Featured Philosop-her: Erin Taylor

I am very pleased to welcome Erin Taylor as the first Featured (Political) Philosop-her.   Erin Taylor is an Assistant Professor at Cornell University.  She specializes in ethics and political philosophy, with particular interests in the nature of moral conflict and the structure of ethical theory.  In recent work, she defends the claim that non-consequentialist moral theories can consistently allow the possibility that one person’s genuine moral duties can conflict with another’s. Other current research engages with ethical issues in reproductive technology, the nature of the ought-implies-can principle, and the structure of moral obligation.

Her post follows.

–MK

On Rejecting Voluntarism, Willingly and Knowingly

I have always thought that political obligation, if it existed, must be some species of “associative duty,” a duty we have in virtue of some socially-recognized role or relationship. In the case of political obligation, the socially-recognized role would be that of citizen. This is straightforward enough. The problem is that it is really difficult to give a good account of associative duties. The comprehensive accounts represented in the literature can be categorized according to the types of justification they appeal to.  “Voluntarist” accounts justify associative duties as analogs of promissory obligations; we acquire associative duties when we voluntarily enter into a social role to which these duties are attached.

Much has been written about both the obvious appeal and likely shortcomings of voluntarist accounts.  In the literature, the appeal of voluntarist accounts has largely been their ability to avoid what is sometimes referred to as the “voluntarist objection,” viz. that there is something morally problematic about the institutional allocation of moral requirements to those who have not consented or volunteered (in some way) to undertake such requirements. The rhetorical tools employed to make this objection have proven too persuasive to many to ignore. These usually take the form of compelling counter-examples that purport to show that non-voluntary associative duties are unacceptable. And it is hard to argue otherwise in the extreme cases adduced, such as military impressment or social clubs that habitually foist on innocent bystanders perplexing and unwanted requirements to do bizarre or trivial things. The point of these examples is to show that, unless a social institution merely mediates a pre-existing moral duty (like beneficence), associative duties must be voluntarily undertaken in order to be legitimate and binding. This is why voluntarist accounts are modeled on promissory obligation, explaining voluntarily-chosen associative duties as a species of this type of requirement. Just as promissory obligations do not exhaust our moral requirements, voluntarist accounts are not taken by their strongest proponents to be exhaustive of the ways that associative duties are justified.  It will be possible to have non-voluntary associative duties if these are necessary to discharge other non-institutional moral duties. Thus, voluntarist accounts work best to explain associative duties that flow either from some chosen occupation (such as doctor, lawyer, professor, police officer, plumber, etc.), or some voluntarily chosen membership in a social group (neighborhood association, PTA, Little League, religious congregation, and so forth). They “fill in the gap,” so to speak, when we want to affirm the legitimacy of institutionally-generated moral requirements but cannot explain them as a result of some pre-institutional general moral duty. The traditional appeal of voluntarist accounts is that they explain these associative duties in a way that does not run afoul of the voluntarist objection.

But voluntarism itself cannot meet the voluntarist objection.  So if we think that the voluntarist objection is dispositive where applicable (as voluntarists do), then voluntarist accounts will not work even in their aforementioned “gap-filling” role. Consider actual (voluntarily chosen) occupational or social roles. There, the analogy to legitimate promissory obligation begins to create a problem. The problem is not that most chosen occupations or social roles are not signed-on for in some temporally discreet, explicit announcement.  Rather, the problem is that if we construe associative duties as the result of a kind of promise to undertake them, this promise would itself be defeated.  This is because two defeaters of promissory obligation apply straightforwardly to many of the associative duties generated by “chosen” occupational and social roles.

The first defeater is familiar from recent blog posts: people often do not know enough about what the obligations attached to a social role will be at the time it is chosen. Whether or not this ignorance is sufficient to render decisions to undertake them irrational, it is probably sufficient to defeat a promissory obligation to undertake them. This ignorance can take three different forms. First, the duties attached to roles are often not fully known to the occupant ahead of time. Often, both the weight and minutiae of a role’s attendant duties become clear only after a person has entered into it. This is part of normal moral development. Only by becoming a friend, spouse, or parent do we begin to understand what these roles really demand. It is a rare individual who acquires these details a priori or by testimony alone. Second, even those duties that are fully known are often subject to change. This often happens when circumstances change that have a profound effect on a voluntarily chosen role or occupation. Sometimes the changes in the duties attached to it can be life-altering or life-threatening. During the “pax antibiotic,” for example, newly minted doctors entered the profession with expectations of relative safety from infectious disease. This expectation was betrayed by higher risks after the advent of, e.g., AIDS and SARS. And third, social or occupational roles are often transformative. They have the power to change in fundamental ways the basic commitments and moral outlook of those who occupy them. As noted in earlier posts to this blog, this phenomenon is the most apparent in the case of motherhood. Widely documented by social scientists, the phenomenon of “transformative motherhood” plays a role, for example, in voiding some surrogacy contracts. This shows that, independently of whether or not it is irrational to choose to occupy a social role, it is difficult to meet the threshold of informed consent governing promissory obligation.

The second defeater is that occupants of these roles have no power to determine what sorts of things count as entering into or abstaining from these roles, or to determine the contours of the rights and duties that attach to them. So, while certain associations are considered to be voluntary, even these are structured along trajectories outside of the control of role-bearers. We cannot control what kinds of behaviors count as entering into the roles of friend or lover, for example. (And the lack of control in such cases often causes considerable consternation.)  The entire shape and character of our lives is permeated by social rules of various kinds, rules that we had no part in constituting. And this would be true even if none of our associations were foisted upon us in the way that the voluntarist objection alerts us to. This is especially worrisome for a voluntarist if it is relatively difficult or costly to abstain from entering into such roles, or if the types of roles open to an individual is otherwise restricted.  To be sure, a voluntarist may be able to offer separate “fixes” for some of the above concerns. But taken together, I believe the balance of reasons points us away from voluntarism.

The lesson of these defeaters is not that occupational and social roles are morally illegitimate. I suggest that we learn an alternative lesson: associative duties are not proper analogs of promissory obligation. Of course we will always have the option to reduce associative duties to some other explanation (such as promissory obligation), with the consequence of delegitimizing those that resist reduction. But doing so here would be especially foolish. First of all, the moral ground of promissory obligation is no less opaque than that of associative duties. Second, the core and canonical cases of associative duties are often more certain and central to everyday moral life than promissory obligation. Third, resting a theory of associative duties on an analogy to promising substitutes what ought to be a comparatively fundamental theoretical construct with a comparatively derivative one. Theories of promising (and our intuitions about promissory obligation) are heavily influenced by specialization in related fields, most notably theories of contract in law. But not all theories of contract will recognize promissory obligation as their primary philosophical basis, and even those that do will be tailored to the specific requirements of a good legal – rather than moral – theory.

There may be a perfectly good reason to require protection from having certain kinds of moral duties imposed on us, such as the random requirements described as attaching to fictional and far-fetched social groups. But we can honor the kernal of truth in voluntarism without being voluntarists. The underlying motivation of voluntarism is a protection of our autonomy and self-determination. Chosen social or occupational roles can expand and enrich our autonomy.  The expanded opportunities they afford may be even more important than the canonical cases of promising. Where promising often involves an exchange of performances that enhance the parties’ instrumental efficacy, voluntaristic associations afford people an opportunity to carve out a portion of their own social world. To the extent that there are associations that retain elements of voluntarism, they allow a person to create, at least in some way, the social world in which they live. Since the social world in which we live so deeply affects our sense of self and identity, voluntaristic associations can allow us some measure of control over these core elements of who we are. Voluntaristic associations allow us, at least in some non-trivial way, actively and consciously to participate in our own making. They are therefore essential aspects of self-determination. But that is very different from asserting that associations generate no obligations unless they are a species of promissory obligation.

(Updated) Milestone: Over 5000 Hits!

I want to thank everyone for “tuning” in.  I hope you will continue to do so as things develop at Political Philosop-her.  The first Featured Political Philosop-her post – by Erin Taylor – is up.

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Update: Thanks to Marcus Arvan, Samantha Brennan, Tracy Isaacs, S. Matthew Liao, Brian Leiter, Kate Norlock, Eric Schliesser, Dave Sobel, Paul Kelleher, and many others for mentioning the blog.  It is great to have the support of so many Philosop-hims!

Can We Make Rational Decisions to Transition to Justice?

In my post earlier today, I said that I would say something about the relevance of Paul’s work to political philosophy.  So, here goes!  The connection to political philosophy lies in the notion of transformative experiences.  Just as transformative experiences can occur in the private lives of individuals, they can occur in the public lives of individuals, that is, in their lives as citizens of a state.   For example, when citizens transition from living in a state of autocracy to one of democracy, they presumably undergo a transformative experience.  Living in a democratic state is much like Paul purports having a child of one’s own to be.  One could argue, it is genuinely unlike any experience the individuals would have had before.  So, they cannot project from past experiences to know what it will be like to live in a democracy.  In turn, they cannot know whether they will value living in a democracy or not.  So, if we take Paul’s arguments seriously, then the individuals’ decisions to transition to a democracy cannot be considered rational decisions.

One way around this conclusion is along the lines that I suggested here.  Even if they lack knowledge or an approximate idea of what this specific token of democracy will be like for them, individuals could project on the basis of similar types of phenomenal experiences of democracy to determine the value that transitioning to a democracy in their state will have for them.   For example, they may have experienced what democratic decision-making is like within their families or with their neighbors or in other community based groups.  On this basis, they can know or, as I have suggested, at least have an approximate idea as to whether they value experiences of this (democratic) type.  If they determine that they value these types of experiences positively, they can make a rational decision (on the standard model) to transition to a democracy.

As I argued in my post from earlier today, another way around the Paulian conclusion is simply to deny that phenomenal knowledge is necessary for rationality.  There are other (non-phenomenal) basis for making such decisions: for example, we might think that we owe democracy to the other individuals in the group say, because, as Thomas Christiano has recently argued here, democracy promotes human rights and we have a moral obligation to satisfy other people’s human rights.  In this case, we can know that we will place positive value, for non-phenomenal reasons, on transitioning to a democracy.  We might also know that such values swamp (or trump) any phenomenal reasons that we have for not transitioning to a democracy.  If so, we can make rational decisions to transition to a democracy.

I also wonder what role genealogical processes could play in rational political decisions.  We can, for example, look at historical and global accounts of experiences of what transitioning to a democracy has been like for various individuals in various countries.  One might wonder, couldn’t this serve as a basis for knowing or at least approximating what it will be like to transition to a democracy?

I think Paul would deny this possibility (see her discussion of relying on other people’s testimonies).  Imagine after considering other individual’s experiences of what it is like to transition to a democracy, we notice that there are two groups of individuals: those that valued the transition and those that did not.  Since we cannot project on the basis of our past experiences to know what the transformative experience of transitioning to a democracy will be like for us, one could argue (again for Paulian reasons), we cannot know which of the two groups we will end up being in.  It could go either way:  we might value the transition or we might not.  So, one could argue, we cannot come to know what it will be like for us to transition to a democracy on the basis of other people’s testimonies because we don’t know which of their testimonies will apply to us.

However, while, on the face of it, we may not be able to know which group we will end up being in, it does seem that we can know something about which groups we share similar starting points with.  So long as we can identify our country as starting at a certain point, for example, of initially being composed of individuals with certain cultural, social, economic and other sorts of features  (i.e., the points from which we will transition from), we can at least have an idea of which countries start off in positions similar to ours.   We can then consider whether those sorts of societies had positive experiences or not and we have at least some grounds for concluding that for countries like ours, which are composed of individuals like us, transitioning to democracy has had positive or negative phenomenal value.   This might not be a basis for knowing what democracy will be like for us, but it could be a basis for forming an approximate idea of what it is will be like for us.  We could form an approximate idea of the types of experiences that we might have and what they might be like for us on the basis of other’s experiences of what it has been like to transition to a democracy.  And, as I suggested, an approximate idea may be all that is needed to make a rational decision to transition to a democracy.

A last thought on Paul: Why phenomenal values?

Before getting to the relevance of my discussion of Paul’s argument to issues in political philosophy (which will happen today in another post), I would now like to try my hand at a final criticism of Paul’s argument.   Paul argues that the value of choosing to have a child (HC) is determined by “what it is like for you to have your child, including what it is like to have the beliefs, desires, emotions and dispositions that result, directly and indirectly from having your own child” (p. 5).  She refers to these sorts of values as “phenomenal values.”  Since HC is something that happens to you specifically, Paul argues that the phenomenal value (the value of “what is like for you”) is the most important and is likely the solely important factor in determining the value that HC will have for you and, in turn, whether it is rational for you to HC.

This argument moves too quickly.  There are many non-phenomenal values that can play an important role in deciding the value of HC and that can also outweigh any of the personal phenomenal value that you associate with HC.  For example, if you are a member of a dying (or minority) culture that has only one or two members left – say, you are the last of the Mohicans – and you see yourself as having a strong moral duty to prevent the demise of your culture, then you can determine that HC will have positive value for you for non-phenomenal reason.  There are likely many other similar sorts of cases.

In an e-rejoiner, Paul acknowledges that

“if you’re really not basing your decision at all on what being a parent is going to be like for you then you can make a rational decision. But relying only on criteria like that is not the usual way to decide to have kids.”

Her response is that this is not how people typically make rational decisions.  This response is not fully convincing.  First, at least some of the time, this is the way that people typically make decisions to HC.  People do seem to choose to HC for moral reasons.   Second, even if it is not the way that people typically choose to HC, this fact does not in itself make it an irrational way to decide to choose to HC.  Moral values can determine the value that HC (or ~HC) will have for us.  So, it seems that Paul must acknowledge that, even if they constitute only a small number of the decisions that are actually made, it can be rational to choose to HC.

Recall that her original conclusion was that we cannot, on the standard model, make rational decisions to HC or ~HC.  This discussion illustrates that, when properly understood, her arguments support a much weaker conclusion (assuming we accept the rest of her arguments), namely, that we cannot make rational decisions, on the standard model, to HC on the basis of phenomenal values, which still leaves open the possibility of making rational decisions to HC or ~HC on the basis of non-phenomenal values.  Understood in this way, the conclusion of her argument is much less controversial than first appeared.  It does not challenge the possibility of making rational decisions (according to the standard model) to HC.  It just narrows the grounds for such decisions.  It’s not so bad after all!

As a bit of a side note, Paul’s focus on phenomenal knowledge seems somewhat odd to me.  Paul argues that we must know what it is like to HC in order to determine the value that HC will have for us.  There is, however, nothing in the standard model that states that we can only determine the value of X when we know what it is like to X.  This is Paul’s addition and she seems to derive this requirement from her understanding of commonsense rationality.  Even if this is an appropriate conception of commonsense rationality (which I am not entirely convinced of), it doesn’t necessarily follow that this is an appropriate conception of the standard model, since the standard model doesn’t claim to be and certainly doesn’t need to be understood as representing commonsense rationality.   So, why the focus on the necessity of phenomenal knowledge in rationality on the standard model?

This linking of the standard model of rationality and, what she takes to be, common sense rationality may explain why it was unclear to me, earlier, as to whether Paul’s target was commonsense rationality more generally or the standard model specifically (on this issue see my response to Schliesser’s rebuttal).  She seems to see the two as being linked, but, again, I wonder whether this is or has to be the case.