Julian Assange's Political Philosophy: An Analysis

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So in spite of my alleged blogging hiatus I decided to write a post.

Like most people, I have been following the recent WikiLeaks-saga with some interest. I have not been following it particularly closely, and am not particularly well-informed -- beyond media summaries -- of the content and significance of the recently-leaked documents. Nonetheless, I am interested in the affair and in the arguments for and against such leaks.

The other day on Leiter Reports a link was provided to an essay by Peter Ludlow summarising the political philosophy of Julian Assange, the founder of WikiLeaks.

In this blog post, I propose to analyse Assange's philosophy as it is presented in Ludlow's essay. This means I am not analysing the primary source material (i.e. Assange's own writings) and so may be doing some injustice to his actual views. Life is short and reading through all that material would be far too time-consuming [edit: I was wrong about this, see comments], so I'm hoping Ludlow's summary is fair.

Ludlow identifies three main components to Assange's philosophy: (i) his idiosyncratic definition of conspiracies; (ii) his belief that conspiracies are bad; and (iii) his proposed solution to the problem of conspiracies (i.e. WikiLeaks itself). I will look at each of these components in turn, identifying the main arguments and counterarguments at each stage.

I warn the reader in advance that this is going to be a somewhat laborious enterprise. It will feature several formal arguments and argument-diagrams. I happen to like that kind of thing because it helps to clarify the structure of the views being considered. But I acknowledge that it might prove tedious for some. There will be no vitriol or polemic in this post: I do not think Assange is public enemy number one, but nor am I convinced that he is the saviour of democratic society. My thinking on the matter is conflicted and this analysis reveals some of the reasons for the conflict.


1. Assange's Definition of Conspiracies
Traditionally, a conspiracy is defined as a secret plan by group to do something unlawful or harmful. As such, it involves the concealed but conscious coordination of activities in the service of some nefarious purpose. The phrase "conscious coordination" is usually thought key to this traditional definition. But Assange has a very different take on the nature of conspiracy.

Assange's definition of conspiracy is derived from the concept of an information network. An information network is a collection nodes between which information is communicated. Assange himself provides a useful analogy to explain the idea. He asks us to imagine a board with a set of nails hammered into it at random locations. These nails represent the nodes. Now imagine twine or string connecting the nails to one another. These connections represent the communication of information through the network.

The connections between nodes can be somewhat haphazard, i.e. one node may be connected to several different nodes while another is only connected to one or two nodes. The connections can also come in different strengths or weights indicating that larger volumes of information are being passed between certain nodes. Society as a whole can be viewed as a large information network (or collection of networks) in which individuals are the nodes.

An information network is depicted schematically in the diagram below.

Assange defines a conspiracy as an information network that is sealed-off from other information networks. In other words, as a network in which information is passed between the nodes in the network but not to the outside. To give this some meaning, imagine the information network depicted above (call it CN) is embedded in a much large collection of information networks. You can think of this larger collection being civil society as a whole (CS). CN is a conspiracy if it does not pass information to CS.

A conspiratorial information network is represented below.

Information does not pass outside the network

So for Assange, a conspiracy is just an emergent property of a particular type of information network. There are two important implications to be drawn from this definition.

First, a conspiracy need not involve conscious coordination or planning directed toward some nefarious end. The conspirators (i.e. the nodes/people) need not know anything about the larger (emergent) significance of the network. That said, the conspirators will likely demand secrecy and trust in their internal communications.

Second, networks like this share some of the properties of living organisms. In particular, they can be seen to maintain a kind of internal, homeostatic equilibrium and to rebuild or sustain themselves when some of their nodes are damaged. This is property becomes more pronounced the more powerful the network is (as in governmental or large corporate networks).

For the sake of argument we can grant Assange this definition of conspiracies.


2. Are Conspiracies Bad?
The traditional definition of conspiracies is a value-laden one: it defines them as being directed toward some nefarious purpose. Assange's definition does not carry these value-laden implications: a conspiracy is now simply seen as a particular type of information network. Nevertheless, Assange seems to think conspiracies are (necessarily?) bad. Why so?

The Argument for the Badness of Conspiracies
The section outlining Assange's reasons for thinking that conspiracies are bad is the shortest in Ludlow's article and it is difficult to derive a clearcut argument from it. Despite these difficulties, I think the following does justice to the reasoning presented.

• (1) The goal of a democratic system of governance (or, alternatively, an "ideal system of governance") is to serve the common good (i.e. the good of everybody in society).

• (2) Conspiracies are self-sustaining closed information networks.

• (3) These networks will fight for their own survival, not for the common good.

• (4) Therefore, conspiracies are contrary to the common good.

This argument is logically straightforward and its structure is illustrated below. The idea that conspiratorial networks fight for their own survival is part of the definition of conspiracies outlined above.

The most controversial aspect of this argument is premise (1). This is my own construction and is not found directly in Ludlow's summary. Still, I feel something like this principle must implicitly motivate Assange's dislike of conspiracies because without it his objection would be incomplete. I equivocate between "democracy" and "the ideal system of governance" because I am not sure of Assange's preferences re: systems of governance, but I feel confident that the goal of serving the common good is unobjectionable regardless of those preferences.

Additional controversy might arise from the absolutist nature of the argument. It seems to suggest that all conspiracies are bad. But surely this is wrong since conspiracies, as defined, are practically ubiquitous. For example, my family could satisfy the definition, at least in relation to some of the information that passes between my family members. Surely not all conspiracies are impugned? Surely only powerful conspiracies, such as those existing in governmental networks are damaging?

I'm not sure whether Assange's dislike of conspiracies is absolutist or power-relative in nature. My guess is that the latter is more likely, but that the former is often implied in some of the "all information demands to be set free"-sloganeering I have come across (although I haven't come across such sloganeering from Assange). Fortunately, I think the proceeding analysis can be applied to either form of the argument.

The question now arises: is this a good argument? Does the fact that networks fight for their own survival actually mean they are contrary to the common good? Are closed networks always a bad thing?

There are at least three counterarguments to consider.

Counterargument I: The Non-Zero Sum Argument

The first counterargument I would offer is the following. The argument outlined above seems to assume that survival is a zero-sum game. In other words, it assumes that one entity's survival must come at another entity's expense. But this is obviously false: survival is not a zero-sum game. Many game theoretic models of social and biological evolution reveal that organisms can cooperate for mutual gain (e.g. Smith's invisible hand model of economic exchange).

Formally, this counterargument would run as follows:

• (5) Assange's initial argument assumes that survival is a zero-sum game: that one network's (CN's) success comes at another network's loss (CS's) and so must be contrary to the common good.

• (6) But survival is not a zero-sum game, as is revealed in many models of social and cultural evolution.

• (7) Therefore, (4) is not necessarily true.

Again this argument is relatively straightforward. It is also quite modest: it merely shows that networks, to the extent that they fight for their own survival, need not be contrary to the common good. The argument is relevant, despite its modesty, because of how Assange defines conspiracies. If we move away from the general idea of a self-sustaining conspiratorial network towards the more specific idea of a governmental conspiracy, more interesting counterarguments present themselves.

Counterargument II: Principal-Agent Alignment of Interests

A second problem with the argument for the badness of conspiracies is its assumption that the closed network (CN) will necessarily have interests that are contrary to those of the broader society (CS). We already have some reason to doubt this from the non-zero sum argument outlined above. However, that argument still accepted that CN would be motivated by self-interest. It just pointed out that self-interest can sometimes (paradoxically) serve the common good. 

It can be further argued that CN might explicitly be set up in order to serve the interests of CS. I think here in terms of a principal-agent model of governance wherein CN is effectively "hired" by CS to perform certain tasks that are in the interest of CS. In a representative democracy the government is "hired" by the people to perform such tasks (defence, criminal justice, education, healthcare etc.).

It follows that it might be possible for the interests of CN and CS to be aligned, not antagonistic. Formally, this argument runs as follows:

• (8) Assange assumes that the interests of the network are necessarily non-aligned or antagonistic to the interests of the broader society.

• (9) But the network may function as the agent of some principal.

• (10) Agents are, by definition, supposed to serve the interests of the principal.

• (11) Therefore, (4) is not necessarily true.

Now, hang on a minute! There's something fishy about this counterargument. As anyone who has studied principal-agent problems will explain, the alignment of interests between an agent and a principal is fickle and ephemeral. The problem of moral hazard always rears its ugly head: agents can go off and do things that are contrary to the principal's interests. Proper incentives, protocols and enforcement mechanisms need to be put in place to avoid this problem. Further, it is likely that full disclosure of information is one of the things that is essential to avoid the problem of moral hazard:

• (12) (11) does not imply that concealment of information is necessary. Full disclosure may be essential to ensuring the smooth-running of the principal-agent-relationship.

This could lead us once again to the conclusion that conspiracies are bad, particularly governmental conspiracies. But is there, perhaps, a reason to think that the concealment of information is necessary? This brings us to the third counterargument.

Counterargument III: Necessity of Concealed Information in Strategic Interactions

In many strategic settings (e.g. military conflict, industrial disputes, bargaining problems) concealed and/or misleading information are necessary if one wishes to best serve one's interests. 

For example, suppose you are part of a labour union negotiating with an employer over a wage increase. Obviously, the employer wants to offer you as little as possible, while you would prefer as much as possible. Suppose further, that the negotiation takes place over multiple (potentially infinite) rounds of offer and counteroffer and that the overall value of the bargain decays with each round. 

In such a scenario it is generally true that those with less time and money to spare are likely to do worse in the final bargain. Thus, if the workers are in fact poorer than the employer it will be in their interests to conceal that information (or mislead) in order to drive a harder bargain. 

Additionally, it might (as is often observed) be necessary to have full disclosure of information within the labour union in order to facilitate the formation of the appropriate bargaining strategy, without the members needing to worry about the information leaking out and creating a strategic advantage for the other side.

Taking the necessity of concealed information in some strategic settings and coupling it with the supposition that the government acts as the agent of the broader society, we can construct the following argument:

• (13) Suppose the network (i.e. the government) is the agent of society and so is tasked with serving the common good.

• (14) Suppose further that the network is engaged in a strategic interaction with another agent (i.e. another government) such as in a military conflict or international treaty negotiation.

• (15) Concealment of information is often necessary to succeed in strategic interactions.

• (16) Therefore, a closed, conspiratorial network might be necessary to serve the common good.

This argument gives us reason to think that a closed network might actually serve the common good. But it runs into the problem encountered with the previous argument, namely: full disclosure might be necessary to ensure that the agent's interests are in fact aligned with those of the principal.

There may be a way to overcome this problem:

• (17) For the concealment strategy to be effective, the agent only needs to conceal the information from the other side (i.e. the other government), it does not need to conceal information from the principal.

This seems right. Consider once more the labour union negotiating on behalf of the workers. There is no suggestion that in order to serve the interests of the workers the union needs to conceal information from them about their negotiating strategy. Indeed, we just said that sharing of information might be essential in order to facilitate the proper formation of strategy.

But can this work in the case of the relationship between a government and the broader society which it is governing? An obvious pragmatic objection arises: there would be no way for a government to share information with all its citizens without a (large) risk of that information being leaked or sent to the other side. Indeed, this would seem to be almost a certainty in a modern society with a diversity of opinions, not all of which would be in concert with the common good (which is just an abstraction), and an international news-media presence. This gives us:

• (18) Sharing information with all members of a democratic society might be impossible because some may inadvertently or deliberately disclose the information to the other side and thereby undermine the strategic position.

This presents us with a fundamental problem of governance. If we are to assign certain governmental tasks to an agent (i.e. a network), then we face the following dilemma: (i) concealment of information may be necessary when the agent is engaging is some strategic interactions on our behalf; and (ii) disclosure of information may be necessary in order for the principal (i.e. us) to properly police the agent.

Conclusion

We are left with the following, somewhat complicated, argument map.

What conclusions can be drawn from it? Well, first and foremost, we have shown, pretty conclusively, that conspiracies are not necessarily bad: they need not do things that are always contrary to the common good. Indeed, sometimes they may actively serve the common good by concealing information. Thus, an absolutist position on the availability of information would seem implausible. 

We have also shown that assessing the damage that conspiracies actually do is a complex task. There must be some balance struck between the need for concealment and secrecy in some cases and the need for disclosure and accountability. Whether the types of information being disclosed by WikiLeaks upset that balance is a tough call.

One could take the information on a case-by-case basis and work out whether its disclosure does or does not contribute to either agent-accountability or the undermining of strategic interests. For example, one could look at the disclosure outlining Arab nations' concern about the Iran nuclear programme and assess whether it damages ongoing negotiations with Iran. I couldn't comment usefully on that issue, but experts in nuclear arms strategy no doubt have useful things to say.

Working through it on a case-by-case basis would be laborious and would also seem to miss the point. Maybe it's not the pros and cons of the individual leaks that needs to be assessed? Maybe it is the volume that is at issue? Releasing 250,000 documents, no matter how significant the contents, may simply do too much damage to the network's ability to function. Contrariwise, it may be that the position within the US-government (which seems to be the sole "victim" of the leaks so far) is tilted in favour of an excess amount of secrecy and a large disclosure of this nature is a good thing.

Clearly, the balance-issue is a hard one and not one on which I'm willing to reach firm conclusions.

These are not particularly earth-shattering conclusions -- they will no doubt have occurred to people before now. This analysis might succeed in rendering them a little bit more perspicuous. 

The next question to ask, if we accept the badness of conspiracies in at least some cases, is whether the WikiLeaks solution is a good one.

3. The WikiLeaks Solution?

Granting Assange his definition and dislike of conspiracies, what is the solution? How can conspiracies be undermined?

To answer these questions we need to go back to his definition of conspiracies as the emergent property of closed information networks. This definition implies that conspiracies cannot be reduced to individuals or even small groups of individuals: they are products of information networks, not individuals. Furthermore these networks are self-sustaining and resilient.

It follows that targetting individual nodes (such as government operatives or even government units) is not the way to get rid of conspiracies. The way to get rid of conspiracies is to undermine the closed nature of the information network. This can be accomplished by leaking information to the outside and by breaking the network up into smaller and smaller units (balkinisation). This causes the individuals in the network to lose trust in one another, and eventually leads to the disintegration of the network. This is the function of WikiLeaks.

There are at least two problems with this as a proposed solution:

• (i) The network, by Assange's own definition, fights for its own survival. If it is attacked in this manner, why not assume it will fight back in a more draconian and oppressive way? Particularly if it is a government possessing the means and legal authority to use violence?

• (ii) Again, by Assange's own definition, conspiracies will contain large numbers of innocent people (unaware of the conspiracy). If they leak information, or are the subjects of leaked information, it could well be that they are subject to attack or threat of violence. Is anything to be done to protect them? Is it not wrong to expose them to the threat of violence or at least something to be included in any moral calculations that might be undertaken?

It seems then that the WikiLeaks solution to the problem of conspiracies is not without problems of its own. Ludlow offers some other critical questions at the end of his essay (such as: is WikiLeaks itself a conspiracy?). I would encourage the reader of consult it for more.

That concludes my analysis of Assange's political philosophy as presented by Ludlow. I will not draw any further conclusions beyond those already drawn.

Added 12/12/10:
Commenter zunguzungu has several interesting posts on the WikiLeaks affair. Two seem particularly relevant here. The first focuses on the general philosophy presented in Assange's 2006 essays on conspiracy networks; the second on how that philosophy might have changed in the interim.

1. Julian Assange and the Computer Conspiracy

2. WikiLeaks Now

One-Year Anniversary

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I emerge from my dogmatic slumbers to acknowledge that today marks the first anniversary of this blog. Thanks to all who are reading and spreading the word about this blog, and rest assured that I will return to more regular blogging soon.

JD

Blogging Hiatus

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Just to let you know, I will be taking a break from the blog for the next couple of months. Alas, I have a thesis that needs to be completed by the new year and I'm trying to remove all unnecessary distractions in an effort to do exactly that.

Check back in January. 

The End of Moral Realism? (Part 3)

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This post is part of my series on Steven Ross's article "The End of Moral Realism?". Parts one and two are available here and here.

Ross's article tries to make the case for metaethical constructivism. It does so by first suggesting that traditional debates in metaethics are too heavily focused on questions of moral ontology and not enough focused on moral justification. It then argues that two classic metaethical theories -- namely, realism and projectivism -- are incapable of providing a satisfactory account of justification, while constructivism is capable of providing exactly this.

We have already gone through Ross's case against realism and projectivism. In this post, we will look at his case in favour of constructivism.


1. The Constructivist Methodology
I have covered constructivism in the past, however, Ross has a slightly different take (or emphasis) on it which I will try to convey here. Obviously, he takes it that constructivism's key attraction is its ability to provide an account of moral justification. He thinks it does so because there is a distinctive method to the constructivist's madness:

• (1) Define the Project: The constructivist begins by defining projects that seem important to our moral lives, such as: what are the correct principles for cooperation? Is capital punishment ever acceptable? When are we responsible for our actions?

• (2) Identify the Considerations: Having determined their project, the constructivist proceeds to identify the kinds of considerations that seem important to that project. For example, if the project is to figure out the principles of cooperation, we need to consider how much effort people are expected to expend in cooperation as well as the distribution of the product of their cooperation. This requires some sensitivity to the capabilities and capacities of others.

• (3) Construct the Principles: once the project and the considerations have been identified, the constructivist can proceed to construct the relevant principles. This is where the idea of justification comes into play. The constructivist views justification as the process of showing how the principles handle the considerations in a manner that is relevant to the project. The classic example here is Rawls's Difference Principle which shows how considerations of equal opportunity along with recognition of some asymmetry in capacities can be handled when completing the project of cooperation.

These are the basic elements to constructivist's method. Four additional features should be borne in mind. First, in constructing the principles it will sometimes be necessary to come up with a formal constructive procedure. For example, when constructing the principles of cooperation, many theorists like to use the formal device of bargaining theory. 

Second, Ross argues that this method, can account for the rivalry between different ethical positions. His example is the debate between Nozick and Rawls on the correct principles of political justice. It is a debate which, according to Ross, is primarily about the kinds of consideration that need to be included in this project. Nozick, for example, argues that Rawls's Difference principle cannot adequately account for the idea of entitlement through effort.

Third, Ross argues that this method can capture what happens when one decides between rival views, such as those proffered by Nozick and Rawls. What happens is that one makes a judgment and decides that some considerations are more important to the project than others. Neither of the other metaethical views -- i.e. realism and projectivism -- can appropriately capture the idea of making of judgment.

Finally, the method applies across numerous moral contexts not just those pertaining to political and social cooperation. This is important because the examples given, along with the general history of constructivist thought, might incline one to believe otherwise.

2. Metaethical Constructivism?

Put simply, the central contribution of constructivism to moral thought is its provision of an account of moral justification. It says "a principle is justified if it (best) handles the considerations that are relevant to a moral project". This does not mean that justification is a straightforward process, it may well be messy and complex. 

That is all well and good but what about the other typical metaethical concerns with moral ontology. How are these handled by constructivism?

Ross's claim is that constructivism is compatible with the non-controversial aspects of realist and projectivist ontology. For example, he thinks that constructivism can embrace the token realism that was discussed in part one. In other words, our moral terms can be meaningfully applied to features of the external world without this entailing that moral justification is a species of fact detection.

Likewise, the picture of justification that is being advanced clearly does not rely on the existence of some mind-independent moral truth. To this extent, it is compatible with the projectivist view of moral ontology. 

But Ross's key point is that these concerns about moral ontology are not all that important and that metaethics would do well to downplay them. His goal has been to switch focus; to show that ontology can fall into place after we get the right picture of justification.

3. Conclusion

I like Ross's overall idea but I think he hasn't done enough to distinguish projectivism from constructivism. His objection to projectivism was that it can't explain why certain kinds of consideration deserve to be included in our projections. But I am not sure that his account of constructivism can explain this either. 

I think there is an implicit claim to the effect that defining the project will somehow tell us which factors need to be included in the overall moral construction. But surely more needs to be done? Surely some people might think, for example, that one's attitude towards religious truth is a relevant consideration and some might think otherwise? How can we decide between these views without necessarily presupposing certain moral values? And if we presuppose some moral values, aren't we failing to provide a truly constructivist metaethics?

The End of Moral Realism? (Part 2)

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This post is part of my series on Steven Ross's article "The End of Moral Realism?". Part one is available here.

The purpose of Ross's article is to make the case for metaethical constructivism. He does so in a roundabout kind of way by first suggesting that traditional metaethical debates are too heavily focused on moral ontology and not enough focused on moral justification, and then suggesting that traditional metaethical theories such as realism and projectivism are ill-equipped to answer the justification-question.

Last time out, we considered Ross's case against different forms of moral realism. In this post, we will look at his case against the different forms projectivism.


1. What is Projectivism?
Unlike the realist, the projectivist maintains that moral properties and moral facts are not to be found "out there" in the world that is independent of our senses and rational interests. Instead, moral judgments are seen as projections of our internal mental lives.

The basic tenets of projectivism can be applied to a number of disciplines, from constitutional interpretation and the rules of chess, to artistic criticism and etiquette. All these disciplines involve some sort of projection of our internal mental representations onto the external world (i.e. adding something to brute fact reality).

So we must ask: what is distinctive about moral projectivism? Well, the popular forms of moral projectivism envisage the act of moral adjudication as equivalent to the act of projecting principles or life plans onto the external world. So, for example, saying "willful murder is vicious" would, in a projectivist worldview, be reinterpreted as a statement or expression about the general principles and plans according to which one lives one's life.

Versions of moral projectivism can be found in the work of R.M. Hare, Allan Gibbard and Simon Blackburn.


2. The Problem with Projectivism
Ross is willing to agree with projectivists to a certain extent, particularly in its characterisation of the ontology of moral values. He thinks it is right to say that moral values are dependent upon (or projections of) internal mental representations. In this regard, projectivism seems to have the upper hand over realism.

Where projectivism fails is in its account of moral justification. Ross argues that, as was the case with the realists, the projectivists are incapable of saying why certain sorts of projection or internal mental representation deserve a certain sort of consideration or weight. For example, most people would say that the autonomy of their fellow human beings is an important consideration, something to be given due weight in practical reasoning. Projectivists are unable to explain why this should be the case.

To draw out this point, Ross asks us to imagine that our evaluative responses are arrayed along a spectrum, with simple visceral responses to stimuli at one end and full-blown moral judgments at the other.

Now, when it comes to the visceral responses there is no need to talk about whether they are justified or acceptable. They are simply products of our contingent biological and personal histories. But when we move along to consider artistic and aesthetic judgments, not to mention moral judgments, the idea of justification and criticism of judgment begins to get a foothold.

If someone judges, say, the later works of Henry James to be psychologically complex and appreciates them for this quality, we think they are justified in their responses: they are seeing something important about James's work. They are seeing a quality that deserves a certain kind of consideration. But it's not clear how the mere idea of projectivism can account for that phenomenon.

When it comes to a projectivist metaethics, its proponents need to tell us why, when projecting principles or life plans, certain kinds of quality or property deserve to included, such as autonomy. Ross thinks they can't do this.

Indeed, he notes two trends in the history of projectivist thought. The first, associated with Hare and existentialists like Sartre, accepted that projectivism could not explain why particular qualities deserved consideration. They embraced the fact that we had total freedom to project whatever values we might like onto the world.

The second trend, associated with Blackburn and Gibbard, tries to retreat from the existentialist void and claim that certain values will, of course be included. They might, for example, appeal to evolution and say that this ensures that, say, parental love will always be among the values that are projected onto the world. Ross thinks that this appeal can do little to stem the tide of moral scepticism because evolution also seems to have endowed us with plenty of unwelcome dispositions and preferences.

So, Ross concludes that projectivists have no account of justification. At this point, having pinpointed the failings of realism and projectivism, Ross proceeds to consider the constructivist alternative. We will look at that next time out.

The End of Moral Realism? (Part 1)

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"The End of Moral Realism?" is an article by Steven Ross which argues that constructivism, an ethical theory which I have covered before, offers us the hope for a coherent metaethics. Since this is a topic I am interested in, I will run through the arguments in Ross's paper. (Note: Springer seem to have open access to their journals right now so you can get the article for free)

Ross's central contention is that most metaethical debates revolve around the correct nature of moral ontology, i.e. the kinds of things to which moral terms like good and bad refer. Ross thinks this focus is unfortunate because the question of justification -- i.e. determining the truth conditions of moral statements -- is far more important to morality than that of ontology. Once we get the right picture of justification, the problem of ontology disappears.

Ross's article tries to show how two classic metaethical theories, realism and projectivism, utterly fail to account for justification, and how constructivism can account for justification. He notes at the outset that one should not expect neat and decisive results in moral theory because the questions being pursued are difficult. Nonetheless, he still thinks constructivism is better than rival metaethical theories.

In this post I will look at Ross's arguments against moral realism. Next time I will consider the arguments against projectivism. And after that, I will summarise his case in favour of constructivism.


1. A Taxonomy of Realisms
Put simply, moral realism is the view that there are mind-independent moral facts, i.e. facts that do not depend on us for their existence. There are different varieties of moral realism, and in the interests of conceptual clarity, Ross proposes the following taxonomy.

First, there are the non-natural, Platonic realists. They maintain that moral facts exist, but are not reducible or equivalent to natural facts. They are more akin to abstract metaphysical properties like mathematical truths (although there plenty of disagreement about the correct form of mathematical ontology as well).

Second, there are the naturalist realists. Again, they maintain that moral facts exist, but they differ from the Platonists by maintaining that there is a direct equivalency (or supervenience relationship) between natural facts and moral facts. Ross suggests we call this type-type natural realism in order to distinguish it from a third version of realism....

This third version is something Ross calls trivial token natural realism (see here on the type-token distinction for more). Token natural realists simply maintain that moral terms like "good" "bad", "right" "wrong" are appropriately applied to natural facts. But they do not think moral goodness (etc) is constituted by natural facts. In other words, this is a theory about the application of moral terms, not about the truth conditions of those terms.

2. The Problem with Realism
Ross thinks that nobody could take issue with trivial token natural realism. After all, even Platonists would say that one can meaningfully apply the moral term "bad" to a natural set of facts such as the murder of one human being by another. However, that's the problem: it's trivially true.

The real metaethical weight is being carried by the other two versions of realism but Ross thinks that neither can do the necessary work. Why is this? Well there are well-rehearsed ontological problems with both views. Platonists face the problem of adhering to a (potentially) extravagant and metaphysically indulgent ontology. Naturalists face G.E. Moore's open question argument.

Ross notes these ontological worries, but doesn't push them. He thinks the more fatal problem with realism, of both varieties, is that it has no proper account of moral justification. In other words, it cannot tell you why you are right to say that murder is wrong, or that charity is good.

Why not? Ross says the problem is that both views turn justification into a species of fact detection: it is simply by recognising or becoming aware of the existence of moral and immoral states of affairs that we become justified in saying they are good/bad/right/wrong.

When asked what it is allows for such justification, realists are usually at a loss. So much so that they will tend to flirt with alternative metaethical theories and mutate their realism into its trivial form. For example, a realist might say we are justified in calling non-consensual sexual intercourse (i.e. rape) morally wrong because it harms certain interests or violates autonomy. In doing so, they switch to an anti-realist conception of morality (i.e. one that thinks morality is dependent on the mental states of conscious, intentional agents) with just a trivial form of realism left over.

So realism, for Ross, fails to account for moral justification. Perhaps projectivism will fare better. We will see next time out.

Rational Persuasiveness and Religious Arguments (Part 2)

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This post is part of a short series on Jennifer Faust's article "Do Religious Arguments Persuade?".

In the previous post, we discussed Faust's account of rational persuasion. We saw that when assessing the persuasiveness of an argument {P1...Pn/C} we need to keep in mind the subjective probabilities and antecedent beliefs of the person to whom the argument is addressed.

Specifically, we saw that if we wish to persuade someone through argument we need to ensure that (i) they attach positive probabilities to the premises of the argument; (ii) that the premises raise the probability of the conclusion; (iii) that the premises are more acceptable to the person than the conclusion; and (iv) that the conclusion does not clash wish some stronger antecedent belief.

We further distinguished between peripheral antecedent beliefs and core antecedent beliefs. The former have low subjective probabilities and low epistemic costs associated with them; the latter have high subjective probabilities and epistemic costs associated with them. It follows that persuasive arguments are more likely to work on peripheral beliefs.


1. The Nature of Religious Beliefs
The question we now have to ask is how this account of persuasion affects religious arguments. The first thing to do is to determine the locus of religious beliefs: do they lie at the core or at the periphery? As noted last time, Faust thinks they probably lie at the core.

I think this is broadly correct. I suspect most theists would say that their belief in God is foundational; that it shapes how the understand and interpret the world; that it is the filter through which all evidence and argument must pass. This means that giving up theism would have very high epistemic costs associated with it, which is why most arguments against the existence of God are likely to fail to persuade. I recommend listening to my podcast on Anthony Flew's paper "Theology and Falsification" with this in mind.

Two words of caution about this characterisation of religious beliefs. First, what is true for religion is also likely to be true for a belief in naturalism or some worldview. Second, it is unlikely that all religious beliefs lie at the core. For example, I doubt that the doctrine of transubstantiation is a serious deal-breaker for most Christians. Indeed, I know plenty of Catholics who would be happy to give it up (most of the time they don't even think about it).

The second point is important to bear in mind if one wishes to persuade or argue someone out of their beliefs. I would imagine that most success could be had be carefully planning one's strategy so as to begin by taking out beliefs at the periphery, which may slowly erode the confidence with which the beliefs at the core are held.

2. Begging the Doxastic Question
Having located religious beliefs at the core, Faust proceeds to identify a basic flaw that seems to be shared by most arguments in the philosophy of religion. She calls this flaw "begging the doxastic question" and it is to be distinguished from the classic logical error known as "begging the question" or petitio principii.

An argument begs the question (i.e. is guilty of petitio principii) whenever it explicitly or implicitly assumes what it tries to prove. Faust cites the following example coming from George W. Bush (I'd imagine the statement was primarily made for rhetorical effect):

The reason I keep insisting that there was a relationship between Iraq... and al-Qaida is because there was a relationship between Iraq and al-Qaida.

This seems to be a straightforward example of the premise being equivalent to the conclusion, i.e. P&Q, therefore P&Q. There is no formal deductive error here because there is no real formal deduction taking place. Other times, arguments that beg the question can be more difficult to spot.

Anyway, Bush's error needs to be contrasted with the problem of begging the doxastic question. Faust argues that this takes place whenever the assignment of some positive degree of probability to one (or more) of the premise is conditional upon the pre-existing acceptance of the conclusion. So this is not straightforwardly circular reasoning. Faust cites the following example as being a classic instance of this phenomenon:

• (1) Republican lawmakers routinely devalue public welfare programs, education funding etc.
• (2) One ought to vote for candidates who value public welfare programs, education funding etc.
• (3) Therefore, one should vote for the Democrats.

Now this isn't even a complete argument since there is a hidden factual premise (namely, one stating that Democrats are more likely to value those things) but in any event Faust says it begs the doxastic question because one's assignment of positive probability to (2) is likely to be conditional on one's acceptance of (3) and not the other way round.

3. Do Religious Arguments Beg the Doxastic Question?

Finally, we come to the crux of the matter: do the types of arguments that are tossed back-and-forth in the philosophy of religion beg the doxastic question? Faust thinks they do and she gives a few examples of which I'll mention just two.

First, there is Anselm's ontological argument. On its face it does not seem to presuppose any beliefs because it is based purely on a conceptual analysis of value, perfection and so on. Presumably, the conceptual analysis should be acceptable to all. However, as Faust points out, assigning a positive probability to Anselm's premises concerning maximal perfection and value will depend on one's pre-existing acceptance of a universal, objective scale of value with a greatest being at the top. Only theist's are likely to accept that idea.

Second, there is the cosmological argument (in all its forms). This argument points to some abstract property of physical (or metaphysical) reality such as time, causality and so on; says that these properties need some explanation; and jumps from this need to the existence of God. The problem here is that accepting God as an explanation will depend on one's pre-existing acceptance of (i) the inadequacy of scientific explanations; and (ii) the plausibility of non-natural forms of explanation. And, of course, theists are the one's who are most likely to accept those premises.

I'm not sure how accurate this representation of religious argumentation is. I have a feeling that carefully-formulated versions of these arguments need not always beg the doxastic question. Nevertheless, I can concede that, at least sometimes, they do and that this can make arguments and dialogues in this area quite frustrating.