Assessing Moral Relativism, continued

APOLOGIA
By Hendrik van der Breggen
(The Carillon, January 28, 2010)

Assessing Moral Relativism, continued

A presently popular view of ethics is moral relativism. According to moral relativism, there are no moral principles or values objectively real and applicable to everyone; rather, what’s right/wrong and good/bad essentially depends on individual preference or culture, and this varies from person to person or group to group.

Moral relativism seems tolerant (“you do your thing and I’ll do mine”), but is it reasonable to believe? We should think not.

First, let’s get clear on moral relativism by looking at it in its group or cultural form; let’s call it cultural relativism (CR for short). (Last time we looked at individual/subjective relativism.)

According to CR, ethics essentially depend on one’s culture or tribe. That is, CR says action X is right or good if culture says X is right or good, and X is wrong or bad if culture says X is wrong or bad. Action X may be right in one culture but wrong in another. Our culture may hold that apartheid is wrong, but another culture may be okay with apartheid, because of a difference in the history of interracial relations.

On CR, then, morality is wholly a matter of cultural invention, i.e., social construction, to cope with historical circumstances, and because such circumstances vary from group to group, so do the constructed moralities. Thus, we shouldn’t impose our culture’s moral values on others, and others shouldn’t push theirs on us.

CR sounds good, but is it sound? To show that CR is not sound (i.e., is not reasonable to believe), let’s assume, temporarily for argument’s sake, that CR is true. If the logical consequences of CR’s assumed truth are false or otherwise deeply problematic, then it follows logically that CR is false or otherwise deeply problematic, or both. (This argument strategy is known as reductio ad absurdum or the absurd consequences move.)

If CR is true, then six problems result.

1. CR ends up giving support to obviously evil regimes and evil cultural practices. On CR it becomes impossible to criticize the Nazis. If Nazi culture says that genocide is right, then, for Nazi Germany, genocide is right. In other words, if CR is true, then we cannot condemn the following: the Jewish Holocaust, Stalin's murder of millions, human trafficking in Asia and eastern Europe, torture of political prisoners in Afghanistan, the Hindu practice of Suttee (cremation of a widow on her husband's funeral pyre), the African practice of clitoridectomy (wholly or partially removing a woman's clitoris so she will not be distracted from her family duties), Chinese foot binding (so women’s feet remain tiny and pretty, albeit crippled).

Moreover, if CR is true, then we cannot condemn atrocities committed by Christians in the Crusades and in the Spanish Inquisition. It was just their culture, after all. But we think—we know—that we can and should condemn such regimes and practices.

2. If CR is true, then internal cultural reform is disabled. On CR what the culture says is right is right, so it's not possible for one's culture to be mistaken let alone reformed. Yes, one can critique acts according to cultural standards, but it's not possible to criticize one's own cultural standards. The result: moral quietism—no prophets or independently-minded moral reformers could arise to preach a social justice hitherto unknown.

But, obviously, they do arise. Examples: Old Testament prophets, Jesus, William Wilberforce, Martin Luther King Jr., Ghandi, etc. In other words, the existence of cultural reformers is a fact, and this fact counts against CR.

3. CR self-refutes. If CR is true, it allows for the possibility of a society having a non-relative or absolute morality. That is, on CR a society could hold that CR is false, and CR would say that this morality is true. So, if CR is true, then CR also is not true. This is a serious logical problem.

4. CR has a practical problem. According to CR, what the culture says is right is right. But the question arises: Which culture? The one you're born into or the one you presently occupy? I asked this question when I visited a university in Russia a few years ago: What should I do, since I was born in Venezuela, grew up in a Dutch family, became a Canadian as a teen, teach at a Christian college, study at a secular university, and yet I was spending some time in Russia?

And what about the Arab-American father who kills his daughter in accordance to Arab custom, because she refuses to marry the man the family had arranged for her to marry? American culture says this is wrong, but the father’s Arab culture says this is right. Which culture should be followed? These questions throw a wrench into the practice of CR.

5. CR does not provide a satisfactory answer to yet another important question, specifically: Why obey the tribe’s rules? Tribe's answer: Because the tribe says. But it makes good sense to ask: Why? Significantly, any non-question-begging answers (i.e., any answers other than “culture says its rules are right because culture says its rules are right”) lead us to reasons other than mere accordance to what culture says. But this means that culture is no longer the fundamental ground for ethics.

If we are told to follow culture because, say, human life has intrinsic worth, then intrinsic worth of human life is what's most important, not culture. But this means ethics are not essentially dependent on culture, and so any good reason for CR actually counts against CR. This nuttiness counts against CR too.

6. CR, if true, is useless in conflict resolution. CR says, “You’re right because your culture says you’re right.” But saying this to a bully-nation and a bullied-nation—that is, saying this to Nazi Germany and Nazi-occupied Netherlands, or to a Holocaust-denying nuclear-armed Ahmadinejad-ist Iran and its Jewish targets—is a recipe for disaster. Morality is usually thought to be useful in social conflict. CR, however, simply stares blankly and shrugs its shoulders.

In view of these problems which arise logically from CR, it’s reasonable to conclude that cultural moral relativism is flawed—logically, factually, and morally—and so should be rejected.

(Hendrik van der Breggen, PhD, is assistant professor of philosophy at Providence College, Otterburne, Manitoba.)

Assessing Moral Relativism

(Click on graphic to see details and source more clearly.)
APOLOGIA
By Hendrik van der Breggen
(The Carillon, January 14, 2010)

Assessing Moral Relativism

A presently popular view of ethics is moral relativism. According to moral relativism, there are no moral principles or values objectively real and applicable to everyone; rather, what’s right/wrong and good/bad essentially depends on individual preference or culture, and this varies from person to person or group to group.

Moral relativism seems tolerant (“you do your thing and I’ll do mine”), but is it reasonable to believe? We should think not.

First, let’s get clear on moral relativism by looking at it in its individualistic form; let’s call it individual relativism (IR for short). (Next time we’ll look at the cultural or group version, a.k.a. cultural relativism.)

According to IR, ethics are merely a matter of individual preference. That is, IR says action X is right or good if I like X, and X is wrong or bad if I don’t like X. Depending on our feelings, action X may be right for you but wrong for me. You may not like abortion, but I may be okay with abortion, if my feelings are not as troubled by it as yours are. Morality, then, is basically a matter of taste, and tastes vary. I shouldn’t impose my tastes on others, and others shouldn’t push their tastes on me.

IR sounds good, but is it sound? To show that IR is not sound (i.e., is not reasonable to believe), let’s assume, temporarily for argument’s sake, that IR is true. If the logical consequences of IR’s assumed truth are false or otherwise deeply problematic, then it follows logically that IR is false or otherwise deeply problematic, or both. (This argument strategy is known as reductio ad absurdum or the absurd consequences move.)

If IR is true, then six problems result.

Problem 1: Intra-personal criticism is lost. If IR is true, whatever we feel is right is right. In other words, on IR we can never be wrong morally and we cannot criticize ourselves (all we can be is true to our feelings). This is not a knock-down argument against IR, but it serves as a red flag against IR, because our pre-theoretic experience of morality is that we sometimes make moral mistakes, in spite of our feelings.

Problem 2: Inter-personal criticism is lost. If IR is true, then we cannot criticize others. On IR we can’t truly morally condemn the behaviour of, say, Robert Picton (the British Columbia pig farmer who murdered as many as dozens of women) and Josef Fritzl (the Austrian man who locked his daughter in his basement for 24 years and raped her repeatedly, fathering as many as seven children, three of whom were also locked up in the basement). After all, Picton probably liked killing the women and Fritzl probably liked raping and wielding power over his daughter.

On IR, the feelings of these men justified their actions. In other words, according to IR: Who are we to judge them? I have my feelings; they have theirs. I like chocolate ice cream; Picton and Fritzl like strawberry ice cream. Sure, if I had the power to stop them, I would; but then, on IR, I’m just reinforcing my taste with power, so might makes right. It turns out that Picton and Fritzl were the more powerful in their situations, so, on IR, they were still right. Surely, though, this is morally wrong—and we know it to be a fact.

Problem 3: IR has a practical problem: it seems psychologically impossible to practice. For example, for IR to work I should be able to believe that it’s wrong, say, for me to torture my sons for fun, but okay for others to do so if they want to. But I simply cannot believe this. This is a serious practical/psychological problem for IR. (Interestingly, if somebody can practice IR, then what IR upholds as a moral model is the psychopath. That is, someone like the Joker in the Batman film The Dark Knight would be our moral model. This seems wrong, plain and simple.)

Problem 4: IR self-refutes. If IR is true, it allows for the possibility of an individual having a non-relative or absolute morality. That is, on IR an individual could feel that IR is false, and IR would say that this morality is true. So, if IR is true, then IR also is not true. This is a serious logical problem.

Problem 5: IR proponents tend to be inconsistent in the face of IR’s (alleged) truth. If, say, we were to abuse the proponent of IR, the abused proponent would probably say that the abuse is wrong—truly wrong—i.e., actually wrong for all, not just for him/herself. A person may mouth IR, but when I steal his iPod, he will probably say that’s truly wrong. A student may mouth IR but when I give her an F for actually excellent school work, she will probably say that’s truly unfair. This counts against IR. (Interestingly, if the IR proponent is okay with others abusing him/her, then the moral ideal/model that IR upholds is the masochist. Surely, this is weird, and also counts against IR.)

Problem 6: IR, if true, is useless in conflict resolution. Saying “You’re right if you feel you’re right” to a bully and the bullied, or to the abortionist doctor and the person who kills abortionist doctors, is a recipe for disaster. Morality is usually thought to be useful in social conflict. IR, however, simply stares blankly and shrugs its shoulders.

In view of these problems which arise logically from IR, it’s reasonable to conclude that individual moral relativism is flawed—logically, factually, and morally—and so should be rejected.

(Hendrik van der Breggen, PhD, is assistant professor of philosophy at Providence College, Otterburne, Manitoba.)

Thinking about names

APOLOGIA
By Hendrik van der Breggen

(The Carillon, December 31, 2009)

Thinking about names

WARNING: The following topic is not on the list of usual matters taken up by Apologia; rather, for better or for worse, it is an attempt to end 2009 with a wee bit of humour.

I enjoy names. Not being called names, but the meaning of names.

Interestingly, some names fit their bearers like a glove.

I teach philosophy. The etymology of the word "philosophy" tells us that philosophy is, or is supposed to be, the love of wisdom. (The word philos is Greek for loving; the word sophia is Greek for wisdom.) It turns out that a very bright and wise colleague of mine from philosophy graduate school has the last name Wiseman. Professor Wiseman. Sigh. It is just sooo right.

It turns out too that there is a well-known philosopher whose name is John Wisdom. Professor Wisdom. Sigh. How wonderfully appropriate. I confess: When I think of philosophers Wiseman and Wisdom, there wells up in the depths of my heart a dark green gooey substance called envy.

But some names don't fit, or maybe they fit too well. And I don't envy the folks who bear these names.

Think of some of the financial scandals perpetrated in the not-so-distant past by some Christian televangelists. It turns out that I have a book on my shelf titled Introduction to Christian Ethics authored by a fellow whose name is Roger H. Crook. Go figure.

Speaking of books, a couple of years ago I received an advertisement from an academic publisher for a book titled Anxiety Disorders. One of the psychologists who authored this book has the name David Nutt. Dr. Nutt. I am not kidding.

Of course, the institution of marriage can do funny things to people’s names.

A philosopher acquaintance recently told me that he knows of a female ethicist named Sharp who married a man named Paine—and she combined her last name with his. Professor Sharp Paine. And some of my ethics students think ethics professors are a mere pain.

The nature of some names may actually be beneficial to others by encouraging the name-bearer to keep out of specific fields of employment. I knew a man whose last name was Coward. I shudder at the thought of him being an infantry officer. Major Coward. It just wouldn’t inspire confidence in the troops.

While on the topic of names and the military, please indulge me as I reminisce about a time at the dinner table when my wife’s and my two sons were quite young. During dinner I mentioned to our boys my penchant concerning the meaning of names. A bit later, just before desert, the boys were giggling, but with suspicious grins on their faces.

Carla and I asked what was going on. Our eldest responded politely with a question: "What if there was a soldier whose last name was Parts?" What if there were such a soldier, my wife and I asked. Both our sons quickly answered: "His name would be Private Parts!"

It’s been quite a few years, but I still laugh at our sons’ joke.

The year 2010 is just around the corner. I hereby wish my readers a Happy New Year—and I pray that you would be blessed by Him whose name is above all names.

(Hendrik van der Breggen, PhD, is assistant professor of philosophy at Providence College, Otterburne, Manitoba.)