When thinking about morality, people generally make two mistakes: 1) that moral certainty can be achieved by consulting some external, objective source, and 2) that if this is not the case, and moral certainty cannot be attained, then we all have license to do whatever we want and there’s nothing left to discuss.
As analytical philosopher Patricia Churchland explains in her latest book, Conscience: The Origin of Our Moral Intuitions, both ideas are false. Moral dilemmas always involve conflicting priorities, and the call for “objective morality” is nothing other than the desire to escape uncertainty and to have someone or something else do the thinking for you. As Churchland writes:
“I may long for certainty, but I have to live with doing the best I can. I may concoct a myth to explain that my certainty, unlike yours, taps into universal moral truths. Reality will soon dissolve that myth. Voltaire (1694-1778), a French philosopher of the Enlightenment, concisely summed up the state of affairs: ‘Uncertainty is an uncomfortable position, but certainty is an absurd one.’”
While moral certainty does not and cannot exist, that doesn’t mean we lack a strong foundation from which to build. Morality is equal parts emotion, rooted in biology, and reason, which allows us to leverage our “better angels” while suppressing or controlling our baser instincts. As Churchland states:
“The verdict of conscience is not solely cognitive...but has two interdependent elements: feelings that urge us in a general direction, and judgment that shapes the urge into a specific action.”
Humans, like most mammals, are social animals, wired for sympathy, empathy, attachment, bonding, and the desire for social approval. This social suite of emotions and behaviors, which allows for complex cooperative behavior, is the only reason humans, physically unimpressive as they are, did not go extinct over their 200,000+ year history.
It is worth reflecting on the fact that modern humans have been around for hundreds of thousands of years. This means that morality must have come from some other source than “ancient” religious or philosophical texts that were written a mere two to three thousand years ago. These texts cannot, contrary to what is sometimes claimed, possibly account for our collective longevity and social and moral inclinations. The roots lie deeper in our evolutionary past, encoded in our biology and uncovered by neuroscience.
To the authors credit, Churchland does not get lost in the scientism that this might suggest; she acknowledges that science cannot determine right and wrong actions. On the other hand, Churchland also correctly recognizes that science is highly relevant to moral decision making and that scientific facts impact what we consider to be moral actions. While conceding to David Hume that “is” does not imply “ought,” science can certainly influence our moral calculation, as, for example, when we stopped executing witches on account of the fact that they don’t exist.
So morality is grounded in our biology and our care for others, informed by science, and codified in community standards. Most of the time, and in most cases, moral decisions do not pose any special problems. But what about moral dilemmas with conflicting interests, as in debates regarding abortion, the death penalty, and political philosophy in general? How are we supposed to balance the competing priorities and conflicting ideals?
The history of moral philosophy is filled with attempts to escape the discomfort of uncertainty with rule-based systems that prescribe one course of action or the prioritization of one variable in all circumstances. As Chruchland explains, every such attempt is easily exposed as incomplete with counter-examples and exceptions. This shouldn’t be surprising, as every ethical dilemma is unique and involves competing priorities; therefore, the prioritization of the same principle all of the time leads to immoral behavior at least some of the time.
Humanity’s first attempts at solving ethical problems were the invocation of supernatural authority. Divine command theory states simply that God will tell you what to do, you just have to follow the commandments. The problem with this was first articulated by Plato in the dialogue Euthyphro. The “Euthyphro Dilemma” asks: do the gods love good action because it is good, or is good action good because it is loved by the gods? If the first, the goodness of an action is independent of god, rendering god unnecessary and subject to the same moral constraints as everyone else. If the second, then morality is not objective and entirely dependent on god’s whim.
Of course, even the religious don’t believe that all divine commands are moral, which is why there is so much disagreement among people with the same gods and the same religions and why people cherry pick the moral parts out of the Bible while ignoring the nastier parts (I’m thinking of pretty much anything out of Leviticus). If god, or the voice in your head, told you, like Isaac, to murder your own son, I would hope that your response would be different and that you wouldn’t march him up to an altar.
So divine command theory cannot be the answer; we simply can’t escape the evaluation of moral claims regardless of their source.
So what about grounding morality in reason alone? This too has been attempted and has largely failed for the same reasons.
Kant’s categorical imperative tells us to “act only according to that maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.” This seems like a reasonable idea, but only if you overlook the fact that logical consistency does not imply morality. Two people may disagree on what they think should be willed as a universal law, and the categorical imperative does not in itself resolve the dispute. For example, is lying always wrong, and should this be cast as a universal rule? Kant said yes, but as Churchland wrote, “As even modestly clever undergraduates are quick to point out, no rule seems to be immune to fair-minded exceptions.” Would you lie to save your child’s life? I’m betting you would, despite the demands of the categorical imperative.
Utilitarianism tries a different approach. It regards moral decisions as those which produce the greatest good for the greatest number, but is apt to ignore basic human rights and the idea of not using human life as a means to an end. It also runs counter to our strong biological urge to prioritize the needs of our family over others.
Even the Golden Rule, commanding us to treat others the way we would wish to be treated, is only moral if the other person shares your values. Perhaps they wish to be treated differently than you, or deserve harsher treatment (as in the case of psychopaths and terrorists). Again, any rule-based system or moral proclamation will encounter examples it is not equipped to deal with.
All of this is not to endorse moral relativism; of course some actions are more moral than others according to the only standards that really count: our biological wiring that causes us to value pleasure over pain, peace over violence, and solidarity over solitude. We are justified in calling immoral the things that cause suffering and moral the things that cause human flourishing. But this does not mean that there are not difficult cases with conflicting priorities that simultaneously strain both our Kantian and utilitarian impulses.
The best we can hope for is to keep the dialogue going. The real enemy of morality is not uncertainty, but ideology, the dogmatic confidence in the moral superiority of one’s position. Whenever the claim that god or reason is on one side of the moral debate and one side alone, the result is almost always tragic.