Making Sense of Morality: Singer’s Ethics

Editor’s note: R. Scott Smith has graciously allowed us to republish his series, “Making Sense of Morality.” You can find the original post here.

Introduction

Now I will give a brief, selected overview of Peter Singer’s ethics. He is one of the most influential ethicists today, and he takes seriously the implications of naturalism and utilitarianism. He has written extensively on animal rights, the right to life of fetuses and infants, and much more.

Singer’s Views

For Singer (b. 1946), the evolutionary, naturalistic story is a given. Therefore, the belief that humans have intrinsic moral worth is from Christianity and thus is not universally applicable or even true. He also distinguishes between humans and persons. Humans and other species do not have essences, and mere species membership does not seem morally significant. So, Singer decries the Christian, essentialist view as giving an unjustifiable preference to humans, making it speciesist.

Instead, Singer adopts functional criteria for personhood, such as having (1) the capacity to see oneself as a continuing subject; (2) a desire to keep living; (3) the capability to make choices and act on them (autonomy); (4) self-awareness; and (5) a capacity to experience pleasure and pain (i.e., sentience). Moreover, there are members of other species that are persons, such as apes and dolphins. As persons, they should be subject to greater moral protection than a human fetus or infant, which lacks these traits. Accordingly, abortion and infanticide are permissible.

As a utilitarian, he thinks pleasures should be increased and pains avoided. Still, only actual pleasures and pains should be included in the calculus; we cannot calculate other, possible ones. He also gives weight to a person’s desires, or preferences. If beings prefer to live, they are persons, so it is wrong to kill them. Killing them would thwart their preference and thereby reduce pleasures.

Sentience is crucial since sufferings directly affect the calculus. Further, since suffering extends across species, and there are nonhuman persons, we should give equal moral consideration to any person that suffers. But, if a being cannot experience suffering (i.e., is not sentient), then there is nothing to factor into the calculus. Moreover, Singer believes that when giving such consideration, we should adopt a universal point of view.

Assessment

Singer’s views have been widely influential, and he seems to take the implications of naturalism for ethics quite consistently. After all, if all life has evolved without God, why should humans have greater moral value than other species? 

Still, there are various concerns we can surface with his ethics. First, as a utilitarian, Singer’s views do not seem exempt from various concerns we raised about utilitarianism. While he evidently would support murder and rape as wrong, and justice and love as good, still those conclusions would depend upon the calculus. So, these core morals could be overturned. Yet that would undermine several deeply held convictions.

Consider also Singer’s functional definition of personhood and the capacity to see oneself as a continuing subject of one’s life. On naturalism, can there literally be an identical person who continues through time and change? There are no essential properties on naturalism. It seems I am just a bundle of physical properties at any given time. That bundle would be identical to another bundle at a different time only if they have all the same properties. But, physical things always are changing. I am changing continuously; some may be relatively minor, e.g., my hair grows, while others may be more significant, such as my growing into adulthood.

What makes all these bundles of properties me at each of these times? The answer seems to be that there is nothing that can do that. My properties keep changing – even the cells in my body and brain. Without something that remains the same, there is no continuing subject, which is a prerequisite for personhood for Singer. Unfortunately, his view entails that there are no persons, which surely is false. Moreover, without any literal sameness of person through time and change, his other criteria are undermined, too.

Crucially, his ethics depends upon the validity of naturalism. Is it justified? That answer will affect all the naturalistic options we have considered, and any others too. To that question I now turn.  

For Further Reading

Peter Singer, Practical Ethics, 3rd ed.

R. Scott Smith, In Search of Moral Knowledge, ch. 6

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R. Scott Smith is a Christian philosopher and apologist, with special interests in ethics, knowledge, and seeing the body of Christ live in the fullness of the Spirit and truth.

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Trees, Values, and Sam Harris

People are fond of dismissing the relevance of philosophy by asking in a mocking tone, “So does a tree that falls in the forest make a sound?” The question is often asked in a derisive effort to show how uninteresting are the questions that occupy the attention of philosophers. However fun it might even be to think about, for some, surely nothing much rides on such a thing—this seems to be the implicit point anyway.

The original context of the question, of course, was Berkeley’s discussion of whether something like a noise takes place if nobody is there to hear it. There’s something a bit fishy about the idea there could be a noise absolutely nobody hears, but then again, there’s perhaps something even fishier about saying no noise could happen if nobody hears it. Most of us are inclined to think the noise would happen whether perceived or not. Berkeley’s solution was to say no unheard sounds ever happen because God’s always there to hear it, even if nobody else. This was his effort to spell out the dependence of the created order on the divine in a particularly strong sense.

Whatever you think about that particular conundrum, though, consider this question: Does value exist if nobody benefits from it? Suppose someone were to argue, as the famous atheist Sam Harris does in The Moral Landscape, that the only value we can meaningfully make sense of is the value of human flourishing, or the well-being of conscious creatures, something in that vicinity. On such a view, friendships, for example, are valuable exactly and only because they enhance well-being. And friendships of course do enhance our well-being, at least good friendships, at least most of the time. But is this the locus of their value? Harris would suggest it’s downright incoherent to argue its value could reside in anything else.

So what we have here is a Berkeleyan point, minus the God part, regarding value. Something’s value resides in its ability to enhance the well-being of conscious creatures, he wants to say. A falling tree in the forest only makes a sound if someone hears it. See the parallel? My question is: If we think it’s in some sense silly to insist on the latter, why isn’t it mistaken to insist on the former? In other words, why isn’t it perfectly coherent and indeed plausible to suggest that something like friendship has intrinsic value? Value, that is, apart from its consequences? That friendship produces wonderful consequences is undeniable, but does this fact alone commit us to having to say that the value of friendship resides exclusively in its benefits? Wouldn’t this be akin to saying that the only thing to say about a noise is how it’s perceived?

How about this picture instead of Harris’s? Friendship involves fellowship between two people, both of whom are valuable in and of themselves, and the fellowship between them is something of great intrinsic value and worth. It is something that is good, in some more-than-consequentialist sense. Experiencing something intrinsically good like that produces all manner of wonderful results, surely, but those results come about because the fellowship itself is a good thing. It’s not that the fellowship is a good thing merely because it produces those consequences. Friendship produces those consequences because it is beautiful and lovely in and of itself. Good things happen when we experience goodness.

If we live in a world in which the experience of great intrinsic goods inevitably produces healthy results—enhancements of our well-being or flourishing, let’s say—it’s going to be an ever-present and never entirely avoidable temptation to reduce the value of the good in question to its positive results—treating harshly any other sorts of suggestions. But the result, I think, is an emaciated caricature of reality. I think we do live in such a world, a world in which objective moral and even aesthetic values obtain, a world in which the love between a mother and her child or between friends yields the sweetest of fruit. But the enjoyment of that fruit is only possible because of a yet deeper reality: the value, dignity, and worth of the people in question, and the beauty and goodness of their loving relationships, motivated by something more than the good results those relationships produce.

I suppose, at bottom, Harris and I just have a very deep disagreement about the nature of reality. As an atheist, the good results that he notices things like friendships produce are about all he can point to as the locus of their goodness. I’m rather inclined to see those good results as a roadmap to a more ultimate source of value.