Wednesday, April 10, 2019

#57 - Sorgner on Nietzschean Transhumanism


Stefan Lorenz Sorgner

In this episode I talk Stefan Lorenz Sorgner. Stefan teaches philosophy at John Cabot University in Rome. He is director and co-founder of the Beyond Humanism Network, Fellow at the Institute for Ethics and Emerging Technologies (IEET), Research Fellow at the Ewha Institute for the Humanities at Ewha Womans University in Seoul, and Visting Fellow at the Ethics Centre of the Friedrich-Schiller-University in Jena. His main fields of research are Nietzsche, the philosophy of music, bioethics and meta-, post- and transhumanism. We talk about his case for a Nietzschean form of transhumanism.

You can download the episode here or listen below. You can also subscribe to the podcast on iTunes, Stitcher and a variety of other podcasting apps (the RSS feed is here).


Show Notes

  • 0:00 - Introduction
  • 2:12 - Recent commentary on Stefan's book Ubermensch
  • 3:41 - Understanding transhumanism - getting away from the "humanism on steroids" ideal
  • 10:33 - Transhumanism as an attitude of experimentation and not a destination?
  • 13:34 - Have we always been transhumanists?
  • 16:51 - Understanding Nietzsche
  • 22:30 - The Will to Power in Nietzschean philosophy
  • 26:41 - How to understand "power" in Nietzschean terms
  • 30:40 - The importance of perspectivalism and the abandonment of universal truth
  • 36:40 - Is it possible for a Nietzschean to consistently deny absolute truth?
  • 39:55 - The idea of the Ubermensch (Overhuman)
  • 45:48 - Making the case for a Nietzschean form of transhumanism
  • 51:00 - What about the negative associations of Nietzsche?
  • 1:02:17 - The problem of moral relativism for transhumanists

Relevant Links




Monday, April 8, 2019

Does Consciousness Matter from an Ethical Perspective?




Consciousness is widely thought to be important, particularly from an ethical perspective. It is hard to find widespread agreement in ethics, but one relatively uncontroversial ethical fact is that pain is intrinsically bad and pleasure is intrinsically good. This fact depends on consciousness. It is only if a being has the capacity for consciousness that they can actually experience pleasure or pain. According to some, this capacity — also called the capacity for sentience — is the sine qua non of moral status: all beings with this capacity have at least some moral standing.

There are also more elaborate theories of moral status that underscore the centrality of consciousness to ethical thought. For example, many people claim that “personhood” is a key property for moral status. Only persons, it is alleged, attract the highest degree of moral standing and protection. But what is personhood? There is disagreement on this, but at a minimum personhood would seem to require the continuing capacity for consciousness and self-consciousness, i.e. continued conscious awareness of yourself as a subject of experience over time.

Given this, you might think it would be pretty odd for someone question whether consciousness is ethically significant. But this is exactly what Neil Levy does in his short article ‘The Value of Consciousness’. Despite its contrarian starting point, Levy ultimately agrees that consciousness matters from an ethical perspective, but just not in the way that many people think.

Let’s see what his argument is.


1. Access Consciousness Versus Phenomenal Consciousness
Levy’s argument works off a distinction between two different kinds of consciousness: (i) phenomenal consciousness and (ii) access consciousness. This is a distinction that was first introduced by the philosopher Ned Block in his famous article “On a Confusion about a Function of Consciousness”. We can characterise the distinction in the following way:

Phenomenal Consciousness = The qualitative experiential feeling associated with being conscious (the “what-is-it-like-ness” of being conscious). This is best understood by way of example so imagine you are looking at and then eating an apple. Phenomenal consciousness is the visual experience of seeing the redness of the apple and the taste experience of its bittersweet flesh on your tongue.

Access Consciousness = The informational availability of a mental state. In other words, the capacity to access mental information and report on it, express it, manipulate it in reasoning, deliberate about it and so on. To continue the apple example, access consciousness would be the ability to talk about the experience of eating the apple, and to remember looking at and eating it at a later time.

Phenomenal consciousness is the type of consciousness that most people have in mind when they think about what it means to be conscious. But access consciousness is also important. Block introduced the distinction because he felt some scientific investigations into the nature of consciousness were conflating the two. Scientists were getting pretty good a figuring out how access consciousness worked — i.e. at how the brain made certain informational content available to the ‘person’ or ‘self’ — but not at figuring out phenomenal consciousness. The latter is the core of what David Chalmers would later call the ‘hard problem’ of consciousness. To be clear, many mental states are both access conscious and phenomenally conscious. For example, the eating of the apple referred to above is something that will have a qualitative feeling associated with it and will also be available to be reported on and deliberated about. But sometimes access consciousness and phenomenal consciousness pull apart.

With this distinction in place we can reformulate the question motivating this article. Instead of asking whether consciousness matters or not, we can ask “which kind of consciousness matters, if any?”.

It’s pretty clear the most people think it is phenomenal consciousness that matters. After all, it is phenomenal consciousness that matters when it comes to the experience of pleasure and pain. Access consciousness might matter for higher levels of moral standing, as perhaps a foundation for self-consciousness and personhood, but it only matters then as an additional ingredient. It’s phenomenal consciousness that is the necessary foundation upon which moral status is built.

The philosopher Charles Siewert makes this point quite forcefully with the following thought experiment (this is my own modification of it).

Zombie: You are about to eat some revolutionary new synthetic food. The food is really tasty, but the nutritionist tells you that there is a major side effect associated with it. It is quite possible (say a 50% chance) that after eating it you will be a philosophical zombie. This means that you will lose your phenomenal consciousness and will no longer have qualitative experiences. But you will be otherwise unchanged. You will look and act like an ordinary human being. You will have access to past memories and events. You will be able to build a personal narrative about your life. Anyone interacting with you will be unable to tell the difference.


Do you want to eat the food? Well, that might depend, of course, on a number of things (e.g. how long left you have to live and how tasty the food really is) but it seems plausible to suggest that no one would want to lose phenomenal consciousness for the sake of a tasty morsel. Given the choice between living their life as normal and living it without phenomenal consciousness, it seems like most people would choose the former. Indeed, Siewert himself suggests that a life without phenomenal consciousness would be little better than death. This suggests that phenomenal consciousness is what matters most.


2. Levy’s Critique
Siewert’s thought experiment is intuitively compelling. I know I certainly wouldn’t be inclined to eat the food if it meant losing the capacity for phenomenal consciousness (though, I would add that the thought experiment depends on a practical impossibility: how could you know, beforehand, that people lose phenomenal consciousness if they continue to act as normal?). But Levy challenges it. He argues that access consciousness has a lot of value too. A life without phenomenal consciousness might be worse overall but it could still be worth living.

Levy defends this view by making a number of points. First, he argues that someone with access consciousness still has a point of view on the world. In other words, they will have certain dispositions and reactions to the world around them. They will value some things and disvalue others. They will have interests that can be thwarted or fulfilled. These mental states may all be purely functional in nature and so not associated with any phenomenal experience, but they are still real and still provide a foundation for a ‘valuing’ relationship between the person and the world around them. This is important because Levy thinks some people are too quick to deny the possibility that a person who lacks phenomenal consciousness can have a valuing relationship with the world.

Second, Levy argues that it is possible to talk meaningfully about the well-being (or welfare) of a philosophical zombie. This is true if you follow some of the classic theories of well-being. According to the desire-satisfaction theory, for example, a person’s life goes well for them if their desires are satisfied. A philosophical zombie can have desires — there is nothing in the concept of a desire to suggest that it requires phenomenal consciousness — and so their life can go better or worse depending on the number of desires they satisfy. Similarly, on an “objective list” theory of well-being, a person’s life goes well for them if they achieve certain objectively defined states of being, e.g. they are educated, their health is good, they have friends and family, they have intimate loving relationships and so on. Again there is no reason to think that a philosophical zombie cannot satisfy these conditions of well-being. Indeed, their “objective” nature makes them immune to considerations of phenomenality.

But this brings us to the potential spanner in the works. The desire-satisfaction and objective list theories of well-being are but two of the three most famous philosophical theories of well-being. The third theory is hedonism, which suggests that happiness or pleasure is the key to well-being. You might think that both happiness and pleasure are ruled out in the absence of phenomenal consciousness. Indeed, I’ve been assuming as much thus far, but Levy argues that we shouldn’t be so quick to make that assumption. He argues that genuine happiness may be possible without much (or anything) in the way of phenomenal consciousness.

He makes his case using a famous psychological case study. In some ground-breaking work, Mihaly Csikzentmihalyi and his colleagues discovered that people often report their highest levels of satisfaction and happiness during periods of ‘flow’. This arises when people are totally absorbed by some challenging activity. One of the noticeable things about these periods of flow is that people tend to lose the sense of themselves in these moments. That is to say, they lack self-awareness during peak flow. Their awareness is absorbed by the activity, and not by themselves nor (and this is crucial for Levy) any awareness of experiences they may be having in that moment. This is often reflected in the fact that people are unable to describe exactly what they were experiencing in the moment (though some argue that people do have phenomenal experiences in these moments but simply lack access to them).

Levy thinks this example is instructive. It suggests that happiness may be possible without phenomenal consciousness — indeed, it suggests that losing experiential awareness may be constitutive of extreme happiness.

Of course, it is not entirely clear how persuasive this is. It could be that there is a blurring of the boundaries between phenomenal consciousness and access consciousness in this interpretation of flow (i.e. Levy is reading too much into the fact that people lack access consciousness to what is going on in the moment). It could also be that there is conflation of phenomenal self-consciousness (a higher order conscious awareness of the self) and phenomenal consciousness (the raw experience in the moment). Losing the conscious sense of self could well be constitutive of happiness — centuries of Buddhist thought suggests as much — but that doesn’t mean that losing all phenomenal consciousness is constitutive of happiness. It is, however, hard to disentangle all of these things because scientific inquiry into happiness can never directly access someone’s phenomenal states: it always relies on self-report.

Undeterred by all this, Levy goes on to suggest that even if phenomenal consciousness is relevant in these moments, there is evidence to suggest that happiness is often accompanied by behavioural and functional states (e.g. the figurative “jump for joy”); that these may supply some of what is needed for happiness; and that they can get overlooked in the focus on phenomenal consciousness. So, the bottom line for him is that happiness of some sort may be possible for a philosophical zombie.
This leads him to conclude that a life without phenomenal consciousness could still be worth living.


3. Conclusion and Implications
I find Levy’s argument interesting. I find it relatively persuasive to suggest that phenomenal consciousness isn’t the only thing that matters when it comes to moral status and standing. The behavioural and functional aspects of consciousness can support a valuing relationship between an entity and the world around it, and provide the basis for a meaningful concept of well-being. This is true even if phenomenal consciousness also matters (or matters more).

But there is a bigger point here that overwhelms the philosophical niceties of the distinction between access and phenomenal consciousness. As he points out, phenomenal consciousness is problematic when it comes to shaping our normative behaviour. By its very nature it is private and first-personal. It is not something we can investigate or determine from a third person perspective. But since our normative duties are all determined from that perspective, it’s hard to use phenomenal consciousness as a basis for our moral norms. The only way to do it is to infer phenomenal consciousness through access consciousness. It should be reassuring then that access consciousness, by itself, provides a foundation for moral standing (if Levy is right). Levy concludes his paper by suggesting that this should affect how we think about the moral standing of animals and persons in persistent vegetative states.

This is something I very much agree with. I’ve written a few pieces in the past defending something that I call “ethical behaviourism” which argues that moral standing has to be determined by observations of behaviour. I tend to subsume within ‘behaviour’ what Levy would call access consciousness. In other words, I think that functional brain states might be included among the ‘behaviours’ that we use to determine the moral standing of another. But I am inclined toward a more extreme view which holds that behavioural states would trump functional brain states in any difficult case where the two do not seem to coincide.

Of course, a full defence of that view is a task for another day. For now, I think it suffices to say that Levy’s paper raises an important question and pursues a provocative answer to that question — one that goes against the common sense of many people.





Saturday, March 30, 2019

#56 - Turner on Rules for Robots


Jacob Turner

In this episode I talk to Jacob Turner. Jacob is a barrister and author. We chat about his new book, Robot Rules: Regulating Artificial Intelligence (Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), which discusses how to address legal responsibility, rights and ethics for AI.

You can download here or listen below. You can also subscribe to the show on iTunes, Stitcher and a variety of other services (the RSS feed is here).



Show Notes

  • 0:00 - Introduction
  • 1:33 - Why did Jacob write Robot Rules?
  • 2:47 - Do we need special legal rules for AI?
  • 6:34 - The responsibility 'gap' problem
  • 11:50 - Private law vs criminal law: why it's important to remember the distinction
  • 14:08 - Is is easy to plug the responsibility gap in private law?
  • 23:07 - Do we need to think about the criminal law responsibility gap?
  • 26:14 - Is it absurd to hold AI criminally responsible?
  • 30:24 - The problem with holding proximate humans responsible
  • 36:40 - The positive side of responsibility: lessons from the Monkey selfie case
  • 41:50 - What is legal personhood and what would it mean to grant it to an AI?
  • 48:57 - Pragmatic reasons for granting an AI legal personhood
  • 51:48 - Is this a slippery slope?
  • 56:00 - Explainability and AI: Why is this important?
  • 1:02:38 - Is there are right to explanation under EU law?
  • 1:06:16 - Is explainability something that requires a technical solution not a legal solution?
  • 1:08:32 - The danger of fetishising explainability

Relevant Links





Sunday, March 24, 2019

Are we in the midst of an ongoing moral catastrophe?


Albrecht Dürer - The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse


Here’s an interesting thought experiment:
The human brain is split into two cortical hemispheres. These hemispheres are joined together by the corpus callosum, a group nerve fibres that allows the two hemispheres to communicate and coordinate with one another. The common assumption is that the corpus callosum unites the two hemispheres into a single conscious being, i.e. you. But there is some evidence to suggest that this might not be the case. In split brain patients (i.e. patients whose corpus callosum has been severed) it is possible to perform experiments that result in the two halves of the body doing radically different things. In these experiments it is found that the left side of brain weaves a narrative that explains away the discrepancies in behaviour between the two sides of the body. Some people interpret this as evidence that the left half of the cortex is primarily responsible for shaping our conscious identity. But what if that is not what is going on? What if there are, in fact, two distinct conscious identities trapped inside most ‘normal’ brains but the left-side consciousness is the dominant one and it shuts down or prevents the right side from expressing itself? It’s only in rare patients and constrained experimental contexts that the right side gets to express itself. Suppose in the future that a ground-breaking series of experiments convincingly proves that this is indeed the case.



What ethical consequences would this have? Pretty dramatic ones. It is a common moral platitude that we should want to prevent the suffering and domination of conscious beings. But if what I just said is true, it would seem that each of us carries around a dominated and suffering conscious entity inside our own heads. This would represent a major ongoing moral tragedy and something ought to be done about it.

This fanciful thought experiment comes from Evan Williams’s paper ‘The Possibility of an Ongoing Moral Catastrophe’. It is tucked away in a footnote, offered up to the reader as an intellectual curio over which they can puzzle. It is, however, indicative of a much more pervasive problem that Williams thinks we need to take seriously.

The problem is this: There is a very good chance that those of who are alive today are unknowingly complicit in an unspecified moral catastrophe. In other words, there is a very good chance that you and I are currently responsible for a huge amount of moral wrongdoing — wrongdoing that future generations will criticise us for, and that will be a great source of shame for our grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

How can we be so confident of this? Williams has two arguments to offer and two solutions. I want to cover each of them in what follows. In the process, I’ll offer my own critical reflections on Williams’s thesis. In the end, I’ll suggest that he has identified an important moral problem, but that he doesn’t fully embrace the radical consequences of this problem.


1. Two Arguments for an Ongoing Moral Catastrophe
Williams’s first argument for an ongoing moral catastrophe is inductive in nature. It looks to lessons from history to get a sense of what might happen in the future. If we look at past societies, one thing immediately strikes us: many of them committed significant acts of moral wrongdoing that the majority of us now view with disdain and regret. The two obvious examples of this are slavery and the Holocaust. There was a time when many people thought it was perfectly okay for one person to own another; and there was a time when millions of Europeans (most of them concentrated in Germany) were knowingly complicit in the mass extermination of Jews. It is not simply that people went along with these practices despite their misgivings; it’s that many people either didn’t care or actually thought the practices were morally justified.

This is just to fixate on two historical examples. Many more could be given. Most historical societies took a remarkably cavalier attitude towards what we now take to be profoundly immoral practices such as sexism, racism, torture, and animal cruelty. Given this historical pattern, it seems likely that there is something that we currently tolerate or encourage (factory farming, anyone?) that future generations will view as a moral catastrophe. To rephrase this in a more logical form:



  • (1) We have reason to think that the present and the future will be like the past (general inductive presumption)



  • (2) The members of most past societies were unknowingly complicit in ongoing moral catastrophes.



  • (3) Therefore, it is quite likely that members of present societies are unknowingly complicit in ongoing moral catastrophes.



Premise (2) of this argument would seem to rest on a firm foundation. We have the writings and testimony of past generations to prove it. Extreme moral relativists or nihilists might call it into question. They might say it is impossible to sit in moral judgment on the past. Moral conservatives might also call it into question because they favour the moral views of the past. But neither of those views seems particularly plausible. Are we really going to deny the moral catastrophes of slavery or mass genocide? It would take a lot of special pleading and ignorance to make that sound credible.

That leaves premise (1). This is probably the more vulnerable premise in the argument. As an inductive assumption it is open to all the usual criticisms of induction. Perhaps the present is not like the past? Perhaps we have now arrived at a complete and final understanding of morality? Maybe this makes it highly unlikely that we could be unknowingly complicit in an ongoing catastrophe? Maybe. But it sounds like the height of moral and epistemic arrogance to assume that this is the case. There is no good reason to think that we have attained perfect knowledge of what morality demands. I suspect many of us encounter tensions or uncertainties in our moral views on a daily or, at least, ongoing basis. Should we give more money to charity? Should we be eating meat? Should we favour our family and friends over distant strangers? Each of these uncertainties casts doubt on the claim that we have perfect moral knowledge, and makes it more likely that future generations will know something about morality that we do not.

If you don’t like this argument, Williams has another. He calls it the disjunctive argument. It is based on the concept of disjunctive probability. You are probably familiar with conjunctive probability. These is the probability of two or more events both occurring. For example, what is the probability of rolling two sixes on a pair of dice? We know the independent probability of each of these events is 1/6. We can calculate the conjunctive probability by multiplying together the probability of each separate event (i.e. 1/6 x 1/6 = 1/36). Disjunctive probabilities are just the opposite of that. They are the probability of either one event or another (or another or another) occurring. For example, what is the probability of rolling either a 2 or a 3 if you roll two dice? We can calculate the disjunctive probability by adding together the probability of each separate event (1/6 + 1/6 = 1/3). It should be noted, though, that calculating disjunctive probabilities can be a bit more complicated than simply adding together the probabilities of separate events. If there is some overlap between events (e.g. if you are calculating the probability of drawing a spade or an ace from a deck of cards) you have to subtract away the probability of the overlapping event. But we can ignore this complication here.

Disjunctive probabilities are usually higher than you think. This is because while the probability of any particular improbable event occurring might be very low, the probability of at least one of those events occurring will necessarily be higher. This makes some intuitive sense. Consider your own death. The probability of you dying from any one specific cause (e.g. heart attack, bowel cancer, infectious disease, car accident or whatever) might be quite low, but the probability of you dying from at least one of those causes is pretty high.

Williams takes advantage of this property of disjunctive probabilities to make the case for ongoing moral catastrophe. He does so with two observations.

First, he points out that there are lots of ways in which we might be wrong about our current moral beliefs and practices. He lists some of them in his article: we might be wrong about who or what has moral standing (maybe animals or insects or foetuses have more moral standing than we currently think); we might be wrong about what is or is not conducive to human flourishing or health; we might be wrong about the extent of our duties to future generations; and so on. What’s more, for each of the possible sources of error there are multiple ways in which we could be wrong. For example, when it comes to errors of moral standing we could err in being over or under-inclusive. The opening thought experiment about the split-brain cases is just one fanciful illustration of this. Either one of these errors could result in an ongoing moral catastrophe.

Second, he uses the method for calculating disjunctive probabilities to show that even though the probability of us making any particular one of those errors might be low (for argument’s sake let’s say it is around 5%), the probability of us making at least one of those errors could be quite high. Let’s say there are fifteen possible errors we could be making, each with a probability of around 5%. In that case, the chances of us making at least one of those errors is going to be about 54%, which is greater than 1 in 2.

That’s a sobering realisation. Of course, you might try to resist this by claiming that the probability of us making such a dramatic moral error is much lower than 5%. Perhaps it is almost infinitesimal. But how confident are you really, given that we know that errors can be made? Also, even if the individual probabilities are quite low, with enough possible errors, the chance of at least one ongoing moral catastrophe is still going to be pretty high.


2. Two Responses to the Problem
Having identified the risk of ongoing moral catastrophe, Williams naturally turns to the question of what we ought to do about it.

The common solution to an ongoing or potential future risk is to take corrective measures by hedging your bets against it or to taking precautiounary approach to that risk. For example, if you are worried about the risk of crashing your new motorcycle and injuring yourself, you’ll either (a) take out insurance to protect against the expenses associated with such a crash or (b) simply avoid buying and using a motorcycle.

Williams argues that neither solution is available in the case of ongoing moral catastrophe. There are too many potential errors we could be making to hedge against them all. In hedging against one possible error you might commit yourself to another. And a precautionary approach won’t work either because failing to act could be just as big a moral catastrophe as acting, depending on the scenario. For example, failing to send more money to charity might be as big an error as sending money to the wrong kind of charity. You cannot just sit back, do nothing, and hope to avoid moral catastrophe.

So what can be done? Williams has two suggestions. The first is that we need to make it easier for us to recognise moral catastrophes. In other words, we need to make intellectual progress and advance the cause of moral knowledge: both knowledge of the consequential impact of our actions and of the plausibility/consistency of our moral norms. The idea here is that our complicity in an ongoing moral catastrophe is always (in part) due to a lack of moral knowledge. Future generations will learn where we went wrong. If we could somehow accelerate that learning process we could avert or at least lessen any ongoing moral catastrophe. So that’s what we need to do. We need to create a society in which the requisite moral knowledge is actively pursued and promoted, and in which there is a good ‘marketplace’ of moral ideas. Williams doesn’t offer specific proposals as to how this might be done. He just thinks this is the general strategy we should be following.

The second suggestion has to do with the flexibility of our social order. Williams argues that one reason why societies fail to minimise moral catastrophes is because they are conservative and set in their ways. Even if people recognise the ongoing moral catastrophe they struggle against institutional and normative inertia. They cannot bring about the moral reform that is necessary. Think about the ongoing moral catastrophe of climate change. Many people realise the problem but very few people know how to successfully change social behaviour to avert the worst of it. So Williams argues we need to create a social order that is more flexible and adaptive — one that can implement moral reform quickly, when the need is recognised. Again, there are no specific proposals as to how this might be done, though Williams does fire off some shots against hard-wiring values into a written and difficult-to-amend constitutional order, using the US as a particular example of this folly.


3. Is the problem more serious than Williams realises?
I follow Williams’s reasoning up until he outlines his potential solutions to the problem. But the two solutions strike me as being far too vague to be worthwhile. I appreciate that Williams couldn’t possibly give detailed policy recommendations in a short article; and I appreciate that his main goal is not to give those recommendations but to raise people’s consciousnesses as to the problem of ongoing moral catastrophe and to make very broad suggestions about the kind of thing that could be done in response. Still, I think in doing this he either underplays how radical the problem actually is, or overplays it and thus is unduly dismissive of one potential solution to the problem. Let me see if I can explain my thinking.

On the first point, let me say something about how I interpret Williams’s argument. I take it that the problem of ongoing moral catastrophe is a problem that arises from massive and multi-directional moral uncertainty. We are not sure if our current moral beliefs are correct; there are a lot of them; and they could be wrong in multiple different possible ways. They could be under-inclusive or over-inclusive; they could demand too much or not demand; and so on. This massive and multi-directional moral uncertainty supports Williams’s claim that we cannot avoid moral catastrophe by doing nothing, since doing nothing could also be the cause of a catastrophe.

But if this interpretation is correct then I think Williams’s doesn’t appreciate the radical implications of this massive and multi-directional moral uncertainty. If moral uncertainty is that pervasive, then it means that everything we do is fraught with moral risk. That includes following Williams’s recommendations. For example, trying to increase moral knowledge could very well lead to a moral catastrophe. After all, it’s not like there is an obvious and reliable way of doing this. A priori, we might think a relatively frictionless and transparent marketplace of moral ideas would be a good idea, but there is no guarantee that this will lead people to moral wisdom. If people are systematically biased towards making certain kinds of moral error (and they arguably are, although making this assessment itself depends on a kind of moral certainty that we have no right to claim), then following this strategy could very well hasten a moral catastrophe. At the same time, we know that censorship and friction often blocks necessary moral reform. So we have to calibrate the marketplace of moral ideas in just the right way to avoid catastrophe. This is extremely difficult (if not impossible) to do if moral uncertainty is as pervasive as Williams seems to suggest.

The same is true if we try to increase social flexibility. If we make it too easy for society to adapt and change to some new perceived moral wisdom, then we could hasten a moral catastrophe. This isn’t a hypothetical concern. History is replete with stories of moral revolutionaries who seized the reins of power only to lead their societies into moral desolation. Indeed, hard-wiring values into a constitution, and thus adding some inflexibility to the social moral order, was arguably adopted in order to provide an important bulwark against this kind of moral error.

The point is that if a potential moral catastrophe is lurking everywhere we look, then it is very difficult to say what we should be doing to avoid it. This pervasive and all-encompassing moral uncertainty is paralysing.

But maybe I am being ungenerous to Williams’s argument. Maybe he doesn’t embrace this radical form of moral uncertainty. Maybe he thinks there are some rock-solid bits of moral knowledge that are unlikely to change and so we can use those to guide us to what we ought to do to avert an ongoing catastrophe. But if that’s the case, then I suspect any solution to the problem of moral catastrophe will end up being much more conservative than Williams’s seems to suspect. If that’s the case, we will cling to the moral certainties like life rafts in a sea of moral uncertainty. We will use them to evaluate and constrain any reform to our system.

One example of how this might work in practice would be to apply the wisdom of negative utilitarianism (something Williams is sceptical about). According to negative utilitarianism, it is better to try to minimise suffering than it is to try to maximise pleasure or joy. I find this to be a highly plausible principle. I also find it to be much easier to implement than the converse principle of positive utilitarianism. This is because I think we can be more confident about what the causes suffering are than we can be about what induces joy. But if negative utilitarianism represents one of our moral life rafts, it also represents one of the best potential responses to the problem of ongoing moral catastrophe. It’s not clear to me that abiding by it would warrant the kinds of reforms that Williams seems to favour.

But, of course, that’s just my two cents on the idea. I think the problem Williams identifies is an important one and also a very difficult one. If he is right that we could be complicit in an ongoing moral catastrophe, then I am not sure that anyone has a good answer as to what we should be doing about it.




Wednesday, March 20, 2019

The Optimist's Guide to Schopenhauer's Pessimism (Audio Essay)




Schopenhauer was a profoundly pessimistic man. He argued that all life was suffering. Was he right or is there room for optimism? This audio essay tries to answer that question. It is based on an earlier written essay. You can listen below or download here.



These audio essays are released as part of the Philosophical Disquisitions podcast. You can subscribe to the podcast on Apple Podcasts, Player FM, Podbay, Podbean, Castbox, Overcast and more. Full details available here.


Monday, March 18, 2019

Is there such a thing as moral progress?


Picture taken from William Murphy on Flickr


We often speak as if we believe in moral progress. We talk about recent moral changes, such as the legalisation of gay marriage, as ‘progressive’ moral changes. We express dismay at the ‘regressive’ moral views of racists and bigots. Some people (I’m looking at you Steven Pinker) have written long books that defend the idea that, although there have been setbacks, there has been a general upward trend in our moral attitudes over the course of human history. Martin Luther King once said that the arc of the moral universe is long but bend towards justice.

But does moral progress really exist? And how would we know if it did? Philosophers have puzzled over this question for some time. The problem is this. There is no doubt that there has been moral change over time, and there is no doubt that we often think of our moral views as being more advanced than those of our ancestors, but it is hard to see exactly what justifies this belief. It seems like you would need some absolute moral standard or goal against which you can measure moral change to justify that belief. Do we have such a thing?

In this post, I want offer some of my own, preliminary and underdeveloped, thoughts on the idea of moral progress. I do so by first clarifying the concept of moral progress, and then considering whether and when we can say that it exists. I will suggest that moral progress is real, and we are at least sometimes justified in saying that it has taken place. Nevertheless, there are some serious puzzles and conceptual difficulties with identifying some forms of moral progress.


1. Morality and Change: Clarifying the Idea of Progress
Before we talk about the idea of moral progress, it will help if we clarify what morality is and how it changes. This makes sense since moral progress is just a specific kind of moral change. I’ll talk about this in relatively abstract terms, but I think that is appropriate because moral progress is a relatively abstract phenomenon.

Morality is concerned with good and bad and right and wrong. A complete moral theory consists of an axiology — which identifies what is good and what is bad — and a deontology — which identifies what is right and what is wrong (and some other qualities of moral action too). Moral concepts and principles are essential to building a moral theory. The concepts will identify core values (like freedom, pleasure, equality, welfare etc.). The principles will tell us how we should act in order to protect and promote those core values (“you ought to give 10% of your income to charity” etc.). Moral theories will also usually identify groups of moral subjects and moral agents. Moral subjects are the beings or entities to whom moral value can accrue (and who may themselves possess intrinsic value) and so have to factored into our moral calculus. Moral agents are the beings or entities to whom principles of right and wrong apply. They are the ones that have to uphold the moral standards.

When morality changes, this means that there is some change in one or more of the constituent elements of our moral theories. We recognise a new value or discard an old on;, we expand the scope of an old moral principle, or drop it completely; we identify new moral subjects or exclude those we previously recognised as having moral status. And so on. All manner of changes have taken place over the course of human history. The challenge is to figure out whether any of those changes has been progressive or not.

There have been a few interesting articles written about this over the years. Michelle Moody Adams’s article “The Idea of Moral Progress” is widely cited. In it, Adams suggests that there is such a thing as moral progress, but that it is always local in form. Progress can only be assessed relative to a particular moral standard or concept (or set of moral standards and concepts). So, for example, we can talk about the world becoming more free or more equal, relative to some particular conception of freedom or equality, but we can’t talk about the world becoming better or worse simpliciter. Adams claims that this localised form of progress is a process ‘semantic deepening”, where we develop an enriched understanding of what a moral concept means and to whom it might apply over time.

An example might help. Consider the changes in our understanding of morally salient harm over the past couple of hundred years. Initially, we recognised a very narrow subset of harms as being morally salient, usually only physical harms experienced by a conscious being. Over time, we realised that harm was a broader phenomenon and started to accept psychological harms as being morally salient. This led philosophers to formulate general and abstract theories of harm, claiming that harm was a ‘serious setback to life interests’, and allowing for some open-endedness in what might count as a life interest. Some push for even further broadening, arguing that environmental or property-related damage should be seen a kind of harm. Some resist this. Nevertheless, following Adams, there is a clear sense in which the broadening of the concept represents a localised form of moral progress, i.e. progress in how we understand and apply the concept of harm. And what is true for harm is true for other concepts too, such as freedom, equality, and well-being.

Adams’s localised understanding of progress has been endorsed by others. Nigel Pleasants, for instance, in his article on ‘The Structure of Moral Revolutions’, rejects the claim that there is a single universal understanding of moral progress, but accepts that there can be progress relative to particular moral traditions. I think this is correct and that Adams’s localised understanding of moral progress should be relatively uncontroversial. I like to think about it in visual terms. I like to think about moral concepts and principles having a scope of application (i.e. there are groups of people, actions, events, and states of affairs to whom they apply); and I like to think that progress takes place when that scope of application expands. For example, we might recognise a right like the right to vote. Initially, this right is granted to a narrow group of people. Over time, the number of people included within the scope of the right expands. This represents progress. I have illustrated this approach to moral progress below.



The problem is that this definition of moral progress seems pretty thin. Sure, there is progress relative to a particular concept, but does this allow us say that the world is getting better or worse in general? Do we have to be relativists and sceptics about moral progress if we accept this localised definition?


2. The Challenge of Moral Progress
Patrick Stokes discusses this problem rather well in his article “Towards an Epistemology of Moral Progress”. I mentioned earlier that moral change is an indisputable historical fact. But not all moral change takes the form of progressive scope expansions. Indeed, sometimes moral change takes the form of dropping or rejecting certain bloated moral concepts. Take, sexual purity as an example. This was once highly morally-valued. Society condemned or outlawed sexually impure activities. Though this ‘purity’ mentality lingers to some extent, it is rejected by most people of my generation living in advanced economies. We favour sexual liberty over purity. In fact, we think that this preference for liberty over purity represents progress.

But, as Stokes points out, the fact that principles and concepts change in this way — that some get dropped or added to the mix over time — should cause some pessimism when it comes to our belief in moral progress. To be more precise, he argues that moral change of this sort presents an epistemological challenge to the belief in moral progress. How can we know that the moral concepts we are currently using to measure progress are not themselves going to be cast away in the next moral revolution? And if they might be, doesn’t this have certain radical consequences for morality more generally? Doesn’t it mean that we should feel no strong sense of moral obligation to our currently favoured moral concepts and principles?

Stokes has his own specific solution to this puzzle, which I will get back to later, but in essence he suggests that relativism and scepticism can be avoided if we accept that there are some basic, unchangeable moral concepts and principles. Though there are those who reject this idea, it does not seem like a huge stretch to me. Protecting and promoting basic values such as well-being, freedom and equality probably won’t go out of fashion any time soon, and while specific conceptions of these values might deepen, expand and contract over time, the commitment to them probably won’t. If so, then it may be possible to argue for a consistent, historically-stable theory of moral progress.

Michelle Moody Adams seems to endorse this view in her article. She suggests that the ideal of equality, for example, always contained within it the notion that women and slaves deserved to be treated as moral equals. This insight was available to Aristotle and others living in Ancient Greece. If he and those others had just thought a bit more deeply about what their moral concepts demanded, we might have arrived at a more equal society much sooner. There are, no doubt, interesting psychological, cultural and economic explanations for why this did not happen, but it was a latent possibility nonetheless, hidden right there in the basic moral concepts.

I agree with this to some extent. I think there are, indeed, basic moral values that are relatively fixed and stable (though I think this stability is dependent on features of human biology and sociality that may ultimately be malleable). But I don’t think this stability, in and of itself, gets us past the problem identified by Stokes. While it may be possible to measure progress in terms of expansions in how we understand stable moral concepts such as freedom, well-being and equality, the really hard cases arise when those expansions conflict.

Go back to the earlier example of sexual purity versus sexual liberty. The expansion in our understanding of sexual liberty (which resulted in more sexual acts being deemed permissible) seems to have come at the expense of sexual purity. In other words, we couldn’t expand sexual liberty without at the same time contracting (and eventually abandoning) sexual purity. The same is true in other cases. Consider the conflicts between freedom and equality, or welfare and equality. Economists like to remind us of these conflicts all the time. They suggest that equalising the distribution of economic gains sometimes comes at the expense of preventing an increase in the overall size of those gains. There are cases where we can expand one but not the other. In these cases, the obvious question arises: in which direction does moral progress lie? Can we say that favouring expanded equality over expanded welfare represents progress?

The most plausible answer to that question is to establish some hierarchy of basic values. This hierarchy would allows us to clearly identify one form of expansion as being more progressive than the other (because it serves a higher good). But this is not always going to be an acceptable strategy. It is often hard to pick and choose between basic values like freedom, equality and well-being. Some people would argue that they are all equally important, or that they are interdependent in sometimes counterintuitive ways. And it is not like the conflicts between these values are marginal cases either. It is often the preferred resolution to these conflicts that gets weaponised in debates about moral progress. It may be that there is no overarching definition of progress in these cases; there is just arbitrary preference.


3. The Expanding Moral Circle: The Uncontroversial Case?
To sum up, I tend to agree with Adams and Pleasants that moral progress is possible, but can only be assessed relative to certain moral concepts and principles. This does not, however, mean we have to be radical moral sceptics or relativists about progress. There may be some historically stable moral concepts which allow us to talk meaningfully about consistent forms moral progress. There is no guarantee that history will bend in the direction of moral progress — there will often be cases of moral regression — but it does mean we can talk about progress without shame. That said, there will be tough cases where basic moral values conflict, and where we cannot progress along one dimension one without contracting along another. In these cases, it may not be meaningful to talk about moral progress at all.

Let me conclude on a more optimistic note. There does seem to be one form of moral progress that philosophers have been willing to endorse: the expanding circle of moral concern. Accepting that basic human rights apply to all human beings, irrespective of gender, colour and creed, and that animals have at least some degree of moral considerability, even if it is not equivalent to that of human beings, is generally taken to be a mark of progress (at least among philosophers; clearly many people are fearful of the expanding circle of moral concern). This is why the retrenchment towards cultural chauvinism, racism and sexism is widely viewed as regressive, and why many people regret historical moments when we had a narrower circle of moral concern.

In his discussion of moral progress, Patrick Stokes suggests that there may be a good reason for the widespread acceptance of this as a form of moral progress. Using the work of the Danish philosopher K.E Løgstrup as his guide, he argues that the core of morality is our response to the ‘Other’. We have to encounter Others in our daily lives (other people, other beings) and we have to decide whether or not to respond to them ethically or selfishly. Ethics demands that we project ourselves out of our own predicaments and consider the potential needs of these Others. Do they matter? Do they count? Stokes has a complicated story to tell about this core ethical demand, but in the end he argues that all moral progress is assessed relative to it. Does a change in moral attitudes respect the core ethical demand or not? If it does, then it may count as progressive; if it does not, then it is more likely to be regressive.

So, on this theory, being other-regarding is the core of morality and is the metre stick against which all moral progress is measured. Consequently, it kind of makes sense that expanding the circle of moral concern is generally viewed as progressive. After all, what could be more respectful of the core ethical demand than to recognise Others as a moral beings with moral status? And what could be more progressive than continually expanding outward that circle of moral concern?




Wednesday, March 13, 2019

#55 - Baum on the Long-Term Future of Human Civilisation


Seth_Baum

In this episode I talk to Seth Baum. Seth is an interdisciplinary researcher working across a wide range of fields in natural and social science, engineering, philosophy, and policy. His primary research focus is global catastrophic risk. He also works in astrobiology. He is the Co-Founder (with Tony Barrett) and Executive Director of the Global Catastrophic Risk Institute. He is also a Research Affiliate of the University of Cambridge Centre for the Study of Existential Risk. We talk about the importance of studying the long-term future of human civilisation, and map out four possible trajectories for the long-term future.

You can download the episode here or listen below. You can also subscribe on a variety of different platforms, including iTunes, Stitcher, Overcast, Podbay, Player FM and more. The RSS feed is available here.



Show Notes

  • 0:00 - Introduction
  • 1:39 - Why did Seth write about the long-term future of human civilisation?
  • 5:15 - Why should we care about the long-term future? What is the long-term future?
  • 13:12 - How can we scientifically and ethically study the long-term future?
  • 16:04 - Is it all too speculative?
  • 20:48 - Four possible futures, briefly sketched: (i) status quo; (ii) catastrophe; (iii) technological transformation; and (iv) astronomical
  • 23:08 - The Status Quo Trajectory - Keeping things as they are
  • 28:45 - Should we want to maintain the status quo?
  • 33:50 - The Catastrophe Trajectory - Awaiting the likely collapse of civilisation
  • 38:58 - How could we restore civilisation post-collapse? Should we be working on this now?
  • 44:00 - Are we under-investing in research into post-collapse restoration?
  • 49:00 - The Technological Transformation Trajectory - Radical change through technology
  • 52:35 - How desirable is radical technological change?
  • 56:00 - The Astronomical Trajectory - Colonising the solar system and beyond
  • 58:40 - Is the colonisation of space the best hope for humankind?
  • 1:07:22 - How should the study of the long-term future proceed from here?
 

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