Tag: mill

Mill Versus Aristotle – The Summum Bonum That Wasn’t

In a previous post, I outlined some significant differences between Mill and Plato on the question of Pleasure, that I think are grounded in a misreading of Plato. Here, I present a few differences between Mill and Aristotle on the summum bonum, right and wrong action, and pleasure.

When considering the arguments in Utilitarianism, and the obvious allusions to Plato and Aristotle within it, many seem to me to be incomplete at best, and misguided at worst. The main disagreement, almost from the start, is on the question of both what constitutes a “chief good” (and how its justified), and what the chief good actually is. Namely, what is happiness. As we’ll see, this divergence is immediate, and catastrophic. Mill is clearly adopting Aristotle’s framing of the problem of morality, as one in which we must identify the highest good, and then justify our actions relative to it:

“All action is for the sake of some end, and rules of action, it seems natural to suppose, must take their whole character and colour from the end to which they are subservient.” — Mill

But Aristotle takes this a step further in his introduction, positing the summum bonum almost immediately:

“Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and choice, is though to aim at some good; and it is for this reason, the good has rightly been declared to be that at which all things aim… If, then, there is some chief end of the things we do, which we desire for its own sake (everything else being desired for the sake of this)… clearly this must be the chief good. Will not knowledge of it, then, have a great influence on life? Shall we not, like archers who have a mark to aim at, be more likely to hit upon what is right?…” — Aristotle

Mill agrees that the question of how we decide right action from wrong is the same as the identification of the summum bonum; or, the explication of the foundations of morality, but:

“…a test of right and wrong must be the means… of ascertaining what is right and wrong, and not a consequence of already having ascertained it…” – Mill

To the question of determining right and wrong action, prior to knowing the chief good, Aristotle argues that this is not as easy as it sounds:

“Noble and just actions… exhibit much variety and fluctuation, so they may be thought to exist only by convention, and not by nature. But goods exhibit a similar fluctuation because they bring harm to many people; for in the past, men have been undone by reason of their wealth, and others by reason of their courage…” — Aristotle

Mill responds, stretching the problem by arguing that there is no special faculty by which we can know what the chief good is:

“…the existence of a [natural] moral instinct is itself one of the matters of dispute… our moral faculty, according to all those of its interpreters… supplies us only with the general principles of moral judgment; it is a branch of our reason, not of our sensitive faculty; and must be looked to for abstract doctrines of morality, not for perception of it in the concrete…” — Mill

But Aristotle insists that what is evident to us by reason should be enough to at least recognize the summum bonum as Eudaemonia:

“…both the general run of men, and people of superior refinement, say that [the summum bonum] is [Eudaemonia] and identify living well and flourishing with this; but with regard to what [Eudaemonia] is they differ, and the masses do not give the same account as the wise. For the former think it is something plain and obvious, like pleasure, wealth, or honour… let us not fail to notice, however, that there is a difference between arguments from an those to the first principles… while we must begin with what is evident, things are evident in two ways – some to us, some without qualification. Presumably, then, we must begin with things that are evident to us…” — Aristotle

Mill seems to agree that a first principle is necessary, but insists it cannot be Eudaemonia, arguing for the pleasure principle instead:

“…[Aristotelians hold] that morality must be deduced from first principles to support their pretensions that there ought to be either some fundamental principle or law at the root of morality, or if there be several, there should be a determinate order of precedence among them… the non-existence of an acknowledged first principle has made ethics not so much a guide as a consecration of mens actual sentiments. Still, as mens sentiments, both of favor and aversion, are greatly influenced by what they suppose to be the effects of things upon their happiness [pleasure], the principle of utility, or as Bentham latterly called it, the Greatest Happiness Principle…” — Mill

Mill goes much further in his skepticism, as well, insisting that first principles cannot be justified:

“…questions of ultimate ends are not amenable to direct proof. Whatever can be proved to be good, must be so by being shown to be a means to something admitted to be good without proof. The medical art is proved to be good by its conducing to health, but how is it possible to prove that health is good?…” — Mill

To which Aristotle retorts that Mill has forgotten to infer the Telos from the design or function of man, himself:

“…Let us return to the good we are seeking, and ask what it can be… Surely that for which sake everything else is done. In medicine this is health… it is for the sake of the [chief good] that all men do whatever they do. Therefore, there is an end for all that we do, this will be the good achievable by action… the chief good is evidently something final… we call final without qualification that which is always desirable in itself, and never for the sake of something else… Eudaemonia above all else, is held to be [final], for this we choose always for itself and never for the sake of something else; honour, pleasure, reason, and every virtue, we choose indeed for themselves, but we choose them also for the sake of Eudaemonia, judging that through them, we shall achieve a life of Eudamonia…” — Aristotle

Mill rejects this, insisting that Eudaemonia is a myth, and simply asserting that all this ever really meant, was pleasure:

“…every writer from Epicurus to Bentham, who maintained a theory of utility, meant by it, not something to be contradistinguished from pleasure, but pleasure itself, together with the exemption from pain; and instead of opposing the useful to the agreeable or the ornamental, have always declared that the useful means these, among other things…” — Mill

But Aristotle did make this “contradistinction” (and, arguably, so did Socrates). He adopts a similar tripartite psychology to Plato’s, even while disputing Plato:

“…Let us separate, then, things good in themselves from useful things, and consider whether the former are called good by reference to a single Form… of honour, wisdom, and pleasure. Just in respect of their goodness, the accounts are distinct and diverse. The good, therefore, is not something common answering to one idea. But what then do we mean by the good?…” — Aristotle

Aristotle’s answer to this question is Eudaemonia, as mentioned before. And the three goods of honour, wisdom, and pleasure, answer to it.

Mill completely ignores the idea of Eudaemonia, blithely ploughing ahead with his equation of happiness and pleasure. He did concede, at least, two kinds of pleasure (a trap that Socrates also laid for Callicles in The Gorgias, and as I mentioned in my previous post, Mill also chose to ignore):

“…Human beings have faculties more elevated than the animal appetites, and whence once made conscious of them, do not regard anything as happiness which does not include their gratification…” — Mill

The trap, is that this implies a standard by which “high” and “low” pleasures can be judged. Aristotle partly agrees, and again, articulates his tripartite view. But says that Mill is mistaken to think that high borns aren’t susceptible to low pleasures:

“…the mass of mankind are evidently quite slavish in their tastes, preferring a life suitable to beasts, but they get some ground for their view from the fact that many of those in the high places share the tastes of Sardanapallus. A further consideration of the prominent types of life shows that people of superior refinement and of active disposition identify Eudaemonia with honour; for this is, roughly speaking, the end of political life… the third kind of life, is the contemplative life…” — Aristotle

Mill’s task, then, is to name this standard, and explain why pleasure is to be adopted to the exclusion of honour or wisdom, and Eudaemonia is to be jettisoned altogether. He never really does this. The best he can offer, is a slightly better enumeration of the kinds of pleasure, than Callicles could offer, in the Gorgias:

“…of two pleasures, if there be one to which all or most give a decided preference, irrespective of any feeling of moral obligation to prefer it, that is the more desirable pleasure… if one of the two [pleasures] is, by those who are competently acquainted with both, placed so far above the other that they prefer it even though knowing it to be attended with a greater amount of discontent… we are justified in ascribing to the preferred enjoyment a superiority in quality…” — Mill

So, there is no standard beyond a democratic vote, among the “competently acquainted”. Mill never explains what would constitute competent acquaintance, or why a democratic majority constitutes a standard for “superiority in quality”.

Aristotle differed from Mill dramatically on the question of pleasure. He did not reject it as the ascetics did. He did not elevate it to the summum bonum the way Mill has. Rather, in addition to conceding it as one pathway or life among the three that leads to Eudaemonia, he also saw it as an instrumental good. It is an “instrument reading” telling us whether we’re achieving what we hold valuable (what we love). To wit:

“…pleasure is a state of the soul, and to each man, that which he is said to be a lover of, is pleasant; for example, not only is a horse pleasant to a lover of horses, and a spectacle to a lover of sights, so too in the same way are just acts pleasant to the lover of justice and in general virtuous actions to the lover of virtue… the lovers of what is noble find pleasant the things that are by nature pleasant; virtuous actions are such, so that these are pleasant for such men as well as in their own nature… the man who does not rejoice in noble actions is not even good, since no one would call a man just who did not enjoy acting justly…” — Aristotle

The question of Mill’s disagreement with Aristotle on the topics of virtue and justice is so large and complicated that I’m going to have to address it in another post. Suffice to say here, that the divergence between Aristotle and Mill after the question of the summum bonum and the pleasure principle is so great, that by the time we get to virtue and justice, the two are utterly unrecognizable.

Ultimately, I think Plato and Aristotle in combination, have actually presented a far richer and more sophisticated picture of moral psychology, than Mill has. His idea, even while borrowing Aristotle’s good-centered morality, is heavily dependent upon appeals to Victorian sentimentality, and an implicit reliance on progressive notions of the development of history and human society that require utopian optimism. What’s more, as I’ve outlined here and in the previous post, he reduces all of human motivation to a single variable — pleasure — and fails to explain why his conception of the pleasure principle is impervious to the objections presented by Plato and Aristotle — the two philosophers beyond Bentham that lurk constantly in the background of everything Mill did.

Thus, while Utilitarianism may provide some utility (pun not intended) in very localized and immediate circumstances, I do not think it is sufficient as a theory of morality in general, nor a palatable model for moral decision-making.

Book Review: The Righteous Mind, Jonathan Haidt

Is it better to be truly just, or merely to seem so? This is the question put to Socrates by Glaucon in The Republic. Jonathan Haidt, in his book, “The Righteous Mind”, counts Glaucon among the cynics for putting this challenge to Socrates. But Haidt is missing a subtle and very powerful nuance in Plato’s story. Socrates had just finished embarrassing Thrasymachus for his weak defense of cynical egoism. Glaucon and Adeimantus were certainly entertained, but they were not satisfied with Socrates. They sought much stronger reasons for accepting the conclusion that true justice is preferable to appearance, because they did not want to merely seem to agree with Socrates. They really wanted to believe that genuine justice was better, and giving Socrates the strongest possible objection that could be mustered is the only way an honest man (if he is honest with himself) can do this.

Socrates’ initial response to Glaucon was not the description of the ideal state that the story has become famous for. Rather, it was a likening of the soul to the body. Repeated abuses and illnesses corrupt and degrade the health of the body over time, until at some point it is no longer possible to experience vigor and vitality. Likewise, says Socrates, repeated vices and injustices committed in pursuit of wealth or power or honor will eventually render the soul so degraded and corrupt that it will no longer be capable of achieving eudaemonia (aka ‘contentment’, ‘happiness’, or ‘flourishing’). This is the fate of the man who pursues a life of politics, without first tending to his soul.

Haidt seems almost proud of his “Glauconian cynicism” – a socio-biological view in which he believes he can show that, regardless of which is better, seeming just is what we humans actually seek. Haidt claims explicitly and confidently not to be offering an argument for what ought to be, only what is. But the enthusiasm with which he reports this supposed scientific fact suggests that he also thinks that what is, just is what ought to be. But this is precisely the challenge posed to Socrates by Glaucon: it certainly is true that many people (perhaps even most) are cynical and self-serving. So, why oughtn’t they be? Haidt’s response to this recurring implicit question seems to be to just keep reasserting the fact, in ever more sophisticated and complex ways.

Near the end of the book, in spite of already offering an explicit refusal to address the problem of normative ethics, Haidt tosses off a flippant endorsement of Utilitarianism as if this view has already settled the normative question, or simply to signal to the reader that the question just isn’t interesting enough to bother investigating. But this has profound implications for how seriously one can take some of the claims he makes in this book. The tension between what is and what ought to be plagues this book, and any reader eager for insight into the gap between descriptive and normative ethics will find it profoundly frustrating.

The Basic Theory, and It’s Problems

Haidt’s basic theory of the “Righteous Mind” comes down to two hypotheses. First, that the human brain has evolved for both “tribal” and “hive” social structures. To put it in his terms, “we are 90% chimp, and 10% bee”, and a special “hive switch” in the brain is flipped, when conditions are ideal, that suppress our self-interested “groups” psychology, and make us more altruistically “hive-ish”. It’s not quite clear what sort of mechanism this “switch” is, what causes it to flip, and how it gets reset. But he offers a lot of anecdotes from his research that describe evidence suggesting its presence.

The second, and much more complex portion of the theory, is his six-dimensional model of moral psychology. His system is powerfully reminiscent of David Hume’s own four-pole system of moral emotions (Pride-vs-Humility / Love-vs-Hate). But there is one extremely significant difference. Hume’s theory was one meant to describe morality as a system of “passions” (special kinds of emotions). These passions derive from a natural propensity for pleasure, and a natural aversion to pain (he presages the Utilitarians in this respect). What’s more, moral judgments are not reasoned, but felt. Morality, for Hume, just is emotions expressed. Haidt’s theory, on the other hand, describes six dimensions of values, not emotions: Care, Fairness, Loyalty, Authority, Sanctity, and Liberty. Haidt says that all human beings have this six-dimensional system built-in as a consequence of thousands of years of socio-biological evolution. He argues that the “sensitivity level” at which each of these is not permanently fixed, but is set to “defaults” at birth, and adjusted over a lifespan by experience. How, precisely, this happens and by what mechanism, is a bit murky, but again, he offers loads of anecdotal examples (and data from his studies) to show how each of these dimensions is expressed by individuals.

A few questions and objections arose for me, about these two hypotheses, as I read through the book, that never seemed to get a satisfactory answer. First, on the six aspects: are they like adjuster knobs on a sound board? Or, are they merely barometer needles reporting varying pressure levels set by environmental impacts on a biological system? If the former, then surely there are “optimal” positions for each of these knobs (even if only circumstantially optimal)? In that case, then there is indeed an opening for a normative ethical theory, describing these optimums. However, if the latter is true, then it is hard to understand how there could be any such thing as an “ought” at all, much less a system prescribing them. Haidt is constantly nudging up to the edge of this Humean is-ought cliff, and retreating from it just when things start to get interesting.

Second, Haidt never quite explicitly acknowledges that he’s describing a system of values, rather than a moral psychology. One might object that a system of values could be said to be a variety of moral psychology, but I would reply that by the time we get to values, we’re already one layer above fundamental psychology. Why these six, and not others? Indeed, in the book, Haidt explicitly acknowledges that some early reviewers of the book objected to the lack of “equality” as a value on his list of “aspects”. If “liberty” counts as a foundational psychological value, then why not “equality”? It has just as long a history, after all. More importantly, to talk of values at all, you’re once again in flirting in the realm of the normative. I would have to look more closely at the research he used to back this section of the book, but how do we know he didn’t just happen to find the set of six values that he and his team were particularly focused on already? That is a normative selection process: “these values are more important than those”.

Third, returning to the “hive switch”, Haidt emphasizes the “dangers” of too much hive-ishness or too much groupishness. But he never quite explains how there could be any such thing as a “right amount” of either, in the absence of a normative theory. Without any idea of what an ideal amount of either would look like, why would the horror of the Hobbesian anarchy or Stalinist oppression even count as “bad”? Lower primates seem perfectly satisfied with brutal inter-tribal conflict, and ants are obliviously willing to destroy themselves en masse for the sake of colony and queen. What’s worse, is that there’s no clear explanation for how the “hive switch” and the six-dimensional moral psychology fit together. Do certain knob settings produce hives instead of tribes? Do others produce tribes instead of hives? What are the right tension levels between the two modes? If the knob settings do influence this, how do we know what those should be? None of this is discussed in the book, except in passionate warnings to beware of extremes. A laudable sentiment, but so what?

Lastly, while Frans de Waal is largely an asset to Haidt’s book, there is one key notion from de Waal that highlights the primary problem with Haidt’s “Glauconian moral matrix”; de Waal captured it in a rather pithy phrase: Veneer Theory. In his book, “Primates and Philosophers”, de Waal uses the phrase to criticize Huxley and Dawkins for uncritically accepting a view of human nature that is Hobbesian without providing an explanation for how a self-serving egoist gets to altruism all on his own. Haidt’s book suffers from a similar problem. Though he does a great job of bridging the gap between egoist and “group-altruist”, what he fails to do is explain how the “Glauconian cynic” becomes a genuinely caring being. Haidt has concocted his own variety of Veneer Theory by redefining it as a complex inter-subjective social delusion that we all agree to participate in. He takes this as an answer to the problem of a “veneer” layer. But it only makes his own set of theories seem like a Rube Goldberg machine. Haidt makes a strong case for the biological and psychological reality of moral experience as a genuine phenomenon. But this works directly against the idea that we merely wish to appear to care, or to be virtuous. Why layer a “moral matrix” on top of a perfectly reasonable explanation of genuine moral emotions? More to the point, why would evolution tolerate such an expensive and convoluted cognitive load, such as layers of delusion, on top of the already demanding task of navigating the social world in real time? Even more curiously, why would we count the primitive primate morality of chimps and bonobos as “actual” or “genuine”, while regarding our own as a mere matrix-like delusion?

Final Thoughts

Anyone who has read the entirety of The Republic has to come to terms with a powerful dissonance in Plato’s tale. Either Socrates truly misunderstood human nature (perhaps he confused it with his own psychological projections), or he didn’t actually believe what he was saying. Some philosophers argue for the latter theory: that the ideal state was ideal intentionally. Socrates was never going to convince the Athenians to drive all the old folks out of the city in order to start afresh, or convince the educated classes to surrender their private property holdings to the commons, or convince them to put their women and children into a breeding commune to be tended by specially bred and trained guardians. He must have known that. What was really going on here? Remember that the tale was written by Plato, long after Socrates’ execution. Plato was engaging in his own bit of cynical rhetoric, grounded in bitterness. He wanted to demonstrate the utter impossibility of the larger task: convincing men to love virtue for its own sake; to be just, rather than simply to appear just. He had given up on the possibility, and the Republic was his way of showing this. It is hard to blame him, on one level. He’d watched these people destroy his master and teacher; a man for whom Plato had given up a promising life as a poet, in order to follow him in philosophy. Haidt, on the other hand, embraces his cynicism with zeal, because he believes the data tells him he must, and he refuses to even entertain the possibility that we might just be better than that. In effect, he takes Plato’s implicit condemnation of man and turns it into a simple matter-of-fact. But recasting the condemnation as mere description doesn’t change the moral reality; it just hides it behind a veil of cynicism.

Bernard Williams, Moral Dilemmas, and Utilitarianism

It would be amazing if ethics courses would stop trying to put me into some kind of Antonio Banderas / Heath Ledger fantasy nightmare, and actually start teaching me how to work on real problems in the real world. Everyone talks of trying to do "applied" ethics, and trying to remove all the 'abstractions' and deal 'directly' with our moral intuitions. But these scenarios just seem to me to be driving us further and further away from that goal

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