The Special Standing of Moral Skepticism

by Daniel A. Kaufman

I want to describe a kind of moral skepticism that I believe enjoys special standing.  It is skeptical, insofar as it denies that there are good reasons for believing in moral properties.   It has special standing, because unlike general skepticism – by which I mean, skepticism about the external world – the doubts it describes are real, not hypothetical, and derive not from the exploitation of formal gaps in the logic of justification or the mere contemplation of human fallibility, but from reflection upon the substance of actual moral practice.

This does not mean that I myself am a moral skeptic.  The jury’s still out on that one, though I do seem to vacillate between a moral intuitionism and moral skepticism that might very well be two sides of the same coin.  Certainly, there are moral experiences and moral performances, or at least, there are experiences and performances that we call “moral,” and these represent the basis – the starting point – for any theorizing that we care to do on the subject.  But whether there is anything really there, beyond those experiences and performances – whether there is some further moral reality to them – seems to me something about which there is good reason to doubt.

By ‘moral properties’ I mean everything from “thin” moral characteristics, like rightness and wrongness, to “thick” moral characteristics, like deceitfulness, cruelty, courage, etc.  To the extent that this skepticism extends to the latter sorts of properties, it is because of their moral, not than their descriptive components .  (I do not mean to suggest that such words do not have non-moral uses.)  Being deceitful is engaging in a certain kind of wrongful untruthfulness, and since my moral skeptic is doubtful that there is any such thing as wrongfulness, he is skeptical of there being such a thing as deceitfulness, though untruthfulness is obviously common and plentiful, and people dislike it for all sorts of reasons.  Similarly, being courageous is taking risks in the manner that one ought to (morally speaking), and since my moral skeptic doesn’t think that there are such things as moral obligations, he doesn’t think there is such a thing as courage, though obviously, there exists all kinds of risk taking, some of which people applaud. Obviously, my moral skeptic is inclined to reject any distinction between moral  and “ethical” properties, at least if the distinction is intended in such a way as to suggest that the former are problematic and the latter are not, as it is in Bernard Williams’ influential Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy.  (Williams 1985, p. 6.)


Now, consider the following two statements, uttered or written on a particular occasion:

(a)  I want you to do such and such.

(b)  You ought to do such and such.

When confronted with a person who has just said or written (b), what reason have do we have to believe that he isn’t really thinking (a); that is, that his real motivation isn’t desire, rather than the belief that a moral obligation is at stake?

I can think of two good reasons for wondering about this.

First, a person can more readily obtain what he or she wants from another person by attributing some sort of necessity to it, and to suggest that something is a moral obligation conveys just such a sense of necessity.  The advantage that comes from telling me that I ought to do such and such, rather than simply saying that you’d like me to do such and such, is similar to the advantage that comes from telling someone that you need something rather than saying that you want it.

The necessity conveyed by the language of obligation, like that conveyed by the language of need, lends our writing and speech an aura of urgency that the language of mere wanting lacks.  It accomplishes this in two interrelated steps: first, by suggesting (sometimes explicitly, sometimes obliquely) that the reason one “ought” or “needs” to supply the desideratum is in order to satisfy some teleologically characterizable “Order” (some way that things are supposed to be) — most commonly a thickly rendered nature or divine creation — and that to refuse to supply it is to frustrate this Order in some way; second, by trading on the common instinct that frustrating the Order carries with it some sanction, whether divine punishment, physical or psychological penalties (in which I would include the pangs we experience in our socially inflected consciences), or social ostracisation of one kind or another.

Philosophers have tended to paint these sanctions in more abstract strokes, whether in terms of a kind of diminished personhood — thinkers ranging from Aristotle, to Locke, to Kant have maintained that moral obedience is constitutive of the very idea of being a person — or even less tangibly, in terms of suffering “a less valuable existence,” as Robert Nozick once described it, because, as he put it, “it is better and lovelier to be moral.”  (Nozick 1981, pp. 409-410.)  But regardless of whether you think that the punishment for violating the Order involves damnation, mental or physical distress, being shunned by others, or some sense of personal diminishment, an implicit (and sometimes explicit) threat of punishment always accompanies invocations and intimations of moral necessity, and this largely explains the sense of urgency that they convey.  Even where there is little or no explicit belief in the reality of punishment, there remains a kind of racial memory, from the days when everyone believed in the reality of some sanction or other, and this alone is sufficient to imbue the language of moral obligation with the desired force.  We have here, then, one very clear reason for wondering whether a person, in uttering (b), really means it:  it is to this person’s advantage to pretend that what he wants me to do is a matter of moral obligation, since if he can convince me of this, he is more likely to get me to do it.

A second reason for wondering whether a person who utters (b) really means it is that it is common for people to misrepresent their motives, not out of a conscious intention to mislead others, but as a result of having already successfully lied to themselves about them.  One’s fraudulent moral posture, in such circumstances, is not a product of conscious scheming, but of self-deception.

It may have been Nietzsche who first made us aware of the degree to which our ostensible morality — the words and actions that we offer on behalf of benevolence, charity, selflessness, etc. — may be motivated, in fact, by a completely contradictory set of deeper feelings and desires (though in truth, it was probably St. Paul who first introduced this idea into the Western consciousness), but the weird class- and race-based conspiracies that he posited as being responsible for this moral/psychic dissonance render his account ultimately unsuitable as a basis for sound moral skepticism.  (Nietzsche 1956, pp. 165-173)  It is Freud and his theory of the unconscious and its relationship to our conscious thoughts and behaviors that really provides us with a powerful and comprehensive framework with which to make sense of the idea of moral self-deception.  One can also usefully employ Marx along these lines, and it was Paul Ricoeur who first identified a “school of suspicion,” led by the triumvirate of Nietzsche, Marx, and Freud, each of whom was devoted, in his own way, to exposing the “illusions and lies of consciousness.” (Ricoeur 1970, p. 32)  And though Ricoeur rightly points out that the sort of unmasking promoted by these “masters of suspicion” was not ultimately intended as a basis for skepticism — since each also provided a hermeneutics, by way of which we might decode our misleading utterances and behaviors — it certainly lends support to a moral skepticism the roots of which lie in an analysis of common human behavior, and which focuses on the reasons for doubting the sincerity of peoples’ professed moral motives, postures, and other moral performances, including, importantly, our own.

Freud maintained that we adopt a moral posture as an act of repression, specifically, of our core desires — desires that are largely unconscious — because acting on them is alleged to be incompatible with social and civic life.  The pressure to be morally obedient, then, is ultimately social: In Freudian parlance, the Ego confronts the Id with the actual demands of social and civic life (the so-called “Reality Principle”), while the Superego confronts it with the constructed moral ideals of the local culture (as manifested to children in adult authority figures).   In a very literal sense, then, when a person professes a moral reason for an action or a request for one, he is always misrepresenting his underlying motives and is largely unaware of doing so.  Significantly, Freud depicts this repression as strenuous and difficult (he describes it as an “unstable arrangement”), one that is often, even routinely, prone to failure.  (Freud 1966, pp. 26-7.)  Not only, then, does the profession of a moral motive never reliably indicate that a person is really thusly motivated, it in no way insures that he will act in accordance with it, a fact that is amply demonstrated in everyday life, by everything from the ubiquitous, low-level moral inconsistency to which we are all witness — and prone — to the most stunning displays of moral hypocrisy, in which it seems that the stronger, more insistent the moral postures and performances, the greater the fraud lurking beneath.

Some may want to resist these conclusions, on the grounds that Freud and psychoanalysis have been wholly discredited (something that I do not believe), but one need not buy into any of the specific details of the Freudian story — the existence of faculties named ‘Ego’, ‘Superego’, or ‘Id’, for example — in order to sustain the substantive points, which have become a part of our common wisdom: that we are mysteries to ourselves as well as to others; that we are complex and conflicted; that we are much more selfish than we let on or are even aware of ourselves; and that we pose and posture, for popular as well as for our own consumption.  Consequently, our public behavior and speech, as well as our internal conversations with our own alter-egos and consciences, are as likely to mislead as they are to provide a real picture of our actual motives.

At this point, I can imagine a moral philosopher protesting that nothing that I have said provides the slightest argument for moral skepticism.  That we don’t always mean what we say doesn’t mean that we never do, and even if we never tell the truth in reporting moral motives, it doesn’t follow that moral properties do not exist.

This is a standard move in philosophy (and especially analytic philosophy) and stems from our subject’s deep and longstanding commitment to abstraction, generality, and rationality, as well as its discomfort with particularity and contextuality and commensurate dislike for impulse and inconsistency.  Someone who wouldn’t go back to a car dealership, after being cheated by one of its salesmen, even though it  “doesn’t follow” that all the other salesmen are crooks, will insist, without irony, that there are moral truths and that people rationally apprehend and act on them, even while he is being bombarded with example after example of people who clearly are doing no such thing and in the face of modern psychology which, regardless of whether one takes it in its psychodynamic or behaviorist forms, renders impossible the sort of naïve treatment of human behavior that traditional moral philosophy requires.

This attitudinal lurch, though certainly odd, is unsurprising once one realizes that for most moral philosophers, the fascination has always been with the theorizing itself and not with the practices that the theorizing is alleged to be about.  Ethics, for these people, is about the existence and nature of rightness and wrongness, goodness and badness, idealized actors, beneficiaries, and victims, justification, and other such abstractions, not actual people, their actual behavior, or their actual reasons for acting, so when that behavior and those reasons are revealed for what they are, as modern psychology tries to do, it is easy to simply ignore them or to point out that strictly speaking, “nothing follows” with respect to ethical theory.

This is why it is absolutely essential that we understand that ethical theorizing is itself a human practice — a form of human behavior — with its own “genealogy,” by which I mean its own historically and psychologically grounded raisons d’être.   Here, again, Nietzsche is absolutely essential (though once again, the specific account he offers is bizarre and histrionic), for he made the crucial point that our reasons for engaging in ethical theorizing may be as conflicted and contradictory as our reasons for making first-order moral claims and engaging in ostensibly moral behavior.  (Nietzsche 1956, pp. 158-159.)  Once we adopt the psychodynamic model in accounting for this dissonance, as we have already done in our analysis of moral acts and utterances, we see immediately that there can be no refuge for the theorist from the disconfirming practical realities of daily human life, in the tidy, comfortable back-rooms of ethical theory, since his own theorizing is as much a part of those practical realities as the moral speeches and behaviors, the implications of which he is trying to escape.

Nevertheless, philosophers have continued to insist on drawing this distinction between ethical theorizing and moral practice — Mary Mothersill did it in a particularly interesting way decades ago, in her essay “Moral Knowledge” (Mothersill 1959, p. 757) — and it is worth taking it at face value, if only as an exercise, because  we will discover that our skeptic is still able to maintain his doubts about moral properties. Moreover, in seeing why, we will be afforded an important opportunity to discuss the ways in which moral skepticism differs from general skepticism.


The moral skepticism that I am describing proceeds on the basis of two points: First, as just discussed, we have tangible, realistic reasons to doubt our own and others’ sincerity when we profess moral motives, adopt moral postures, and engage in moral performances, and this includes when we engage in moral theorizing; Second — and the point to which I turn now — these professions, postures, and performances are the only reasons for thinking that there are any moral properties in the first place.  Put another way, the belief that there are moral properties is exclusively the product of our collective testimonies; testimonies that are convoluted, conflicted, and ultimately unreliable, for all the reasons we have discussed.

This second point is obvious in the kind of way that often causes things to escape peoples’ notice, so consider:  Moral properties are not discovered via the sensory modalities or the affective sensibility — certainly, I can feel disgusted or amorous, find something appealing, moving, indifferent, etc., but these natural affective states will arise irrespective of whether we ever adopt moral frameworks or ways of speaking – and there has yet to be any convincing account of morals, in which moral truths are deduced in the manner that we deduce truths in mathematics or logic.  The only reason that we believe that there are moral truths and that moral properties are real, then, is because people talk and act as if there are; it is solely because of the stances, speeches, and performances of others, and because of the voices of our own consciences, the latter of which, as already mentioned, are heavily inflected by the society we have made with others.  As a result, our ability to believe in their — and our own — sincerity, is crucial to the case for there being moral properties, and this ability is precisely what has been called into question, on grounds that derive both from our common, daily experience and from modern theoretical and clinical psychology.

However, when we consider general skepticism, by which I mean doubts about the existence of the external world and the various iterations of those doubts, we find something entirely different.  Unlike the specific, substantial suspicions that lead to moral skepticism, the sources from which general skepticism derives — the inherent fallibility of our senses and reason, and the question-begging character of the logic of justification — are entirely abstract: the general skeptic notes that both our senses and our powers of reasoning can be mistaken and are, therefore, a potential source of error,  and that every justificatory inference, in taking something as playing the role of a premise, begs the question as to why we should believe that something is true.  Any belief that we might justify, then, can be doubted, not just because the grounds on which the belief is based might be mistaken, but because the logic by which we justify one thing A, by appeal to another thing, B, has built into it a structural regress.

General skepticism is general, then, because of the abstractness, generality, and ubiquity of these sources of doubt, but these qualities also render it incapable of sustaining any real grip on our consciousness.  As a result, general skepticism is suitable for little more than epistemological calisthenics  (Thomas Reid famously pointed out that while there are many generally skeptical hypotheses, there are no actual general skeptics. (Reid 1969, p. 115)), since in the face of all the vivid experiences of everyday life, no one will ever really believe that the external world doesn’t exist, even if one can imagine a logically possible story, in which one is nothing more than a solitary consciousness living in a perpetual dream. (Hume 1978, p. 269; Hume 1975, pp. 8-9.)  And it is important to remember that with respect to general skepticism, these sorts of contrivances of the imagination are the sole reason for the relevant skeptical doubts.  I may, on a particular occasion, have tangible reasons to believe that my eyes or other senses are tricking me — say that I am intoxicated or have had my eyes dilated after a visit to the optometrist — but such cases raise no general suspicions about the reliability of the modalities by which we acquire beliefs about the external world.  The doubts that characterize general skepticism are exclusively the products of abstract speculation into various logical possibilities and recognition of the inherently question-begging structure of the logic of inference.

It is for this reason that the best solution to general skepticism has always been the philosophy of common sense, the proponents of which understand that the search for justification follows —because it presumes —belief and action, and does not precede it.  This is why, as Hume tells us, we must be men and women, before we can be philosophers (Hume 1975, p. 9), a stance that precludes commitment to any sort of generally skeptical position, because a condition of being men and women is that we have the kind of trust in our faculties and the basic things that they tell us that is required in order for it to be possible to believe and to act.  As Wittgenstein explained in his own version of a common sense philosophical response to general skepticism, our belief in these basic things are not themselves tested in any way, but rather, comprise the frame of reference within which testing and thus, believing and acting, take place.  (Wittgenstein 1972, pp. 12 & 15.)

In defending the reality of moral properties from skepticism, some would like to claim that there is a moral common sense that plays a similar role with respect to our moral beliefs and behaviors to that which our common sense about the external world plays with respect to our beliefs and behaviors more generally.  Mothersill  would have us believe, for example, that “the robust practical wisdom which restores us to the world of backgammon and sociability is as impatient with moral skepticism as with any other philosophical doubts”; that “the mood in which we know for sure that chairs and tables are real and that the sun will rise tomorrow is the mood in which we know for sure that cruelty and deceit are wrong and that we must fulfil our obligations”; and that “one can’t claim the advantages of common sense when it comes to scientific knowledge and at the same time claim the advantages of a superior insight when it comes to moral knowledge.” (Mothersill 1959, pp. 759-760.)

Alas, these points are wrong in every detail, for there simply is no analogy to the story I have just told about general skepticism, in the case of moral skepticism.  As we’ve seen, moral skepticism is not the result of speculating about abstract possibilities or recognizing structural gaps in the logic of inference, but is the product of tangible, realistic, psychologically-grounded suspicions regarding peoples’ professed motives when they speak and act.  It is not the sort of skepticism, then, for which a philosophy of common sense is suitable, since its main point is that our basic moral beliefs — our moral common sense, if you like — cannot be trusted.  Even worse, we have every reason to be dubious of the very practices for which these beliefs are supposed to provide the frame.

One of the consequences of the psychological story we have been telling is that our moral practices cannot be taken face-value, as phenomena to be explained, straightforwardly, by way of a moral theory.  The phenomena themselves – the moral speeches, postures, and performances – must first be decoded, before they can be explained, which means that we must have a moral hermeneutics, before we can even think about having a moral theory.  And it is only so much the worse for the prospects of moral theorizing, when our hermeneutics tell us — as the Nietzschean, Freudian, and Marxian hermeneutics all do — that our moral practices are essentially rhetorical and are designed, ultimately, to misrepresent our motives, both to others and to ourselves.

Mothersill’s examples, then, are obscuring, rather than revealing of the true status of moral knowledge.  Of course there is no trouble in knowing trivial analytic truths like “cruelty is wrong” and “deceit is wrong,” wrongness being semantically contained within the concepts of cruelty and deceit, as Mothersill is using these terms.  The trouble is with knowing whether something — or anything — counts as cruel or deceitful, in the moral senses of these terms.  My point has been that our only reason for thinking that something is cruel or deceitful is because people (including ourselves) call it cruel or deceitful and act as it if is.  So, there is no epistemic resemblance whatsoever between the claim that that someone is sitting on a chair and the claim that some action is cruel, deceitful, etc.  Barring some specific evidence to the contrary, I have no reason to think that either the chair-sitter or my eyes are telling anything other the truth, but, as we have seen, there are any number of good, concrete reasons for thinking that the person who says that doing such and such is cruel, deceitful, etc., is misrepresenting both himself and the facts.

In the case of the belief in the existence of the external world, the principle of induction, the existence of other minds, etc., the beliefs in question enjoy an evidence-base that remains essentially untainted, save for a small number of highly abstract, purely theoretical doubts, and the result is that only a hypothetical skepticism, suitable for epistemological theorizing, is sustainable.  By contrast, with respect to our belief in moral properties, the only evidence to which anyone can appeal is decidedly tainted, which means that a substantive, real skepticism regarding the existence of moral properties is warranted.  Hence, moral skepticism’s “special standing.”


Freud, Sigmund.  1996.  Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis.  New York: W.W. Norton & Co.

Hume, David.  1975.   Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles of Morals.  L.A. Selby-Bigge and P.H. Nidditch, eds.  Oxford: The Clarendon Press.

Hume, David.  1978.  A Treatise on Human Nature.  L.A. Selby-Bigge and P.H. Nidditch, eds.  Oxford: The Clarendon Press.

Mothersill, Mary.  1959.   “Moral Knowledge.” The Journal of Philosophy 56: 755-763.

Nietzsche, Friedrich.  1956.  The Birth of Tragedy and The Genealogy of Morals.  Francis Golfling, tr.  New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc.

Nozick, Robert. 1981.  Philosophical Explanations.  Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Reid, Thomas.  1969.   Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press.

Ricoeur, Paul.  1970.  Freud and Philosophy: An Essay on Interpretation.  Denis Savage, tr.  New Haven: Yale University Press.

Williams, Bernard.  1985.  Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy.  Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 1972.  On Certainty.  Denis Paul and G.E.M. Anscombe, trs. G.E.M.  Anscombe and G.H. von Wright, eds.  New York: Harper & Row.

77 thoughts on “The Special Standing of Moral Skepticism

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  1. labnut,
    “‘I think it’s important to recognize that moral skepticism does not necessitate moral nihilism or amoral behavior.’ No, it does not necessitate it, but it certainly enables it.”

    Oh, come on. Contraceptives certainly ‘enable’ sexual promiscuity, but are certainly not reducible to this. If we allow others to have any agency, we must allow them a choice – otherwise we are no better than the Stalinist/Maoist autocrats of which you complain.

    And I do not accept that fetuses are human beings, so I discount your rants against abortion. Until a fetus becomes viable, it is a part of the woman’s body, and her rights supersede its. I’ll argue that and fight for it to my dying breath. The state has no right to cause harm to women who make that choice – not in the world I wish to live in.

  2. Dan’s essay had two parts: a case for ontological scepticism about moral reality, and a case for (what I will call) cultural scepticism about morality. The cultural scepticism is fueled by observation that we often use morality for ends other than what it purports to be for. The ontological scepticism arises from our apparent inability to square moral claims with the “robust sense of reality” (Russell’s phrase) that science has imbued in us.

    (Is that a summary you’d accept Dan?)

    A counter-argument to the cultural scepticism is to contend that a thing can only be said to be misused if it is first agreed that it has a proper use. The cultural sceptic assumes that there is a proper use, and then contrasts the actual use with the proper use. This implies, I think, that the cultural sceptic can’t also be an ontological sceptic, since presumbly a thing can’t have a proper use if it has no actual existence.

    Paradoxically the ontological sceptic often tries to argue that the denial of moral reality has no real-world implications. The ontological sceptic (Hume for example) does not think that people are at all likely to cheat at backgammon. On this view morality has no ontological foundations but that lack has no cultural consequences. We all just behave as if morality were ontologically secure.

    These twists and turns in the argument are hard to keep track of.

    A different view (which I hold) is that actual real-world morality is necessary for social life. And since social life is real, so too is morality. This line of argument crosses the other two. It can allow that morality often gets misused, just as free-riders can exploit others’ willingness to trust and cooperate. But there are limits to this. We can’t all be free-riders.

    My view also needs to answer the ontological challenge. As I see it, this involves distinguishing between conceptual questions and real-world questions. Dan posed this point at the end of the essay: ‘Of course there is no trouble in knowing trivial analytic truths like “cruelty is wrong” and “deceit is wrong,” wrongness being semantically contained within the concepts of cruelty and deceit, as Mothersill is using these terms. The trouble is with knowing whether something — or anything — counts as cruel or deceitful, in the moral senses of these terms.’ He didn’t say enough on this for me to see his position clearly. What if we can reliably recognise that X is cruel and Y is deceitful?

    My view is that is that “moral properties” are real but they are complex. For example, the concept of murder can be used to correctly describe a certain action. The complex properties would be something like this: (a) a killing by (b) a competent human being of (c) another human being with (d) intent to kill or something like that but (e) not in self-defence or (f) in protection of others. Etc. You get the idea. Similar to how evidence is used in a court of law.

    Does this answer the robust sense of reality objection of the ontological sceptic? I think it does. But it leads into a further debate about the relation between concepts and their instantiation.

  3. Also, as to banks; labnut’s report is not consistent with the American experience, as first established in the 1930s, and re-enforced in 2008. And – perhaps unfortunately – our banks are far more influential than those of South Africa.

    My grandfather, who needed to take out a mortgage on his farm in order to survive the ’29 crash, put it simply: “Bankers are thieves.” Who am I to refute inherited wisdom of the kind on which labnut depends?

  4. In ethics, it is always possible to produce personal experience that contradicts theory. Unfortunately, it is equally possible to produce personal experience that not only supports theory, but which contradicts others’ experiences. It follow that experience informs theory, but theory is not reducible to experience. That’s a problem; but it is not resolvable by either experience or theory, but only through criticism.

  5. EJ,
    Oh, come on.

    That kind of dismissive put-down has no place in thoughtful discussion. You should be ashamed.

  6. EJ,
    Who am I to refute inherited wisdom of the kind on which labnut depends?

    Please watch the tone of your comments. They do not contribute anything useful. And report me accurately. Slanted distortion of my words degrade the conversation. Far from being ‘inherited wisdom’ this was my direct experience from working inside a very large bank, a branch of a UK bank, working in an identical manner but tailored, of course, to local law.

    ‘Inherited wisdom’ is decidedly not the same thing as direct experience. Discounting my argument by misrepresenting my words is not we expect in thoughtful discussion.

    Every company has its own implicit ethos, an internal company culture that drives the way it behaves. I was directly exposed to and imbibed this ethos. It made a deep impression on me and for that reason I decided to accurately report it.

    Rather than trying to deny an insider’s experience, by misrepresenting him, because it contradicts the your narrative, you should try to understand it and update your world-view accordingly.

  7. EJ,
    Contraceptives certainly ‘enable’ sexual promiscuity

    That is a fatally flawed analogy and I am surprised you use such a defective analogy. Contraceptives have no kind of agency whereas we are talking about two different kinds of agency, moral realism and moral scepticism that feedback to each other.

  8. EJ,
    And I do not accept that fetuses are human beings, so I discount your rants against abortion…. …

    Once again, your language is inappropriate. Please watch it.

    I won’t engage with your ‘assertions’ because I don’t think they are, in the slightest bit, realistic arguments, and because it will take us too far afield from the purpose of Dan-K’s essay. I will just note that there are very good answers to your objections, which we could examine on a more suitable occasion. To that I want to add that we need more of the philosopher’s attitude, ‘on the one hand this, on the other hand thus‘, tempered with a good dollop of goodwill.

  9. With apologies to Dan-K, but I want to address the phenomenon more generally. The tone of the replies to my comments is the one we would ordinarily use to dismiss points of view that are impermissible. We do that because examination and discussion might legitimise or otherwise validate viewpoints that are generally agreed to be egregiously wrong. That is all very well and good but we should be aware of the danger of making the impermissible overly broad.

    The tone of the replies to my comments suggests that my claim, that abortion is a grievous moral wrong, is so impermissible that this viewpoint should be squashed.

    But is it impermissible to claim the grievous moral wrongs of abortion? It is now well agreed that it is impermissible to advocate, for example, for racism, sexism, pedophilia, genocide, etc. But these are clear moral wrongs where no moral arguments can be made for them and the moral arguments against them are well accepted.

    However the position is reversed when we consider abortion. There is a large proportion of thoughtful, sincere, well intentioned people who do make strong moral arguments that abortion is a grievous moral wrong, whereas the arguments for abortion are not so much moral but are based on practical considerations. So it cannot be considered to be impermissible for me to make that claim, even when you question the supporting arguments.

    It is possible and legitimate to differ on matters of moral judgement. The right reaction to these differences is to subject them to careful consideration, not to declare them out of bounds, in the manner of our reply. On the one hand this, on the other hand that.

  10. labnut,
    I certainly did not intend to come across as dismissive, and I’m sorry if I did. But I did want to remark the highly problematic relationship between experience and theoretical discussions where ethics are concerned. I have no doubt as to your experiences working in a bank; but I also have no doubt as to my grandfather’s experience dealing with banks. Both these experiences can inform philosophy of ethics, neither can be determinant for it. That’s one reason why philosophy of ethics trends toward the meta-ethical, and one of the reasons why a certain amount of moral relativism is inevitable.

    As to the abortion issue, you wrote: ” We even murder unborn infants on an industrial scale.” I decided not to let such loaded language pass without strong disagreement. Pro-choice is a moral stance, and a positive one, in my view. Here we have a conflict, not between the moral and the immoral/amoral (as you seemed to present it), but between two differing understandings of the moral.

    This moment should remind us that public discussion of ethics does not simply resolve itself in personal behavior, but in politics and law. If it were simply a matter of what the individual is to do, then only the individual need reflect on it. But in fact it is a matter of what the individual wants others to do (which of course resurrects the necessity and usefulness of rhetoric)..

    I value your input on morality, even though I often disagree with it. Personal experience does have important, and non-reducible, weight in discussions of ethics. And I have considerable sympathy with the way religious communities help provide means to deal with the perplexity and problems of the world. My personal ethics derive heavily from my Buddhist experience and commitments.

    But because public discussion of ethics resolves politically, I would think it wiser, philosophically, to consider and account for experiences other than my own, and respect interests other than my own.

    If I came across as not respecting yours, again I apologize. And the contraceptives analogy was not a good one, I agree; however, the point was that, while human invention or seemingly deviant thinking seems to contribute to a world more difficult or complex than those before us may have experienced, there are just some doors that, once opened, cannot be closed. The question is how to live with it.

    However I won’t back down from support for a woman’s right to choose; I owe that to the women I have known who have had to face that choice (regardless of the choice they ultimately made).

  11. labnut,
    I posted my reply before reading yours; I hope I have at least made clear my respect for your position although I disagree with it. However, I would ask the same in return; so one last note on tone: Implying that hundreds of thousands of women and the medical personnel assisting them are murderers strikes me as going a bit too far. You don’t like your remark to be considered ‘ranting,’ fair enough; but I don’t like to be referred to as a murderer, however obliquely. Believe it or not, “There is a large proportion of thoughtful, sincere, well intentioned people who do make strong moral arguments that abortion” is *not* a “grievous moral wrong,” but that denying a woman the right to choose over her own body and future would be.

    “Until a fetus becomes viable, it is a part of the woman’s body, and her rights supersede its. (…) The state has no right to cause harm to women who make that choice.” Despite your dismissal, this is a reasonable and realistic position to take, and a moral one, not a matter of “practical considerations.” It may in the end prove mistaken; but it stands on solid ground.

    At any rate, I consider myself under ethical obligation to maintain and defend that position, as remarked in my previous comment.

    You are right that further direct discussion on that would draw us too far afield from Dan’s essay. What is pertinent here is to recognize that the debate is between two different moral visions, not between a moral vision and something not. That we can have two very different moral visions develop within a single culture itself reveals the difficulties in philosophically adjudicating issues of moral realism or moral skepticism.

  12. EJ,
    You are right that further direct discussion on that would draw us too far afield from Dan’s essay.

    Yup, it will and so I will leave you with the last word(quite unusually 🙂 )

    But I will go with just one general pointer. A long time ago I made some remark to Massimo about the sacredness of human life. He shot back with a sniffy reply that life was definitely not sacred. Huh?? And then I thought about it(good idea, hey?). This represents a fundamental gulf between the Christian and the secular world where we regard human life as sacred and the secular world does not. And this really represents the gulf between you and I. If you understood the reasons why I regard human life as sacred then you might understand my revulsion at the taking of the lives of unborn infants. But I suspect you really don’t understand why we regard human life as sacred. To bridge the gap between you and I this needs to be explained.

    But this should be left for a better occasion. Until then, may we continue to enjoy the delightful stimulus of philosophical sparring 🙂 I always learn something valuable from it.

  13. Wonderful essay, on a subject that has recently strongly engaged my interest (as I am about to embark on a Philosophy PhD program at 71). Every time ask myself, “I wonder if anybody has written on X subject, e.g. the relationship between moral philosophy and the state of actual “moral” behavior in the world,” someone has. No surprise, of course; philosophizing has been going on (in the western world) for over 2500 years…Regardless, really enjoyed the essay, which I found very compelling. Thanks.

    Sent from my iPad


  14. Interestingly enough, Massimo has just posted an essay titled “is compassion possible, or advisable, for a Stoic?

    He makes the point
    Her response could have come straight from Epictetus: you practice, every day, a combination of inner detachment and outward empathy

    and continues by saying
    This may sounds superficially like hypocrisy, but it is actually compassion.

    What a strange sleight of hand he practises! Something that is not felt as compassion but presents itself as compassion is most assuredly hypocrisy. This is directly relevant to the debate about moral skepticism because only moral skeptics could justify such moral contortions.

    He is talking about doctors, who admittedly face very trying circumstances in this regard. We demand of the medical profession that they show compassion, and for good reason. This compassion is instrumental to the healing process. Nevertheless their compassion must not overwhelm their capacity for delivering effective treatment. Good doctors learn to control and direct their compassion towards delivering better treatment. Doctors who remain detached but merely pretend compassion cannot reliably maintain this masquerade. The strain is too great and thus we have the all too common spectacle of doctors who lose patience with their patients, treating them dismissively, informing them poorly, failing to listen to them and thus ultimately compromising their care. Compassion cannot be reliably feigned. It must be felt. This illustrates the distance between moral skepticism and moral realism.

  15. Hi Labnut,

    “This is directly relevant to the debate about moral skepticism because only moral skeptics could justify such moral contortions.”

    First, stoics are not necessarily moral skeptics, and Massimo has gone back and forth as to whether he is a realist. Not sure where he is now. Second, I am an anti-realist and nothing you said is required by, or only makes sense within a skeptical or anti-realist framework. Where would you get a skeptic demanding anything (theory-wise) about having to stay detached?

    “Compassion cannot be reliably feigned. It must be felt. This illustrates the distance between moral skepticism and moral realism.”

    That first sentence makes sense to me. The last one does not. Not only can a moral skeptic hold that view, a moral realist can demand action without compassion. Kant comes to mind.

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