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Archive of "ethics" Category
Common Sense Ethics
Fair warning: this entry contains philosophical theory. I have done my best to make it accessible, but if the very thought bores you, I suggest skimming or skipping this entry.
“If your Bible is an argument for the degradation of woman, and the abuse by whipping of little children, I advise you to put it away, and use your common sense instead.” — Lucy Colman, paper delivered at New York teacher’s convention (The Truth Seeker, March 5, 1887).
I recently came across this quote as it was passed on by a sceptic of my acquaintance on FarceBook. It’s an interesting one, and I agree with it – as far as it goes. But it might strike the average reader (or listener) as a tad simplistic, particularly those who believe that human reason is inferior as a moral guide to the teachings of whichever god is currently in fashion. What is this “common sense” to which she refers and which she places above religious morality?
Some believe it to be intuition. This isn’t far from the mark, in my view, but it is (of course) a bit more complicated than that. After all, following one’s intuition can lead to moral relativism – that is (at its core), the view that what one deems to be moral is so. If “common sense” is defined as being common through its being shared by the majority of people, then it most likely resembles a combination of various factors – the chief among them being intuition, empathy, and duty.
It’s a very interesting area of ethics, and increasingly popular among academics of such. Known generally as contextualism, or contextualist ethics, it is – to my mind – the first ethical theory to be informed by, and applicable to, the real world and real situations. This in contrast to those tiresome and unrealistic theories such as utilitarianism and Kant’s Categorical Imperative, which take morality to such abstractions as to be very useful in philosophical discourse, yet renders them of little use in real situations. Are we to believe that proponents of these theories truly stop to consider, in the midst of an ethical dilemma, the possible outcomes of each course of action, and how those outcomes affect the overall happiness of those involved? Or weigh whether or not what they consider to be the right course would work as a universal law?It’s possible, of course, but even if those few did so, it would not be a realistic approach to ethics, acceptably applied across the board. The question that begs to be asked here is: people are, generally speaking, moral. What is the phenomenon that causes this? Is it the hand of an invisible deity, silently and carefully guiding us? Possibly, but probably not. What is more likely is common ethical sense – also known variously as contextualism, role ethics, and vocational ethics, among others. It is also closely associated with virtue ethics, that school of thought founded by Aristotle millennia ago.
The gist of it is that we as moral agents see ourselves in various roles (this is related to the fascinating concept of narrative identity, or the narrative self). Each of these roles carries with it certain duties in our perception, so for instance someone who sees himself in the role of a nurse might (indeed probably should) consider it his duty to care for his patients, or someone who sees herself as a student considers studying to be a duty. Of course, we all have a multitude of roles and therefore a great range of duties we see ourselves as being under obligation to obey – we see ourselves as mother, brother, godfather, employee, volunteer, carer.. to name but a few.
Ethical dilemmas arise from conflicts between duties. A Christian nurse has a duty to care for her patient who will die without an abortion; she also has a duty which flows from her faith to absolutely not administer or assist in that procedure. It is not a calculated balance between happiness in consequences that informs her decision, but a battle between these duties, between these roles. Ultimately one must be placed above the other, and the consequences of that decision must be dealt with in turn.
Life is not simple. Ethics, if it is to be realistic, has to be likewise complex and even a little messy. There are few, if any, right answers, objectively speaking. We don’t always make the right call, and our moral self-perception is ever-shifting as we take on new roles, and new duties within those roles; as we discuss these duties and roles with our peers; as we are informed by society at large what our duties should be.So perhaps this is common sense – messy, complicated, and the best we can do in the circumstances. I would argue that it is not morality that comes from religious teachings, but vice versa – naturally we are inclined to instill our own beliefs into the stories we tell.
The Power of Metaphor, or, Don’t Blame Santa
Before I begin, I ought to warn you that there is no real conclusion or argument to be found in this entry; it is rather intended as a collection of musings hoped to inform but primarily provoke further thought. Most of what is contained herein is part of an ongoing internal discussion I’m holding with myself, and this forms something of an update as to the point that that debate has reached. So open your mind, and read on.
I have made mention before of my status as a pagan atheist. It’s not just an incidental matter for me, either; while I don’t believe the Gods or spirits are actual entities capable of any kind of interaction with this world, I believe they are powerful and practically useful metaphors for a great deal of human life. The Gods we choose for ourselves – if choose them we do – represent those principles which are most important to us. For this reason I tend more toward the Northern European pantheon, in particular the Norse Gods. If I had a Sabbath like the Christian Sunday or Jewish Friday, it would be Wednesday, named for Odin, a.k.a. Woden (Woden’s Daeg -> Wednesday) – for he is the figure with whom I most identify.
He is the symbol for wisdom, courage, and honour – among many other things. He is also seen as the guardian of travellers, much as the Christian Saint Christopher. All of these themes are ones which ring true with me: I aspire to be wise, courageous and honourable above all else; I can think of no qualities I would rather possess. There is also an emphasis on respect and reverence for nature in the Northern European religions, which it won’t surprise you to find has particular resonance with me.So why, you might ask, don’t I just identify with those qualities directly instead of expressing them through the language of mythology and religious faith? It is a good question, and one which I have asked myself on many an occasion. I think the answer, as far as I can fathom it, lies in what I refer to as the “power of metaphor”; that is, the linguistic and emotional force that can be expressed only in terms of phenomena that transcend the physical, evidential world. Humanity is known for being a fickle race, and a claimed devotion to an abstract concept such as justice seems to hold less force, somehow, than a claimed devotion to a deity personifying that concept. It is an appeal to the eternal nature of these ideals as opposed to the sometimes-fleeting nature of humanity’s adherence to them.
Another example of this that I recently found out about (thanks to my friend the Nietzschean feminist) is Laveyan satanism, which again is essentially an atheist religion. The ideals it favours are individualism, a realistic approach to humanity’s darker impulses and an acceptance of these drives as an inevitable an essential component of understanding what it is to be human. There is also a strong element of anarchism, a rebelliousness and hostility toward authority that is reflected in few other mythologies. But it is atheist – and specifically non-Christian, a claim which cannot be made by theistic Satanism – because it entails a commitment to these ideals only, not a belief in a literal Satan or lesser demons. There is much in LaVeyan Satanism which rings true with me and values which are shared by the pagan faith.On a tangentally-related topic, I also want to address the topic of Santa Claus – not as a metaphor, but as a belief tantamount to religion but treated as a socially-acceptable falsehood. This line of thought comes from listening to my backlog of Point of Inquiry podcasts, specifically the interview with Todd C. Riniolo. He noted an objection to the widely-used argument in sceptical circles that it is little wonder that people are credulous in adulthood when they are raised to believe in Santa Claus as children. It is rarely used as a forceful argument, usually instead forming a arbitrary comment; but nonetheless is worth addressing. Riniolo’s objection is that there is simply no proof that belief in Santa during childhood leads to credulity in adulthood. Indeed, he argues, the “debunking” of Santa constitutes many a child’s first truly sceptical activity.
I thought this was a very interesting point, and it contributed to an ongoing internal debate I’ve been conducting with regards to how best to raise a child in the sceptical mindset. It hasn’t helped me make up my mind on the subject, but has made a significant contribution to the complexity of the issue. Is it wrong to lie to one’s children in this regard, or is it a valuable experience that teaches them that deception (harmless or otherwise) is everywhere and that nobody is to be trusted implicitly? On a personal note, I think I “grew out of” notions like God and spiritualism around the same time as I did the notion of Santa. I don’t recall being annoyed at the deception, either; at some point it just became a childish absurdity and I scoffed at my parents for persisting in the charade.So would it be better or worse to deny one’s child this experience? Should we rather explain as best we can the lessons that would be learned through it, rather than perpetuate the white lies? At the very least, it seems that the lies do less harm than one might think.
Small Wonders #1: Evolution
My head is somewhat fuzzy with The Ill at the moment, so just a quick entry today in case coherence is in short supply.
What better way to inaugurate my “Small Wonders” series than with Darwin’s Theory of Evolution, something so often taken for granted? It seems common sense to say that life as we know it has evolved from less complex forms, and yet look at it more closely and it is truly an absolute wonder that one man (ignoring, as most of the world sadly does, young Wallace) formulated, researched, developed and presented a theory with such staggering implications for virtually every field of study.
It seems so elegantly simple, and yet at the same time mind-numbingly complex. “Species change over time” is the pithy, easily-understood summary of literally a lifetime’s work, and it has branches reaching off into innumerable other lifetimes’ works. Genetics; medicine; zoology; biology; even ethics and philosophy were profoundly affected by the dawn of the Theory.
I greatly recommend finding out more about this subject; there should be no lack of freely-available information at this of all times. It is quite simply one of the most important scientific breakthroughs of all time, and one which can be appreciated at any level – from its simplest summary to the greatest levels of detail.
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