us go back to drinking a time or so before we get a real foothold on sobriety. If that happens, don’t despair…Recovery can still follow.”27 The reason the alcoholic need not despair and that recovery can still follow (even repeated) setbacks is that the process of self-improvement can begin again at any time. On the topic of the famous slogan “one day at a time,” A.A. astutely points out: “I can start my day over again anytime I choose; a hundred times, if necessary.”28 The extent to which the teachings of Stoic philosophy align with those of Alcoholics Anonymous vis-à-vis the allied matters of self-examination and self-improvement is impressive. Long, for example, characterizes Epictetus’ lectures as “invitations to his audience to examine themselves.”29 Seneca likewise, in a letter on the topic of attaining serenity, advises: “Our first duty will be to examine ourselves.”30 Sounding like an A.A. member’s inventory, Seneca tells us that his teacher, Sextius, would ask himself each night: “What ailment of yours have you cured today? What failings have you resisted? Where can you show improvement?”31 Anticipating the A.A. theme of “progress” rather than “perfection,” Seneca insists his own goal is simply to “everyday reduce the number of my vices.”32 Like A.A., Stoicism is adamant that while one’s quest for selfimprovement is never over, the time to begin the journey is always now. Asks Epictetus: How long are you going to wait before you demand the best for yourself…What kind of teacher, then, are you still waiting for in order to refer your self-improvement to him? You are no longer a boy, but a fullgrown man…From now on, then, resolve to live as a grown-up who is making progress…remember that the contest is now: you are at the Olympic games, you cannot wait any longer…That is how Socrates fulfilled himself by attending to nothing except reason in everything he

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Epictetus’ Serenity Meditation encountered. And you, although you are not yet a Socrates, should live as someone who at least wants to be a Socrates.” (Handbook, 51)

Stoicism appreciates that the task of self-improvement—of endeavoring to become a Socrates—is no easy matter. But one needs to establish a goal, begin moving towards it, and stick with it. Epictetus advises: “Settle on the type of person you want to be and stick to it, whether alone or in company.” (Handbook, 33) Also like A.A., Stoicism recognizes the likelihood of setbacks in one’s journey, and offers similar counsel to the frustrated. Marcus Aurelius—no stranger to difficulties (both inner and on the world stage)—wryly observes that, “the art of living is more like wrestling than dancing.”33 He also advises: “Do not give up in disgust or impatience if you do not find action on the right principles consolidated into a habit in all that you do. No: if you have taken a fall, come back again.”34 Whether reading the Roman Stoics or A.A. literature, the advice for those who “have taken a fall” is the same: Don’t despair; get up; keep trying; tomorrow is another day.

Mutually Illuminating Wisdom Considering that both Stoic philosophy and Alcoholics Anonymous famously devote considerable attention to explicating our powerlessness in certain matters, it is well to underscore the equally important attention both traditions pay to the tremendous power each of us has. As noted, this celebration of personal power—the power to control our judgments, attitudes, and mental outlook; the power to exercise personal choice, and in so doing, change and improve the person one is; the power to achieve happiness and serenity despite numerous challenges and obstacles—really is the good news of both these wisdom traditions. “If a strong inner core of peace, patience, and contentment looks at all desirable to you, it can be had.”35 The fact that this specific A.A. promise could just as easily be made by Epictetus, testifies to just how similar certain aspects of these two traditions are. The fact that Stoic philosophy and Alcoholics Anonymous arrive at comparable conclusions and offer similar therapeutic counsel on a number of topics is not necessarily evidence of any direct, heretofore undiscovered indebtedness to, or even knowledge of, the former by the latter. I am merely proposing that both wisdom traditions appear to be tapping into the same empowering, serenity-promoting wisdom—the enduring wisdom articulated in the Serenity Prayer.

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References Anonymous. Living Sober. New York: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc., 1975/1998. Anonymous. Alcoholics Anonymous, Third Edition. New York: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc., 1976. Anonymous. Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions. New York: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc., 1952/2000. Alcoholics Anonymous World Services. Daily Reflections: A Book of Reflections by A.A. members for A.A. Members. New York: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc., 1990/2011. Baltzly, Dirk. "Stoicism." The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/stoicism/. Bobzien, Suzanne. Determinism and Freedom in Stoic Philosophy. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998. Connolly, William. “Stoicism.” http://www2.evansville.edu/ecoleweb/articles/stoicism.html (accessed March 31, 2013). Epictetus. Moral Discourses of Epictetus. Translated by Elizabeth Carter. London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1910. Epictetus. Discourses and Selected Writings. Translated by Robert Dobbin. London: Penguin Books, 2008. Honan, William H. “Books, Books and More Books: Clinton an Omnivorous Reader.” nytimes.com. http://www.nytimes.com/1992/12/10/books/books-books-and-morebooks-clinton-an-omnivorous-reader.html?pagewanted=all&src=pm. December 10, 1992. Irvine, William. A Guide to the Good Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Long, A.A. Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002. Marcus Aurelius. Meditations. Translated by Martin Hammond. London: Penguin Books, 2006. Nussbaum, Martha. The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. Rice, Hugh. “Fatalism.” The Standford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/fatalism/. October 11, 2010. Sellars, John. Stoicism. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006. Seneca. Letters from a Stoic. Translated by Robin Campbell. London: Penguin Books, 1969/2004.

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Seneca. Moral Essays Vol.2. Translated by John W. Basore. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1932.

Notes 1 This paper is an abbreviated version of “Stoic Philosophy and AA,” which appears in Miller, Jerome A. and Nicholas R. Plants, Eds. Acknowledging Powerlessness: Philosophers Reflect on Twelve-Step Spirituality. ” 2015 by the Rector and Visitors of the University of Virginia. Reprinted with permission of the University of Virginia Press. 2 Twelve Steps and Traditions, 125. 3 Bill W., As Bill Sees It, 108. 4 Alcoholics Anonymous World Service, Living Sober, 46. 5 Though Epictetus (c. 55-135 AD) did not commit his philosophy to writing, his pupil Arrian brought many of his master’s teachings to print. The most famous, the Handbook, is a short compendium of Epictetus’ central teachings. Like Marcus Aurelius decades later, Epictetus casts Stoicism, above all, as a practical, therapeutic philosophy of life through which serenity and well-being can be achieved. 6 This quotation combines Robert Dobbin and Elizabeth Carter’s translations of Epictetus’ Handbook, which are contained in their translations of the Discourses. Unless noted, subsequent quotations are from the Dobbin translation. As many editions of the Handbook are available, I refer to it by using the chapter numbers and sometimes also the section numbers of Epictetus’ text, not the page numbers of a particular edition. I follow a similar procedure when referring to Epictetus’ Discourses, and the texts of Marcus Aurelius and Seneca. 7 Marcus offers a more nuanced reflection on this matter when he writes: “Someone despises me? That is his concern. But I will see to it that I am not found guilty of any word or action deserving contempt.” (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 11, 13). 8 Seneca, “On the Happy Life,” III.4, vol.2, Moral Essays. Vol.2. 9 William Connolly, http://www2.evansville.edu/ecoleweb/articles/stoicism.html. 10 See Epictetus, Discourses, 2.19.1-5. 11 The topic of Stoicism, determinism, and fatalism is a rich one and will not be settled here. Some scholars see in Stoic philosophy fatalism concerning our past, present, and future, while others (Irvine, Guide) emphasize Stoicism’s fatalism concerning the past. For a more in-depth examination of the matter, see Bobzien’s Determinism and Freedom. 12 Tacitus, quoted in Dobbin’s Introduction to Discourses, xii. This “freedom to choose our own lives,” is crucial, particularly to Epictetus’ brand of Stoicism. In the words of Dobbin, “the upshot” of Epictetus’ emphasis on freedom of choice, is “that it is ‘up to us’ how we act, and that we are responsible for determining the character and content of our lives.” (xiii) 13 Dobbin’s Introduction to Discourses, xiv.

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14 The Stoics did indeed teach that all mental states, including such seemingly spontaneous, reactive emotions as desire and aversion are, in fact, conditioned by our judgments. As Long writes in Epictetus, 27, “On this model of mind, there is no such thing as a purely reactive emotion or at least a reaction that we cannot, on reflection, control.” I think we can recognize that there are various degrees of control without doing disservice to Epictetus. In Guide, 89, Irvine introduces a middle category— “things over which we have some but not complete control”—and makes a convincing case that many things the Stoics characterize as “in our power” actually fall into this middle category. 15 Epictetus, Discourses 1, 21-22. 16 Marcus emphasizes our “complicity” with respect to negative judgments and mental states: “Who is not himself the cause of his own unrest? Reflect how no one is hampered by any other; and that all is as thinking makes it so.” Meditations 12, 8. 17 Twelve Steps and Traditions, 21. 18 Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Daily Reflections, 11. 19 Ibid., 141. 20 Alcoholics Anonymous, Living Soberly, 51-52. 21 Daily Reflections, 36. 22 Alcoholics Anonymous, 76. 23 Twelve Steps and Traditions, 88. 24 Ibid., 89. 25 Alcoholics Anonymous, 86. 26 Ibid., 60. 27 Living Soberly, 42, 86. 28 Daily Reflections, 80. 29 Long, Epictetus, 91. 30 Seneca, Stoic Philosophy, 87. 31 Irvine, Guide, 119. 32 Ibid., 124. 33 Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 7, 61. 34 Ibid., 5, 9. 35 Living Soberly, 46.

SPECIES EGALITARIANISM AND RESPECT FOR NATURE PIERSON TSE

Introduction Do all species, animals and plants, have equal moral standing and thus command equal respect? What would be our motivating reasons for thinking so? There is a distinct relationship between equality of species, respect for nature, and long-term environmental sustainability. First, equality of species is necessary to have a true respect for nature. Second, respect for nature is necessary if one cares about long-term environmental sustainability. I think the second of the two claims is less controversial than the first. Therefore, we focus our attention on the first claim—is equality of species really necessary to have respect for nature? Two competing views are considered: Paul Taylor argues that all species are equal and thus command equal respect and treatment, while David Schmidtz argues that all species are not equal and thus do not command equal respect. After examinations of both views, I determine that the debate concerning species egalitarianism is not one that can be decided based on factual matters. However, one can be motivated to choose one way or the other if one’s goal is to have respect for nature. I argue that respect for nature requires that we hold species egalitarianism to be true. Thus, one ought to be motivated to hold that all species have equal moral consideration and command equal respect. In addition, I respond to some possible objections to the arguments that follow.

Are All Species Equal? We begin by briefly reviewing the central arguments for and against species egalitarianism. In “Respect For Everything,” David Schmidtz argues that while all living creatures have a “good of their own” and are to be respected as such, different species are not deserving of the same amount of respect. For, some living creatures have the capacity to feel or

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even to think, while others have neither, and this means that treating them as warranting equal respect is inappropriate. Just because they all have a good of their own, it does not follow that there is equal value in their very different capacities. For example, Schmidtz argues that we would be right to accord greater respect to a chimpanzee than to a carrot because whatever qualities and capacities a carrot may have, a chimpanzee has more. In fact, Schmidtz argues, if we were to give them equal amount of respect, we would be disrespecting the chimpanzee. Now, I do think Schmidtz is correct in pointing out that some species have more qualities and capacities than others. But even if we grant this to be true, it does not follow that chimpanzees should command more respect than carrots. To have a good of one’s own means that we can judge for an entity what is good or bad for it, harmful or beneficial to it, and favorable or unfavorable to it from the entity’s perspective, and not our own. As Taylor explains, all living organisms are teleological centers of life. Each is a unique individual pursuing its own good in its own way. As such, a carrot pursues its own good in its own way—it does not need to have the qualities and capacities that say a chimpanzee has—it does not need to swing from trees or fashion rudimentary tools or to think. It is complete in and of itself and needs nothing more to pursue its own good. Surely, then, any qualities or capabilities a carrot seems to lack is strictly due from looking at things from our perspective, and not the carrot’s. Therefore, it is not a matter of who has what qualities and how much of them. Things like that matter only to us, not to the organism itself. As Taylor rightly points out, we can know what is good for an organism even if they themselves can neither make nor understand those judgments. Furthermore, having a good of one’s own implies that it has it without reference to any other entity. A carrot then has a good of its own. It does not “lose” some good of its own just because it is being compared with a chimpanzee. It would be odd if a good of one’s own should come and go in this way. We consider each living organism’s good of its own in isolation of any other living organism. When we do this, we find that the amount of respect both the chimp and the carrot deserve is the same because each fundamentally has a good of its own, irrespective of any value judgment we make about them.1 Now, there may be other reasons to hold species inequality, but the “qualities and capacities” argument is the principle one offered by Schmidtz and hence the one that I address. I hold that having a good of one’s own should be enough to make any living thing deserving of respect equivalent to that of any other. To be sure, other arguments can be made and have been made in defense of both sides of this debate. I think it is

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here that we reach an impasse. It seems, at least to me, that the question is not whether species egalitarianism is true or not. There may in fact be no truth of the matter.2 There may only be what we choose to believe. I argue that this is the case. Thus, since we cannot empirically decide the matter, the question becomes, what ought we to believe about species egalitarianism? Now, if having respect for nature is the desired end goal, I would argue that a view that supports species egalitarianism is the one that we ought to believe because it is the one most conducive to having respect for nature. In other words, I argue that the desire to be respectful to nature should count as a motivating factor in whether or not one ought to adopt species egalitarianism. Now, this is not to say that the desire to have respect for nature should be the only reason to adopt species egalitarianism. I assert that the arguments I have provided in favor of it are enough reason for some, including myself, to fully accept species egalitarianism. For us, the fact that species egalitarianism happens to be consistent with an attitude of respect for nature is merely an additional benefit. But what if one remains undecided on the matter? What if one sees equal value in the arguments on both sides of the debate? In these cases, those who wish to have respect for nature must ask themselves, how does belief about species egalitarianism “fit” with belief about respect for nature? I argue that believing all species are equal and command equal moral consideration is necessary for one to have a true respect for nature. Yet, Schmidtz has argued that we do not need to be species egalitarians to have respect for nature. Our situation seems to be logically impossible. No one definition of respect for nature can have both a supporting principle in favor of species equality and against it. To make ourselves logically consistent, one way or the other, we need to clarify what we mean by the concept “respect for nature.”

Does Respect for Nature Require Species Egalitarianism? Neither Schmidtz nor Taylor provide a clear definition of respect for nature so I offer one here. The definition I suggest is not meant to be comprehensive. Rather, its purpose is to capture the essence of what we generally understand respect for nature to mean. As such, I recommend that our concept of respect for nature include the following three principles: (1) the sense of fairness/non-biased attitude toward nature and its inhabitants; (2) the belief that we should not harm/interfere with other animals or plants; and (3) have the ultimate goal of a healthy, wellbalanced, fully functioning natural environment. Now, of course, there may be circumstances that might threaten our ability to respect each

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principle at all times. For example, humans need to eat and as such, fulfilling this need entails a potential breach of principle 2. On the whole however, I suggest these three principles illuminate the general spirit of the term “respect for nature.” If we agree that a respect for nature should meet these three criteria, we quickly find that a species non-egalitarian view fails to meet them. For example, Schmidtz argues that, “some species like redwoods, dolphins, and apes ‘capture our imagination.’ We identify with some animals, perhaps even some plants. We feel gripped by their stories.”3 And on the contrary, Schmidtz argues, there are species “with whom we can never be fellow citizens…such as the ‘rabbits that once ate flowers in my backyard in Ohio, cardinals now eating my cherry tomatoes in Arizona and mosquitoes, some species of which are so adapted to making human beings miserable that mortal combat…is a natural state.’”4 Sentiments such as these are not unique to Schmidtz. They point out what is in fact a very common, anthropocentric attitude that many humans have toward fellow creatures and plant life. But is it really? Can we never be fellow citizens with rabbits just because they ate a few flowers from our perfectly landscaped backyard, even though eating is a basic necessity for rabbits? Does it seem right that our attitudes and treatment of non-human species should turn on so little provocation as eating flowers from our backyard? Schmidtz’s account of redwoods and rabbits hardly seems un-biased. The respect that each is granted is based strictly on Schmidtz’s own interests and has nothing to do with theirs. It is the instrumental value attitude in full flight. We are reminded that principle 1 of respect for nature calls for a fair, non-biased attitude toward the natural world and its inhabitants. A system of beliefs that favors redwoods over rabbits for the reasons that Schmidtz offers is in violation of this principle. The basis of this preferential treatment is clearly not unbiased and furthermore, seems unjustified. Schmidtz characterizes his relationship with rabbits, cardinals and mosquitoes as one consisting of “mortal combat.” Since Schmidtz lived to share his stories about those dastardly pests, it looks like it was the rabbits and the others that lost the battle. We might be better off not to wonder about the details of how they lost it. I think we can conclude, however, that that some form of interfering or harm befell them. This is in breach of principle 2 of respect for nature—the belief that we should not harm or interfere with other animals or plants. Now, it seems surprising (at least to me) that Schmidtz calls his view “Respect for Everything” when the principles he uses to support it imply just the opposite. Schmidtz states that “a broad respect for living or beautiful or well-functioning things need not translate into equal respect. It

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need not translate into universal respect, either. Part of our responsibility as moral agents is to be somewhat choosy about what we respect and how we respect it.”5 So according to Schmidtz, “beautiful” things command our respect, while the less beautiful (presumably rabbits, cardinals, and mosquitoes) command none at all. He later adds, “The conclusion that all living things have moral standing is unmotivated. There is no evidence for it, and believing it would serve no purpose.”6 It befuddles me that a view that grants or does not grant respect based on beauty, and claims that some living things are simply not deserving of any moral standing at all, is properly called a “respect for everything.” It is difficult to see how a set of ethics that allows man to pick and choose which species to give respect to can result in a healthy, wellbalanced, fully functioning natural environment. I argue that it can’t. For under this system, continued preferential treatment of the lucky species over the less fortunate can only result in mass imbalance in the delicate relationships that each species holds with others. We would effectively be doing away with perceived “unnecessary parts” at great cost to the overall well-being of the environment. And this would be in violation of our ultimate goal—a healthy, well-balanced, fully functioning natural environment, which is our third principle of respect for nature. So by my count, Schmidtz’s non-egalitarian view violates all three principles of respect for nature. What has been the root cause of this massive failure? I argue that the root cause lies squarely on the shoulders of Schmidtz’s unwillingness to grant species egalitarianism. When we refuse to believe that all species are equal and deserving of equal moral consideration, we inevitably find ourselves having a biased attitude toward them, doing potential harm to them (whether intentionally or not), and threatening the overall balance of nature. Essentially, we find ourselves not having respect for nature and other living things. We allow our own interests, whatever they may be, to trump those of all other species. Now, I am discussing Schmidtz as the representative problem case of what happens when we refuse to hold species egalitarianism. But any view that does not start with an attitude of equal respect for all living things will inevitably lead to the very same unwelcome outcome we find with Schmidtz’s view. The central problem with non-egalitarian views is they promote seeking of some end solely from inclination, out of personal love or affection. For example, one wants to help save baby seals because they’re cute and cuddly, yet one refuses to help other species that do not engender the same feelings as baby seals do. The inclination to help, preserve and protect are borne solely out of the desire to do so. But desires come and go. They are

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here today and gone tomorrow. Taylor calls this view love of nature. I would add that a love of nature comes fully equipped with its counterpart, a hate of nature. We love the dolphins, but we hate rabbits. Save the redwoods, but who cares about the muddy marshes. Now, contrast this view with Taylor’s concept of respect for nature. Here, one preserves and protects the good of all wild living things at all times. People feel themselves morally required to do so, even in the absence of the desire to do so. One acts out of moral principle. There is a sense of fairness here, an attitude of understanding and compassion for all species at all times. Furthermore, this view understands that it is not man who knows what is best for nature. Mother Nature knows what is best for nature. As such, other living things are not to be harmed or interfered with—they are to be left alone. When we leave animals and plants alone, we enjoy a much higher probability of having a fully functioning and wellbalanced environment. Nature simply knows what to do. It does not need any help, or interference, from us. We see that this type of respect for nature satisfies all three requisite principles. To satisfy all three principles requires that one have the fundamental belief that all species are equal and deserving of equal moral consideration. We find then that a true respect for nature calls for an objectiveness, a steadfastness whereby we do not pick and choose which species to safeguard and protect, or when we’ll do it. We strive to do our best to protect the interests of all species, at all times. Doing this is to be a species egalitarian. Doing this allows the natural world to be properly conserved, protected and free to flourish. If our true interest is the long-term sustainability of our environment, then we must have respect for nature. If we are to have respect for nature, then we must adopt a view that sees all species as equals. Furthermore, as Taylor argues, it would not be just out of moral obligation that we would fulfill the duty of respecting all other living things. If our respect for non-human species is genuine, we will show, in both character and conduct, a genuine eagerness, an open willingness to demonstrate this respect for all living things.

Objections and Responses Now, Schmidtz and his supporters may be wondering what motivation one has to adopt the view that I support. Why should we look at things from a carrot’s perspective and not our own? Why should we be worried about saving the messy marshes when it’s the beautiful redwoods we care about? Also, why should we do any of this willingly? If it’s the long-term viability of our natural environment that is truly our first priority, then we

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will take the standpoint of the carrot and care for the woodlands and redwoods alike, and we will do it willingly. The goal all along for Taylor and Schmidtz, and for a great many of us, is to interact with the natural world in a manner that is respectful of nature. We all have the same goal in mind—long-term environmental sustainability. It is thus up to each person to adopt the best possible set of ethics that will maximize the safety and security of our natural environment. A set of ethics that includes species egalitarianism and a genuine willingness to express our respect and concern for non-human species is the only one that will achieve this maximization. There may be two other concerns that one may have with the arguments I’ve set out. First, won’t the consequences of such a view be “costly” to mankind? Respecting animals and plants equally effectively lowers our current moral status. We will now have to accommodate, share, and even sacrifice some of our own wants and needs. Yes, there are costs associated with mankind fully respecting nature. It may involve the sacrificing of some of our non-basic needs to meet the basic needs of plants and animals. For example, we might think twice before destroying a fresh water ecosystem because we want to establish a shore on a lakeside resort. Or we’ll think twice before we replace a stretch of cactus desert with a suburban housing development.7 The main question to ask ourselves is, what have the repercussions been when we haven’t considered a full respect for nature? Making decisions in favor of human interests at the expense of non-humans can accomplish nothing but perpetuate man’s well-known history of exploitation and critical damage to other animals, plants, and the general environment. So when the question of “cost” arises, we would do well to think of the long-term environmental benefits of our decisions, and not just the short-term personal cost to ourselves. The second objection one might offer is that the end does not justify the means. That is, why should we adopt a species egalitarian view, which hasn’t been proven to be true, just to ensure environmental sustainability? It would be wrong to believe something that is potentially not true just because it achieves some desired end. The end does not justify the means. Now, in typical situations of “the end not justifying the means,” some person or some thing is harmed or taken advantage of. That’s what makes the action wrong. So, if belief in species egalitarianism actually harmed animals and plants in the process of achieving desired environmental ends, then this would be a case of the ends not justifying the means. But, supporting species egalitarianism clearly benefits them by granting them equal respect and protecting their interests. Therefore this is not a case of the ends justifying the means. At least not a typical one—for no

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identifiable party is being harmed. Furthermore, by respecting all other species equally we benefit ourselves by creating the optimum natural environment. We acknowledged from the outset that long-term sustainability is our goal. So, it is difficult to see how we would be wrong to hold species egalitarianism when the result of holding such a belief harms no one or no thing, but rather benefits all parties involved.

Concluding Remarks I have argued that if long-term environmental sustainability is our goal, then we must have a respect for nature. If we are to have respect for nature, then we must hold that species egalitarianism is true. While proving species egalitarianism may not be possible, I have argued that if one wishes to have respect for nature, then one ought to hold that all species are equal and deserving of equal moral consideration. One cannot hold the opposite and still be said to have a respect for nature. Now, it is possible that the staunch non-egalitarian will not be moved by the arguments I have made here. Perhaps that is too much to ask for. Adopting species egalitarianism is a step that for many will require a paradigm shift, a fundamental reordering of the way we see nature and the respect we grant it. Now, are all the details fully worked out on what a comprehensive respect for nature entails? No, they are not. Do we know the full extent of the potential sacrifices we would have to make in order to truly respect all animals and all plants equally? No, we do not. But while these are important questions, our focus, right now, is needed elsewhere. Given our long history of lack of respect for nature and the critical damage we have done to it, time is of the essence. Thus, our first step on the road to recovery is to grant equal moral consideration and equal respect to all other species. It is not a step that everyone has taken. Yet, the very security of our future and the survival of our own species depend on it.

References Brooks, Thom. “Respect for Nature: The Capabilities Approach.” Ethics, Policy and Environment. Vol. 14, No. 2, June 2011, 143–146. Schmidtz, David. “Respect for Everything.” Ethics, Policy and Environment. Vol. 14, No. 2, June 2011, 127–138. Taylor, Paul W. Respect for Nature: A Theory of Environmental Ethics. Princeton University Press 25th Anniversary Edition, 1986. Hess, Kendy M. “Shifting the Burden.” Ethics, Policy and Environment. Vol. 14, No. 2, June 2011, 159–162.

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Other Recommended Reading Atffield, Robin. “Schmidtz on Species Egalitarianism.” Ethics, Policy and Environment. Vol. 14, No. 2, June 2011, 139–141. Bognar, Greg. “Respect for Nature.” Ethics, Policy and Environment. Vol. 14, No. 2, June 2011, 147–149 Drenthen, Martin. “Ecocentrism as Anthropocentrism.” Ethics, Policy and Environment. Vol. 14, No. 2, June 2011, 151–154.

Notes 1

Taylor makes the distinction between a “good of one’s own” and “inherent worth” and argues that inherent worth is needed to argue on behalf of species egalitarianism. I include only the concept of “good of one’s own” in this paper. 2 Schmidtz himself recognizes that there is a burden of proof issue which shows that the argument can still go either way (Schmidtz pp. 134). 3 Schmidtz pp. 135. 4 Schmidtz pp. 135. 5 Schmidtz pp. 134. 6 Schmidtz pp. 135. 7 Examples from Taylor pp. 256.



BERKELEY ON HUMAN FREEDOM AND MORAL RESPONSIBILITY BRANDON BOWEN

Introduction It is natural for questions about the implications of human freedom and moral responsibility to be posed to a metaphysical theory that is not in keeping with the common intuitions about the world. The average person thinks of the world and the objects in it as composed of mind-independent matter, including his own physical body. One typically thinks of oneself as able to effect change in the world through choosing to use one’s body to cause physical changes in one’s environment. For example, on this account, one can cause a chair to be moved across the room in which it is located by freely choosing to physically move the matter that composes the chair by pushing it with the matter composing one’s physical body. Furthermore, when someone causes harm to another, he is generally thought to be morally responsible for his action; after all, he caused the physical motions to take place that resulted in the harm. George Berkeley proposed a different view of the world, that of idealism, in the early eighteenth century. According to Berkeley’s theory of idealism, no physical matter exists. Objects are simply bundles of perceptions in our minds, and God is the immediate cause of our sense perceptions. Questions then naturally arise about the implications for a person to freely choose his actions in a world that is characterized in the manner suggested by Berkeley. Georges Dicker seeks to address such implications for Berkeley. I will argue that his interpretation of the implications of Berkeley’s idealism is not correct by Berkeley’s own explanations. First, however, let me clarify the concepts, or questions, that are to be addressed in this paper. Discussions of human freedom typically include at least three issues: 1. Freedom of Action: Is freedom simply one’s actions resulting from one’s own will or the result of some external coercion?



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2. Freedom of the Will: Is one free to will the actions of one’s own choosing? Or, stated differently, is one’s will determined by something other than one’s own free choice? 3. Moral Responsibility: Is one morally responsible for his own actions as a result of the conclusions drawn as answers to the first two questions? These questions seek to address the issue of the nature of human freedom and the intimately related issue of moral responsibility. I will show how George Berkeley addresses each of these questions. To the first, I will show that Berkeley’s idealism, relatively without controversy, allows that our actions may be free, as the realism of his day also allowed. To the second, Berkeley answers, more controversially, that the will is itself free. Not only does it affect one’s actions, it is not itself determined, but free. To the last question, that of moral responsibility, he answers in the affirmative on both counts. One is morally accountable for the actions that flow from his will as well as for the will itself. First, though, I will explain and critique the interpretation that Georges Dicker holds for Berkeley’s view on human freedom. In Dicker’s recently published book about Berkeley, he addresses Berkeley’s view of human freedom and the impact it has on moral responsibility. Dicker’s interpretation of Berkeley’s view of human freedom focuses on the ability of one to will his own actions, and consequently his view of Berkeley’s theory of moral responsibility rests on this as well. In the following section, I will explain how Berkeley’s view of human freedom is more about the freedom of the will, thereby providing a basis for his claim about moral responsibility, that one is indeed morally responsible.

Dicker on Berkeley’s Lack of Moral Responsibility Dicker draws on portions of Berkeley’s texts that directly address the topics of causation and human freedom, but overlooks the specific passages that are most relevant to the question of human freedom. Dicker uses A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge in order to point to a so-called problem in Berkeley’s idealism for attributing moral responsibility. Dicker focuses on freedom of action, or the ability for one’s actions to freely flow from one’s own will in explaining Berkeley’s view of human freedom. He, therefore, does not seem to see how Berkeley’s view of freedom could possibly entail that one’s will is causally efficacious toward any kind of action. He points out multiple passages



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from Principles where Berkeley is clearly stating that God is the immediate cause of all things that occur. Any action or movement which occurs is the result of God, not any finite (human) mind.1 Furthermore, God must be morally responsible for immoral actions, such as murder, according to Dicker’s view of Berkeley, since God is the cause of the immoral actions.2 Dicker’s conclusion is that, for Berkeley, persons possess neither freedom of action nor moral responsibility. This conclusion is puzzling, however, since Berkeley refutes such notions as resulting from idealism no more than from the metaphysical view of realism in a passage that Dicker actually quotes from Berkeley’s Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous.3 In the character of Philonous, Berkeley explains that God plays a similar role in the realist explanation of causation. For a realist (of Berkeley’s day), God uses matter (and all that it entails, such as notions of force and gravity) as an instrument of mediation in immediately causing events to occur. For an idealist, the instrument is simply removed, leaving God to directly cause sense perceptions of change. Due to Berkeley’s denial of the difference that Dicker asserts between realism and idealism, Dicker seems to be aiming at the wrong type of freedom for Berkeley. Dicker is focusing on how moral responsibility might rest on freedom of action. While Berkeley sufficiently explains how one’s actions are no less free under idealism than under realism, he also explains that this is not the freedom on which moral responsibility rests. Moral responsibility, according to Berkeley, lies not in the action itself, but in the will to act. So even if one’s actions (changes caused in the world) were not a result of his will, he is still morally responsible to the extent that he wills. The causal efficacy of one’s will on the occurrence of the action that is willed is morally irrelevant. Through his character Philonous, Berkeley states: [S]in or moral turpitude doth not consist in the outward physical action or motion, but in the internal deviation of the will from the laws of reason and religion…Since therefore sin doth not consist in the physical action, the making God an immediate cause of all such actions, is not making Him the author of sin.4

The first part of Berkeley’s statement seems to directly alleviate any concerns regarding moral responsibility emanating from the ability to produce actions: moral responsibility is about the will, not the action, whether or not the action results from one’s will. Freedom of action, therefore, is not only insufficient for determining moral culpability, but also unnecessary, according to Berkeley. Dicker’s conclusion about Berkeley’s



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view of human freedom and its relationship to moral responsibility appears to be inaccurate. For Berkeley, moral responsibility is about the will, even as quoted by Dicker. Yet this still does not give us a complete understanding of Berkeley’s view of human freedom and moral responsibility, for it does not tell us whether Berkeley sees the will as freely formed or determined. This will be addressed in the following section.

Berkeley’s View of Freewill Dicker attempts to answer the question of how Berkeley sees human moral responsibility by addressing his view of human freedom. In his attempt, he focuses on the question of freedom of action, the ability of one’s actions to be the free result of one’s will. Dicker concludes that human freedom could not follow from Berkeley’s idealism in that human actions are not free, and if this is the case, then one may not be morally responsible. I will now demonstrate that Dicker overlooks crucial statements by Berkeley that reveal his views of both human freedom and moral responsibility. Berkeley in fact believes that not only are actions as free according to idealism as they are according to realism, but the will, which determines actions, is itself free and undetermined in any type of causal manner. This freedom, according to Berkeley’s explanation, is related to the difference between idealism and realism. Because of this freedom to will, persons are morally responsible. In this section I will first discuss Berkeley’s position against fatalism. Then I will discuss his view about the category mistake of applying concepts associated with matter to concepts associated with spirit and mind. Finally, I will explain how his view of causation allows for free will.

Fatalism and Matter Dicker quotes Berkeley from the Dialogues as saying that moral culpability rests on the will, not the realization of the action that is willed. In this particular passage, as previously noted, Berkeley says nothing about how the will is formed, but only that one is morally responsible for willing appropriate actions. In Principles, however, Berkeley more directly addresses this issue. First, recall that Berkeley is an idealist; he does not believe in physical substance, or matter. He is also a Christian theist. In Section 94 of the Principles he claims, “The existence of matter, or bodies unperceived, has not only been the main support of atheists and



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fatalists, but on the same principle does idolatry likewise in all its various forms depend.”5 Fatalism holds that what we will and do are not ultimately up to us to freely choose, rather they are determined. They are the result of a causal process that could not but result in a particular effect or result. According to Berkeley, this view is largely dependent on the existence of matter. Without matter, therefore, there seems to be little or no reason to be a fatalist, according to Berkeley. Since he does not believe in matter, he must not accept fatalism, especially since he groups fatalism with atheism and idolatry, both of which he surely rejects. Berkeley does not accept the notion that our wills are determined. It is not the case, according to Berkeley, that one cannot but will a particular action at a particular time.

A Category Mistake While it seems fairly clear that Berkeley does not accept the idea of human determinism, his rejection of determinism does not tell us exactly why this is so. It only explains the fact that human determinism is logically supported by the existence of matter. Berkeley gives us a better idea of his reason for this in Section 144 of Principles. He explains that the idea of causal force, such as when one object of matter acts on another object of matter, is commonly misapplied to spirit and the mind. Berkeley seems to view this as something like a category mistake. Spirit and mind are nothing like what realism holds material objects to be; consequently, the concepts that would apply to material objects simply don’t apply to spirit or mind. The mind is not causally acted on in any way that a physical object might be. Berkeley explains, But nothing seems more to have contributed towards engaging men in controversies and mistakes, with regard to the nature and operations of the mind, than the being used to speak of those things, in terms borrowed from sensible ideas. For example, the will is termed the motion of the soul: this infused a belief that the mind of man is as a ball in motion, impelled and determined by the objects of sense, as necessarily as that is by the stroke of a racket. Hence arise endless scruples and errors of dangerous consequence in morality.6

Berkeley states explicitly that the mind’s will is not determined by others forces, such as sense, in the same way that the motion of a ball is determined by the stroke of a racket. Applying the necessity of the direction of a physical object that is struck by another physical object (as conceived under a realist framework) is simply a conceptual error. Such necessity does not apply to the will according to Berkeley.



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Causation and Will Nothing hitherto discussed should lead the reader to believe that Berkeley does not hold a view of causation, even though he does not accept the existence of material objects. Berkeley, in fact, very explicitly holds a view of causation. As discussed earlier in the paper, Berkeley believes that God is the cause of most of our perceptions, those that we refer to as our senses. Other perceptions, such as memories, or imaginings are caused by our own minds. Berkeley explains: The ideas of sense…are not excited at random, as those which are the effects of human wills often are, but in a regular train or series, the admirable connexion whereof sufficiently testifies the wisdom and benevolence of its Author. Now the set rules of methods, wherein the mind we depend on excites in us the ideas of sense, are called the Laws of Nature.7

The laws that Berkeley refers to are about the ideas of sense that we perceive, which are caused by God. Ideas are those things that are caused; they are the objects of causation. Furthermore, those that are caused by God, the ideas of sense, are associated with laws, according to Berkeley. The mind, though containing ideas, is not one itself. It is not seen, heard, smelled, tasted, or touched. It is not perceived like an idea is perceived. It is something entirely different. So if the will is like the motion of the mind, it cannot itself be perceived like an idea. The will is also not an idea. This does not mean, though, that ideas do not result from the will. For example, my will to throw a ball eventually results in my perception of a ball being thrown. I can feel the ball leave my hand and see it hurling through the air. I perceive the motion of the ball. These are all ideas, but they are not the same as my will to put the ball in motion. The will to put it in motion is not perceived in the way that the actual motion of the ball is perceived. To expect it to be so is to commit what I am calling a category mistake on Berkeley’s account, as discussed above. For Berkeley, then, the objects of cause are ideas, with God causing our ideas of sense. The will, though, is the active part of the mind; it is not an idea. Therefore, there appears to be no reason to think that the will should be an object of causation as is an idea. If a particular will is not caused, either by God or anything else, then it seems that the will is freely chosen. It is not determined, for it is not an object of determination as are ideas, according to Berkeley. Moreover, the manner in which God causes our ideas—our ideas of sense—is quite different from the manner in which the human will operates, according to Berkeley. This seems to preclude any



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objection that though our wills may impact the actions that flow from them, that God is still determining our respective wills. This would require a close connection between that which God causes and that which we will, but this connection simply does not seem to exist on Berkeley’s account. That which God causes is orderly, unlike those things that a person wills. Berkeley states, “The ideas of sense…are not excited at random, as those which are the effects of human wills often are, but in a regular train or series, the admirable connexion whereof sufficiently testifies the wisdom and benevolence of its Author.”8 Since that which God does produce, the ideas of sense, are so orderly and generally predictable as a result of the nature of God, according to Berkeley, it would seem to follow that if God were determining the respective wills of humans, that these would also be orderly and generally predictable, since the nature of God would not change from his act of producing ideas to his act of determining the human will. According to Berkeley, though, these are not at all alike. The individual wills of men are not orderly or regular. They do not testify of any kind of wisdom or benevolence. So, to the extent to which these attributes testify of some kind of divine causation, human will, on Berkeley’s account, must not be caused by God any more than it is determined by some other force comparable to a racket hitting a ball. It is for this reason that Berkeley claims that one commits sin with his will, not with the act that is willed. The will is that which is chosen and, therefore, that to which moral responsibility appropriately applies. Indeed, Berkeley gestures at this view in his statement that people commonly misunderstand the nature of the will when thereby applying concepts of physical matter to that of mind and spirit. He says that applying the concept of causal force to the will in a way that necessarily determines the will, just as the direction of a ball is determined by the racket that hits it, would have a dangerous consequence in morality. Since we already know that Berkeley views people as morally responsible for their will, it seems likely that the dangerous consequence would be to change the nature of moral responsibility, that one would not bear moral responsibility. Since such a lack of responsibility would rest on the determination of the will, it seems plain to conclude that Berkeley sees the indetermination of the will as required in order for people to be morally responsible for their own respective wills. In short, according to Berkeley, persons are morally responsible because they are free to will.



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Conclusion I have shown that Dicker focuses on the question of human freedom linked to moral responsibility in Berkeley’s philosophy on the issue of freedom of action. He questions whether Berkeley can hold that one’s actions freely result from his will. Dicker concludes that one’s actions must be less than free, according to Berkeley’s idealism, more particularly as a result of God being the immediate cause of all senses, including motion. Subsequently, according to Dicker, people cannot be fully morally responsible on Berkeley’s account. I have explained why this interpretation is incorrect and how it focuses on less relevant statements by Berkeley about the issues of freedom and moral responsibility. Berkeley believes that idealism, which he holds to be correct, severely limits the ability of one to hold a determinist view of the will. He also sees the application of causal efficacy to the will as commission of a category mistake. As a result, Berkeley believes persons to possess freewill and, for this reason, moral responsibility.

Notes  1

Dicker, Georges. Berkeley’s Idealism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Page 236. 2 Ibid, page 237. 3 Ibid. 4 Berkeley, George. Three Dialogues Between Hylas and Philonous. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1979. Page 70. 5 Berkeley, George. A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1982. Part I Section 94. 6 Ibid, Section 144. 7 Ibid, Section 30. 8 Principles, Section 30.



PART TWO: MORAL AGENCY AND SOCIETY

ARISTOTLE, VIRTUE, AND THE WRONG KIND OF REASON NOELL BIRONDO

I. Plato notoriously emboldens Thrasymachus, in Book I of the Republic, to issue what has often been called the immoralist challenge: Show me, Thrasymachus apparently demands, why a life of justice is better than a life of injustice. That challenge sets the stage for the arguments deployed by Socrates in the remainder of the dialogue. But the immoralist challenge outlives Plato’s own answer to it, both in the Republic and elsewhere. According to some moral philosophers, for instance, the immoralist challenge sets the stage not only for Plato’s own ethical project. It initiates more than 2000 years of moral philosophy. 1 The eventual upshot is a familiar range of traditional ethical theories: the eighteenth century produced Kant’s ethics of duty, the nineteenth century produced an ethics of outcomes or consequences, and, in the latter part of the twentieth century, an Aristotelian ethics of virtue had a sudden and surprising revival. While such theories may not, upon adequate reflection, all plausibly be thought to be answers to the immoralist challenge, they do form a unified class, one that stretches back to Plato’s own reflections about ethics. 2 This class of theories is aimed at articulating the basic principles of morality, or of articulating the general contours of the ethical life. This class of theories also aims to provide some kind of philosophical justification for the apparent normative force of ethical considerations. Such theories are usually referred to as “normative” ethical theories. In the earliest years of the twentieth century, by contrast, moral philosophy took on a surprisingly different shape. The non-cognitivist views that flourished at that time were initially shaped with the tools made available by logical positivism; but they were also, in large part, a reaction to G. E. Moore’s apparently bizarre contention that moral goodness is an indefinable and “non-naturalistic” property.3 In this new twentieth century guise, moral philosophy was no longer limited to developing an ethical theory of the traditional normative variety. Instead, moral philosophy now

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also included a new and quite different theoretical enterprise—metaethics —a sub-discipline that addresses itself not to questions within ethical life, but rather to more abstract questions about ethics, or about morality itself. This new version of moral philosophy eventually became almost obsessively focused, following Moore’s lead, with analyzing the notion of moral goodness, or, more generally, of analyzing the notion of moral value. Thus the eventually well-worn question for almost all of metaethics in the early part of the twentieth century was a question focused on the notion of moral value as it appears in our everyday moral discourse. That question was: What do we mean when we say that such-and-such is morally good? This paper concerns the relationship between (1) the normative or substantive ethical theory that has been at the center of moral philosophy since at least the time of Plato, and (2) metaethics as practiced in the earliest parts of the twentieth century and as it continues to be practiced today. In particular, I want to question the still common assumption that substantive ethical theory and metaethics are utterly independent of each other, in such a way that one is free to hold whatever metaethical positions one likes, quite independently of one’s views (whatever they happen to be) regarding substantive ethical theory.4 In order to consider this issue in one specific case, the paper examines a current debate in metaethics over the so-called problem of the wrong kind of reason. The growing literature on this topic seems to me to illustrate the unfortunate influence of the assumption that metaethics and substantive ethical theory are utterly independent of each other, or, at a minimum, the assumption that one can fruitfully engage in metaethical inquiry in blissful isolation from the concerns of substantive ethical theory.5

II. Many discussions in metaethics currently focus on the nature of ethical reasons, and, especially, on the nature of reasons for action. But some discussions have begun to focus instead on the reasons for holding various ethically relevant attitudes. Here, I want to consider a prominent recent discussion of such reasons, the one provided by Pamela Hieronymi in her engaging paper, “The Wrong Kind of Reason.” 6 The phenomenon addressed by Hieronymi concerns the reasons there are for adopting certain attitudes: the reasons for believing certain things, the reasons for wanting them, the reasons for admiring, or hoping, or loving, and so on. Someone might believe in global warming on good authority, for instance, or she might trust her husband because she thinks a good wife just does

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trust her husband, or again she might admire Jane only because her friends admire Jane. With respect to each of these attitudes, as the examples already suggest, the reason for holding the attitude in question can, intuitively, be either of the right or the wrong kind. According to Hieronymi, the distinction between these two kinds of reasons cannot be adequately accounted for as long as we accept the currently dominant conception of a reason, as a consideration that counts in favor of an action or an attitude. Hieronymi therefore proposes her own conception of a reason, as a consideration that bears on a question. Distinguishing between different questions—ones on which various considerations bear— will allow us, she says, to distinguish between the right and the wrong kind of reasons for holding various attitudes. According to Hieronymi, her alternative conception of a reason should therefore replace the currently dominant conception, since her alternative conception allows us to solve the problem of the wrong kind of reasons.7 The question here falls squarely within the domain of metaethics, since it concerns the proper conception of ethical and other reasons, rather than their substance (e.g., whether this type of consideration is a reason for admiring someone). Nevertheless, the type of reasoning deployed in Hieronymi’s discussion, and in similar contemporary discussions, contrasts rather sharply with the reasoning deployed on related topics by, for instance, Aristotle. This traditionally influential ethical theorist can account fairly easily, as it seems to me, for the phenomenon of the wrong kind of reasons; and he can do so, as I will argue, while employing the currently dominant conception of a reason. If that is so, then there is in fact no reason to accept the rather radical revision that Hieronymi proposes; there is no reason to embrace her new conception of a reason as a consideration that bears on a question. Metaethical discussions can continue as they had been doing, taking a reason to be a consideration that counts in favor of an action or an attitude. But Aristotle’s contributions to this issue should also teach us, I think, a wider lesson: that we should scrutinize especially closely those discussions in metaethics that underappreciate the substantive ethical contributions of fairly obvious historical antecedents, those historically influential philosophers whose ethical thought impinges on current debates in metaethics. That is to say, it seems to me that the problem here actually concerns, not the wrong kind of reason, as Hieronymi says, but the wrong kind of reasoning. I will begin by sketching a clearer view of the alleged problem, as well as Hieronymi’s solution to it. I will then argue that this so-called problem is fairly easily resolved by appealing to a recognizably Aristotelian proposal. The conclusion of the argument is that the phenomenon of the

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wrong kind of reasons provides, in fact, no reason to abandon, as Hieronymi urges, the currently dominant conception of a reason.

III. The distinction that generates the phenomenon in question emerges clearly from one of Hieronymi’s central examples. The example employs the familiar attitude of belief. As the example illustrates, there can be two quite different kinds of reason for forming any particular belief. Some considerations count in favor of a belief by indicating that the content of the belief is, or is likely to be, true. The fact that the butler was out for revenge is a reason to believe he committed the crime. Moreover, this fact about revenge looks, intuitively, like the right kind of reason for believing the butler did it. It indicates that the content of the belief—that the butler did it—is, or is likely to be, true. Given any sensible epistemology, the fact that the butler was out for revenge counts in favor (however strongly) of believing that the butler did it. But now we have an alleged philosophical problem. For there can obviously be other reasons for believing the butler did it, reasons that have nothing to do with the truth of the content of the belief. So, for instance, Hieronymi says that, “the fact that believing him guilty is the only way to save your life is a reason for believing he is” (440). The alleged problem can now be put as follows. This second fact—the fact that it will save your life if you believe it—looks intuitively like the wrong kind of reason for believing the butler did it. Since this second consideration does nothing to suggest that the content of the belief is (or is likely to be) true, its counting in favor of the belief grates against our epistemological sensibilities. Nevertheless, this second consideration, no less than the first, appears to count in favor of believing the butler did it. If your life is on the line, then the relevant belief is good for you to have. Thus, in spite of its meager epistemological credentials, the fact that it will save your life appears to be a reason for believing the butler did it.8 But if both considerations count in favor of believing the butler did it, we apparently have a problem about how to distinguish, in a general and principled way, the right from the wrong kind of reasons. Hence the problem of the wrong kind of reasons. That example provides a good first glimpse of the phenomenon to be accounted for. But in order to get a more focused view, one that will be useful in what follows, consider also a passage in which Hieronymi offers a further illustration of the problem. “Considerations that show a belief good to have,” she says, “surely ‘count in favor of’ believing quite independently of whether they show the belief true.” So for instance:

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Aristotle, Virtue, and the Wrong Kind of Reason Considerations that show something good about believing p count in favor of believing p in just the same way that considerations that show something good about attending lecture count in favor of attending lecture. Likewise, the fact that supposing p would advance the argument counts in favor of supposing p and is, thereby, a reason for supposing p. But if the fact that supposing p would advance the argument can be a reason to suppose p, the fact that believing p would advance my career should, for all that has been said, be a reason for believing p. (442)

In this last case, the fact that supposing p would advance the argument and the fact that believing p would advance one’s career, are supposed to count in favor of supposing, and for believing, p. The second consideration is supposed to be a reason for believing p even though it has nothing to do with the truth of the content of the belief. The fact that believing p will advance one’s career is supposed to be a reason for having the attitude in question, quite independently of the truth of the attitude’s content. That observation inches us toward a solution to the problem. Nevertheless, Hieronymi says that the really difficult part “lies in saying why the attitude-related reasons are not ‘really’ reasons for the attitude in question” (442). In her view, as long as a reason is taken to be a consideration that counts in favor of an attitude, “we are left without an obvious way either to draw a useful distinction between these very different sorts of reasons or to say why one of them seems to be the ‘real’ sort of reasons” (443).

IV. As an alternative to the currently dominant conception of a reason, Hieronymi proposes that a reason is a consideration that bears on a question. Here I want to say just enough about her proposal to provide a contrast to the conception of a reason that she rejects. Given Hieronymi’s proposal, we can helpfully isolate, at least in principle, those considerations that bear on the question whether the butler did it. The fact that the butler was out for revenge, for instance, certainly seems to bear on the question whether he did it; and, by contrast, the fact that believing he did it will save your life obviously bears on some other question. These further considerations bear on a question about whether the belief would in some way be good or advantageous to have. Given those basic ingredients, we can now distill the following account of Hieronymi’s solution to the alleged problem. The fact that the butler was out for revenge is a consideration that bears on the question whether he did it; and that consideration might prove to be decisive in believing that he did. If one is convinced by that consideration, then one has settled

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the question whether he did it. According to Hieronymi, the fact that the butler was out for revenge is “constitutive” of the belief that he committed the crime, in the sense that finding that consideration convincing settles the question whether he did: it amounts to forming the belief that the butler did it. So, that consideration is the right kind of reason for that belief. By contrast, whatever remaining reasons there are for believing the butler did it—reasons that bear on questions other than whether he did it— will be reasons the plausibility of which do not settle the question whether he did it. By finding these further considerations convincing, one will form, not the belief that the butler did it, but the second-order belief that it would be good to believe that he did it (448). Hieronymi calls these further considerations “extrinsic” reasons for the attitude. She can therefore distinguish between the right and the wrong kind of reason, in general, as follows: “The ‘right kind of reasons’ (are taken to) bear on a question, the settling of which amounts to forming the attitude. The wrong kind of reasons do not bear, or are not taken to bear, on that question” (449). This general strategy for distinguishing between the right and the wrong kind of reasons is meant to apply not just to the relatively straightforward attitude of belief, but also to other ethically relevant attitudes such as “desiring, resenting, admiring, trusting,” (445) and so on. The right kind of reason for having these more ethically relevant attitudes will depend on which considerations one takes to bear on the question, the settling of which amounts to forming the attitude. Consider admiration. In my view, diligent parenting bears on the question whether to admire people who are parents, because settling the question whether they are diligent parents amounts to admiring them, at least along that dimension. On Hieronymi’s view, the wrong kind or reason for admiring someone will be, as before, whatever “extrinsic” reasons there are for doing so (e.g., that it will save your life or that it will advance your career). Having thus proposed an alternative conception of a reason, Hieronymi equips herself to fashion a novel and satisfying solution to the problem of the wrong kind of reasons. Until her proposed alternative, she says, the problem had remained, under the influence of the dominant conception of a reason, both “deep and recalcitrant” (440). It seems to me, however, that even if one accepts the dominant conception of a reason, an Aristotelian ethical theory can account, even very easily, for the ‘problem’ of the wrong kind of reasons. Thus what I want to urge is that one can find the problem of the wrong kind of reasons philosophically pressing, one can find it “deep and recalcitrant,” only by under-appreciating the discussions provided on similar topics by the

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traditionally most influential ethical theorists. Aristotle strikes me as one such theorist.

V. Given a broadly Aristotelian ethical theory, one that avails itself of both moral and intellectual virtues, one can account for the phenomenon under discussion in a way that is fairly straightforward and apparently unproblematic.9 The right kind of reason for a particular attitude (a) is a consideration that counts in favor of the relevant attitude and (b) is a consideration the taking of which to be a reason for the attitude which fails to manifest any epistemological or moral defect. The wrong kind of reason is a consideration that may or may not fulfill condition (a)—it may not actually count in favor of the attitude in question—but the consideration is nevertheless one, the taking of which to be a reason for the attitude, manifests some epistemological or moral defect.10 To see this suggestion at work, consider a few examples. In order to provide for her children, Jane works long hours, and, in spite of her perpetual exhaustion, she reads to her children every night, because she thinks it will help them succeed academically. These considerations about Jane, even taken in isolation, seem to count in favor of admiring Jane, at least as a parent. Moreover, someone who admires Jane for those reasons, because these considerations seem to him to count in favor of admiring her, would not manifest any moral or epistemological defect in doing so. He therefore admires Jane for the right kind of reason. By contrast, it could be that admiring Jane would advance one’s career. After all, the reason Jane works such long hours is because she heads up the promotion and tenure committee. The fact that admiring Jane would advance one’s career does not by itself, however, at least it seems to me, count in favor of doing so, even if one could manage it. But suppose someone thinks just the opposite. She thinks that since admiring Jane would advance her career, this fact should, for all that has been said, be a reason for admiring Jane. This person manifests, in my view, a glaring defect of character. Aristotle could capture the defect with the Greek word “pleonexia,” of wanting more than is warranted or justified.11 We should capture it with the more direct English word “careerism.” Taking potential career advancement to be a reason for admiring Jane manifests a defect of character. So this person admires Jane for the wrong kind of reason. In Hieronymi’s case of the revengeful butler, both an epistemological defect and a defect of character contribute to explaining why the “extrinsic” reason is the wrong kind of reason. If someone believes the

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butler did it only because having that belief will save her life, then she manifests an epistemological defect, since she forms the belief independently of the evidence for it. But she manifests a defect of character as well. She may be fine with respect to prudence, but her lack of concern for justice is nevertheless an ethical travesty. Thus the wrongness of this merely prudential reason for believing that the butler did it turns out to be over-determined: in this case there is a preponderance of defects. Or consider a case of wishful thinking from the history of philosophy. There is a point in the Meno where Socrates says that people involved in philosophical inquiry are more admirable if they continue to believe, even in light of contrary evidence, that they can make philosophical progress (86b). So here it can be tempting to think that, Socrates being an authority, it is actually a manifestation of virtue, and not any kind of defect, to believe, even for the wrong kind of reason, that one can make progress in philosophy. In my view, if such a person really is admirable, then it is because she possesses the virtue of perseverance, something that is constitutive of her character. But if the evidence really does indicate that her philosophical inquiry is hopeless, and if she ignores that evidence, then she manifests an epistemological defect. So, she believes for the wrong kind of reason, in spite of the fact that her perseverance, as a general aspect of her character, remains admirable. That response also illustrates how I think we should handle, in general, cases of wishful thinking: cases in which, say, although the evidence is conclusive, Jane simply cannot accept that her children have died in the crash. In this case, if the evidence really is conclusive, and if she is aware of the evidence, then Jane manifests an epistemological shortcoming in failing to believe based on the evidence—but she nevertheless manifests an admirable kind of parental hope.12

VI. The most obvious objection to this recognizably Aristotelian account can nevertheless seem to threaten. It can be tempting to think that the proposal merely seems to be a tidy solution to the problem. But that is only, so the objection goes, because the notion of virtue enlisted in the proposal is the notion of a trait whose possession enables its possessor to track the right kinds of reasons. That is to say, it can look as if the proposal is trivially defining a conception of the virtues as those traits, whatever they happen to be, that inoculate the phenomenon under discussion. But that just pushes the problem back a bit further. If the virtues are thought to be just whatever traits track the right kind of reasons, then we will be left

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without an independent account of the virtues, one that will illuminate what can still seem to be obscure, namely, the distinction between the wrong and the right kind of reasons. One has not provided an account of that distinction simply by trivially defining a parallel distinction in terms of moral and epistemological defects, on the one hand, and the absence of such defects, on the other. This objection voices an understandable worry. If the Aristotelian account enlists a conception of the virtues that is trivially defined in terms of the right kind of reasons, then the account is, of course, unilluminating. Nevertheless, this objection overlooks, as it seems to me, two crucial aspects of the dialectical situation. First, the Aristotelian account suggested here is not at all ad hoc. The appeal to virtue, as it appears in the account, is not simply an empty placeholder for whichever traits track the right kind of reasons, as if the conception of the virtues were initially devoid of substantive ethical and epistemological content. The proposal appeals to a conception of the virtues that, especially in its ethical incarnation, has been articulated over many centuries, and so long before the problem of the wrong kind of reasons ever appeared on the scene. The proposal does not merely fashion, out of some kind of theoretical desperation, some heretofore unheard of notions—pleonexia, in Aristotle’s case, or careerism, in ours—in order to deploy the types of considerations that I advanced above. This recognizably Aristotelian proposal does not therefore attach itself somehow parasitically to the problem of the wrong kind of reasons, whether in terms of trivial definition, or otherwise. Second, the objection really only makes sense, as it seems to me, in the context of the sort of hyper-abstract metaethical reasoning whose limitations I have been trying to bring out. The philosophical force of considering realistic examples, as I have tried to do here, already tells against that sort of abstraction. That is to say, once we stop thinking about this phenomenon in purely metaethical terms, in isolation from everything else we know about ethics and epistemology, it seems to me that certain fairly obvious ways of thinking about this phenomenon, in terms of virtues and vices, readily present themselves. After all (to say it again), arguments aimed at substantiating certain moral and intellectual traits as virtues have been developed, in a fairly rich tradition, over a good number of centuries. Moreover, the project of validating certain traits as virtues, of character or of intellect, is the project of a large contingent of contemporary virtue ethicists and virtue epistemologists.13 Hence, if one is advancing a line of metaethical reasoning that is inconsistent with the theoretical deliveries of those well-developed projects, then, as it seems to me, one should furnish good reasons for rejecting those projects, good reasons for insisting that

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appeals to them are somehow illicit. As opposed to doing metaethics in isolation from substantive ethical considerations, or in isolation from substantive epistemological considerations, it seems to me that it would be much more fruitful to engage—at least in this case—the best traditional and contemporary defenses of a broadly Aristotelian conception of the virtues.14

VII. This recognizably Aristotelian account of the phenomenon under discussion strikes me as entirely plausible. It employs, as required, the dominant conception of a reason, as a consideration that counts in favor of an action or an attitude, and it employs familiar notions from an Aristotelian ethical theory, notions that have been familiar for centuries. But the problem of the wrong kind of reason was supposed to have been “deep and recalcitrant.” This way of accounting for the phenomenon in question also seems to satisfy any reasonable criterion for what it means to give a philosophical account of some targeted phenomenon. Since the account makes itself available to anyone who adequately appreciates the theoretical contributions of a fairly obvious historical antecedent, one can feel almost compelled to conclude that certain straightforward phenomena become problems only for those philosophers who remain either historically under-informed or else (at a minimum) historically underappreciative. The failure to take a wide enough view of the available historical resources generates what look like theoretical blind spots—a general condition that one can feel tempted to describe as metaethical myopia.15 Philosophers afflicted with this condition will claim that certain benign phenomena are philosophically problematic, and then they will employ themselves in order to solve the alleged problem. That initial diagnosis will certainly strike some people as uncharitable. Here is another possibility. It may be that metaethical reflection about certain questions becomes philosophically urgent only for those philosophers who remain uncommitted to a certain type of substantive ethical theory. The ethical theory defended by Aristotle, for instance, seems to me to provide enough ethical substance—we might say the theories are rich enough—to render many metaethical questions unproblematic. The uncommitted philosophers that I have in mind therefore appear to fall into one of the three following camps: that of consequentialists, that of “anti-theorists”, and that of philosophers who remain completely unengaged by substantive ethical theory, call them ethical indifferents. 16 Nevertheless, when such philosophers turn their

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attention to addressing various metaethical questions, they typically fail to provide reasons for rejecting the more substantive ethical theories whose metaethical entailments they may not even recognize. Hieronymi, for instance, does not consider (let alone provide) reasons for doubting a broadly Aristotelian approach to ethics. In metaethics, as elsewhere, the wrong kind of reasoning ignores or under-appreciates the theoretical contributions of its historical antecedents. But the considerations advanced in this paper can also be put more positively as follows. The substantive ethical theory of Aristotle, for instance, appears to entail answers to standard questions in contemporary metaethics. If that is correct, then anyone who opposes a those answers should feel compelled to engage the arguments advanced by the proponents of an Aristotelian ethical theory. It is not just the proponents of rival substantive ethical theories who have a standing obligation to produce reasons for rejecting the rival theories. It is not just utilitarians, for instance, who should have and be ready to produce, good reasons for calling an Aristotelian ethical theory into doubt. The considerations advanced here strongly suggest that the proponents of certain metaethical theories also have the same standing obligation. A crucial philosophical project therefore remains: that of identifying the metaethical entailments that flow from traditional substantive ethical theories. Such a project would employ a better and a more fruitful kind of metaethical reasoning.17

Notes 1

Here I have in mind especially the position articulated by Bernard Williams in Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986). According to that position, the immoralist challenge initiates a familiar type of moral philosophy. But this does not mean that traditional moral philosophy has primarily or always been concerned with answering the challenge. This comes out already in Williams’ correct reading of Aristotle, to this extent: that Aristotle does not aim to win over someone like Thrasymachus (see, e.g., Nicomachean Ethics 1095b4-6). 2 For a general discussion of the features that unify such theories, see Martha Nussbaum, “Why Practice Needs Ethical Theory: Particularism, Principle, and Bad Behaviour,” in Moral Particularism, ed. Brad Hooker and Margaret Little (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), pages 227-55. 3 See G. E. Moore, Principia Ethica (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1903). This is not to deny, of course, that what we would consider to be metaethical considerations are already at work in the moral philosophy since Plato. Indeed, one main point of this paper is to insist against a stark separation of metaethics from the rest of moral philosophy.

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This way of seeing the matter is encapsulated, for instance, in the following quite casual comment regarding “fitting-attitude” accounts of value: “Fitting-attitude theories are metaethical theories of what it is for something to be good, not normative theories of what things are good; so they should be compatible with any theory of the latter.” See p. 48 of Chris Heathwood, “Fitting Attitudes and Welfare,” in Oxford Studies in Metaethics, Vol. 3, ed. Russ Shafer-Landau (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), pages 47-73. A classical exposition of the alleged independence of metaethics and normative ethics appears in the massively influential, and highly anthologized, chapter 1 of J. L. Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong (Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin, 1977). 5 The “problem” of the wrong kind of reasons looks especially urgent to those philosophers who propose a “fitting-attitude” account of value, because the alleged problem appears to threaten such accounts. According to a fitting-attitude account of value, something might be valuable just in case there are sufficient reasons for certain attitudinal reactions to it. So, for instance, a person is admirable just in case there are sufficient reasons for admiring her. But while being a diligent parent counts in favor of admiring someone, and so constitutes (according to a fittingattitude account) her being admirable, one might also have a pragmatic incentive for admiring someone; for instance, if admiring her would advance one’s interests. This second consideration also seems to count in favor of admiring her, even though it has nothing to do with her being admirable; it appears to be the wrong kind of reason for admiring someone. 6 See Pamela Hieronymi, “The Wrong Kind of Reason,” Journal of Philosophy vol. CII, no. 9 (2005): 437-57. (All page references to Hieronymi are to this work.) Hieronymi’s paper contributes to an already substantial literature on the problem of the wrong kind of reasons. See also Justin D’Arms and Daniel Jacobson, “Sentiment and Value,” Ethics 110 (2000): 722-48; Wlodek Rabinowicz and Toni Rönnow-Rasmussen, “The Strike of the Demon: On Fitting Pro-Attitudes and Value,” Ethics 114 (2004): 391-424; Jonas Olson, “Buck-Passing and the Wrong Kind of Reasons,” Philosophical Quarterly 54 (2004): 295-300; as well as n. 2 and n. 9 of Hieronymi’s paper. 7 T. M. Scanlon famously proposes that a reason should be thought of as an irreducibly normative notion, as a consideration that counts in favor of an action or attitude (see chapter 1 of What We Owe to Each Other (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998)). He also proposes something like a “fitting attitude” account of value. So, in one sense it is not surprising to see Hieronymi addressing what she takes to be a problem for fitting attitude accounts of value and thinking that the culprit lies in the dominant conception of a reason. As I argue in what follows, it does not. 8 It may of course be, as some have argued, that in cases such as these, the appearances are deceptive; that there are, in fact, no pragmatic reasons for believing something. If not, then that would ameliorate the ‘problem’ under discussion in at least the epistemic case. See, for instance, Nishi Shah, “A New Argument for Evidentialism,” Philosophical Quarterly 56:225 (2006): 481-98; and Ward E. Jones, “There Are No Pragmatic Reasons for Believing” (forthcoming).

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Since someone like Kant, for instance, can also presumably help himself to all of the resources employed in what follows—a general apparatus of virtues and vices—Kant can account for this phenomenon as well. See e.g. Barbara Herman, “Making Room for Character,” in Aristotle, Kant, and the Stoics: Rethinking Happiness and Duty, ed. Stephen Engstrom and Jennifer Whiting (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pages 36-60. A full defense of the claim that Kant can help himself to such a general apparatus would need to demonstrate that Kant is able to articulate a conception of something similar to Aristotle’s conception of intellectual or epistemic virtue. For recent work on Kant that facilitates such a demonstration, see Andrew Chignell, “Belief in Kant,” Philosophical Review 116:3 (2007): 323-60, as well as Leslie Stevenson, “Opinion, Belief or Faith, and Knowledge,” Kantian Review 7 (2003): 72-101. Nothing in the paper hinges on this claim about the ethical resources to be found in Kant. 10 On the issue of the virtuous person’s taking certain considerations to be reasons, see Rosalind Hursthouse, “The Virtuous Agent’s Reasons: A Reply to Bernard Williams,” in Aristotle and Moral Realism, ed. Robert Heinaman (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1995), pages 24-33; see also chapter 6 of Daniel C. Russell, Practical Intelligence and the Virtues (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). Aristotle, of course, considers epistêmê to be an intellectual virtue, though not one especially singled out from the general class: see Nicomachean Ethics Bk. VI. 11 On Aristotle’s use of pleonexia, see for instance Bernard Williams, “Justice as a Virtue,” in Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics, ed. A. O. Rorty (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1980), pages 189-99. There Williams writes that, “anyone who wants anything that admits of more or less, wants more than he has got, or at least more than he thinks that he has got; but [1] when this becomes a recursive condition, it is called greediness, and that is certainly one sense of pleonexia. Such a person does not necessarily or even typically worry about comparisons with others. But [2] in another, and probably the most important, sense of pleonexia, comparisons with others are the point, and the notion of having more than others is included in the motivating thought. The application to such goods as money or honor or the Nobel Prize is obvious” (198). 12 At this point I should also address the following counter-example, one surely to be lodged from epistemologists’ quarters. Suppose that someone has (what she rightly takes to be) overwhelming evidence in favor of p, but that, because of the mad scientists, the world will be destroyed if she believes that p. She therefore has sufficient epistemological reasons to believe that p, and sufficient moral reasons to believe that not-p. So, if she believes that p, she displays a moral defect, and if she believes that not-p, she displays an epistemological defect. But on the virtueoriented proposal, therefore, she cannot win. She can only believe that p (or refrain from believing that p) for the wrong kind of reason; and surely that consequence shows the inadequacy of the proposal. In response, it seems to me that she might make a genuine attempt to believe that p, find that this is impossible in light of her evidence, and lament the tragic set-up, the existence of mad scientists. In that case

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she shows no defect of character and she believes that p in accordance with proper intellectual virtue. She therefore believes that p for the right kind of reason. 13 With respect to intellectual virtue, see for instance the recent work collected in Virtue and Vice, Moral and Epistemic, ed. Heather Battaly (Oxford: WileyBlackwell, 2010) and Intellectual Virtue: Perspectives from Ethics and Epistemology, ed. Michael DePaul and Linda Zagzebski (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007); as well as Zagzebski’s earlier Virtues of the Mind: An Inquiry into the Nature of Virtue and the Ethical Foundations of Knowledge (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 14 Since there are, of course, many types of reasons other than moral and epistemological reasons—for instance, reasons regarding humor or aesthetic appreciation—the proposal in the text is meant to apply only to ethically relevant attitudes. Hence, in response to a demeaning but genuinely funny slight against some marginalized group, someone’s failure to be amused might show an admirable virtue of character; whereas her amusement at the comment, by contrast, might manifest a regrettable callousness, in spite of the fact that she responds to the right kind of reasons for being amused at another person’s remark. An articulation of the wrong kind of reasons in these different cases will have to await, improbably, a plausible defense of the exemplary sensibility shared by those with a good sense of humor (or aesthetic sensibility or whatever). The main point in the text is that a plausible defense of the virtuous person’s ethical sensibility already exists. 15 Since Hieronymi’s proposal clearly deploys ingenuity, the position I defend in this paper mirrors, and so reverses, Wilfred Sellars’ well-known claim that “philosophy without the history of philosophy is, if not blind, at least dumb.” The claim is quoted in Richard Rorty’s introduction to the reissue of Sellars’ Empiricism and the Philosophy of Mind (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997). 16 While the main thesis of this paper is unaffected by the following claim, it seems to me that for consequentialism, the right kind of reason for having a certain attitude derives its reason-giving force (if there is any) from its actual or foreseeable consequences. If the consequences are evaluated impartially, the intuitive distinction between the right and the wrong kind of reasons for that attitude will evaporate: The right kind of reason for having the attitude will be whatever consideration, forming one’s attitude in response to which, brings about the best consequences. So explaining the intuitive distinction can seem theoretically urgent. On the general issue of consequentialism and the arguable absence of its rational requirements, see Paul Hurley, Beyond Consequentialism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011). 17 Earlier versions of this paper were presented at the Northwest Philosophy Conference, the Southern California Philosophy Conference, Northern Illinois University, Wichita State University, and the University of Hong Kong. Thanks are due to the participants on each of these occasions, and especially Pamela Hieronymi and Alicia Finch. Special thanks for their written comments are due to Karl Ameriks, Bill FitzPatrick, Minh Nguyen, and David Soles.

THE GREEN PROBLEM: HOW GREEN CONSUMPTION CREATES OVERCONSUMPTION COLTON MARKHAM

Green consumption is an unethical practice because it reinforces the current mindset that current environmental problems can be solved through consumption of more earth-friendly products. As I will show below, green consumption is supported by utilitarianism, which advocates that individuals should take actions that do the greatest good for the greatest number of people. In order to understand how green consumption is an unethical practice, how utilitarianism supports it, and how virtue ethics provides a better theoretical alternative to utilitarianism, the reasons why green consumption is such a popular solution to environmental degradation must first be understood. This paper will be split into five different sections. First, I will define “green consumption” and discuss how behavioral conditioning makes green consumption popular. Second, I will illustrate that the true source of climate change is not what we consume, but how much we consume. Third, I will discuss how consumption-based solutions, such as green consumption, are ineffective, and further contribute to overconsumption. Fourth, I will show why utilitarianism is unable to properly address environmental degradation. Fifth, I will show how virtue ethics adequately addresses the problem of climate change.

Why Green Consumption? Currently, humans are consuming more resources than is sustainable. Different cultures and cities have varying levels of consumption, but according to the National Footprint Account, to sustain humanity’s consumption rates, about 1.6 planets would be necessary; and to sustain just the consumption rates of Americans, 4.1 planets would be needed. As time has passed, despite the recent reliance on green technology, our

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consumption rates continue to increase and the number of Earths required to sustain the world’s lifestyle has increased as well. There are two important components to green consumption: The actual action of consuming and the mindset it creates. When individuals consume goods that use fewer resources or alternative resources than their traditional counterparts, either in their production, packaging, or usage, they are participating in green consumption. An example of this is buying an electric or hybrid car, because it is using an alternative resource as fuel: electricity as opposed to gasoline. Other examples of green consumption are energy efficient technology, such as energy efficient washers and dryers and water conserving dishwashers and toilets. What makes green consumption a problem is that people feel good about their contribution to the planet when they participate, failing to see that the act of consuming, especially when the traditional counterpart product being traded in is still working, can never actually fix environmental degradation. It is important to understand both the act of consuming and the mindset fueling that consumption are integral to green consumption. Therefore if an individual purchases a used green product only when absolutely needed, then it is ethical, because the decision is not playing into the mindset associated with green consumption. It is the act of consuming that has the consequence of environmental degradation while the mindset fuels the consumption itself. Green consumption is popular because it fits directly into the current status quo regarding consumption decisions. Over time, the consumption behaviors of affluent nations have been reinforced because more consumption has given affluent nations more power (Grant, 2011). Green technology is a type of consumption, so consumers are drawn to it as a solution because it does not require a substantial behavioral change and yet it makes them feel as though they are helping to save the planet. But remember, the problem of climate change is not caused by “bad” consumption, because all consumption, even when trading in a perfectly running gas-guzzler for a Prius, is technically “bad.” The problem with current consumption habits is that, in the mind of the average person, there are no clear links between their own consumption habits and the consequences of these habits. This is because the consequences of consumption choices often do not immediately affect the person who is making the choice. Rather, the consequences of their actions affect individuals who are typically outside of their community. This makes it very difficult to change behavior because the behavior and the consequence are not clearly linked. Many studies have been conducted to illustrate how positive

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reinforcements, like buying green products, make it difficult to change behaviors. Reinforced behavior is behavior that is encouraged over time through outside factors. This can be either conscious reinforcement, such as giving direct praise when a child does well, or unconscious, such as when television commercials show little girls only playing with dolls. These reinforcements are extremely important because they attempt to alter an individual’s behavior on a daily basis. Psychologist John Nevin illustrates how reinforced behavior plays a role in decisions, through his studies on pigeons. In Nevin’s studies, pigeons were put into an environment containing a button the pigeons could peck. In one group, the pigeons only received food when they pushed the button. The relationship between pecking the button and receiving food was clear to this pigeon, because the pigeon only received food when the button was pushed. The clear relationship illustrates that this behavior can be altered more easily. When an obstacle was put in between the pigeon and the button, the pigeon would change its own behavior in order to reach the button and continue to receive food (Nevin, 2005). In humans this would be analogous to touching an electric fence. When a person touches an electric fence he is instantly shocked; consequently, it is easy to convince the individual who touched the electric fence to not touch it again. In a second group of pigeons, the environment was the same, except in addition to when pecking the button, the pigeons also received food at random intervals between 20-30 seconds. In this case there was no clear link between any behavior and outcome. This made behavior extremely difficult to change because there was no reason to change. Regardless of what the pigeon did it still received food; consequently, any attempt to change behavior would most likely fail. This second group of pigeons is analogous to individuals’ consumption habits. The link between consumption choices and their consequences are not clear to consumers, because individuals are not readily aware of the negative effects that their consumption choices have. This means that real behavior change is difficult because regardless of one’s own act of consumption, a consumer will receive the benefit of owning a new item, without feeling the consequences; usually the consequences are felt by individuals in developing countries or poorer communities. Even when obstacles are introduced, such as the negative environmental effect of consumption, behavior is not changed because there is no motivation to do so. In these cases, while green consumption seems to be a behavior change, it is not a substantial one. This is because while the products which are

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being consumed change, the actual behavior of consuming has not changed. While individuals may be consuming different things, the fundamental behavior of consumption remains unchanged.

The True Source of Climate Change People think that green products, such as solar panels, electric cars, and free-range farms are great for the environment, but they are not, at least not on their own. Even consumption of “green” products contributes pollutants to the environment. For example, while solar panels are considered emission-free, the emissions created by the initial production are ignored, and they still require a lot of land to be used effectively. When used in individual homes, putting solar panels on the roof of a house is typically enough to power the entire home. However, if solar energy were to become the main source of power for a society, large solar farms would be required to collect enough sunlight to create electricity to power every home and business because in large cities there is simply not enough space to house the solar panels necessary. For example, the United Kingdom has several solar farms, like the 150-acre Wymeswold Airfield and the Packe Arms solar farms (Carrington, 2013). These farms are required because solar panels have little to no energy output at night. Essentially, through utilizing solar power, one problem would be solved only to make another problem, because the true source of environmental degradation— overconsumption—is not actually being addressed. In this case, we are not consuming less, we are simply consuming differently. Another example of green consumption is electric cars. Many people see buying an electric car, or hybrid, as a consumption decision that will have a positive effect on the environment. However, if one already owns a gas vehicle in good running condition, it would be a more environmentally conscious decision to continue to use the gas-powered vehicle until it no longer functions. To buy a brand new electric car, while still owning a functioning car, mitigates any positive environmental effect that is gained by ending the use of fossil fuels, because so much energy is put into the production of an electric vehicle. Once an electric car is off the production line, it is already responsible for 30,000 pounds of carbon-dioxide emissions, compared to a conventional vehicle’s 14,000 pounds (New York Times, 2013). In addition, electricity is overwhelmingly produced by fossil fuels, so an electric car really produces six ounces of carbon dioxide per mile compared to 11 ounces per mile for a gas-powered vehicle. This means that despite the fact that individuals may feel as though they are helping to improve the environment through green consumption, they

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actually continue to harm it. A third example of green consumption is supposed “cage free” factory farms. Many people believe that these are more environmentally friendly because if the animals are not in cages then there are fewer animals squeezed into a tiny area, and will therefore pay an extra dollar for eggs and meat labeled as such. One of the problems associated with the typical factory farm is that there are so many animals compacted into one area that the land is unable to naturally support them. This creates problems such as waste run off, because the land literally cannot absorb all of the feces produced by the animals. While cage free might seem to solve this problem, as it implies that each animal will get an appropriate amount of land, this is rarely the case. In reality, the living conditions in cage free farms are not much different; all “cage-free” means is that the chicken, for example, literally is without a cage, or is able to go outside once a day. It does not speak to the amount of space the animal is given, meaning that the animals are still crammed into an extremely small area. Cage free farms, as attractive as they initially sound, are still harmful to the environment because there are too many animals per capita. One reason for this is that the Earth’s resources are finite and can be exhausted. In order to better understand the importance of the limits of Earth’s resources, we can look to ecologist Garret Hardin’s theory of “Lifeboat Ethics.” Hardin argues that affluent nations will destroy themselves through humanitarian work focused on improving the quality of life in poorer nations. He creates the metaphor that affluent nations are on boats with small, limited capacities, and poor nations are people drowning in the nearby water. In the metaphor, if the affluent nations were to pull the people out of the water into the boat, the boat would sink because it does not have a large enough carrying capacity for everyone in the water. Essentially, as affluent nations help to improve the quality of life for poorer nations, the Earth will no longer be able to sustain everyone at that level of “quality.” While Hardin’s conclusion, that affluent nations should not give assistance to poorer nations, is flawed, the premise for his argument is correct. The reason why Hardin argues charity work is unethical is because there are limited resources, and therefore the planet cannot support all people living in the same way that people from affluent nations live. However, Hardin misidentifies this as a problem of population. Rather, this is a clear problem with consumption rates. If Hardin’s metaphor was altered to be more accurate, affluent nations would be in giant yachts and poor nations would be in small wooden boats. In this case, it would be extremely problematic if affluent nations were to help poorer nations build

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their own yachts because they would be destroying themselves, as there would not be enough resources to support everybody having their own yacht. However, if affluent nations were to downsize their own boats to something more reasonable, still fulfilling comfortable survival needs, and help poorer nations build themselves up, there would be more than enough resources to go around because the real problem—overconsumption of resources—has been addressed. In his article “A Special Moment in History,” environmentalist Bill McKibbin agrees that the real cause of climate change is overconsumption. He argues, “we have become...different from the people we used to be...We’ve just gotten bigger…it’s as if each of us were trailing a big Macy’s-parade balloon around, feeding it constantly” (McKibbin, 1998). He argues that the entire population of the world could fit in the state of Texas, with an area to themselves equal to the average home, making it clear that the problem is not the number of people inhabiting the Earth, but how the people who already inhabit the Earth consume resources. The negative effects of overconsumption can be seen clearly. One of the most commonly used examples is fossil fuel energy. The burning of fossil fuels has caused CO2 to be released into the atmosphere as waste. In “Ethics and Global Climate Change,” Stephen Gardiner outlines some scientific data regarding climate change. Gardiner discusses that in 2004, the CO2 concentration in the atmosphere was higher than it has been in the past 420,000 years, possibly higher than it has been for the last 20 million years. In addition, the rate of CO2 increase is higher now than it has been in human history. Gardiner also identifies another environmental pollutant: methane. Methane levels are also higher now than they have been in the last 420,000 years, and more than half of methane production can be linked to anthropogenic causes. For example, increases in animal farming have increased the amount of methane in the atmosphere. As individuals seek to eat large amounts of meat, particularly in developed countries, its production has to increase, which leads to the creation of the modern day factory farm. These factory farms create massive amounts of methane from animal waste, which further contributes to the greenhouse effect. During this same time period, the change to Earth’s climate has been linked with the record high levels of CO2 emissions. The increased gases in the atmosphere, such as CO2 and methane, have created what is known as the greenhouse effect, which traps in infrared rays, which in turn raises the Earth’s temperature. The University Corporation for Atmospheric Research argues that 2000-2009 was the warmest decade and that 2013 was the warmest year since temperatures started being recorded in 1861.

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In addition, the temperature increase in the 20th century was the largest of any century for the past 1000 years. The increased temperature has clear consequences, such as rising sea levels, as well as climate differences affecting both plants and animals, all of which are clearly linked to human actions.

Consumption-based Solutions Are Ineffective Consumption-based solutions also do not address Jevon’s paradox, which illustrates another reason why they are ineffective. Jevon’s paradox argues that increases in efficiency due to technological advancements does not decrease the amount of resources used. The paradox explains that as the use of a resource becomes more efficient, the resource itself becomes cheaper, which leads to higher levels of consumption (Wolfe, 2011). In addition, as resource use becomes more efficient, it makes people believe they can consume more, without causing any more harm or damage. In reality, the extra consumption simply mitigates any reduction in resource usage that the technological advancement creates. For example, in theory, buying a hybrid or electric car should conserve resources, because the same amount of driving is happening, but more efficiently. In reality, Jevon’s paradox holds true. According to a study in 2010 Quality Planning, an auto insurance analytics company, hybrid car owners drive 25% more miles and receive 2/3 more traffic citations, typically due to speeding, than their gas powered counterparts (Quality Planning, 2010). In theory, buying a hybrid is an environmentally responsible decision, but in practice, as Jevon’s Paradox predicts, the overall consequences of resource use remain the same. The problem of climate change has clearly been linked to rates of consumption; therefore consumption-based solutions are ineffective. Unfortunately, most solutions presented for consumption rates are consumption-based. Consumption-based solutions identify how consumption of a particular resource is bad for the environment. Once the resource is identified, alternatives are researched to replace the damaging resource. The previously mentioned solar energy is a consumption-based solution because it identifies fossil fuels as harmful resources, and seeks to replace it. Even though consumption-based solutions are ineffective, they are the most popular solutions. Researchers William Heward and Paul Chance asked fifty other researchers in several different fields to come up with a proposal for a plan to stop climate change. Out of those fifty plans, only six of them were not consumption-based solutions (2010). This illustrates

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a clear problem because even among individuals who are experts in their specific fields of study, there is a lack of understanding regarding just how climate change operates, because the focus is on consuming “efficient” products, rather than the true cause of climate change, which is humanity’s increasing consumption rates. This type of thinking is based on the idea that the earth has infinite resources, so how much we are consuming is not seen as a problem. Rather, the effect of what we consume is the true dilemma, because some resources create harmful waste and other resources do not. This idea is championed by economist Julian Simon. Simon believes when individuals argue that resources are finite, they are misleading those around them for several reasons. He argues because no one knows every last detail of the Earth’s geography it is impossible to gauge how many resources the Earth holds. Therefore he argues the Earth is similar to a one-inch line. In mathematics a one-inch line is finite in the sense that it is limited to a single inch, but also infinite because there are an unlimited number of points between the two ends of the line. In the same way, Simon argues that although the Earth is made up of limited space, there are infinite resources within the Earth to be used. He also goes one step further with this argument by positing that human ingenuity will make up for any exhausted resources, as we will invent ways to replace exhausted resources. For example, Simon argues that in a hypothetical world where oil truly was a finite resource, it would not matter because by the time oil was even close to being exhausted, humanity would have already found some sort of alternative fuel or some new way to extract it (Simon, 1996). The important point here is humanity does not care how it gets to consume, just that it gets to consume, meaning the particular resource does not actually matter. However, Simon incorrectly uses the analogy of a line to describe the Earth, as Earth is clearly not a hypothetical mathematical construct. The Earth truly does have a finite number of resources that can be exhausted. Another important idea left out by Simon is that using a resource to nearexhaustion can have negative effects on the environment. In other words, there are two effects that have to be considered: the effect of using the actual resource, and the effect of exhausting said resource. For example, through massive consumption of paper products, much of the world’s trees have been cut down, which can have devastating effects on the environment. Trees play an important role in the water cycle. The shade they provide to the ground underneath limits how much of the water is evaporated by the sun, keeping the ground moist and damp so other vegetation can flourish and grow. However, as trees are cut down, the

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shade disappears and ground that was once moist and perfect for vegetation turns dry and barren and begins to become a sort of desert. Consumption-based solutions will not bring an end to climate change. These types of solutions are not even able to act as a band-aid to the problem. In reality, consumption-based solutions are just adding fuel to the fire that is climate change, even though they are the most popular solutions presented. Green consumption creates constant economic growth for two basic reasons. First, because it requires perpetual research into new technology to find new “green” ways to do everyday tasks, and pressures individuals to constantly consume new and improved green technology. Over time individuals and affluent nations have been conditioned to continue consumption because of constant positive reinforcement (Grant, 2005). This means even though using green consumption may reduce the usage of resources when using individual products, it increases the resources being used in research. This is because in the economic system in which we operate, a corporation must continuously grow in order to be considered successful (Crane, 2010). Therefore in order to increase profits, corporations are forced to constantly research and develop new technologies, which in turn creates a new product for individuals to buy, and perpetuates a cycle of production and consumption. The second piece to this problem is the consumers themselves. Pressure comes from the consumers who demand new, more efficient products to consume from corporations. This pressure causes the market to invest and produce new technologies that are more efficient in their usage. This investment further contributes to overconsumption because it creates the new, more efficient products for consumers to purchase.

Utilitarian Solutions Do Not Truly Address Overconsumption Utilitarianism argues that individuals ought to act in ways that create the greatest good for the greatest number of people. There are two major types of utilitarianism: act utilitarianism and rule utilitarianism. The general idea of maximizing utility is central to both of these theories; the difference is how these two theories go about doing this. Act utilitarianism looks at each individual action and evaluates whether or not it maximizes utility. For example an act utilitarian would argue that killing a dictator in order to save the lives and liberate millions of people would be justified. This is because only one person would suffer, while millions of people would be positively affected.

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Rule utilitarianism does not necessarily look at individual actions. Rule utilitarians create rules they believe will typically create the most utility, rather than evaluating each individual action. This makes it difficult to assert universal claims for utilitarians, because different individuals will have different rules. Going back to the example of a dictator, whether or not it would be acceptable to kill the dictator depends on whether or not the rule utilitarian had made a rule stating it is unethical to kill. For the purposes of this paper, I will be focusing on act utilitarianism. The principle of marginal utility is an extremely important aspect of act utilitarianism. It argues that suffering is relative to individual actors in each situation. For example, it is widely understood that money does not buy happiness, but is a sort of prerequisite for happiness, because if individuals are constantly stressing over finding shelter, getting food, or affording health care, it is extremely difficult to be happy. If Bill Gates were to lose one million dollars and it were to be given to a poor village in a developing country in order to build infrastructure, that same million dollars would have two very different effects on the two parties’ happiness. The people’s happiness in the poor village would be greatly increased as it would guarantee their basic needs to live, while Bill Gates’ quality of life would suffer very little, because he has so much money that one million dollars has little to no effect on his own happiness. This is an example of the principle of marginal utility, because the same million dollars has almost no effect on one party’s happiness, but a huge effect on another party’s happiness. Utilitarianism is commonly used as an environmental ethic because of its focus on the consequences of individual actions. For example, many utilitarians would argue that buying a Hummer is an unethical decision because of the negative consequences it has on the environment while driving. A utilitarian may even argue green consumption itself is unethical because it facilitates the illusion that environmental degradation can be solved through consumption. The problem is that utilitarianism cannot actually reach these conclusions because of its focus on the consequences of individual actions. Individual consumption decisions have little to no effect on the environment. One person buying or not buying a Hummer does not cause substantial suffering or damage to the environment. It is the act of many people buying Hummers, or an individual’s habits regarding consumption as a whole, which have actual substantial effects on the environment. Therefore, utilitarianism cannot actually advocate for any kind of substantial behavior change. A true utilitarian would actually advocate for the individual buying a Hummer because of the happiness created. The

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consumer gains a great deal of happiness, even if it is only temporary, while having almost no effect on the environment, and therefore because buying a Hummer creates more happiness than suffering, the consumer ought to buy one. When utilitarianism is applied to green consumption, it ends up supporting actions that have a negative impact on the environment. Participating in green consumption brings consumers happiness through the novelty of a new item, the status gained through green consumption, and the good feeling that comes with the belief that the action taken is environmentally conscious. The suffering created by participating in green consumption, by continuing to consume unnecessarily, is negligible in a single action and therefore a utilitarian would be forced to advocate for green consumption because on the small individual level, it actually creates the most happiness. Essentially, the main problem with utilitarianism is it is forced to advocate for a series of individual actions that bring harm to the environment because, on their own, these individual actions don’t have a substantial impact, and individual actions are paramount to utilitarianism.

Virtue Ethics Address Overconsumption Virtue Ethics is not focused on the consequences of individual actions; rather, it focuses on establishing a way in which people ought to conduct themselves on an everyday basis. There are two important concepts within virtue ethics that it is necessary to understand in order to be applicable: virtues and practical wisdom. Virtues are positive human characteristics such as honesty, generosity, and compassion, and the reasons behind each action are very important when determining if an act is virtuous. For example, individuals who tell the truth out of fear of being caught lying would not be considered virtuous people, because they do not actually have the personal characteristic of being honest; instead, they are acting out of a fear of punishment. Virtue is something cultivated in an individual over time. A single act of compassion does not make someone a compassionate individual. Continued acts of virtue are required in order to actually cultivate the specific virtue within a person, and can be seen as a disposition or instinctual action. A compassionate person is one who acts compassionately without reason or thinking about it. Essentially, the compassionate person is one who acts with compassion towards others without any forethought, as though it were an instinct (Sandler, 2007). Practical wisdom is the advocating for balance in each individual

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person’s life. Virtue ethicists would argue it is actually possible to have too much compassion, honesty, generosity, or any other virtue. Having too much of a virtue causes individuals to act in an unethical way. If an individual is too compassionate, it could lead them to lie in order to protect the feelings of another, or if a person is too generous, he might give too many of his resources away, preventing them from being generous in the future. Each and every virtue can be placed on a scale, where an individual has to find a balance between being too virtuous, or not virtuous enough. Having practical knowledge enables people to find the proper threshold of virtue, allowing people to be virtuous and practical humans. Several different forms of virtue ethics exist, each of which has an emphasis on different virtues. Philosopher Dale Jamieson argues the key to identifying important and relevant virtues is by imagining the perfect world and identifying the virtues individuals have in this perfect world. Depending on the circumstances, different virtues will be important in different situations. The virtues required to be a good friend, for instance, are different to the ones required for being a good parent or a good soldier (Jamieson, 2007). When imagining the perfect world void of environmental degradation, there are several important virtues relevant to ethical consumption habits, the three most important of which are mindfulness, humility, and resourcefulness (Jamieson, 2007). These three virtues together create consumption habits leading to lifestyles that end environmental degradation and promote legitimately sustainable practices. Mindfulness is being truly aware of the consequences of individual actions. As consumers, individuals often make choices they believe are ethical, but upon further inspection are not. As previously mentioned, many individuals believe by consuming “cage free eggs” they are making an ethical decision, because the implication of “cage free” is that the hens are able to roam free and act on biological instincts. However, if a person were mindful of their actions, they would take the extra time to research these “cage free” farms and discover that the actual conditions in a “cage free” farm are really not much better than traditional factory farms. This illustrates the importance of mindfulness, as even if individuals have the best intentions in mind, they may not make the best or most truly ethical decisions. When individuals participate in green consumption, they are not being mindful of their actions. One of the key aspects of green consumption is the mindset that people must always search for more efficient ways to live. This leads to constant consumption and replacement of goods. This is not a mindful practice because people are not taking the time to truly

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understand the consequences of their actions. The example of electric cars perfectly illustrates this point. A mindful individual will understand that buying an electric car is unethical and they ought to continue to use whatever vehicle they already own until it is no longer operational, because the production cost of an electric car or hybrid vehicle makes the reduction of greenhouse gas emissions negligible. Humility is also an integral virtue toward cultivating proper consumption habits. Even if individuals are aware that the consequences of their actions have negative effects on the environment and other beings, often they simply do not care, which obviously they should. Humility is having an understanding that humans are not the center of the world. Through being humble, individuals will no longer see themselves as the most important beings on the planet. This is an important aspect of changing behaviors because if individuals are mindful of their actions but do not care about the consequences, there will be no behavioral change. In the case of the supposed “cage free eggs,” even if individuals are mindful of their actions, without humility they may not care about the living conditions of the chickens themselves, because in their minds humans are most important, and therefore human pleasure is more important than the suffering of other beings. When an individual participates in green consumption, they are not cultivating the virtue humility because it still facilitates the idea that humans are the most important species. While green consumption acknowledges that a problem exists, it does not actually ask for significant change to solve it. It continues to place humans as the most valuable species, because our own lifestyle is far more important than the environment or other beings. The main focus of green consumption is to find ways to continue already-existing lifestyles, rather than truly finding solutions. Therefore, because participating in green consumption reinforces the idea that humans are the most valuable and important species, it is does not facilitate humility and therefore is unethical. The last important virtue necessary to cultivate proper consumption habits is resourcefulness. This would be a person who takes advantage of resources already owned, or finds ways to fulfill necessities without consuming new ones. A perfect example of this is secondhand consumption, which can be achieved in two separate ways. First, by reusing what individuals already have, and second, by using resources others no longer want. By finding several uses for the resources individuals already own, people can minimize the effect they have on the planet. For example, when eating out at a restaurant, individuals can bring their own containers to bring home leftover food, rather than using a one-time container provided

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by the restaurant. This way, the food will not go to waste, and they are not consuming a new container. In addition, when an individual purchases goods at a secondhand store, they are cultivating resourcefulness, because rather than using something new, they are consuming something that already exists. There are certain circumstances where individuals are required to consume relatively new products, such as lawyers trying to impress their clients with their expensive tastes, a potential employee going in for a job interview and needing professional attire, or a student who is graduating from college needing a graduation gown; however, even in these instances individuals can be resourceful. In order to impress clients, the lawyer can rent a new expensive car when needed, rather than buying a new one, and both the potential employee and the graduating student can borrow a nice suit or a graduation gown. In this way individuals can be both resourceful while also being practical.

Objections One objection to this argument is that the premises actually suggest a much stronger conclusion. Not only is green consumption an unethical practice, but also consumption in general is an unethical immoral practice. Throughout this paper, it has been established that one of the reasons green consumption is unethical is because it promotes overconsumption in general, which in turn harms the environment. This means logically, the argument should be expanded to consumption; any consumption, not just green consumption, is unethical because it harms the environment. While this objection seems to be strong, in reality it is a misrepresentation of the argument I have provided. While the true culprit of environmental degradation is in fact overconsumption, not all types of consumption necessarily lead to overconsumption. The problem with green consumption is it necessarily leads to overconsumption. Individuals who purchase green products usually do so because it is new and is typically the most efficient technology. However, once a piece of green technology becomes outdated, individuals will seek to upgrade, and purchase a brand new piece of technology even when their old one still works. This cycle is what makes green consumption unethical, which other forms of consumption don’t necessarily have. Second-hand consumption, which is the consumption of already-used products, is not an unethical practice because it does not create a mindset that encourages consumption, and does not play into the dangerous cycle of consumption and production outlined earlier. Consuming goods that

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have already been used allows consumers to escape the negative consequences associated with green consumption. For example, if a consumer decides to frequent second-hand stores, then he would be able to avoid these negative consequences. Another objection is that the conclusion reached in this paper essentially damns developing economies across the world. This can be explained with Hardin’s “lifeboat ethics,” which was previously discussed. Essentially, this anti-green-consumption conclusion is just as damning to developing nations as Hardin’s conclusion, though in a different way. It is clear that individuals in affluent nations consume too many resources. This leads many people, like Hardin, to come to the conclusion that we must ignore the needy because to help them would destroy the whole planet. However, if affluent nations become more efficient in their resource usage, then developing countries would be able to increase their consumption rates and increase their quality of life without causing significant harm to the planet or to the survival of the population of the planet as a whole. The key to this, however, is green consumption. Through green consumption, affluent nations are able to consume less while maintaining the same quality of life. At the same time, through green technology, developing nations will in turn use less energy to develop, meaning an even smaller environmental impact. However, if green consumption is deemed an unethical practice, then it cuts the legs out from underneath developing nations, and leaves them no way to increase their own quality of life and develop without causing significant harm to the world. The largest flaw with this objection is that it does not acknowledge the fact that affluent nations are in the best position to make a change. This objection does not even consider that affluent nations could sacrifice some small amount of quality of life. Looking at the principle of marginal utility, if individuals living in affluent nations were to reduce their consumption levels, it would have a minimal negative effect on their own happiness, while people from developing nations would see a substantial increase. Essentially, as long as green consumption is viewed as the solution to environmental degradation, developing nations are forced to wait for the technological advancement of rich nations before they can develop themselves. Whereas if rich nations were to reduce their consumption levels, developing nations would be able to develop at their own rate, rather than having their development tied to further technological advancement of rich nations. For example, individuals in affluent nations could easily reduce their use of unnecessary medical procedures, so those same resources could be used to save lives in less affluent nations.

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A final objection is that utilitarianism is able to achieve the same goal as virtue ethics and cultivate good consumption habits. Philosopher Judith Lichtenberg argues one of the main reasons individuals consume is the consumption of others. She calls this conspicuous consumption, which is fueled by an individual’s desire to illustrate power and status (Lichtenberg, 1996). Therefore, utilitarianism actually is able to address the problem of overconsumption because it addresses conspicuous consumption. If one person’s consumption habits have an effect on other persons’ habits, than an individual consumption choice actually has a much larger effect than previously discussed. If person A were to stop participating in green consumption and overconsumption then it would also have an effect on the consumption habits on person B, person C, and so on, creating a ripple effect changing the consumption behaviors of many individuals, and would therefore have a substantial effect on reducing environmental degradation. While this may seem like a strong objection, in reality it is not. A single behavioral change regarding consumption habits does not actually have an impact on the consumption habits of others. In the above example, even if person A decides to change consumption habits, it will have little to no effect on person B, because person B is still being driven to consume by people C through Z. This means in reality, a single consumption choice truly has very little effect on anything; even if the influence that one person has on another individual is removed, there still exists many more people influencing each other to consume.

References Carrington, D. (2013, December 23). “Solar farms feel the heat from ministers but industry hopes it can still sparkle.” The Guardian. Retrieved from: http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2013/dec/22/solar-farmscriticism-ministers-industry Footprint Network. (2013, July 25). Data and results. Retrieved from: http://www.footprintnetwork.org/en/index.php/GFN/page/footprint_dat a_and_results/ Gardiner, S. M. (2004). Retrieved from: http://hettingern.people.cofc.edu/Environmental_Philosophy_Sp_09/G ardner_Ethics_and_Climate_Change.pdf Grant, L. K. (2010). “Sustainability: From Excess to Aesthetics.” Behavior & Social Issues, 195-45. Grant, Lyle K. “Can We Consume Our Way Out of Climate Change? A

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Call for Analysis.” The Behavior Analyst 2.34 (2011): 245-66. Web. Hardin, G. (1974). “Lifeboat Ethics.” In D. Van DanDeVeer & C. Pierce (Eds.), The Environmental Ethics & Policy Book (2 ed.). Belmont: Wadsworth Publishing Company. Heward, W. L., & Chance, P. (2010). “Introduction: Dealing with What Is.” The Behavior Analyst, 33(2), 145-151. Jamieson, D. (2007). “When Utilitarians Should Be Virtue Theorists.” Utilitas: A Journal Of Utilitarian Studies, 19(2), 160-183. Lichtenberg, J. (1996). “Consuming Because Others Consume.” Social Theory And Practice: An International And Interdisciplinary Journal Of Social Philosophy, 22(3), 273-297. McKibbin, B. (1998). “A Special Moment in History.” In D. Van DanDeVeer & C. Pierce (Eds.), The Environmental Ethics & Policy Book (2 ed.). Belmont: Wadsworth Publishing Company. Nevin, John A. “The Inertia of Affluence.” Behavior and Social Sciences 14 (2005): 7-20. Web. Parrillo, V. N. (2008). “Environmental Change and the Nature of Consumption: Implications for Consumer Identity.” Encyclopedia of social problems. Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage Publications. Schor, J. (2010). “Plentitude: The New Economics of True Wealth.” Contemporary Sociology, 40(4), 485-486. Simon, J. L. (1996). “Can the Supply of Natural Resources Really Be Infinite? Yes!” The ultimate resource 2 (ed.). Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Sunstein, C. R., & Nussbaum, M. (2004). “Beyond ‘Compassion and Humanity’: Justice for Nonhuman Animals.” Animal rights: current debates and new directions. New York: Oxford University Press.

HABERMAS AND PRACTICAL MORAL DISCOURSE KARI MIDDLETON

How can/should we engage in moral decision-making and in assessing the legitimacy of such decisions? In Moral Consciousness and Communicative Action, Jürgen Habermas proposes a version of constructivism. Like a good constructivist, he focuses on the idea of the agreement of a community and gives us a variant of Kant’s universalizability requirement that every valid social norm must fill: “All affected can accept the consequences and the side effects its general observance can be anticipated to have for the satisfaction of everyone’s interests (and these consequences are preferred to those of known alternative possibilities of regulation).” (Habermas, 65) Habermas proposes practical discourse, through which we come to a consensus, as a means for arriving at the validity of social norms, and it is on this aspect of Habermas’ program that I want to focus. The focus on practical discourse seems to be open to a skeptical objection. I will describe how this objection can be made and then how I think Habermas can and would respond to it. Finally, I will assess the principle of practical discourse as a means for establishing the validity of moral principles and suggest that Habermas is correct in supposing it is the only such principle available to us. If the following meets with philosophical criticism, I shall try to swallow the reasonable points of such criticism in the spirit of another sort of practical discourse that also attempts to work out a consensus. Briefly put, the skeptic might point out that even if it is true that practical discourse presupposes certain propositions whose content matches up with Habermas’ version of the principle of universalizability, Habermas has given us no reason why we should want to engage in practical discourse to begin with. He seems to arrive at practical discourse as a way of judging the validity of moral judgments in the following way (put simply): Defending the idea that it is through practical discourse that we can establish the validity of norms, he writes, “When we ask what makes valid moral judgments possible, we are compelled to proceed

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directly to a logic of practical discourse.” (62) The question of what makes valid moral judgments possible, on this view, cannot be settled by arguments that are deductively valid, since such arguments tell us nothing new. Nor can it be settled on the basis of empirical evidence alone, for in so far as arguments have substantive content, such content is mutable, “based on experiences and needs/wants that are open to various interpretations in the light of changing theories using changing systems of description.” (63) So we seem to be left with practical discourse as a means for establishing the validity of moral judgments, and such discourse has certain presuppositions whose propositional content entails Habermas’ version of the universalizability principle. For instance, “central to the meaning of the word ‘convince’ is the idea that a subject other than the speaker adapts a view on the basis of good reasons.” (90) So it makes sense to speak of persuading someone with good reasons, but not (except perhaps ironically) to speak of persuading someone by force; practical discourse seems to presuppose rules such as: No speaker may be prevented from exercising such rights as being allowed to speak. For my purposes, the point here is that the skeptic might respond to this talk of practical discourse with something like: “Even if this is the case, why suppose that we should, or that anyone would be motivated to, engage in practical discourse to begin with? Perhaps I can’t persuade you by threatening you, but it is not my concern to persuade you, as long as I can get you to do what I want!” Put another, slightly more complex, way: The agreement to engage in practical discourse at all seems to presuppose certain pre-theoretical moral assumptions, such as the principle that (generally speaking) it is wrong to force people to do what one wants. How is it that we judge the validity of this moral principle? Surely not through practical discourse in the hope of reaching a consensus, because whether or not we should engage in practical discourse is the very matter in question. To the very question, then, of how can we judge the validity of moral principles, Habermas answers: Through practical discourse. The decision to engage in practical discourse itself, however, presupposes certain moral principles whose validity—on pain of begging the question—cannot be settled through practical discourse. If the aim is to justify engaging in practical discourse, we cannot go about this by presuming that we should engage in practical discourse. So, Habermas might have given us excellent reasons to accept certain presuppositions once we have agreed to engage in practical discourse, but he has not given us reasons as to why we should, or as to why we might want to engage in practical discourse in the

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first place. The skeptic might well read Habermas and—shrugging—ask, “Still, why be moral?” The answer to this objection, I think, lies in the answer to another moral question: What do we want a moral theory to do? If the answer to this second question is to tell us, practically speaking, how we should resolve moral conflicts or how, beyond our initial intuitions, we can evaluate the validity of moral judgments, then Habermas has perhaps given us an adequate moral theory, after all. If, on the other hand, we expect a moral theory to justify those initial intuitions themselves, we might find that every moral theory fails to succeed. Certainly Habermas’ theory fails, but Habermas never attempts to justify pre-theoretic moral intuitions, while his principle of practical discourse implicitly makes free use of them. This failure to justify pre-theoretic intuitions, however, is no failure at all, practically speaking. It is not Habermas’ concern to stand so far back from lived experience that he tries to justify pre-theoretic moral intuitions; the question seems never to arise at all for him. Further, when Habermas remarks, “the moral intuitions of everyday life are not in need of clarification by the philosopher” (98) and he moves on without pausing, one gets the sense that also for Habermas the moral intuitions of everyday life are not in need of justification by the philosopher. There seems to be room for skeptical speculation about why we should be moral at all and, more particularly in this case, why we should engage in practical discourse only from the armchair. We simply have such moral intuitions—if one likes, this can be framed in Judith Lichtenberg’s terms: We simply have bedrock intuitions which cannot be removed or shaken, except theoretically, and when we leave the philosophy seminar room, we still face questions about how to resolve particular moral conflicts or evaluate the validity of moral judgments or of social norms. This, I take it, is Habermas’ central concern, a practical one. This is why, for instance, Habermas grounds discourse in the practical, remarking that his universalizability principle “suggests the perspective of real-life argumentation, in which all affected parties are admitted as participants.” (66), an approach that is less idealized than that of, say, Rawls. The skeptic is correct when he claims that Habermas gives no reason to be moral to begin with or to engage in practical discourse at all, but in light of Habermas’ project and his practical concerns, this point seems to be more or less irrelevant. Having raised this skeptical objection and answered it, an obvious further question is whether in fact Habermas has given an adequate means for judging the validity of moral judgments and social norms, the means of practical discourse through which we arrive at consensus. I think he

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does—more or less. I will not claim that the argument I give here is a complete one, for a complete argument would assess in detail not only Habermas’ claims, but the claims of his critics (e.g., various moral realist positions which would, I take it, view the validity of moral principles as matters of objective fact, not something a community happens to decide upon). But I will make a few general remarks that should suggest, at least, both the implausibility of realist positions and the plausibility of Habermas’ own. To begin with, as Habermas remarks, deductive arguments cannot resolve moral questions because they furnish us with no new information. For example, if we had an argument that ran: “It is wrong to kill unborn children, abortion is the killing of unborn children, therefore abortion is wrong,” it would hardly resolve the abortion issue. One question among others is whether or not abortion is the killing of unborn children, or more broadly, if it is wrong to kill unborn children. Secondly, I see only a dim hope of ever placing morals in the bare empirical world along with cats and chocolate. Again, to use the (tired) abortion example: We might come to know—in fact, I suppose that scientists do know—in great technical detail how the human fetus develops, but this does not answer either the philosophical question of whether human fetuses are persons or the philosophical question of whether it is wrong to abort them. Of the various arguments for the reality of moral facts, I will focus on that of John McDowell’s in his essay, “Values and Secondary Qualities.” Here, McDowell suggests that the way to understand values is upon a model of secondary qualities, such as color. He writes: Shifting to a secondary-quality analogy renders irrelevant any worry about how something that is brutely there could nevertheless stand in an internal relation to some exercise of human sensibility. Values are not brutely there—not there independent of our sensibility—any more than colors are: though, as with colors, this does not stop us supposing that they are independent of any particular experience of them. (McDowell, 208)

Apart from the complexities that the philosophy of color might bear on this analogy, it is at least clear that scientists know the physical causes of the experience of color. They can tell us in great detail about light wavelengths and the human eye, for instance. Where is the causal relation between such ordinary physical facts and the supposed perception of value? Without one, McDowell’s likening of values to secondary qualities such as color is at best an interesting suggestion, but hardly a knockdown argument to show how value is a real and objective thing in the world (albeit real and objective in the manner of a secondary quality).

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However, McDowell writes that, “merely causal explanations of responses like fear [and presumably responses involving evaluative judgments—KM] will not be satisfying anyway.” (207) “What we want here,” he continues, “is a style of explanation that makes sense of what is explained (in so far as sense can be made of it).” (Ibid.) So, we make sense of fear by viewing what we find as fearful, or in McDowell’s words, “by seeing it as a response to objects that merit such a response.” (Ibid.) By extension, it seems that according to McDowell, we make sense of our perception of virtue by seeing it as a response to things that merit such a response. Again, this is an interesting suggestion, but it is unclear precisely how the analogy is supposed to work. For example, say that, intensely preoccupied with thoughts of set theoretic proofs, I blunder into the street without looking and narrowly miss being struck by a car. I stand stupidly still for a moment, then hurriedly cross the street, heart thumping. I feel fear because moving vehicles in close proximity are actually fearful. Why actually fearful? Because they can kill me! Now say that I hear from my distraught neighbor that some of the neighborhood children, in the deep chill of winter, have flung her cat into the community pool and the cat has drowned. I listen in quiet rage and think to myself that the act of drowning the cat is evil. On McDowell’s account, this is because the act is actually evil. Why? Well…because…and here I am at a loss. That the cat drowned is certainly true, as is the fact that the children deliberately caused it to be drowned. But what in these empirical facts themselves shows that the act is evil, in the way that the moving car’s ability to injure or kill me shows that the moving car is fearful? I do not see what. I conclude, then, that McDowell’s analogy does not show that we value things because they are—objectively and in the real world—valuable, or that we make evaluative judgments based on things because such things merit such judgments. So, if neither deductive arguments nor empirical facts offer a way to establish the validity of moral principles, what is left? I answer, along with Habermas: Practical discourse. I am not arguing here for Habermas’ particular, detailed conception of practical discourse (for instance, his version of the universalizability principle), but rather for the general idea that practical discourse is the proper, or at least best, means for establishing the validity of moral principles. Several questions at once arise in the face of this positive claim: Why is a consensus necessary? Is consensus even possible or even often achieved regarding certain moral matters, and if not, how practical is it really to claim that practical discourse is the proper (or best) means of establishing the validity of moral

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principles? Shouldn’t what is a valid moral principle be a more objective matter than what a community happens to agree upon? One at a time! First question: Why is it necessary to achieve a consensus? Predictably, the answer rests on practical grounds. If there is no consensus, then there seem to be two options remaining: either the moral disagreement in question goes unresolved, or somebody (singular or plural) themselves decides the question for everyone else. Neither option, I think, inclines us to feel cheerful. In the first case, if the disagreement has gone unresolved, there are often unpleasant concrete results (e.g., snipers shoot doctors who perform abortions). In the second case, because the disagreement has in effect gone unresolved (that is, if one or a few people decide for everyone, that does not indicate that they no longer disagree), it is not unlikely that we will meet with the same unpleasant results. Moreover, if many people are not happy with what has been decided for them, the enforced “agreement” might not last anyway, and the question will be raised anew. In short, in the crudest terms, consensus is necessary to make everyone as happy as possible with what they must live with. Second question: Is consensus always possible? On the one hand, we have arguments torturously worked out in the hope, say, of ending the Israeli-Palestinian violence, and, on the other hand, we have ongoing debates about the rightness or wrongness of abortion. Consensus, since it often requires compromise, in all likelihood will not leave all people satisfied in all ways. Given such cases, and in more immediate terms, the heated moral arguments that persuade no one to the other’s side, it is far from clear that consensus is always—or even often—possible. However, if we cannot always arrive at a consensus, I do not think this necessarily suggests that practical discourse is the wrong means of resolving (much less addressing) moral questions. Practical means might not be a perfect avenue of resolving moral disputes, but they are the only means available. Third question: Doesn’t this make morality a subjective affair? Put another way, isn’t the validity of moral principles a more objective matter than whatever consensus a community happens to arrive at through practical discourse? In answering this concern, I point again to Habermas’ comments (and mine) regarding deductive arguments and empirical arguments: Such arguments might be objective, but of themselves, they do not seem to settle moral questions. Further, it is at best misleading to say that the process of practical discourse is thoroughly subjective; rather, it is intersubjective, as practical discourse takes into account all opinions and views as it arrives at a conclusion. It is not as if, in other words, the consensus of practical discourse is purely arbitrary; it is the result of many people having a reasonable discussion and working out a consensus to

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address and (hopefully) resolve moral disputes and perplexities. There might be those, seeking an objectivity that is somehow more solid, who will remain unpacified, but beyond this—beyond fair and reasonable conversation between persons—I see no help to give them.

References Habermas, Jürgen. Moral Consciousness and Communicative Action. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1990. McDowell, John. “Values and Secondary Qualities.” In Moral Discourse and Practice: Some Philosophical Approaches. Edited by Stephen Darwall, Allan Gibbard, and Peter Railton. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. Pages 201-213. (Originally published in Morality and Objectivity: A Tribute to J.L. Mackie. Edited by Ted Honderich. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985. Pages 110-129.)



HAPPINESS AS RESISTANCE: MORAL OBLIGATIONS OF THE OPPRESSED KAMERON JOHNSTON ST. CLARE

Before your letter, it hadn’t occurred to me that marriage could hinder my acceptance at Harvard or my career. I was so discouraged by it that I don’t think I ever completed the application, yet I was too intimidated to contradict you when we met face to face. —Phyllis Richman (Richman 2013) Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever. Never shall I forget that nocturnal silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of the desire to live. Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. —Elie Wiesel, Night (Wiesel 2006, 34)

1. Introduction It is clear to most that we have a moral duty to end the oppression of other people when we are aware of it, whatever form that oppression takes. However, much less cut and dry is whether and to what extent those who are oppressed might have the moral obligation to resist their own oppression. Certainly, we might concede that at least some members of certain oppressed groups do not have the same moral obligations of ending oppression as do those not subject to the discriminatory practices and policies in question, but what then are the duties of the oppressed? In this paper, I will take up just this topic—focusing, in particular, on the notion of happiness being a manifestation of resistance. In examining these and other questions, I will need to spend time discussing the nature of oppression, the duties of all people to end oppression, and the nature of happiness. The purpose of this paper is to examine the nature of both oppression and resistance from the perspective of the oppressed, to establish what moral duties to resist are held by oppressed persons, and to explore the role that happiness plays in such resistance. I will do this through an



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analysis of various pieces of the philosophical literature pertaining to oppression and resistance more broadly, and moral obligation for the oppressed. Ultimately, I will argue that happiness—at least for some oppressed individuals—is a form of resistance in its own right, significant enough to fulfill some minimal duty to resist the oppression. In the next section, I offer a more complete understanding of oppression, upon which I build the rest of my arguments. Section 3 focuses on the development of a preliminary understanding of resistance. Section 4 examines the relationship between happiness, oppression, and resistance; furthermore, it provides good reasons for accepting happiness as a robust form of resistance against oppression. Finally, in section 5, I address some criticisms that may be levied against my arguments.

2. Understanding Oppression Before getting to the heart of my argument, it will prove helpful to first provide a foundation of what we mean by oppression. The more or less basic elucidations that follow will assist in understanding the elaborations to come later. What do we mean by oppression? What counts as oppression? Why is oppression bad? In some respects, oppression may be understood as rooted in, as Jennifer Saul writes in reference to the notion of dominance, “the distribution of power in society, and on ways in which this power distribution is maintained” (Saul 2003, 11-12; cf. MacKinnon 1987, 37). According to Ann Cudd, we can understand oppression as “harm that comes to persons because they belong to a group that they closely identify with, so that the harm attaches to their very self-image” (Cudd 1998, 21). Jean Harvey adds the dimension of systematization to oppression when she writes, “All oppression is systematic: victims are repeatedly mistreated, whether the oppression is violent or not” (Harvey 2010, 14). Also, Carol Hay stresses the importance of an individual’s autonomy, and characterizes oppression as something that limits that autonomy (Hay 2005, 97-8). In my view, oppression might occur when any number of these features is present; where victims are repeatedly mistreated— perhaps in some systematic manner, where the self-image of the victim is damaged, or where the individual’s autonomy is infringed upon, and where these negative things occur based on arbitrary reasons—e.g. race, sex, gender, religion, etc.—there is oppression. Moreover, I contend that all forms of oppression include dehumanization. Oppression understood most simply is a failure to accord a person or group the rights and basic dignity that we typically think ought to be



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acknowledged in people, and failure to do so constitutes a rejection of the other’s humanity. Oppression is, itself, a denial of one’s humanity—the belief on the part of the oppressors that there is something importantly different about the oppressed that makes them deserving of discrimination or at least undeserving of equal respect and dignity. Acts of oppression have the effect of instantiating or asserting otherness; they attribute humanity to the dominant group while stripping away the humanity of the oppressed group (sometimes very quickly and sometimes over the course of an individual’s lifetime). That being said, however, not all oppression need be the same. Oppression may be more or less subtle, as was the case for Phyllis Richman when she applied for graduate studies at Harvard University in the 1960s and was warned that she might have trouble maintaining her studies while simultaneously fulfilling her duties to her family. Or it may go by unacknowledged as with the female philosophy student who, for reasons she can’t quite put her finger on, feels inadequate and out of place in her department despite being as philosophically capable as her male peers. Or it may be more extreme, more obvious. For the purposes of this paper, I will focus on what I term cases of extreme oppression such as the case of holocaust survivors like Elie Wiesel. These extreme cases are meant to draw out the blatant and undeniable harms that resulted. While I ultimately contend that my arguments here may be applied to less obvious forms of oppression—for instance, Harvey’s concept of “Civilized Oppression”— cases of extreme oppression may prove to be more intuitively plausible instances that provide the conditions necessary for my arguments to prevail. The finer points of this, I will address in the coming sections.

3. Resisting Oppression While I take it as a fairly uncontroversial notion that we have a moral duty to intervene to end the oppression and abuse of others when we encounter it, the waters become murkier when considering the obligations of the victims of oppression and abuse. Let me be clear, I do think that victims of oppression have some moral duty to resist; as Harvey writes, “Victims should speak up, protest, and explain. It is an irreplaceable contribution to lessening oppression” (Harvey 2010, 17; cf. Thomas 1993, 87). This position, however, is not without its troubling points. Indeed, there are real concerns with demanding that victims of oppression resist or confront their oppressors. For instance, acts of resistance that place the resisting agent in further danger cannot be demanded of victims so rigidly.



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Furthermore, placing stringent moral obligations on those who are already oppressed may result in actually increasing their oppression (Hay 2005, 99-101; cf. Harvey 2010, 17). Additionally, as Cudd points out, constant and complete resistance of oppression is not possible given the pervasive nature of oppression (Cudd 1998, 30; cf. 2006, 198). In light of these concerns, our understanding of any moral obligation to resist must account for and excuse at least instances of extreme oppression in addition to instances when resistance risks additional harm for the agent in question. Moreover, I do not agree with Laurence Thomas when he claims that the oppressed “fail to do their part in making this world a better place when in the name of being a victim, they insist on being silent” (Thomas 1993, 94). One might want to say that there are cases where victims of oppression are released from the burdens of an obligation to resist. Yet, simply releasing victims of oppression from an obligation to resist seems unsatisfying to say the least. I am inclined to agree. In order to assuage this problem, we need a more nuanced understanding of resistance. For Harvey, in resisting, “we aim to be effective in one or both of two ways: either in reducing the oppression or in sending a clear message of rebellion to the oppressors” (Harvey 2010, 14). Note, however, that this understanding of resistance omits one important thing: what counts as resistance. This is because, as Lisa Heldke and Peg O’Connor write, “if the analysis of systems of oppression tells us anything, it tells us that there exist many ways to resist—because oppression is not just one thing” (Heldke and O’Connor 2004, 561). The very nature of oppression as pervasive and diverse opens the doors for myriad forms of resistance. In fact, as Harvey puts it, resistance “can take many different forms, depending on the kind of oppression involved and how it manifests itself” (Harvey 2010, 26). So the question then becomes: Are there ways to resist that can achieve one or both of the goals of resistance without increasing the burdens that typically come along with fighting back? For the sake of brevity, and since an act of resistance need only satisfy one of the goals mentioned above, let’s examine the easier of the two goals: reducing the oppression. In order to unpack this a bit, we need to distinguish between what I term external and internal resistance. Sending a message, physically fighting back, and confronting are types of externalized resistance. That is, they are directed outward and actively involve both the victimized agent and others. Internal resistance, on the other hand, only actively involves the oppressed person in question. Because it is internal, it need not be outwardly noticeable as resistance and thus may serve to insulate the oppressed individual from additional dangers. One possible example for internal resistance—given by Laura



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Beth Nielsen—may be found in the way some women choose to resist men, who verbally harass them: Women’s decisions to ignore comments is a form of hidden resistance, or at least defiance. For example, some women ignore these comments because they think that the man seeks a response. By ignoring such speech, these women are doing what they believe is the most effective thing to thwart the speaker’s true desire. (Nielsen 2012, 161-2.)

Acts of internal or hidden resistance work to lessen the oppression they fight by preventing it from achieving at least some of its goals. One flaw with the above example might be that the success of the woman who ignores her oppressor is dependent upon her being correct about the man seeking a response from her. On the one hand, if the man is looking to make her visibly upset, then not showing a response blocks or diminishes the intended oppression. If, on the other hand, her oppressor’s intent was to silence her, then her act of resistance may be said to have failed. That the successes of the woman’s resistance hinges upon things to which she may well have no or rather limited epistemic access presents quite a problem. A more satisfying instance of internal or hidden resistance needs to exist independent of those things outside the scope of an individual’s epistemic sphere. Additionally, it must achieve the goal of lessening the oppression, it must be reasonably universally accessible to the oppressed, and it must not necessarily increase the danger for the oppressed. At first glance, this is no small order to fill. In order to meet these criteria, we will need a form of internal resistance that issues from the very nature of oppression: happiness.

4. Happiness and Resistance When looking for a form of internal resistance, happiness might strike many as an odd and unsatisfactory solution. However, I posit that happiness issues from an essential and key feature of oppression and can be a powerful form of internal resistance. First, let’s reexamine the dehumanizing aspect of oppression as discussed in section 2. Dehumanization is not only a short-term, but also a long-term effect of oppression. The damage caused to the self (often by the self) can have lasting effects that long outlive the initial oppression. One need only refer to the accounts of holocaust survivors like Elie Wiesel, whose horrific experiences in the concentration camps robbed him of his faith, his dreams, and his will to live, and “murdered [his] soul” (Wiesel 2006, 34).



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Wiesel may have left the camps in the 1940s, but the oppression he suffered there followed him out the gates and continued to torment him. Happiness—perhaps understood here as something similar to peace—is a uniquely human state. Happiness, like autonomy, is one of the things that oppression takes from its victims. Therefore, happiness itself is the defeat of oppression—even if only partially—because it means that the oppressive act has, in some way, failed. Happiness reclaims some of the humanity denied by the oppression, and it does so in a way that is internal and independent of outside forces—which may also make it empowering. (Note, however, that happiness in this sense is not necessarily simple; in particular, for oppressed persons, achieving happiness might be quite a difficult task.) In doing this, happiness lessens the oppression of the victimized agent in question, but does so in a way that does not endanger said agent. While some may protest this notion, claiming that happiness on the part of the oppressed only serves to increase the oppression for other members of the oppressed group, I contend that happiness can serve not as a tacit acceptance of oppression, but as a beacon of hope for others who are oppressed in that it affirms one’s autonomy as an individual and points to certain aspects of one’s humanity that do not necessarily depend on others to be obtained or enjoyed. Furthermore, I argue that (at least for victims of extreme oppression—especially in the case of those whose initial oppression has come to an end) happiness is a worthwhile goal, the achievement of which satisfies the moral obligation to resist. In this way, happiness is a taking back of some of one’s humanity. Not just happiness as resistance, happiness is resistance. Another way to understand this relationship between resistance and happiness is by an appeal to the concept of martyrdom. In this view, martyrdom is always supererogatory and is never a moral obligation for the agent. This is because martyrdom, by its very nature, requires the agent to sacrifice herself in some important sense (here, martyrdom need not involve death, but rather a destruction or loss of the self either in part or in whole). Self-sacrifice to this degree can be considered morally good or morally courageous, but it cannot be a requirement of the individual. Happiness as resistance might be formulated according to the following criteria: (1) The denial of happiness has been a key feature of the sort of oppression relevant to the case. (2) Regaining or obtaining happiness is a difficult personal matter for the oppressed person.



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(3) Regaining or obtaining happiness would render the oppression either diminished or in some important way a failure. (4) Other forms of resistance would result in a further sort of victimization or oppression—they would result in an additional or deeper destruction of the self. To draw this out, consider three cases: the holocaust survivor, the former child-soldier, and the freed slave. In each case, we might want to say that achieving happiness (in some robust, personal and social sense) is enough; we might be inclined to believe that overcoming the deep emotional and psychological traumas associated with each case of oppression is morally sufficient. Indeed, further resistance might be morally good or courageous, but such action is not demanded of these people. To them we simply say, “You’ve done enough,” and other relevant agents in society pick up the torch and carry on the fight.

5. Objections Having examined my general argument for happiness as a form of subtle or internal resistance against oppression, I now turn to consider three important challenges to my position. I term these the temporal objection, the confrontation objection, and the privilege objection. After an explanation of each objection, I will proffer my response and, I hope, provide some good reasons for not abandoning the idea of happiness as resistance. First, with the temporal objection, one might argue cases like that of Elie Wiesel where his oppression (arguably) ended. In such instances, the objection contends, achieving happiness is not resistance since resistance presupposes an oppressor against whom one can resist. Rather, his oppression having ended, the duty to resist no longer applies; instead, the relevant duties might be confrontation or intervention. Understood most simply, you can’t resist something that has stopped occurring. The problem with this argument is that oppression, for some, is never really gone. The damaging effects of oppression on the self and one’s psychology can last for many years after the initial oppression or original abuse has been stopped. Although it is not necessarily directly tied to oppression, an example of this kind of lasting effect to which we might turn for comparison is post-traumatic stress disorder or PTSD. For the oppressed or formerly oppressed individual, just because the battle is over, doesn’t mean the war is won. Admittedly, this objection might hold true in



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some cases of what we might call minimal oppression, but such minimal cases are not my concern in this paper. Second, the confrontation objection claims that for an act to count as resistance, it must be in some relevant sense public. The argument being that resistance is only resistance if an oppressor is aware of it. Since happiness can be so internalized that it can go on unnoticed by the oppressor, it can’t count as resistance. This, however, merely conflates resistance and confrontation in a manner I argue to be inappropriate. Looking again at the case of Phyllis Richman, who confronted her oppressor fifty-two years after the fact, achieved happiness and fulfillment long before she wrote her letter. She writes, To the extent, Dr. Doebele, that your letter steered me away from city planning and opened my path to writing, one might consider that a stroke of luck. I’d say, though, that the choice of how to balance family and graduate school should have been mine. (Richman, 2013.)

It seems to be a rather cumbersome and intuitively uncomfortable endeavor to make the argument that building a successful and happy life over the course of fifty-two years is less an act of resistance than the second sentence of the quote above. And it is just this task, I argue, that the proponent of the confrontation objection must complete. Of course, there may be instances where confrontation is morally good, but not required as part of the duty to resist. In other words, and to adapt Cudd, it might be the case that confrontation is something that “goes beyond duty and is best judged as morally heroic or supererogatory” (Cudd 1998, 31). Third, the privilege objection holds that the happiness as resistance position essentially says, “If oppressed persons would just choose to be happy, everything would be okay.”1 In other words, this objection accuses happiness as resistance of failing to understand the nature of oppression due to a blindness that may result from being in a position of privilege. This objection, however, misunderstands the happiness as resistance position. Happiness as resistance does not suggest that victims of oppression should just choose to be happy or that they should make the most of it; rather, this view examines the limitations of the moral obligation to resist. When an individual and her particular circumstances meet the requirements outlined in the previous section, the obligation to resist or the obligation to help end the oppression does not vanish, instead it is taken up by other relevant members of the society. It is not the shortening of a race, but the passing of a baton.



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6. Conclusion The purpose of this paper has been to examine oppression and resistance from the perspective of the oppressed, the moral obligations of the oppressed, and to explore the role of happiness with regard to resisting oppression. I have done this through an examination of relevant philosophical literature on the topics of oppression, resistance, and moral obligation. Moreover, I have argued that happiness, at least for some extreme cases of oppression or abuse, is an act of internal or subtle resistance sufficient to meet the demands of a moral duty to resist oppression—this argument rooted in happiness being a way of rejecting both the short-term and long-term dehumanizing effects of oppression.

References Cudd, Ann E. Analyzing Oppression. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006. —. “Strikes, Housework, and the Moral Obligation to Resist.” Journal of Social Philosophy 29.1 (1998): 20-36. Harvey, Jean. “Victims, Resistance, and Civilized Oppression.” Journal of Social Philosophy 41.1 (2010): 13-27. Hay, Carol. “Whether to Ignore Them and Spin: Moral Obligations to Resist Sexual Harassment.” Hypatia 20.4 (2005): 94-108. Heldke, Lisa and Peg O’Connor. Oppression, Privilege, and Resistance. Ed. Lisa Heldke and Peg O’Connor. New York: McGraw Hill, 2004. 561. MacKinnon, Catherine. Feminism Unmodified. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987. Nielsen, Laura Beth. “Power in Public: Reactions, Responses, and Resistance to Offensive Public Speech.” Speech & Harm: Controversies Over Free Speech. Ed. Ishani Maitra and Mary Kate McGowan. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. 148-173. Richman, Phyllis. “Answering Harvard’s question about my personal life, 52 years later.” The Washington Post. Ed. Fred Hiatt. Washington: The Washington Post Company, 6 June 2013. Online at: http://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/answering-harvardsquestion-about-my-personal-life-52-years-later/2013/06/06/89c97e2ec259-11e2-914f-a7aba60512a7_story.html Saul, Jennifer Mather. Feminism: Issues & Arguments. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003.



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Thomas, Laurence. “Moral Flourishing in an Unjust World.” Journal of Moral Education 22.2 (1993): 83-96. Wiesel, Elie. Night. Trans. Marion Wiesel. New York: Hill and Wang, 2006.

Note 

1



Special thanks to R.A. Wright for pointing out the need for this clarification.

BEYOND THE DILEMMA OF DESIRE SATISFACTIONISM IN WELL-BEING RYAN MICHAEL MURPHY

There are many theories about what constitutes the good life and some philosophers argue that theories of well-being also ground all moral values. Desire satisfactionism, the claim that what is best for a person is to satisfy desires, has been considered at length. While the views in the contemporary debate among desire satisfaction theories are disparate, I contend that many of their differences result from pursuing different theoretical objectives. Desire satisfactionism, formulated as a theory of well-being, is at odds with desire satisfactionism articulated as a welfarist theory. This difference results in a problematic dilemma as welfarist desire satisfactionism inadequately accounts for several cases while desire satisfactionism as a theory of well-being is internally consistent but lacks philosophical significance. Despite this dilemma, the conceptual work in this debate is vital to considerations in the philosophy of action. L.W. Sumner considers several competing theories of well-being as he develops a welfarist grounding for morality. Although he ultimately rejects the possibility of desire satisfactionism as a welfarist theory, the criteria to which he holds the theory reveal much about his welfarist objective.1 Serious challenges concern Sumner’s “Informed Desire” formulation of desire satisfactionism, wherein the criteria for an adequate welfarist theory fail to cohere with desire satisfactionism. For Sumner, desires are essentially intentional and prospective.2 In the interest of conceptual clarity, it is advantageous to consider the prospective feature first. In theories of welfarism, desires must be aimed at future objects and events; otherwise, such a theory could never offer future-oriented moral direction. Consequently, Sumner holds that, “desires are always directed on the future, never on the past or present,” but this requirement for prospectivity introduces a series of problematic cases.3 If desires only aim at future events, then there exists an ex ante expectation about the satisfaction of the desire which is distinct from the ex post experience.

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Sumner articulates an example in which he finds himself at “a career crossroads,” between being a star baseball pitcher and having a promising career in philosophy. Although he desires both, he must make a foreclosing decision and decides to pursue the academic career. Once his career plays out roughly as he had expected he finds that he is not as satisfied as he thought he would be and becomes “disillusioned and discouraged.”4 This example illustrates the familiar phenomenon that one can have expectations about fulfilling a desire and yet find that those expectations fail to be realized when the desire is appropriately satisfied. Alternatively, pleasant surprises occur whenever we lack expectations prior to having a pleasant experience. Sumner’s experience of, “having never heard bluegrass,” but coming across a bluegrass band in a park and enjoying it is one such case.5 Further, one might harbor a negative expectation but be persuaded to act despite it and discover a pleasant outcome. Insofar as one’s theory of desire satisfaction is committed to prospectivity, these examples appear devastating, but not all formulations of desire satisfactionism hold this requirement. The welfarist project commits to the prospective desire account, but theories focusing exclusively on well-being avoid these commitments altogether. Chris Heathwood argues for a concurrentist account of desire satisfactionism that avoids the problems posed by the prospectivist account. Subjective Desire Satisfactionism (SDS) asserts that, “a state of affairs is a desire satisfaction only if it is a case of a person wanting something and getting it at the same time.”6 Heathwood’s concurrent conception clashes with Sumner’s commitment to prospective desires, yet avoids the problematic cases. SDS holds that it is possible, “that a person gets what she wants without enjoying it, so long as she loses the desire the instant she gets it.”7 Heathwood explains this phenomenon occurs when an agent’s belief fails to overlap with her desire. Sumner might have desired to follow the career path he chose, but in the moment he became disillusioned and discouraged, he ceased having that desire. Heathwood accounts for pleasant surprises similarly; under his concurrentism, “it can be that a person enjoys something he didn’t have a desire for, so long he forms a desire for it the instant he starts getting it.”8 Thus far, the key difference between these theories concerns temporal components embodied in desire, but the correlations between desires, agents, and the world proves equally important. The longstanding debate in utilitarianism regarding the status of pleasures as states-of-the-world or states-of-mind carries into the desire satisfactionism debate in welfare theory. Sumner’s welfarism is committed

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to desire satisfaction as states-of-the-world because real world events are the paramount concern of moral theory. Without reservation, Sumner holds that, “any version of a desire theory is a state-of-the-world theory, since the actual occurrence of the desired state of affairs is one necessary condition in the analysis.”9 Sumner’s analysis is partially correct as the actual occurrence of the desired state of affairs is necessary; however, this occurrence could occur only in the minds of subjects. Commitment to a state-of-the-world account of desire satisfactionism also entails problematic cases of remote desires. A desire counts as remote whenever its conditions for satisfaction will never be known by the desiring subject. Derek Parfit’s famous example involves meeting a stranger on a train who is seriously ill. One may form the desire that the passenger recovers and in fact s/he does, but one never has knowledge of the recovery.10 To claim that the satisfaction of remote desires improves the well-being of the subject is counterintuitive. Sumner points out that the problem of remote desires is rooted in the fact that their satisfaction, “will occur at times or places too distant from me to have any discernible effect;” however, if we remain committed to the view that desire satisfaction concerns states-of-the-world, then we must hold that remote desires affect well-being.11 James Griffin amends the informed-desire account of well-being by, “severing the link between ‘fulfillment of desire’ and the requirement that the person in some way experience its fulfillment, dropping what we might call the Experience Requirement.”12 Similarly, Heathwood’s SDS, “count[s] a desire satisfaction only if the subject is aware that the desire is satisfied.”13 Griffin and Heathwood see desire satisfactionism as a state-ofmind, thus avoiding the counterintuitive scenarios imposed by remote desires. Conceiving of desire as a state-of-mind to exclude remote desires, and permitting one to either develop or dispel a desire instantaneously, Heathwood casts desire satisfactionism in a more coherent light. But at what expense does this coherence come? Heathwood acknowledges that “Subjective Desire Satisfactionism is an unusual form of desire satisfactionism,” because, “a state of affairs can be good for a subject even though no desire of the subject’s is satisfied in it.”14 Interestingly enough, Heathwood’s SDS requires that, “the subject only believes that the object of his desire obtains.”15 Having linked desire with the Motivational Theory of Pleasure, Heathwood points out that, “the truth requirement in a motivational theory of attitudinal pleasure (in combination with the desire requirement) is not sufficient,” and going further, he holds that, “the truth requirement is not necessary either.”16 While abandoning truth as a component of desire satisfactionism initially

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seems extreme, a second thought reveals that this is the logical consequent of an iteration of desire satisfactionism that evades the objections listed above. Robert Nozick’s famous Experience Machine derives its power from the decoupling of experience from truth.17 Although Nozick’s scenario is convincing, an equally compelling counterexample exists. When children desire gifts from Santa Claus and wake to find gifts, they experience a satisfied desire that really isn’t satisfied. Whereas Nozick’s Experience Machine evokes the response that experience detached from truth lacks something essential to goodness, many of us think the childhood experience of Santa Claus (while detached from truth) positively impacts well-being. This juncture poses a dilemma. Desire satisfactionism formulated as a welfarist theory for the grounding of moral value is vulnerable to an array of problematic cases. Asserted as a theory of wellbeing, desire satisfactionism overcomes these objections by giving up claims to truth, morality and a plethora of other values. Prudential value is distinct from all others. This quandary posits desire satisfactionism as either an untenable theory of welfarism or a trivial theory of well-being. While this dilemma is a serious hurdle that any successful desire satisfactionist theory must face, it is prudent to acknowledge a few important points. In light of my charge of philosophical insignificance, Heathwood’s account of welfare is internally consistent and offers a compelling account of the pleasure/desire satisfaction phenomenon. Asserting the prudential goodness of this phenomenon may carry more theoretical weight than I recognize. An account of concurrent desire satisfactionism operating diachronically might provide insight on the potential significance of this prudential value.18 Furthermore, Sumner’s conception of welfarist desire satisfaction is not the theory of welfarism he advocates. I reference it because it is clear, systematic, and charitable. Still, Sumner’s authentic happiness welfarism might be susceptible to the dilemma I’ve described. For Sumner notes that his, “happiness theory is therefore ‘something in between’ hedonism and the desire theory,” and if Heathwood successfully argues that hedonism and desire satisfactionism are synonymous, then Sumner seems pinned between a rock and a hard place.19 Although potentially fertile for additional scholarship, I cannot further pursue this line of thought given the limited scope of this project. Having acknowledged two relevant areas not directly addressed here and recognizing that there are surely others, I will shift attention to a philosophical area that benefits enormously from the conceptual clarification

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achieved in this debate. Some events are mere happenings whereas others are designated as acts and the theoretical framework of desire satisfactionism helps account for this distinction. Desires play a justificatory role in the philosophy of action. Donald Davidson argues that “primary reasons” for actions consist in pro-attitudes and beliefs directed in a certain way.20 Davidson uses the term “reason” to mean a descriptive account or rationalization for why an agent acts.21 Not all desires are pro-attitudes; rather, it is best to “treat wanting as a genus including all pro attitudes as species.”22 The cases of remote desires described by welfare theories derive their force from the difference between pro-attitude and desire simpliciter. In Parfit’s case of the sickly stranger, the welfarist holds that the desire for the stranger to recover is a desire no different from any other desire. Heathwood asserts that this class of wants does not qualify as a desire, thus no satisfaction occurs when the stranger recovers. Davidson’s account of desire as a justification for action considers the wish for the passenger’s recovery part of the broader class of desires but not a pro-attitude. In short, the underlying issue in the problem of remote desires concerns whether desires and satisfaction occur as statesof-mind or states-of-the-world. While Davidson’s engagement of desires as rationalizations conceptualizes them as mental events, he also bridges the link between the mental and the physical, giving them causal significance. Davidson’s anomalous monism is a physical monism. Although Davidson thinks all events are physical (states-of-the-world), some fall under mental descriptions (states-of-mind as states-of-the-world). This provides the groundwork upon which to advance an account of desire as both justification and causal explanation of action. Whenever an agent acts, mental states supervene on physical states. In Davidson’s view, there is always a co-variation between mental and physical states, and because all states are fundamentally physical, anomalous monism offers a causal explanation for pro-attitudes (as desires and mental states) affecting action among physical states.23 While the wide and compelling breadth of explanation for which anomalous monism accounts is impressive, Harry Frankfurt describes action as inseparable from agents. Only when an agent’s motivating desires are reconcilable and support their higher order values and commitments is the action identified.24 By framing action in these terms, Frankfurt preserves the centrality of agents in their actions while also giving explanatory power to their desires as they support the higher order commitments of the agent. This stratification of higher and lower orders of values and desires is analogous to J. David Velleman’s notion of prudence

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as, “a rational appreciation for the second-order value of a good life—a disposition that cannot be constituted out of any appreciation for patterns of momentary goods.”25 Although Velleman’s primary effort rests in describing temporal issues surrounding well-being, his understanding of prudence is analogous to Frankfurt’s conception of identification which accounts for the connection between agents, actions, and desires. Whatever theoretical troubles desire satisfactionism faces as a theory of well-being or welfarism, the role desires play in the philosophy of action is crucial. Whether picturing desire as justification for action or spanning the split between mental and physical states, welfare and action theories make significant contributions to the broader understanding of desire satisfactionism. Just as the prudential concern of well-being is concerned with what is good for a person, theories of action should also account for the role of agents in their actions. In seeking to identify agents with their actions and explain prudence as a link between momentary wellbeing and the overall well-being of one’s life, philosophers grappling with well-being and action develop theories with greater explanatory force while keeping those accounts linked to the people whose lives and actions they seek to explain. Departing from the point of differing conceptions of desire satisfactionism in theories of well-being and welfare, I have explained the outcomes these theories yield when confronted with the challenging cases posed by the space between ex ante expectation and ex post experience. Welfarism capitulates in light of cases involving surprising pleasures and satisfied desires that are unexpectedly unfulfilling. The space between desire satisfactionism as a theory of well-being and welfarism expands as the welfarist theory commits to desire satisfactionism as a state-of-theworld succumbing to remote desires, whereas Heathwood’s account of well-being excludes remote desires from consideration as desires altogether. Given this divide, desire satisfactionism imposes a challenging dilemma for theories of well-being and welfarism. Because welfarism aims at an account of well-being upon which to ground morality, it commits to criteria which permit problematic counterexamples. Asserted solely as a theory of well-being, desire satisfactionism adjusts for these cases by amending the criteria while losing philosophical significance. Nonetheless, a turn to the philosophy of action displays the significance of the theoretical work produced by this discourse. Desires both justify actions and causally explain them, while remaining faithful to the agent’s overall well-being. Although the discourse on desire satisfactionism among theories of well-being and welfarism is at an apparent impasse, this

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discussion is situated within a broader philosophical conversation which benefits immensely from the conceptual insights revealed by their disagreements.

References Davidson, Donald. Essays on Actions and Events. 2d ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001. Frankfurt, Harry G. The Importance of What We Care About. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Griffin, James. Well-being: Its meaning, measurement and moral importance. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986. Heathwood, Chris. “Desire Satisfactionism and Hedonism.” Philosophical Studies 128 (2006): 539-563. Nozick, Robert. Anarchy, State and Utopia. New York: Basic Books, Inc., Publishers, 1974. Parfit, Derek. Reasons and Persons. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984. Sarch, Andrew. “Desire Satisfaction and Time.” Utilitas 25, no. 2 (2013): 221-245. Sumner, L.W. Welfare Happiness & Ethics. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996. Velleman, J. David. “Well-being and Time.” In The Metaphysics of Death, ed. John Martin Fischer. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993. Pages 329-362.

Notes 1

L.W. Sumner, Welfare Happiness & Ethics (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). Ibid., 124. 3 Ibid., 129. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid. 6 Chris Heathwood. “Desire Satisfactionism and Hedonism.” Philosophical Studies 128 (2006): 542. 7 Ibid., 558. 8 Ibid. 9 Sumner, Welfare Happiness & Ethics, 128. 10 Derek Parfit, Reasons and Persons (Oxford: Clarendon Press) 1984. 494. Although Parfit’s example of “the stranger on the train” appears widely in the pertinent literature, it is worth noting that there is no mention of a train in Parfit’s text. Chris Heathwood points this out in note 2 in “Desire Satisfactionism and Hedonism,” 562. 2

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Ibid. James Griffin, Well-being: Its meaning, measurement and moral importance (Oxford: Clarendon Press) 1986. 13. 13 Heathwood, “Desire Satisfactionism and Hedonism,” 543. 14 Ibid., 550. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid., 556. 17 Robert Nozick, Anarchy, State, and Utopia (New York: Basic Books, Inc., Publishers) 1974. 42-45. Nozick’s well-known thought experiment of the Experience Machine is offered to refute the utilitarian notion that the only attribute that matters in human life is the experience of pleasure. The experiment presents the reader with the option to be attached to a machine that would generate the experiences of whatever pleasurable activities or states were desired. The person in the machine could live a life filled with pleasure but completely divorced from reality. Intuitions seem to tell us that a life in the machine would not be worth living, thus our intuitions seem to be at odds with a fundamental principle of utilitarianism. 18 Alexander Sarch, “Desire Satisfaction and Time,” Utilitas 25, no. 2 (2013): 221245. Sarch proposes a version of weak concurrentism as the theory of actual desire satisfactionism best suited to overcome the temporal problems associated with desire and well-being as articulated by J. David Velleman in “Wellbeing and Time.” 19 Sumner, Welfare Happiness and Ethics,175. 20 Donald Davidson, “Actions, Reasons, Causes,” reprinted in Essays on Actions and Events (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001), 3-19. 21 Ibid., 10. 22 Ibid., 6. 23 Donald Davidson, “Mental Events,” reprinted in Essays on Actions and Events (Oxford: Clarendon Press) 2001. 207-225. 24 Harry G. Frankfurt, The Importance of What We Care About: Philosophical Essays. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) 1988. “Identification and externality,” 58-68 and “Identification and wholeheartedness,” 159-176 are particularly relevant chapters. 25 J. David Velleman, “Well-being and Time,” in The Metaphysics of Death, ed. John Martin Fischer (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), 346. 12

THE ETHICS OF DEBT TODAY: HEGELIAN REFLECTIONS ON ABUSIVE LENDING AND THE FINANCIAL CRISIS KATE PADGETT WALSH

In recent years, personal debt levels have increased dramatically, and rates of default have kept pace. Borrowing, lending, and repayment are regulated by a wide array of legal codes, but pressing moral questions are raised by the increasing complexity of circumstances in which debts are now assumed, repaid, and sometimes defaulted upon. How well can we model the ethics of debt today upon relatively simple cases of borrowing and lending? And how should we understand the moral dimensions of debt in light of the social and economic failures that created the 2008 financial crisis? I argue that the ethical dimensions of personal debt are richer than most philosophers have realized. This becomes apparent when we consider the concrete reality of actual debts, rather than just “debt” in the abstract. Abusive lending practices, for instance, reveal a need to look beyond the fact that borrowers consent to the terms of their loans. And the 2008 financial crisis has brought to light important new dimensions of debt today, dimensions that cannot be understood just by examining the intentions of individual borrowers and lenders. What is needed is a more comprehensive approach to the ethics of debt, one that attends to the actual social and economic context that frames contemporary borrowing, lending, and repayment. I outline an unorthodox approach, rooted in Hegel’s ethical thought, which provides fresh theoretical resources for integrating the complex dimensions of debt today.1 Intuitively, the moral obligations associated with debt seem to follow from the fact that borrowers and lenders jointly commit themselves to the terms of a loan. Borrowers acquire debts by exchanging promises or, as Margaret Gilbert puts it, entering into “joint agreements” with lenders.2 When debts are understood in this way, the ethical dimensions of debt primarily concern the act of promising and its implications. Since the moral force of promises depends upon the consent of both parties, the

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moral obligations associated with debt seem to follow from the fact that borrowers and lenders jointly consent to the terms of a loan. Loan agreements based upon coercion or deception are not binding. But absent coercion and deception, borrowers and lenders seem morally obligated to fulfill the terms of their loan agreements. However, a focus on consent alone is not adequate for assessing the ethical dimensions of debt. In order to determine the obligations of lenders as well as borrowers, we must look beyond the mere fact of consent. Was the borrower physically coerced, threatened with loss of life or limb if she did not accede to the terms? Was the borrower deceived, such that she would not have otherwise taken out the loan? These are important questions, but they do not exhaust the ethical questions surrounding debt. This becomes clear when we consider the concrete reality of abusive loan agreements, both contemporary and historical. Consider, for instance, the matter of enforcement. When a borrower takes out a loan, he or she agrees to, amongst other things, certain penalties for delinquency and default. As Elizabeth Anderson has argued, it seems clear that the elimination of debt peonage and debtors’ prisons as mechanisms of enforcement represents an important moral advancement. 3 Similarly, Anderson contends, it is ethically significant that loan agreements no longer require borrowers to sacrifice their dignity by humbling and subjecting themselves to feudal lords. But these advancements only come into view when we look beyond the fact that borrowers consent to their loans. A borrower who must bow and scrape before a lender, sacrificing his dignity in order to secure a loan, is not necessarily coerced or deceived in the process. Nor is a borrower who agrees to a loan with highly punitive penalties necessarily coerced or deceived. The demise of debt peonage and debtors’ prisons, as well as the subjection of borrowers to feudal lords, are certainly significant developments.4 However, serious moral failures persist within many loan agreements today. Contemporary loan agreements take the form of complex and lengthy contracts, written by lawyers whose goal is to protect the interests of lenders. Such contracts can protect borrowers from deception and coercion, but they do not ensure that the terms of the agreement are not abusive in some other way. For example, credit card agreements standardly include a binding arbitration clause, according to which all disputes must be settled by arbitration rather than by through the courts.5 Although there is nothing obviously coercive or deceptive about specifying a method for resolving disputes, binding arbitration clauses are nonetheless morally problematic. One problem is that the specific terms of the clause allow companies to choose the arbitrator and set the rules of

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arbitration. Another is that, because consumers forfeit the right to sue, the clause also prevents class action lawsuits from forming. Consumers today can thus only challenge credit card companies on an individual basis, and only according to the rules set by those companies. This has had the predictable and, presumably, intended result of discouraging consumers from filing disputes.6 If we focus only upon the fact that credit card users consent to their agreements, we will miss out upon the ethical concerns raised by binding arbitration clauses, and will also lose the tools needed to understand what is problematic about predatory lending practices, such as those of payday lenders. A payday loan is an expensive cash advance upon a future paycheck. The borrower agrees to repay the loan on his or her next payday, at a high interest rate. Although delinquency is not punishable by imprisonment or forced servitude, the terms of the loan are still highly punitive. The typical finance charge on a payday loan is 18% for two weeks, which equates to an APR of 468%.7 Most strikingly, half of all initial loans play out into a string of ten or more loans because borrowers are repeatedly unable to pay off the balance.8 On an average initial loan of $375, borrowers will typically pay $520 in interest.9 A triple digit APR is thus a reality for a great many payday borrowers. Despite the high cost of payday loans, their popularity has skyrocketed in recent decades, to the point that payday storefronts in the U.S. now outnumber McDonald’s and Starbucks restaurants combined, and 12 million Americans use the loans each year. 10 It is only when we look beyond the fact that borrowers consent to these loans that the predatory behavior of payday lenders becomes apparent. Lenders operate within the bounds of the law, operating like other businesses. They neither deceive nor coerce borrowers into taking out loans, but their business model is deeply unethical. The typical payday borrower is young, poorly educated, and low-income.11 Lenders profit from the high fees and interest rates that they charge for delinquency. Most loans are made for the maximum amount available by law, and 61% of the loans merely refinance previous payday loans that have become delinquent.12 The payday business model is one that takes advantage of the willingness of vulnerable borrowers to agree to highly punitive loans that they are unlikely to repay on time. Robert Mayer has thus recently argued that payday lenders systematically exploit borrowers, profiting from the vulnerability of those who live paycheck to paycheck.13 Mark Davidson goes so far as to argue that such vulnerability makes payday loans necessary for many of the poor to get by.14 Citing stagnant wages among the working poor and high fees charged by traditional banks, he contends that many people effectively

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have no choice. Their circumstances force them to use payday lenders in order to pay for basic necessities. Davidson regards these forces as ultimately coercive and thus as belying the appearance that payday borrowing and lending is consensual. Davidson and Mayer are right to take a broad view of the economic factors that shape payday borrowing. But what such a broad view reveals is that the notion of consent is, alone, too minimal. Even if some borrowers are forced by economic hardship into taking out payday loans, this is not true of all borrowers. Research shows that many borrowers would simply cut back on discretionary spending if the loans were unavailable.15 In addition, studies also demonstrate that access to payday loans is more detrimental than beneficial to the financial well-being of prospective borrowers. Low-income households with access to the loans have greater difficulty paying their mortgage, rent, and utility bills than those who, due to state regulations or other factors, are without access.16 Low-income households with access to the loans are subsequently also twice as likely to default on credit card bills and file for bankruptcy.17 Research suggests that this is, in part, because borrowers do not always prioritize the lowest-cost credit, opting for the quick and “easy” cash promised by payday lenders, for instance, even when there is room on a credit card.18 Payday lenders thus take advantage of a variety of conditions that are not necessarily coercive. We must look beyond questions of consent in order to understand the ethics of abusive lending. We must also examine the actual reasons or intentions behind decisions about borrowing, lending, and repayment. This is Kant’s approach in the Groundwork, where he treats the ethics of borrowing and repayment as illustrations of the ethics of promising. Borrowers, he argues, have a perfect duty to be honest when applying for loans because a maxim of dishonesty in borrowing, like all dishonest maxims, generates a contradiction in conception when universalized. Borrowers would find themselves unable to attain credit under false pretenses in a world where everyone would do the same, since access to credit would become severely restricted to prevent such dishonesty. Concerning the ethics of repayment, Kant is more circumspect, but the analysis is similar. A maxim of willful default would, like a dishonest maxim, generate a contradiction in conception. Borrowers would find themselves unable to attain, and subsequently default upon, the very credit they take for granted if a maxim of default were universalized. A borrower who is dishonest or in default thus presumes to make an exception of himself, acting in a way that relies upon the fact that others do not do the same. Borrowers, Kant concludes, are morally obligated to be honest when

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entering into loan agreements and also to uphold the terms of those agreements. Kant’s discussion of debt in the Groundwork focuses exclusively upon the obligations of borrowers. In contrast, the ethics of lending receives virtually no attention from Kant. However, in the Anthropology, he does briefly remark upon the immorality of usury. In Kant’s time, usury was understood as lending at excessively high interest rates, exceeding around 5%. 19 Such creditors, he claims, are “cheaters” who take advantage of others by lending according to the principle of “Buyer Beware.”20 Although Kant does not elaborate, the shopkeeper example from the Groundwork can shed some light on this remark.21 There, he contends that it is both prudent and ethical that a shopkeeper not overcharge inexperienced customers, with the implication that it is unethical to overcharge customers. But why, exactly, is this so? Imagine a merchant who lied to his customers whenever, due to their ignorance, he could get away with it. Like all instances of lying, such a practice would clearly run afoul of the categorical imperative. With regard to the ethics of lending, the implication is that lenders may not lie to borrowers, intentionally deceiving them about interest rates and fees. Kant’s remark on usury, however, suggests that he objects to lending at high interest rates even when there is no deception or coercion involved. What is problematic is the underlying principle of “Buyer Beware.” Imagine a merchant who, although he does not out and out lie, does intentionally take advantage of customers by raising his prices whenever, due to customer ignorance, he can get away with it. Were a maxim of overcharging ignorant customers made into a universal law, such that customers became aware that merchants intended to take advantage of them, they would no longer blindly accede to a shopkeeper’s inflated prices. The maxim of overcharging inexperienced customers thus cannot be consistently universalized because the shopkeeper, relying upon the fact that other merchants do not act similarly, intends to make an exception of himself. Let us now revisit the example of payday lending. Elsewhere, I have proposed that one problem with widespread predatory lending is that it destabilizes lending markets by encouraging greater delinquency and indebtedness.22 But Kant’s remark on usury reveals a broader flaw in the underlying principle of “Buyer Beware.” Payday lenders do not, as in the shopkeeper example, charge different prices, but they do take advantage of their customers in a similar way. They exploit the fact that borrowers do not realize that the terms of their loans are intended to create a cycle of delinquency. Such a business model runs afoul of the categorical

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imperative because the efficacy of preying upon customers depends upon them remaining unaware of that predation. When universalized, it would create a world in which predatory lending was the norm rather than the exception. Because potential borrowers would, then, be aware that lenders intended to ensnare them, they would be unwilling to accede to predatory loan agreements. If this is correct, then it is not the high interest rate on payday loans per se that is morally problematic, but rather the predatory intention behind that interest rate. Indeed, apologists for payday lending respond to charges of predation by arguing that the loans provide credit to an otherwise underserved population. High interest rates, they contend, merely reflect the elevated risks associated with lending money to low-income borrowers. But there are at least two problems with this response. First, the fact remains that access to payday loans is detrimental to the well-being of most of their borrowers, as I noted above. It is thus disingenuous for lenders to claim that their goal is to provide a genuinely valuable service to the working poor. Second, the slightly elevated risks associated with payday lending do not justify such excessive interest rates.23 This is reflected in the fact that the return on payday loans is more than twice the typical return on conventional loans.24 These profits have recently led to an explosion of payday lenders, with a ten-fold increase in stores between 1996 and 2010.25 Given the unusually high profit margins in payday lending, it is hard to take seriously the assertion that compensating for risk is the reason that payday interest rates are so exceptionally high. Indeed, payday lenders would adopt a different business model if they really wished to avoid being predatory. Microfinance lenders, for instance, also offer small loans to the working poor, but their business model is not exploitative. Rather than adopting a maxim of “Buyer Beware,” microfinance lenders only work with borrowers whom they expect to repay in a timely fashion. They do charge interest rates of up to 100% annually which, though high, are less than a third of the typical payday APR. These rates cover the increased overhead involved in processing and administering small loans. The microfinance business model allows lenders to achieve profits that are competitive with conventional loans while, at the same time, actually providing credit to an underserved population. These examples make clear that the actual reasons or intentions behind loan agreements are essential to the ethics of lending. But what about the broader social and economic context that frames those reasons and intentions? How well can we understand the ethics of contemporary borrowing, lending, and repayment without also examining the social and

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economic constraints that frame loan agreements today? I argue that the 2008 financial crisis challenges us to rethink the assumption that debts are essentially just loan agreements between borrowers and lenders. Debts today are not just loans, but also incredibly sophisticated financial products that are routinely marketed, sold, rated, securitized for investment, and insured. This change introduces new ethical questions about the social and economic context of borrowing, lending, and repayment today, questions which are not encompassed by a narrow focus on debts as loan agreements. My proposed approach draws upon Hegel’s ethical thought, beginning with his famous empty formalism critique. Hegel’s contention is that applications of the categorical imperative always depend upon implicit assumptions about the broader social and economic context, some of which may prove untenable. These assumptions effectively import content into what Kant intends as a purely formal principle. In some cases, the assumptions are unproblematic. But in other cases, a focus on individual intentions is misleading because it ignores ethically salient features of context that frame deliberation. Although an extended defense of Hegel is outside the scope of this paper, the crucial point is that ethical analysis can become distorted if we fail to attend to the contexts in which we deliberate. Precisely such a distortion, I argue, becomes apparent when we consider the ethics of debt in the wake of the crisis. It might be tempting to blame the crisis just upon the unethical behavior of individual borrowers and lenders, given that predatory lending and deceptive borrowing did play a role in creating the financial crisis. However, the crisis was brought about not just by individual moral failures, but also by system-wide problems that framed individual choices and decisions. Many of the agents whose decisions contributed to the crisis, including lenders, analysts, bankers, regulators, and borrowers, did not violate the categorical imperative. Instead, they were caught up within an essentially structural problem, as the National Commission on the Causes of the Financial and Economic Crisis has concluded. 26 Their report, commissioned by Congress and published in 2011, concludes that the crisis was caused by systemic risk, widespread deregulation, and excessive debt levels. Beginning in the 1980s, the advent of debts as financial products introduced systemic risks that went largely unheeded. Perhaps the biggest change was the explosion in subprime mortgages offered to borrowers who, because of their credit history or debt levels, were considered more likely to default. Most payday borrowers are subprime, but state regulations keep payday loans relatively small and the rate of default on

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those loans is lower. The growth in subprime mortgage lending, in contrast, introduced a much greater level of risk. This growth came about largely because of a change in the business model of commercial banks. Lenders had traditionally held on to the mortgages they issued, and so they took care to make sure that borrowers were credit-worthy. But when lenders began to sell those mortgages, there was suddenly less incentive to ensure that borrowers could really afford their loans. Investment firms were happy to bundle subprime loans into securities to sell to investors, and rating agencies regarded these securities as safe because the mortgages were pooled. Analysts and investment banks were correct to think that securitization had temporarily diversified the risks for individual securities, but they disregarded the build-up of systemic risk. At the same time, the markets for financial products underwent deregulation. The market for one such financial product, credit default swaps, grew unregulated alongside the market for mortgage securities. A credit default swap is a derivative under which one entity transfers risk to another entity, for a fee, as a kind of insurance against default. Investment banks not only sold securities, they also insured them with credit default swaps. This was big business. Goldman Sachs estimated, for instance, that 30% of its revenue between 2006 and 2009 came from derivatives. Also, AIG, by the time of the crisis, had assumed the risk for $500 billion, backed by virtually no collateral. When defaults began to skyrocket in 2008, it became apparent that such firms had, in the absence of regulation, placed bets they were unable to honor. Finally, the growth of debts as financial products was fueled by a massive expansion of personal credit in the decades leading up to 2008. This expansion was caused partially by the deregulation of lending and partially by decisions at the Federal Reserve. One key decision dates to the 2001 recession. Hoping that an uptick in consumer spending would restart growth, the Fed slashed its interest rate to encourage more borrowing, especially in the form of home equity loans. The strategy of fueling a recovery with increased consumption worked. But it also led to unprecedented levels of household debt and sparked a dramatic increase in home prices that created an unsustainable real estate bubble. Ironically, it has since become clear that the recovery from the 2008 crisis has been markedly slowed by the persistence of high household debt levels.27 The crisis raises new questions about the ethics of borrowing, lending, and repayment today. What does it mean to be a responsible lender in the context of system-wide failures? How do the failures that created the crisis bear upon the putative obligations of borrowers to fulfill the terms of loan agreements? The crisis also raises pressing questions about the culpability

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of investment banks, analysts, and policy makers. What are their responsibilities to the millions of Americans who lost income, savings, and even their homes because of the crisis? Also, what are their obligations going forward? We cannot begin to answer these questions if we remain focused just upon consent and the intentions behind loan agreements. The systemic failures that created the crisis were, for the most part, not contained within the intentions of borrowers and lenders. Certainly, some lenders were predatory and some borrowers deceitful. But the crisis was caused primarily by failures of regulation, disregard of risk, and lack of foresight about rising debt levels. Borrowing and lending decisions in the lead-up to the crisis were framed by these failures in ways that borrowers, especially, were unaware of. If we disregard those failures, we risk drawing simple and misleading conclusions that ignore the actual context in which loan agreements today are embedded. The Hegelian contention is that, rather than focusing just upon consent and the intentions behind loan agreements, we must also scrutinize the shared assumptions that framed borrowing and lending decisions in the lead-up to the crisis. One such assumption, originally identified by Hegel in his critique of Kant’s analysis of false promising, concerns the adequate functioning of marketplace regulations and incentives. 28 Most people assumed in the lead-up to the crisis that government regulation and incentives in the marketplace would adequately check risky lending. Borrowers thought, not unreasonably, that lenders would not offer mortgages they could not reasonably be expected to repay. They did not understand how the advent of debts as unregulated financial products had transformed mortgage lending, making it newly profitable for lenders to offer large and expensive mortgages to even deeply subprime borrowers. Nor were they in a position to understand how government policies had created a real estate bubble and normalized excessive borrowing. Borrowers also relied upon experts who publicly and repeatedly assured us that real estate was a safe investment. Another key assumption thus concerns the individual’s ability to make sound judgments when borrowing today. We have become highly dependent upon the recommendations of purported economic experts, both in the public and private sectors. What we have learned since 2008, however, is that most of these experts underestimated the need for market regulation and failed to foresee looming systemic risks. Economists in the private sector, whether at ratings agencies or at banks, profited from encouraging excessive debt and subprime borrowing, as well as ignoring risk. The push for the deregulation of lending and finance was guided by a faith in the self-

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correcting power of markets, a faith that was embraced by economists and policy-makers, investors and analysts. In this context, most borrowers were in an especially poor position to make prudent judgments about which properties to buy, how much to borrow, and at what cost. These assumptions require serious scrutiny in the wake of the crisis. On the one hand, it remains ethically salient that most debts today do result from loan agreements between borrowers and lenders. Debts, however, have also become complex financial products, and this transformation diminishes the ability of borrowers to make sound borrowing decisions. The challenge, in the wake of the crisis, is to begin to integrate these dimensions of debt rather than considering them only in isolation from one another. In order to do so, we must attend to social and economic developments that structure decisions in ways that individuals do not even realize. An essential part of ethics, Hegel contends, should be an active and ongoing examination of how our actions and intentions are framed by the practices and institutions in which we are embedded. Ethical theory should be engaged not just with assessing individual behavior, but also with investigating the practices and institutions that structure choices and deliberation. More specifically, the Hegelian proposal is that we should ask whether such practices and institutions make us more or less free, not just in the abstract, but also concretely. Such an approach opens up a new way of thinking about the ethics of debt, one that focuses upon grasping how actual debts contribute to, or undermine, our ability to live free and selfdetermined lives. This involves, as Elizabeth Anderson has suggested, understanding debts as “concrete social relations governed by specific legal constraints and social norms” that may be, substantively, more or less free.29 In what ways do actual debts, in all their complexity, enhance or, alternatively, diminish our freedom? We can ask this question not only of specific lending practices, but also of the system-wide failures associated with debts as unregulated financial products. Doing so would enable us to attend to the reality of our prospects for freedom and selfdetermination, rather than abstracting away from the concrete richness of how debts are actually used and misused today.

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Notes 1

Readers of Hegel will notice that my argument is Hegelian in two respects. First, the dialectical structure of the argument mirrors the structure of The Philosophy of Right (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), beginning at a high level of abstraction and progressively demonstrating the need to focus upon the concrete reality of actual relationships, practices, and institutions. Second, the content of my proposed approach to the ethics of debt draws upon essential components of Hegel’s ethical thought. 2 “Agreements, Coercion, and Obligation.” Ethics 103:4 (1993): 679-706. 3 “Ethical Assumptions in Economic Theory: Some Lessons from the History of Credit and Bankruptcy.” Ethical Theory and Moral Practice 7 (2004): 347-360. 4 It is worth noting, however, that failure to repay debts to the state is still punishable by jail time, subject to judicial discretion. As Joseph Shapiro has recently documented, the poor have been disproportionally impacted by this ruling, sometimes serving weeks in jail for failing to repay relatively small debts. “Supreme Court Ruling Not Enough to Prevent Debtors Prisons.” National Public Radio. May, 2014. 5 Although the 1996 Credit Repair Organization Act specifies that consumers do have the right to sue credit card companies, in 2012 the Supreme Court ruled in CompuCredit v. Greenwood that consumers cannot sue after signing an agreement with a binding arbitration clause. 6 Consumer Protection Financial Bureau, “Arbitration Study: Preliminary Results.” December, 2013. 7 Paige Marta Skiba and Jeremy Tobacman. “Do Payday Loans Cause Bankruptcy?” Vanderbilt Law and Economics Research 11-13 (2009): 1-50. 8 Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. “Data Point: Payday Lending.” March 2014. 9 Pew Charitable Trusts. “Who Borrows, What They Borrow, and Why.” 2012. 10 Paige Marta Skiba and Jeremy Tobacman. “Do Payday Loans Cause Bankruptcy?” Vanderbilt Law and Economics Research 11-13 (2009): 1-50. 11 Pew Charitable Trusts. “How Borrowers Choose and Repay Payday Loans.” 2013. 12 Colorado Attorney General’s Office. “Payday Lending Demographic and Statistical Information.” 2013. 13 “Payday Loans and Exploitation.” Public Affairs Quarterly 17:3 (2003): 197217. 14 Mark Davidson. “No Conscience to Shock: The Ethical Dimensions of NonDiscretionary Personal Debt Assumption.” International Journal of Applied Philosophy 25:2 (2011): 131-149. 15 Pew Charitable Trusts. “Who Borrows, Where They Borrow, and Why.” 2012. 16 Brian Melzer. “The Real Costs of Credit Access: Evidence from the Payday Lending Market.” The Quarterly Journal of Economics 126:1, 2011, 517-55. 17 Paige Marta Skiba and Jeremy Tobacman. “Do Payday Loans Cause Bankruptcy?” Vanderbilt Law and Economics Research 11-13 (2009): 1-50; also

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Sumit Agarwal, Paige Martin Skiba, Jeremy Tobacman. “Payday Loans and Credit Cards: New Liquidity and Credit Scoring Puzzles?” American Economic Review 99:2 (2009), 412-17. 18 Sumit Agarwal, Paige Martin Skiba, Jeremy Tobacman. “Payday Loans and Credit Cards: New Liquidity and Credit Scoring Puzzles?” American Economic Review 99:2 (2009), 412-17. 19 Charles Geisst. Beggar Thy Neighbor: A History of Usury and Debt. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013. 20 Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View. Translated by Mary J. Gregor. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1974, p. 77. It is worth noting that this remark is couched in clearly anti-Semitic language. Below, I argue the 2008 financial crisis reveals the ethical salience of the social and economic context that frames debts. In Kant’s own time, the oppression and marginalization of Jews was an important part of that context, one that shaped borrowing and lending practices in essential ways. Kant is so focused upon individual intentions that he disregards the salience of such elements of context. 21 Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals. Translated by Mary J. Gregor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997, p. 11. 22 “Consent, Kant, and the Ethics of Debt.” Philosophy in the Contemporary World (forthcoming). 23 The default rate for payday loans is typically around 5%, in contrast to a default rate of around 3.5% on credit cards. Gary Rivlin. Broke, USA: from Pawnshops to Poverty, Inc. New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2010. 24 Aaron Gold. “Payday Lending: Grounding the Policy Debate Through Economic Analysis.” Stern School of Business, 2009. 25 Nicholas Bianchi. “Profiting from Poverty: How Payday Lenders Strip Wealth from the Working Poor for Record Profits.” National People’s Action, 2102. 26 The Financial Crisis Inquiry Report, Final report of the National Commission on the Causes of the Financial and Economic Crisis in the United States. New York, NY: Public Affairs, 2012. 27 Adam Hirsch. “U.S. Economic Growth Loses Traction.” Center for American Progress, April 2014. 28 G.W.F. Hegel. Natural Law. Translated by T.M. Knox. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1975. 29 “Ethical Assumptions in Economic Theory: Some Lessons from the History of Credit and Bankruptcy.” Ethical Theory and Moral Practice 7 (2004): 348.

PROSTITUTION LAW AND PATERNALISM JEFFREY A. GAUTHIER

A paternalist approach to prostitution law elicits criticism from two distinct sources. Liberals, in particular those with libertarian leanings, are likely to criticize the apparent implication that free choices by consenting adults be subject to the “parental” judgment of the state.1 Feminists too, even if more circumspect with regard to liberal appeals to choice and consent, may be equally suspicious of the paternalist motives of a patriarchal state in developing policies governing the lives of women.2 In his recent book Prostitution and Liberalism, Peter de Marneffe attempts to address these worries, and to defend paternalistic policies specifically aimed at reducing the number of women who choose to pursue a life in prostitution.3 Although de Marneffe does not endorse the prohibitionist approach typical in the U.S., he argues that the best reasons for alternative approaches to the practice (including some forms of regulated legalization) are necessarily paternalistic. In my paper, I question whether paternalism offers the best model for understanding the aims of a reasonable prostitution law. Although I shall not question de Marneffe’s extensive and subtle arguments purporting to show that a paternalist approach to prostitution is compatible with liberal principles, I shall dispute the claim that state policy toward prostitution is best conceived as paternalist. Rather than focusing exclusively on first party harms, I argue that an adequate approach to prostitution requires attention to the collective good of women. In part I, I briefly describe de Marneffe’s argument for a paternalist approach and what he takes to follow from it. In part II, I suggest reasons why prostitution may not fit the model for a paternalist state intervention, and in part III, I entertain some possible objections to the approach to legal policy that I advocate. In making these points I should emphasize that, as with de Marneffe’s treatment of the subject, I shall be discussing heterosexual prostitution, a sexual economy in which men provide the “demand” for sexual goods and women the “supply.” I shall not pursue the question of whether these considerations apply in a similar manner to other kinds of prostitution.

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I. The Argument from Paternalism Before describing de Marneffe’s argument that reasonable prostitution laws are paternalist, it is essential to define what it means for a policy to be “paternalist” in the first place. De Marneffe claims that a state action is paternalist if, and only if, “the strongest reasons in its favor are paternalistic, and it cannot be justified by nonpaternalistic reasons.”4 A policy is paternalistic just in case “the policy limits a person’s liberty or opportunities in some way, and this reason identifies some way in which the person is benefitted by this limitation.”5 Critically, a policy is paternalistic only if it aims to eliminate first party harms, and it cannot be justified non-paternalistically. As regards prostitution law, de Marneffe identifies three distinct policies in existence today: Prohibition (the dominant paradigm for prostitution law in the U.S.), abolition, and regulation. A policy of prohibition “categorically criminalizes the sale and purchase of sexual services,” and may take on permissive or impermissive forms.6 Under a regime of impermissive prohibition, all buying and selling is criminalized, while a permissive approach (such as is found in Britain) criminalizes only “closely related activities” such as streetwalking, pimping, or kerbcrawling.7 In contrast to prohibition, a policy of abolition does not criminalize the sale of sexual services or closely related activities, but does criminalize their purchase or brokering by third parties. As with prohibition, abolition may impermissively criminalize all purchase and brokering of services (as Swedish law currently does), or permissively criminalize only activities related to buying and brokering. In contrast to both prohibition and abolition, regulation categorically criminalizes neither the purchase nor sale of sexual services, but imposes legal restrictions on either or both, such as “age restrictions, zoning restrictions, and health and safety regulations.”8 In de Marneffe’s view, all existing policies of regulation are “impermissive” in that they employ civil and criminal penalties as a means of imposing regulative restrictions on sex commerce. De Marneffe argues that the best justification for prostitution law is paternalistic, both because such laws invariably involve a limitation on the liberty of prostitutes, and because these limitations cannot be justified apart from a concern for their health and welfare. In making these claims, de Marneffe explicitly rejects the contention of some feminists that prostitution is not really a choice at all, or that it is violence against women—claims that, if true, would mean that there is no actual “liberty” to limit. In opposition to such claims, de Marneffe argues that women in

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prostitution typically choose the work they do, and that their choice to do so is voluntary rather than forced.9 Nevertheless, de Marneffe embraces the argument of anti-prostitution feminists that a life of prostitution is most often severely harmful to the prostitute. Specifically, de Marneffe argues for three points that, taken together, vindicate a paternalist legal framework for regulating prostitution. First, he argues that that prostitution is harmful, “commonly experienced as humiliating and abusive, and [resulting] in lasting feelings of worthlessness, shame, and self-hatred.”10 Second, de Marneffe contends that justifiable prostitution laws work at least to help reduce the number of people who might choose to engage in this harmful practice. Finally, he claims that the harmfulness and stigma attached to prostitution arises from the nature of the work itself, and not from the stigmatizing effect of its illegal status. Were the latter true, of course, legal sanctions against prostitution would be viciously circular, causing the harm that they purportedly seek to address. Although de Marneffe defends a paternalistic approach to prostitution law, he also argues that the case for such intervention must be balanced against a sometimes-conflicting principle of respect for the autonomy of persons. Specifically, he rules out paternalistic policies that “limit liberties or opportunities” of mature adults in ways that they oppose, where the liberties or opportunities “are important ones…to have,” and where an agent’s opposition to the policy “does not result from psychosis, acute emotional distress, or ignorance of grave demonstrable consequences.”11 On de Marneffe’s account, the value of protecting health and safety must always be balanced against that of permitting personal liberty. In this sense, the problems of developing a reasonable law governing prostitution is analogous to that of legislating rules governing health and safety in the workplace. He cites the infamous majority opinion in Lochner v. New York, in which limits on the working hours of New York bakers were struck down as a violation of the liberty to contract, as a classic example of overplaying the value of liberty.12 De Marneffe argues that the liberty to consensually enter into contracts can be restricted, provided that the interests advanced by the restriction are important, the penalties attached to violations of it are reasonable, and the interests protected “are not outweighed by any autonomy interests that this policy threatens.”13 A reasonable paternalism in prostitution law, much like all labor law, must strike a balance between autonomy and the protection of health and safety. What would be a reasonable paternalism sanction in prostitution law? De Marneffe’s conclusions here are tentative, but he is clear that it could not endorse the prohibitionism prevalent in the U.S. The blanket criminalization of the selling of prostitution subjects prostitutes to arrest,

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and forces them into pimping networks, severely worsening the welfare of women in the practice. Prohibitionism also fails to respect the autonomy of either buyers or sellers. De Marneffe claims that this problem also applies to the regime of impermissive abolitionism found in Sweden. While the latter legal framework might be justified on paternalist grounds, because it prohibits a man “from purchasing sexual services from anyone, regardless of age or personal situation,” it is a more difficult policy to justify on grounds of personal autonomy.14 De Marneffe concludes that regimes of either permissive abolitionism or impermissive regulation are the easiest to defend, inasmuch as restrictions on the age of prostitutes and the conditions of the transaction serve to protect the health and safety of the worker, while respecting the autonomy of the parties to the transaction.

II. Must Justifiable Prostitution Law Be Paternalistic? Although some prostitution activists (in particular those working with women in street prostitution) have welcomed a paternalist interpretation of prostitution law, most have not. This is perhaps most obvious in the case of sex work advocates, who argue that the harmfulness of prostitution derives less from anything intrinsic to the work than from the consequences of its illegal status. De Marneffe argues (with some success in my view) against this claim, and I shall not go into that argument here. He does not, however, address what I take to be the radical feminist objection to paternalism. Radical feminists are most likely to object not to the harm of prostitution, but rather with the focus on women’s choices, and whether or not they should have the liberty to make them, as lying at the root of the problem. As Kathy Miriam has argued, it is not women’s choices to prostitute, but men’s demand for sexual access to women that lies at the root of the sexual economy of prostitution.15 Just as labor law is not, in essence, an attempt to protect workers from unwise choices, but rather to reduce their vulnerability to exploitative offers, so feminist jurisprudence in this area should not be an attempt to protect women from their own choices, but rather to curb the ability of men to make sexually exploitative offers. It is worth noting in this context that, despite his criticism of the decision of the Supreme Court in Lochner, de Marneffe accepts the libertarian reading of what was at stake in the case. On his view Lochner is, at base, a failure to recognize the need for a paternalistic intervention that would limit the autonomy of workers, a case in which the Court valued liberty too highly.16 Such an interpretation casts Lochner as a case in which the value of liberty was pitted against that of a liberty-depriving

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appeal to social welfare, with the disagreement being over what was the more weighty value in that instance. The problem with such an interpretation, however, is that it fails to distinguish between instances in which beneficiaries require a paternalistic state intervention on account of a moral or epistemological failure, and those in which they need the intervention to secure a desired good that exploitative conditions make it difficult or impossible to obtain. As John Kleinig has argued, it is best to see Lochner “not as an imposition on workers for the sake of a health that they are prone to neglect, but as a means of securing a health they desire but cannot otherwise ensure.”17 In other words, other things being equal, workers generally have a reasonable interest in limits on the number of hours they have to work. Yet some workers—in particular those least well-off—will find it difficult to resist offers for undesirably long hours given their need for income. In such a situation, the force of law is, to use the words of Mill, “required not to overrule the judgment of individuals respecting their own interest, but to give effect to that judgment.”18 It is important to emphasize that unlike the case of paternalism, the purpose of this kind of legal intervention is not primarily to prevent a party from making a choice that is harmful to that party individually, but rather to prevent her from undermining the interests of the class of which she is a part. If part of a class of workers is able to consent to contracts for suboptimum working conditions, this will have a detrimental impact on the bargaining position of the class overall. The direct concern here is for third-party rather than first-party effects. Assuming that labor law should not be seen as paternalistic, but rather as providing a means for workers to effect their own considered judgments, could the same rubric apply to prostitution law? In the remainder of my paper I shall discuss how such an interpretation might be possible, though it may lead to differing policy recommendations depending upon how we identify the class whose interests are at stake. Perhaps the most direct application of the labor law model to prostitution would be to take sex workers who are engaged in prostitution as the interested class. If this were the case, it would be reasonable for such workers to desire to continue their practice, but to avoid the worst forms of economic and sexual exploitation. Accordingly, restrictions on age and working conditions (e.g., bans on streetwalking, kerb-crawling, pimping, or brothels), and even required union membership might be entertained. Of course, restrictions could not go so far as to ban the buying of prostitution as in impermissive abolitionism, as that would not be in the interest of the class of sex workers. In fact, abolitionism of any sort could

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not advance the interests of sex workers, inasmuch as such a policy would aim to destroy the market upon which they depend for their living. Accordingly, some regime of regulation would be the best way for the state to give effect to their interests. Rather than limiting the class whose interests are at stake to women who are already in prostitution, however, perhaps it ought to include that of women more generally.19 Because the dominant practice of prostitution consists of men’s contractual offers for sexual access to women, women as a class may be affected in ways extending beyond the particular subclass engaged at any one time in the practice. Given this, the question becomes: How could state action restricting or regulating prostitution advance the interests of women generally concerning what they reasonably desire but could not otherwise ensure? It would seem that the most straightforward answer would be that law could aim to minimize the number of women who feel compelled to seek employment in the sex industry.20 As de Marneffe argues, prostitution is commonly seriously harmful to women in the industry and, other things being equal, very few women would choose prostitution as a career. This means that women have a reasonable desire not to feel compelled by social and economic circumstances to become prostitutes. For the law to give effect to this desire, some form of abolitionist policy would likely be preferable to regulation. Regulatory policies, even relatively impermissive ones such as those found in the Netherlands and Germany, have generally not been effective in curtailing demand for prostitution, and as a consequence have failed to impede the employment of increasing numbers of poor women, largely from Eastern Europe, to staff the brothels.21 While both the regulatory and abolitionist models decriminalize the sale of sexual services, only abolitionism seeks to curb demand for prostitution by limiting or prohibiting men’s purchase of those services, thus striking at what writers such as Pateman and Miriam have identified as the root of the sexual economy of prostitution. While de Marneffe criticizes impermissive abolitionism for failing to honor the sexual autonomy of purchasers by depriving them of contracts with willing sellers, it should be noted that the strategy of prohibiting undesirable labor offers that poorly-off workers might be willing to accept has long been accepted in labor law. Under the Occupational Safety and Health Act of 1967 (OSHA), for example, employers are forbidden to make offers of hazard pay for technologically eliminable risks, regardless of the willingness of workers to accept or even to welcome them.22 To give effect to workers’ reasonable interest in safe working conditions, the law must limit the right of employers to make certain kinds of offers to willing

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employees. To give effect to women’s reasonable interest in avoiding the commodification of their sexuality, the law may similarly have to limit the putative right of men to make certain kinds of offers for sexual access to willing women.

III. Concluding Remarks It should be emphasized that even if there are no theoretical problems with abolitionist and even impermissive abolitionist legal approaches to prostitution, whether a particular state is justified in pursuing such legal policies depends upon other considerations. As already noted, social and economic hardships rather than unusual sexual preferences are the typical motivating force for women who choose a life of prostitution. Where there is little or no hope of escaping such hardships except through prostitution, legal action aiming to curtail severely the male demand for sexual access may have further debilitating effects on the conditions of impoverished women, and may not be justified. It should be noted, however, that massive social and economic hardship on women is itself most often in large part the result of policy failures concerning the rights of women. If an abolitionist policy is to actually move toward relieving the pressure on women to become prostitutes (and not merely pressure disadvantaged women into an underground sex trade), it must be implemented in tandem with policies aimed at eliminating poverty, homelessness, childhood sexual abuse, domestic violence, and other economic and social conditions that contribute to women turning to prostitution in the first place. It may also be objected that abolitionist policies fail to respect women’s autonomy in that some women do freely choose to engage in prostitution, and would do so even in the absence of contributing economic and social incentives. As with paternalist approaches to prostitution, abolitionism involves the state “second-guessing” women’s choices with regard to their sexuality and, as such, is objectionable on grounds of sexual autonomy. In response to this objection, it should be noted that abolitionism (unlike prohibitionism), does not prohibit the sale of sex or activities related to it, but rather their purchase, and so does not directly interfere with women’s autonomy. Of course, it does interfere indirectly by aiming to reduce or eliminate demand for prostitution, thus diminishing the opportunities for commercial sex transactions.23 It is important to observe, however, some parts of labor law have a similar effect. OSHA’s ban on certain offers for hazard pay, for example, deprives willing risk-takers of opportunities to be contractually compensated for risks they want to take. As in that case, the justification for suppressing offers of prostitution is to protect the third

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party interests of a larger class of reasonably risk-averse women, more of whom would be pressured to accept such offers if men had a legal right to make them. One might object, of course, that women’s interest in being free from economic pressure to provide sexual access to men has been overplayed, but that is an issue for another paper.24

Notes 1 See e.g., David Archard, Sexual Consent (Boulder: Westview, 1998), pp. 106-10, Lars O. Ericsson, “Charges Against Prostitution: An Attempt at a Philosophical Assessment,” Ethics 90 (1988): 335-66, Martha Nussbaum, Sex and Social Justice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 276-98, David A. J. Richards, Sex, Drugs, Death, and the Law (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, 1982), pp. 84-153, and Sybil Schwarzenbach, “Contractarians and Feminists Debate Prostitution,” Review of Law and Social Change 18 (1990-91): 103-30. 2 See, e.g., Elizabeth Anderson, Value in Ethics and Economics (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), pp. 150-58, Scott A. Anderson, “Prostitution and Sexual Autonomy: Making Sense of the Prohibition of Prostitution,” Ethics 112 (July 2002): 748-80, Martha Chamallas, “Consent, Equality, and the Legal Control of Sexual Conduct,” Southern California Law Review 61 (1987): 826-30, and Margaret Radin, “Market Inalienability,” Harvard Law Review 100 (1987): 192125, Contested Commodities (Cambridge, Ma.: Harvard University Press, 1996), pp. 132-36. 3 Peter de Marneffe, Prostitution and Liberalism. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010. 4 De Marneffe, Prostitution and Liberalism, p. 79. See Gerald Dworkin, “Paternalism,” Monist 56 (1972): 65. 5 De Marneffe, Prostitution and Liberalism, p. 79. 6 Ibid, p. 28. 7 Ibid, p. 29. 8 Ibid, p. 29. 9 Ibid, p. 8. 10 Ibid, p. 12. Because it commonly involves a woman providing “sexual services throughout the day or week to a number of men, some of whom she does not know at all, and most of whom she does not know well,” prostitution typically has longterm consequences that are harmful and sometimes traumatizing to the sex worker, and would do so under any legal regime (13). 11 Ibid, p. 67. 12 Ibid, p. 155. 13 Ibid, p. 76. 14 Ibid, p. 122. 15 Kathy Miriam, Stopping the Traffic in Women: Power, Agency and Abolition in Feminist Debates over Sex-Trafficking, Journal of Social Philosophy 36 (2005): 2.

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De Marneffe, Prostitution and Liberalism, p. 155. John Kleinig, Paternalism (Manchester University Press, 1983), p. 197. 18 J. S. Mill, Principles of Political Economy (New York: P. F. Collier and Sons, 1900), p. 442, cited in Gerald Dworkin, “Paternalism,” Monist 56 (1972): 69n. 19 Conceiving of prostitution policy as the protection of women’s rights rather than a paternalistic intervention is suggested in MacKinnon, “Prostitution and Civil Rights,” Michigan Journal of Gender and Law 1 (1993): 13-31. See also Linda R. Hirshman and Jane E. Larson in Hard Bargains: The Politics of Sex (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 286-94. 20 Linda Hirshman and Jane Larson argue that women generally do have a reasonable interest in curtailing prostitution, in that men’s access to prostitutes subverts the greater benefits that wives obtain through the marriage contract: “Apologists sometimes claim that prostitutes spare others the full weight of male desires. But prostitutes in fact damage the interests of nonprostitutes, bidding down the price of heterosexual access. Nonprostitute women are not paid for each discrete instance of sexual cooperation with a man. But over the longer term, a web of economic, social, and emotional exchanges can grow up around an intimate male-female relationship, which usually represents more gain to the woman than the money exchanged in the commercial sex transaction. Moreover, prostitution is a standing offer to violate the marriage contract of sexual fidelity...Where prostitution is curtailed, wives are better situated to force their husbands to bargain with them for sexual access.” (Hirshman and Larson, Hard Bargains: The Politics of Sex, p. 287.) Presumably few feminists would uncritically endorse the assumption that sexual bargaining is the best that women can hope for in their sex lives. 21 Louise Osborne, “Why Germany is Now Europe’s Largest Brothel,” The Guardian, 12 June 2013, accessed 1 July, 2013: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/shortcuts/2013/jun/12/germany-now-europesbiggest-brothel?INTCMP=SRCH 22 In his discussion of the Occupational Safety and Health Act of 1970 (OSHA), Norman Daniels dubs such contractual arrangements “quasi-coercive,” and observes that, “Quasi-coercion undermines true autonomy in much the same way coercion does.” See “Does OSHA Protect Too Much?” in Moral Rights in the Workplace, ed. Gertrude Ezorsky (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987), p. 69. For further discussion, see Jeffrey Gauthier “Consent, Coercion, and Sexual Autonomy” in Keith Burgess-Jackson, A Most Detestable Crime (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 71-91. 23 See de Marneffe, Liberalism and Prostitution, pp. 38-39. 24 Martha Nussbaum suggests such an argument in Sex and Social Justice, pp. 27698. 17

CONTRIBUTORS

Chiara Bandini holds an M.A. degree in Philosophy from San Francisco State University. Her research interests include feminist philosophy, poststructuralist French thought and early modern philosophy. Noell Birondo is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Wichita State University, where he has taught since 2013. He works in the areas of moral philosophy and ancient Greek philosophy. Some of his writing appears in Ancient Philosophy, Ratio, the Journal of Moral Philosophy, Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews, and the International Encyclopedia of Ethics. Mary I. Bockover is Professor of Philosophy at Humboldt State University in Arcata, California, where she has taught since 1989. She created and runs the HSU Philosophy Forum, a community-wide forum for discussing issues of social and moral significance, and is the secretary for the Society for Asian and Comparative Philosophy. Her publications are in the areas of comparative philosophy, ancient Chinese philosophy, and ethics. David Boersema is Professor of Philosophy and the Douglas C. Strain Chair of Natural Philosophy at Pacific University, in Forest Grove, Oregon, where he has taught since 1985. He is the general editor of the journal Essays in Philosophy and former executive director of Concerned Philosophers for Peace. His publications are in the areas of philosophy of science, philosophy of language, philosophy of art, philosophy of human rights, and pragmatism. Brandon Bowen is a graduate student in Philosophy at the University of Utah. He has worked as a public program evaluator, performance auditor, and policy analyst in the public sector. His philosophical interests are in the areas of political philosophy, early modern philosophy, and philosophy of religion. Currently, his dissertation research concerns the basis for the equal worth of persons in a political context.

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Contributors

Jeffrey Gauthier is Professor of Philosophy at the University of Portland. He is the general editor of the journal Social Philosophy Today, and cochair of the Society for German Idealism. He has published in the areas of feminist philosophy, socio-political philosophy, and nineteenth century German thought. He has also been involved in activist work aiming to end violence against women. Colton Markham is a graduate of Pacific University where he received a Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy: Ethics, Society, and Law and in Psychology. His philosophical interests are in animal ethics as well as environmental ethics. Currently he is taking a short break from school to research graduate programs. Kari Middleton received her doctorate in philosophy from Syracuse University. She is the co-author of the four-volume set, Facts on File Guide to Philosophy. She is currently working in human resources and volunteer management. Ryan Michael Murphy is an M.A. student and Graduate Teaching Associate in the Department of Philosophy at San Francisco State University. His current research interests include ethics, social and political philosophy, especially justice; philosophy of action; and comparative philosophy. Much of his work is informed by insights from Buddhism and other Eastern philosophies. Ryan completed a B.A. in Philosophy at Fort Lewis College in Durango, Colorado and intends to pursue a Ph.D. in Philosophy. Howard Nye is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at the University of Alberta, where he has taught since 2009. He works primarily in the areas of normative ethics, applied ethics, and metaethics. His recent publications include “Objective Double Effect and the Avoidance of Narcissism” (in Oxford Studies in Normative Ethics, Volume 3) and “On the Equivalence of Trolleys and Transplants, or the Lack of Intrinsic Difference Between ‘Collateral Damage’ and Intended Harm” (forthcoming in Utilitas). Kate Padgett Walsh is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Iowa State University, in Ames, Iowa. She is the author of “Consent, Kant, and the Ethics of Debt” (Philosophy in the Contemporary World, forthcoming), “Distance and Engagement: Hegel’s Account of Critical Reflection” (International Philosophical Quarterly, 2012), and “Reasons Internalism, Hegelian Resources” (Journal of Value Inquiry, 2010).

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Morgan Rempel received his PhD from the University of Toronto and is an Associate Professor in the Department of Philosophy and Religion at the University of Southern Mississippi in Hattiesburg. He is the author of Nietzsche, Psychohistory, and the Birth of Christianity (Greenwood Press, 2003), as well as articles on nineteenth and twentieth-century European thought, genocide, ancient philosophy, philosophy and film, and the philosophy of religion. Kameron Johnston St. Clare resides in the United Kingdom where he is a graduate student in the Department of Politics and International Relations at the University of Oxford, St. Hilda’s College. His research interests are in the areas of political theory, moral philosophy, and the philosophy of law. At present, his main research interests focus on critiquing various cosmopolitan theories of global justice. He received an M.A. in Political Theory from the University of Sheffield, writing his dissertation on the philosophy of language and hate speech. He completed his undergraduate education in philosophy and political science at Stetson University in DeLand, Florida. Pierson Tse is a Masters Student at the University of Calgary in Alberta, Canada. His interest in philosophy follows an extensive career in business, and includes contributions to works on the philosophy of death and environmental ethics. He currently lives in Calgary, Alberta with his family and enjoys a semi-retired life that includes hiking, biking and tennis. Sarah Vincent is a Ph.D. candidate in Philosophy at University of Memphis, in Memphis, Tennessee. She has taught at University of Memphis since 2010 and at Christian Brothers University since 2009. Her research is in the areas of philosophy of mind, philosophy of psychology, and cognitive science.