Moral Knowledge
Moral Knowledge
I am going to defend a view of which I am morally certain: moral knowledge is the best kind of knowledge we have—intellectually, epistemologically. It is knowledge at its finest, purest, least qualified. It is the shining star in the epistemological firmament. Needless to say, this goes against the grain of the entire age in which we live, perhaps of all ages. But it’s true and known to be true (though not admitted). When you know something ethical, you really know it. No other type of knowledge outperforms it. Take any piece of common ethical knowledge: you should keep your promises, you shouldn’t tell malicious lies, you shouldn’t kill innocent people, you shouldn’t betray your friends; I say these are the pinnacle of human knowledge qua knowledge. They have the best epistemic credentials. Why? Because such knowledge is subject to no sensory illusions or deceptions, is of things with no hidden essence or nature, is not of things distant in space and time, requires no specialized technical skills or advanced intelligence, and does not tax or transcend our natural innate cognitive abilities. It is easy to possess this knowledge, and no obstacles stand in its way. There is nothing hidden or difficult or obscure or speculative about it. There are no brain-in-a-vat problems or incomplete-evidence problems. You need no special training to possess it; no course of study is necessary. It is proof against skepticism. No dubious inferences are involved. Thus, it is superior to our knowledge of the external world, our scientific knowledge, our knowledge of the past and future, our knowledge of other minds, even our knowledge of logic and mathematics, and arguably our knowledge of our own minds. There are no hidden truths of ethics, no esoteric profundities, no sophisticated doctrines. And no visual moral illusions leading us down the garden path, or inaccessible layers of moral reality. No guesswork and induction, no elaborate deductions, and no falsifiable hypotheses. Any fool can know his or her ethics. It is certain, transparent, and incapable of deceptiveness. It just is.
The analogy between moral knowledge and mathematical (and logical) knowledge, though illuminating in some respects, doesn’t quite give us the measure of moral knowledge. For mathematical and logical knowledge quickly turn technical and difficult, but this is not so for moral knowledge. You must learn mathematics laboriously at school, but you have no classes in ethics; there is no tricky symbolism to master or clever techniques of reasoning. Both logic and mathematics contain advanced technical branches and developments, but not so ethics; there is nothing like calculus or Godel’s theorem. There is no moral Euclid or Principia Mathematica. All of morality is intellectually elementary, even when real-life situations become complex. In the case of first-person knowledge, we can make the point that much of the mind is submerged and inaccessible to knowledge; and consciousness is eminently fleeting and forgettable—but who forgets that lying is wrong? Nor is first-person knowledge clearly knowledge—true justified belief or the like; but ethical knowledge clearly is. I am aware of my own mind, but do I have beliefs about it? What about infants and animals? But I have moral beliefs, convictions, commitments. Moral knowledge is genuine propositional knowledge, but so-called introspective knowledge is more like a background hum, similar to proprioceptive awareness. We debate ethical propositions, but we don’t debate our state of mind; it isn’t a discursive matter, as ethics is. There is no such subject as “my current state of mind”. So, it looks as if ethical knowledge comes out on top; you can take it to the bank. Secure, pellucid, solid, certain—everything knowledge should be. It lives up to its name.
I hear murmurings of protest: if moral knowledge is so epistemologically impeccable, why are people morally fallible? Why does morality vary from one community to another or one person to another? Excellent question; this is something of a puzzle, given moral knowledge’s ease and obviousness. But that’s what it is—a puzzle. It doesn’t imply that moral knowledge is epistemically lacking, any more than mathematical or logical incompetence implies that mathematics and logic are epistemically wanting. The answer to the puzzle is staring us in the face: the problem is extrinsic to morality itself and concerns its psychological and social context. Moral knowledge conflicts psychologically with self-interest, outright selfishness, greed, hatred of others, etc. People have powerful motives to avoid knowing the moral truth—very powerful. Also, their external circumstances of life get in the way of cool moral reflection. None of this is true of other kinds of knowledge: you have no reason stemming from self-interest to reject or ignore the truths of logic and mathematics. Moral knowledge therefore produces cognitive dissonance, because morality conflicts with egoism; the result is classic dissonance reduction in which moral truths are denied or avoided. I know I should really help my neighbor, but it would conflict with my plans to play tennis, so I shuffle guiltily off telling myself that she will probably be all right. Plus, people are brainwashed in all sorts of ways to avoid what they otherwise would know perfectly well. Everyone really knows that breaking promises is bad (unless they are mentally defective), but they don’t always act on this knowledge. So, moral fallibility is no proof that moral knowledge isn’t the best kind of knowledge there is—not just morally but intellectually. Types of knowledge can be ranked according to their quality, and the moral type comes out top of the list. Don’t let the relativists and nihilists tell you otherwise: moral knowledge is fine and dandy, sweet as a nut, radiant epistemic perfection. Physics is nothing compared to it, let alone neuroscience.[1]
[1] It is only when you have been steeped in contemporary opinion for fifty years or more that you see how threadbare it really is. Opinion can be swayed by all manner of things, often irrationally. It’s as bad as the opinions of previous ages, seen objectively; it may even be worse. We have been schooled to believe that moral knowledge is no such thing, being mere emotion or the will to power, but it is really quite evident that we have a ton of moral knowledge. It’s wrong to torture animals, and you know that perfectly well—how could you not? This is stating the obvious. You would have to be mad not to see this (and “see” is the right verb).
Another piece of common ethical knowledge that probably needs more common keeping in mind: you shouldn’t disparage or belittle other people, especially behind their backs. In the case of the latter there is no apparent direct harm to the affected person, but the effects are insidious, and also reflexive.
But can you criticize them–and what is the difference?
I wasn’t talking about public figures, who you can always criticize, but one can point out moral lapses, etc., without downgrading or denying their value as a person. I’m thinking mainly about people in one’s “social circle”. And one can avoid expressing negative affect through the conventional system of intonation. (British English seems to have an especially rich system for this.)
I would say that unfair criticism is always wrong, but fair criticism is always right. I don’t know a single moral philosopher who has included non-criticism as a virtue.
I would agree with that statement (first sentence). Might I go up a level and say that critique (of action, including the results or products of action) is always necessary? (I see differences in the senses of the words ‘criticism’ and ‘critique’. Is “fairness” one of the standards for any critique? What you’re condemning in unfair criticism is the kind of thing I was condemning.)
A critique is an analysis and evaluation, so in principle it can be entirely positive. A criticism is a negative evaluation, which can be of a person or thing.
In the common idiom one can say, “You shouldn’t talk bad about other people behind their backs”. Fair criticism by itself would not constitute “talking bad”. The problem is not with criticism per se, or even with logical polarity applied to the acts that are the objects of the judgments; the problem is with the unnecessary expression of negative emotional elements that come along with the descriptive core. Expressions that have the effect, intended or otherwise, of diminishing or degrading the value and worth of the targeted person in the eyes of others. Also “playing to the audience”, trying to say something clever that will increase the speaker’s standing in the group, but is insensitive to the target, and no doubt there are other ways of “talking bad”. Another version of that sentiment is, “If you can’t say something nice about somebody, don’t say it”.
BTW, literary criticism and other criticism in the arts maintain the original sense, where “criticism” doesn’t necessarily have to be negative. Words like ‘criticize’ and ‘judge’ have an interesting history.
While I’m at it, a related matter. Nowadays (maybe not just nowadays) we have whole sections of the society who are actively opposed to the principle that, “people should always be nice to each other”. They must know that, although it seems to lack incisiveness, it’s sound moral, even ethical, advice. Nothing difficult about it. So why have they abandoned it? That’s a puzzle. Why should hatred be so important for people? That’s no way to live. People who are inciting and exploiting hatred and callousness are the worst. Hatred we’re familiar with; but callousness and deliberate cruelty to others: why are people now promoting it as a necessary and universal value, not just a practical exception? At least a lot of people seem to be OK with it. It’s a pathology for what ought to be a community, and a reductio ad absurdum. In spite of your acknowledgement of the conflicts in the last paragraph, I have never and still don’t understand it. But I don’t want to accept that it has to be this way.
We can all agree that defamation is bad, but I don’t see that speech acts that “diminish the worth” of people are necessarily bad–some people need their worth diminished (Hitler, Stalin, etc.) We should all detest and despise certain people, because they are detestable and despicable. But I don’t see what this has to do with my original post.
In fact, it’s morally unacceptable, outside of Neo-Nazi circles, to “say anything nice” about Hitler and Stalin. (Trump will eventually need to be added to this list.) But I said I wasn’t talking about public figures; I was talking about ordinary people and their social circles. I meant “You shouldn’t talk bad about other people behind their backs” to be added to your list of “common ethical knowledge” in the first paragraph, apropos to the topic of “moral knowledge and the forgetting of moral knowledge” (last paragraph). Admittedly not itself a high level principle, but it’s consistent with high level principles. The ideas you present could open up interesting discussions about moral knowledge and its forgetting, including the social dimensions of the problems mentioned in the last paragraph. I’m not in disagreement with anything you expressed in the post or comments. “Why does morality vary from one community to another or one person to another? Excellent question; this is something of a puzzle, given moral knowledge’s ease and obviousness. But that’s what it is—a puzzle.” The only thing I might disagree with, if you can call it that, is when you say “the answer to the puzzle” is here; I would rather say, “That’s a good start. That gives us a possible path.” I think I, given my love of puzzles, and questions, would appreciate it more if you left us with questions, rather than solutions.
I give solutions if I think I have them; otherwise not.
I don’t think there is anything wrong with severe condemnation of unknown people. I have known many people in my life who are detestable and despicable, and I see nothing wrong in remarking on this fact, if only as a warning to others. It all depends on whether the condemnation is justified.
I would quite agree that it would be difficult to argue against basic moral propositions, which I would call axioms. The problem is how to derive more complicated moral claims from them, such as “Abortion is wrong”.
We wouldn’t want that to follow because it isn’t true as a general proposition.
I tend to agree, but can we disprove it on the basis of the axioms (whatever they may be)?
We can deduce it from “Do not do harm to people” and “The fetus is not a person (but the mother is)”.