Ethics

Dr Piers Benn, Piers Benn

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2002
• eBook ISBN: 9781135365349
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Philosophy History & Theory

This introduction to ethics judiciously combines moral theory with applied ethics to give an opportunity for students to develop acute thinking About Ethical Matters.; The Author Begins Motivating A Concern For moral discourse by dispelling often met objections over relativism and subjectivity. interweaving normative and meta-ethical considerations, a convincing modern account of moral thinking emerges.; Moral theories - consequentialism, Kantianism, contractualism - are explained and illustrated in a way that holds the reader's attention, and students of ethics will take away a perceptive and practical understanding of the nature of moral reasoning and an ability, on such matters, to think afresh for themselves.

Chapter 1 Authority and relativism

DOI: 10.4324/9780203003299-1

Educators, it is frequently said, should firmly teach our children the “difference between right and wrong”. Those of a suspicious turn of mind will ask exactly whose conceptions of right and wrong are to be planted in the minds of the young, suspecting that this piece of apparent common sense is really a slogan to justify indoctrinating the young with conservative or “traditional” values. Others, with a dryly philosophical bent, will be prompted to wonder what the “difference between right and wrong” really is, in any case. Yet more critics will want to know whether the slogan covertly assumes that there is only one set of true moral convictions, rather than many. If so, they will complain, education risks leaving the young with a false conception of morality – for in fact, moral relativism is true: there are no moral principles which are valid for everyone. Different cultures have different practices and moral priorities, and those which prevail in any one culture are right for that culture. Other critics of our seemingly innocent slogan will raise yet another worry. Perhaps, they will admit, there are moral principles which are valid for everyone, but how can we possibly know what they are? Would not the attempt to educate people morally be the ultimate hubris, arrogantly attributing moral expertise to people who are really as confused and fallible as the rest of us? Finally, certain cynics among us will breezily adopt a different line. Armed with various political works – or some commentary on them – they will declare that morality is nothing but a tool for advancing the interests of some dominant group (men, the ruling classes, the former colonial powers) and should therefore be regarded with profound suspicion.

The problem of whether morality can be taught is not a new one. Plato grappled with it in his dialogues Meno and Protagoras, and faced the difficulty of saying what virtue is, let alone whether it is possible to teach it. Yet it may well seem surprising that so many difficulties can be raised. Do not most of us hold some set of moral principles, even if not very reflectively? Is it not common to engage in moral debate, with the hope of getting closer to the truth? Furthermore, most people do not see moral awareness as an optional extra, a minor accomplishment alongside others. It is commonly believed that it is far more important to be good than to be clever or knowledgeable. If that is so, then ought not some kind of moral education be regarded as the most fundamental requirement for leading the good life?

Many of us would agree with this, when it is put in this way. Of course, it is essential to lead a morally decent life; to observe basic requirements not to harm the interests of others without good reason, to refrain from major acts of dishonesty. But we might still be disturbed by the suggestion that some individuals, traditions or institutions, are moral authorities. We might think that individuals should be left to make up their own minds about what is right and wrong, that they should not be indoctrinated and should certainly not be coerced. We might insist that nobody is entitled to tell others how to behave – or at least, not beyond reminding them of certain requirements that they regard as obvious anyway. The reason we would give for all this is that no one is a special authority on morality. Perhaps all of us have some ability to determine moral truths, if there are any. But to say that special sorts of people have a particular skill in this, and should be listened to by the rest of us, is to go far beyond this basic claim.

These reservations about moral authority are common ones, and they may contain important truths when spelled out clearly. But we must first confront some worrying questions, which are generated if we reject the notion of moral authority and expertise.

First of all, why should there be more doubt about moral authority than about authority in other spheres? We tend to accept the conclusions of recognized experts in the natural sciences and in areas supposed to be “factual”. We also accept the practical authority of instructors in various skills, such as driving. In thinking of them as authorities we do not, of course, have to regard them as infallible – that is, literally incapable of error. It is enough that they be reliable. We know that physicists have fundamental disagreements among themselves and that in consequence some of them are mistaken on important issues. But it would be wild to infer from this that anybody’s views on quarks, quasars or the nature of gravity are as worth listening to as anybody else’s. An expert may be wrong on important matters within the field of his or her expertise, but he or she may still be a more reliable judge than laymen. Why, then, should ethics be any different? True: nobody’s opinion about moral matters is infallible. But this does not show that some people’s opinions are not more worthy of attention than those of others.

As our opening paragraph suggested, there are a variety of reasons why the idea of moral authority has been rejected. Some such reasons, as we shall see, invoke highly disputable theories about the nature of moral truth and moral knowledge. Some of these theories will be subjects of extended discussion later on. For example, a highly influential doctrine – subjectivism – maintains that moral judgements are, in some suitably refined sense, judgements of personal taste. As such, there is no arguing about them; what appeals to me may not appeal to you, and that is more or less the end of the matter. Judgements of taste are subjective: if, for example, I like the colour blue and you dislike it, it would be senseless to argue about whose taste more closely reflects the “objective degree of pleasantness” of blue, for the only facts are that blue is pleasant for me but not for you. Another, more radical theory which was once popular among philosophers,¹ maintains that there are no experts on morality – at least, in the sense of possessing superior moral knowledge – because there is literally speaking nothing to know about right and wrong conduct. Utterances like “Cheating in exams is wrong” do not strictly state anything about the activity of cheating, since there is no such property as “wrongness” and therefore no true statements ascribing such a property. Such utterances express attitudes rather than state facts. In this sense they are rather like polite expletives. The attitudes in question cannot be spelt out as moral propositions, because moral judgements are not genuine propositions.

We cannot pretend that these theories are not important. But there is equally no reason to assume that we must refute them before we can allow ourselves to construct an alternative. The burden of justification does not rest only with the defender of authority in morals. Perhaps what we should now do is argue for the possibility of moral authority; that is, provide an intelligible account of how there could be such authority and how it might be gained.

Most people, when they make moral judgements, probably see themselves as stating truths which can, however crudely, be based upon reasons. Moreover, when they make judgements about matters close to their heart, it is almost impossible to imagine that they regard what they say as “just an opinion” – and regard the opinions of others as just as valid, even though they are opposed to their own. It is true that there are some issues that we make judgements about, but without much personal feeling, perhaps because they do not affect our own lives. In such cases, we do sometimes say (whatever we may actually mean) that we are not claiming absolute truth for our own view. Moreover, in other cases we may be able to recognize that there are powerful moral reasons both for and against a certain course of action, with no ultimate arbitrating principle able to decide whether we should take such a course or not. Decisions about which of two needy people to assist, when it is impossible to help both, may be of this kind. There may be a moral reason for helping one of the two people, because she is my aunt, or the other, because he helped me in the past. Cases like this, however, are not typical, and it may take some philosophical sophistication to recognize their true moral structure. Most of the time when we entertain moral opinions, we do suppose that we have probably got the right answer to the relevant moral questions, and correspondingly we think that those who do not share our view are mistaken.

Another feature of moral judgement is also important here. Our convictions are typically based upon reasons, which we often hope will seem persuasive to others. “Because it causes suffering”, “Because it is in breach of an agreement” or “Because you wouldn’t like it if others did that to you” are typical grounds people offer to justify their moral commitments. This is not to say that we are always conscious of our reasons or that we always reason particularly well. But the fact that reasons are generally offered, at least when we are pressed, suggests an interesting difference between moral judgements and pure judgements of taste. It seems absurd to call upon me to justify my preference for the colour blue over green, or to argue that someone who prefers green is mistaken. But it appears unintelligible to have a moral conviction, whilst thinking that no reason whatsoever can be offered to back it up.

Nothing said so far entails that there are objective moral truths or binding principles, or that anyone has justified beliefs about such things. Perhaps, for all we have shown, we are all moral incompetents, unable to draw any sound moral conclusions. Maybe we are all pursuing a chimera when we attemptto determine moral issues. On the other hand, our practice of moral reflection must be based on the assumption that there is some point in it. Given the fundamental place of morality in our everyday deliberations, we need a weighty reason if we are to judge that we have been engaged with a fantasy all along. For the time being I shall assume that such a weighty reason has not been found, and ask what the implications of our normal practice are for the question of moral authority.

The process of deliberation, of weighing up reasons, involves a kind of competence if it is to achieve its aim. Non-human animals do not engage in this – at least in the relevant sense – because they cannot; they lack the necessary concepts. But if most humans do possess some competence in moral reasoning, does it follow that they all possess it equally? And if some are markedly more competent at moral reasoning than others, is there any objection to regarding them as moral authorities?

The idea of authority

We need to say something of a more general nature about authority, at this point. The term is used in at least two distinct, though related, senses. First, there is authority of a purely theoretical kind. If we want to know something aboutthe Corn Laws in nineteenth century Britain, we are likely to consult a historian whom we think of as an authority in the field. Doubtless he or she will not have the last word – there may be other authorities with a different perspective on the matter. But at least we are more likely to find out reliable information by consulting an authority in the area, than by asking anyone else. In this sense, then, an authority is an expert, someone who is usually a reliable source of information. But there is a different meaning of the word, brought out well in the distinction between “being an authority” and “being in authority”. The historian is an authority, but an army drill sergeant is in authority (however nonsensical the procedures that placed him in this position). To be in authority entails having the right to obedience, at least in certain specific circumstances. It is different from power, which is simply the ability to enforce your wishes regardless of your right to do so. At the same time, the position of being in authority does not necessarily bring with it wisdom, justice or any particular expertise. A foolish person may be in authority over others, through being placed in that position by some agreed procedure, for instance, by being put there (“authorized”) by somebody already in authority. Whether the authority he claims is genuine usually depends more on the legitimacy of the procedures which put him in this role than on his own personal qualities.

One who is in authority, then, has a legitimate claim to the obedience of others in some particular context. It is perhaps this idea of having a claim to others’ compliance that explains the revulsion some people feel to the idea of moral authority. In fact, though, it is better to construe the idea of moral authority in the first way mentioned rather than the second. To speak of moral authorities is really to speak of individuals whose moral guidance may reliably be sought. This does not mean your compliance is a duty owed to them. To see this point, it is useful to distinguish two ways in which the guidance of authority may be said to oblige you to act in a particular way.

When people demand reasons why they should act in some particular way, they may be met with the impatient riposte “Because x says so”. But this conceals an important contrast between two ways in which the utterance of x is relevant to what should be done. In one, simple way, the obligation to perform some action is created by the utterance of the supposed authority. The reason for acting is just the fact that x has told you to do so; if he had not, that reason would not exist. But there is another, more subtle and acceptable way in which listening to an authority makes one aware of an obligation. Perhaps there is, quite independently of the fact that x issues such guidance, a reason why this course of action should be followed. Such a reason would exist whether or not x told you to act in that way. At the same time, perhaps you would not be aware of such a reason unless x had told you about it. To speak of x being an authority, in this case, is only to say that he is a reliable guide as to what you are morally obliged to do. It is not the fact that he urges the action that makes it obligatory; on the contrary, he urges it because it is already obligatory.

The authority in question, then, is an authority rather than someone in authority. This is not to deny that those who seek his guidance are morally obliged to do as he says. The point is that compliance is not a duty they owe to him. He has only pointed out an obligation which existed anyway. But we are still left with our earlier question, even after these distinctions have been made, namely: how can there be any authorities in morals? What kind of expertise is moral expertise?

Hypothetical and categorical reasons for action

The question would be easier to answer if we believed that moral reasons for action were similar to reasons of prudence, or to any reasons which take the form: if you want X, then do Y in order to get it. Suppose there is something that everyone desires, and which can be acquired only by leading a morally good life. In that case, everyone has a straightforward reason for leading such a life. The role of a moral expert would be that of telling us exactly what we need to do in order to accomplish that desire. Moral knowledge, on this view, is a kind of instrumental knowledge, an ability to judge how to achieve what we desire. Of course, anyone who does not desire the end in question has no reason to follow the advice of the expert. It is only on the assumption that we do want the end in question, that we have any reason to follow the authority.

There is, indeed, a view of moral obligation which says precisely this. According to this doctrine, moral requirements are hypotheticalimperatives. That is to say, they consist in imperatives which are valid for you on the assumption that there are things that you want, or are aiming at, which you can attain only if you obey these imperatives. A very crude version of this theory – which is often parodied although it is not clear how many people really believe it – says that unless you obey moral requirements, you will be punished by God. Those who offer this as a reason for living a morally worthy life, assume that no one wants to suffer divine retribution. If you do not want to court punishment, and if you can be made to believe that you will be punished unless you comply with certain requirements, then you have a straightforward reason for living according to those requirements.

There are considerably more refined versions of the theory, and here is not the place to discuss all the complex details. But it shows us one way of making sense of the concept of moral authority. An authority (and this need not be a person; it may be a text, a tradition or an institution) is a reliable guide to how you should act if you want to achieve your most important aims, needs or desires.

Unfortunately, the above theory of moral obligation is highly controversial. By no means all philosophers accept that moral requirements are hypothetical imperatives. Immanuel Kant,² for instance, insists that on the contrary, moral obligations are not hypothetical but categorical. They are absolutely and inescapably binding upon all rational beings, regardless of what desires they happen to have. It is for this reason that Kant sternly rejected all moral arguments that relied upon inducements and threats, including the threat of divine punishment. Genuine moral motivation is corrupted by considerations like that. The true source of moral obligation is reason, not desire. Reason alone can determine my duty, and it is open to all rational beings to submit to what pure practical reason demands. If the ability to act morally depended upon having certain inclinations or desires, then not everyone would be equally able to act according to moral considerations. For we are not responsible for our inclinations – at least not directly. It may be beyond our control whether we instinctively feel sympathy for our fellow humans. Yet it is possible to act benevolently towards them, even if we feel little inner sympathy. Lacking such natural warmth is no excuse for not acting with their interests at heart.

If Kant is right to maintain that the demands of morality are categorical, is there any place for authority in mo...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Ethics
• Ethics
• Table Of Contents
• Preface
• 1 Authority and relativism
• 2 The objectivity of morality
• 3 Consequentialism
• 4 Kant's ethics
• 5 Contractualism
• 6 Free will and the moral emotions
• 7 Virtue
• 8 Reasoning about ethics
• Notes
• Index