Philosphy: Mind & Machine Chapter 2

What We Will Discover * Philosophers have developed theories to provide support for our claims about right and wrong. * Other theories, such as egoism and relativism, offer alternatives to traditional theories of ethics. * Ethics has many specific applications to our lives, from the very personal and specific to those that affect everyone in society. 2.1 How Should One Act? Ethics, or moral philosophy, investigates how we can evaluate our behavior in terms of right and wrong, good and bad—in short, how we determine what we should do, what we should not do, and how to tell the difference. After looking at the three classical ethical views philosophers have presented, and some of the problems with each of those theories, we will look at some alternative approaches to those traditional views. Utilitarianism English philosopher Jeremy Bentham is among those credited with the development of utilitarianism. You and five of your friends are hanging out one night and decide to order a pizza. You are all equally hungry, and decide to order two pizzas, each of which has six slices. Thus, when the pizzas are delivered, it is pretty easy to determine how to divide the pizzas in a way that is the fairest: Everyone gets two slices of pizza. Someone may have wanted a third slice, of course, and is not entirely satisfied; someone may have not wanted a second slice, and may think the solution is not the most efficient. But without knowing anything else, we see that the greatest number of people here will be made the best off if we decide that everyone gets two slices of pizza, instead of any other arrangement. This simple example is the basic notion at the heart of the ethical doctrine of utilitarianism. Often associated with the philosophers Jeremy Bentham (1748–1822) and John Stuart Mill (1806–1873), utilitarianism, at least at first, offers a very straightforward and direct way to evaluate behavior. If given a choice between two acts, and one of them creates greater happiness for the greatest number of people, then that is the act that should be chosen. Philosophers, and economists, often use the term utility to express this idea (which is, of course, why this view is called utilitarianism). One's utility is the satisfaction one gets from something: For instance, you may like chocolate ice cream more than vanilla ice cream, so we can say that chocolate ice cream has a higher utility for you, relative to vanilla ice cream. In theory, at least, a person can rank all of his or her choices, and thus has a scale of things that show which things he or she prefers, relative to others. Some philosophers, such as Bentham, even attempted to put numbers on these preferences: So, for instance, if one likes chocolate ice cream five times as much as vanilla ice cream, that person would, presumably, be willing to accept five vanilla ice cream cones as a substitute for one chocolate ice cream cone. Utilitarianism seeks the outcome that will benefit the greatest number of people. For instance, sharing the ball would mean two children are happy instead of just one. Because utilitarianism considers the consequences of an act in figuring out whether it is a moral thing to do, utilitarianism is also regarded as a consequentialist theory. The basic idea, again, is to look at the choices one confronts: If the consequences of one act produces the greatest good—or the highest utility—for the greatest number of people, that is the act one should carry out. Many people find this to be rather obvious as an ethical viewpoint; clearly if we had decided to give all the slices of pizza to just three people and no pizza to the other three, this would seem to be a rather unfair solution! It should also be clear that utilitarianism offers an approach to things other than pizza and ice cream. Imagine Mary really loves to go dancing, and she doesn't get to go dancing very often. Mary has three children, with whom she enjoys spending time and who enjoy spending time with her. One night she is given the option of staying home and spending time with her children or going dancing; what should she do? The utilitarian might well argue that the pleasure Mary gets from dancing is greater in this case than staying with her children, but that if one also factors in the pleasure her children will receive if she does not go dancing, then the "utility calculation" becomes clear. The total happiness of Mary and her three children will be higher if she stays home, although Mary's individual happiness might be a bit lower. This calculation then suggests that what Mary should do, given these two choices, is to stay home; that way, she is fairly happy, and her children are fairly happy, and this consequence produces the greatest good for the greatest number. One potential problem with utilitarianism is that it doesn't differentiate between different types of pleasures. You might prefer staying at home, watching TV, and eating pizza all day over picking up trash at the community park or beach. Often utility is described, as we have seen, in terms of pleasure, which may lead to what seems to be a problem for utilitarianism. Imagine someone finds pleasure in playing video games and drinking beer all day long. Given a choice between, say, helping out in a homeless shelter or drinking and playing the newest video game, a person may well choose to drink and play the video game, which suggests to some that utilitarianism has no way of distinguishing different kinds of pleasures. Presumably, we want our theory to be able to make this distinction (or we are unable to say that some pleasures aren't as "good" as others). John Stuart Mill saw this as a potential problem and insisted that pleasure should be considered not just in terms of quantity but also quality: that certain kinds of pleasures, or certain ways of satisfying desires, are simply better than others. A pig may be happy rolling around in the mud and eating garbage, but Mill insisted that people who take that approach fail to develop the potential human beings have (relative to pigs, at least!). Famously, he said it was better to be a dissatisfied Socrates than a satisfied pig. This does not, by the way, lead to the result that one should always choose something less pleasurable; it is, rather, simply an indication that pleasures themselves can, or perhaps should, be distinguished from each other. It is not always easy to say that one pleasure is "superior" to another—and even more difficult to say why—and certainly people have argued about this issue forever. But these kinds of examples do indicate one of the problems utilitarianism confronts if we evaluate acts solely in terms of their pleasurable consequences (Mill, 1909). Many people find utilitarianism a very easy and very useful approach to making ethical decisions. We can usually distribute goods, services, or even our time in a number of different ways; often it seems to be a "no–brainer" that the best approach is to choose in such a way as to satisfy as many people as possible, by making them as happy as possible, compared to any other available choice. But, as we will see, there are a number of problems philosophers have raised about utilitarianism, which may make it a less plausible ethical theory than it looks like at first. Problems with Utilitarianism Utilitarianism, as noted, has what philosophers call an "intuitive appeal": It seems to be relatively obvious, and just plain common sense, to evaluate our actions on the basis of the results those actions produce. Clearly enough, if four kids in a sandbox have one toy, and we don't know anything else about the situation, the best thing to do is to share that toy, even if each individual child is quite sure he or she would get the most pleasure playing with it alone. That seems to make sense, and it may even be difficult, at first glance, to see why not everyone accepts this utilitarian approach to ethical decisions. Let's say you really like to play drums, but your family or roommates prefer silence. How would utilitarianism address this issue? But many philosophers have objected to utilitarianism, for a number of reasons. As we have already seen, distinguishing different kinds of pleasures from each other can be difficult. If a person gets pleasure from staring at the wall, or for that matter doing something that most people find quite unpleasurable (something often called "masochism"), does utilitarianism have any way of addressing this? Mill suggests that there are "higher" or "more refined" pleasures, and that they should be preferred, but who is to say which is a "higher" pleasure? Is reading poetry somehow "better" than watching soap operas (Mill, 1863)? What if someone gains pleasure by sleeping all the time, or hitting his thumb over and over with a hammer? More significant objections to utilitarianism have been offered on the basis of calculating the outcome, or consequences, of a choice. Let's say that you are on a cruise ship, which catches fire; you and 19 others are lucky enough to survive on a lifeboat. There is enough water to last for a week or more, but you have no food, no chance of obtaining any food, and no idea when (or if) you will be rescued. Everyone is aware of how grim the future looks, and as the boat drifts, everyone is getting hungrier and hungrier. It starts to become clear that everyone is going to die, unless they get food. The utilitarian seems to suggest that we have a choice here: All 20 people die, or 19 people live if one person is killed and eaten! The resort to cannibalism is, of course, extreme, but there are, in fact, historical examples of very similar cases. This example does make clear that simply determining one's course of action on the basis of what results in the greatest good for the greatest number could be a problem. Do we want an ethical theory that not only allows this as a result, but actually endorses it as the fairest and most ethical decision one can make? Few of us—we hope!—will be in a situation this extreme, but we may find ourselves in situations where the simple, basic utilitarian calculation leads to results that seem very unfair and very unjust. This is a threat anytime one finds oneself in a minority, whether on the basis of sex, race, ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation, or any of the other ways society categorizes people. For example: A local grade school has to choose whether or not to build ramps in order to make the building accessible to those who are in wheelchairs. In any given year, only a few people would need these ramps, but the entire school district will be taxed to pay for their construction. This tax, naturally, will decrease the pleasure of each taxpayer, and let's assume that this result will far outweigh the pleasure of those using the ramps and the increased pleasure for those who are happier that the building would be handicapped–accessible. A simple utilitarian calculus would indicate that the ramp should not be built. Is this a fair result? Tyranny of the Majority One risk with utilitarianism is tyranny of the majority, in which minority groups end up being marginalized for the greater good. More generally, as can be seen from these examples, is the threat political philosophers have called the "tyranny of the majority." Although this objection is very old, and can be found in Plato, it was of particular concern to John Stuart Mill, who recognized this as a problem with a simple utilitarian calculation based on the principle of the greatest good for the greatest number. In the history of the United States, many have pointed to this as a problem for those belonging to minority groups, such as African Americans, Jews, and homosexuals, among many others. To take a simple example from this history: In the original colonies, such as Maryland, Roman Catholics were not allowed to vote or hold public office. Because Catholics were, at that time, a small minority, this would seem to fit the utilitarian calculation but, at the same time, seem to be obviously unfair and unjust. This kind of calculation has been used to justify a wide range of policies that seem wrong, from slavery to refusing to sell houses in neighborhoods to ethnic and racial minorities. Women, who are actually the majority of the population, have also suffered for similar reasons on the basis of this kind of calculation. Mill's Response John Stuart Mill and other utilitarians recognized the flaws in an ethical system that had such unethical and oppressive results. One popular way of addressing these flaws has been to distinguish between act utilitarianism and rule utilitarianism. Act utilitarianism simply evaluates an individual act: Given a set of choices, does this individual act generate the greatest good for the greatest number? Rule utilitarianism is more sophisticated: Rule utilitarianism looks at kinds of acts and proposes that one should follow in a way that, as a rule, that act produces the greatest good, or the greatest amount of happiness, for the greatest number. Act utilitarianism might suggest that cheating on a test would maximize the test–taker's utility, but rule utilitarianism would hesitate to promote cheating, which would minimize the utility of a broader group. An example should make this clear. Bob is taking an important test in his physics class that he needs to pass to get into medical school. He considers cheating; if he cheats successfully, he gains a great deal and thus achieves his greatest happiness, or "maximizes his utility" (we will ignore any feelings of guilt Bob may have!). The act utilitarian seems to suggest that, in this case, cheating produces the greatest amount of good. The rule utilitarian gives a different analysis. In this specific case, Bob may gain the most by cheating, but in general, one couldn't promote the rule that one should cheat, for then one would not promote the greatest good for the greatest number. If we endorse a rule, "It is okay to cheat to get into medical school," then the rest of society would be considerably less confident that their physicians were trustworthy and deserved their credentials. This would, then, not generate the greatest good for the greatest number, and the rule utilitarian would therefore tell Bob not to cheat. Rule utilitarianism seems to have a better chance of dealing with some of the more obvious objections we have seen, although it is not entirely clear whether it can successfully treat the problem of a minority being treated oppressively by a majority. Mill seemed to advocate a system of "proportionate representation," so minorities would be at least represented, but it isn't clear how this solves the problem (Mill, 1909). Other objections also have been raised against utilitarianism, both act and rule utilitarianism. For instance, when measuring pleasure, or utility, what time frame should be used: days, years, decades? Who is included in the idea of the "greatest number"—our family, our community, our country, our planet? How can one compare one person's amount of pleasure with another person's? Can we really even measure pleasure, or happiness, or utility in a way that allows us to make these utilitarian calculations? These are difficult questions to answer, and many philosophers (and others) have seen this as a reason to look elsewhere for a moral theory, a theory that does not evaluate acts in terms of consequences and does not measure such things as happiness and utility. To turn to the most famous alternative to utilitarianism, we can now look at a non–consequentialist theory, deontology. Deontology Deontological ethics—"deontology" comes from the Greek word for "obligation" (or "duty")—is usually associated with the philosopher Immanuel Kant. In contrast to consequentialist theories, Kant, and more generally the deontologist, ignores the consequences of an act in evaluating whether it is a good act, a bad act, or a morally neutral act. It is important to remember that deontologists do not deny that acts have consequences; their point is that those consequences should not play a role in evaluating the morality of the act. Rather, deontological ethics focuses on the will of the person carrying out the act in question, his or her intention in carrying it out, and, particularly, the rule according to which the act is carried out. Deontology, then, focuses on the duties and obligations one has in carrying out those actions (rather than on the consequences of those actions). Deontologists focus on duties, obligations, and rules that dictate ethical behavior. Kant claimed that certain kinds of rules established what he called a categorical imperative (Kant, 1997). This is a requirement, or demand (which is why it is an imperative), and it has no exceptions (which is why he calls it "categorical"). We might contrast this kind of imperative with what Kant calls a "hypothetical imperative." For instance, if you are hungry, you decide to eat something: In that case, the action (eating) is designed to achieve a goal (making you less hungry). But there is no obligation or demand that you eat; it is just what you do in this specific situation. The categorical imperative, on the other hand, has no exceptions, is something one must do, and never depends on the details of the situation. Kant assumes, as do most moral philosophers, that being a moral person is something that is good to do; we don't, that is, really regard it as a goal one might or might not adopt. Kant gives three different versions of the categorical imperative. We can look at the first two, which will give us a rough idea of what kind of rule it is. 1. Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law. That is, if you choose to do something, would you desire that everyone in that same circumstance do exactly the same thing? 2. Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always at the same time as an end and never merely as a means to an end. In other words, all people—including yourself—deserve respect, and to treat people as objects, or as a way of achieving some goal, that doesn't show that respect, would always be wrong (Kant, 1997 and 1998). The Parable of the Good Samaritan, found in the Christian Bible, is an illustration of the Golden Rule. In the parable, a Samaritan stops to help a Jewish man who is lying on the side of the road after being robbed. These rules can seem pretty abstract, but a very famous and very old rule—the Golden Rule—captures much of what deontology is all about. The Golden Rule is quite ancient, and can be found in many different civilizations beginning with the ancient Egyptians and the ancient Greeks, as well as in many religions including Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. What is probably the best-known version comes from the Christian Bible: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." In other words, if you don't like being stolen from, you shouldn't steal from others; if you don't like being a victim of violence, don't act violently toward others. You don't want to be treated by others as simply some kind of "thing," so you yourself shouldn't treat others that way. This last claim is, more or less, what Kant provides as the second version of the categorical imperative we just saw. As we saw earlier, a simple utilitarian calculation has an "intuitive" appeal in that it seems fairly obvious, and perhaps commonsensical, to evaluate an act in terms of whether it produces the greatest good for the greatest number. An indication that deontological ethics—as represented here by the Golden Rule—has its own intuitive appeal is born out by the number of parents who use it with their children, including very young children. A mother sees her daughter playing with several other children and not sharing the one toy they have; she takes her daughter to the side and asks, "How would you like it if no one shared her toys with you?" The daughter, of course, would not like it, and—the mother hopes—the little girl sees that if she doesn't like to be treated in a certain way, then she shouldn't treat others in that way. This question—"How would you like it if others treated you that way?"—is probably something all of us have heard before and gives a pretty good indication of how common the Golden Rule is, and thus how familiar we are with this version of deontological ethics. The Golden Rule could be used to teach children good sportsmanship. After all, how would you feel if you lost and the winner rubbed it in your face? Or, how would you feel if you won, and the loser threw a tantrum? This brings up another point, which is that it is not uncommon to see utilitarianism and deontology come to the same conclusion, but from different directions. We have seen the example of a group of children having one toy among them; the utilitarian argues that the greatest good for the greatest number is achieved by sharing the toy; the deontologist argues that one should treat others with the same respect we expect to be given, and that is achieved by sharing the toy. They both conclude that the children should share, but one draws this conclusion by looking at the results while the other draws the same conclusion by looking at the rule—in this case the Golden Rule—we should follow. At the same time, other actions may generate conflicts between the two rules. For instance, a deontologist may adopt as the universal rule, "never steal." But imagine a family has no food; the deontologist may be forced to conclude that it would be wrong for the father to steal food to feed his family. The utilitarian, in contrast, calculates: The unhappiness of the person from whom the food stolen is not as great as the happiness achieved by the family getting food. Thus, the utilitarian may well argue that in this case stealing is not wrong because it produces the greatest good for the greatest number, while the deontologist is forced to conclude that it is wrong. Both utilitarianism and deontology, as we have seen, have certain advantages: Utilitarian calculations are, at least at first glance, fairly easy to devise and provide a quick way to evaluate the moral worth of an act. Deontology has the appeal of being easily explained and develops rules that seem to make sense and are also easily applied. We have already seen that utilitarianism confronts certain problems that show that it may lead to results that appear unfair and unjust; we can now look at some similar kinds of problems that face the deontologist. Kantian Ethics A number of eminent philosphers discuss Kant's complex ethical theory, focusing on the idea that the individual is autonomous and acts in accordance with principles. Question: Some philosophers criticize Kant's ethics as being too rigid and too strict, making it difficult to apply in our everyday lives. Give an example that might support this idea, and suggest how one defending Kant might respond to this objection. Problems with Deontology Some applications of deontology are more obvious: Just because someone cuts you off in traffic doesn't mean you should get out of your car and punch him in the face. Traditionally, those critical of deontology have focused on two specific, but related, issues. First, deontology—particularly the Kantian version—seems too dry and sterile and fails to capture some of the real-life issues that arise when we confront ethical problems. Second, which may be a result of the first, is that deontology may require one to act in a way that seems obviously wrong and obviously unethically. As we saw with utilitarianism, any ethical theory that leads to potentially unethical results may have a problem! We've seen the best-known versions of Kant's categorical imperative: Roughly, you should treat others only as if they are a way of achieving your goals, and you should only do something if, in that same situation, everyone should do that same thing. Clearly these are normative demands, or moral claims, as can be seen by the repeated use of the word "should." Some kinds of cases are fairly obvious. Just because you are late for the movies, you shouldn't use your car to run over someone who is in your way. Of course, no one in a similar situation should run a person over with his or her car in order to get to the movies on time. The Golden Rule would lead to the same result; after all, you wouldn't want to be run over by someone rushing to get to the movies, so you shouldn't run someone over to do so. But are there situations where these kinds of rules seem to give results that may seem wrong, or even immoral? The most famous objection to the deontologist's approach—specifically Kant's—is to consider lying. Deontology runs into problems when there are shades of gray. You should not lie, but what if you had to lie to protect someone or what if the truth would hurt someone? Lying is, of course, intentionally misleading someone to think something is true when it is false, or false when it is true. Children are taught at an early age never to lie, and most moral systems prohibit lying. Often, the Ninth Commandment given in the book of Exodus, "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour" (Ex. 20:16), is interpreted as saying that lying is always wrong. This seems to be a clear example of the categorical imperative: To lie to another person is to treat that person with insufficient respect as a human being, and since we presumably don't want to be lied to, we should not lie to others. Yet, as we all know, people lie to each other quite a lot, and often to achieve goals that seem to be appropriate and moral (or at least not immoral). Here are three examples that raise questions about when, if ever, lying is permitted. 1. A husband buys a new shirt that he likes very much and asks his wife if it makes him look fat. The shirt, in fact, does so; should the wife tell her husband the truth? One might avoid lying by not answering, but as may be familiar, not answering may itself provide a sufficient answer. 2. Dan and his friends are throwing an elaborate surprise party for Jody. Jody gets suspicious and asks Dan, "Are you throwing a surprise party for me?" If Dan tells the truth, the surprise party is ruined, and all their efforts will have been a pretty big waste of time. Should Dan lie to Jody? 3. Parents in the United States often tell their children stories, not just about a jolly fat man who brings them presents at Christmastime, but also about a rabbit that brings candy at Easter, and even a fairy who "buys" the teeth they have lost by exchanging money for a tooth left under the pillow at night. Should parents always tell their children the truth about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the tooth fairy? We started with what seemed to be a good rule, and one most parents teach their children: "Never lie." But in the preceding three cases, do the wife, Dan, and the parents do something we think is fundamentally immoral? The wife doesn't want to make her husband feel bad; Dan wants to make sure Jody enjoys her surprise, and it is probably abundantly clear why parents tell their children stories about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the tooth fairy. Kant's stern rule, "Never lie," seems to lead to results that, quite possibly, force everyone involved to do something they would prefer not to do. Perhaps the husband, Jody, and children would prefer to be lied to? One might tinker with Kant's rule, or suggest that one shouldn't ask questions unless one expects to be told the truth. One might also say that children are special cases, and haven't reached the age where we are always honest with them. But that makes for a rule that is quite a bit more complicated! Rather than "never lie" it becomes something like "never lie to those over a certain age, and hope no one asks you questions they really would prefer not be answered truthfully." Even this may not solve all of our problems; we can probably all think of examples where lying seems to be, somehow, the right thing to do. But formulating a rule that allows for those examples can be difficult. We have seen the advantages of utilitarianism and deontology, as well as some of the problems each theory confronts. One other classical, or traditional, theory remains; it does not look at the consequences of our acts (utilitarianism, or consequentialism) nor the acts themselves and the rules that guide those acts (deontology, or non–consequentialism); rather, it looks at the character of the person doing those acts. This is a theory known as virtue ethics. Virtue Ethics Virtue ethics is all about balance, finding a Golden Mean between having too little and having too much of a virtue. "Virtue ethics" is a term philosophers use to refer to a particular approach to moral and ethical questions that focuses on the character of the person. Some discussions of the idea can be found in Plato, as well as in such Chinese philosophers as Confucius; however, the classic conception of virtue ethics in Western philosophy is attributed to Aristotle. The virtuous person, or the person of virtuous character, is, for Aristotle, that person who has the appropriate virtues and has them in a way that is balanced and harmonious. Thus, a person who is virtuous will have many of the characteristics we admire, while keeping them in balance. This person won't have too little or too much of any one virtue, and they will all be appropriately related to each other. Some of these are traditional characteristics that we still use to describe a good or moral or virtuous person. Aristotle's list includes courage, generosity, and being friendly. For Aristotle, all such virtues have their excesses in two different directions: One may, for instance, have too little courage, which we would call cowardice. Another person may have too much courage and also act badly by being too rash. A soldier who runs from the field of battle when first confronting the enemy might not have enough courage, whereas the soldier who runs straight into machine–gun fire may have too much. Aristotle insists that the virtuous person will have the right amount of courage, not too little, not too much, and will aim at what he calls the Golden Mean between having too little and having too much of any of the virtues. So one may be moderately generous, and thus virtuous, whereas one who has too little generosity may be regarded as a cheapskate or stingy, and one who has too much generosity might be regarded as being a spendthrift or wasteful. Aristotle also describes two virtues that are a bit more complex. One of these he calls temperance (Aristotle, 2002). Temperance is the traditional translation of the Greek word Aristotle uses, sophrosunë; the temperate person is one who is moderate and has self–control. This person is able to control his or her emotions through reason, and thus never seeks the extreme with such things as pleasure. One may like to drink wine; the intemperate person drinks too much of it, whereas the person who rejects it entirely, in spite of finding it enjoyable, is called insensible. Temperance, then, is a middle ground between the two excesses of insensibility and intemperance. Someone with an excess of magnanimity would be considered vain. Aristotle also describes a virtue he calls magnanimity (Aristotle, 2002), which is, more or less, how we see ourselves and see how we are regarded by others. This can involve the respect others give us, but also the kinds of rewards and honors we can be given. People who think too highly of themselves, or people who think they deserve more recognition than they actually do, have an excess of this virtue; we might consider them vain. Those who believe they don't deserve even the recognition and appreciation they are given, have too little magnanimity, a characteristic Aristotle calls "low–minded." We might call such a person too self-effacing or falsely modest. The truly magnanimous person, as always with Aristotle, has this virtue in its proper proportion, and thus is considered appropriately modest while appropriately proud of his or her accomplishments. Consider, for example, Nick and Ted. Nick likes to go to parties, but drinks too much, and acts as if he is everyone's best friend. Once when Nick was at a party, a fight broke out, and Nick tried to stop it by fighting with all of those who were involved in the original fight. Clearly, Nick does not have his desires held in check by reason, does not live in accordance with the Golden Mean, and has the various virtues out of whack and in excess. In contrast, Ted never goes to parties; he stays home alone and never has any fun. Once, when he saw someone steal an elderly woman's purse, he ran in the opposite direction. Clearly, Ted also does not have his desires held in check by reason, does not live in accordance with the Golden Mean, and has the various virtues out of whack and in excess (an excess of not having enough of the various virtues!). Neither Nick nor Ted, therefore, qualifies as having a virtuous character. Jennifer, on the other hand, possesses all the various virtues that Aristotle describes: She is a good friend; she is courageous; she is modest but takes pride in what she does and accepts the legitimate praise of others; and she is generous, honest, and moderate. She has what the Greeks called eudaimonia. Eudaimonia can be translated in a variety of ways, as happiness, flourishing, well–being; for Aristotle, eudaimonia really is what Jennifer has: the virtues in their proper balance and proportion, neither in an excessive amount but not too little of any of them, either. She has reached the Golden Mean of these virtues, and thus has eudaimonia. Aristotle's point is clear: We should either try to imitate someone who is virtuous or at least examine ourselves for the proper virtuous balance. It is easy to get lost in the Greek, and all of Aristotle's technical vocabulary, but his basic point should be clear: The person who makes the right moral choices, or behaves ethically, is a virtuous person and is the kind of person we admire for that reason. We object to those who are deficient in one or more of the virtues, but we also object to those who display one or more of these virtues excessively. The person who has eudaimonia is the person who had acquired the correct conception of the virtues, individually and as a whole, and, as such, will offer us an example of what kinds of moral choices should be made. We may not actually know of such a person, and, indeed, there may not actually be such a person. But if we have such a conception of a virtuous person in hand, we may be able to look at our own choices, and our own behavior, and see where we are doing the right thing and, of course, where we may need improvement. As is often the case with ethical theories, they sound pretty good at first: clear, obvious, and easy to apply. But just as we saw challenges confronting both utilitarianism and deontology, we can now turn to some of the problems that arise for proponents of virtue ethics. Problems with Virtue Ethics Virtue ethics is, as we have seen, a bit different than the other two classic theories of ethics, utilitarianism, and deontology. With virtue ethics we look at individuals and examine not what they do but what kind of people they are. Is she a good friend? Is she appropriately modest, yet also appropriately courageous when such courage is needed? Does she avoid extremes, tell the truth, and thereby give us an example of the good life, lived virtuously? If so, the virtue ethicist points to such a person as an ideal, or example, to follow, and one who achieves eudaimonia, a degree of physical and mental health to which we should all aspire. Even if only few people, if any, actually achieve eudaimonia, we at least have a conception of it that offers us a goal for which we can strive and a model that we can point to for others to appreciate. One issue with virtue ethics is that it doesn't give us much direction in terms of how to make our ethical decisions. All we can really determine is whether someone is virtuous and how much of a certain virtue that person possesses—and even that might be up for debate. This all sounds great, but when one starts looking at the details of the individual virtues, the Golden Mean, eudaimonia, and applying all of these notions in real–world examples, it becomes considerably more difficult. The complaint, to begin with, is probably pretty obvious. Let's take as an example one of Aristotle's specific virtues, courage. There may be clear–cut examples of courage in its extremes, when one has an excess of courage or a lack of sufficient courage. Molly is at the zoo one day when a lion escapes from its cage; she decides to try to capture the lion, single–handedly. We might consider this courageous, but courageous to such an extent that it is foolhardy. On the other hand, Frank is sitting at his kitchen table and sees a mouse: He runs screaming from the room, never to return. We might regard Frank as having a deficiency of courage. Finally, Victoria discovers she has a terminal disease: Although frightened, she deals with it, gets her affairs in order, makes sure her family is taken care of, and thus confronts her situation in a way that is admirable. Victoria is courageous without being foolhardy or cowardly. Molly, Frank, and Victoria give us examples of courage: We see how one might have it in excess (Molly), in deficiency (Frank), and in its appropriate, moderate amount (Victoria). But this doesn't seem to give us enough in the way of understanding how, in general, one determines the appropriate response. Imagine Steve is a prisoner of war, kept in very brutal conditions with a number of his fellow soldiers. He knows he has a fairly good chance of escaping, but he also knows that the guards have made it clear that if he is caught he will be tortured and then executed, and if someone does successfully escape, another prisoner will be chosen at random and be tortured and then executed. To escape under these conditions requires a certain degree of courage, but not to escape—staying when he could get away—under these conditions also requires a certain degree of courage. What does Steve do to be courageous in the appropriate way here? It is not clear that there is a Golden Mean here to which Steve can appeal, and it is therefore not clear which, if either, of the possible actions available—to escape or not to escape—is the virtuous thing to do. In this specific case, then, it seems that virtue ethics offers insufficient guidance about what one should do. Similar problems confront the other virtues, as well. Is there an "appropriate amount" of lying one should do in order to be virtuous? Should one be willing to break some promises, while keeping others? Even if we think there may be solutions to various individual ethical dilemmas, virtue ethics seems to fail in offering the kind of general solution that utilitarianism and deontology do. There are still more difficult problems involved. For the most part, we can avoid them, but it might be worth at least pointing them out. Aristotle and many virtue ethicists seem to think that certain terms are well–understood, and that everyone shares the same general conception of the virtues. But do we? For instance, we may think we all agree on what it means to be a friend. But imagine Carl, who thinks of himself as a very good friend to the couple next door, Charles and Diana. Carl discovers that Charles has been having an affair with Diana's best friend. Presumably, friends tell each other the truth, but friends also don't want to see their friends hurt, their marriages break up, and so on. Is it all that clear what Carl should do in this case? More important, might people disagree on what Carl should do in order to be a good friend? If so, then, the idea that we all share the same general conception of "friendship" might not be so easy to defend. If this is the case, then the problems multiply, for each virtue will confront this kind of problem, and the problems just seem to get worse when we try to determine what exactly is the "appropriate amount" of all of them and how they should be in balance with each other. One issue with virtue ethics is that what is ethical in one culture might be considered unethical in another. One other traditional problem that also seems to pose a problem for virtue ethics is that a certain act may be seen in one culture as a virtue, while in another culture that very same act may be seen as a vice. Presumably, the same act cannot be both virtuous and unvirtuous, so do we have to specify the cultural context for any act we want to evaluate in terms of its moral worth? Consider two communities, A and Z: A is a culture of warriors that insists that its members be fierce and respond to threats with violence. Z is a culture of pacifists that insists its members always "turn the other cheek" and respond to threats with nonviolence and negotiation. How do A and Z react, when a group of outsiders sets up camp outside their land, a group that appears to have a great number of weapons and may well pose a threat? Virtue ethics doesn't seem to provide a wholly adequate way of solving the question of whether A's violent response or Z's nonviolent response is appropriate. A will regard Z's pacifism as immoral, just as Z will regard A's violence as immoral. The point isn't so much to determine whether A or Z (or neither) is doing the virtuous thing. Rather, the point is that virtue ethics doesn't seem to offer enough guidance in trying to make this determination, or it ends up saying both responses, for the given culture, are virtuous. But if all our moral evaluations have to be made relative to a given culture, then it is pretty clear that we won't be able to develop a virtue ethics that can address actions that we might indicate are wrong across cultures. In other words, if evaluations are relativized in this way, then does virtue ethics do anything other than say that some things are right, and some things are wrong, but no one can really object that someone from another culture is doing something wrong? There are those who support that view—which we will define shortly as ethical relativism—but virtue ethics seems to be designed to say something considerably stronger than what ethical relativism does, in terms of saying what is right and wrong. Utilitarianism J.S. Mill An act (or rule) is good or right if it produces the greatest good for the greatest number. Deontology Immanuel Kant An act is good or right if it is done because it is the right thing to do, in accordance with a justified moral rule or rules. Virtue ethics Aristotle Morality is determined on the basis of specific virtues, exemplified by a person of noble or virtuous character. 2.2 Alternatives to Traditional Theories of Ethics We've now looked at the three classic theories of ethics: utilitarianism, deontology, and virtue ethics. We saw that each has both advantages and disadvantages, and that none offers an obvious and easily applied solution to the question, "What should I do?" In this section, we will look at alternatives that have been developed in contrast to these three classic theories. Ethical Egoism An ethical egoist acts in his own interest. "Ego" comes from the Greek word for "I." We probably know someone about whom it is said, "He has a big ego": that is, a person who has an exaggerated sense of just how great he is. Egoism, then, is the idea that the focus is on one's self. Hence, ethical egoism is the idea that one's conception of right and wrong, good and evil, and other moral terms, are to be determined by one's own sense of value. To return to utility, a notion we saw earlier, we could describe this as the position that one should do what maximizes one's own utility. In short, I should do what is in my self–interest. This is a theory that is, in the most literal sense, "selfish." But unlike other, more traditional moral theories, selfishness is not seen as wrong, or immoral, but how one should in fact act—out of self–interest. To return to the example we've used before: A group of children are playing in a sandbox, and have access to only one toy. Cherita, the ethical egoist—who we will just call the egoist from now on—determines that what makes her happiest, or maximizes her utility, is to have the toy to herself. Thus, it is in Cherita's self–interest to get the toy, keep the toy, and play with the toy all by herself. This isn't, however, the only result possible. It may be that she decides that she would get more out of it if everyone shared, or, for that matter, if only one other person got to play with the toy. If she concludes that some other option is in her self–interest, then she should adopt that choice. So we can see that the crucial thing in this case isn't that Cherita gets the toy to herself; it is that what she perceives as making her best off will be what she should do. In some ways, decision making is easy for an ethical egoist. They will do whatever they want to do, whether or not others think it is wise. We also had an example earlier that will provide a contrast to the ethical egoist and the utilitarian. We saw Mary trying to decide whether to go dancing or stay home with her three children. Factoring in the happiness of Mary and the three children, the utilitarian argued that everyone would be best off—producing the greatest good for the greatest number—if Mary stayed home. The egoist might conclude otherwise: If Mary sees her greatest happiness achieved by going out dancing, then she should go out dancing. Again, Mary may conclude that it would make her happiest to stay home. The egoist's position is that what Mary should do is whatever Mary sees as in her self–interest. We saw that the classic theories of ethics—utilitarianism, deontology, and virtue ethics—all had problems when we tried to apply them to real life, but egoism seems not to have that problem. For any person S, he or she determines what is in his or her self–interest. That's it: S does what he or she thinks will make S best off, and, according to this theory, that is what S should do. Let Joe be a billionaire investment banker. He has several houses, cars, and servants, and having retired, he can take vacations whenever and wherever he wants. One day Joe sees an old friend from high school, Mike, who has become homeless. Mike asks Joe for 10 dollars. Ten dollars, for Joe, is almost nothing in terms of his wealth, but Joe considers whether he would be better off giving the money to Mike or keeping it himself. Joe decides he would be happier keeping his money; egoism tells us that is what he should do. Traditional ethical theories, and religious views, may regard Joe as being selfish, greedy, and, more generally, acting immorally. Egoism does not; traditional conceptions of selfishness are not regarded by egoism as immoral. It may turn out, of course, that Joe decides that it is in his self–interest to give Mike the 10 dollars; it might make him feel better to help out an old friend, and, after all, it's not much of a sacrifice for Joe. But egoism leaves that decision up to Joe, and what Joe perceives to be in his own self–interest is what Joe should do. Economists have argued that ethical egoism is present in capital markets: All parties usually seek the best way to benefit themselves. Many economists have argued that this is, in fact, how economic exchanges work in free markets. Buyers want to get as much as they can as cheaply as they can; sellers want to sell as much as they can for the highest price they can get. Individuals, then, want to maximize their utility by getting as much as they can out of the exchange. On the traditional views, this sounds not just selfish, but greedy. But we assume everyone has, more or less, the same amount of information about the product involved, and we also assume that everyone knows that everyone else is trying to maximize his or her self–interest. In this way, then, the market will, in theory, be most efficient and create more goods and more wealth for everyone if everyone acts in a way that maximizes his or her self–interest. One way of putting the point was given by Bernard Mandeville; recognizing that greed was traditionally regarded as sin, he claimed that great benefits would be produced if everyone were greedy. As he put it, "private vices, public benefits": That is, the private vice of selfishness would actually end up making society wealthier than it would have been otherwise, which is a public benefit. Problems with Ethical Egoism The obvious objection to ethical egoism is that it can promote selfishness. As we have already seen, ethicists and religious leaders (and many others) protest against ethical egoism because it seems to say that selfishness is a good thing. The objection is fairly obvious: Being selfish is wrong, either because it is immoral or a sin or both. So an ethical theory that not only doesn't condemn selfishness, but seems to promote it, must be wrong. Traditionally, parents teach their children to not be selfish but to cooperate and share. Similarly, being selfish seems to be a short step from being greedy, and most ethical and religious traditions object to greed and consider greedy people to be immoral. But if it is in one's self–interest to get as much as possible, then doesn't egoism recommend that greed is good? We saw Joe the billionaire decide to keep his 10 dollars instead of giving it to an old acquaintance down on his luck. That seems to be both selfish and greedy, but, as we saw, egoism doesn't label Joe's action as immoral; indeed, it says keeping it should be what Joe should do, if it maximizes his own self–interest. What Is Our Self–Interest? This objection is probably pretty familiar. However, another question may be a bit less obvious, but it might trouble the ethical egoist nonetheless: How do we determine our self–interest? Ethical egoism seems to take for granted that any individual can identify what is in his or her self–interest, but that may not always be the case. If I'm trying to choose to do something, do I evaluate my self–interest in terms of the short term, the long term, or something in between? Maybe I think it is in my self–interest (in the short term) to eat an entire blueberry pie, even though my long–term interest is to lose weight. Perhaps we could adopt the principle that my long–term interest should always override my short–term interest. But can I really be sure what that long–term interest is, and that it won't change? Even if the question of what I know about my self–interest can be answered, a bigger problem may then arise. Can I ever be wrong about my self–interest? If whatever I do is defined as having been done in my self–interest, then how could I ever do something that is not in my self–interest? Ethical egoism is the idea that whatever one chooses to do is in that person's self–interest—maximizes his or her utility—and therefore is the right choice. But if that is the case, then it is difficult to see what role "should" plays here, because it isn't very clear how one could ever not act in one's own self–interest. If egoism says, "One should do whatever one does," such a theory doesn't seem to offer much in the way of guidance, does it? Emma's Self–Interest We can use a single example to see how these objections might emerge. Emma decides that it is in her self–interest to become, over time, very wealthy. Although she likes—very much—to shop for nice things, play video games, and go out to expensive dinners with her friends, she resists doing so, and becomes very frugal. She only buys the cheapest things and has to actively resist her friends when they ask her to go shopping, to play video games, or to go out to a local French restaurant. All the money she saves she puts into the stock market and other investments, and, slowly, she starts to generate a substantial amount of money. She starts to see her friends less and less often and becomes somewhat of a hermit. After several years, she realizes that she is very lonely, doesn't have much fun, and is generally unpleasant to be around. Even though she has met her goal of becoming wealthy, she recognizes that she sacrificed too much to reach that goal and decides to give all of her money away to charity and focus on doing volunteer work in order to help others. One issue with ethical egoism is that the individual almost has too many choices with little ethical guidance, because arguably whatever choice one makes is the right one. It is pretty unclear that the ethical egoist has much to say here, beyond saying that whatever Emma chose to do to maximize her self–interest is what she should have done. Deciding to adopt the idea that her long–term goals should override her short–term goals, Emma gave up many of the things that gave her pleasure. That maximized her utility, presumably, so that is what she should have done. But if she had decided otherwise—that shopping, playing video games, and eating at expensive French restaurants maximized her utility—then that is what she should have done. In other words, she gets no real guidance from egoism in deciding which of the two paths she should choose, short–term pleasure or long–term wealth. Worse yet, she had even less guidance because her long–term goals changed, so she gave up not just her short–term pleasures but also her original long–term goal when she changed her mind and adopted another long–term goal. Whatever Emma determines is in her self–interest is what she should do, but she clearly wasn't able to determine what that long–term self–interest really was! A theory that can recommend little else but "you should do what you should do" doesn't seem to offer much in the way of ethical insight. It doesn't seem to do much better with the ethical issue that challenged the classical theories of ethics. Utilitarianism, deontology, and virtue ethics all had things to say about when, or if, one should lie, but their results didn't seem entirely satisfactory and occasionally led to results that seemed strange, or simply wrong. Egoism doesn't even seem to offer that much, however. If Carolyn asks Bob to go to the movies, and Bob doesn't want to go, should he lie and say he's busy? Should he tell the truth and say he doesn't want to go? The advice ethical egoism seems to offer is to tell Bob that he should do whatever he thinks will maximize his utility, or he should do what is in his self–interest. But even if Bob knows what that self–interest is, egoism tells him that whatever he chooses will be correct, regardless of what he chooses. If he lies out of self–interest, fine; if he tells the truth out of self–interest, that's also fine. It seems safe to say that Bob will either lie or not lie, so whatever he chooses to do is what he should do. That doesn't seem to be very helpful ethical advice to Bob, does it? Relativism We've seen a number of theories by now, and we've also seen that each has its problems—sometimes serious problems! One popular response to this is to abandon the search for an ethical theory, at least one that tells us, and everyone, what should be done and how we should live. Rather, we should recognize that there are no universal or general ethical standards, that one's ethical view is relative to one's culture, society, tradition, religion, worldview, or even one's own individual values. Because moral claims are said to be relative to something else, this is a view known as relativism. Even though philosophers, as well as anthropologists and others, distinguish different kinds of relativism, we will generally use the term to mean that any ethical claim is relative to a set of beliefs, and that any such ethical claim is one true, or consistent with, that set of beliefs. Even though this may sound complicated, it is a view that is very common. To take a simple example that probably doesn't involve a moral question: Assume that you like comedies and your best friend likes action films. There might not be much of a problem here in rejecting the idea that comedies are better than action films or in rejecting the idea that action films are better than comedies; each claim is relative to one's beliefs, desires, and preferences. It may make things more difficult when you and your friend pick a movie to go see together; however, neither of you are determined to convince the other that there is some true, or objective, or factual claim being ignored here, about the merits of comedies and action films. Moral Relativism A funeral procession in Vietnam. Relativism recognizes that certain things that are "right" in some cultures might be "wrong" in others—for instance, how a culture treats its dead. Moral relativism extends this idea to the area of ethics. Ethical evaluations—that is, saying some act is right or wrong—are made in terms of the context of that act and, therefore, are relative to the culture and values of those doing it. Some cultures bury their dead; some cremate their dead; some allow them to be exposed to the elements and scavengers; some mummify their dead (at least their important dead, such as Egyptian pharaohs); some cultures have even been reported to eat their dead. Which is right? Are any of these wrong? Some religions require the cremation of the dead, whereas some religions prohibit it. What is the relativist response to these issues? The relativist simply says that the practice that a given culture adopts as the correct one determines what should be done. Let culture A be a society that cremates, or ritually burns, its dead, while culture B is a society that prohibits cremation. The relativist says A's tradition is correct for A, and not for B; in the same way, B's tradition is correct for B, and not for A. Just as important for the view we are calling moral relativism is that those who live in culture A can't say that cremating is right and not cremating is wrong; they can only say it is right for them. In the same way, those in culture B can't say that cremating is wrong and not cremating is right; they can only say it is wrong from them. The view, then, of cremation is relative to the given culture, and there is no objective ethical standard to appeal to in saying whether cremating one's dead is right or wrong. Many people find this position very attractive. It seems to eliminate the need, or desire, to provide objective evaluations for all people, and all societies. It seems to allow that we can simply "agree to disagree"; if some culture or society or religion does something that would be viewed as very immoral in our own society, we are free to say that it is wrong for our society but not for theirs. A relativist doesn't need to pass judgment. She says, "If it works for you, it works for me!" Moral relativism is often characterized in terms of cultures, and cultural anthropologists have identified many practices in the world that contrast, and even conflict, with some of the practices that are standard in the West. Any number of rituals and ceremonies—of birth, of achieving the status of an adult, of marriage, of death—have been discovered and reflect a very wide range of beliefs. We saw that Aristotle recommended generosity, within its appropriate limits, as one of the chief virtues a good person would have. Imagine a society that regards a person as good, or virtuous, who has the greatest wealth; in this society, people might well be regarded as "good," or virtuous, by obtaining as much as they can and keeping it all to themselves. In contrast, consider a society that regards those people as good, or virtuous, who gives all of their wealth away (an extreme version of this among some Native Americans is known as "potlatch"). This society may regard a person as "good," or virtuous, who has the least wealth, having given all of it away. Aristotle regarded a moderate amount of generosity as a virtue for all people in all societies. Here we see that the moral relativist might regard a deficiency of generosity (keeping everything for oneself) as a virtue, relative to a society's values; an excess of generosity (giving everything away) can also be seen as virtue, relative to a society's values. The moral relativist concludes that the claim "generosity is a virtue" can only be evaluated in terms of the values of the specific society. What does the moral relativist say about the example we have looked at in terms of the other moral theories, namely, lying? Is it wrong to lie? Is it okay to lie? Is it sometimes wrong to lie and sometimes right to lie? As always, the moral relativist says, "It depends." If your society rewards lying, or at least doesn't punish it, then lying might well be okay in your society. If your society, on the other hand, has strict penalties (whether legal and official, or the kind enforced informally by others in your community) against lying, then lying will be wrong in your society. "Lying is right" or "lying is wrong" are the kinds of claims avoided by the moral relativist, who advocates saying something like "lying is right relative to a society that permits or encourages lying" and "lying is wrong relative to a society that prohibits lying." Extreme Relativism Extreme relativism takes relativism a step further: If someone says stealing a car is the right thing to do, then it is right for that person. So far we have been discussing relativism in terms of societies and cultures, or different groups of people who seem to have different, and possibly conflicting, values. But it is worth pointing out that there is an even more extreme, or radical, kind of relativism, often associated with the ancient Greek philosopher Protagoras (ca. 490 BCE–420 BCE). This kind of relativism is said to hold for individuals: If a person says something it true or false, right or wrong, then it is true or false, right or wrong, for that person. We saw an example of this when you and your friend were discussing your preferences for movies; for you it was true that comedies were best, and for your friend, it was true that action films were best. Protagorean, or radical relativism, extends this idea to all claims, including ethical claims. Presumably, this means if you think shoplifting is wrong, but another person says shoplifting is not wrong, there is no "fact" we can point to in order to determine who is correct; shoplifting is wrong for you, but not wrong (or even right) for the other person. That is about all there is to say about such disagreements. This kind of relativism, as noted, is often seen as a very attractive option in ethics, allowing us to avoid making difficult judgments and being critical of other people and other cultures, particularly cultures with which we aren't very familiar. It also has the advantage of recognizing just how difficult ethics can be; as we have seen, it seems that every ethical theory confronts serious problems that it has difficulties solving. Moral relativism allows us to avoid some of these problems by relativizing our responses, and thus rejecting the need for objective moral evaluations. But, as you may have suspected, moral relativism itself confronts some serious difficulties. Problems with Relativism One problem with relativism is that human rights activists like South Africa's Nelson Mandela might be considered wrong, relative to their own culture, while certain unethical actions would be right simply because the culture accepts it. As we saw with the shoplifting example, some things just seem to be wrong; not wrong relative to a culture, but simply wrong. One might imagine a society where shoplifting wasn't viewed as a particularly bad thing, but there are other cases that seem more difficult to defend. This might be called a prima facie objection, from the Latin legal term for "at first view"; when we first look at such examples, we may immediately think something wrong is being done. An ancient Hindu practice, called suttee, requires a woman whose husband has recently died to throw herself on his funeral pyre, thus killing herself. This could have been done voluntarily, or she could have been forced to do so. The practice has been outlawed but occasionally still occurs. Some societies continue to practice slavery, owning a human being as if he or she is simply a piece of property. Some societies have child pornography widely available. Some societies practice infanticide, killing (or allowing to be killed) an infant after birth if it is determined not to have the desired characteristics (frequently, that is, if it isn't a boy). Some societies have executed prisoners—often on flimsy or inadequate charges, and with little legal protection—in order to take their organs and sell them on the black market. Of course, in just the 20th century we have many such examples: Joseph Stalin causing the death of millions, Mao Zedong causing the deaths of millions, Adolf Hitler causing the deaths of millions. Unfortunately—except for the relativist, perhaps—this list could go on and on. The relativist seems to have to be able to say here that such things are only wrong, relative to a specific culture or worldview. Perhaps we are from a culture that views infanticide or slavery as wrong; we would then say, for us, that these things are wrong. But from the perspective of a culture that doesn't share our views, perhaps infanticide, or slavery, or both, are not wrong, or even are right. The extreme cases, of course, make people uncomfortable, which is, more or less, the point: Do we want to say that a government that has policies that result in family members eating each other are only wrong relative to a given value system, or that such polices are simply, fundamentally, and obviously wrong? To be consistent, the relativist has to say that no matter how wrong something seems to be to a person, that idea of "wrong" is relative to that person's values. If another person has different values, then such things might not be wrong. You can decide for yourself if this result makes you as uncomfortable as it makes some ethical theorists. Reformer's Dilemma A second, more sophisticated objection has been provided by the philosopher Fred Feldman, and is known as the "Reformer's Dilemma" (Feldman, 1978, p. 166). Imagine Sarah lives in a society that values boys but does not value girls. To keep the society going, some number of girls are needed, but parents are allowed to kill a third child if they already have a girl and that third child is a girl. Furthermore, if a couple has three children, girls or boys, they are required to kill a fourth child, a fifth child, and so on, if it is a girl. Sarah thinks this is wrong; perhaps she just feels it is wrong, or perhaps she has substantial arguments for her position. But moral relativism says that her society determines what is wrong or right, and it has determined that this policy of killing girls is right. So Sarah must be wrong to object to this policy. But, more generally, anyone who objects to any policy a society has adopted must be wrong. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. would be wrong to object to oppressive and racist American practices in the 1960s; Nelson Mandela would be wrong to object to the oppressive and racist South African system of apartheid. In fact, anyone who wished his or her society to improve could not be correct in objecting to a society's values. This seems to be a problem; many of history's most admired people have been critical of their societies. But what may be worse is that this seems to suggest that if one is always wrong in criticizing the values of one's society, the society cannot be improved, and thus must be perfect. As Feldman observes, this seems to pose a challenge to the thoroughgoing relativist. Remembering What We Agree On All of these commuters might be members of the same culture, but they might be members of different groups based on gender, race, religion, occupation, and so on. The trouble with relativism is determining which group determines ethical choices. Perhaps the most sophisticated response to relativism can be found in some of the work of the American philosopher Donald Davidson, although the central idea of this response could also be found in the work of Ludwig Wittgenstein (Davidson, 1974). Simply put, the idea is that radical relativism is incoherent, or simply doesn't make sense, for a couple of reasons. First, let's assume that the relativist is right, and that a person's beliefs are relative to her society's. But within any society, a person can "belong" to many different kinds of groups, based on ethnicity, class or income level, language, sex or gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, and on and on. Imagine Henry has lived in France much of his adult life, but was born in Egypt, speaks Arabic as his native language, and is a Muslim. Which group determines his values? What if one group Henry belongs to decides some kind of activity is right—say women not being allowed to work outside the home—and another group decides that is it wrong for women to so work? How does Henry figure out which it is? To take the idea to the extreme, does a poor white 50–year–old Lutheran heterosexual woman from Texas have moral values that are more similar to an 18–year–old wealthy Chinese lesbian or to a bisexual middle–class 50–year–old white Methodist male from Pennsylvania? It seems that for the relativist, if our "culture" determines our values, and people have different factors that make up that culture, there could be a problem! Often, when we disagree with someone, we focus on our differences more than we focus on our similarities. Second, Davidson importantly reminds us that when we discuss such things as ethical viewpoints, politics, religion, and other controversial topics, we almost always focus on what we disagree about. But that disagreement can go forward only if we agree on an enormous number of things. Consider two people arguing about gun control. Jim thinks no one should be able to own a handgun; John thinks everyone should be required to own a handgun. They sit down to talk about this disagreement, which seems to be substantial. But imagine they started by listing the things they agree on, that makes their disagreement possible: Guns don't speak Japanese, guns don't make good hats, guns aren't an appropriate filling for sandwiches, guns can't fly, and on and on and on. But this hardly means our disagreements simply disappear. Rather, we focus on the disagreement, because that is what usually interests us. The point is that the issues Jim and John agree on are vastly greater than those they disagree about. If they disagreed on things to the extent that the radical relativist seems to think possible, it is difficult to see how they could even sit down and talk to one another about anything. As Davidson puts it, our disagreements—even if that disagreement involves two people from dramatically different cultures—can only occur within the context of massive agreement, or on the assumption of an enormous background of things people agree on. Otherwise, they wouldn't even be able to hold a conversation about what they disagree on. That would be the case for a relativist talking to another relativist! Don't they also have to share a number of things in common to debate their versions of relativism? As should be clear from these objections, whether it is our discomfort at being told that genocide is only wrong relative to a culture's values, or whether it is the idea that relativism doesn't actually make any sense, when looked at closely, it may ultimately be difficult to defend a radical kind of relativism. Our hope that relativism would provide an easy way out of the various ethical problems we have seen may, therefore, have been a little optimistic. Although it remains, for many, an attractive option to simply say a person or a culture determines what is right and what is wrong, when examined critically, it may not deliver all that we had hoped it would! Nietzsche's Challenge German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche offers a radical challenge to traditional ethical viewpoints. Relativism seems to many to proceed from recognizing that ethical problems are hard to solve to the idea that ethical problems cannot be solved. As Davidson indicates, this may be the consequence of our focus on what divides us, and he reminds us to realize that to disagree requires a great deal of agreement. Others have challenged even more fundamentally the values of society as a whole, including traditional political and religious structures. Perhaps the most powerful such challenge came from the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. Nietzsche (1844–1900) was a philosopher who exerted an influence on 20th century philosophy that is difficult to overestimate. Nietzsche's own life was remarkably interesting. His father, uncle, and grandfathers were all Lutheran pastors, but Nietzsche's father died when he was four, and his brother died a few months later. Nietzsche was raised by his mother and sister, sent to an extremely prestigious boarding school in Germany, and given a position—at the age of 24—to teach classical philology (the study of classical Greek and Latin texts) at the University of Basel, in Switzerland. Nietzsche taught there for 10 years, but his job was interrupted by military service, during which he received a serious injury. His health, in general, was not good, and he had to resign his teaching post, spending much of the rest of his life wandering around Italy, France, Switzerland, and Germany. In 1889, Nietzsche had a mental breakdown and collapsed in Turin, Italy, and he spent the remaining years of his life unable to communicate, not realizing that the many books he had produced had begun to make him a world-famous philosopher. Übermensch Nietzsche suggested that those in power determined what was moral—and by controlling the masses, they also held back those who could be truly great. Nietzsche presented, and still presents, a radical challenge to traditional ethical viewpoints. Although his position is difficult to summarize quickly, fundamentally he called for a "re-evaluation of all values"; that is, all the various things that traditional morality and religion had said were good, or wrong, needed to be scrutinized and criticized. In doing so, Nietzsche determined that much of this traditional morality was fundamentally wrong. He declared that "God is dead" (and that human beings had killed Him) and defended atheism. Nietzsche thought that Judaism, and because of it Christianity, had taken the ancient ideas of the Greeks and Romans, and perverted them. Before Christianity, the "good" was identified as the strong, the powerful, the courageous, the noble, and the creative; the "bad" was that which was weak, timid, small-minded, and cowardly. Nietzsche argued that Christianity had turned this upside down, and that people had been convinced—by those he called the priests, who control the moral, cultural, political, and religious values of a society—that what had been good was now evil, and what had been bad was now good. Hence, he saw the morality of his day as preventing those who were noble, creative, and bold from being recognized as superior to the masses. He also argued that this meant the masses—timid and weak—could be easily controlled, like sheep by their shepherd, by those in power. He thus saw both Christianity and democracy (a democracy of a mass of people who were kept ignorant and thus did what they were told) as guilty of holding back the very few exceptional individuals who could achieve greatness in society. Such an individual was called by Nietzsche an "Übermensch," which is usually translated as "superman" or "overman" (Nietzsche, 1973). This overman creates his own values, and his own morality, as an expression of his power to overcome those values those around him have tried to force him to accept. In this way, the overman becomes a free and independent spirit, risking everything and unwilling to accept the conventions of his society. Ultimately, Nietzsche suggests a view he calls "eternal recurrence" as the goal of the truly noble soul: One should seek a life that, if one were to have to live exactly that way for eternity, one would be happy to do so. Nietzsche and the Death of God Hubert Dreyfus explores Nietzsche's views on God, and the historical roots of Nietzsche's views. Question: How one might be an atheist—a person who does not believe in God— and still be ethical and treat others morally? Critiques of Nietzsche Those who resisted Nietzsche's ideas—and there were, and are, very many such people—did so for a number of reasons. They saw important truths expressed in moral and religious traditions and important values in the principles of those traditions, and they certainly didn't think "God is dead." Most Nietzsche scholars reject the idea that he was the kind of relativist we have discussed; however, it is easy to see why some might regard him that way, for if one creates one's own values, then aren't that person's values relative to that person? People also objected to the idea that Nietzsche's views were elitist, indicating that just a few "great souls" were allowed full access to freedom and independence, whereas the great masses of those who didn't so qualify—on Nietzsche's view—were left with little but mediocre lives, following rules they didn't understand and, more or less, simply doing what they were told to do. But it is important to see that, in the history of ethics, Nietzsche presents a serious challenge to a number of different traditions in both morality and religion. He requires us to examine what our moral values are and to see what is done in the name of those moral values. Has Christianity been used to promise people that their true reward will come after their death, thus making it easier to control them while they are here on earth? Have Western societies often punished those who are unwilling to go along with the values of their society? Interestingly enough, at times Nietzsche identified Jesus as one of those whom society punished for being brave and independent enough to raise profound objections to the values imposed upon him by society, but Nietzsche also remarked that the "last true Christian died on the cross" (Nietzsche, 1968, The AntiChrist, § 39). Have societies that officially or unofficially regarded themselves as Christian acted in ways that violate the very Christian principles they are said to embrace? These, and many other questions Nietzsche raises, are important reminders that often people say one thing, and do another. Nietzsche's willingness to expose this hypocrisy has continued to confront Western philosophy, specifically its development of moral theories. He has, therefore, required philosophers, and all those interested in moral questions, to consider very carefully whether what we do actually conforms with what we believe. As the saying goes, we may "talk the talk," but do we "walk the walk"? Demanding we make this critical, and uncomfortable, self-examination is, of course, the kind of thing that makes those demanding it very unpopular: Many think this was precisely the reason Socrates was executed. At the same time, most of us recognize that it is to our benefit to see if what we believe, why we believe it, and whether the way we treat others reflects—or in fact conflicts with—those beliefs. Tolerance and Diversity We are a diverse community—both in the United States and around the world. Even though Nietzsche confronts us with a scathing critique of society and its hypocrisy, we may not accept that critique. Given increasing global interdependence and the diversity of societies, philosophers have worried about how we determine what an appropriate amount of tolerance is. The United States is a diverse country, with people from a vast number of backgrounds, representing a large number of ethnic groups, religious traditions, and countries of origin. A lot of people living the United States, of course, can point to a long line of ancestors having lived there, even before it was the "United States." But many others have arrived quite recently, from all over the globe. Some 80 percent of Americans speak English, but, according to the 2000 Census, more than 300 other languages are spoken (or signed) in the United States (although some of these are spoken by a very small number of people). Some estimate that there are more than 200 different religious denominations that can be found in the United States. The planet, of course, is considerably more diverse, with thousands of ethnic groups, thousands of different languages spoken, and thousands of different religious traditions and denominations. As an example: India has as its official state language Hindi (and a secondary "official" language of English), but it is estimated that just within India, some 350 different languages are spoken by a substantial number of people. As you can see, the earth is a pretty diverse place! Assuming differences in culture, religion, ethnicity, and other value systems might generate a good bit of disagreement, this degree of diversity gives us a pretty good idea of just how much disagreement there can be between different groups of people. It might be a nice thought that ethicists—or anyone else, for that matter—could come up with a recipe for preventing, or at least minimizing, these disagreements, and thereby minimizing the military invasions, the terrorism, and the various other kinds of violence caused by these disagreements. That may seem a bit optimistic, but it is worth thinking about what the study of ethics might offer to get a little closer to this goal. Extreme Tolerance and Intolerance We can start by identifying two extreme positions, one we can call extreme tolerance, and one we can call extreme intolerance. The extremely tolerant person will accept all cultures, all perspectives, all views, and all ethical values expressed by any society, anywhere, and at any time. In short, extreme tolerance tolerates everything. It's hard to be more tolerant than that! Extreme intolerance, on the other hand, tolerates nothing but its own view. Thus, an extremely intolerant culture Z rejects all other cultures, from A through Y; one and only one, very specific, position is acceptable to Z, and Z regards all other cultures as simply wrong. The extremely tolerant society never considers another view to be wrong, and therefore in need of being challenged or criticized; thus, it would never need to engage another culture or society militarily. The extremely intolerant society may always be at war, for it never sees any culture with distinct views as being anything other than incorrect. These are, as mentioned, extreme views; it is likely that few, if any, cultures, qualify as either extremely tolerant or extremely intolerant in the sense described. Most—probably all—societies, that is, fall between these two extremes. This gives us, then, a sense of the limits involved in describing the various ways one might endorse, or advocate, tolerance. For even though many agree that "tolerance" is generally a good thing, we can see that too much tolerance could be as bad as too much intolerance. Imagine you are sitting quietly at home, watching a baseball game with a friend. Someone comes in, shoots your friend and takes everything you own. If you are extremely tolerant in the sense described earlier, you have no objections. More generally, extreme tolerance may lead to what one might call the paradox of tolerance, for the extremely tolerant person can't object to the extremely intolerant person, and ends up tolerating the most vicious, dogmatic, and violent kind of intolerant behavior. Even if tolerance is a virtue, we might see that this is a bit out of whack: As Aristotle might put it, too much tolerance might be a bad thing! Extreme tolerance does pose some problems, but most threats come from intolerance. But as we look around, we probably see that the threat to most of us comes from the direction of intolerance. A government may ban citizens from speaking freely or prevent one group from practicing its religion. Two countries may go to war over a piece of land neither really wants; each just doesn't want the other to have it. A group of terrorists may seek to kill innocent civilians of a different religion, or even those who have a different interpretation of the terrorists' own religion. A town may practice a kind of informal discrimination against those the majority views as "different," whether due to a different race, religion, sexual orientation, or another of the many things we use to label each other. A person may decide that abortion is such an immoral practice that he or she is justified in murdering a physician who performs abortions. Do philosophers, specifically ethicists, have much to offer to call into the question the things done on behalf of such intolerance? Reflective Equilibrium In his extremely influential book A Theory of Justice, the philosopher John Rawls (1921–2002) puts forth a strategy he calls reflective equilibrium. Although his full theory is, as you might expect, complex and difficult, Rawls's fundamental ideas are helpful in making clear what we think is fair; Rawls believes any plausible conception of justice must be one that is regarded by all participating in a society's decisions as fair, and thus he is famous for characterizing justice as fairness (Rawls, 1971). Rawls describes a thought experiment—that is, an imaginary situation, not an actual historical event—where people come together to design a society. The society they design will be the one in which they will, at some point, live. Rawls puts a crucial condition on those describing this future society: They are behind what he calls a "veil of ignorance." That is, they don't know in the future society what kind of person they will be: whether male or female, nor do they know their race, religion (if any), class, ethnicity, sexual orientation, physical handicaps, and so on. Thus, what the participants will determine to be fair will express what each thinks would be fair under such a condition. For instance, you might not describe a society that practices discrimination on the basis of sex, for you might discover, in that future society, that you were a member of the sex discriminated against. To give a specific example: It is unlikely that you would regard the principles of, for instance, South Carolina in 1820 as fair, for you might be describing a society in which you would be a slave or a Jew or a woman, all of whom would be in situations few of us would regard as fair or just. Reflective equilibrium requires individuals to consider what's fair and to perhaps give ground for the sake of tolerance and compromise. Part of Rawls's discussion requires the notion of reflective equilibrium, where individuals with various moral and political views discuss the moral and political views of others, in order to see what kind of agreement can be reached. To make the abstract idea a bit more concrete: John and Mary, who come from very different backgrounds, sit down to compare their notions of what a just and fair society would look like. Each is willing to consider the other's viewpoint and recognize that some adjustment may have to be made. Perhaps John is suspicious of religions other than his own, while Mary is an agnostic, and thus has no religion. Through reflective equilibrium, John adjusts his beliefs to accept others who may not share his religious views, while Mary adjusts her beliefs to allow more tolerance for those who insist on the importance of their religious commitments. After much give and take, they come to a position both can accept. In a certain sense, Rawls offers a sophisticated account of precisely the kind of thing many of us have already done for years. To return to the sandbox of five children and one toy: Ideally, the children discuss among themselves what the best (or fairest) result will be. Some of the children may have to adjust their belief that they should have the toy alone, but, in general, this idea of negotiation leads to a bit more tolerance, and a bit more acceptance of others' views. Ideally, then, they conclude their "negotiations" with the result that is fair, just, and acceptable to all. As Rawls makes clear, reflective equilibrium and our design of a society that is the fairest possible is a thought experiment, describing what one might consider an ideal or optimistic strategy, and concluding in a very unrealistic outcome. We see far too much intolerance, and too many times we see people—and countries—reaching for weapons to resolve their disputes. But Rawls at least suggests another way of solving these disputes, and thus provides us with another way of thinking about a planet as diverse as ours to come to a more constructive way to try to live with one another. 2.3 Individual Issues in Ethics Moral Dilemmas…Can Ethics Help? Several philosophers discuss how studying ethics can help us understand ethical problems better, even if it cannot always solve them. Question: Imagine you are talking to a young child; how might you explain the difference between right and wrong to that child? Give an example that you might use to help with your explanation. We've seen some of the best-known ethical theories, and some of the challenges they confront. We've also seen some of the alternatives to these traditional theories, as well as some of their weaknesses. We will now look at some very specific issues in ethics, describing the problems they present and how the theories we've discussed may be used to resolve those problems. We will begin with personal, or individual issues in ethics, before turning to some more general social issues in ethics. Some topics such as keeping our promises or teaching children not to be greedy seem to be restricted to individuals. In contrast, trying to understand what is at issue in addressing environmental concerns or analyzing potential problems with democracy appear to be more general and affect a large number of people. We will see that many ethical issues require us to think about the relationship between the individual and the society in which that individual lives, and that political philosophers must address this complex relationship. Promises We make promises all the time, and, for the most part, we expect promises to be kept. Since I expect others to keep their promises, the Golden Rule, or deontological ethics, insists that this means I should keep my promises. The utilitarian may have a different approach; perhaps there are situations where the greatest number achieves the greatest good by a promise being broken? We probably also think promises have a certain context, or set of conditions: We shouldn't make promises we know we cannot keep, but if we make a promise and do our best to fulfill it, we may end up breaking that promise without being seen as doing something unethical. We can start with some simple examples and then bring out the details of these theories by slowly making the examples a bit more complex. Making promises is one of many areas we can apply ethical theory. Imagine you promise Smith to pay him five dollars next week, if he loans it to you today (you're friends, so he doesn't charge you interest). This is a simple exchange, and each of you expects the other to fulfill his part of the bargain. Smith may think that if he loans you the money, then someday in the future you might loan him the money if he needs it. Similarly, you don't want Smith to think of you as someone who doesn't meet his obligations, or perhaps you realize that you may need to borrow money again, so you should pay it back this time. One might look at this from the point of view of ethical egoism: You and Smith are both looking out for your self–interest, now and in the future. So Smith loans you the money, you promise to pay it back (and do). Your self–interest is best met by getting the money and ensuring you might borrow more, Smith's self–interest is best met by loaning the money and ensuring he might borrow money in the future. The deontologist, on the other hand, says that you have made a promise to Smith—to pay him back—and that one should keep one's promises, not out of self–interest, but because it is the right thing to do. We can determine that it is the right thing to do by looking at it from the perspective of the Golden Rule, or from the perspective of Kant, who would suggest that were anyone to make a promise, morality requires that promises be kept. The utilitarian might say that there are various outcomes in this simple example, but certainly paying back the loan will create a utility calculation that wouldn't be lower than any of the other outcomes. Presumably, being honest and keeping one's promises are virtues—at least if done appropriately and in moderation—so the virtue ethicist will also insist that this promise be kept and the money paid back. As we see, then, the ethical egoist, the deontologist, the utilitarian, and the virtue ethicist all agree that the promise should be kept, but arrive at that conclusion from very different directions. But these theories may not always agree as they seem to in this example. Consider marriage vows, where each person promises to love, cherish, honor, and obey, among other things, "till death do us part." This is, of course, a binding promise, often made before God; it is, sadly, a promise that often is not, or cannot, be kept. Presumably, people make this promise fully intending to keep it, but circumstances change. It is interesting to consider what the various ethical theories might say about this situation. Assuming one or both members of a marriage are sufficiently miserable to end it, the utilitarian would probably conclude that doing so would lead to the greatest good for the greatest number. The deontologist might say that, although promises should never be made lightly, the Golden Rule or the Kantian "universality requirement"—that we act in such a way that such an act would always be the right thing to do in those circumstances—could be interpreted in such a way that ending the marriage is the right thing to do. The virtue ethicist would probably argue that keeping a promise to remain married is immoderate if it makes both, or even one, of those making the promise miserable. By doing so, the couple fails to recognize that promises may sometimes be broken if appropriate. In this case, however, one can also see that others might argue that a utility calculation, an application of the Golden Rule, or the virtue of honesty might require the marriage to continue. When you swear to tell the truth in court, that is a promise that is usually expected to be kept. More outlandish promises—such as in some TV commercials or even on the political campaign trail—don't always carry that same weight. Can you think of any other situations where promises aren't expected to be kept? This helps us see that ethical theories can lead to results that not only conflict with each other but may even conflict with common sense. For instance, if one interprets Kant as saying that promises must never be broken, then it would be violation of his ethical principle to dissolve the marriage, even though that may make everyone involved absolutely miserable for the rest of their lives. This also shows that ethical theories aren't really "recipes" that guarantee a certain and reliable ethical outcome. Instead, they can give us guidance to help determine what would be right or wrong, but we must also recognize that how the situation is described and some of the specifics of the situation may change how we go about applying the theory. We probably start with the assumption that promises should be kept, and that is most likely a pretty safe assumption to start with. But can you think of situations where promises are made that no one expects to be kept? Or even where we would prefer a promise not to be kept? Consider, for example, a TV commercial that seems to promise that if you buy a particular roll of paper towels, your life will be substantially improved? We are probably all familiar with such commercials that promise—or "promise"—that all we need to do is buy the right kind of toothpaste or pill or car, and all of our problems will magically disappear. It seems unlikely that very many people take such promises seriously. We are also familiar with political promises; imagine a politician promising that, if elected, she will cut taxes, eliminate the national debt, reduce government spending, guarantee health care and good schools for everyone, and reduce unemployment. Perhaps we don't take such promises seriously; perhaps we vote for this candidate in hopes that some, if not all, of these promises will be kept. Or perhaps we vote for this candidate hoping that such promises will be broken: We like the candidate and support many of her positions, but we don't want her time and energy wasted on trying to do something that seems to be impossible! Free Speech The First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States reads: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. The questions this raises about religion—whether what is known is the "establishment" clause or the "free exercise" clause—are pretty well known. But the questions of the freedom of speech, and the freedom of the press, raise issues that are also worth looking at, in terms of constitutionally protected rights, and what our ethical theories might say about when those rights might be violated. As we saw with the issue of promises, we probably start with an assumption that free speech, for individuals and for the media (or press), cannot be prohibited; if it is prohibited, it must be done for a very good reason. In other words, free speech is always assumed to be protected unless those reasons can be provided. Yelling "Fire!" Imagine what would happen if someone falsely yelled, "Fire!" in this crowded theater in St. Petersburg, Russia. Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes famously pointed out that this would be a clear example in which free speech should be restricted. The most famous example of when free speech can be prohibited is the famous Supreme Court case when Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes noted that one should not be allowed to yell, "Fire!" in a crowded theatre. Holmes importantly insisted that one not do so when it is false (if there is a fire, in other words, the speech is protected) (Schenck v. United States, 1919). Clearly enough, falsely telling those in a theatre that there is a fire could lead to panic and could put people in danger from being crushed in a rush toward the exits. Holmes's reasoning sounds pretty utilitarian: Even if the person yelling, "Fire!" gets some degree of pleasure from doing so, and watching the chaos that results, everyone else, by being put at risk, is harmed to some extent. Here the greatest good for the greatest number results in prohibiting this kind of speech. But the deontologist would agree with Holmes's conclusion, simply pointing out that falsely yelling, "Fire!" is a lie. Typically, deontological ethics rejects lying. As we've seen before, here two different ethical theories come to the same conclusion, although they do so for different reasons. Often, even those who advocate the greatest amount of free speech recognize that in this specific kind of case, the harm that may be caused simply outweighs the right to say what one wishes to say. There are other such restrictions recognized in the law: One cannot threaten the life of the president of the United States (the threat is not protected as "free speech"), and one cannot joke about bombs or hijacking while waiting in line to board an airplane. Most people recognize these as legitimate restrictions to the First Amendment guarantee of free speech. Freedom for Speech We Don't Like For the most part, the First Amendment allows us to express our thoughts and ideas without fear of retribution. Here, a union member in Detroit pickets in front of a Bank of America branch, demanding that Wall Street banks pay the cost of creating good jobs. Free speech isn't always so clear cut, particularly when the speech in question offends others. But there are more difficult cases, which frequently show up in court and make clear the problem that one person's right to say something may violate another person's rights not to hear (or see) it. For instance, there are various laws against pornography: its production, distribution, and sale. Should an adult be able to take whatever kind of pictures he wants and sell them to another adult? Some argue that preventing this is a restriction on free speech; others argue that it creates damaging conceptions of women that can lead to violence, sexual abuse, rape, and other immoral and illegal acts because pornography presents women as objects (thus treating them as means to an end, not as ends in themselves, in Kantian language). Even though most people agree that child pornography should be illegal (as it is in the United States) because it violates the rights of underage minors, what about a novel depicting in words what in pictures would be child pornography? Should consenting adults be allowed to write and read such novels? Or consider this real-life example, from the 1970s. Skokie, Illinois, is a suburb of Chicago, where many survivors of the Nazi Holocaust moved when they left Germany. Most of these people had lost spouses, parents, and even children to the death camps the Nazis had constructed; some may well have barely escaped themselves. The Holocaust was, understandably, an extremely painful memory for many residents of Skokie. An offshoot of the American Nazi Party wanted to march in Skokie, wearing Nazi uniforms, including swastikas and other Nazi symbols. On the one hand, then, Holocaust survivors seemed to have a very legitimate complaint, not wanting a parade in their town that celebrated their former persecutors. On the other hand, didn't the American Nazis have a right to free speech? Ultimately, the Supreme Court ruled that the Nazis could march, although they ended up marching not in Skokie, but in the city of Chicago itself. Five justices thought the Nazis should be allowed to march, while four justices did not (National Socialist Party of America v. Village of Skokie, 1977) so clearly there was a good bit of disagreement. Do you think that was the correct decision? A Ku Klux Klansman passes out propaganda in Connecticut. Free speech cases come before the court when one person's right to free speech conflicts with another person's desire to hear it. How far do you think the right to free speech should extend? Many other such cases have arisen, where one person's right to free speech conflicts with another person's desire—possibly legitimate desire—to prevent that speech. Should high school students be allowed to wear T-shirts that other students—or teachers—find offensive? Should a person be allowed to advocate the overthrow of the United States government? Should a person be allowed to design a web page calling for the murder of physicians who provide abortion services? Should a student be allowed to pray in school? Should such schools allow or prevent such prayers at official school functions, such as football games or graduations? There are, of course, dangers here that we have already seen. We may want to protect religious speech, but what if one person's religious speech offends another person's religious beliefs? Is there a danger of a religious majority trampling the rights of a religious minority? Again, we see that ethical theories don't provide easily applied recipes. A good exercise is to see how a utilitarian might respond to these kinds of cases, and what a deontologist would say. Would they agree? Would they disagree? How would they support their conclusions? Would it depend on the circumstances of the case? If so, does that prevent us from developing a sufficiently general notion of morality, as expressed in the Golden Rule or the "greatest good for the greatest number" principle of utilitarianism? Greed Earlier, in the context of ethical egoism, we looked briefly at the notion of selfishness, and saw that this ethical theory called into question some of the traditional philosophical and religious objections against selfishness and what many see as the result of such selfishness, greed. Here we will look at the issue a bit more explicitly, and see what traditional ethical views may say about greed, and whether there may be a conflict between those traditional views and certain principles underlying a capitalist economy. Gordon Gekko, played by Michael Douglas in the 1987 film Wall Street, makes a famous speech about how greed is a good thing. In director Oliver Stone's film Wall Street, a wealthy investor named Gordon Gekko makes a speech that is now probably better known than the movie. The most famous section of that speech says this: I am not a destroyer of companies. I am a liberator of them! The point is, ladies and gentleman, that greed—for lack of a better word—is good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms—greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge—has marked the upward surge of mankind (Pressman & Stone, 1987). It seems that greed underpins the capitalist system and the resulting private ownership of capital. So, is greed good or bad? What do you think? As we saw briefly, in economic exchanges between two people, each wants the very most he or she can get out of that exchange. If John wants to buy something from Mary, he wants the most he can get for the least amount of money, and Mary wants the greatest amount of money she can get while giving up the least. This desire for getting the most for the least is often considered the way we do, and even should, act; traditionally, however, wanting as much of something as you can possibly get was called being greedy! In contrast to Gordon Gekko, one might consider this passage (one of many expressing much the same view) from the Christian Bible, and the Gospel According to St. Luke: "Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions" (Lk. 12:15). Many religious traditions regard greed—sometimes called avarice, or covetousness, or cupidity—as a sin. Gordon Gekko says greed is good; St. Luke says greed is bad. Presumably, they can't both be right! St. Luke seems to be backed up by traditional ethical theories (although, as we've seen, he may not be backed up by the theory of ethical egoism). Returning to our sandbox with five children and one toy: We see the greedy child wanting the toy all to himself. The utilitarian will reject this as not generating the greatest good for the greatest number, whereas the deontologist will point out that this isn't the kind of act that would always be the right thing to do. It is probably safe to assume that St. Luke approved of the Golden Rule, and we can simply apply it by asking the greedy child: Would you like it if some other greedy child took the toy and didn't allow anyone else—including you—to play with it? The virtue ethicist would see such greed as an extreme: We may desire to have certain things, but those desires should be moderate. Perhaps we shouldn't desire too little, which would be an extreme of self-sacrifice, but the extreme of desiring too much is precisely what we are discussing, and which virtue ethics would reject: greed. One could argue that greed is good in the business sense and passes along the best price to consumers. As businesses fight for more profit and market share, they usually improve their product and compete by discounting prices. Does this mean that our ethical theories are in fundamental conflict with our economic theories? In many ways, the speech we saw from Gordon Gekko summarizes how capitalism works. A business wants to sell the most goods, or offer the most services, at the highest prices it can charge, and it wants to capture the largest market share. Its competitors want to do the same thing. Its customers, on the other hand, want the most goods or services for the lowest prices they can find and will be happy to go to the company's competitors to do so. There is, then, competition between customers and companies, and the end result is that customers get the best price, companies that make the best product have the highest profits, and companies that charge too much or produce goods or services of lower quality go out of business. So if one acts in one's self–interest (whether as company or customer), and thus wants the best deal possible, that is not just acting selfishly, it seems to be acting greedily. So, maybe Gordon Gekko is right. Greed is good! Of course, there are some legal restrictions that prevent some types of greed. Perhaps one company sells a product so cheaply that it manages to beat out a large part of its competition, but it turns out that the product it sells is so cheap because it pays its workers very low wages, or the product is produced in a way that could harm customers. Thus, the Food and Drug Administration might shut down a company that takes shortcuts in its production of hamburger because its product (while cheap!) makes its customers sick. Nor can a company, at least in theory, capture so much of the market that it can operate as a monopoly. Monopolies are such companies that don't really have any effective competition, so they can charge whatever price they wish, as long as people either want or need to buy what that company sells. The U.S. government has sued both IBM and Microsoft for operating as monopolies. So there are some rules that prevent absolute, unrestricted greed, but that doesn't mean that a company (or a customer) shouldn't act in a way that, to all appearances, seems to be doing exactly what St. Luke and many others have objected to as being greedy. Greed isn't always "good" in the corporate world. In 2008, it was discovered that some Chinese companies were adding the chemical melamine to their infant milk products to give the appearance of higher protein content. Here, supermarket staff in Hefei remove formula from their shelves. It isn't entirely clear how ethical theories treat this apparent conflict between business practice and moral values. Perhaps one might say that in certain contexts greed is good, whereas in other contexts it is wrong? That is, we might decide not to describe seeking the biggest profits, or the lowest prices, as being greedy at all? Or we might recognize that businesses don't follow the same moral code as individuals, and, in any case, many companies that have traditionally made large profits have also made many charitable contributions and supported worthy causes. Cynics might suggest they do this because they do not want to feel guilty or because they want to have a better public image or because they can reduce their taxes by giving to charity, or they could be making charitable contributions for all three reasons. In any case, we see again that whatever ethical theory we adopt, we run into some difficulty in applying it. One might argue that the ethical egoist is right, and greed is good, but what does that tell us about traditional religious prohibitions against greed? The utilitarian might suggest that greed, or efficient business practices, generates the greatest good for the greatest number, and in this specific kind of case we may either want to grant that greed is, in fact, good, or simply call it something other than greed. The greedy deontologist, for that matter, might say that she is doing precisely what all her competitors do, and that customers all expect this kind of approach. In that case, does this then satisfy the deontological requirement that any act be universalized, or could be done precisely the same way in the same situation? Indeed, the old phrase caveat emptor, or "let the buyer beware," suggests that we all make certain assumptions about economic exchanges, and that we should assume that the other person (or company) is acting in a way that might be called greedy; but so is everyone! Perhaps no one would teach his or her child that it is good to be greedy, but one might have to explain to that same child how the business world works. The difficulty might arise when that child then asks, "So, should I be greedy or should I not be greedy?" That may not be the easiest question to answer! Vegetarianism A woman shops at a farmers' market. Some people are very thoughtful about what they eat and where it comes from; their dining habits represent ethical choices they have made. What moral choices guide your eating habits? A once-famous, now somewhat forgotten German philosopher Ludwig Feuerbach observed that "you are what you eat." Feuerbach seemed to mean that the health and well-being of a human being is determined by what that person eats. We are all familiar with the notion that a healthful diet is important, and that those who eat foods high in saturated fat, cholesterol, trans fats, and the other scary things we seem to hear a lot about may be at much greater risk for stroke, heart disease, cancer, diabetes, and other health problems. This seems pretty obvious, but can there be ethical issues involved with diet? It seems so, and from two different directions. From one perspective, what one eats may reflect one's relationship to the rest of nature, and whether one seeks to be, more or less, in some kind of harmony with nature. The other perspective investigates how our food is produced, and whether it involves unnecessary cruelty and harm to sentient beings—beings that can feel pain. If the only way my food can be produced is to inflict pain, especially unnecessary pain, on other animals, should I care? Should I want to know more about it, or might I prefer not to know how my food is produced? The famous German politician Otto von Bismarck once pointed out that one can't enjoy politics or sausage if one closely observed how political decisions or sausage is made. This is often taken to be an insightful wisecrack about politics, but it might also say something about the food we eat. Would someone continue to enjoy eating meat if that person knew how the animal in question was raised? We can focus here on this second perspective and the questions it raises. We can assume that some, most, or even all animals other than human beings—we are also animals, after all—feel pain. A dog will yelp when kicked, and a lobster emits a distinctive scream when dropped into a pot of boiling water. Some animals, of course, seem to have more complex brains and nervous systems; presumably animals such as chimpanzees and dolphins feel pain in ways more similar to human beings than, say, a snail or a trout. Some people go to the extreme and refuse to eat anything that was once alive—or perhaps adorable—and could feel pain. One might begin, as we have done before, by identifying the extreme positions relative to what one might eat, and what one might do to produce what one eats. At one extreme, we can identify the extreme omnivore: On this view, one simply eats anything and everything one wants to, and doesn't care a lick about how that food is produced. At the other extreme, which we can call the extreme vegan, is a person who refuses to eat any animal products whatsoever, including insects, as well as byproducts such as butter, eggs, or cheese, or food containing these, such as most pastas and breads. We could have a more extreme version of this, perhaps, but someone who refused to eat anything that had once been alive—such as plants—might also not be alive for very long, either. Few people adopt either such extreme: Even an extreme omnivore might (we hope!) draw the line at eating human flesh, and an extreme vegan may be willing to eat some things, such as yeast or apples, even though it may be difficult to determine whether yeast is in the relevant sense "alive," and often apples are glazed with a shellac made from insects. But within these extremes is a wide range of positions. Some carnivores don't eat red meat (typically beef, pork, and other mammals; this can also include duck on some views) but only chicken and fish; some vegetarians—not vegans—eat eggs, cheese, and butter. Some people who eat fish consider themselves vegetarians, and other even more interesting approaches have been adopted: I've heard people say that they won't eat anything with a personality, or anything with a face! Additionally, what a person is willing to consume may depend on the specific culture that person is raised in: In some cultures, eating pork is thought to be not just revolting but a violation of strict religious dietary laws. In the United States, many are repulsed by the idea of eating dogs or chimpanzees, while other cultures may eat both without giving it any more thought than some Americans might give to eating a pork chop. Biology's Challenge to Traditional Western Views of Human Nature Several philosophers discuss how the scientific conception of the human being changed because of developments in modern science. Question: What reasons might a scientist have to believe in the immortality of the soul? Speciesism Even though there are extremes, many people's diets fall in between, for various reasons. For example, some people limit their diet to locally grown food in order to minimize the environmental impact of transporting cheap vegetables from faraway places. Can ethicists give us any guidance on determining the right thing to do (or eat)? Famously, Peter Singer argues from the perspective of utilitarianism that animals—both human and others—deserve some degree of respect because they have "interests." Minimally, all animals seek pleasure and avoid pain. Singer regards the idea that human interests are somehow superior to those of other sentient beings as indefensible. We assume, but with some good evidence, that rocks don't feel pain, but that cats do; Singer believes that we should take into consideration that cat's pain (but we don't need to worry about the rock's). To do otherwise is to just assume what he calls speciesism, which ignores the interests (and suffering) of other species. Singer thinks the logic of that assumption is no more defensible than ignoring the interests of other races or of a particular gender, and thus that speciesism is no better than racism or sexism. Singer is not saying, by the way, that other animals are somehow identical to human beings. Rather, he says that other animals should have their interests taken into consideration. We don't, as he notes, say that human beings are all identical in terms of ability, intelligence, size, and so on, when we say, "All human beings are created equal." But we do think, presumably, that all human beings deserve an equal consideration of their interests. Singer concludes that respecting the greatest good for the greatest number—the greatest number of sentient beings with interests, not just human beings—provides an argument against killing and eating sentient beings and an argument, therefore, in favor of vegetarianism (or, perhaps, veganism) (Singer, 1975). Singer's position may be extreme, and there is little doubt that his views are very controversial. They are also often rejected by many who would just prefer not to consider them! But many others point to some things done to produce our food and suggest that it inflicts needless pain and cruelty. Veal is often produced, for instance, by taking a calf away from its mother at birth and raising it in a crate too small for it to turn around or comfortably lie down in; the calf is never allowed any exercise and is fed a milk substitute, in order to produce the prized pink flesh the calf has when it is slaughtered when it is between 12 and 23 weeks old. Factory–farmed chickens are kept in small cages, often along with tens of thousands of other chickens; they frequently have their beaks removed, are injected with growth–producing drugs and often cannot stand up due to their weight. The crowded conditions also generate a great deal of disease that quickly spreads from chicken to chicken. Methods for raising cows, pigs, fish, and other animals exclusively for food have also been criticized as inflicting needless pain on the animals involved. While some vegetarians eschew all meat and dairy, some conscientious eaters simply choose what is often called cruelty-free meat—not raised on so-called factory farms. For example, chickens have been known to be raised in cramped quarters to maximize efficiency, weight gain, and the like, so some people look for free-range or cage-free chicken and eggs. This is an interesting ethical issue, for in this case many people would prefer to ignore the issue; it is, after all, considerably easier to enjoy fried chicken if one doesn't know what might have been done to the chicken! Those arguing for vegetarian diets, or at least for decreasing the portion of one's diet that includes meat, have often argued that diets rich in meat are not particularly healthful, and that they require cruelty that may not be necessary. Of course, there are many who argue that eating meat itself is not wrong, but that to do so does not require the kind of practices so frequently seen in factory farming. One might see, in this case, virtue ethics as making a compelling case: that one should avoid any cruelty that can be avoided and that a moderate approach might include some meat but not too much, or perhaps meat of some kinds but not of others. Aristotle, often regarded as the originator of virtue ethics, recommended "clear meats," by which he seemed to mean poultry and fish, rather than red meat. It is an interesting question to consider whether this result might be seen as being in agreement with some versions of utilitarianism (not, of course, Singer's) as well as some versions of deontology. To be sure, ethical theory isn't, generally, going to determine what we eat, but it might make us pause and think about whether we have good reasons for eating what we do, and whether we should learn a little more about how we get that which we are willing (or unwilling) to eat. Euthanasia Richard's wife of 40 years, Elizabeth, has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Elizabeth, who is in her 70s, has been told by several different physicians that the disease is unquestionably terminal, that she should expect to live, at the most, 18 months, and that she will experience increasing levels of pain. There are drugs that can minimize the pain, but they are sometimes ineffective in fully relieving it. As the weeks go by, Elizabeth experiences pain that continues to grow more and more severe and is frequently in agony; her doctor has given her the strongest drugs available, and in massive doses, but they seem not to work. Increasingly, Richard has to sit there, helplessly, watching his wife suffer almost unendurable pain. Some would argue for a patient's right to choose death with dignity or physician-assisted suicide, while others worry that it paves the way for an increasing lack of respect for life or more suicides for various reasons. This is the kind of case that some ethicists have argued support euthanasia (from the Greek for "good death"), or the right to die. The argument is straightforward: A person is 99% certain to die within a certain time, but before that death naturally occurs, the patient is kept alive only to suffer. Doesn't it make more sense to allow that person to avoid that suffering, and voluntarily to choose a somewhat earlier painless death? What purpose is served, in other words, by keeping a person alive only to experience constant, agonizing pain? Another approach, physician-assisted suicide (PAS), is slightly different than euthanasia; in using PAS, the patient is provided the means for terminating his or her life, but the patient, not the doctor, ends the life in question. Some countries, such as the Netherlands and Belgium, have made PAS legal; Oregon legalized PAS in 1997; the Supreme Court upheld Oregon's "death with dignity" law as constitutional in 2006. Much of the opposition to euthanasia and PAS comes from a religious orientation. On this view, life is a gift from God and precious. To end it prematurely is to reject that gift. Only God should determine when a life should end; as St. Thomas Aquinas put it, "Whoever takes his own life sins against God." It is also, according to some religious traditions, to indicate a lack of trust in God and a rejection of God's plan for that person. Other objections to PAS, not explicitly based on religion, point to the consequences that might follow from its legalization: that there will be an increase in such suicides and a corresponding loss of respect for life, and that patients may feel pressure—subtle or not so subtle—from family members or physicians to terminate their lives prematurely. Still others are concerned that a person may choose PAS on the basis of inadequate reasons, such as a long period of depression or as a reaction to a specific tragic event. Assuming Elizabeth has PAS available to her as an option, she and her husband still confront an extremely difficult decision, and one that has to be made under the most challenging circumstances. We also see that, unfortunately, even though ethics may help make clear what is involved in making this decision, it ultimately may not be able to provide a solution that is completely satisfactory to everyone. Indeed, regardless of the view one adopts—utilitarianism, deontology, virtue ethics, or even one of the more contemporary alternatives to these—the debate will continue. One deontologist might well suggest that it is always wrong to end one's life willingly, whereas another may insist that respect for human life demands that a human life continued, only to endure suffering, should be terminated. A virtue ethicist may, on the one hand, argue that immoderate measures taken to prolong suffering violates the appropriate level of moderation demanded by the Golden Mean, whereas another might argue that the preciousness of human life requires that life not be terminated, and that here moderation itself is inappropriate. A utilitarian might argue that the greatest good for the greatest number is the result when needless pain is minimized; on the other hand, a different approach to utilitarianism might insist that the greatest good for the greatest number is only guaranteed if all members of a society reject PAS in order to make clear the ultimate value of the lives of all members of society. The question of euthanasia illustrates how ethical issues are not always individual decisions; our choices often affect other people. As the debate between two utilitarians—one arguing for and one arguing against PAS—makes clear, we can begin to see more clearly that individual ethical decisions may not always simply be individual decisions. If Elizabeth chooses PAS and terminates her life, that decision affects many others in society, and is, of course, representative of one view within her larger society. Others may condemn her decision on the basis of their own ethical or religious views, but do they have the right to insist that those views be the basis for laws that are enforced for everyone, including those who reject their ethical and religious values? We probably don't think kosher laws—such as the prohibition against eating pork—should be imposed on those who don't accept kosher dietary laws. But should, for instance, a Roman Catholic believe that her view on PAS be imposed on someone who doesn't share her beliefs, or even actively rejects them, as might an agnostic or an atheist? As is often the case when ethical dilemmas are dealt with in terms of public policy and legislation, certain compromises are sought. Many argue that one solution is to continue to find drugs and other forms of palliative care—treatment that seeks to reduce the suffering a disease may cause—that provide effective responses to the anguish a person such as Elizabeth has to deal with. The hospice movement, which treats terminal patients with dignity, emphasizes the reduction of suffering during the end of life, and promotes death with dignity, has become an increasingly attractive option for those who resist endorsing PAS. In general, then, as we've seen with a number of the "individual" ethical decisions we've discussed, ethical theory can do a great deal to clarify what is at stake and to help us make a better evaluation of the specific decisions one may have to make. Ethics can also help provide us some insight into how we might teach others, such as children, how to begin thinking about difficult (and even not so difficult) ethical choices. Two results, which can make the process just a bit more frustrating, seem to emerge. First, as we have seen repeatedly, ethics doesn't provide any sort of guarantee of a response to a difficult ethical issue that will satisfy everyone. (We will look at this in a bit more detail in the next section.) Second, we will see that trying to keep distinct ethical questions that confront individuals and ethical questions that involve large parts of society—and even society as a whole—is a distinction that may, ultimately, be impossible to defend. That will be the focus of our discussion as we turn our attention to "Social Issues in Ethics." Ethics: Theory and Practice A "decision procedure" is pretty much what it sounds like: a procedure, or a method to follow, that allows us to make a decision or to arrive at a result. Even though the idea can get pretty complex when logicians, computer scientists, and mathematicians get their hands on "decision procedures," for our purposes we will think of it as simply a way of getting an answer to a question or, more generally, seeing what comes out if we put certain things in. So, informally, if we enter "2" and "+" and "4" into a calculator, we should get the answer "6." This is, of course, the decision procedure we follow in addition. In a similar way, we can think of a toaster as a similar kind of procedure: Assuming everything is working as it is supposed to, we put the bread in, push down the lever that starts it, and in a certain amount of time (depending on its setting from light to dark) the bread pops up, toasted. We will consider calculators and toasters, then, effective decision procedures because, if they are working correctly, and we put in appropriate things (numbers or bread), we are guaranteed to get the result we expected. We probably don't think this has much to do with ethics, but, in a way, it does. Is It a Recipe? Before seeing why, let's consider a notion we've mentioned before, a recipe. Let's imagine we want to make a cheese soufflé, a light, fluffy baked cake. We get the ingredients (eggs, milk, flour, butter, and cheese) and follow the recipe exactly, including all the specific times and temperatures for mixing and baking the recipe calls for. At the end of our efforts, are we guaranteed to get a light, fluffy, baked cheese soufflé? As those of you know who have tried to make one, soufflés are tricky, and there is no guarantee, no matter how hard one tries to follow the directions of the recipe, that one will end up with a soufflé when done. Creating toast requires a pretty easy recipe, with very few variables (bread, heat); however, creating a soufflé has many variables, some of which can't be controlled (humidity or the child who runs through the kitchen at a crucial time, making enough noise to cause the soufflé to collapse). Indeed, anyone who has done even a small amount of cooking knows that a recipe provides guidance, but no guarantee, for creating a specific dish. We probably can all boil water and make toast, but preparing a perfect soufflé is more troublesome, for the more complex the dish is, the more complex the recipe is, and the more difficulty we will encounter going from the recipe to the finished product. Ethics Calculators Philosophy, in general, can be very frustrating, as you have probably already discovered. Philosophers are particularly good at coming up with ways to make people confused: Perhaps you are certain that you know something, and then the philosopher comes along and convinces you that you shouldn't be so certain, or even that you are wrong! But ethics may be worse: We may not care so much about whether what we claim to know we really do know. But ethical challenges grip us in a way that is different. Would it be wrong to take food from a grocery store in order to feed my family? Should I lie to the police in order to protect my boss, and thus save my job? I think my next–door neighbor is selling crack; should I tell someone about it? The only pharmacist in town has a drug that will save my spouse's life, but I can't afford it; would it be moral to steal it? It would be nice if we had a "moral calculator" that we could ask these kinds of questions to: Then, if it is operating correctly, it would always tell us the correct moral answer (and the moral answer everyone else will agree on!). Unfortunately, there isn't any better chance of finding a "moral calculator" than there is for getting such a calculator to answer any number of questions that are important yet difficult to answer. We will see questions of this type not just in ethics, but in the following chapters on what we can know (epistemology) and on faith and God (the philosophy of religion). To use the language we introduced earlier, we generally don't have "effective decision procedures" we can use to solve problems in philosophy. We may not have a convenient calculator to help us make ethical decisions, but theory and practice at least provide us with guidance, much like a cook following a recipe. That, of course, doesn't mean philosophy can't be very useful. Imagine two very inexperienced cooks, Tim and Lucy, each trying to make an elaborate dish. Tim has a cookbook that lists the ingredients and a complicated, but understandable, recipe for the dish; Lucy has no such information. Neither has much of a clue, but Tim has some information that can help, quite a lot, that Lucy does not have. We may not be certain that Tim will be successful in producing a dish that we can eat, but we are probably pretty sure he has a better chance of doing so than Lucy! Studying ethics is a lot more like making this kind of a dish than it is like adding two numbers or making toast. Ethics can help clarify what the particular issue is and help us get clearer idea about how we might describe the problem. It can make very useful suggestions about how one might, in general, go about evaluating a response to a difficult moral question. Perhaps our ethical theory will indicate how such a response creates a greater good for a greater number of people than any other response. Or maybe our theory shows us that the proposed response would violate an absolute rule of morality, or violate the Golden Rule. In other words, ethical theory can give us some help and important guidance for how we might make ethical choices and how we might evaluate them. To expect better results from ethical theory than we expect from a cookbook is probably to expect too much. But just as Tim has an advantage over Lucy by at least having some very valuable information, studying ethics provides similar valuable information for us—just no guarantees!—when we confront the many ethical challenges life presents. 2.4 Social Issues in Ethics We've now looked not just at ethical theories, but also at some of the kinds of ethical challenges ethics can help us understand—and maybe respond to a little better. So far we have focused on the kinds of ethical problems we seem to confront as individuals; here we will move to more general ethical issues that society often has to deal with as a whole. Because these questions affect everyone, we will need to see how everyone's voices can be heard in proposing solutions to them, or why, perhaps, such solutions should be left to experts to make. We will conclude by wondering whether we can really make sense of the distinction between individual ethical decisions and social ethical decisions. Animal Rights We touched earlier on the question of animal rights when discussing the ethical issues related to consuming animals for nutrients, including vegetarianism. But, we also use ethics to navigate other issues regarding the relationship between humans and animals. There are a number of issues involved, occasionally raising questions we may not have previously considered. As is so often the case, ethics can add rigor and depth to the discussion, but won't offer any easy or simple answers. Before considering some of these issues, we might want to consider human beings and other animals; too frequently the discussion proceeds in terms of this contrast, without the explicit recognition that human beings are animals. We may be different kinds of animals, or we possess things that other animals do not; but we also share a number of things with the rest of the members of the animal kingdom. Here, however, we will usually speak in terms of animals as all those who are not the human kind of animal. What We Have in Common What differentiates humans from non-human animals? For centuries, however, this distinction was taken for granted, and a sharp line could be drawn between human beings and other animals. Descartes, for instance, regarded other animals as simply physical bodies; only human beings had minds, or souls; thus, all other animals were similar to organic machines. This, of course, is in line with a long history of thinking in the Western and Christian tradition. Another aspect of that tradition, sometimes called the Great Chain of Being, ranks all things from highest to lowest: God, followed by the angels, then human beings, then other animals, then plants. There are a number of distinctions within these categories as well; some rank kings higher than other humans, men higher than women, some classes of angels higher than others, and at its most detailed, some even rank some plants higher than others, so the oak tree is seen as somehow superior to the yew tree! In contemporary times, however, continued research has indicated that animals other than human beings may do many of the things once regarded as uniquely human: making tools, developing plans, grieving the death of a partner or mate, remembering, and using language. Various researchers have argued that all of these things may be found among other animals. In an effort to pinpoint what makes humans unique, others have proposed the propensity for religion, the ability to pretend, a sense of time, and even essential differences in the brain. If we regard the brain and the mind, as some do, the final suggestion here may return us to the position of Descartes. More important, however, there continues to be a debate about where we draw the line between human beings and other animals. Research and interaction with some species, such as cetaceans (whales, dolphins) and primates (chimpanzees, bonobos), make drawing this line more difficult to defend without simply assuming how to draw it. Finally, biologists have demonstrated that human DNA and chimpanzee DNA overlap between 95 and 98 percent. Primatologists have suggested that the DNA of bonobos, another primate, overlaps with human DNA to an even greater extent (Navin et al., 2006). Ultimately, the point may be that drawing the line between human beings and other animals is arbitrary and depends on controversial criteria: Do we, for instance, regard bonobos and dolphins as sufficiently close to us to deserve "respect" that we would think odd if given to crabs or mice? If the line all the way from human beings to, say, bacteria is continuous, and without any gaps, then anywhere we draw the line will be controversial and, to a certain extent, guesswork. One solution, as we have seen, is simply to distinguish human beings from other animals, but that seems more an assumption rather than a position one can clearly defend on the basis of an argument. Where Do We Draw the Line? Some people strongly object to Spain's bullfighting tradition, but others would argue that it is an important cultural pastime. Where do you stand on animal rights? But drawing this line is essential to the question of animal rights. Various things are done with, and to, animals that society seems, generally, to accept: making clothes and shoes, testing pharmaceuticals and perfumes, and even having animals fight to the death for purposes of sport. Some cultures adopt these practices, whereas others find one or more of these practices questionable at best; thus, many Americans objected strongly to the revelations about professional football player Michael Vick's involvement in dog fighting. Yet other countries regularly stage bullfights, which often conclude with a ritualized death of the bull. In the United States, some groups strongly criticize the raising, killing, and skinning of animals for those who wish to wear fur, whereas others regard such criticism as being too sensitive to animals. People need drugs that can be used safely; should chimpanzees be treated solely as objects to test drugs in order to establish that they are safe? A fairly standard test for cosmetics and many other products, called the Draize test, applies a substance to an animal that is restrained and conscious, to record its effects (burning, toxicity, etc.); is the Draize test necessary? These are some of the issues raised in debates over animal rights. Many people would say they oppose cruelty to animals, but draw the line at different places. Some might even protest taking honey from bees. There are a wide range of ways ethicists, and for that matter most people, have responded to these issues, most of which fundamentally depend on what we think about our relationship to other animals. The easiest, perhaps, is to simply follow Descartes: If we recognize humans as unique, and all other animals as inferior in one or many ways, then there really is no obvious problem in treating other animals as we wish. But this easy answer seems to confront the uncomfortable challenge from those who would never treat their pets—dogs, cats, ferrets, and the like—in ways that would be generally regarded as cruel. On the other hand, those who propose that we draw the line at sentient beings (similar, as we have seen, to Peter Singer) and who believe that any animal that may feel pain cannot be treated solely as an object—this would be a deontological version of Singer's utilitarian critique—suggest that no animal products can be used. This would eliminate not only bullfighting and animal testing but would seem to prohibit eating honey or using leather products. Somewhere in between may be a response that many find most satisfactory, recognizing that although compromises have to be made, torturing animals for perfume or a fur coat may be unnecessary. This compromise position also incorporates the idea that cruelty to other animals not only inflicts needless pain and suffering but also says a good bit about those who are willing to inflict that pain and suffering. Plato's Critique of Democracy Some ethical issues seem to be based just on an individual's behavior and how that behavior should be evaluated (such as whether one person should keep a promise). Others may be based on a larger part of one's community (such as a difference of values between two religious groups). But still others can affect an entire community, culture, country, or state. Plato seems to offer a stinging challenge to one of the assumptions many make, about the value and importance of a particular commitment to that set of values associated with democracy. Democracy, or government by its citizens (whether direct or representative), is considered by many to be the cornerstone of U.S. history and is sometimes taken for granted today. We might be surprised to learn that the idea of democracy has its challenges. Democratic theory can become rather complex; nevertheless, here we can simply think of "democracy" as referring to the idea that political decisions are made by the people in the state, whether directly (direct democracy) or by those elected to represent them (representative democracy). On this view, then, all citizens within a democracy are regarded as equal before the law, and their freedoms and rights are recognized by the state and protected by such things as a constitution and well–established legal procedures. There are technical distinctions, and heated arguments, about whether the United States is a democracy or a republic; for the present discussion, we will assume that whatever its precise political structure, the United States generally follows (or tries to follow) democratic procedures. People often take democracy and its commitment to rights and freedoms for granted, and thus are often surprised when the very idea of democracy is challenged. Yet those challenges have been frequent and made surprisingly often. One of the best known is Plato's. The full argument, which can be found in his famous book The Republic, is very long and very complex, so we will only look at what may be the central concern Plato expresses about democracy. We can start at what may be a surprising place: the food court at the local shopping mall. One day Kirsten is shopping at the mall, and feels a sharp, severe pain. Fearing she may need immediate medical attention, she heads to the food court, picks the first person she sees, and asks that person for a diagnosis and expert medical advice. I hope we regard Kirsten's behavior here as a bit peculiar, to say the least! Or consider Rob, who needs his car fixed. Instead of finding a qualified mechanic, Rob picks a name at random out of the phone book and asks that person to fix his car. His approach is a bit strange, perhaps; but what about Amy? She wants to learn to play the piano and simply asks the first person she sees on the bus to teach her. You likely wouldn't want just anyone working on your car; you'd want an expert. Plato suggests we should have the same expectation for government. We probably think—and should think—that Kirsten, Rob, and Amy are behaving foolishly. One doesn't get medical care, one's automobile fixed, or piano lessons from just anybody; rather, we find an expert (or at least someone who claims to be an expert). We find a physician, a mechanic, a piano teacher: someone with training, experience, and credentials. That seems to make sense: If we want someone to do something right, we look for someone who has the relevant skills in the relevant area. But when we turn to the decisions a state or political community makes, we see that here decisions are made that are considerably more significant than having one's car fixed, learning to play the piano, or even having a pain looked at. States decide, for instance, if members of that state may be required to risk, and quite possibly, lose their lives in a war. States determine, through tax policy, how much wealth one gets to keep from one's work. States can say who can marry whom, how long people must go to school, what the interest rate is on credit cards and on money borrowed to pay tuition or to buy a house, who can enter the state and who can leave it (through such things as issuing passports and controlling borders), and what basis a person can be put in prison. We may want to argue that health care is a pretty important issue for each of us. But even for a relatively minor ailment, such as a toothache, we would seek an expert—a dentist—rather than assuming that any person chosen at random would do just as well. It is probably pretty clear, however, that the kinds of decisions states make are considerably more important, significant, and far–ranging and that they affect the lives of many more people—perhaps all the people in that state—compared to getting one's car fixed, learning to play the piano, or even treating a toothache. This is the source of Plato's complaint. We seek experts for relatively insignificant things, while everyone gets a say in making decisions that are profoundly more important. Plato simply asks this (although he doesn't say it quite like this): You require an expert to install new windows, but you let everyone and anyone have a say on whether your children may be sent to war? This seems, to Plato, to be an odd contrast. If we want an expert for relatively unimportant things, shouldn't we want experts for the most important things? Democracy, on Plato's view, is a view that actively ignores experts and leaves such important matters to those who not only are not experts but may not understand the issues, or worse, may not really even care about them. Is this a good method for a state to follow? One of Plato's other concerns about democracy is "tyranny of the majority," in which the opinion of many ends up marginalizing or oppressing a minority. Plato registers two other substantial complaints against democracy, both of which have been developed by later thinkers. First, as we saw a bit earlier, democracies are often run by majority rule. This can often lead to the result that minorities—whether based on race, class, gender, religion, ethnicity, or other things—are easily overwhelmed, and their rights not protected. In a mostly white Christian community, for instance, it may be easy to ignore, or even oppress, an African American or a Jew (and, presumably, the problem would be worse if one is both). This result is often referred to as the "tyranny of the majority" and has been discussed extensively, both by those criticizing democracy (such as Nietzsche) and those defending democracy (such as John Stuart Mill). Plato tends to be somewhat of an elitist in his thinking, but others have been concerned that democracy seems to work best if its members are informed on the issues, and thus can make sound decisions. Yet those in power within a democracy often see it to their advantage to keep the citizens uninformed, and thus there is an incentive to distract the citizens. Whether it is fashion, music, the latest electronic gadget, or the most popular TV show, some have argued that these kinds of things may keep citizens entertained, but they also make it much easier to prevent them from engaging in, and learning about, the decisions that affect them. One way of making the point is to ask yourself, your friends, and your family which has a bigger effect on their lives: the interest rate on a credit card or home loan, or who their favorite is on American Idol. It seems safe to assume that most of us may be much more familiar with American Idol but recognizing that interest rates and other such things—admittedly less entertaining—may play a much more important role in the quality of our lives. This is a difficult challenge to democratic theory, but most responses revolve around the idea that a successful democracy, one that thrives and does the best job of promoting liberty and protecting rights, must do its best to inform its citizens and help citizens keep themselves informed. This often means insisting, in a well–run democracy, on the importance of a good education for its members, and a commitment to learning and remaining informed throughout one's life. The more one knows, in other words, the better decisions one makes. But this requires a good bit of discipline on the part of citizens and requires that those same citizens be suspicious, at least to some extent, of both those things that may be used to distract them and the politicians whose power depends on those distractions. Rawls's Conception of Fairness Earlier, in our discussion of tolerance and diversity, we mentioned the views of the influential political philosopher John Rawls and a famous thought experiment he described. Here we will return to that thought experiment and look at it a bit more fully in order to see why Rawls thinks our fundamental notion of "justice" should be understood in terms of fairness. Rawls's approach is also very useful in looking at all sorts of ethical and political issues, to see if we really think our policies and the way we treat others is fair. In this way, we can use Rawls's extremely influential argument to examine critically our own ethical intuitions. Social Contract John Rawls's Social Contract is illustrative rather than historical, describing a hypothetical situation in which individuals come together and agree on a set of principles and rules they will all live by. Rawls's work is part of what is known as the "Social Contract" tradition: a situation where people come together to agree on the principles (and laws) under which they will all live. No one in this tradition, by the way, really thinks this actually happened; it is just a way to set up a situation in order to examine what kind of principles and laws people would agree on in order to live in some kind of society and in some kind of peace. Rawls's "twist" on the Social Contract is that those signing it, and deciding on the laws they wish to have in the future society they design, don't know what kind of person they will be. This is called by Rawls the "original position," which occurs behind a veil of ignorance: We are ignorant about what kind of specific person we might be in this future society. They could be of any race, ethnic group, religion; they could be male or female; they could be heterosexual or homosexual. They could be wealthy or very poor; they could be physically or mentally challenged, in terms of, for instance, being visually impaired or with a relatively low IQ. This is crucial for Rawls's argument: On his view, we will regard things as fair if we see that anyone, regardless of what kind of person he or she is, would be treated fairly (Rawls, 1971). John Rawls's veil of ignorance means you have to design a society and its rules without knowing who you'll be or what role you'll play in that society. In this, the Golden Rule comes into play: You would theoretically design a society that treats everyone as fairly as possible to ensure you would be treated well no matter what. There are a number of other technical points in setting up this thought experiment, some of which should at least be mentioned. Those designing the future society know general things about human nature, and know that people want to be as well–off as they can be; that is, people want to "maximize their utility." The principles chosen may be pretty abstract, but everyone must consent to them; in other words, the agreement must be unanimous. Furthermore, those designing the society's principles agree to live by those principles in perpetuity—in other words, if you agree to a set of rules but find out that your situation in that society means you will be treated quite badly (or unfairly), you can't assume they will be changed. With these conditions in place, and behind the veil of ignorance, everyone discusses what principles will be fair (and thus accepted) and what principles will be unfair (and thus rejected). This process, which we saw earlier tries to reach a reflective equilibrium among all those taking part, should—if Rawls is right—help us identify those rules, principles, and laws that are fair. If they are fair, then they are fundamental to what we think a just society should use to structure its system of justice. This may still seem pretty abstract, and the principles Rawls himself describes are very general and very abstract. A few examples of Rawls's principles are given here: Each person is to have an equal right to the most extensive total system of equal basic liberties compatible with a similar system of liberty for all. Social and economic inequalities are to be arranged so that they are to be of greatest benefit to the least–advantaged members of society. John Rawls's Theory of Justice Several philsophers consider the results of John Rawls's influential discussion of justice and fairness. Question: Imagine you are asked to design a society in which you will live, but you don't know what kind of person you will be in that society; you could be male, female, brilliant, not so brilliant, black, white, gay or straight, among other things. What kind of laws might you not regard as fair in your current society, and would thus eliminate in the society you design for the future? But we can make this quite a bit more concrete by looking at a very specific kind of law—much more specific than Rawls would be happy with!—and see how this process might work. Peter proposes that people should be paid the same wages for doing the same work; Henry thinks, rather, that men should be paid more because a woman might become pregnant and leave her job; thus, any training costs and other investment in the worker are lost. After much discussion and argument, Peter and Henry conclude that equal work for equal pay would be more just, for it would be unfair to "punish" women simply because they might become pregnant. Henry, by the way, finds it most convincing once he realizes that, behind the veil of ignorance, he doesn't know whether, in the society he is helping to design, he might be a woman and thus might become pregnant. When looked at that way, Henry decides it would be much more fair, and much more just, to adopt the principle "equal pay for equal work." Rawls has been sharply criticized, and an enormous discussion of his work has taken place—and continues—in philosophy, political science, economics, and other fields. He is frequently referred to as the most influential political philosopher of the 20th century. It is just one sign of this influence that he has been attacked by so many different writers, and for so many different reasons: It is not difficult to find him harshly criticized for being too conservative, and it is easy to find him criticized, just as harshly, for being too liberal! But for our purposes, we can simply use his basic approach to help us clarify our conceptions of fairness and justice. As may be pretty obvious, we can see how deeply influenced Rawls was by the views of Immanuel Kant, but also by the general ethical position we've discussed, deontology. In some ways, Rawls gives us a different perspective with which to apply the Golden Rule, which may well be the driving idea behind his theory of justice as fairness. Ultimately, don't we want society to treat people fairly because we want to be treated fairly? To ensure that people are treated fairly, and are not oppressed, discriminated against, or imprisoned on the basis of the specific kind of person we are, then we should insist that society's rules treat people fairly, regardless of such things as race, class, and gender. One good way to think about Rawls's argument is to consider rules that our own society has adopted and to decide whether you think you would regard those rules as fair if you were quite different: if you were, for instance, in a different ethnic group, of a different religion (or had no religion), or of a different gender. If you determine that they are not fair, does that mean such rules may need to be reconsidered, and possibly revised? Libertarianism and Its Critics John Rawls's focus was on what rules and principles a relatively large group of people would be willing to give their unanimous consent to in designing a society within which they would live. In a basic sense, then, he focuses on the community, what rules a given community should adopt, and how those rules will maximize the happiness or utility for everyone in the community. In contrast, a popular and influential view, contrasting sharply with both Rawls's approach and his results, emphasizes the individual, specifically individual rights and freedoms. The view has a number of different versions and interpretations (including "right" and "left" versions); however, we will refer to it in general as libertarianism. The Minimal State Robert Nozick's philosophical libertarianism advocates a minimal state that is like a night watchman: The state protects citizens, enforces contracts, and maintains borders, but otherwise it does not interfere in its citizens' lives. A number of writers have been associated with libertarianism: John Locke and Friedrich von Hayek are often identified as providing important arguments for it; Ayn Rand is a very well–known author regarded as advocating the view. Robert Nozick's 1974 book Anarchy, State and Utopia is a rigorous and influential defense of philosophical libertarianism, and we will use his account, for the most part. Many complex arguments persist, even about the term itself, that we won't go into here. We will adopt this general idea that seems to be at the basis of libertarianism: Libertarianism seeks to maximize individual freedoms and minimize governmental interference in the lives of citizens. Nozick defends this idea in terms of a minimal state that is often compared to a "night watchman": a state that protects citizens against violence and theft, enforces contracts, and maintains borders. That's about it. Thus, Nozick regards as theft any tax imposed upon a citizen to pay for something beyond these state functions. So, for instance, if I'm forced to pay taxes for public schools—that is, I don't volunteer my share—then this, according to Nozick, is a version of slavery. His argument is simple: I work for wages, and if those wages are taken from me, under threat of prison (or a fine, which would take even more money from me), then I'm working for someone on an involuntary basis. Being forced to work for no pay (and if my pay is taken away from me, that amounts to the same thing) is no different than slavery. Thus, for Nozick, any payment that is taken from me involuntary, beyond the needs of the minimal state, imposes conditions of slavery on citizens. Since we regard slavery as wrong, anything beyond the minimal state is unjust. The basic idea of rights being appealed to here is similar to that of John Locke's notion of "self–ownership": Individual human beings "own" themselves. This includes their bodies, skills, talents, and their ability to work, as well as what those talents and that work produces. To take away the product of those talents and that work is a form of theft, on the part of the government, and violates the rights of the individual to self–ownership. Just as we saw with John Rawls, Nozick's work has generated a great deal of controversy, and he also has been accused of being too "conservative" (in rejecting, for instance, most taxes and promoting a community of greedy competitive individuals) and as being too "liberal" (for defending a state that would resemble anarchy, not a state that would be recognized as a state). Again, as with Rawls, Nozick's argument is very sophisticated and rigorous, and has been very influential. As we did with Rawls, we will use a simple example to try to bring out what seems to be at stake in Nozick's defense of libertarianism. Doug and Darren are born on the same day, in the same town, but under very different circumstances. Doug is born to an extremely wealthy family. He has the best medical care and nutrition available; he goes to the best schools, travels widely, goes to expensive summer camps, and takes music lessons. Darren, on the other hand, is born to a single mother who has problems with drugs and alcohol; he rarely goes to the doctor, and his diet is pretty unhealthful. He goes to a grossly underfunded public school, lives in a part of town with a great deal of gang activity, and has never been outside of his hometown. Doug and Darren are both good students and take advantage of all the opportunities their schools offer. Doug's school offers advanced courses in math and science and a semester abroad in France and has the newest computers, textbooks, and sports facilities. Darren's school offers very few advanced courses and very few extracurricular activities; the textbooks are out of date as are the few computers, and the sports facilities are inadequate. Both make straight A's throughout high school, have as many extracurricular activities as possible, and have equivalently good scores on their standardized entrance exams. Both apply to a very selective and prestigious school, a school Doug's parents both attended and to which they have donated large sums of money. Doug is accepted, and Darren is rejected. Darren goes to a good, not a great, school and finds a good, but not great, job. Doug attends the prestigious school, meets many students with important business connections, and through those contacts finds a job that pays approximately 25 times what Darren's job pays. Both Doug and Darren have worked equally hard, and both have taken advantage of their opportunities. But because Doug's situation had a number of built–in advantages, he was able to come out pretty far ahead and seems in a position to then provide his own children with advantages that Darren may not be able to. Darren's children may be better–off than Darren was, but Doug's children will still be far ahead in terms of the advantages and opportunities they receive. Inheritance This raises a question that is somewhat of a challenge for the libertarian to resolve and can be put in more general terms of how one should treat inheritance. On the one hand, people who work very hard and amass a great deal of wealth should be able, according to the libertarian, to do with that wealth whatever they want, without any government interference (such as an inheritance tax). This is said to provide an incentive to work hard, in that you will be able, on a libertarian view, to keep as much as possible of what you earn. The more you earn, the more you get to keep, and this is a good reason to work hard and to produce something of use to society. On this view, then, the inheritance tax would be 0%—nothing. One objection to libertarianism is that it doesn't take into account the built–in advantages that allow some to more readily develop their talent than others. Some would say this encourages unfairness and inequality. On the other hand, someone who inherits a great deal of wealth doesn't seem to have "deserved" that wealth. (Some cynics refer to this as winning the "birth lottery.") If we can assume that great wealth, everything else being equal, provides significant advantages, and if those advantages accrue over generations, then won't inequality and unfairness arise under the libertarian inheritance tax policy? Isn't this not just providing a substantial reward to someone who hasn't done anything to deserve it, doesn't it pass those advantages down, across generations, to those who also didn't do anything to deserve it? Libertarians argue that one of the great strengths of its position is to reward those who work hard and produce things of great value to the society in which they live; yet someone who inherits a great deal of wealth may not have worked at all, let alone worked very hard! This is not to say that someone can't overcome whatever disadvantages he or she confronts in life; nor is it to say that someone can't squander all the many advantages he or she has been given. Rather, it is more a question of fairness. To give a standard, if a bit oversimplified, example, imagine Margaret and Grace frequently race against each other in the 100–meter dash. Margaret always has to start at the traditional starting line, Grace always gets a 20–meter head start. Both are good runners, and Margaret may, on occasion, beat Grace to the finish line. But anytime she does so, she has to expend a great deal more effort than Grace, for Grace has a built–in advantage. The question isn't whether Margaret can win, or whether Grace can lose; the question is whether you would, in general, regard this as a fair race. One objection to libertarianism is that some "coerced" contributions go to good things, such as public services and libraries. Libertarianism is a political view that is very attractive to many people, for its insistence on the importance of the individual, its respect for human liberty, and its advocacy of a minimal state that interferes as little as possible in the lives of its citizens. But, as we have seen, its critics have objected to the kind of society it describes, where built–in advantages—inheritance being one example—can prevent others from having equal opportunities to develop their talents. For instance, what if I'm born bigger and stronger than everyone else: Do I get to use these gifts however I want, say, to put myself in front of the line at the movies? To prevent me from doing so, without my consent, seems to be a restraint on my liberty, but not to prevent me from doing so seems to give me an unfair advantage (and, again, one I didn't really do anything to deserve). Finally, what kind of values would such a society reflect, in terms of cooperation? Are there times when "forced" cooperation—support for public parks, or libraries, or art, or even roads, bridges, and highways (what economists call "public goods")—might well make the community better–off, even though people might generally be unwilling to voluntarily make the required contributions? One should consider, then, when evaluating libertarianism, what such a libertarian society would look like and determine what advantages and disadvantages there would be without the occasional "coerced" community–wide behavior. The Environment In environmental ethics, the decisions we and those in other countries make clearly affect very large numbers of people. As you have probably started to see, many issues in ethics are also issues in politics: In other words, many choices we make as individuals have significant effects on our larger community. At the same time, our community imposes restrictions and laws that may limit our choices, often for good reason, as insisting that everyone driving in the same direction do so on the same side of the road, or that everyone must stop at red lights. As we have also begun to see, determining whether or not a specific issue is really an issue of individual ethics, or really an issue of social or political ethics, is not always that easy to do. But one set of issues, now studied under the term "environmental ethics," is pretty clearly something that affects very large numbers of people. In debates over such things as climate change, it is clear that this issue could very well affect everyone on the planet. The relationship between human beings and the environment has been discussed by many philosophers, of course, and is a part of many religious traditions. Thus, Aristotle indicates that all things are made by nature for human beings; that is, the value things have is the value they can produce for human beings. Genesis 1:26 states, "And God said, 'Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.' " Some have interpreted this notion of "dominion" as indicating that human beings are not just masters of the earth, but that they can do with it what they please. Some feel that the environment possesses purely instrumental value, meaning that its value comes from what people can obtain from it: food, fuel, minerals, medicine, pleasure, and so on. This view of the environment, and nature, sees the value of nature as providing other goods or values; nature serves as an instrument to achieve those other goals, and is therefore said to possess "instrumental value." Thus, just as a spoon may only have instrumental value in allowing me to achieve my goal of eating, the group of plants that produces digitalis may be seen as having instrumental value for the medicinal uses digitalis can provide for heart patients and others. Of course, if people get pleasure and enjoyment from something beautiful, that is also valuable, and so one would be able to say that, for instance, a particularly vibrant sunset has instrumental value in providing the pleasure human beings get from experiencing such a sunset. More recently, however, many environmental ethicists have argued that things other than human beings have intrinsic value; that is, they have value in themselves, not for some other purpose. This view rejects the assumption that only human beings possess this intrinsic value and argues that other things have a right to exist: not because of some human purpose they serve but simply because they are part of nature and the universe. This, of course, is a controversial view for many, and some deny that there even is such a thing as intrinsic value at all. But the view is, in fact, quite old. Many religious traditions regard the earth as a sacred gift that must be cared for and protected. This seems to be the idea expressed in Ezekiel 34:18: "Seemeth it a small thing unto you to have eaten up the good pasture, but ye must tread down with your feet the residue of your pastures? and to have drunk of the deep waters, but ye must foul the residue with your feet?" Many Native American traditions have also regarded the relationship between people and their environment as sacred; an ancient Native American proverb states: Some feel that the environment has intrinsic value, meaning that nature has value in and of itself, outside of what it gives to humans. This is a sphinx moth larva. Treat the earth well. It was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned to you by your children. We do not inherit the Earth from our Ancestors, we borrow it from our Children. Thus, we have two quite distinct ways of looking at the relationship between human beings and their environment. One regards the environment as possessing solely instrumental value (although this does not necessarily endorse the idea of using it however one pleases); the other regards the environment as possessing intrinsic value, thus preventing it from being treated simply instrumentally but requiring respect for the intrinsic value it possesses. Of course, there are many different interpretations of each of these positions, as well as positions that seek some degree of compromise between them, or a combination of the two views. Environmental ethics has become a very busy field of study for philosophers and others, and it is not unusual to see entire courses devoted to it. Here we have just tried to sketch two different perspectives on the general way human beings perceive their environment, and we can perhaps contrast the two perspectives a bit more clearly with a specific example. Ethics of Extinction Consider the dwarf wedge mussel, an aquatic mollusk found exclusively on the Atlantic coast of North America. This mussel has apparently become extinct in Canada, and is severely endangered in the United States. It has very little obvious use to human beings; it doesn't seem to provide any particularly essential medicinal value, isn't eaten, and doesn't offer much in terms of aesthetic value or beauty to human observers since it spends most of its time buried completely in the bottom of streams and rivers. The Connecticut River in New Hampshire and Vermont is one of the remaining habitats for the dwarf wedge mussel, which is severely endangered because of chemical runoff from golf courses. How we feel about this and other environmental issues will depend on whether we think this mussel has instrumental or intrinsic value. This mussel seems to be on its way to extinction. Whether we care, or how much we care, may well depend on whether we think it possesses instrumental or intrinsic value. Those who see little use for it may not particularly care if it goes extinct, beyond some possible repercussions in the rest of the food chain. Thus, it may be determined that the mussel plays a crucial role in an ecosystem that produces some other thing (say, some species of fish) that humans desire; in that case, it would have instrumental value in making that fish available. Or perhaps it prevents another invasive species from taking over an ecosystem in such a way that the fish would be eliminated. These would then be reasons to make some effort to prevent the mussel's extinction, from the instrumentalist perspective. Some instrumentalists tend to err on the side of caution in these cases, recognizing that human beings may not always be wholly aware of what value a given organism might have, something that could well be discovered in the future. The perspective of those who see the mussel as having intrinsic value do not need to specify some value or product it offers human beings: Its existence, as part of a environmental sub–system, gives it intrinsic value. We should then do what is reasonable to protect the mussel and prevent its extinction, as indicative of our respect for the earth in general, and this little part of it specifically. To some, of course, it seems silly to protect such an odd little critter as the dwarf wedge mussel; on the other hand, it might be pointed out that one of the major threats to the dwarf wedge mussel is chemical runoff from golf courses. Those arguing to protect the mussel may well ask whether, from a religious or more general ethical perspective, we are genuine stewards of an environment if we allow species to go extinct in order to preserve the right to hit a small white ball relatively large distances with the goal of placing it in a hole that is 4.25 inches in diameter. These debates will continue, of course, and there are many other issues to consider, including population growth, the economic and technological development of countries—such as India and China—with enormous populations, and the difficulty in determining the costs and benefits of specific economic and developmental policies. Human beings have become considerably more aware that resources are not infinite, and the idea has become more prominent among many environmental ethicists that we should realize we are dependent on the earth, rather than simply seeing it as a source of riches to exploit and plunder. Some have used the idea of the earth as a "spaceship" on which human beings are traveling, although one with 7 billion passengers! From that perspective, of course, the earth looks more like a home to be cared for and treasured than a department store or grocery store from which we take things without regard to the consequences of what we take or how we take them. The Personal and the Political We began by looking at certain kinds of behavior—keeping promises, end–of–life issues, even determining what to eat—that seem to be based on individual choices, affecting solely the person making those choices and, perhaps, a few others. (Obviously enough, if one breaks a promise, it affects the person to whom the promise was made.) We then proceeded to consider more general ethical issues, including Plato's, Rawls's, and Nozick's views of what makes a society just or fair. These issues clearly affect a great number of people, if not entire communities. If a state, for instance, adopts a policy that discriminates against a certain group, that will, of course, have an impact on the group discriminated against. But it will also have an impact on those who may benefit, directly or indirectly, from that discrimination. Here we will conclude our discussion of ethics with a look at the distinction between the individual and society. As you may have already suspected, drawing the line between those choices that affect only individuals and those choices that affect society is not always particularly easy. Wearing a seatbelt is arguably your decision alone because whatever happens to you as a result is your problem. This is an example of a victimless crime. We can begin to see this by looking at the notion of "victimless crimes." A number of different kinds of behavior have been described as the kinds of things that may potentially harm the person choosing to do them; the question is whether the state, or society, has the right to prevent the person from doing them anyway. A bit more precisely, victimless crimes (sometimes called consensual crimes) are those activities that do not physically harm a person or property or that were entered into voluntarily (consensually) by those participating in the activities but that are against the laws of the community. Standard examples of victimless crimes are using marijuana, failing to wear seatbelts and motorcycle helmets, committing suicide and physician–assisted suicide, as well as engaging in prostitution, sodomy, or bungee jumping. Those who stress the minimal state and emphasize a libertarian approach to what the state can and cannot prohibit have also suggested that such things as all drug laws, pornography laws, curfews for teenagers, and even driver's licenses go beyond the legitimate scope of what government can legislate. Victimless crimes can not only help bring into focus our understanding of what the legitimate role of government is, and when government goes beyond that role, but also demonstrate that society's rules can change over time. For instance, the laws against sodomy—often cited as a victimless crime—were for many years on the books in many states in the United States. Even though sodomy is a general term used to describe non–reproductive sex acts—acts that cannot lead to reproduction—the sodomy laws were generally enforced only against homosexuals. Such laws were ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court in 2003, but they can still be found in the legal codes of many countries around the world. Earlier, "sumptuary laws"—laws designed to prevent extravagant consumption—could be found, such as the Massachusetts Bay Colony's requirement that only people of substantial wealth could wear lace, hatbands, belts, or capes! Laws often prohibit activities that are so common and so widely accepted in society that they are ineffective in stopping the behavior or can even make things worse. Many have argued that the ban on alcohol, during the period in the United States known as "Prohibition" (1919–1933), was both widely ignored and allowed criminals to take advantage of the laws to develop powerful criminal organizations. If this objection is correct, then banning a victimless crime generated more "victims" than the activity being banned would have caused! Thus, at a certain point, states will determine that the laws either cannot be or will not be enforced and will eliminate the laws in question. Money and marijuana seized in a raid. Some would argue that a little pot for recreation or to alleviate pain is harmless, but others would say it's tough to ignore the social context: the prevalent illegal drug trade. From a different perspective, however, it has been argued that many such victimless crimes cannot be removed from a social context. Thus, my next–door neighbor Al, who enjoys his occasional marijuana, seems to be harming no one but himself (if he is even doing that), although he is violating the law. Those defending this law might point to the fact that Al, by purchasing marijuana, is in his small way supporting a network that makes the illegal drug trade possible. Al, and everyone else, who violates the laws against possession of marijuana, thus provides financial support for drug cartels and criminals, who have exerted significant influence by corrupting governments and by assassinating police officers, politicians, and judges. Looked at from this perspective we may want to ask if what Al is doing is, in fact, a victimless crime, or if, rather, the larger context through which he buys marijuana creates a number of victims who, clearly enough, suffer a great deal harm and clearly do so without their consent! Prostitution is another activity, one found in almost every society, that is illegal in some countries (such as the United States, except in a small part of Nevada) and legal in many other countries. Two distinct issues arise here: whether engaging, as a prostitute or a customer, should be illegal and whether the victims—if there are victims—are the result of the activity or of the activity being illegal. The libertarian perspective argues that prostitution simply involves a voluntary, consensual agreement between two adults and that the government has no legitimate role to interfere in this exchange. Those who argue in favor of prostitution being illegal point to a wide variety of dangers involved for the prostitute—from customers and those who usually control the prostitute (sometimes called a manager or, less delicately, a pimp)—including rape and battering. They also point to an economic context for many who enter prostitution that makes it an economic necessity, and thus shouldn't be regarded as in any significant way as "voluntary." Furthermore, there is a good deal of human trafficking, generally of impoverished and desperate young women, sold against their will into prostitution. Again, how we describe the situation may determine our moral evaluation of it. As we have seen, some activities that were once illegal have become legal, or at least "de–criminalized," presumably due to the changing standards within one's society. Perhaps this means, as the saying goes, that "you can't legislate morality"; that is, that the state simply is ineffective in legislating ethical choices. Of course, we legislate morality all the time. Assuming murder is wrong, a society legislates against it. People still murder each other, unfortunately, but no one seems to respond to that fact by recommending we get rid of laws that make murder illegal. Again, ethics provides some guidance here, but it offers no clear–cut set of rules to allow us to discover an answer on which everyone will agree. One of the things ethics can help clarify is how we determine the relationship between the individual citizen and the state in which that citizen lives. Is it a minimal, libertarian state? Or is it a state that exerts its power to ensure that all its members are treated fairly and given equal access to opportunity? How we answer that question will play an important role in how we look at the laws, rules, and even informal policies a society will adopt. That answer will, in turn, help us evaluate the various activities people, and communities, engage in when deciding whether they should be regarded as moral or not. Ch 2 What We Have Learned * Utilitarianism, deontology, and virtue ethics have all been developed into sophisticated theories to help clarify how we can solve moral problems. * Some philosophers have proposed theories, such as egoism and relativism, to challenge in a very general way the approach to ethics adopted by those traditional theories. * All of us confront ethical issues in our lives, from deciding whether we have to wear seatbelts to determining our relationship to the environment. Ethics can help us evaluate our responses to a wide range of ethical challenges. Some Final Questions 1. Identify one of the Aristotelian virtues you think is important for a moral person to have. Describe what it would be like to have too much of this virtue, and what it would be like to have too little of this virtue. 2. Relativism is a very popular view. Describe a situation where you think relativism might not provide the best response, and say why. If you can't do that, explain why that means that, ultimately, nothing can be called wrong, no matter how evil it may appear. 3. Explain what kind of responsibilities the current generation has, if any, to future generations, in terms of treating the environment well. If you think the current generation has no such obligations, discuss whether the generation before you should have had such an obligation and what the implications are if they did not. Web Links Relativism An excellent, rigorous, and detailed discussion about relativism that is well worth the effort: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/relativism/ Psychological and Ethical Egoism A good development of issues surrounding various versions of egoism can be found here: http://instruct.westvalley.edu/lafave/Egoism.html Plato on Democracy A brief but accurate summary of Plato's criticism of democracy: http://paradiso108.newsvine.com/_news/2008/02/16/1305759-platos-criticisms-of-democracy Applied Ethics A good, thorough overview of the many topics to which one can apply ethical theory: http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Applied_ethic