Society's Right to Exact Your Compliance

Does society have a moral right to make you do something? This is different from the negative case, i.e., society's right to prohibit you from doing something. William F. Buckley explains:

A society has the right to impose negative restraints; but positive acts of compliance it may exact only extraordinary situations.

A century earlier, John Stuart Mill wrote something similar:

the sole end for which mankind are warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the liberty of action of any of their number, is self-protection. That the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good, either physical or moral, is not a sufficient warrant.

These two ethical formulations pose a number of questions. What are the consequences for society if we accept these formulations? Why do those who allegedly accept them disagree among themselves about the practical application?

Plato and Science

One of the more quotable lines from Plato's Meno is about the limits of human knowledge. The general topic of the conversation is about virtue. After ruminating about possible definitions of 'virtue', Socrates says that he doesn't know what it is, but that he's going to "examine and seek ... what it may be" or "carry out ... a[n] investigation and inquiry into what it is." The interlocutor challenges him on the possibility of such an investigation:

How will you look for it, Socrates, when you do not know at all what it is? How will you aim to search for something you do not know at all? If you should meet with it, how will you know that this is the thing that you did not know?

One source of the ambiguity which leads to this paradox is the definition of 'know' as a verb. If there is more than one definition, i.e., if 'know' refers to more than one epistemological action, then one could be said to 'know virtue' and to 'not know virtue' simultaneously. Such homonymic cases are often the foundations for jokes and riddles, such as "what do you call a winter athlete from Warsaw? a ski Pole."

If Socrates claims that he does not understand what constitutes virtue, he says that he does not know virtue. But if he simultaneously can identify an instance of virtue, he can claim to know virtue. Perhaps I do not know what constitutes my favorite soup at a restaurant - I do not know its ingredients - but I certainly know this soup when I taste it - I can identify it: a possible solution to Meno's paradox.

In a reverse situation, I might not be able to identify a thing, but I might understand its constituents. Imagine that I've never tasted borscht, but I've learned that it's a soup made with beets and sour cream and often served at room temperature. If I were blindfolded and offered a spoonful of it, I would not be able to identify it - I would not "know" it - although I understand its composition - I "know" it.

To place the paradox in a different context, imagine that you are looking for something which does not exist. Serious scientists spent years looking for a sample of Phlogiston. They "knew" what they were looking for, and yet how can one "know" what does not exist? Likewise, I can "know" what a four-headed swan is, inasmuch as I can conceptualize and make to myself a representation of such a creature; but I cannot "know" a four-headed swan in the sense of being able to recognize or identify it, because it doesn't exist.

The same would be true of aether, more properly called 'Luminiferous aether', which occupied earnest physicists as late as the early 1900's, when Einstein wrestled with the concept; he eventually rejected it, along with almost all other physicists, although he sometimes confusingly used the word 'aether' to speak of a space-time matrix.

Additionally, we can note a connection to Ockham: if I can't "know" something, being able to neither identify it or understand its composition, then I cannot fit it into a chain of causes and effects. Being unable to locate it in a causal sequence, I cannot call it necessary, and therefore am not justified in positing its existence.

Although philosophy is not philology, we nonetheless should take care to recall that Plato's Meno has been translated for those of us who cannot read Greek. To that end, to be thorough, we include an alternate rendering of the passage:

But how will you look for something when you don't in the least know what it is? How on earth are you going to set up something you don't know as the object of your search? To put it another way, even if you come right up against it, how will you know that what you have found is the thing you didn't know?

Meno's paradox presents us with richer food for thought than the perhaps more popular but silly aphorisms about "knowing nothing" which Plato sometimes places into the mouth of Socrates.

Ethics in Context

The study of ethics is perhaps unlike other branches of philosophy, inasmuch as it requires some consideration of context. A philosopher who assert an ethical proposition does so in a social, historical, and cultural context; a reader considers that proposition in a context; an ethical situation occurs in a context.

By highlighting this notion of context, we do not automatically place ourselves among those who denial universal moral principles. Even if one acknowledges such eternal ethical truths, it is undeniable that they find applications in concrete situations, and that those situations vary.

In contrast, a timeless metaphysical truth, e.g., an assertion about the relationship between the physical brain and the metaphysical mind, will also find itself applied in various situations, but the contexts of those situations will not factor significantly into the applications of any universal metaphysical propositions. The mind-body problem is the same for the Frenchman as it is for the Chinaman; the same in 2000 B.C. as it is in 2000 A.D.

Ethical propositions are more affected by context because, although ethics is not psychology, ethics is nonetheless more closely related to psychology than, e.g., metaphysics or symbolic logic. On a meta-level, philosophical considerations, not about ethics, but rather about the way in which ethics is done, are also necessarily contextualized. Perhaps this is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer meant when he wrote:

Rarely perhaps has any generation shown so little interest as ours does in any kind of theoretical or systematic ethics. The academic question of a system of ethics seems to be of all questions the most superfluous. The reason for this is not to be sought in any supposed ethical indifference on the part of our period. On the contrary it arises from the fact that our period, more than any earlier period in the history of the west, is oppressed by a superabounding reality of concrete ethical problems. It was otherwise when the established orders of life were still so stable as to leave room for no more than minor sins of human weakness, sins which generally remained hidden, and when the criminal was removed as abnormal from the horrified or pitying gaze of society. In those conditions ethics could be an interesting theoretical problem.

Lurking behind Bonhoeffer's prose is a meta-level question: why engage in ethical philosophy? The impetus to ethical philosophy, in contrast to merely concrete moral thought, arises when there are not enough concrete instances of ethical situations to keep the mind occupied. Just as a pilot flying his spacecraft through an asteroid field has little inclination for theoretical physics - being quite occupied with actual mechanics - so the individual fully occupied with actual ethical situations may not be inclined to the analysis of systematic ethics.

Today there are once more villains and saints, and they are not hidden from the public view. Instead of the uniform greyness of the rainy day we now have the black storm-cloud and the brilliant lightning-flash. The outlines stand out with exaggerated sharpness. Reality lays itself bare. Shakespeare's characters walk in our midst. But the villain and the saint have little or nothing to do with systematic ethical studies. They emerge from primeval depths and by their appearance they tear open the infernal or the divine abyss from which they come and enable us to see for a moment into mysteries of which we had never dreamed. What is worse than doing evil is being evil. It is worse for a liar to tell the truth than of a lover of truth to lie. It is worse when a misanthropist practises brotherly love than when a philanthropist gives way to hatred. Better than truth in the mouth of the liar is the lie. Better than the act of brotherly love on the part of the misanthrope is hatred. One sin, then, is not like another. They do not all have the same weight. There are heavier sins and lighter sins. A falling away is of infinitely greater weight than a falling down. The most shining virtues of him who has fallen away are as black as night in comparison with the darkest lapses of the steadfast.

Just as theoretical conversations about the shape of the earth ended when it was successfully circumnavigated, discussions about good and evil end when both are concretely present. Bonhoeffer's distinction between "doing evil" and "being evil" bears closer examination. Perhaps it can be explained by analogy to the distinction between accident and essence. Yet to mark a human as essentially evil, or essentially good, seems to violate the laws of human nature, inasmuch as we are enjoined to "call no man good" and yet required to acknowledge the imagio dei in each human. Comparing occasional sins to accidental properties seems plausible, for even the most saintly commit sins, and even the most demonic might act corresponding to virtue. But if good and evil are to be essential in a man, then it would seem only in this way, that it would be a changeable essence - an odd turn of phrase, to be sure, because essence is often defined as that which does not change.

Perhaps a better understanding of Bonhoeffer's distinction would be the difference between occasional evil act and being in a mode of evil. As in music, there are accidental notes - a sharp or flat which takes the melody momentarily out of key - and there are modes in which an entire melody may be composed: an occasional transgression contrasted with a systematic pattern of transgression.

A third way to see this distinction between "being good" and "doing good" would be teleological: the isolated transgression may be the result of succumbing temporarily to temptation and to desire; the systematic and overarching pursuit of evil, of bringing harm to others, might correspond to Bonhoeffer's phrase ' being evil.'

In any case, Bonhoeffer, who is not strictly speaking a philosopher at all, yields perhaps a stimulus for comparing various meta-ethical perspectives.