[DISCLAIMER: I wrote many of the essays and articles posted here while a working on a graduate degree in philosophy at Marquette University (MA, 1995). In general, they accurately reflect both the development of my thought and my continued interests. However they do not necessarily express my current opinions.]
Do ethical judgements have “objective validity” or are they used merely to express feelings and influence the behavior of others?
Taking Emotivism Seriously
By Wayne Ferguson (March 14, 1994) {}=end notes
My demand upon the philosopher is known, that he take his stand beyond good and evil and leave the illusion of moral judgment beneath himself. This demand follows from an insight which I was the first to formulate: that there are altogether no moral facts. Moral judgments agree with religious ones in believing in realities which are no realities (Nietzsche 501). This demand, expressed by Nietzsche in the 19th century, was in large part satisfied, or at least strongly reaffirmed, by the emotivists of our own century. As its title suggests, it is the purpose of this paper to take emotivism seriously--not to defend it in dogmatic fashion, but to consider seriously the possibility that propositions which express moral judgements may be accurately and exhaustively characterized as statements which evince and evoke human emotions. First, I will give a brief exposition of the basic emotivist position as articulated by A.J. Ayer and C.L. Stevenson. Second, I will present what I take to be the most compelling evidence in favor this position: 1) the apparent lack of any rational criteria for settling ethical disputes in the absence of a shared affective response to matters of fact, and 2) its consistency with theories of biological and cultural evolution. And, third, I will consider the practical ramifications emotivism if it is perceived to be true. In Language, Truth and Logic, A.J. Ayer departed radically from the conventional analysis of ethical propositions by arguing that ethical judgements have no objective validity--that is, they are not genuine propositions and, hence, do not come under the category of truth and falsehood (108-109). What they are, he argues, are "pure expressions of feeling" which may or may not reflect the actual emotion of the speaker, but which are, in any case, not statements of fact (108, 109). In addition to evincing emotion, Ayer admits that ethical judgements may also be intended to "arouse feeling, and so to stimulate action" (108). What, then, are we to say about the endless debates over "ethical" issues? Are they meaningless debates over something which does not in fact exist? Not exactly. It is the case, Ayer wants to say, that the meaning of ethical judgements are exhausted by the emotions which they evince and evoke. Nevertheless, argument may still be quite reasonable. What we argue about, however, is not whether or not our opponent has the right feeling towards a particular situation, but whether or not he or she understands the situation correctly: When someone disagrees with us about the moral value of a certain action or type of action, we do admittedly resort to argument in order to win him over to our way of thinking. But we do not attempt to show by our arguments that he has the "wrong" ethical feeling towards a situation whose nature he has correctly apprehended. What we attempt to show is that his is mistaken about the facts of the case (110-111). From this standpoint, it would seem that we argue if (and for as long as) we consider our opponent ignorant rather than evil. Ayer goes on to say that real argument is impossible unless some system of value is presupposed: if our opponent happens to have undergone a different process of moral "conditioning" from ourselves, so that, even when he acknowledges all the facts, he still disagrees with us about the moral value of the actions under discussion, then we abandon the attempt to convince him by argument. . . . It is because argument fails us when we come to deal with pure questions of value, as distinct from questions of fact, that we finally resort to mere abuse (111). Thus, from Ayer's perspective, given the variety of economic, political, and religious environments in which the values of individuals take shape, it is not surprising that we find ethical disputes which seems to elude rational mediation. Ayer's basic position is taken up and expanded by C.L. Stevenson in an article that appeared the year after Language, Truth and Logic. In "The Emotive Meaning of Ethical Terms," Stevenson outlines an "interest theory" of the good in accordance with three requirements which he thinks must be met by any analysis which is to capture the "vital sense" of the good which traditional interest theories failed to grasp.{1} Unlike Ayer, Stevenson does seem to admit of a genuinely descriptive element in ethical judgements, i.e. they indicate a person's approval of an action or a type of action, and do not merely evince emotion.{2} In this respect, Stevenson position is not so very different from that of traditional interest theories. He departs from such theories, however, by taking into consideration the dynamic as well as the descriptive use of language. Whereas Hobbes had said that "this is good" means "I desire this," and Hume held that to recognize something as good is simply to recognize that most people approve of it, Stevenson argues that these positions ignore the most important aspect of our use of the word good and, indeed, of ethical judgements in general--viz. their dynamic use--which is their power of suggestion: doubtless there is always some element of description in ethical judgments, but this is by no means all. Their major use is not to indicate facts, but to create an influence. Instead of merely describing people's interests, they change or intensify them. They recommend an interest in an object, rather than state that the interest already exists (18). Whereas Ayer had emphasized that ethical judgements evince emotion, and acknowledged, almost as an afterthought, that it is worth mentioning that ethical terms do not serve only to express feeling. They are calculated also to arouse feeling, and so to stimulate action (108), Stevenson takes their persuasive aspect to be primary. Ethical judgements can be compared to an imperatives insofar as they influence, or are intended to influence, the actions and attitudes of others. However, when Stevenson translates the judgement "this is good" into "I do like this; do so as well," he makes clear that something is lost in the translation. The explicit imperative appeals to the conscious efforts of the hearer, whereas the ethical judgement leads the listener to the desired end by means of its power of suggestion (25-26).{3} This is the "magnetism" referred to in the three requirements mentioned earlier. If we demand that someone approve of some act or attitude simply because we approve of it, personally, we are more apt to meet with resistance then if we simply praise it as right or good. If, however, the person in question disagrees with our moral evaluation of the act or action under consideration, how is the issue to be decided? Stevenson seems to agree with Ayer that such disputes cannot be settled by argument unless some system of value--some common interest--is presupposed. This is consistent with the third requirement that the good is "not discoverable solely through scientific method." If two opponents share some common interest--some common conception of the good--their (apparent) disagreement in interest is actually rooted in a disagreement in belief. Thus, Stevenson says people who disagree in interest would often cease to do so if they knew the precise nature and consequences of the object of their interest. To this extent disagreement in interest may be resolved by securing agreement in belief, which in turn may be secured empirically (28). When, however, such disagreement is not rooted in a disagreement in belief, there is no ground for a purely rational resolution to the dispute. Some how, a change in temperament must be effected whereby one or both the parties comes to see life through different eyes (29). At such times, the effectiveness of moral discourse is more dependent on rhetoric than reason: It is persuasive, not empirical or rational; but that is no reason for neglecting it. There is no reason to scorn it, either, for it is only by such means that our personalities are able to grow, through our contact with others (29). Thus, Stevenson seems to be a little more optimistic than Ayer about the fruitfulness of ethical debate. He denies that ethics is psychology, since psychology doesn't attempt to direct our interest (30).{5} Having briefly examined the basic emotivist position, why should we take it seriously? Why does anyone take it seriously? Remarking on the proliferation of emotivists that seemed to follow the publication of Language, Truth and Logic, Mary Warnock points out that Ayer's book did not so much convert people to emotivism as it provided suitable dogmatic expression for what had already been their creed (Warnock 84-85). But why was it their creed? I think there are two basic reasons that emotivism seems intuitively true to many people: 1) the apparent lack of any rational criteria for settling ethical disputes in the absence of a shared affective response to matters of fact, and 2) its consistency with theories of biological and cultural evolution. In what follows, I do not pretend to demonstrate the truth these positions. I intend only to describe what I take to be reasonable perspectives from which the emotivist's position may seem more reasonable. Insofar as either or both of the perspectives described seem compelling, they constitute evidence in favor of emotivism. Throughout the history of ethical thought, philosophers have been unable to invest their ethical reasoning with the force of demonstration. Whether they derived the sanction for their moral judgements from the will of God, from reason, or from an appeal to consequences, the certainty of their conclusions were-- and remain--open to question. If we appeal to the will of God, how can we prove that we have, indeed, apprehended God's will accurately? How are we to persuade those who don't believe in God? What if someone else apprehends God's will differently? Reason doesn't fend much better. Many argue that reason cannot determine action, but even if we grant Kant's "categorical imperative," we can come to no agreement on its practical application. Finally, an appeal to consequences is equally fruitless. We can never know all the consequences of an action; and even if we could calculate them to the nth degree, we would still disagree about their value. Considerations such as these led Sartre to the conclusion that human beings are "condemned to be free"-- that we must bear the weight of our choices without the consolation of God's approval and without the rational certainty of having done our duty in any absolute sense: there disappears with [God] all possibility of finding values in an intelligible heaven. There can no longer be any good a priori, since there is no infinite and perfect consciousness to think it (Sartre 398). It seems the only thing we may know with certainty about our ethical judgements is how we feel about them and how we would like others to feel. Thus, emotivism would seem to hold some attraction for existentialists as well as for moral skeptics in the analytic tradition.{6} Emotivism would seem also to hold some attraction for many of a scientific bent insofar as it would seem to be consistent with theories of biological and cultural evolution. With the exception of human beings, we interpret the whole spectrum of organic existence according to a deterministic, biological model. The growth and development of physical organisms is the necessary result of the interaction of particular genotypes with particular physical environments. The genotype of an organism is the essence or form which governs its development. The phenotype of two organisms of approximately the same genotype will necessarily be similar or different according to the similarity or difference of the environment in which they develop. Similarly, in the realm of spirit--i.e human existence- -we know that differing physical and cultural conditions at the very least strongly influence the physical and psychological development of each individual. We hesitate, however, to go all the way and interpret human behavior and existence in a manner consistent with the model which we apply to other organisms. This hesitation puts us in the rather awkward position of drawing a line of demarkation between human existence as the product of human freedom and human existence as the product of biological and cultural determinants. This is a line that has proven impossible (so far) to draw and many thinkers find absolutely no justification for attempting to draw it in the first place beyond our unwillingness to sacrifice medieval notions of "human nature" and "moral agency." We are glad to attribute many of the deficiencies of the vulgar to poverty and poor education, but we are reluctant to give up our right to take credit for our success and to lay blame upon those whose behavior offends us (Cf. Skinner 265-266). If, however, we take the biological, deterministic model seriously, and apply it to human beings as well as to other physical organisms, then the emotivists approach to ethics begins to seem very reasonable. Rather than considering what is good in itself, according to some objective standard, we focus our attention on the evolutionary function of the values held by various people(s) at various times-- values construed as subjective, affective responses to matters of fact. According to many evolutionists, much of what we refer to as morality is the result of genetic predispositions to think and act in certain ways. If one argues that "the human ethical sense is a direct causal function of evolution through natural selection," then any account of morality in terms of some objective standard seems superfluous (Ruse 31, 62). What is important would seem to be the intensity of our affective response to matters of fact and the way in which that response functions in the life of the individual and, ultimately, the species. Ruse argues that once we have been given the biological account of the origins of human morality, calls for justification (in the sense of foundations) is illicit. . . . We believe what we believe about morality because it is adaptively useful for us to have such beliefs -- that is all there is to it. Morality has no ultimate ontological significance any more than does any other useful human adaptation, like the hand or the eye (42). Consistent with the emotivist account, evolutionary ethics says that when we perform an act for the sake of duty or judge a course of action to be good, it is because we feel it to be right or good--not because it is right or good in any absolute, metaphysical sense. And what human beings feel to be right or good varies significantly from person to person, place to place, and time to time. Nevertheless, there does seem to be certain fundamental predispositions that constitute the very condition for the existence of human societies. These predispositions may be described as the capacity to act according to certain principles which are deeply rooted in the genetic make-up of the majority of human beings. Granted, a particular upbringing is required to activate these capacities (Ruse 37); but if it were not for the capacities themselves, society not only would not endure, it could never have come into existence in the first place. Ruse, following Taylor, designates such principles as "second order principles" which are "higher-level moral norms which govern all societies at all times" (52).{7} Thus our tendency to respect the life and property of others as well as our altruistic tendencies might be accounted for biologically. Ruse writes, Putting the matter simply, working together with other organisms can frequently pay far greater dividends than trying to fight all comers. There are various mechanisms which have been proposed to explain this cooperation, the best know of which are probably "kin selection" (Hamilton 1964a), where relatives aid each other because they thereby increase the prospects of their own reproductive ends, and "reciprocal, altruism" (Trivers 1971), where non-relatives cooperate because they can then expect favors in return (32). We need not look at "second order principles" alone to find natural selection at work. Indeed, even if we take values to be primarily the result of nurture rather than nature, we can still analyze them in terms of their function. Take, for example, the veneration of cattle by Hindus. Marvin Harris describes in some detail how the veneration of cattle by Hindus plays a vital role in the Indian economy.{8} He explains why westerners should not look with wonder on the starving Hindu that refuses to kill his oxen, indicating that the taboo against such short term "rationality" developed through a process of natural selection. Those who killed their cattle during periods of famine had no draft animals with which to till the soil when the rains finally did come, no source of transport for their produce, and no source of milk and household fuel. Thus, while those who observed the prohibition against the slaughter of cattle risked starving to death, those who failed to observe it starved to death almost necessarily. Countless other religious and moral imperatives could be shown to have a similar survival function. One need not argue that every affective response associated with such imperatives has such a value; or even that those which do have such a value, generally speaking, actually perform their positive function on every occasion. Nature requires only that they work much of the time. Furthermore, it seems reasonable to suppose that some affective responses that are survival neutral and even some which are, to some degree, of negative value may have become habitual and been preserved by virtue of their close relation, in the minds of those so habituated, to other responses which were of positive value. And, of course, given a changing environment, any particular affective response may outlive the usefulness it once had. The point is that sanction of moral imperatives may be perfectly accounted for in terms of emotions alone. We have seen, then, why emotivism might seem intuitively true to people from a variety of philosophical backgrounds. If there is an objective standard by which to judge what is right and wrong or good and evil, we don't know it, and it therefore does us little good. When it comes to serious, concrete ethical disputes, those who insist that they do apprehend such a standard, albeit intuitively, tend to cut themselves off from dialogue with others who they must consider blind if not evil. In the final analysis, it can be argued, the intuitionist's insight is in fact her own affective response to the matters of fact under consideration. Furthermore, if one considers the function of human values in the "struggle for existence," it seems perfectly reasonable to construe them as affective responses to matters of fact--responses for which the individual is no more responsible than she is for the color of her eyes. Thus, even if we grant that a person can to some degree control her emotions, it can still be argued that such control must be rooted and grounded in yet other emotions. From this perspective, moral discourse is the attempt of one emotional perspective to influence another perspective by appealing to more fundamental emotions which both perspectives share. If such shared emotions cannot be found on a level underlying the point of contention, then it seems ridiculous to insist that the person who feels the way they do ought to feel otherwise. Such insistence may be of great rhetorical value, depending on the circumstances, but its philosophical significance is extremely questionable. Perhaps the biggest objection to emotivism is to found in the practical ramification that are imagined should the absolutist's position be abandoned. Let us consider, then, in conclusion, what the practical ramifications would be if emotivism is believed to be true. For the moral absolutist, taking the emotivist position seriously is very disconcerting. If a real paradigm shift occurs, the (former) absolutist is apt to become quite lost. Having heretofore conducted herself with more or less assurance of the rightness--or, for that matter, the wrongness--of her actions, to suddenly lose that consolation is almost maddening. It matters little whether the consolation was derived from an awareness of God's will or the confidence that her actions were determined by reason in itself, once she grants the emotivist position, that consolation is gone, leaving her with nothing to go on but her feelings. Of course, assuming that emotivism is true, that was all that was there to begin with. The difficulty is that now--after the paradigm shift--some very significant and powerful feelings are no longer available, viz. the confidence that one is doing something because it is objectively right or good--indeed, even the certainty that one has done wrong is not without its consolation. In the absence of such confidence, the emotional hierarchy which formerly prevailed in the psyche of the (former) absolutist is apt to be disrupted and she may well succumb to many destructive emotions. Nietzsche's Zarathustra describes the dangers which must be confronted by those who become "free" of objective morality: It tears my heart. Better than your words tell it, your eyes tell me of all your dangers. You are not yet free, you still search for freedom. You are worn from your search and over-awake. You aspire to the free heights, your soul thirst for the stars. But your wicked instincts, too, thirst for freedom. Your wild dogs want freedom; they bark with joy in their cellar when your spirit plans to open all prisons. To me you are still a prisoner who is plotting his freedom: alas, in such prisoners the soul becomes clever, but also deceitful and bad. And even the liberated spirit must still purify himself (155-156). In the end, however,--if a person has what Nietzsche calls "the right to be free{9}--a new hierarchy of emotions will emerge. This hierarchy and the actions generated by it will not necessarily differ greatly from that of the former. What is different is that the (former) absolutist now recognizes her values as her own. She does what she does not because she ought to do so, but because she wills to do so. She is free from the moral law and free for herself. This is--especially at first--a terrifying prospect: Free from what? As if that mattered to Zarathustra! But your eyes should tell me brightly: free for what? Can you give yourself your own evil and your own good and hang your own will over yourself as a law? Can you be your own judge and avenger of your law? Terrible it is to be alone with the judge and avenger of one's own law (175).{10} Perhaps the terrifying aspect of such freedom is never entirely dissipated, but in time, one grows more accustomed to it. In spite of Nietzsche's rhetoric, oneshould not imagine that such freedom implies that people will become--as we say--immoral. While it is very possible that a convert to emotivism might have an initial tendency to irresponsibility, analogous to a young adult who has left home for the first time, such irresponsibility is short lived. We soon learn the real value of traditional values and come to embrace many of them again--this time as our own, rather than as a law to be obeyed. Ethical debates would continue, even if we all become emotivists. However, the realization that we were arguing for our own values rather than that which is objectively right or good, would likely make us less dogmatic and more considerate of other perspectives. In any case, the real sanction for what we call moral behavior would remain--viz. the affective response of a well brought up individual to her environment. End Notes 1. "These, then, are the requirements with which the 'vital' sense of 'good' is expected to comply: (1) goodness must be a topic for intelligent disagreement; (2) it must be 'magnetic'; and (3) it must not be discoverable solely through scientific method (Stevenson 18). 2. Pepper, in his presentation of Stevenson's position, says that "The descriptive component [of an ethical judgment] includes a description of a psychological attitude of favor or disfavor and of the object of that attitude" (Pepper 296). He considers this a significant advance over Ayer. 3. In his later work, Ethics and Language, Stevenson provides two working models or patterns which he says "preserve in rough form much that is essential to ethical analysis" (Stevenson 21, from Pepper 289). Three variations of the first pattern are as follows: 1. "This is wrong" means I disapprove of this; do so as well. 2. "He ought to do this" means I disapprove of his leaving this undone; do so as well. 3. "This is good" means I approve of this; do so as well. 4. Stevenson does not use the word "apparent," but it is implied by his analysis. 5. It seems to me that even the successful direction of someone's interest through persuasive rhetoric must ultimately depend on an appeal to shared interests, however remote they may be from the object of contention. 6. The existentialist would probably not want to say that moral judgments are just emotional responses or that they merely evince emotion. But most would say, I think (speaking in the first person) that "moral judgements evince my values" (not what is good or right in itself) and that those values are felt more than they are known. 7. These are contrasted with "first order principles" which are "those immediate rules of thumb which guide people in any particular society. They are specific to a society and to a particular time, and could well change very rapidly" (52). What Taylor and Ruse refer to as "secondary principles" are very similar to that which Timothy Cooney refers to as "the primary code," which he equates with morality, viz. the proscription of those action which would destroy any society if even one person engaged in them unrestrainedly (See Cooney 73-75). 8. This material is found in "Mother Cow." Cows, Pigs, Wars, and Witches: The Riddles of Culture (New York: Random House, 1974) 11-32. My own abstract of the chapter indicated is appended to this paper. 9. "You call yourself free? Your dominant thought I want to hear, and not that you have escaped from a yoke. Are you one of those who had the right to escape from a yoke?" (175). 10. Nietzsche makes the same point in a allegory entitled "On the Three Metamorphoses" (137). In that allegory, he tells how the camel, who bears all that is difficult (the burden of traditional religious and moral imperatives), is transformed into a lion which slays the dragon "thou shalt," and which is subsequently transformed into the child "who wills his own will." To my mind, this bears a striking resemblance to the Christian notion that "by the works of the law shall no flesh be justified." Those who are in Christ are free from the letter of the law and fulfill naturally (or co- naturally) the spirit of the law inasmuch as God has written it on their hearts. God's will and their will coincide. WORKS CITED Ayer, Alfred Jules. Language, Truth and Logic. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1952. Cooney, Timothy J. Telling Right from Wrong. Buffalo, NY: Prometheus Books, 1985. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The Portable Nietzsche. Trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Penguin Books, 1982), 103-440. __________. Twilight of the Idols. The Portable Nietzsche. Trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Penguin Books, 1982), 463-563. Pepper, Stephen C. Ethics. New York: Appleton- Century-Crofts, Inc., 1960. Ruse, Michael. "Evolutionary Ethics: Healthy Prospect or Last Infirmity?" Canadian Journal of Philosophy, supl. vol. 14, (1987): 27-73. Sartre, Jean-Paul. "Existentialism Is a Humanism." Morality and the Good Life: An Introduction to Ethics Through Classical Sources. Robert C. Solomon, Ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1984) 394 - 400. Skinner, B.F. "Science and Human Behavior." Philosophy: A Literary and Conceptual Approach. Burton F. Porter, Ed. (San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc., 1980) 265-278. Stevenson, Charles Leslie. "The Emotive Meaning of Ethical Terms," Mind, Vol. XLVI, 14-31. Warnock, Mary. Ethics Since 1900. London: Oxford University Press, 1960. Works Consulted Ruse, Michael. "Evolutionary Ethics: A Phoenix Arisen." Zygon, 21 (1986) 95-112. __________. "Darwinism and Determinism." Zygon, 22 (1987) 419- 441. Tomm, Winnifred A. "Autonomy and Interrelatedness: Spinoza, Hume, and Vasubandhu." Zygon, 22 (1987) 459- 478). __________. "Ethics and Self-Knowing: The Satisfaction of Desire." Explorations in Feminist Ethics: Theory and Practice. Eve Browning Cole, et al, ed. (Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Pr., 1992) 101-110. APPENDIX Popular prejudice and expert opinion persists in the belief that the veneration of cattle by Hindus is the main reason for hunger in India. Though, taken at face value, several studies do indicate that the taboo against killing cattle results in a surplus of useless or inefficient animals, careful analysis shows cow worship to be a mechanism of survival for an extremely poor nation living in a delicately balanced economy. There are 126 million adult cattle in India. Only a nominal amount of their food consumption comes from crops or pasture set aside for that purpose. For the most part, these cattle are scavengers that convert the grass and garbage found on marginal lands along highways and railroads into extremely useful products. The average Zebu cow produces 500 pounds of milk per year. Though this is only 1/10 the average annual production of American cows, it is still of substantial importance to a poverty stricken farmer, especially considering the small amount he invests in feed. In addition to milk, India's cattle produce 700 million tons of "recoverable manure" annually, part of which is used as household flooring material, about 1/2 as fertilizer, and the balance as fuel for cooking. The manure burned by housewives provides the energy equivalent to 27 million tons of kerosene, 35 million tons of coal, or 68 million tons of wood. Perhaps most importantly, the 54 million cows constitute the only source o draft animals for peasant farmers, whose livelihood depends on the availability of oxen to plow fields and pull oxcarts. Furthermore, not only do living cattle constitute a mainstay of the rural Indian economy, but dead animals, too, have their place in this scheme of things. The lower caste "untouchables", who haul away the corpses, eat a substantial number of the 20 million cattle that die each year. This provides a substantial food source to the lowest strata of Indian society, as well as raw material for a large leathercraft industry. Thus, one should not judge this "low energy ecosystem" as wasteful. Nor should one imagine that modernization of farming methods would solve India's problems. The development of American style agribusiness in India would only further aggravate the already severe unemployment and hopelessness in urban areas, displacing a quarter of a billion peasants currently engaged in small scale farming. Considering, then, the essential role that living and dying cattle play in the Indian economy, westerners need not look with wonder on the starving Hindu that refuses to kill his oxen. The taboo against such short term "rationality" developed through a process of natural selection. Those who killed their cattle during periods of famine had no draft animals with which to till the soil when the rains finally did come, no source of transport for their produce, and no source of milk and household fuel. Thus, while those who observed the prohibition against the slaughter of cattle risked starving to death, those who failed to observe it starved to death necessarily (Abstract of Harris 11-32).