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94 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2018
For much the same reasons that there cannot exist a purely private language, there cannot exist purely private norms: norms imply a community, which may be defined as narrowly as the inhabitants of a single village or as widely as all rational beings, but never contracted to a single individual. Moreover, norms imply a temporal horizon that stretches at least some way into the past and, still more important, into the future... There must exist enough order to guarantee that norms that hold for my peers (however defined) will also hold for me and that today’s norm will also hold tomorrow. (49)
Not only is some minimal order the practical precondition for any kind of norms; normativity itself posits an ideal order. It takes a considerable effort of reflection to make such ideal orders explicit. From Hesiod and the Laws of Manu to the United Nations Charter and John Rawls’s A Theory of Justice (1971), great works of literature, theology, and philosophy have envisioned orders in which to lodge particular norms of neighborliness, justice, filial piety, and human dignity. These orders are rarely rigorously systematic. They are less like mathematical demonstrations and more like architectures, in which diverse elements are structurally and stylistically combined into harmonious but contingent wholes, be they gothic cathedrals or high modern skyscrapers.
Some degree of coherence is particularly important as a guide to moral reflection when new, previously unimagined quandaries emerge, whether in the context of advances in reproductive technologies or animal welfare. Recurring to the architectural metaphor, the style and structure of the original building guide the design of the new extension. Normativity presupposes order, both practically and theoretically. (50-1)
Therefore, the hope that norms extracted from nature will converge more convincingly than those freely invented by art is illusory. In other words, the strategy of naturalization to combat relativism is doomed. To glorify certain human values as “natural,” whether in the liberal cause of human rights or the conservative one of social Darwinism, does not lend them one iota more of certainty or inevitability. Opponents can always retort, “Which nature?” and counter with examples of another order, equally natural, to support the opposite position... The polyphony of nature is, however, precisely the point: it is difficult—perhaps impossible—to imagine an order that is not manifestly, flamboyantly on display in nature. (60-1)
The yearnings of philosophers for another kind of reason, allegedly more perfect, have always been enmeshed in theology, either overtly or covertly. It is no accident that qualms about anthropomorphism and idolatry, of which Xenophanes’s acerbic remarks are an early example, first occur in the context of religion. They ridicule (or censure) the admixture of the human with the divine… Epistemology still indulges in thought experiments in angelology, whether in Kant’s mysterious nonhuman rational beings or Martians or the inhabitants of other possible worlds. Theology continues to haunt epistemology, feeding desires that can never be realized for a form of reason that escapes the limitations of our species. Kant famously warned against the ambitions of reason to transcend its own limitations. Perhaps we might follow Kant in spirit if not in letter if we explored the capacities of specifically human reason. (70)
Even to formulate the reproach of anthropomorphism implies a certain commitment to anthropocentrism. Only from a parochial human point of view does it make any sense to divide up all that exists into our species on one side and everything else, from microbes to pulsars, on the other. (Imagine such a division from the standpoint of some other species—raccoons, say—and the oddity of a universe split up between raccoons and not-raccoons becomes absurdly apparent.) And only once such a division is posited is it possible to identify anthropomorphic projections from the tiny province of the human onto the vast realm of the universe—and to declare them illicit or childish. Other cultures, even those in the Greco-Roman lineage, have divided up the world differently. When, for example, the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus coupled the due measure of the sun with that of justice, he may not have been speaking metaphorically: “The sun will not overstep his measures; otherwise the Erinyes, ministers of Justice, will find him out.” The measures of the sun and those of human justice belonged to the same realm, with no need of a metaphor to bridge them. (58)
These humanly rational propensities have to do with the kind of organisms that we happen to be. We are outfitted with senses that convey the surfaces of things. Even when intellectual curiosity and technological ingenuity makes possible anatomy, geometry, the microscope, X-rays, and other ways of peering beneath surfaces, our way of probing the viscera of the world is to turn them into yet more surfaces. If by some miracle noumena, things-in- themselves, were revealed to us, we could only grasp them as phenomena, as appearances. Fortunately, the peculiarities of our sensory systems have not blocked philosophical and scientific inquiry into domains ordinarily inaccessible to the senses, from elementary particles to distant stars to brain waves. But even in these investigations there has been a strong tendency to convert information, much of it now digital, into appearances, especially images—from radio telescopes, bubble chambers, magnetic resonance scans, and innumerable other devices designed to penetrate where the senses cannot reach. When Plato attempted to wean his readers from their addiction to appearances in the Republic, the only way he could make his point was to invent a myth about more appearances: the shadows in the cave cast by the equally phenomenal, if occluded, objects outside in the daylight. For beings like us, it is appearances all the way down. (65)