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In the last tutorial, we saw the difficulty in asserting moral truths, which in turn support most normative arguments. If we assert that a policy is bad because it impoverishes people, it rests on a moral claim that we should not make the lives of other people harder, even if we otherwise pursue selfish goals. We saw that some believe in moral truth, in the sense that a moral statement can have truth value, and that others reject moral truths, considering them more in the territory of feelings than statements with truth value. Finally, we saw that there is a kind of compromise in understanding a moral statement to be both a feeling and a claim about how others should behave. Any of these rely on assumptions about what is “good” to begin with. Let’s explore the different ways that philosophers have gone about finding what “good” requires.
Some things appear to be straightforwardly good for people. Winning the lottery, marrying your true love, or securing a desired set of qualifications all seem to be examples of events that improve a person’s life. As a normative ethical theory, utilitarianism suggests that we can decide what is morally right or morally wrong by weighing which of our future possible actions promotes such goodness in our lives and the lives of people more generally.
Jeremy Bentham (1748–1832) was the first of the “classical utilitarians.” Bentham developed his moral theory of utilitarianism on the foundation of hedonistic thinking. Hedonism is a theory of well-being which argues that what defines a successful life is directly correlated with the amount of pleasure in that life; no other factors are relevant. For Bentham, the only thing that determines the value of a life, or indeed the value of an event or action, is the amount of pleasure contained in that life, or the amount of pleasure produced as a result of that event or action—this is what makes Bentham fundamentally hedonist.
When first understanding utilitarianism, it is also crucial to understand what is meant by the term “utility.” Bentham defined it as “[…] that property in any object, whereby it tends to produce benefit, advantage, pleasure, good, or happiness […] or […] to prevent the happening of mischief, pain, evil, or unhappiness.” Utility is thus promoted when pleasure is promoted and when unhappiness is avoided. Bentham’s commitment to hedonism means for him that goodness is just an increase in pleasure, and evil or unhappiness is just an increase in pain or decrease in pleasure. With this understanding of utility in mind, Bentham commits himself to the principle of utility.
In effect, this principle simply says that promoting utility, defined in terms of pleasure, is to be approved of and reducing utility is to be disapproved of. Another way to rephrase this principle of utility is as a requirement to promote the greatest pleasure for the greatest number of people, in order to act morally.
In addition to being hedonistic, Bentham’s utilitarianism is also:
In addition, Bentham’s utilitarianism is relativistic rather than absolutist. Absolutist moral views hold that certain actions will always be morally wrong irrespective of context or consequences. For example, many campaigning groups suggest that torture is always morally unacceptable. For absolutists, then, the act of torture is absolutely wrong in all cases and situations. However, a relativist like Bentham cannot hold this type of view because sometimes the pain involved in torture may lead to the promotion of greater pleasure (or less intense pain) overall, such as in the case where information gained through torture is used to stop a terrorist atrocity. On this basis, the Benthamite utilitarian must believe that whether a certain action is right or wrong is always relative to the situation in which the action takes place.
Bentham’s utilitarianism is maximizing because it does not merely require that pleasure is promoted, but that the greatest pleasure for the greatest number is secured. Thus, for example, if you gain some pleasure from spending money on a new book, but that money could have produced more pleasure had it been donated to a local charity for the homeless, then buying a new book would be morally wrong even though it led to some pleasure because it did not maximize the total amount of pleasure that was possible in that circumstance.
Finally, Bentham’s utilitarianism is also impartial in the sense that what matters is simply securing the maximum amount of pleasure for the maximum number of people; the theory does not give special preference regarding which people are supposed to share in that total pleasure. In the total calculation of pleasure, we are all equal regardless of our status, behavior or any other social factor.
In attempting to refine and improve Bentham’s utilitarianism, John Stuart Mill’s (1806-1873) most substantial thought was to move away from Bentham’s idea that all that mattered was the quantity of total pleasure. Instead, Mill thought that the quality of pleasure was also crucial to deciding what is moral.
Bentham’s utilitarianism is quantitative in the sense that all Bentham focuses on is the maximization of hedonically calculated quantities of total pleasure. All that matters for Bentham is producing pleasure, and the way this is achieved is unimportant. If playing Fortnite affords you more pleasure than reading Shakespeare, then Bentham would view your life as going better if you play Fortnite. However, Mill introduces a quality criterion for pleasure. Mill says that:
According to Mill, higher pleasures are worth more than lower pleasures. In Mill's view, higher pleasures are those pleasures of the intellect brought about via activities like poetry, reading or attending the theater. Lower pleasures are animalistic and base—pleasures associated with drinking beer, having sex, or lazing on a sun-lounger. What we should seek to maximize are the higher quality pleasures, even if the total pleasure turns out to be quantitatively lower as a result.
Another way of approaching the definition of “good” is to think about one’s moral duties. Moral duties refer to the idea that one has a set of responsibilities which will govern behavior and decisions.
Specifically, this brings us the idea of a categorical imperative, which has its origins in the writings of Immanuel Kant (1724-1804). An imperative is an order: clean your room, don’t talk to strangers, etc. The word “categorical” here means unambiguous and direct—a categorical imperative is a clear rule that applies without ambiguities, with straightforward directives about what action is good and what is bad.
Some imperatives are situational. For example, “clean your room” only makes sense if the room isn’t clean, if you care if the room is clean, etc. But a categorical imperative would always be true. “Don’t hurt children” is true in any situation, so it is categorical, not situational.
The meaning of Kant’s moral categorical imperative is that all moral decisions and actions we make can only be carried out if they can be taken as universal laws. It is like the golden rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” but taken further, “Do as you would have all people do all the time.”
Importantly, intentions and consequences are not part of the categorical imperative; only the action itself should be judged. For example, take lying. Most people lie at different times for different reasons—it may be self-serving, or simply to spare someone’s feelings. But by the categorical imperative, we would have to consider whether we want "you should lie" to be a universal law, not whether a specific case of lying is justifiable based on good intentions or desirable consequences. Kant believed that humans have good will, a basic human condition of wanting to be good that supersedes (usually) other desires, and that this good will would guide them to seeing the morality of every action irrespective of how they might feel and irrespective of any consequences. Moreover, this good will would transcend cultural boundaries. Lying, for example, would be wrong because people would not want "you should lie" to be a universal law.
IN CONTEXT
Crucial to Kant’s theory is that people do have an impulse to do good will. But how can he (and we) be confident that the good will even exists? Consider Mahatma Gandhi’s (1869–1948) nonviolent protest for Indian independence. He stood peacefully whilst the British police beat him. Here is a case where there must have been an overwhelming desire to fight back. But he did not. In this type of action, Kant would claim that we “see” the good will—as he says—“shining like a jewel.” Seeing such resilience in the face of such awful violence, we are humbled and can recognize good will.
Kant’s theory is deontological, which judges actions based on essential moral rules. This is distinct from consequentialism (like utilitarianism), which judges actions based on intentions and outcomes. However, Kant doesn’t assert those moral rules, but gives us a way to use reason to attain them. While there is far more to Kant’s philosophy than we can cover in this tutorial, through his arguments we have a way to assert a kind of supreme moral truth, which he calls moral duty. Moral duty is the essence of living by the categorical imperative. That is, we have decided to do the right thing, which we determine by considering what the world would be like if everyone did as we did. We do not let any other consequences, material or emotional, affect that decision.
Kant insists that we act from duty, not in accordance with duty—that is, we should not only do the right thing but do it for the right reasons. In the case where we find a celebrity’s wallet, we might do the right thing (return the wallet) to get an emotional reward (the chance to meet someone we admire). If we do it more to meet the celebrity and just happen to also be doing the right thing, it would be in accordance with moral duty but not acting in moral duty. Obviously, we would not be living by the categorical imperative if we only return a lost item when there’s something in it for us!
The consequentialist and deontologist have different methods for making moral decisions. Virtue ethicists approach the problem differently, not considering individual decisions or actions but how to become good people.
Aristotle (384–322 BC) was a scholar in disciplines such as ethics, metaphysics, biology, and botany, amongst others. It is fitting, therefore, that his moral philosophy is based around assessing the broad characters of human beings rather than assessing singular acts in isolation. Indeed, this is what separates Aristotelian virtue ethics from both utilitarianism and Kantian ethics. Aristotle was a teleologist, a term related to, but not to be confused with the word “teleology” as it is used in utilitarianism. In utilitarianism and other consequentialist beliefs, teleological means that the consequences can justify an action. Aristotle’s teleology is more than justifying a single decision.
This view is essentially that in achieving its function, goal, or end, an object achieves its own good. Every object has this type of a true function, and so every object has a way of achieving goodness. The telos of a chair, for example, may be to provide a seat, and a chair is a good chair when it supports the curvature of the human bottom without collapsing under the strain. Equally, says Aristotle, what makes good sculptors, artists, and flutists are the successful and appropriate performances of their functions as sculptors, artists, and flutists.
This teleological-based (function and purpose) worldview is the necessary backdrop to understanding Aristotle’s ethical reasoning. For, just as a chair has a true function or end, so Aristotle believes human beings have a telos. Aristotle identifies what the good for a human being is by virtue of working out what the function of a human being is, as per his function argument.
On the basis of the previous argument, the good life for a human being is achieved when we act in accordance with our telos. However, rather than leaving the concept of goodness as general and abstract, we can say more specifically what the good for a human involves. Aristotle uses the Greek term eudaimonia to capture the state that we experience if we fully achieve a good life. According to Aristotle, eudaimonia is the state that all humans should aim for, as it is the aim and end of human existence. To reach this state, we must ourselves act in accordance with reason. Properly understanding what Aristotle means by eudaimonia is crucial to understanding his virtue ethical moral position.
Eudaimonia has been variously translated and no perfect translation has yet been identified. While all translations have their own issues, eudaimonia understood as flourishing is perhaps the most helpful translation and improves upon a simple translation of happiness. The following example may make this clearer.
IN CONTEXT
Naomi is an extremely talented pianist. Some days, she plays music that simply makes her happy, perhaps the tune from the Australian television soap opera Neighbours or a rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” On other days, she plays complex music such as the supremely difficult Chopin-Godowsky Études. These performances may also make Naomi happy, but she seems to be flourishing as a pianist only with the latter performances rather than the former. If we use the language of function, both performances make Naomi happy, but she fulfills her function as a pianist (and is a good pianist) only when she flourishes with the works of greater complexity.
Flourishing in life may make us happy, but happiness itself is not necessarily well-aligned with acting in accordance with our telos. Eudaimonia is secured not as the result of exercising our physical or animalistic qualities, but as the result of the exercise of our distinctly human rational and cognitive aspects.
Will Durant (1885–1981) sums up the Aristotelian view by saying that “…we are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.” The quote is often misattributed to Aristotle himself.
It is fairly obvious that we cannot become excellent at something overnight. Making progress in any endeavor is always a journey that requires both effort and practice over time. Aristotle holds that the same is true for human beings attempting to develop their virtuous character traits in an attempt to live the good life. You may feel yourself coming to an Aristotelian virtue ethical view after reading this tutorial and therefore be moved to become wittier, more courageous, and more generous, but you cannot simply acquire these traits by decision; rather, you must live these traits in order to develop them.
Cultivating a virtuous character is something that happens by practice. We might know that a brick must go into a particular place, but we are good builders only when we know how to place that brick properly. Ethical characters are developed by practical learning and habitual action and not merely by intellectual teaching.
In the end, the virtuous individual will become comfortable in responding to feelings/situations virtuously just as the good builder becomes comfortable responding to the sight of various tools and a set of plans. A skilled builder will not need abstract reflection when it comes to knowing how to build a wall properly, nor will a skilled cyclist need abstract reflection on how to balance his speed correctly as he goes around a corner. Analogously, a person skilled in the virtues will not need abstract reflection when faced with a situation in which friendliness and generosity are possibilities; they will simply know on a more intuitive level how to act.
Source: SOURCE: THIS CONTENT HAS BEEN ADAPTED FROM Ethics for A-Level.
REFERENCES
Arendt, H. (1994). Eichmann in Jerusalem : a Report on the Banality of Evil. New York: Penguin Books.
Bentham, J. (1830) The Rationale of Reward, p. 206 books.google.co.uk/books?id=6igN9srLgg8C
Durant, W. (1926) The Story of Philosophy, p. 87 www.google.com/books/edition/The_Story_of_Philosophy/bDycoGL0Xg0C
Mill, J.S. (1863) Utilitarianism, p. 21 www.google.com/books/edition/Utilitarianism/GJc_RYBGPyEC
