Moral Realism: A Defence

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Moral Realism

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Moral Realism A Defence

Russ Shafer-Landau

CLARENDON PRESS · OXFORD

Great Clarendon Street, Oxford OX2 6DP Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University's objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Bangkok Buenos Aires Cape Town Chennai Dar es Salaam Delhi Hong Kong Istanbul Karachi Kolkata Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Mumbai Nairobi Saõ Paulo Shanghai Taipei Tokyo Toronto Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York ©Russ Shafer-Landau 2003 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) First published 2003 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Data available ISBN 0–19–9259755 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2 Typest by Kolam Information Services Pvt. Ltd. Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by T. J. International Ltd., Padstow, Cornwall

For Susan Ever since you were the home of love my love has dwelt with you. (Yehuda HaLevi)

Acknowledgements What good there may be in the following pages owes a great deal to the kind critical attentions of many friends and colleagues. Among these I would especially like to thank Steve Arkonovich, Robert Audi, Jack Bricke, David Brink, David Gill, Robert Johnson, Sean McKeever, Sarah Sawyer, Tim Scanlon, Dave Schmidtz, Mark van Roojen, Pekka Vayrynen, and Kit Wellman. I am very grateful to Melissa Barry, Jimmy Lenman, and Michael Smith for having accepted OUP's invitation to serve as (once-anonymous) readers for the book. Melissa's generous criticisms invariably targeted the major vulnerabilities of the book. To my regret, and perhaps to the readers' relief, fully doing justice to all of her comments would have made for an even longer and more complicated book. In the end, I opted for brevity (I am trying for a straight face) rather than completeness, though I am still unsure whether the balance was rightly struck. Jimmy's nose for the weak spot helped me immeasurably. Answering his very extensive, trenchant criticisms (when I was able to) certainly made this a better book, and hopefully a bit easier going. I'm pretty sure that he would still, as before, disagree with every one of the major points I have argued for. (And in that, I've no doubt that he'll be in excellent company!) I am also very happy to be able to record my thanks to Michael, both for his help with the book as it developed, and for his other efforts on my behalf. I know a great many in my cohort who could say the same thing—there are few philosophers of his calibre who are as giving of their time and concern as Michael has so often been. I also owe a great debt of gratitude to Terence Cuneo, who read just about the whole of the book in manuscript, giving me superb assistance throughout. This book would have been much the poorer without his input. His vast knowledge of this literature, his very sharp critical eye, and his ability to spot the positive possibilities of a view have helped me in many more ways than I could say. Though I now call the University of Wisconsin my professional home, this book was written during the latter part of a very enjoyable decade spent at the University of Kansas. I would like to offer thanks to my colleagues there, who provided me, in the context of annual faculty colloquia, with generous

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comments on my work as it progressed. I also managed to wheedle a supererogatory amount of support, encouragement, and criticism from my former chair, Tony Genova, despite his having long ago consigned his ethics books to the flames. I am very pleased to have this opportunity to thank him for the many kindnesses he has done me. I'm appreciative also of the support of the General Research Fund of the University of Kansas, which provided summer stipends for developing some of the ideas that appear here. Thanks also to the KU Hall Center for Humanities, and its Director, Victor Bailey, for granting me a Research Fellowship (and so a semester's leave) to pursue work on Chapters 4 and 8. I am also very pleased to have found, in Sara Friedmann, an indexer whose competence is exceeded only by her enthusiasm for the job. Most of the contents of this book have yet to be tested in published form. A few pages from Chapter 4 represent an update of a piece that appeared in Ratio; Chapter 6, and about half of Chapter 12, owe a great deal to earlier versions published in Philosophical Studies and Australasian Journal of Philosophy, respectively. Full citations to these works are provided at the end of the book; my thanks to the publishers of these journals (Basil Blackwell, Kluwer Publishers, and Oxford University Press) for their kind permission to rely on this work here. I am grateful to my parents for the interest they have always taken in my work, and for the support that they have always offered me. Hugs and kisses to my endearing children, Max and Sophie, whose intelligence and curiosity are inspiring models for a sometimes pedantic father. And thanks finally to my wife, Susan, to whom I dedicate this book, with love. R.S.L. August 2002

Contents Introduction PART I: REALISM AND ITS CRITICS 1. The Non-cognitivist Challenge I. What Moral Realism Is II. The Non-cognitivist Challenge III. A Critique of Non-cognitivism IV. Conclusion 2. The Constructivist Challenge I. Subjectivism and Objectivism II. Moral and Non-moral Constraints III. Four Constructivist Critiques IV. Conclusion PART II: MORAL METAPHYSICS 3. Ethical Non-naturalism I. Moore's Argument II. Naturalism and Non-naturalism III. Against Classical Naturalism IV. Non-naturalistic Metaphysics V. Conclusion 4. Supervenience and Causation I. Metaphysical Worries II. The First Supervenience Argument III. The Second Supervenience Argument IV. The Causal Argument V. Conclusion

1 13 13 18 22 37 39 39 41 44 51 55 56 58 65 72 79 80 80 84 89 98 114

CONTENTS

PART III: MORAL MOTIVATION 5. Motivational Humeanism I. The Non-cognitivist Argument II. The Attractions of Anti-Humeanism III. Five Humean Arguments IV. Conclusion 6. Motivational Judgement Internalism I. A Taxonomy of Internalisms II. The Amoralist III. An Objection IV. The Examples V. Internalist Worries VI. Conclusion PART IV: MORAL REASONS 7. Reasons Internalism I. The Scope of Practical Reason II. Varieties of Reasons Internalism III. Arguments for Reasons Internalism IV. Two Arguments against Internalism V. Conclusion 8. Moral Rationalism I. Realism and Rationalism II. A Presumptive Argument for Moral Rationalism III. Four Antirationalist Arguments IV. Partners in Crime V. Conclusion 9. Rationality and Disagreement I. The Argument from Disagreement II. Explaining Actual Disagreement III. Explaining Hypothesized Disagreement IV. Conclusion

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119 119 122 127 140 142 142 145 147 148 155 161 165 165 171 176 185 188 190 190 192 193 209 211 215 215 218 221 227

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PART V: MORAL KNOWLEDGE 10. Moral Scepticism I. The Master Argument II. Realism and Epistemic Inaccessibility III. Four Sceptical Arguments IV. Believing Where We Cannot Prove V. Conclusion 11. The Justification of Moral Principles I. The Appeal to Self-Evidence II. Objections to Self-Evidence III. Conclusion 12. The Justification of Verdictive Beliefs I. Three Models of Ethical Theory II. Moral Reliabilism III. Objections to Moral Reliabilism IV. Identifying Reliable Processes: Some Preliminaries V. Identifying Reliable Processes: The Role of Exemplars VI. Conclusion References Index

231 231 232 235 241 245 247 247 250 265 267 267 272 275 293 296 300 303 313

Introduction Let me begin this book of philosophy with a bit of armchair sociology. Nowadays many people express their moral views with a great deal more hesitation than was usual in the past. We are less likely to wholeheartedly trumpet the cause of Progress, Manifest Destiny, Religion, or, indeed, anything that comes with capital letters. Part of this stems from our comparatively greater exposure to those who think differently from us. Part of this comes from witnessing what can be done by those whose certitude in their own moral convictions allows them to deny the humanity of their victims. These two causes, and others, have themselves contributed to a distinctively philosophical source of our more measured ethical ambitions. The philosophical source is a kind of scepticism about morality. This scepticism is the view that our moral opinions are either never true, or are correct, when they are, only in virtue of our endorsements. On this line, moral laws are human laws, made by, and for, humans. Without some sort of personal or interpersonal ratification, a putative moral law is no law at all—just words, a mere pretender. Moral principles enjoy no objective or transcendent status; they are not universal, but parochial; they are not awaiting our discovery, but rather are products of our creative efforts. In likening the moral law to the positive law, whatever reservations we have about the authority of the latter are transferred to the former. For those taken with this analogy, the often dismal history of our legislative undertakings seems to provide ample reason for the sort of moral modesty we see today. But it doesn't, really. If we create morality, then there is far less room for error than otherwise, and so far less ground for modesty. If rightness is in the eye of the beholder, then so long as one's eyes are open, one is seeing aright, and there's an end on it. Moral modesty is a virtue, when it is, just because of our fallibility—just because knowing the right thing to do is sometimes very difficult, and there

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are so many ways we can go wrong. But modesty is not always a good thing. It is easy to forget this if one is concentrating on textbook cases of arrogant Victorians or antebellum slaveholders. Yet were we faced with such people as political opponents, humility and hesitation would be no virtue. An unwavering conviction about certain matters is sometimes right and proper. Whether such inflexibility amounts to virtue depends crucially on the worth of one's causes. How is such worth best measured? Sceptics about the status of morality claim that evaluative standards must reflect our own appraisals of propriety and worth. Yet if we are the authors of the moral rules, then such rules are only as sound as we are. We are rarely as imaginative or sympathetic as we might be, we are weak, liable sometimes to cut corners, and subject to all sorts of pressures to compromise. The rules we make will invariably reflect these limitations. In my own opinion, this is not cause for celebration, though there are some who see an inherently valueless world as an opportunity for limitless indulgence or courageous self-creation. I surmise that most of those willing to adopt such a view do so not because of its intrinsic attractions, but because they do not understand how any alternative could possibly be true. How could the moral law be something not of our own making, something whose truth did not depend on the commitments of those who are bound by its dictates? Answering this question is the project I have set myself in this book. If success is possible on this front, it will take the form of an adequate defence of moral realism. Moral realism is the theory that moral judgements enjoy a special sort of objectivity: such judgements, when true, are so independently of what any human being, anywhere, in any circumstance whatever, thinks of them. In the book's first part, I set out the reasons for thinking that we are not the authors of morality, but rather are constrained by moral rules not of our own making. The modesty, liberality, and tolerance that animates much recent scepticism about morality is best justified by assuming that such values are not, after all, human constructs—if they were, then the illiberal and the intolerant, who have constructed things differently, would be making no error. There are three complementary ways to defend moral realism. The first is to offer positive realist considerations that seem appealing. The second is to offer criticisms of antirealist views. And the third is to respond to objections that seek to undermine moral realism's plausibility. I deploy the first two strategies in Part I. There, I present a large battery of considerations that favour the view that morality is objective, and spend a good deal of time

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criticizing those who deny this (Chapter 1), as well as those who affirm a version of it, but one that is incompatible with moral realism (Chapter 2). As is the nature of such endeavours, the considerations pro and con are rarely decisive, and are meant largely to establish a burden of proof. I hope, by the conclusion of the first part, to have established a presumptive case on moral realism's behalf. The strength of this presumption depends on the qualms about moral realism that one brings to the table. And there are plenty of qualms, expressed equally by professional philosophers and those who have thought even a little on these issues. Of these worries, four in particular are especially serious, and together constitute an impressive case against moral realism. The remainder of the book devotes a part to each of these (families of) objections. I hope to be able to turn them, and in so doing to develop a series of positive views that will yield an integrated defence of moral realism. The first of these concerns, discussed in Part II, has to do with moral metaphysics. What kind of a thing could a value be? This is an especially difficult question for moral realists, given a currently popular view about the kinds of things that can plausibly count as occupants of our world. This view claims that things exist independently of our say-so only if such things figure in the best (extant or possible) scientific theories. But moral truths cannot be confirmed scientifically. We don't bump into them, we can't taste or touch them. We can't set up a lab, import some beakers, microscopes, and computers, and expect to get anywhere in solving our moral problems. So morality has to go either the way of leprechauns and centaurs, or, more charitably, the way of law or etiquette—domains that admit of truth, but one entirely dependent on our attitudes and behaviours. Either way, ethical thinking is not, and cannot be, an effort to correctly report on a set of moral truths not of our own making. There are three responses available to those who take the success and the realist aspirations of the natural sciences seriously. The first, which summarizes the argument of the previous paragraph, insists that moral and scientific enquiry are fundamentally disanalogous, and that this disanalogy supplies excellent reason to suppose that morality is best understood along antirealist lines. The second response, endorsed by some moral realists, is to deny the claimed disanalogy, and to say that there can be such a thing as moral science, which is modelled quite directly on the prominent features of the natural sciences. Moral features are nothing other than natural, scientific features; moral truths are discoverable in just the way that scientific truths are; moral facts, being nothing other than a species of natural scientific facts, import

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nothing mysterious into our picture of what the world includes. A third position allows that science and ethics are very different, but resists drawing any negative conclusions about morality's status from this concession. This third position—ethical non-naturalism—is the one that I favour. I begin its defence in Chapter 3. As I see it, there are genuine features of our world that remain forever outside the purview of the natural sciences. Moral facts are such features. They introduce an element of normativity that cannot be captured in the records of the natural sciences. They tell us what we ought to do; how we should behave; what is worth pursuing; what reasons we have; what is justifiable and what not. There is no science that can inform us of such things. The danger of going beyond the natural sciences in this way is that the emerging view seems to open the door to all sorts of oddities—if science is not our sole test of what exists, then why not allow unicorns, aliens, and demons into our inventory of the world's contents? It all threatens to be quite mysterious. I try to remove the mystery and to show that the test of scientific confirmation is too restrictive. Values do not receive such ratification, but then they don't need to. Moral realists can craft a plausible metaphysics, one that is compatible with, but not exhausted by, the picture of the world as given by the natural sciences. (This work is largely done in Chapter 4.) Part III addresses problems to do with moral motivation. A long-standing objection to moral realism begins by noting the connection between our moral judgements and our motivations. To judge an action right, or an end worth pursuing, is automatically to be motivated to some extent. Yet according to the most common view of motivation, taken from David Hume, our beliefs alone are unable to motivate us. Desires are the ultimate source of motivation; beliefs play only the limited role of informing us about how best to satisfy the desires we already have. We have here the ingredients of a powerful antirealist argument. For if, in every case, one's moral judgements motivate (at least a little), and if, in every case, such motivation stems ultimately from one's desires, then one's moral judgements are really expressions of one's desires. In particular, moral judgements are not the expression of beliefs about what is right or good. For if they were, then how could they so reliably motivate us? The problem for moral realists is that they are committed to viewing moral judgements as beliefs, capable of truth or falsity, depending on whether they accurately represent moral reality. If the Humean theory of motivation is correct, then such beliefs, like all beliefs, are by themselves motivationally inert. But moral judgements are not motivationally inert. Therefore moral judgements are not beliefs.

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Therefore moral judgements cannot be true or false. Therefore moral realism is false. My strategy for defusing this time-honoured argument is to reject both of its essential premisses. Both motivational Humeanism, and the view that moral judgements necessarily motivate, are less plausible than they seem. There are good reasons to doubt the Humean theory, and the strongest of the arguments designed to support it are weaker than many have thought. I try to vindicate these claims in Chapter 5. In particular, there is good reason to suppose that beliefs alone are capable of motivating us. Perhaps this is so only in the special case of evaluative beliefs, where we are assigning values or obligations. But evaluative beliefs are the genus of which moral beliefs are a species. The ability of such beliefs to motivate can go a long way in explaining the reliable connection between moral judgements, understood now as a kind of evaluative belief, and motivation. Still, I think that the degree of this reliability has been exaggerated; the second key ingredient in the antirealist argument is mistaken. Moral judgements do not always motivate those who sincerely make them, as I argue in Chapter 6. Antirealists have long assumed otherwise. This assumption is itself an expression of antirealism, and so cannot be used as a basis (without begging the question) for an argument against moral realism. If, as antirealists believe, moral judgements are essentially expressions of some non-cognitive state (such as desire), and if, as most philosophers believe, such states are necessarily motivating, then of course moral judgements, too, will necessarily motivate those who make them. But I believe that there is good reason to doubt that moral judgements are invariably motivating, and this should lead us to suspect the antirealist view of such judgements. There can be amoralists—those who sincerely issue moral judgements but remain perfectly indifferent. Thank goodness there aren't very many of them. But their very possibility (if it can be established) shows that moral judgements do not necessarily motivate. And if they do not, then they should not be analysed as the expression of necessarily motivating states. But this is the classic antirealist analysis. If I am right, we have a sound basis for doubting this analysis, and even stronger grounds for seeing moral judgements as realists would do—as beliefs, either true or false, about what is right and wrong. Part IV addresses another objection to moral realism, one that claims that realism cannot explain the reason-giving force of moral claims. The basic idea is this. If realism is correct, then morality needn't bear any relation to our existing commitments; fulfilling moral obligations needn't serve our interests or satisfy our desires. Yet if that were so, why should we care about morality?

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If moral requirements are to supply us with reasons for obedience, then they need to link up with what we already care about. But realism offers no guarantee that such a link can be forged. We can put the objection in another way. Moral obligations entail reasons for action, but all of our reasons must be related to our existing commitments. If that is so, then the content of our moral obligations also depends directly on the content of our commitments. But that is a kind of contingency that is inimical to moral realism. Given the plausible empirical claim that our commitments differ from person to person, the argument entails that our moral obligations differ in this way as well. But this is relativism, not realism. Part IV spends most of its time on this argument, and tries to reveal its strengths and vulnerabilities. Many realists, when faced with this argument, will reject its first premiss—the view that moral obligations entail reasons for action. They will do this precisely because they accept the argument's second premiss—the claim that reasons must be related to our existing commitments. I take just the opposite tack. I believe that moral obligations do entail reasons, because they are a kind of (very powerful) practical reason—that an action is wrong, cruel, or vicious is itself a reason for anyone to refrain from it. Endorsing this view leads me to reject the popular restriction on reasons expressed in the argument's second premiss. I believe that one may have a practical reason even if this reason is unrelated to one's existing commitments. Taking such a stand raises worries about how reasons could exist even if they are unable to motivate those for whom they are reasons. It also raises worries about whether such a view of reasons is unfair; if one is criticizable for failing to adhere to reasons, and if reasons are unrelated to one's commitments, then one may be criticizable for doing or refraining from action that bears no connection to one's commitments. In Chapter 7, I assess, and ultimately reject, the ‘commitment-relative’ theory of reasons that is nowadays accepted as the default view of the matter. That is followed, in Chapter 8, by an extended defence of the moral rationalist idea that moral obligations do entail reasons for action. If I am right, then everyone always has excellent reason to do as morality says, even if moral demands fail to serve a person's goals or interests. I then focus attention (in Chapter 9) on the issue of moral disagreement and its implications for moral realism. A common antirealist argument unfavourably contrasts the breadth of agreement within scientific circles and that within ethics. The best explanation of this disparity, it is claimed, is that science reaches consensus in virtue of the realistic nature of its subject matter,

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whereas ethical disagreement is a reflection of the parochial attitudes that receive expression in moral judgement. If there is no objective moral reality that constrains our moral thinking, then of course we should expect great diversity and incompatibilities in our moral thought. These expectations are not disappointed. I try to untangle the skeins of this argument and show that, at bottom, the relatively greater dissensus on ethical matters fails to supply evidence against moral realism. Though I there offer a number of considerations to support such a view, the one I like the most draws a direct comparison between ethical disagreements and those in other areas of philosophy. We believe that there is an objectively correct position about whether there is a God, or such a thing as free will, despite the fact that intelligent, open-minded individuals continually disagree about such matters. These puzzles, like those in other areas of philosophy, are not resolvable by means of a widely agreed-upon, determinate method. They are certainly not resolvable solely by making careful mathematical calculations, or referring to one's empirical observations. Most (perhaps all) philosophical disagreements proceed in the absence of the relevant sorts of shared, rock-bottom intuitions that could serve as a common basis from which to derive agreement. Since this doesn't threaten the existence of objective truths in other areas of philosophy, it shouldn't do so in ethics, where matters are in all relevant respects the same. The book concludes with its longest part, in an effort to answer the perennial question of how we can have access to moral truths. If such truths are not of our own making, and if, as I claim, such truths are not scientific ones, accessible primarily through methods of empirical confirmation, then it can be puzzling as to how we might gain knowledge of them. I think that this question is even more difficult than it has often been taken to be, since I endorse (though do not argue for) a kind of ethical pluralism. If such a theory is correct, then there is not some one ultimate ethical rule from which all others are derivable. There are either no moral rules at all, or a plurality of them, each of which, in principle, can be overridden by others. On either assumption, it may be quite difficult indeed to identify what is right and wrong in particular cases. Whether one principle or many, whether absolute or defeasible, there are some well-known sceptical objections to the very possibility of gaining moral knowledge. In Chapter 10, I discuss these objections and explain why we needn't find them utterly debilitating, even if we at present lack an adequate way of pinpointing their error. I then make an effort to strengthen this antisceptical case by advancing a series of positive proposals about how we might manage to acquire moral knowledge.

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These proposals amount to the development of a hybrid moral epistemology, one that offers a different approach to the epistemic justification of moral principles, on the one hand, and of concrete moral verdicts, on the other. I subscribe to the unfashionable view that at least some moral principles are self-evident; if one understands their content, and comes to believe them on this basis, then one is justified in one's moral belief. But justified belief in such principles is not enough to warrant our all-things-considered views about what particular actions are right and wrong. For that, we can help ourselves to a reliabilist theory of moral knowledge. According to such a theory, our moral beliefs are warranted to the extent that they arise as a result of reliable belief-forming processes. I briefly discuss how these two epistemic theories might be made compatible. I spend most of the time, however, presenting the attractions of the self-evidence approach to moral principles (Chapter 11), and the reliabilist approach to verdictive moral belief (Chapter 12), and defending them against objections. Both of these theories have garnered a great deal of critical suspicion, and a commensurate amount of space must be given over to removing these obstacles to their acceptance. By the conclusion of Part V, I hope to have established a plausible basis for justifying our claims to knowing right from wrong. The overall scheme of the book is therefore as follows. I defend the view that moral principles and facts are objective in a quite strong sense: they are true and exist independently of what any human being, no matter his or her perspective, thinks of them. Moral facts are not scientific ones, and do not pass the standard test of ontological credibility; moral facts cannot be confirmed in the manner of scientific facts, but are no worse for that. Our moral beliefs are capable of motivating us all by themselves, and usually, but not invariably, do so. Moral obligations constitute reasons for everyone to act as they direct, regardless of whether such reasons bear any relation to one's existing commitments. The existence of persistent disagreement in ethics is insufficient to cast doubt on moral realism. Despite sceptical worries, moral truths are knowable. At least some moral principles are knowable via self-evidence; moral conclusions are knowable if they are true and have been reliably produced. These are the constituents of the story that gets told in these pages. I wish I could say that I were fully confident of its merits. I have often surprised myself in the conclusions I have come to, arguing myself out of many of my old views, and into most of the ones that I defend here. That I came to these views by way of argument, rather than (as is usual) by way of rationalizing

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pre-existing convictions, might be thought to buoy my hopes of their plausibility. But the more I have thought about these issues, the more difficult they have seemed. I fear that my manner of presentation, in most places full of resolution and patent confidence, doesn't really do justice to the reservations I have about the arguments that follow. Issues in metaethics require coverage of a vast amount of philosophical terrain, and I do not pretend to expertise in all, or even most, of them. Add to this the further fact that knock-down, watertight philosophical arguments are always in very short supply; that, in principle, all of one's premisses require defence, and that, in practice, not all of them can receive it; and we surely have reason to anticipate other, better work in this area, especially of a more specialized nature. Here I have tried for the larger view, to develop a systematic, fairly comprehensive account of the foundations of ethics. If I am right, these foundations are best seen as moral realists do: as encompassing moral principles whose origins, content, and authority do not depend on our recognition or endorsement of them.


Part I Realism And Its Critics


1 The Non-cognitivist Challenge In this chapter I will introduce the kind of moral realism I favour, and then introduce, and critique, the family of noncognitivist theories that serves as one of realism's major competitors. Though I will not try to offer a decisive set of objections to non-cognitivism, I do, by chapter's end, take myself to have provided a strong presumption against it, and in favour of moral cognitivism generally. As we shall see, this presumption, even if warranted, is not enough to land us in the realist's camp. For there is a split among cognitivists, between those who favour realism and those who favour constructivism. In what follows, I explain this division, and reserve my next chapter for an attempt to reveal constructivism's weaknesses. If all goes as planned, we will have, at the conclusion of these first two chapters, a strong case on behalf of moral realism. We will also be face to face with a set of powerful antirealist objections, ones that have done much to convince realism's opponents of its inadequacy. My aim, in the remainder of the book, is to address these concerns in a way that leaves us with a plausible, coherent form of moral realism that supplies satisfying answers to these perennial objections.

I. What Moral Realism Is There are many different versions of moral realism, and very likely no single description will neatly fit all those theories that have taken the label. At the simplest level, all realists endorse the idea that there is a moral reality that people are trying to represent when they issue judgements about what is right and wrong. The disagreements that arise among realists primarily have to do with the nature of this reality. Despite these disagreements, there is much common ground.

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We can divide views about the reality of a given domain into three large types. Nihilists reject the reality of the domain. We are all nihilists about goblins and unicorns; such things don't exist. Nihilists about morality believe that there isn't any moral reality at all. We might speak as if there is, and there may be good political, psychological, or strategic reasons for doing so. But in the final analysis, nothing really is right or wrong; these are terms that never refer. Constructivists endorse the reality of a domain, but explain this by invoking a constructive function out of which the reality is created. This function has moral reality as its output. What distinguishes constructivist theories from one another are the different views about the proper input. Subjectivists claim that individual tastes and opinions are the things out of which moral reality is constructed. Relativists cite various conventions or social agreements. Kantians cite the workings of the rational will. Contractarians cite the edicts of deliberators situated in special circumstances of choice. What is common to all constructivists is the idea that moral reality is constituted by the attitudes, actions, responses, or outlooks of persons, possibly under idealized conditions. In short, moral reality is constructed from the states or activities (understood very broadly) undertaken from a preferred standpoint. The absence of this standpoint signifies the absence of moral reality. If, for instance, there are no individuals who share conventions or make agreements with one another, then for the relativist there simply is no moral reality. For the Kantian, there is no moral reality—no genuine moral obligations or any justified moral claims—if there is no such thing as pure practical reason. Nothing is actually right or wrong, according to the subjectivist, if there are no people, or no personal opinions about matters of fact. For constructivists, what reality there is depends crucially on the existence of the preferred standpoint.1

1

This characterization of constructivism differs from that advanced by Brink (1989 : 19–20). He sees constructivism as the view that there are moral facts or truths which are constituted by the evidence we have for them. Understood this way, constructivism has problems distinguishing between epistemic justification and truth; it implausibly claims that a moral judgement is true just in case, and because, the best evidence says it is. Brink rightly rejects such a view (1989 : 31–5), but constructivists such as Firth (1952 ), Rawls (1980 ), Korsgaard (1996a ), Carson (1984 ), Scanlon (1998 ), or Milo (1995 ) would reject the claim that moral truth is constituted by the best evidence for it, and so would reject the equivalence or identity between justification and truth that Brink attributes to constructivism. Because of this, I think it best to proceed with the characterization of constructivism I offer above, which incorporates the views that Brink subsumes within the class (those of James 1907 ; Bradley 1914 ; Pierce 1914 ; Blanshard 1939 ; Dummett 1963 ; Quine 1968 ; Putnam 1983 ; Rorty 1980 ), and also easily explains why the views of these and the philosophers mentioned above are neither realistic nor nihilistic.

THE NON-COGNITIVIST CHALLENGE

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Realists endorse the reality of a domain and do so in opposition to constructivists. Realism is sometimes contrasted with constructivism by invoking the claim that, for realists, morality is mind-independent. There is some truth to this, but it seems ill expressed by the present notion. Any plausible moral theory will claim that some moral truths depend crucially on an agent's mental states. We obviously can't enter a moral assessment of an agent's motivations and intentions without recourse to what is going on in her mind. And the moral status of an action may depend very importantly on how pleased or miserable it makes others, whether it prompts feelings of anger or empathy, whether one who is harmed has given his consent to the treatment, etc. Further, it seems to make eminent sense to say that, absent all agents, there would be no moral facts (as opposed to moral standards)—no particular instances of right and wrong, moral good and evil, etc.2 We must be careful to define realism in such a way as to allow for these home truths. The way I would prefer to characterize the realist position is by reference to its endorsement of the stance-independence3 of moral reality. Realists believe that there are moral truths that obtain independently of any preferred perspective, in the sense that the moral standards that fix the moral facts are not made true by virtue of their ratification from within any given actual or hypothetical perspective. That a person takes a particular attitude toward a putative moral standard is not what makes that standard correct. This characterization of realism easily accommodates the possibility that something's rightness or admirability depends crucially on an agent's attitudes. But the dependence is to be understood in a particular way. Any first-order, substantive normative theory worth its salt will require attention to the mental states of agents in a variety of quite complex ways. But realism, being a view about the status of such normative theories, insists that the truth of any firstorder normative standard is not a function of what anyone happens to think of it. Such standards, if true, are not made true, and, in particular, are not

2

Moral facts are the things in virtue of which the truth conditions of assertoric moral claims are satisfied; moral facts are the truth-makers of true moral assertions. Understood in this way, moral facts are distinct from moral principles. These latter, as explained in Chapter 12, are best understood as conditionals. These conditionals (in conjunction with relevant non-moral facts) can explain why the moral facts are as they are. But the conditionals—the moral principles, standards, rules, or laws—are to be distinguished, in my taxonomy, from the particular moral facts that they help to explain.If there are no moral agents, then, on a credible view of the content of moral standards, the antecedents of such standards will never be satisfied. And so, in the absence of moral agents, there will be no moral facts. But, for the realist, the absence of moral agents does not signal the absence of moral standards. These do not depend for their truth on the existence of those they might apply to.

3

I owe this felicitous phrase to Ron Milo.

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correct in virtue of being vindicated by some process of (inter)personal election or approbation.4 To get a better understanding of realism's commitments, consider the following contrast. An ethical relativism of the sort embraced by Harman (1975) or Wong (1984) claims that what moral reality there is is fixed entirely by certain social agreements. The reality—what really is right and wrong, for instance—is constructed from the content of these agreements. No agreements, no reality. Realists, by contrast, will claim that what really is right and wrong is conceptually and existentially independent of any such agreements. Indeed, for realists, moral reality is conceptually prior to and existentially independent of the moral truths we can construct even from the responses of an ideal observer. It may be, given a precise enough characterization of an ideal observer, that his judgements are inerrant. The realist could allow, in other words, that there is a strong conceptual connection between the responses of a suitably characterized ideal observer and the content of moral reality. But, for the realist, that would be because the ideal observer would never fail to see what was right and wrong anyway. The responses of an idealized observer would not be constitutive of moral truth, but merely bear a very close (perhaps perfect) correlation with a set of truths whose conditions may be fixed without any reference to such an observer. Realism is sometimes described as the view that moral truths are evidence-transcendent. This could mean one of two things. First, it might be that moral truths are not constituted by the evidence we have for them. If evidence is restricted to beliefs, then this tallies with my conception of realism, since realism will not make the truth of a moral proposition dependent on what anyone believes about it. But sometimes the notion of evidence-transcendence is taken to mean that there might be truths that are in principle unknowable. This has worried many thinkers. Whether their worries are justified depends on the understanding of knowability that we bring to the table. The claim that something is unknowable is a modal claim, and discussions of modal issues can get very complicated very fast. I want to avoid these

4

How should we classify views that make the determination of moral truth dependent on God's ratification of the relevant standards? Such views seem most naturally grouped with realism, even though, on these accounts, there is a constructive function that explains the correctness of the proper moral standards. For my purposes it doesn't much matter how we solve this taxonomic problem. All divine command theories incorporate a constructive function, to be sure, but it is also the case that the relevant standard-setting attitudes are not those of any human being—the attitudes (no matter how refined) of us mere mortals do not do the relevant work. Place these theories as you like; I don't think that anything that follows will be importantly affected by assigning such views to one camp rather than another.


17

complexities here,5 and so will enter what I believe to be the most relevant particular claims surrounding the issue. First, realists are committed to the idea that a moral standard might be correct even if no actual person believed it to be; indeed, even if everyone renounced it. Second, realists allow that any actual agent might fail to recognize a moral truth, even after she had made the very best epistemic efforts she could (given her initial psychological profile). Third, realists are not committed to the idea that moral truths are inaccessible to absolutely ideal epistemic agents at the Piercean limit of enquiry. Epistemically ideal agents who have reached this limit will be fully informed. This means that they will know all facts. Moral realists believe that some of these facts are moral ones; so a genuinely ideal epistemic judge will know all moral facts. For such an agent, there will be no unknowable moral truths. But for all the rest of us—that is, for every actual person—the various epistemic liabilities we carry around with us will almost certainly prevent us from ever knowing the whole moral truth.6 This isn't an iron-clad conceptual necessity, but rather an extremely plausible take on our actual epistemic limitations. When it comes to ideal epistemic agents, however, the important point is that their impeccable accuracy reflects an acquaintance with a truth not of their own making. Their perfect knowledge is not constitutive of moral facts, but rather reflects an awareness of what is there, awaiting their discovery. Moral realism is a form of cognitivism. Cognitivism, like realism, is a term of art that has been used somewhat differently by different philosophers. As I shall understand it, a view is cognitivist if it allows for a central class of judgements within a domain to count as beliefs, capable of being true or false in virtue of their more or less accurate representation of the facts within the domain. Moral realism satisfies these conditions. Realists see moral judgements as beliefs, some of which are true, and true in virtue of correctly reporting moral facts. Every realist is a cognitivist, though there are many cognitivist theories that reject realism. The different constructivist theories mentioned

5

I discuss some of these in Chapter 10.

6

Realists may concede the existence of a class of unknowable moral truths, but this limitation must be accompanied by an explanation. For instance, some realists have a particular view about the sorites paradox which leads them to the view that there is a precise though unknowable point that marks the absolute division between the point at which a vague predicate does and does not refer. There is a precise number of grains of sand that makes a heap, or a perfectly determinate division between acts that are right and wrong. This is the epistemicist view of vagueness (see Cargile 1969 ; Sorenson 1988 ; Williamson 1990 , 1998 ). Realists don't have to take this line, but some do. The key point is that if they do, they owe an explanation for the unknowability of the truths in the restricted domain; as a general matter, realists can reject the view that epistemically ideal agents might remain ignorant of truth.

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above—subjectivism, relativism, contractarianism, Kantianism, ideal observer theories—are all forms of cognitivism whose acceptance implies a rejection of realism. One hurdle that stands in realism's way is to show why we should opt for realism over any of these forms of constructivism. Thus there are three distinct kinds of challenge to moral realism. The first is to show why some form of cognitivism is acceptable. The second is to show why realism should be preferred to constructivism. And the last is to show why one version of realism is better than the others. I will consider the first challenge in this chapter, and the second in the next. The intramural debate will be sorted out in Part II.

II. The Non-cognitivist Challenge Non-cognitivism is the denial of cognitivism. According to non-cognitivism, there are no moral facts or truths. Noncognitivists have allied this brand of moral nihilism with a specific view about the function of moral discourse. On their view, moral judgements are not beliefs and thus are not truth-evaluable. Moral judgements don't attempt to, and don't ever, state facts. Their purpose isn't to describe any sort of moral reality. Instead, they serve as expressive vehicles, primarily giving vent to our emotions, prescribing courses of conduct, or expressing our non-cognitive commitments. As such, they aren't the sort of things fit to be considered either true or false. Non-cognitivism originated as a kind of debunking theory. Most people, philosophers and non-philosophers alike, had long believed that some form of objectivism in ethics was true. Objectivism implies two things. First, there is truth in ethics. Second, what truth there is is fixed by things other than parochial opinion; the constitution of ethical truth requires some independence from contingent desires, passions, and standpoints. Non-cognitivists didn't much like objectivism. According to a standard array of options, this rejection of objectivism would have left a choice between ethical subjectivism and ethical relativism. Ethical subjectivism, in this context, is the theory that (i) an action is right just in case the one who judges the action approves of it, and (ii) a moral judgement is true just in case it accurately reports the sentiments of the one who holds such a judgement. Relativism, by contrast, locates the source of moral truth not in each individual, but rather in some form of social consensus or convention. On this view, a moral judgement's truth is determined by its ability to capture the implications of these social agreements.


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Both subjectivism and relativism are kinds of cognitivism. Specifically, they are forms of ethical naturalism, a family of cognitivist theories. Naturalists believe that moral facts are a kind of natural fact, i.e. one whose existence can be confirmed by the best natural or social scientific theories.7 Subjectivism and relativism make the rightness of an action dependent entirely on either personal or social approval, and the existence of such approval is, in principle at least, scientifically determinable. Because ethical naturalism is a form of cognitivism, both subjectivists and relativists take moral judgements to be truth-evaluable. And both views imply the possibility of genuine moral knowledge. The noncognitivists' rejection of cognitivism left them as opposed to subjectivism and relativism as it did to objectivism. One way of explaining the non-cognitivist's rejection of these standard anti-objectivist theories is by noting the important difference between reductionist and non-cognitivist programmes. Reductionists want to eliminate the mystery in a given area of discussion by reducing the key notions to those that are more tractable. Reductionists don't deny the reality of the reducible domain, because they believe that the reality is the very same reality whose existence passes theoretical muster. Reductionists believe that there really are (e.g.) mental, biological, or moral facts, but they believe this because they believe that such facts are species of neurophysiological, chemical, and other natural facts—all of which are accepted as respectable elements in an ontology. Reductionists hold that we have beliefs about the mental and the moral, that some such beliefs are true, some justified, and, if the winds are good, some may even get so far as to constitute knowledge. Non-cognitivists, by contrast, reject the reality of the domain that others seek to reduce. Non-cognitivists in ethics, nowadays known as expressivists, will see the notion of a moral fact as akin to that of a fact about devils or phlogiston. There aren't any such facts, and so it doesn't pay to try to reduce this sort of talk to that which describes some genuine aspect of reality. Such talk never refers. We need some care here, however, since this stance is compatible with both non-cognitivism and a kind of cognitivist view. The cognitivist line says that the relevant language is conveyed by beliefs which purport to be descriptive, but that there is a massive error of presupposition that underlies the vocabulary. If that were so, then all claims within the domain would be false—they would assume the existence of a kind of reality that isn't there. This is an error

7

For more on naturalism, including a discussion of whether we can give an adequate account of what it is to be a natural property or fact, see Chapter 3.

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theory; John Mackie (1977) is the most famous proponent of this sort of view in ethics. According to such a view, moral terms have descriptive meanings, and we have moral beliefs, but they are uniformly false. The expressivist diagnosis denies that there is any such error, since it rejects cognitivism about the domain. It does not see agents as trying, but failing, to describe anything. So we needn't charge people with error. But we can never credit them with knowing the truth, either. Non-cognitivists are spared the task of trying to establish reductive relations between morality and other, recognized domains, because non-cognitivists reject the idea that there are moral propositions, facts, or truths that require reducing. That is why the subjectivist or relativist theories are anathema to non-cognitivists. Despite a shared, deep scepticism about ethical objectivity, subjectivists and relativists insist on the reducibility of moral facts to those of personal psychology or social agreement. Expressivists will have none of it. According to non-cognitivism, the fundamental mistake made by all such theories is their presupposition that the purpose of moral language is to describe facts. As non-cognitivists see it, the point of moral discourse is not to report some fact about oneself, one's group, or the larger world, but instead to give vent to one's feelings and persuade others to share them (Stevenson 1937, 1963), prescribe some rule of conduct for oneself and others (Hare 1952, 1963), or express one's commitment to norms regulating guilt and anger (Gibbard 1990). Such judgements do not (at least in the first instance8) admit of truth or falsity—indeed, there is nothing that could make them true. There is no world of moral facts against which the truth of a moral judgement can be checked. There are no moral properties whose instantiations can determine the moral qualities of persons, traits, actions, practices, or institutions. There is the familiar world that science speaks of. And there is us, responding to that world. And that is it. Some early non-cognitivists took this view to stand for the idea that moral predicates are literally meaningless (e.g. Ayer 1936). Their more sophisticated

8

Matters are complicated here by the recent attempts of Timmons (1999 ) and Blackburn (1998 ) to ally their non-cognitivisms with the claim that moral judgements are truth-evaluable. I discuss difficulties with their proposals below. For now, it is sufficient to note that both thinkers accept the claim that moral judgements do not describe anything, for there is no moral reality awaiting description. And since theirs is not an error theory, it isn't as if moral judgements mistakenly or inadvertently (attempt to) describe any other sort of reality. For Timmons and Blackburn, as for all other non-cognitivists, there is nothing that can make moral judgements true—no moral facts or moral reality that they could possibly correctly represent, nothing they are true of . Such a view, in conjunction with their rejection of an error theory, is enough to distinguish them from both constructivists and realists.


21

successors (Hare 1952, 1963; Blackburn 1993a, 1998; Gibbard 1990; Timmons 1999) might not be so bold as to characterize matters just this way, but the root idea is the same. Expressivists all agree that the incorporation of moral predicates in statements adds no new information. To say that Tom donated a large sum of money and that this was good conveys just a single fact—that of Tom's donation. Nothing further is described or reported, though a favourable attitude towards such donations is expressed. The statement looks like a conjunction of robustly truth-evaluable claims, false if either conjunct is false. But only one conjunct—the first—could be literally false; to assimilate the second conjunct to the first is to commit a category mistake, and be misled by grammatical similarities. ‘Is good’ functions syntactically like any other predicate, but only non-evaluative predicates ever manage to convey information. Expressivism has attracted broad support primarily because of two things: the ease with which it comports with a prevailing scientific, naturalistic view of the world, and its ability to avoid the serious failings alleged to beset its cognitivist competitors. As to the first point, expressivists stake out their position precisely by rejecting the possibility that there might be unanalysed normativity in the world. Their ontology is compatible with that proposed by the most advanced science of the day. We needn't add evaluative properties or relations to our world view in order to accommodate moral talk. On the assumption that human beings and their behaviours are resolvable in principle into material constituents and events, the expressivist imports nothing extra into a natural scientist's picture of what the world contains. Ontologically, the picture is simpler than that proposed by cognitivists, who are forced to augment the scientific world view with an additional layer of moral properties. Other things equal, simplicity is to be preferred. Additionally, expressivism avoids the serious epistemological shortcomings alleged to beset its competitors. Since there are no moral truths to be known, expressivists needn't entangle themselves in the epistemological contortions involved in explaining the perception of a sui generis realm of facts. This has been a perennial worry for non-naturalists—those cognitivists who reject naturalism, and so reject any reduction of moral properties to natural properties (i.e. properties whose instantiations are scientifically verifiable). If, as non-naturalists argue, goodness and rightness are not the very same thing as any natural property, then how can we ever know whether anything is good or right? We have fairly wellworked-out theories for detecting the presence of natural properties in the natural world, but the detection of a realm of non-natural properties raises problems. Non-naturalists agree that something's goodness

22


depends on its natural features, but these features are claimed to be distinct from its moral features. So how does appreciation of the presence of natural features give us knowledge of the moral status of a situation? It's really quite mysterious. While naturalists claim an ability to avoid recourse to an ill-defined intuitive capacity, they fail in the end (according to non-cognitivists) to map out any plausible escape route. For even if, as naturalists claim, moral properties just are a species of natural, empirically confirmable properties, naturalists face the formidable difficulty of explaining how we might gain knowledge of the naturalistic reductions. Once we grant that rightness, say, is maximizing happiness, then we can all agree that justifiably believing in an action's rightness is a matter of deploying the best account of empirical knowledge (to discover the distribution of happiness). But how do we know that rightness is the very same thing as maximizing happiness? The two certainly don't appear to be synonymous, and the method of conceptual analysis has had a dismal history in the moral domain. But if it is an a posteriori identification we are seeking, of the sort that links water and H2 O, then, again, it is difficult to see how the empirically grounded methods of scientific discovery can be utilized to forge the central links between moral and descriptive properties. Lastly, non-cognitivists have a ready explanation for the practicality of ethics. Stevenson (1937) described this as the ‘magnetism’ of moral judgement. Judging something right is thought to entail a motivation to do it, and this is perfectly explained if, as non-cognitivists claim, such judgements are expressions of conative elements of our outlook. If cognitivism is true, however, then moral judgements are beliefs: they are putative reports of a certain kind of fact, can be true or false, and can be held with varying degrees of epistemic justification. On a broadly Humean theory of motivation, which is accepted by all non-cognitivists (and most cognitivists), beliefs alone cannot motivate. Yet moral judgements alone can motivate. Therefore moral judgements are not beliefs. Therefore cognitivism is false. Therefore realism is false. In a nutshell: what could moral facts be? How could we know them? And how could they move us? Expressivists claim that cognitivists lack satisfying answers to all of these questions. I think we must agree that these are the questions to be asking.

III. A Critique of Non-cognitivism Suppose for a moment—my worst-case scenario—that the theory I develop in these pages fails to adequately address the non-cognitivist's concerns. Still,


23

non-cognitivism doesn't necessarily succeed by default. This for three reasons. First, other realist theories might be more plausible than the one on offer here. Second, a constructivist theory might succeed where realisms fail. And third, non-cognitivist theories fail to accommodate some very attractive features of cognitivism, and are themselves subject to serious challenges. Let me rehearse some of them here.

Cognitivism and Truth Talk Only cognitivism straightforwardly preserves ordinary talk of moral truth. We appear to take at face value such locutions as ‘it is true that infanticide is wrong’. We allow for the possibility of moral mistake and often characterize it as a case in which a person speaks falsely, or has a false belief. When we experience moral perplexity, we often see ourselves as engaged in a search for the truth about who is in the right, or where our obligations lie. We can well explain the point and persistence of moral disagreement by attributing to agents the presupposition that there is a right answer awaiting discovery. Were they convinced that there was no truth of the matter, most interlocutors would see their continued disagreement as pointless; as pointless as, say, entering an intractable debate about whether red or orange was really the most beautiful colour. Relatedly, we believe that moral argument can take the logical form of other kinds of argument. We think of sentential operators in moral sentences as truth-functional. The law of excluded middle holds as strictly for moral discourse as for non-moral discourse. We recognize the validity of modus ponens inferences that incorporate moral claims as premisses. We freely use the logical connectives in making and evaluating moral claims. We standardly assess moral arguments as valid or invalid, sound or unsound. This indicates at least a tacit assumption that truth-preservation is an aim of moral argument. Cognitivists have ready, straightforward analyses of such a view of moral argument. Noncognitivists don't. In particular, non-cognitivists have always foundered on what Blackburn has called ‘Frege's Abyss’ (though for Blackburn, it is more of a divot than anything to get worried about). The problem, first noted in the contemporary literature by Geach (1960, 1965), is how expressivists can make sense of sameness of meaning in asserted and unasserted contexts. This they must do if they are to preserve the possibility of logical validity, or at least credibly explain away the appearances of validity and soundness in moral argument. The trouble arises if we note, first, that much moral argument employs assertions, negations, disjunctions, and conditionals, and then note that, by

24


non-cognitivist lights, the meaning of a moral sentence depends on the accompanying attitude that receives expression therein. Since one's attitude changes if one asserts a claim, negates it, cites it as a disjunct, or embeds it in the antecedent of a conditional, then the meaning of the relevant phrase ought to change as well. But it surely doesn't, and can't, if the possibility of logical moral argument is to be preserved. A minor cottage industry has grown up around this problem. It has yielded some ingenious solutions, but there is good reason to doubt the success of any one of them.9 Cognitivists assume that moral predicates are meaningful and can be used to describe the subjects they are predicated of. We use the indicative mood when issuing moral judgements. We assert that practices, character traits, or states are vicious, morally attractive, or deserving; we state that motives or actions exemplify such things as goodness, generosity, benevolence. When using evaluative language, most people would find it perfectly natural to characterize their doings as instances of describing things as good or bad, or as attributing to things certain qualities—goodness or badness. Moral talk is shot through with description, attribution, and predication. This makes perfect sense if cognitivism is true. The non-cognitivist story cannot be nearly as natural or simple. Consider a very simple example that reveals the comparative advantages here. Suppose someone tells me that virtue deserves reward. The cognitivist glosses the claim by saying that there is such a thing as virtue, and desert, and reward. The sentence means just what it says, and is true just in case virtue and reward are related as it says they are. But for expressivists, when we say that virtue deserves reward, we aren't describing a thing (virtue), and saying of it that it has some property (that of deserving reward). There is no such thing; there is no such property. So we must be evincing a non-descriptive attitude. What would that be? There are two problems with expressivist efforts to provide an answer. First, expressivists will have difficulty translating the general formula ‘X deserves y.’ We must, at the least, be evincing an attitude of approval when contemplating the state of affairs in which X gets y. But surely there's more

9

For attempts to solve the problem, see Gibbard 1990 : 83–102; Blackburn 1988 , 1993b , 1996 : 84–5, 1998 : 68–77; Stoljar 1993 : 91–7. For criticisms of their efforts, see Schueler 1988 ; Hale 1993 ; van Roojen 1996 ; Unwin 1999 . Some critics see potential for solving the Frege–Geach worry, but at the cost of the non-cognitivism that is at the heart of these expressivist theories: see Sinnott-Armstrong 1993 : 299–301; Wedgwood 1997 ; Dreier 1999 . The cumulative force of these critical papers entails a dilemma: either remain an unreconstructed non-cognitivist, in which case the Frege–Geach problem impedes hopes for logical moral argumentation, or solve that problem, but only by introducing modifications that transform the expressivism into a version of cognitivism.


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involved than that. For we can register such approval in any number of other cases where desert isn't involved. ‘Wouldn't it be nice were X to get y’; ‘it's good that X has y’, etc. It isn't clear how expressivists are going to analyse the attitude that receives expression in desert claims, as opposed to the various other claims that register our approvals. Second, even if expressivists can distinguish desert claims from others, they don't believe in virtue. ‘Virtue’, like other ethical terms, denotes nothing; it never refers. So not only are we asked to find a suitable candidate for the special kind of approval that gets expressed in desert claims; we have nothing, really, that serves as the object of such approvals. Perhaps expressivists can provide a plausible translation of this simple claim. But surely cognitivists have the upper hand here. They don't require a paraphrase to begin with. The first problem, just discussed, is really a particular instance of a quite general difficulty, that of accounting for the rich diversity of moral predicates. If expressivism is true, the essence of any moral statement is the expression of a fundamentally non-representational attitude towards some natural state of affairs. If, as it seems, we convey and mean something slightly different when we say of an action that it is virtuous, right, mandatory, supererogatory, kind, beneficent, admirable, conscientious, attractive, desirable, laudable, saintly, or fine, then non-cognitivists must explain this by citing a different attitude that receives expression in each case. But our attitudes don't seem nearly as diverse or fine-grained as the predicates we standardly deploy in moral assessment.10 Cognitivists straightforwardly account for these differences by referring to different meanings, contents, or properties that are exemplified when these different assessments are true. Expressivists must either deny that these predicates signify different assessments, or identify a different attitude for each predicate. Neither route seems very promising. Cognitivism also has some appeal when dealing with issues of moral motivation. If moral judgements are moral beliefs, capable of truth or falsity; and if moral beliefs, like other beliefs, do not necessarily motivate those who hold them; then it is at least conceptually possible that an agent issue sincere moral judgements and yet fail to be motivated. And this does seem a conceptual possibility: we can imagine agents who, through debilitating mental or physical illness, or an enervating lassitude, or an antipathy to morality, are left utterly cold by the moral judgements they take to be true. Non-cognitivism, by contrast, takes moral judgement to essentially involve the expression of attitudes that are

10

The best argument to this conclusion that I know of is given by Judith Jarvis Thomson in chapter 7 of Harman and Thomson 1996 .

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motivating. So any judgement that fails to motivate, according to non-cognitivism, cannot possibly be a moral judgement. The counter-intuitive consequences of this position are discussed at length in Chapter 6.

Moral Error Cognitivism preserves our talk of moral belief and the possibility of moral knowledge. To say of someone that he believes certain actions to be wrong, or others to be good, is to say nothing strange, but something we all understand. To turn some such beliefs into knowledge is recognized by most to be at least a possibility. Despite reluctance that stems from egalitarian impulses, we often talk of some being morally wiser than others, and typically abandon our reluctance when pressed with concrete comparisons. And even if we are sceptical about the number of situations in which people or societies have registered moral improvement, we are less dubious about moral regression, and either idea presupposes the possibility of mistake in moral beliefs and outlooks. Some contemporary non-cognitivists want to allow for the possibility of moral error. But this isn't meant to signify the possibility of falsehood. On their view, moral error isn't a matter of saying or believing what's false. Instead, error might be diagnosed in one of two ways. First, it might essentially involve a kind of incoherence. Second, it might involve a failure to satisfy some other standard meant to govern attitude formation. The first diagnosis identifies moral error with the case in which one holds attitudes that are inconsistent with one another. Practical attitudes are inconsistent if they counsel actions that are not jointly realizable. But why think of this as any kind of error? If I am committed to norms that govern my work behaviour, and also committed to being a good parent, why I am making some kind of mistake if my domestic commitments require that I sacrifice my work ethic? And even if attitudinal conflict is what moral mistake consists in, which of the conflicting attitudes should be singled out as the faulty one? Presumably that attitude which conflicts with the relevant highest-order attitude that I hold. But what if there is conflict within my highest-order attitudes? What if they are incomplete, or specified at such a level of generality as to fail to arbitrate in particular cases? Then all we can say is that there is a mistake, but we will lack the resources for identifying the culprit. This isn't merely an epistemological problem. In the absence of a determinate highest-order attitude that can adjudicate attitudinal conflict, the non-cognitivist must say that there is no particular mistaken attitude. So any case of attitudinal conflict involves a mistake, and yet in some cases, there may be no attitude that is


27

itself mistaken, so no determinate answer as to which should be modified or abandoned. This isn't a contradictory view, but the cognitivist has a more palatable account of the nature of moral mistake. When attitudes conflict—and, for the cognitivist, the relevant attitudes are moral beliefs—at least one is false. This is exactly what we want to say when we charge someone with moral error. Consider: even if we grant that a conflict of noncognitive attitudes must involve mistake, is this really the central error we are trying to identify when convicting someone like Himmler or Mao of gross immoralities? Indeed, the attitudes of such fanatics needn't involve any internal conflict at all. And this seems a serious shortcoming for the non-cognitivist analysis of moral error, since we do think that people can be morally mistaken even if they've built themselves a perfectly coherent set of attitudes. For such attitudes might be pitched in precisely the wrong direction. Non-cognitivists might instead claim that moral error involves commitments that would be excluded from a set of best possible attitudes. Not just any incoherence will mark error; and coherence is not sufficient to guarantee freedom from moral mistake. So we can set aside the worries just mentioned. But which criteria must be satisfied to secure us from error? Reducing moral error is a matter of registering improvement in one's sensibility—one's more or less integrated set of attitudes. Yet plausible candidates for measuring such improvement are themselves normative conditions. At a minimum, attitudes are improved to the extent that they are formed against consideration of relevant information, free of bias, apportioning a due or proper weight to each individual's interests. But the notions of relevance, bias, and propriety are normative. There is no reason to be confident that we can understand the concept of a sensibility's improvement, or that of a set of best possible attitudes, without relying on other normative concepts. And so there is no reason to think that we can make sense of moral error without importing some normative constraints. If, as noncognitivists claim, there really aren't any such things, then there really isn't any such thing as moral error or improvement. Alternatively, if these constraints, being normative, are really nothing other than an expression of a noncognitivist's own commitments, then we might wonder why they have earned the right to serve as standards of evaluation for anyone else.

Understanding Normative Questions We commonly ask ourselves what we should do (or think or feel) in a given situation. For non-cognitivists, there isn't anything we should do, really.

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Doing different things will bring about different consequences, but no result is such that one ought to do it, since no result—no state of affairs in the world— could possess value or be obligatory. Value and obligation are normative notions that never refer. There is no such thing as normativity; we live in a value-free world, the world as science describes it. But then what is going on when we ask ourselves, in any given case, how we ought to proceed? The expressivist analysis, presumably, will be that we are asking what the results would be were we to take certain courses of action, and then asking ourselves what attitude we would have toward the results. But that cannot be all; we weren't asking a descriptive question, but a normative one. We may be puzzled not about whether we would respond in a certain way, but whether it would be fitting or appropriate to do so. For expressivists, the answer to that question will not be given by the truth about what has value, since there is no such truth. Instead, the answer must be rendered in terms of our other attitudes. But how is the answer to be delivered? Any response will invoke a normative constraint on attitude formation—it will tell us how our other attitudes ought to be used in shaping the ones under scrutiny. For if it only tells us how our attitudes actually influence other attitudes, then it isn't answering our question. We want to know whether the influence exerted is legitimate. Let us suppose that non-cognitivists will avow the importance of consistency among attitudes. So knowing how to act will be a matter of determining the attitudes one has toward the act and its results, and then selecting that act about which we have attitudes that best cohere with our other attitudes. Assume for now that we can understand the notion of ‘best cohering’ in a wholly non-normative way. Still, we can always ask why we ought to select just those attitudes that best cohere with our other ones. The answer here, too, must refer to some function of our actual attitudes. We ought to value coherence because we do value what coherence makes possible, i.e. we have a favourable attitude towards how things go when we exemplify coherence in attitude. But of course we can always ask why we should have these further attitudes towards the things that coherence makes possible, and so on. This picture generates three problems. The first is that the series of replies to these questions about our attitudes never addresses our fundamental concern: the appropriateness of the attitudes we have. Each question in the series is answered by reference to our existing attitudes; yet each question represents another variation on the one that keeps getting deferred, namely: are our existing attitudes fit to be the primary source of evaluation? Since evaluative attitudes are, for the cognitivist, just beliefs, cognitivists will assess the fitness


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of the relevant attitudes by reference to whether they are true. Of course this isn't an easy matter—we have already seen the challenge to cognitivist epistemology, and will try to answer it in Part V—but it has the benefit of at least squarely addressing our normative concerns. The non-cognitivist, by contrast, continually refashions the question of what we ought to do so that its answer can be given just by an introspective psychological enquiry. But asking and answering normative questions does not seem to be the same thing as asking and assuring ourselves about the implications of our existing mental states. This leads directly to a second, related problem. Suppose that we have traced the replies to our normative questions back to an attitude that is foundational: we can cite no further, more general attitude that justifies it, though many other attitudes are justified by being derivable from it. The reason we value coherence, for instance, is that when we exemplify it we tend to secure our own aims. As a general matter, we want to secure our aims. Why? We just do. If we repeat the question, we will get a causal story, which is entirely beside the point in this context. We aren't seeking an aetiology of the want, but a justification of it. The problem for non-cognitivism is that when we reach a point of citing a ‘brute’ desire—a want or liking that is selfstanding, whose warrant derives from no other pro-attitude—then we have identified something that lacks a justifying reason, and so is arbitrary. For it certainly isn't self-justifying—that concept hasn't much credence in a non-cognitivist picture. Yet basing evaluation ultimately on attitudes that are arbitrary is problematic. The arbitrariness isn't problematic because recognition of it will sap one's energy or cripple one's determination.11 It is problematic because it infects all justificatory efforts. If our evaluative attitudes rely for their justification on attitudes which themselves lack justification, then the whole network is corrupt.12 And the cognitivist is in better shape here, because her ultimate moral commitments can avoid arbitrariness if they are true, and if she believes them because

11

Wiggins (1976 ) levelled this charge against non-cognitivism. See Blackburn 1987 and Timmons 1999 : ch. 4 for replies. At best, Wiggins's charge reveals the upsetting pragmatic implications of wholeheartedly embracing non-cognitivism. But even if Wiggins's take on our psychological propensities is correct, this would not show that noncognitivism is false (though it would be further evidence that our moral practice proceeds as if it were). Compare the predictions of dismay and lassitude that would eventuate were most of us to embrace hard determinism. The dire consequences of such an embrace would not refute determinism, though such consequences would give us some (non-epistemic) reason to stop believing it.

12

The best effort to resist this conclusion is given by Timmons (1999 : ch. 5), who argues that unjustified beliefs may nevertheless confer positive justification on other beliefs. Whatever plausibility such a claim has depends on his contextualist thesis that these ‘unjustified justifiers’ can, in other contexts, receive justification. In what follows, I try to show that non-cognitivists lack the resources for escaping from the arbitrariness worry. Here is a preview: to do the work required of them, these unjustified justifiers must receive justification in some context. The relevant contexts are two: either a philosophical one, in which we refrain from substantive ethical engagement, or a morally engaged one, in which we advocate some first-order moral views. According to non- cognitivists, there can be no such thing as genuine justification of normative views in philosophical contexts. But (I claim) any non-cognitivist justification that arises in engaged moral contexts will entail a form of self-intimating relativism. So the introduction of a contextualist epistemology will not save the non-cognitivist from arbitrariness worries.

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they are true. Many such commitments will fail to meet these two conditions, and this will have similarly serious consequences for the resulting network of moral attitudes. But if the cognitivist (who is not also an error theorist) is correct, then we can at least aspire to avoid arbitrariness, and some of us will succeed. The last problem here is related to the arbitrariness worry. If evaluative attitudes can somehow be justified, their justification must be routed through other, existing attitudes. Yet evaluative networks differ markedly in their content from person to person. There is no reason to be optimistic that the very same set of attitudes will emerge in every person after all the internal tidying up is done. And this generates a relativism, for non-cognitivism lacks any basis for giving justificatory priority to one evaluative network over another. Each individual will, of course, very likely prefer her own set to another's. So each individual will probably not take a relativistic attitude toward her own values. But relativism may be true even if no one endorses first-order relativism (the theory that makes rightness relative to individual or social preference). Indeed, as we shall now see, expressivism seems forced to such a view, if it allows justification at all for one's first-order evaluative attitudes.

Relativism Expressivism implies that there cannot be just a single standard for determining the justification of evaluative attitudes. For who would set it? If the standard is set by any particular expressivist, then we can always ask why we should accept it. After all, the standard will be a normative one, and so, per expressivism, can't really be true, can be, in fact, only an expression of the particular non-cognitivist's attitudes. Why must everyone accept such strictures? But if no one person may set the standard, then either there are no standards (and so no justification of any evaluative attitudes), or everyone gets to set the standards (in which case we have relativism), or there


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is a standard fixed independently of anyone's attitudes about what the standard should be (in which case we have realism). So one who wishes to endorse non-cognitivism is faced with the options of rejecting the justification of all evaluative attitudes, or embracing relativism. It isn't a happy choice. Here we can see why the recent efforts of Blackburn (1998) and Timmons (1999) are bound to run into difficulties. Both thinkers want to ally their expressivisms with the possibility of moral truth. Blackburn characterizes his view as ‘quasi-realism’, and Timmons describes his ‘irrealist’ efforts as part of an ‘accommodation project’: both see the abovementioned attractions of cognitivism and realism quite clearly, and they want to convince us that we can account for the objective pretensions of morality (Gibbard's fine phrase) while eschewing the metaphysics that has standardly underwritten them. As they see, most of the explanatory benefits that accrue to cognitivism—its superior ability to conform to our ordinary talk of moral truth, facts, knowledge and belief, our common-sense understandings of moral error, predication, and argument, etc.—rest on the truth-evaluability of moral claims. If non-cognitivism can take over this possibility without sacrificing its metaphysical and epistemological economy, then philosophers such as Timmons and Blackburn can have their cake and eat it, too. The route they take to achieve this result is run via the deflationary theory of truth—to affirm a statement as true is merely to evince one's endorsement of it. On such a view, citing a judgement's truth is not recording some further fact or attributing an additional property, but merely signalling one's agreement with its content. The problem is that once we allow truth a place in ethics, then no matter how economical one's metaphysics, the ancillary views of the noncognitivists commit them to ethical relativism. Both Timmons and Blackburn are very hard on relativism. They each realize that relativism conflicts with the appearances: the semantic norms that constrain truth in ethics do not (even implicitly) relativize such truth to the attitudes of the speaker or the mores of her community. We judge our moral views to be true, simpliciter. The quasirealist and accommodationist want to take such thoughts at face value. That doesn't seem possible. To see why, note first that Timmons endorses a contextualist semantics according to which statements true in one context might be untrue in another. In the context of morally disengaged investigation, Timmons is a moral nihilist—there are no truths at all (1999: 244). We have to be speaking and thinking within a moral outlook in order for moral judgements to be true.

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This is Blackburn's view as well (1998: 50).13 And from within those outlooks, people will usually assert their commitments in an unqualified way—they will insist on the correctness of such judgements for all, not just for those who share a way of life or the outlook whose constituent views are receiving expression. As a record of moral phenomenology, this is surely accurate. But it doesn't seem sufficient to fend off the worry that this sort of view is a form of ethical relativism. There is nothing that makes moral judgements true, according to Blackburn and Timmons—no ‘external’ moral facts that moral judgements might accurately describe, nothing in virtue of which such judgements, when true, are true.14 Since that is so, there is no basis other than one's own outlook for evaluating the competing moral claims made by others with different outlooks. Though few will judge their own views to be true only relative to their own outlooks, the absence of any moral facts outside particular outlooks makes it the case that the judgements rendered within one outlook are no more true than those of a competing outlook. The views of each incompatible outlook are equally (un)true. This is relativism. Blackburn and Timmons see relativists as making a first-order ethical claim that identifies the right-making feature of actions as their conformity to existing social norms. They don't themselves find much to recommend in such a view. But relativism's failure as an ethical recommendation must be measured by norms, and the non-cognitivists' settled view is that any such norms have no greater authority than the individual commitments that underwrite them. So another's commitment to a brand of relativism is not inferior to one's own rejection of such a doctrine, except by the lights of an antirelativist whose concerns exclude such a commitment. The standards by which we assess the propriety of a set of commitments are none other than those actually endorsed by different agents. Agents will endorse different standards of assessment, no one of which is allowed to be uniquely authoritative. It follows that a moral claim is true only relative to an endorsed standard. Hence relativism.

13

Crispin Wright also endorses a view very like this one. See Wright 1992 : 200–1.

14

Indeed, it isn't at all clear what it would be for the right-hand side of a Tarski sentence to be realized in the moral case. According to Blackburn and Timmons, ‘abortion is wrong’ (for instance) is true if and only if abortion is wrong. But they give us little help when it comes to understanding what it would be for the right-hand side to hold—what sorts of conditions would have to be fulfilled, what kinds of states of affairs would have to be realized in order for anything like that to be the case. Given their naturalism, their rejection of any representational function of moral discourse, and their rejection of moral properties (of the sort whose instantiations could serve as truthmakers for moral claims), the nature of the right-hand side of moral equivalences is quite mysterious.


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So the addition of moral truth to the non-cognitivist's arsenal does not advance the cause very much. It creates the appearance of being able to accommodate much of morality's objective pretensions, but does so at the cost of the objectivity it had hoped to account for. As we have seen, this problem isn't restricted to those non-cognitivists who seek to incorporate the notion of moral truth. For a non-cognitivism that stays the traditional course, and resists talk of moral truth, is still beset by relativism about justification. On any non-cognitivist theory, the justification of a moral claim is nothing more than its conformity to a moral outlook with no intrinsic justification. The justificatory superiority of one outlook over another is a matter of its being endorsed as such. But different outlooks will receive endorsement from different people, and there is no intrinsically normative standard by which to register justificatory superiority. In other words, the justification of one's moral views is relative to one's outlook, and there is no stance-independent standard to evaluate the relative merits of these outlooks. So long as non-cognitivism entertains the possibility of justifying moral claims, it cannot escape relativism. The only alternative is to give up the possibility of ethical justification. Either way, non-cognitivists fail to accommodate a central feature of our understanding of moral thought.

Irreducible Normativity A further problem for non-cognitivism stems from its rejection of the existence of irreducible normativity. According to non-cognitivists, to say that things are justified, obligatory, or good is not to describe things as having such features—there aren't really any such features—but to express a favourable attitude toward them. But can this attitude (or these different attitudes) be understood in a non-normative way? Here we confront two distinct but related charges of circularity. The first claims that the attribution of propositional attitudes is itself a normative endeavour.15 Attributing such attitudes analytically commits one to normative claims, and conceptually presupposes an understanding of normative vocabulary. For instance, to attribute to an agent a desire to lose weight, and a belief that dieting is the only efficient way to do so, entails a commitment to the view that the agent ought to go on a diet. One can't sensibly make this sort of attribution without being committed in this way. But then we have a circle: to see someone as holding a moral judgement, one

15

Such a view has become popular through the writings of Dennett (1987 ) and Davidson (1980 ). Blackburn (1998 : 54 ff.) explicitly endorses such a view.

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must attribute to her some desire or favourable attitude. But to make such an attribution is itself to hold some normative commitment. Therefore the analysis of normative language itself presupposes notions of normativity. Therefore expressivists cannot make sense of ethical discourse without recourse to unreduced normativity. And this is contrary to the deepest motivations of non-cognitivism: to explain the world in a wholly naturalistic way.16 The second charge stems not from commitments that are presupposed in the attribution of intentional attitudes, but instead from the non-cognitivist analysis of normativity itself. To say that someone ought to Φ is to express a favourable attitude to Φ-ing. But ‘favourable’ is itself a normative notion. The challenge is to unpack it without the use of normative concepts. This may be impossible. This isn't the very same problem as the one of distinguishing different attitudes to map onto the diverse moral predicates that we take for granted in moral talk. The present problem goes deeper. The challenge is to make sense of the fundamental concept of a pro-attitude, which is the key to the non-cognitivist's understanding of normativity. If expressivists are to sustain their critique of cognitivism, they have to show that moral judgements are something other than beliefs. For if they are beliefs, they might be true, they might yield knowledge, they might refer and so describe moral facts. Non-cognitivists contrast beliefs with what I have called favourable attitudes. These often pass for desires. But what distinguishes a desire or pro-attitude from a belief ? The best account that I know of relies on the notion of direction of fit. There are actually many different accounts of direction of fit. Consider a prominent one, that offered by Michael Smith (1987, 1994: 113 ff.): [A] belief that p tends to go out of existence in the presence of a perception with the content that not p, whereas a desire that p tends to endure, disposing the subject in that state to bring about p. (1994: 115) As Smith recognizes, this view will not account for desires about the past, or desires that others undertake certain actions. But leave that aside. (Smith offers a solution to this problem in 1994: Ch. 4, n. 7.) We should also wonder whether the perception that Smith speaks of isn't just a synonym for belief, in which case Smith is explicating the notion of belief by relying on the very same notion, which seems problematic, even if it isn't his intention in this

16

I first came across this criticism in a talk by Jamie Dreier, entitled ‘The Expressivist Circle’, Central APA, Chicago, Apr 2000. This has since been published as Dreier 2002 .


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passage to offer an analysis. Leave that aside as well.17 The real problem is that Smith's view does not succeed because he explicates the notion of direction of fit, and so the distinction between beliefs and desires, without recourse to normative concepts. Beliefs cannot be identified solely by their tendency to extinguish upon a perception that their content isn't realized. In the first place, it isn't clear that an individual belief is the sort of thing that could have such a tendency. A particular belief that p either will or will not persist in the face of appreciation of contradictory evidence. The class of beliefs may exhibit such a tendency, but that is just shorthand for the claim that most beliefs do extinguish upon a perception that their content is false. But this point, which is surely true, does not give us any basis for making a determination in particular cases as to whether a person believes that p, as opposed to desires that p. For beliefs sometimes do persist even after the agent recognizes that the belief is false. And desires sometimes do extinguish after a perception that their content is unrealized. From the fact that one continues to hold that p, even after recognizing that not-p, one cannot infer anything about whether the agent's intentional attitude is one of believing or desiring that p. A man who perceives all of the excellent evidence for the straying affections of his wife may nevertheless continue to believe in her fidelity. Even if we can speak of a single belief's having a tendency to extinguish or persist, this man's attitude may have no tendency whatever to extinguish, despite his repeated perception that things are not as he takes them to be. Yet the attitude can be a belief for all that. Since the point of introducing the idea of direction of fit is to supply a basis for distinguishing beliefs from desires, Smith's account will not do. And the reason is that his account fails to invoke normative standards in the explication of direction of fit. A belief that p is an attitude that ought not to persist after a non-discounted perception that not-p; a desire that p is an attitude that is not necessarily such that it ought to extinguish upon such a perception.18 This is

17

Humberstone (1992 ) offers a good discussion of the various ways one can read Smith (1987 ) on this matter. Humberstone thinks that Smith isn't attempting to offer analyses of belief and desire, and so can avoid the circularity worry. Copp and Sobel (2001 ), by contrast, press just this concern, and argue that it is fatal to direction-of-fit analyses of belief and desire.

18

The ‘non-discounted’ aspect of the perception is needed in order to accommodate an example of Copp and Sobel (2001 : 47). They present a case in which a driver ‘sees’ a patch of wet and wavy road ahead, though one continues to believe that the road is, as a matter of fact, flat and dry. This happens all the time in very hot conditions. An experienced driver will not allow such perceptions, often encountered under similar conditions, to extinguish what is really a belief. Nor ought such perceptions to eradicate the belief. So not every perception with a content that not-p is sufficient to serve as the basis of a test for distinguishing beliefs from desires that p. Only those perceptions that an agent does not discount can play such a role.

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what licenses us in saying that the forsaken husband's belief was (epistemically) irrational; he failed to do what he ought to have done. And now the problem for non-cognitivism. If we explicate the very idea of a pro-attitude by reference to normative standards, then the non-cognitivist cannot eliminate normativity from the world by analysing moral judgement as the expression of pro-attitudes. And this is a crucial failing for non-cognitivism, given its stated aims. According to noncognitivism, our moral judgements are not trying to fit the world; they are not beliefs, because they are not trying to convey any information. And it's a good thing, too, since (according to non-cognitivists) there isn't any such information to be conveyed. There is no relevant world that a moral judgement might fit—a world of moral facts—that could match our description of it, that could make our moral judgements true or false. But if that is so, then we shouldn't conceptualize moral judgement as belief. And thus we should see it as the expression of proattitudes, i.e. attitudes that are essentially motivating, that essentially dispose us to do something. But these attitudes can be understood only by invoking normative notions. They are essentially attitudes defined by means of a normative function—that of being such that they ought to (or oughtn't necessarily to) extinguish under certain conditions. So we haven't really got rid of normativity after all. Thus the central aim of a non-cognitivist programme is unfulfilled, and we lose incentive to abandon or reconceptualize all of the phenomenologically appealing features that cognitivism about ethics entails. The ontological motivations that prompt the development of non-cognitivism should incline the non-cognitivist to be suspicious of all normative claims. If brute normativity is a problem in ethics, it should be a problem anywhere else. And this means that the non-cognitivist must either try to reduce such normative notions as reasons, rationality, legitimacy, justification, relevance, appropriateness, and warrant, or supply a non-cognitivist diagnosis of our employment of them. There is no internal inconsistency in a non-cognitivist about ethics seeking reductions in other domains. But naturalistic reductions of normative concepts aren't promising (more on this in Part II), and noncognitivists have traditionally relied on this to buttress their antireductionist, expressivist diagnoses. Yet such diagnoses seem far-fetched when it comes to the normative concepts just mentioned. Are we really doing nothing more than expressing a non-cognitive commitment when assessing a belief as justified, an inference as warranted, an argument as sound? When a person believes a conditional and its antecedent, we say of her that she ought to believe the conclusion, that


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she is warranted or justified in doing so, that she has good reason to accept the consequent. We certainly seem to be describing her situation, and conveying our assessments by means of beliefs. We think there really is such a thing as being epistemically justified; some agents and beliefs merit the tag, and when they do we speak the truth by describing them as justified. If non-cognitivism is correct, however, then this picture is all wrong. There really aren't any such things as reasons (for belief, for action, etc.). We talk and think as if there were, but there is nothing in the ontology that answers to this notion. What we do when we deploy the concept is to express a favourable attitude to something or other. And nothing more. It is difficult to see such a view as anything other than deflationary. Though that would be perfectly in keeping with early non-cognitivist accounts, such as Ayer's, the most sophisticated recent efforts—those of Gibbard, Blackburn, and Timmons—seek to vindicate and preserve our ordinary understanding of moral thinking. Despite their intentions, however, it seems to me that in this respect, as in so many others, non-cognitivism requires quite serious revisions in our ordinary understanding of ourselves as moral agents engaged in moral deliberation.

IV. Conclusion Non-cognitivists charge that realists lack satisfying accounts of moral ontology, motivation, and epistemology. These charges are serious. I devote the bulk of Parts II, III, and V, respectively, to efforts to supply satisfying realist responses to these worries. If the replies have any merit, then we have good reason to prefer realism over non-cognitivism, because non-cognitivism faces many problems of its own. Though I don't claim to have given an exhaustive inventory, or to have considered all of the non-cognitivist responses to the cited problems, the vulnerabilities of non-cognitivism seem real enough. It lacks a natural account of our talk of moral truth, moral knowledge, the capacity for moral error, the descriptive and assertoric appearance of moral discourse, and the logical forms that moral argument can take. Non-cognitivists haven't yet been able to account for the rich diversity of moral predicates, cannot take at face value what appear to be ultimate, irreducible normative questions, have difficulty escaping moral relativism, and rest their substantive moral convictions on arbitrary foundations. Non-cognitivists cannot allow for the conceptual possibility of an amoralist, and are faced with two distinct problems of

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normative circularity: one to do with the analysis of normative language and the attribution of intentional attitudes, the other to do with the non-cognitivist analysis of normativity itself. Admittedly, I have not gone into the sort of detail that would be required to conclusively establish the soundness of any of these criticisms. But the best of the extant non-cognitivist efforts (Gibbard 1990; Blackburn 1998; Timmons 1999) seem to me to offer less than compelling replies to these worries. This is merely autobiography; I don't try to substantiate this scepticism in what follows. So the proper attitude to take, even for those who accept most of what is to come, is that realism is only presumptively warranted. Whether it is superior to all forms of non-cognitivism depends not only on its merits (or failings), but on those of its non-cognitivist competitors. This points up a limitation that should be confessed at the outset. No single work could reasonably attempt to render a thorough verdict on the victor in the metaethical stakes. It is surely hard enough, but also hardly sufficient, to develop a plausible metaethical theory that integrates views on metaphysics, philosophy of mind and language, action theory, rationality, and epistemology. One must also identify ineliminable errors in competing theories, and this is itself a task as taxing and extensive as that of developing the positive theory. The battery of charges recorded above has done much to convince me of non-cognitivism's failings. But it would be premature to consider non-cognitivism false. It may be able to sustain its claims to an attractive metaphysics, epistemology, and theory of motivation. It may be able to defuse the criticisms I have just levelled. I don't believe it succeeds on either front. I do believe that it would take another book to show it so. That said, the criticisms I've enumerated in this chapter do seem to me sufficient to create a strong prima facie case against non-cognitivism. But whether it is conclusive depends on the viability of non-cognitivist replies. It also depends, very importantly, on the plausibility of positive cognitivist theories. Let us turn our attention to these.

2 The Constructivist Challenge Given the results of the previous chapter, I ask that we provisionally grant that there is some acceptable cognitivist story to be told about how to address the metaphysical, epistemological, and practical difficulties identified by the noncognitivist. Whether we retract this good-faith concession should depend, inter alia, on the plausibility of the arguments I supply in the chapters to come. Right now, we need to turn to a dispute within the cognitivist camp. We need to ask why we might embrace moral realism as the best view of moral reality, when certain constructivist views have so much going for them.

I. Subjectivism and Objectivism Because all forms of constructivism are also forms of cognitivism, every constructivist theory has the advantage of being able to sidestep the difficulties that beset non-cognitivism. Still, some constructivist theories are more appealing than others. The ones that pose an especially serious challenge to moral realism are those that share its objectivist bent. Subjectivist constructivisms are those that take at least some of the actual and uncorrected attitudes of duly selected agents as determinative of moral truths. The relativisms of Harman (1975, 1977, 1984) and Wong (1984), for instance, are of this sort. On their views, moral rightness is constructed from the actual agreements individuals make with one another. Objectivist views, by contrast, require some degree of idealization for the attitudes and responses that go towards fixing truth. Firth's ideal observer theory (1952), Korsgaard's Kantianism (1996a and 1996b), Rawls's tentatively explored moral contractarianism (1980), Copp's society-based ethic (1995a), and Scanlon's contractualism (1982, 1998) are of this sort. On these very different constructivist theories, moral truth is constructed from the views that agents

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take from a perfectly informed and dispassionate standpoint, from the standpoint of pure practical reason, from behind a veil of ignorance, or from the perspective of one looking to identify principles that would govern persons on a basis that no one could reasonably reject. For each of these objectivist theories, the proper outlook from which moral truth is constructed is one that might require the abandonment of even one's deepest desires or cherished beliefs. The preferred standpoint may be literally unattainable by actual human beings, or attainable only after securing an extreme kind of cognitive and affective detachment from the attitudes one at present possesses. This sketch of the subjectivist/objectivist distinction is admittedly loose, and doesn't offer a sufficient basis to decisively characterize all candidate views as versions of subjectivism or objectivism. We can allow for some taxonomical blurriness, however; sharp boundaries aren't needed to establish the superior attractions of theories we would intuitively place in the objectivist camp. The key virtues of objectivist views are three: they capture the impartiality of the moral perspective, preserve the categorical nature of moral demands, and provide a plausible view of the nature of moral error. The relevant kind of impartiality is not to be confused with a substantive constraint on the kinds of reasons or the content of moral obligations that can be generated by a satisfactory normative theory. Impartiality here is compatible with agent-centred prerogatives, and with giving priority to family, friends, or compatriots in the assignment or fulfilment of duties. The impartiality I mean to capture is rather that which forbids giving one's own parochial outlook any priority in shaping the contours of substantive moral theory. It refers to a kind of neutrality in perspective, a refusal to think of the project of moral theory construction as one that should be governed primarily or exclusively by one's own particular social or natural location. The objectivist theories listed above all seek a standpoint of neutrality for the agents whose choices or responses are thought to be determinative of moral truth. We can understand many of the criticisms that are levelled against such theories as challenges to their claim to have satisfactorily achieved a neutral standpoint. As such, these criticisms presuppose the importance of this sort of neutrality. Most of us do. Objectivist constructivisms also make good sense of the apparently categorical nature of moral demands. Moral demands don't vanish upon a showing that they aren't instrumental to satisfying either our desires or our self-interest. Moral obligations continue to apply to us even if such obligations fail to serve our ends. Unlike subjectivist theories, which make the content of

THE CONSTRUCTIVIST CHALLENGE

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moral requirements essentially dependent on personal or social ends, objectivist theories can preserve the categorical nature of moral demands. Objectivism also has a natural and appealing account of the possibilities for moral mistake. If truth is set in some objective fashion, then it is easy to explain why so many of us, at least some of the time, lapse into moral error. Subjectivists, on the other hand, fix moral truth by the (relatively) uncorrected actual attitudes of individuals or groups. Few of us are willing to allow that such attitudes are definitive of moral truths. We don't think that the most deeply held views of individuals or groups are infallible. The Nazi may believe to his core that Jews are inferior, and a culture may have as its foundational creed that only men can occupy an exalted moral position. But these views are false nonetheless (even if, as is unlikely, such attitudes are self-standing or not based on false factual information). Ethical objectivism easily accommodates this claim. Subjectivism does not.

II. Moral and Non-moral Constraints Constructivists will take this abbreviated case for objectivism as their cue to articulate the sorts of corrective measures that must be met before attitudes yield moral truth. Typical constraints include possession of full information, vividly presented; freedom from errors of instrumental reasoning; and a neutral disposition toward the welfare of all individuals. This isn't enough; it may even be too much. The point here isn't that the particular constraints I've just mentioned are problematic (though they are: agents satisfying these constraints might be perfectly callous, or entirely indifferent to human welfare, or have aspirations that entail impossibly demanding standards for us actual moral agents, etc.19). Rather, the point is that it may be impossible to craft a set of constraints on attitude formation such that the emerging attitudes yield prescriptions that match up with our views about what constitutes paradigmatically moral and immoral behaviour. This would be an extremely serious problem. If the responses of idealized agents justified ethnic cleansing, or a policy that entirely discounted the needs of the vulnerable, then there is something wrong with the idealization. The resulting theory is either not a moral theory at all, or a false one. Saying such a thing doesn't imply a gross form of moral conservatism. It doesn't imply that

19

See Velleman 1988 , Sobel 1994 , Rosati 1995 , and Loeb 1995 for good arguments to this effect.

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all of our settled convictions are self-certifying, or indeed that any of them are self-evident. It does imply that our deepest settled convictions about core cases and principles must serve as constraints on moral theorizing. We must start theorizing from something. It is more plausible to start the process with some substantive views than with any particular procedure. Indeed, how would we select a procedure without the aid of some substantive moral views? When constructivists defend their favoured constraints on construction—full information and flawless instrumental reasoning, universalizability of maxims, principle selection from behind a veil of ignorance, etc.—they typically try to establish their appeal by showing that both the initial conditions and the emerging principles match up closely with our deepest ethical convictions. This is an impeccable way to proceed. But it raises the following worry. Either the initial conditions of choice or attitude formation are moralized or they are not. In other words, we are to envision the initial conditions as already incorporating moral constraints, or as operating free of such constraints. The problem with the latter option is that there is no reason to expect that the principles that emerge from such a construction process will capture our deepest ethical convictions, or respect the various platitudes that fix our understanding of ethical concepts.20 If fairness doesn't characterize the contractors, or we can't attribute benevolence or kindliness to an ideal observer, then we shouldn't expect their responses to align neatly with our views about paradigmatic cases. Worse than that, we may be left with a set of views that are not recognizably moral ones. To justify abandoning our central ethical views for those that would emerge from such a process, we would need to have greater warranted confidence in the process than in the particular views themselves. That is highly unlikely. Alternatively, if constructivists import moralized constraints, and so take the former option, then they effectively abandon constructivism, because this path acknowledges the existence of moral constraints that are conceptually and explanatorily prior to the edicts of the agents doing the construction. These constraints are not themselves products of construction, and so there would be moral facts or reasons that obtain independently of constructive functions. This is realism, not constructivism. If this is sounding a familiar note, it should. The dilemma pressed against the constructivist is a variation of one first found in the Euthyphro. There, the

20

For the role of such platitudes in fixing the content of our moral concepts, see Smith 1994 : 29–32, and the sources cited therein.


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question was whether divine approval constituted the piety of acts, or whether it was simply a good criterion of such acts, their pious nature being constituted by something else. Plato chose the latter option, because the former made divine approval arbitrary, thereby undercutting the goodness of the gods. If the attitudes of idealized agents are worthy to fix moral truth—if the agents are good in the relevant respect—then these attitudes must be developed in response to reasons. But then the reasons come first. So if constructivism is to avoid dignifying the arbitrary choices of idealized agents, and if it is to avoid lapsing into realism, then it must insist that these choices are exemplary because of having been formed through exceptional attentiveness to non-moral reasons. But if the reasons that are constraining the choices of the favoured agents are not moral reasons, it is hard to see why the outcomes of the initial conditions should be definitive of morality. My own view is that constructivists have never been able to satisfactorily solve this problem. I don't say that constructivism cannot be made to work; I don't have a knock-down argument that, for all possible constructivisms, points to a necessary inconsistency, or a necessary failure to generate results compatible with our deepest ethical convictions. But the variation on the Euthyphro problem does represent a serious prima facie difficulty standing in the way of accepting such a theory. Theory choice in metaethics, as elsewhere, is a matter of noting comparative strengths and weaknesses. Each constructivist theory, for instance, has not only to face the Euthyphro problem, but also to rebut a host of criticisms peculiar to its own formulation. Whether realism is a better view than constructivism depends in part on our assessment of these separate criticisms. Since such an assessment would involve an undertaking at least as extensive as the present volume, I do not pretend to offer within these pages the final word on this matter. So the envisaged dialectic goes like this: antirealist theories have certain problems that they have to overcome. Realism, too, has its own problems. Some attach to it in virtue of its cognitivism. Some are peculiar to realism. I have mentioned the former (ontological, epistemological, and motivational), and will now proceed with the latter. If I can adequately address all of these criticisms, then we have presumptive reason to favour realism—at least until its opponents can be shown to have satisfactorily answered the challenges I have put forward. What this means is that those who make it to the end of this book and find its arguments persuasive (anybody out there?) will still not be in a position to decisively rule out non-cognitivism and constructivism. But this strikes me as an honest result, given the variety and complexity of the issues in this area of ethics.

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III. Four Constructivist Critiques There are four reasons constructivists might offer for giving preference to their view over realism. The first and weakest of these is expressed in the claim that realism undermines prospects for moral autonomy. If there are objective moral facts, then we are not responsible for creating our ends—they will be chosen for or imposed upon us. This is thought to represent an unwarranted restriction on our freedom and autonomy. Only constructivism, it is claimed, can avoid this problem, because it fixes moral truth by reference to (some function of) our actual endorsements. The first thing to note in response is that many constructivists also fail to make the desired accommodation. Ideal observer theories of the sort endorsed, for instance, by Firth (1952) and Carson (1984) do not constrain the content of morality by reference to the actual attitudes of moral agents. But this is not really any sort of problem. For the criticism represents either a conflation or a petitio. It might conflate two separable issues: first, the issue of whether we can autonomously select our ends, and second, the issue of whether such ends can be assessed against standards not of our own making. Realists in any domain can allow for this distinction. The truths of chemistry and geology are not of our own making, yet we don't say, on that account, that this robs chemists or geologists of the opportunity to make autonomous decisions in these realms. Realists can allow that moral agents are sometimes able to autonomously select their ends. Realists insist, however, that such selection is not determinative of the propriety of those ends. One's ends are not self-certifying, but instead are assessable by reference to stance-independent truths. Realists about ethics, like realists about mathematics or physics, will deny that autonomy is compromised by the presence of such truths. It is not a restriction on autonomy that one can't make two and two equal five. Alternatively, the criticism may be that moral realism improperly supplants one's autonomously selected ends with some more objective ones, thus robbing us of the freedom to fix what is really valuable or right. But this begs the question against the realist, by assuming that there is no ethical truth apart from our own autonomously selected commitments. For realists, there is still much room for assignments of responsibility in a domain where truths are not of our making. In such areas, our autonomy, well utilized, consists in discerning the paths to gaining such truth, rather than in creating it. This is too restrictive only if realism is false. So the present criticism presupposes what must be shown.


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A second antirealist argument relies on what is meant to be an embarrassing question for realists: what makes moral judgements true? As some would put it: what makes it the case that certain moral standards are the correct ones? Realists don't have any general answer to this question.21 Constructivists do. They can point to some person(s), actual or idealized, whose attitudes are responsible for fixing the truth, for fixing the correct moral standards. It might be an ideal observer, or one's social group, or oneself. And the plausibility of the general move—that of citing someone whose attitudes play the crucial truth-fixing role—is supported by an intuitively appealing argument: 1. Laws require lawmakers. 2. Thus if there are moral laws, then there must be moral lawmakers. 3. These lawmakers are either us as we actually are, some idealized version of us, or God. We can distinguish constructivist theories from one another by the way in which they proceed from here. Divine command theorists will discount our creation of the moral law, and so craft their own argument from elimination to show that God must be the source of the moral law. Subjectivists might defend atheism, or deploy the Euthyphro argument against divine command theories, and argue against objective views to substantiate their own conclusions. Objectivists will invoke the considerations I've already adduced against subjectivism, and then either opt for a divine command theory, or follow subjectivists in their rejection of divine command theories, thus leaving some idealized version of us as the one(s) whose views are constitutive of moral truth. I think that this argument does much to explain constructivism's appeal. If we grant (2), premiss (3) is plausible. And (2) follows from (1). But (1) is only as plausible as the claim that all of the laws of logic, mathematics, physics, and chemistry are themselves products of construction. They may be, but surely the burden here is on the constructivist to show them so. These kinds of law certainly seem to be best construed realistically. To my mind, the only plausible way to deny them this status is by rejecting realism about every domain. Another dialectic limitation of the views I put forward here is that I will not seek to anticipate all of the global antirealist arguments and defuse them. If any are sound, then moral realism must fail. Naturally I don't believe

21

This will not be true if we count divine command or traditional natural law theorists as realists. If moral authority ultimately derives from divine authority, then there will be an explanation of why the correct moral standards are correct. For discussion of whether such theories ought to be counted as instances of realism, see Ch.1, n. 4.

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any of them succeed, but I will not attempt to defend this claim within these pages. If we assume that at least some laws are best construed realistically, then the truth of these standards (e.g. those of mathematics and chemistry) is not to be explained by their having been accepted or created by anyone. They just are correct. Now if mathematical or physical laws do not always require lawmakers, then perhaps moral laws do not require lawmakers. This means that either premiss (1) is false, or global antirealism is true. Constructivists who shy away from this latter view thus need to supply some other rationale for their opposition to realism. This is not too far to seek. A third criticism begins by noting, rightly, that a major attraction of constructivism is the achievement of objectivity in ethics coupled with an ability to explain why the correct moral standards are correct. Whatever the content of the correct standards of right and wrong, the constructivist has a principled defence of their selection—these standards are the ones that would emerge from the favoured constructive process. The realist can't avail herself of such an explanation. The realist must say of the moral standards she favours that they just are correct—not in virtue of their being selected or created by anyone, but simply correct. Constructivists will probably see this as nothing more than an unwarranted expression of confidence (e.g. Korsgaard 1996a: 41). Though everyone realizes that explanation must stop somewhere, the constructivist offers a potentially illuminating account of the source of moral truth. Realists will terminate this sort of explanation too abruptly for anyone's liking but their own. Thus constructivism has a decided explanatory advantage over moral realism. Before considering the realist's best response, we should note that this criticism reveals an opening for constructivism's opponents. Constructivists earn their explanatory gains only by having in hand a more complicated story than the realist about the nature of moral truth. But such stories are not self-evident. The constructivist's account of the status of moral standards and facts is only as plausible as the explanatory story that gets told, and the devil is in the details. Is morality really founded on a notion of practical identity (Korsgaard 1996a)? Is Scanlon's (1998) concept of reasonableness sufficiently determinate to underwrite his ethic? Can we have a defensible conception of an ideal observer that enables us to reach plausible and determinate moral verdicts (Rawls 1951; Firth 1952; Carson 1984)? These and many other questions are the natural ones to ask of any given constructivist theory. The developed stories we get from constructivists promise explanatory illumination. Such promises are fulfilled only if a particular account can survive the critical scrutiny it invites.


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Moral realism is simpler than its constructivist competitors precisely because it doesn't introduce an additional mechanism (a social contract, ideal observer, etc.) to explain the status of morality. This simplicity is certainly insufficient to recommend it—constructivists allege that the economy of a realist theory leaves too many questions unanswered. But it is important to note that the plausibility of this latest constructivist charge depends crucially on the constructivist's ability to vindicate her own views against criticism. If, for every constructivist theory, it is undone by the Euthyphro problem, or succumbs to criticisms directed at the features that distinguish it from other constructivisms, then we should not expect the kind of explanation of morality's status that constructivists seek to offer. Realism's explanatory resources would be enough to do the job. Some realists will try to fend off the current objection by claiming that they can indeed give an account of why the correct moral standards are correct. They are correct because they are reducible to standards recognized to be both correct and realistically construed. Physical facts make chemical propositions true, and so long as we are warranted in being realists about physics, we can be realists about chemistry. If moral standards are reducible to recognizably realistic standards of some other domain, and if realists can satisfactorily account for the reduction, then they have themselves an adequate explanation of the status of moral standards. In the next two chapters, I will defend a form of ethical non-naturalism, and so will reject the idea that moral standards are reducible to other kinds of standards. So this last gambit won't work for me.22 Instead, my kind of realism must seek out partners in crime. I would point to correct logical standards or physical laws (assuming a realist construal of such things), and claim that there isn't anything that makes such things true—they simply are true. Propositions in these domains are irreducible, and so there won't be any illuminating explanation of what makes them true. One can say, of course, that what makes these standards true is the nature of logic or of the physical universe, but if this is taken as at all illuminating, the moral realist too can avail herself of the response: correct moral standards are true in virtue of the nature of morality, the way morality works, the ‘moral universe’, or some such

22

Indeed, it probably won't work for any realist. For we might ask why the reduction of the moral to another domain is supposed to succeed. The realist will again have little to resort to; specifically, she can't say that the reduction is effected in virtue of having been endorsed or created by duly specified agents of construction. The claim that moral standards are instances of some other kind of standard is a claim that will simply be true (or false), and not so in virtue of anything that might illuminatingly form the basis of an explanation of the kind demanded by constructivists.

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locution. This doesn't inspire me with any sense of satisfaction, and so I'm sure it won't go any way toward assuaging the worries of moral antirealists. But that isn't the point. The point is that moral and other realists about irreducible domains are on a par when it comes to the extremely limited kind of explanation they can give of the status of their favoured standards.23 If some standard is true, irreducible, and to be construed realistically, then nothing makes it true; its truth is not a creation, but instead a brute fact about the way the world works. A natural worry here is that the realist is making a most implausible assumption, namely, that the truths within ethics are as well established as those of logic or physics, and thus that moral realism is as credible as scientific realism. But I haven't made such an assumption. What I am claiming is that the very limited explanatory resources of realism are not something peculiar to its ethical manifestation, and so if realism's explanatory deficit is as serious as constructivists allege, then we ought to be antirealists about everything. If, as I am assuming, realism about some domains is a credible position, then we need some further, independent argument for thinking that moral realism is implausible. Perhaps the strongest such argument is one that is available to those constructivists who endorse moral rationalism.24 Moral rationalism is the claim that moral obligations are or entail sound practical reasons for action. Many subjectivist constructivists endorse rationalism because they conceive of moral judgements as essentially expressive of our commitments, and think that our commitments invariably supply reasons for action. Many objectivist constructivists, especially those enamoured of Kantian theories, also endorse moral rationalism, because they believe that correct moral judgements represent true propositions about the implications of our rational nature. As such, moral obligations will always supply us with reasons for action. On either

23

Logicians and physicists may be able to give better explanations of the content of their favoured standards, but that is a different matter. The issue here is whether realists can account for the status of true standards within any domain. Unless these standards are reducible to other kinds of standards, whose nature is recognized as realistic, the realist will lack an explanation of what makes the standards true. If that is not an insuperable problem for logic or physics, then it isn't one for ethics. There may, of course, be independent reasons for thinking that realism about ethics is suspect, while realism about logic or physics is not. I consider some of these reasons in the chapters to come.

24

Another prominent argument is the argument from disagreement, which unfavourably contrasts the breadth and depth of moral disagreement with that found within scientific disciplines. Those who deploy this argument use it to cast doubt on the objectivity of ethics. I discuss this argument in Chapter 9, rather than here, because the argument, if successful, would undermine all forms of objectivist cognitivism—constructivisms as well as realism. Here I want to concentrate only on those arguments that purport to favour constructivism over realism.


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account, if moral rationalism is true, then we have a justification to be moral: we can always cite good reasons for complying with moral demands. The worry is that the realist cannot do this, because realists, qua realists, do not explain the source of moral demands as issuing from one's personal commitments, one's rational nature, or one's practical identities. According to moral realism, the standards that assign moral obligations are not essentially a product of agents, and the content of general moral obligations is not conceptually constrained by the sorts of endorsements (rational or otherwise) that agents make. But if moral obligations are independent of our psychologies in this way, then moral obligations may fail to be properly related to anything that might motivate us. And if obligations are unrelated to our motivations, then obligations may leave us without any reason to comply with their demands. This would be quite a bad thing. For then we would be faced with situations in which agents lacked both motivation and good reason to adhere to morality's requirements. We would be unable to offer agents in such circumstances any justification for the moral standards we take to be correct, since such justification, according to moral rationalism, will entail a showing that one has good reason to comply with morality's demands.25 This is a potentially devastating argument against realism. It is another kind of argument that realism is inferior to constructivism because of an explanatory failing; in this case, a failure to explain how moral obligations can be intrinsically reason-giving. Realists have traditionally sought to escape the force of this argument in one of three ways. The first is purely defensive, and consists in an ad hominem argument to the effect that objectivist constructivists cannot themselves satisfactorily account for morality's intrinsic reason-givingness. Citing the details of the various constructivist efforts, realists might reveal flaws in the theories that undermine their ability to justify morality's requirements to all who are subject to them. This would leave realists and constructivists on an even playing field, at least with respect to this argument. How badly off does that make such theories? According to the second realist reply, not very. In effect, this reply denies that there is anything to be explained, since it allows that there is sometimes no good reason to abide by morality's demands. This doesn't undermine the central realist claim that moral obligations are generated, and apply to agents, in a stanceindependent way. It is, instead, a way of rejecting the moral rationalism that is at the heart of the constructivist

25

Perhaps the sharpest antirealist formulation of the argument of this paragraph is given in Korsgaard 1996a : 36 ff.

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objection. On this view, making it a criterion of adequacy that a theory be able to generate a sound practical reason to obey every moral demand is to take too grand a view of morality's powers. As such, realism's putative inability to accommodate moral rationalism is no failure, since there is (it is claimed) only a contingent connection between moral obligations and reasons for action. According to a third reply, realists might embrace rationalism, but argue that moral obligations invariably align with self-interest; that considerations of self-interest are intrinsically reason-giving; and that self-interest is not constituted by some function of one's attitudes. (See, e.g., Brink 1997.) The stance-independence so crucial to realism is secured by this last condition. The rationalism so dear to constructivists is secured by the first and second conditions. If the realist can make out a plausible defence of these several theses, then there is always a justification for being moral. To my mind, the ad hominem critiques often hit their mark, though I won't try to substantiate that claim here. Even so, such criticisms are insufficient by themselves to meet the challenge that the constructivist has set. Further, neither of the remaining traditional argumentative strategies seem to me to be satisfactory. I explain why, and offer my own reply on behalf of realism, in Chapter 8. To anticipate, I accept moral rationalism, and so allow that moral obligations entail reasons for action, but I reject the idea that the fulfilment of moral obligations invariably promotes self-interest. So the reasons that moral obligations invariably supply do not derive from considerations of self-interest. More generally, I reject the idea that reasons must have a basis in our existing psychological profiles, and so I reject this ‘internalist’ constraint that many constructivists attach to their rationalism. We can have reasons that bear no relation to our motivational capacities, and this explains why our reasons are not circumscribed in a way that would be objectionable to the realist who is also a rationalist. The argument we have been considering takes the following form: obligations entail reasons; reasons must be capable of motivating; motivational capacity is relative to existing attitudes; therefore obligations are relative to existing attitudes. This is a kind of contingency that realists cannot accept. My own solution is to embrace the rationalism of the first premiss (defended in Chapter 8), and to deny that the content of reasons should be fixed by reference to what can motivate us. (The arguments for that position can be found in Chapter 7.) If successful, this solution will go a good way towards undermining a standard claim that realism lacks a plausible conception of the normativity of morality.


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IV. Conclusion The realist faces challenges on two fronts. Non-cognitivists standardly level criticisms based on alleged metaphysical, epistemological, and moral motivational shortcomings of the realist enterprise. Constructivists level their own charges against realism, and these charges, coming from a view that easily accommodates the cognitivist and objectivist character of moral discourse and practice, are especially threatening. The first criticism, though, either conflates separable issues, or begs the question against the realist. The second criticism relies on a premiss (laws require lawmakers) whose credibility depends on a global antirealism. Such a view, if substantiated, would indeed spell realism's demise. Though I don't believe this view has been defended satisfactorily, I merely register the opinion, and acknowledge the argumentative vulnerability of my position were it shown to be true. The third constructivist criticism claims that realists have too little to offer by way of explaining the objective status of moral truths. Whether the realist explanation runs out too quickly depends, of course, on whether constructivists can do any better. I concede that realists don't have much of a story about why true moral standards are true. The constructivist, by contrast, has a complete and potentially quite satisfying account. Thus other things equal, the constructivist account has a distinctive explanatory advantage and ought to be preferred. But there is no reason at this stage to suppose that all things are equal. Any constructivist account, to gain this real advantage, must be vindicated against the Euthyphro problem that besets all forms of constructivism, and against all criticisms specific to its particular formulation. We have not considered (and will not consider) the separate constructivist accounts, and so will not engage in efforts to explore the difficulties peculiar to the developed theories of (e.g.) Firth, Carson, Darwall, Milo, Korsgaard, Copp, Scanlon, and Rawls. Thus even if realism encounters difficulties in what follows, those that beset any given constructivist account might be graver still. We cannot know whether this is so without engaging in a quite extensive assessment of these theories. Until that is done, it is premature to suppose that realism's explanatory limitations are anything other than benign. The final constructivist criticism relies on the assumption of moral rationalism's truth: if moral obligations entail reasons for action, and realism cannot explain this, while constructivism can, then we have excellent reason for favouring constructivism over realism. I devote the whole of Part IV to attempts to explain how realism can indeed account for the normativity of moral facts. If my arguments succeed, then we will possess what philosophers

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have long sought: a justification of morality for those who are puzzled about whether there is any reason to adhere to moral requirements. Before we turn our attention to the worries as set forth by the non-cognitivists and constructivists, we need to attend to an intramural debate within the realist camp. At issue is whether moral realism is best construed as a form of ethical naturalism or non-naturalism. The answer to this question will importantly influence the answers we are able to give to the ontological, motivational, epistemological, and rationalist challenges that have been recorded. My view is that ethics is an autonomous domain of enquiry; ethical concerns are not reducible without remainder to any other kind of concern, and ethical investigation is not properly conceived of as a subset of any other recognized discipline. In particular, ethics is no kind of science. Reliance on these claims leads me to endorse a form of ethical non-naturalism. I turn now to defence of this view.

Part II Moral Metaphysics


3 Ethical Non-naturalism A good deal of opposition to moral realism stems from a basic metaphysical puzzle. Put simply, it is hard to see what kind of thing a moral value could be, and this difficulty derives largely from the suspicion that values are something quite different from the commonplace, empirical facts that we encounter in our everyday experience. It is said that values have a pull on us that ordinary facts do not; that values are not discoverable as scientific facts are; that values provide justification for practices that plain facts are unable, by themselves, to supply. In short, it appears that moral values are something very different in kind from anything else that we are familiar with. Faced with this appearance, we have three basic choices. We could take it at face value, and introduce into our ontology a sui generis category of values. Or we could seek to discredit the appearances. We could do this in one of two ways. We might follow non-cognitivists and deny that there really are any moral values or moral facts. There is the natural world, there is us, and there are our responses to the world—nothing mysterious, and nothing that science will find intractable. Or we might retain a belief in the evaluative realm, but eliminate the mystery by denying its distinctness. On this line—that of ethical naturalism—moral facts are a species of scientific facts, discoverable in all the ordinary ways, as motivating and as normative (or not) as ordinary facts. I am in the first camp. I think that moral facts are different in kind from any other. As I see it, we should certainly decline the non-cognitivist invitation to be rid of moral facts, and should also resist the naturalist's pressure to see all reality in terms amenable to scientific confirmation. What is needed, then, is a defence of ethical non-naturalism. In this chapter, I proceed to offer that defence, or the beginnings of it. I reserve the next chapter for countering the most powerful objections to it. The initial stages of the defence can start with the classic argument for ethical

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non-naturalism that received its expression in G. E. Moore's Principia Ethica (1903: 15 ff.). Though few nowadays are fully persuaded by it, the argument set the course for much of twentieth-century metaethics, and represents, still, an important basis for scepticism about ethical naturalism.

I. Moore's Argument Moore's argument is an argument from elimination. It sets out three possibilities for understanding evaluative language, only one of which, claims Moore, survives scrutiny. Moore's argument begins with a dilemma: either evaluative26 predicates are meaningful or they are meaningless. Moore just dismisses the latter option. Proceeding from that point, Moore presents us with a second dilemma: either evaluative predicates can be defined or they can't be. If they can be defined, then such definitions are provided either by employing other evaluative terms, or wholly ‘naturalistically’, i.e. without the use of evaluative terms. Moore's open question argument is designed to show that this last option must fail. Evaluative terms must either be defined by other evaluative terms (as right, for Moore, is defined by reference to good), or, according to Moore, they cannot be defined at all. Consider an evaluative term such as ‘good’. Either ‘good’ can be given a naturalistic analysis or it can't. A naturalistic analysis has two elements. It is an analysis, and so it identifies meaning by displaying constituent parts and their relations. It is naturalistic in that the definition does not incorporate any evaluative terms. Moore claimed that we cannot give a naturalistic analysis of ‘good’, because goodness is a simple, basic notion. He tried to show this by claiming that for any putative analysis of goodness, one could always sensibly ask whether something acknowledged to exemplify the analysans was also good (and vice versa). Suppose, for instance, that one thought that ‘good’ just meant ‘desired’. Well, says Moore, it makes sense to ask of something that is desired whether it is good, and it also makes sense to ask of something thought to be good whether it is desired. It makes sense because the answer isn't obvious, even after some introspection. Were ‘good’ and ‘desired’ synonymous, then

26

Here, as elsewhere, I will use the term ‘evaluative’ in its most capacious sense, applying to territory both within and without the moral domain, and covering both evaluative notions proper (e.g. good and bad ), as well as specifically normative and deontic notions (e.g. right and should , required and forbidden ).

ETHICAL NON-NATURALISM

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the following two queries ought to be epistemically and semantically identical: (A) I know that X is good, but is it good? (B) I know that X is desired, but is it good? (B) is an open question. Not so (A). The questions are epistemically and semantically disanalogous. The explanation is that ‘good’ doesn't mean the same as ‘desired’. The disanalogy is claimed to repeat itself for every candidate naturalistic analysis of ‘good’. Moore drew two related conclusions from the open-question argument, i.e. the more particular argument against naturalism that is embedded in his larger argument from elimination. The first conclusion was that the term ‘good’ was not synonymous with any natural term; any effort to display synonymy between evaluative and natural terms was an instance of what he called the naturalistic fallacy. Moore thought that a second conclusion followed from the first: because ‘good’ was not synonymous with any natural term, the property of goodness was therefore not identical to any natural property. Moore did not explicitly defend this inference. Instead, he implicitly relied on a test of property identity which says that two properties are identical only if the terms that designate them are synonymous. His test of synonymy, also implied, held that two terms are synonymous only if having one ‘before the mind’ is sufficient for having the other in mind. Because it was always possible to have ‘good’ before one's mind without also having any other putative definiens up there accompanying it, ‘good’ was not synonymous with any other term. Therefore goodness was not identical to any other property. Nowadays most philosophers reject Moore's test of property identity, or his test of synonymy, or both. Some people may have ‘water’ before their minds without having any thought of ‘ H2 O’. Some might even reject the analysis if presented with a claim to that effect. Yet water and H2 O are the very same things. Despite these reservations, Moore's argument remains relevant, and this for two reasons. First, it suffices to create a burden of proof on the ethical naturalist, though all now agree that naturalists needn't involve themselves in anything like a fallacy in advocating their view. Moore was right to think that we can sensibly doubt whether any alleged naturalistic analysis is really a good one. He was wrong to think that this is sufficient to show that there can't be any such analysis. For good analyses can be surprising, and this means that analysans and analysandum needn't be always together before the mind, and

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needn't even strike us as synonymous after some reflection. This gives the naturalist some breathing room, but it does not relieve the argumentative burden of showing how two apparently different things—rightness and maximizing happiness, for instance—are really one and the same thing. Moore's argument remains important for a second reason as well. It has been put to powerful use by Moore's noncognitivist opponents, who share his rejection of ethical naturalism but find grave problems (namely, the ontological, epistemological, motivational, and moral rationalist worries canvassed in Part I) for Moore's own view. Indeed, it is possible to trace the history of twentieth-century metaethics as a dialectic of positions, each of which takes Moore's tripartite division of theories for granted, and proceeds with its own argument from elimination. Rather than undertake that historical task, which has been well done elsewhere (Darwall, Gibbard, and Railton 1992), let us proceed directly to a consideration of the relative merits of naturalism and non-naturalism.

II. Naturalism and Non-naturalism Given the influence of Moore's ideas, it is natural to ask of a given cognitivist theory whether it is best seen as an instance of naturalism or non-naturalism. The answer to this question depends, of course, on how one is to understand such a classification. Usage here invariably leans, in the end, on stipulation, as philosophers and others have meant so many different things by naturalism. There seem to me to be two paths to an understanding of the natural domain. The first tries to identify some distinctive feature of the natural, that possessed intrinsically by all and only natural properties, and the feature in virtue of which they count as natural. The second is a disciplinary approach, which defines the natural in terms of the subject matters of various disciplines. I prefer the second path. Consider the first approach. Something is natural just in case, necessarily, it is . . . what? It isn't such as to be touchable, or tangible. Being a species isn't touchable. Neither is being a quark. Being natural is not the same as being nonconventional: moral properties, if non-naturalists are right, are certainly that. It isn't the feature of being material: certain physical fields, or vacuums, are natural in anyone's book, and yet not composed of matter. It isn't the feature of being causally efficacious: being such that everything is either red or not, being divisible by itself, and being selfidentical are causally inert natural


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properties.27 Being natural is not the same as being a feature of the world prior to, or considered apart from, the presence of humans. For being human, or a human artefact, is a natural feature. Nor can we define a natural property as any property that is not evaluative. For moral properties are evaluative on anyone's reckoning, and so we would, by definitional fiat, thereby rule ethical naturalism out of court. It can't be got rid of as easily as that. This is hardly an exhaustive accounting. Perhaps some other feature will do the trick, though I haven't seen any promising candidates. In the absence of any such, I suggest that we follow the lead of most who write in this area, and accept that the unifying naturalist thought is a disciplinary one. Naturalism, understood as a metaphysical thesis about the nature of properties, claims that all real properties are those that would figure ineliminably in perfected versions of the natural and social sciences. Since we don't have any of those versions in hand, we can't be absolutely sure about our naturalistic inventory. But at least we have a way, in principle, of discovering its contents. Of course, proceeding in this fashion just invites the question as to what is to count as a natural or social science, and there has been very little progress in elucidating these notions. Discussions still, especially in ethics, almost always presuppose an ostensive understanding of the sciences. Physics, chemistry, biology, and astronomy count. Astrology doesn't. Economics, sociology, psychology, and some forms of anthropology are in. Literary criticism is out; semiotics, too. And where is ethics? On most shortlists, ethics would fail to make the cut. To make a decisive determination on the matter, we would have to be very sure about the boundaries of scientific enquiry. I'm not at all sure about that, and so will offer the following thoughts in a tentative spirit. It seems to me that there are, at the very least, four important features of the recognized sciences, and that ethics fails to exemplify any one of them to any significant degree. In the first place, ethics lacks the kind of precision and susceptibility to quantification and cardinal measurement that the recognized sciences

27

Those who baulk at this will have to insist either that these properties are, indeed, causally efficacious, or that they are not natural. They seem as causally (im)potent as moral properties, and so, if efficacious, then moral properties, too, would be natural ones. If that were so, however, then it's hardly clear just what would be left to occupy the nonnatural realm, and so the point of drawing a natural/non-natural distinction would be greatly diminished. Alternatively, if, being causally inert, these properties are nonnatural, then we lack good reason to follow naturalists in abolishing the non-natural realm, for surely these properties do exist. And once we countenance some non-natural properties, we would need a further, special argument to get rid of just the moral subset among them.

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possess. Ethics is also essentially concerned with practical evaluation and recommendation, unlike any of the recognized sciences. Ethics is focused only peripherally, if at all, on questions of prediction and causal efficacy; we do not, in the first instance (as I shall argue in the next chapter), individuate ethical properties on the basis of their causal efficacy, even if they do possess causal power, and even if moral properties do figure in lawlike generalizations that can do some explaining. And fundamental truths in ethics seem to express metaphysical, rather than physical (or biological or chemical, etc.), necessities. Perhaps ethics is just a very special kind of science, unlike its companions in all of these respects, yet no less a science for all that. But what if it were? The philosophical gains of such a classification would then be very hard to discern. We could say that ethics was a science, meaning by that some organized body of knowledge, derivable through observation and experiment of some kind (including, obviously, thought experiments), having as its aim the production of a coherent network of beliefs regarding the nature of our world. Classical and contemporary non-naturalists, however, needn't find any of this objectionable. Conceding that ethics is a science, thus characterized, would leave everything as before, except that we would no longer need to concern ourselves about whether to place ethical theories in one camp or the other. The point of drawing a natural/non-natural distinction would evaporate. There seem to me to be two additional options for locating something of importance in the division of natural and non-natural properties. The first option advances a particular conception of what science amounts to, one that puts to one side the four features just mentioned, and focuses instead on methodological matters. I am thinking here of the picture of science, endorsed in ethics by so-called Cornell realists (e.g. Boyd 1988; Brink 1989; Sturgeon 1984, 1986, forthcoming), as any kind of investigation that deploys the method of reflective equilibrium as a discovery procedure. An enquiry that starts from firmly held considered judgements about particulars and, to a lesser extent, about principles, that sees all judgements as revisable, confirmable only holistically, and as reliant for their vindication on non-self-evident background theories, will count, on this view, as scientific. If we grant that ethics, when well done, proceeds in such a manner, then ethics is a science, and ethical properties are natural ones. Yet this depiction of scientific essentials seems to me too lax. Deploying the method of reflective equilibrium may be necessary, but it doesn't seem sufficient, to qualify a kind of enquiry as scientific. Much of theology, for instance,


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is undertaken exactly along these general lines. Theologians take their start from considered judgements, check their assumptions and inferences against more general background theories, themselves controversial and subject to testing against yet further principles and theories, etc., all with the aim of constructing a coherent network of mutually supporting beliefs. Yet if theology is regarded as a science, then it isn't any longer clear what we are meaning to exclude from the purview of the natural. We would need a different way of marking the natural/non-natural divide, or to look elsewhere for the questions that matter in metaethics. It seems that the significance of the distinction is preserved only when we turn to a second option. On this view, the essential feature of the natural or social sciences is their exclusion of a priori knowledge of fundamental scientific truths. My own view, defended in Chapter 11, is that we can discover fundamental ethical truths in an a priori fashion. I don't believe (and neither do contemporary naturalists) that we can discover fundamental scientific truths in this way. So here is something of importance. Whether we place ourselves in the naturalist camp will depend, on this line, on whether we think that ethical investigation is thoroughgoingly a posteriori. And this may seem puzzling. For the debate between naturalists and nonnaturalists has usually been cast as a metaphysical debate. Such debates often have epistemological implications, of course, but (as any realist will insist) we can and should avoid running metaphysical and epistemological issues together. Yet on this characterization, the essence of a natural property is that the fundamental truths that describe its nature, and the conditions under which it is instantiated, are discoverable in an exclusively a posteriori way. On this view, there is no metaphysical feature that is being advanced as the essential one that confers naturalistic status. What appears to be a critical ontological difference now reduces to a difference in one's optimism about the possibility of a priori moral knowledge. If ethics were a science, then that would be enough to show that ethical properties are scientific ones, and so to show that some form of ethical naturalism is correct. But suppose we rely either on my earlier, fourfold characterization of science, or on the possibility of a priori moral knowledge, to reject this classification, and so place ethics outside the scientific camp. This isn't, by itself, enough to establish the falsity of ethical naturalism, since ethical properties might be identical to other kinds of properties which are the object of scientific study.28 Still, if ethics is not a science, then the plausibility

28

My thanks to Elliott Sober for making sure I saw this point.

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of ethical naturalism depends entirely on whether naturalists can vindicate such moral–natural identities. For if they can't, then it certainly seems that the best explanation of why ethics is not a science is that its subject properties are not scientific ones. And that conclusion does entail the truth of either non-naturalism, or non-cognitivism. Since we have some reason (given in Chapter 1) to doubt the truth of non-cognitivism, this would provide a strong argument on behalf of ethical non-naturalism. This argument seems to me to be in all essentials correct, though nothing said so far has shown either that moral knowledge can be a priori, or that naturalistic reductions of moral properties are unlikely to be provided (this last bit of work will be undertaken in the next section). Rather than pursue these issues now, we need to ask just how much of the debate has become a matter of taxonomic bookkeeping, and how much of philosophical significance is really at stake. What matters is not what we call a view, but whether the view, whatever its denomination, can solve the central philosophical problems that have generated the division between naturalists and non-naturalists. Historically, and on some contemporary views, this division is worth fighting for and signifies a vital theoretical boundary. However, when we identify the stakes at hand, we can see, pretty quickly, that there is very largely a pattern of shared strength or vulnerability, and often little else worth marking by this time-honoured division. Certainly the natural/non-natural distinction is of only secondary importance when it comes to addressing the noncognitivist's motivational challenge. Both naturalism and non-naturalism identify moral judgement with a kind of belief, and so must explain how such beliefs can engage our interest. The division is also equally (un)problematic when it comes to providing an explanation of morality's ability to supply agents with reasons for action. Whether such facts are best understood naturalistically or not, the main difficulty will be that of explaining how a fact, of any kind, is able (if it is) to be or to entail a reason for action. When it comes to the non-cognitivist's core epistemological worry, the fundamental difficulty is that of explaining how one's warranted belief that certain natural facts obtain is linked to warranted belief that certain moral facts obtain. How are we aware of the link—the conditional that says that if these natural properties are realized, then so too are these moral ones? This is the central moral epistemological problem, and it is equally pressing for the non-naturalist, and any naturalist who rejects an analytic equivalence between moral and descriptive terms. Since just about every naturalist of the


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past half-century has, in fact, given up hopes for such definitions, naturalists don't have the upper hand here, either.29 The non-cognitivist's ontological challenge is the one that has greatest chance of distinguishing the plausibility of naturalism from non-naturalism. On either of the classic versions of naturalism, a naturalistic ethic is more parsimonious than non-naturalism. According to analytic naturalism, moral predicates are susceptible of naturalistic analysis, and moral properties are identical to natural ones. This is the sort of naturalism that Moore attacked in his open-question argument. Reductive naturalism abandons the possibility of naturalistic analyses, but endorses the identity of moral and naturalistic properties. On either view, the emerging ethical naturalism envisions moral properties as finding a place within an ontology whose contents are fixed exclusively by the outcomes of scientific investigations. Non-naturalists cannot have such a tidy view. They define their view in opposition to one that restricts the world's contents to those things confirmable by the best sciences. The best scientific views will not reveal the existence of moral properties, because moral properties are not scientific ones. Doing ethics is not doing any kind of science. Therefore there is a class of things (moral properties) that exists in addition to the battery of things that science can reveal to us. Thus non-naturalism's ontology cannot be as compact as that of either form of classical naturalism. The difficulty of establishing moral–naturalistic identities has led some contemporary naturalists to non-reductive versions of naturalism. On these accounts, endorsed inter alia by the Cornell realists, moral properties are not identical to any other natural property, but are themselves, nevertheless, a genus of natural property. Moral properties are like geological or biological properties: natural ones themselves, dependent, ultimately, for their realization on physical properties, but not identical to physical properties. This sort of non-reductionist view has the salutary effect of retaining the autonomy of ethics—one can't logically or semantically deduce moral principles from non-moral claims. The language of ethics is not the language of physics, and the information conveyed in a moral rule is not identical to that incorporated in any law of physics.

29

Naturalists might claim some advantage in epistemological matters through their endorsement of a wholesale a posteriori picture of moral knowledge. Yet it is far from clear, at least at this preliminary stage, that such an approach is to be preferred in establishing epistemic connections between our moral beliefs and the descriptive ones they rely on. Resolving that issue requires a very great deal of further discussion, some of which I provide in Part V.

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But this non-reductive picture would strike all of the classical non-naturalists as very congenial. Indeed, it is a picture which I, counting myself a non-naturalist, accept in all essentials. The only difference between these contemporary non-reductive naturalists, and ethical non-naturalists, lies in whether or not one is willing to count moral properties as natural ones. And, as far as I can tell, the only importance in the classification at this stage is methodological and epistemological. The importance, to be specific, lies in whether we are willing to count ethics as a kind of science, and whether we believe that we can discover ethical truths in just the same way that natural and social scientists discover truths in their respective disciplines. Of course, non-reductive naturalists will seek to claim the benefit of ontological parsimony as well, and to display their superiority to non-naturalism by reference to this virtue. They will insist that theirs is a strictly scientific ontology without any non-naturalistic excrescences. But the non-reductive aspect of their view means, in effect, that these naturalists are willing to countenance real properties that exist in addition to those ratified by physics and all of the other special sciences. After all, if moral properties were identical to any such properties, whether physical or special scientific, then the resulting view would be a reductive one. So what we have, in effect, is a property dualism (at the least). We don't have natural and non-natural properties. We have, instead, physical properties, and those of the special sciences (including, on this view, ethics), none of which are identical to those at any other ‘level’ of reality. For reasons that I will offer in subsequent sections, I think that this kind of property pluralism is quite plausible. But now there seems very little difference, especially in matters of ontological parsimony, between non-reductive naturalism, and nonnaturalism. Both are kinds of property pluralism. Both can have identical ontological inventories. The only difference is in whether or not the theorists will view the laws that govern the properties contained therein as discoverable all in the same ‘scientific’ way.30 Again, that is an epistemological difference. Important, to be sure, but in no way earning the non-reductive naturalist any extra credit when it comes to paring down the size of one's ontology. Because non-naturalism and non-reductive naturalism are so similarly situated with respect to the classic noncognitivist concerns, and because they both, in particular, share a non-reductive metaphysics, it seems to me best, in a

30

Another possible difference should be mentioned. Naturalists will insist that there is a plausible distinction between natural and supernatural properties, and will claim that moral properties are realized exclusively by natural facts—no supernatural facts allowed. This prohibition, it might be claimed, is the hallmark of ethical naturalism.But if a rejection of the supernatural were enough to earn the naturalistic label, then we would have to count such classic non-naturalists as Moore and Ross among the proponents of ethical naturalism. That surely seems a conclusion best avoided. Still, we can gerrymander the taxonomy as we like. (Naturalists might say, for instance, that the natural just is the scientific, and the supernatural just the non-scientific; given that the non-natural is the non-scientific, non-naturalism and supernaturalism would then be identical.) The important point is really that we keep separate the question, first, of whether moral and natural properties are identical, and, second, if they are not, whether moral properties are realized exclusively by natural ones. The first question is directly to do with reduction, and will be the focus of much of what's to come. The second question is fundamentally a matter of first-order, substantive ethics. I will sidestep this issue by claiming in the text that the moral is realized exclusively by the descriptive. This will include the natural, but it will also include the supernatural, provided (i) that there are such things as genuine supernatural properties; (ii) that such properties are sometimes instantiated; and (iii) that they can be assigned a content without essential reference to moral notions. I will remain neutral on the question of whether any of these conditions is satisfied.


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chapter on metaphysics, to leave aside the debate between them, and to focus instead on whether their non-reductive metaphysics can be shown to be superior to that of the classical naturalists. If I am right, there is very little of metaphysical importance that rests on the distinction between non-naturalism and non-reductive naturalism, and so we may postpone consideration of their relative merits until Part V, when we tackle moral epistemology directly. The lesson, then, is this. If the division between naturalists and non-naturalists in ethics is decided, as I have suggested, by whether ethics is a science, then we need immediately to know how important the ‘scientific’ moniker is for the theory that earns it. The answer may disappoint, especially if we hope to gain any metaphysical points by allying ourselves with the scientific alternative in ethics. To the extent that the debate between naturalists and non-naturalists in ethics carries metaphysical import, the debate must be joined by classical naturalists, on the one hand, and ethical non-naturalists, on the other. Non-reductive naturalists and non-naturalists are on a par in their ontological commitments. If there is anything that might distinguish their plausibility, it is the epistemological question of whether fundamental moral knowledge is a priori, a question we shall postpone until Chapter 11. So let us turn to the metaphysical issue that might separate naturalists from non-naturalists: that of reductionism in ethics.

III. Against Classical Naturalism In what follows, I will understand the essential metaphysical feature of ethical non-naturalism to be its claim that moral properties are not identical to scientific properties. Moral facts register the instantiation of moral properties;

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natural facts register the instantiation of other kinds of properties. So there are (at least) two kinds of properties, and therefore (at least) two kinds of facts. From the non-identity of moral and natural properties, it follows that moral terms cannot be naturalistically analysed. So non-naturalism comprises two essential claims: a metaphysical claim, to the effect that moral properties are sui generis, and not identical to any natural properties, and a semantic claim, to the effect that moral terms cannot be given a naturalistic analysis. It may also, depending on how the naturalist/nonnaturalist distinction is rendered, comprise a third, epistemological claim, to the effect that at least some fundamental moral truths are knowable a priori. I think that some version of non-naturalism is correct. A start on showing it so requires supplying answers to two central metaphysical questions: (i) why think that there is this additional (moral) kind of property and fact, over and above those certified by so-called naturalistic disciplines; and (ii) what relations obtain between the moral and the natural? I will consider the first question here, and defer discussion of the second until the following section. Much of my answer to the first question has been given, indirectly, in Chapter 1. There are basically three options with regard to the metaphysics of moral properties—eliminativism, identity theories, and non-reductionism. The eliminativist option is represented by error theorists and non-cognitivists. Such philosophers do not believe that there are any moral properties, and believe that all appearances to the contrary are either founded on error, or can be otherwise explained away. What both sorts of theories recognize is that moral vocabulary, categories, and evaluative practices are so deeply embedded in our conception of ourselves and our world as to be, for all practical purposes, ineliminable.31 This doesn't mean that moral properties must exist, but it does mean that the burden is very squarely on those who would do away with them. If, as I have argued, these nihilistic theories have significant liabilities of their own, and if, as I hope, we can defend against the putative difficulties that attend views that allow for such properties, then we have good reason to reject eliminativism about moral properties. Reductionists (here, classical ethical naturalists) will accept all of this. But they see no room for properties other than those countenanced by their

31

Even Mackie (1977 ), who espoused an error theory in the first chapter of his book, couldn't avoid drafting a theory replete with ethical predicates and assertions. To be taken with a grain of salt, perhaps—but the question here is not about the proper stance to take vis-a`-vis evaluative language, but rather whether such language is practically ineliminable. It certainly seems to be. (See also Richard Garner's error-theoretic efforts (1994 ), which are similarly value-laden.)


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favoured ontology. All properties must find a place within that ontology—either that of the best physics, or, more liberally, that warranted by the best theories within the natural and social sciences. So moral properties, if they are to exist, must be (in the sense of be identical to) one of these kinds of natural property. That is classical naturalism's central claim. I think that this sort of view is not the immediately appealing one, but is seen by reductionists as one that is forced on them by philosophical considerations, especially those to do with ontological economy. Surely the more initially attractive view is one that sees moral qualities as something different in kind from anything found in the recognized sciences. There is a basic reason to think of the non-reductionist picture as the presumptively correct one: the signal failure of classical naturalists to plausibly defend any robust identity claims linking the fundamental moral properties with natural ones. Moore was correct in thinking that we could always intelligibly question the propriety of any candidate naturalistic reduction. As already mentioned, this doesn't by itself get Moore what he wanted (a general refutation of classical naturalism). If meaning is given, as Moore supposed, by the descriptions that competent speakers conventionally associate with a term, then meaning doesn't fix reference. So a failure of synonymy wouldn't show that the designated properties were not identical. If meaning does fix reference, then, following Kripke (1972) and Putnam (1975), we will want to say that meaning ain't in the head, even the collective head, so to speak, with the result that competent speakers are not authoritative about the meanings of their thoughts and utterances. And so, again, the open questions that greet proposed naturalistic reductions are not enough to clinch the case for non-naturalists. That said, there are two reasons to think that the open-question argument does in fact create a substantial burden of proof against reductive naturalism. The first is that most continue to question the alleged moral–natural identities even after a very great deal of substantive investigation has been done. This isn't a case where we are deciding against candidate reductions only after a quick introspective check on whether their associated concepts strike us as identical. Instead, there has been ample time to consider and reflect, to become acquainted with the best that reductionists have to offer. Yet the passage of time leaves all of Moore's questions open, still. It may just be a case of having yet more work to do. These questions might indeed be closed—our semantic fallibility is part of the legacy that Kripke and Putnam founded. But we don't, right now, have any reason to suppose that the questions that seem so clearly open are, unbeknownst to so many of us, in fact closed.

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And that is because, secondly, we have yet to see a defensible, well-developed naturalistic semantics that, after excellent application, yields the conclusion that ethical reductionism is our best option. There are three extant competitors in this area, each of which leads away from a reductionist picture of the ethical. Richard Boyd's (1988) causal-regulation theory, modelled on Kripke–Putnam semantics for natural kinds, is probably the best-known candidate in this field. On this view, to discover what a term means, we need to find out which properties are causally responsible for regulating a competent speaker's use of it. In particular, a term's meaning is fixed by a complex historical process that begins with a ‘dubbing ceremony’: an initial agent's use of the term to pick out some salient feature of her environment. If that moment is followed by many more, each involving a subsequent speaker's intentions to use the word to refer to that very same feature, then we have what is required: a criterion for discovering, via a posteriori investigation, the true nature of the feature whose initial selection is governing competent usage of the term. There are problems for such a view when applied to the ethical realm. The most important of these is that if it turns out that different properties are, in the relevant way, causally responsible for the usage of the very same moral terms among different speakers, then those terms mean different things in the mouths of those different speakers. It follows from this that many of those who think that they are engaging in substantive moral disagreement with their fellows are in fact doing no such thing. They are using moral terms as if they were univocal, and instead just talking past one another. It also follows from this view that since different natural properties can serve as the appropriate historical antecedents for the moral vocabulary of different speakers, then the moral judgements that assign moral relevance to these different properties may each be correct. But since these judgements may differ from speaker to speaker, or community to community, we have a kind of relativism, one that is not compatible with moral realism.32 Rather than pursue the details of Boyd's account, and the merits of the criticisms just levelled, we can instead note two things that are most directly relevant to matters of reductionism. The first is that Boyd himself does not believe that application of his theory will yield a reductive view. He instead

32

These charges represent the core antirealist argument found in Horgan and Timmons 1991 , 1992 , and Timmons 1999 : ch. 2. Even if they are correct, however (see Copp 2000 and Brink 2001 for arguments that they aren't), the worry extends only to those forms of realism that take over (something very like) Boyd's causal regulation semantics. I don't see any reason to suppose that realists must do this.


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thinks that moral properties are clusters of natural properties that bear certain ‘homeostatic’ relations with one another. Goodness, for instance, is realizable in a variety of ways, i.e. via the instantiation of a number of different natural properties, no one of which is strictly necessary for goodness. And so too with the other moral properties. Now Boyd might be mistaken about what follows from his views. But (and this is the second point) no one has supplied any reason for thinking that he has erred in this regard. No one has done anything towards showing that his semantics, when well applied, would yield the surprising conclusion that goodness (and rightness, and forbiddenness, etc.) is identical to some specific natural property. David Brink (2001: 170–6) has supplied us with the beginnings of a different moral semantics, one that emphasizes the very general referential intentions of speakers when engaging in moral thinking and conversation. As he sees it, people first engaging in moralizing must have had some general intention to use moral vocabulary to select a feature of their world. But this feature was not any very specific one. We can characterize their intention as that of seeking to adopt the moral point of view. This by itself isn't very helpful, of course, until we have a more perspicuous characterization of such a standpoint. For illustrative purposes, Brink fixes on the characterization that has one adopting the moral point of view when assessing conduct on the basis of standards that admit of interpersonal justification. On the assumption that it was the intention of the initial moralizers, and all of those who followed them, to select in their moral judgements those features that satisfied a description such as this, then moral terms are being used univocally. Substantive disagreement about what counts as interpersonally justifiable will be preserved as it should be, namely, as a difference about what is morally acceptable, rather than as an instance of talking past one another. Truth conditions of moral judgements will be fixed by what, as a matter of fact, really is (say) interpersonally justifiable. On the assumption that there is a truth of the matter here, such truth will not depend on a speaker's recognition of it, or the properties that causally regulate her use of any moral term. So we have a neat solution to both of the worries that beset Boyd's proposal. Here again I want to sidestep detailed examination (much less presentation) of the view just sketched, because Brink has given no indication that his semantics would plausibly lead to a reductivist view. Indeed, his earlier work on this subject (1989: 157 ff.) was explicitly non-reductionist. Though in that work he did not provide a moral semantics, there is no reason to suppose that the one he now favours is incompatible with its non-reductionist

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metaphysics. And, as before, no one has applied the semantics on offer here in a way that shows that moral properties are indeed identical to natural ones. Though that may be chalked up to insufficient effort only, we have no reason, at this point, to render such a verdict. There is no reason to suppose that the general referential intentions of moralizers will fix (if they do) just a single natural property as the referent of any given meaningful moral term. The last option that I know of has been provided by Frank Jackson (1998: 140 ff.), and Jackson and Philip Pettit (1995). Like Boyd and Brink, Jackson and Pettit advance their model with the background assumption that progress in moral investigation first requires some reference-fixing description that will govern the way that moral enquiry is to proceed. While Boyd's description relies on causal-historical considerations, and Brink's on the general referential intentions of moralizers, Jackson and Pettit instead focus on the platitudes surrounding a moral concept. Relying on arguments by David Lewis (1970, 1989), they advocate a ‘network analysis’ approach to identifying moral and nonmoral properties. The basic idea is this. One first gathers together all of the platitudes surrounding the application of a given (moral) concept. The reference-fixing description of a moral property consists in the conjunction of the relevant platitudes. Once possessed of this long description, one then investigates, a posteriori, just which properties in the world realize these platitudes. Success in this endeavour amounts to identifying the real nature of moral properties. Though this view has its difficulties,33 I won't pause here to consider them. For even if it is correct, its application will not yield a type–type identity relation between any moral and natural property. Since I discuss this view at greater length in the next chapter, I will just report on the outcome anticipated by Jackson and Pettit, and offer a summary verdict. The anticipated outcome is that, for any real moral property, there will, in fact, be a great number of natural properties that can realize it. This is meant to be a reductionism, however, because they are willing to bundle all of these properties into a single, naturalistic property that consists in their disjunction. That disjunctive

33

This model may run aground in either of two ways, depending on whether the platitudes incorporate evaluative terms or not. On the one hand, if the platitudes are exclusively descriptive, then (following Smith 1994 : 44–56) they will very likely be too coarse-grained to distinguish one moral property from another. The close interdefinability of central moral and evaluative terms generates what Smith calls the permutation problem , which does seem to be fatal to the network analysis model. On the other hand, if we allow the relevant platitudes to incorporate evaluative notions, then the model fails to give the naturalistic guidance sought for. Blackburn (1998 : 112–16) levels this criticism, among others, in his effort to discredit the plausibility of the Jackson–Pettit model.


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property will be necessarily coextensive with the moral property in question, whatever it is, and so (according to Jackson, at least) identical to it. Whatever the merits of this picture, it is certainly a highly non-standard form of classical naturalism. In fact, as I argue in the chapter to come, there is no metaphysical advantage gained by this view over that favoured by non-naturalists. A familiar argument against ethical naturalism is one that challenges naturalists to provide successful reductions, and claims that there is good reason to reject naturalism until such identifications have been vindicated. (See, e.g., Harman 1986.) I think that this is largely right, though the weight of the argumentative burden on naturalists might be quite light. That's because naturalists might argue that we have simply not done enough by way of ethical exploration to generate the reductions that await discovery. The plausibility of this reply depends on our having in hand a plausible moral semantics that can guide the discovery process. I have briefly considered the three views that I know of in this area. And as a result, the burden is now substantially heavier on reductive ethical naturalism. Why? Well, either the semantical views just considered are plausible or they are not. If they are, then, for all we now know, their excellent application vindicates ethical non-reductionism. If these moral semantics are problematic, however, then we as yet lack any plausible general framework for securing naturalistic reductions. Even if naturalists didn't have good candidate reductions on the table, we might have confidence in a naturalistic research programme that could identify them, if only the central device for securing such reductions were defensible. But if the nature of such a device remains a mystery, then the burden created by open-question considerations becomes commensurately more powerful. I don't believe that anything I've said here amounts to a knock-down argument against classical naturalism. It does, I think, provide excellent reason for believing that some other view of the relation between the moral and natural realms is the correct one. It is important to note, however, that even if classical naturalism were vindicated, that would remove, rather than pose, a threat to moral realism. The basic metaphysical problem for moral realists has been to defend the existence of a realm of facts that are apparently very different from those that play a central role in the recognized sciences. If this appearance can be explained away, and moral properties and facts subsumed within the larger scientific world view, then the central metaphysical worries for moral realism disappear. So much the better for moral realism. But I don't believe that the appearances are deceiving in this matter. Moral realists should take very seriously the challenge of explaining how a sui generis

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realm of values can subsist in an otherwise scientific world. And reductive naturalists, having just come in for some hard times, may now take satisfaction in a bit of table-turning. They can avail themselves of the time-honoured strategy of inviting their critics to supply plausible answers to the general challenges that they have located for their targets. Fair enough. Non-naturalists gain no advantage from the arguments just rehearsed if their preferred antireductionism is itself an implausible metaphysical view. Let us see what they have to say for themselves.

IV. Non-naturalistic Metaphysics Ethical non-naturalism rejects the synonymy of moral and descriptive terms, and the identity of moral and descriptive properties. So non-naturalism insists on distinct sets of facts—the moral, and everything else. By itself this is unobjectionable and does not signify any metaphysical profligacy. This sort of distinctness is what is alleged for any two sets of facts whose correlative properties are not identical to one another. Biological facts, chess facts, and historical facts are all of a kind different from physical facts. Some of these facts are embeddable in laws or generalizations that cannot be captured in purely physical terms. The language used to correctly characterize such facts conveys information that cannot be brought out by means of physics. It is a fact, surely, that human organisms require blood for their survival, a fact that cats have paws, and a fact that Kennedy was assassinated in 1963. These facts are not mentioned in the physics texts or journals, because physics hasn't the language to do so. It lacks this language because the facts just referred to represent the exemplification of non-physical properties, i.e. features that play no role whatever in developed physical theories. When we characterize a discipline as autonomous, what is sometimes meant is that the concepts and terms employed therein are not synonymous with those employed in other disciplines. A stronger conception has it that the properties that figure in its laws or principles are not identical to those that figure centrally in the theories of any other discipline. The ethical non-naturalist insists on the autonomy of ethics in this stronger sense, and in this regard is no worse off than theorists in any discipline whose properties are not reducible to those of physics. The sort of non-naturalism that I find appealing is one that bears a very close structural parallel to certain nonreductionist theories in the philosophy of mind. According to these latter views, mental properties are not identical to


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physical ones; mental facts are not physical facts; but mental properties are realized by instantiations of physical properties. At least in worlds relevantly close to ours, there would be no mental life without the physical stuff that constitutes it. For purposes of making a comparison with the ethical realm, there are three important features of this type of nonreductionist approach in the philosophy of mind: (1) it captures our convictions about the non-identity of mental and physical properties; (2) it is not ontologically extravagant; (3) it emphasizes a supervenience relation that obtains between the mental and the physical. Each of these three features has a natural correlate in the moral domain. 1. Why do we think, if we do, that mental and physical properties are non-identical? There are two basic reasons. In the first place, the terms that designate these properties do not, after investigation, appear to be synonymous, and though, as we have said, this is not enough to establish the non-identity of the correlative properties, it is enough to establish a burden of proof on anyone who would advance an identity thesis. Few are convinced that this burden has been met. Secondly, the multiple realizability of mental properties has seemed about as obvious as anything in this realm of philosophy. Being puzzled, or puzzled at the ways of love; thinking, or thinking about why bluejays are blue; wanting, or wanting food, or chocolate in particular—it seems very plausible to suppose that each of these mental properties can be realized by instantiations of physical properties other than the ones that actually constitute them in a given instance. A common example in this context is pain. Pain is realized in beings like us by c-fibre firings. But were we to identify pain with c-fibre firings, then there would be no possible world in which something experiences pain and does not experience c-fibre firing. This seems too restrictive: we want to allow for the possibility of pain even in beings who are not physically constituted just like us, and so lack c-fibres. We also want to allow, at least in principle, for the possibility that some beings might have c-fibre firings without experiencing any pain. Thus pain is not identical to c-fibre firings, and ‘pain’ does not mean ‘c-fibre firing’. So too with moral properties. Moral rightness might be constituted by maximizing happiness, which means that the maximization of happiness is sufficient in some contexts to realize rightness. But, according to ethical non-naturalists, rightness won't be identified with maximizing happiness (or any other descriptive property), and this for three reasons. First, maximizing happiness may, in other contexts, be insufficient to yield rightness. Second,

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even if it were invariably sufficient to yield rightness, there might be other ways to make an action right. Third, even if happiness were invariably necessary and sufficient for rightness, this might indicate only necessary coextensiveness, as opposed to identity. (I argue in the next chapter that necessary coextensiveness does not entail identity.) So maximizing happiness is not the very same thing, in every imaginable context, as moral rightness. For ethical non-naturalists, the same line of thinking will play itself out for any putative identification or analysis of moral properties or terms. 2. There are two basic kinds of non-eliminativist, non-reductionist views in philosophy of mind: substance dualism, and property dualism. This latter is ontologically parsimonious. It does not multiply entities beyond necessity (though it does multiply entities—there are two sets of properties and facts, not one, as type-identity theorists maintain). A pain is the realization of both physiological and mental properties. There are two propositions true of the person experiencing the pain: one couched in physiological terms, the other making use of mental predicates. There are genuine mental features of the world, ones that are realized by physical features. But the mental qualities are not identical to the physical ones. We can say all of that without introducing, at the same time, another substantial realm, i.e. another kind of substance—mental substance—that would indeed result in a bloated ontology. I think that a structurally similar view for ethics is plausible. We can develop the outlines of such a view by focusing on the central question that distinguishes classical naturalists from non-naturalists: what relation do moral facts bear to the descriptive facts on which they so obviously rely? Consider a concrete case. Jane gives a great deal of her money to the Special Olympics. She doesn't give so much as to become impoverished, but enough so that she has to forgo many things she would dearly like to have. She gives because she is so touched by the efforts of the Special Olympians and the commitment of the volunteers who aid them. And she gives anonymously. She isn't looking to be recognized for her generosity. How are all of these descriptive facts related to Jane's generosity? Consider the various options. Let us first set aside positions on either extreme: one that denies the existence of a moral realm, and the other that admits it, but denies any link between it and the descriptive realm. What we want to know is what relation, precisely, do moral facts bear to those descriptive facts on which they supervene? There is either some kind of constitutive relation or there is not. The facts about Jane's generosity, in the above example, either at least partly constitute her generosity, or they don't. If they don't, then what does? It's very hard to


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see a plausible answer to that question. At least part of what makes Jane a generous person is just her disposition to give, to those who need assistance, without a motive of self-interest, etc. If we take away all of these natural features, there is no explanation at all of the nature of her generosity. And I don't see why the story we tell about generosity should be any different from the story that gets told about any other moral property. So natural facts at least partly constitute moral facts. The question, then, is whether they entirely and exhaustively constitute moral facts. Suppose they don't. Then something else must complement the natural facts. But what could it be? The only possibility, it seems to me, are supernatural facts, facts, most likely, about a God's intentions or conations. Two worlds naturalistically identical could, on such a view, be morally different, in virtue of different divine attitudes taken towards them. Not all theologies will allow such a thing, of course. And there might be no supernatural facts. But if there are, and something like a divine command theory is correct, then we'd have a coherent tale to tell about what, other than natural facts, confers on something the moral status it possesses. That possibility aside, the only other option seems to be one according to which natural facts do exhaustively compose moral ones. There is nothing to a case of generosity, or viciousness, or dutiful action, other than the natural features that constitute such properties. Something exemplifies a moral property entirely in virtue of its possessing certain natural features. Non-naturalists, as well as classical naturalists, can endorse this picture. If moral properties are identical to natural ones, then moral facts will be identical to natural ones. So classical naturalists will find such a picture quite congenial. What this means, though, is that the fact of Jane's generosity could not have been realized by any other set of natural facts. If generosity were identical to some natural property, then it would be (at the least) a metaphysical impossibility for generosity to be realized in any way other than via the instantiation of that very property. Those (like me) who find this an unduly narrow conception of moral possibilities will still be able to take on the ‘exhaustive constitution’ story. The difference between the non-naturalist and the reductive naturalist, on this view, is a modal one. Non-naturalists can, and reductionists can't, allow for the possibility of a moral property's exemplification by means of some natural property other than the one whose instantiation, at a time, has in fact subserved it. In other respects non-naturalism presents as ontologically spare a picture as the reductionist's. There need be no ghostly, magical, or supernatural drops added to a naturalistic configuration in order to realize a

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moral property. If there are such things, of course, then non-naturalists can allow them into the compositional mix. But if there aren't, then non-naturalists can take on the view that the moral status of any situation is composed entirely by the natural features of the situation. Since I want to remain neutral here on theological matters, I prefer to cast nonnaturalism's view as the one that insists on the non-identity of moral and descriptive properties, while allowing the moral to be entirely and exhaustively constituted by the descriptive (see n. 5 for a fuller rationale for this terminology).34 This general approach seems to me the natural, default metaphysical position. It very clearly embraces a kind of metaphysical pluralism, one that allows for more than one kind of property and fact in the universe. The properties that physicists find ineliminably useful are but a small set of those that we believe to be real. There really are such things as being left-handed, crooked, rocky, Palaeozoic, molten, and deciduous, even if physics neither ratifies nor relies on such features, and even if there is no plausible path to the conclusion that such properties are identical to physical ones, disguised in more digestible vocabulary. The pluralistic picture doesn't seem profligate. Properties mentioned in psychology, geology, systematics, economics, history, etc. don't seem disposable. Neither do evaluative properties, which are frequently used, if not as often mentioned, in these (and other) kinds of investigation. It does not seem that we could capture all that we can at present were we to do without psychological or evaluative notions altogether. And that, roughly, is our best measure of whether Occam's razor requires a property's or an entity's elimination. Appearances might be deceiving, of course, and common sense often requires correction. But that it does so here, with respect to evaluative properties, is something that requires argument. (Chapter 4 will be given over entirely to such arguments, and to criticisms of them.) 3. Mental properties obviously rely crucially for their realization on non-mental properties. Specifically, any two situations identical in non-mental

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One might ask, of a given instance of (say) generosity, whether that very instance—i.e. that very moral fact—is identical to the natural facts that constitute it. I want to remain neutral on that question. If identity entails necessary identity, then non-naturalists should deny the identity. For they would allow that the moral fact in question might have been realized in other ways. This is the line that Brink (1989 : 157–9, 176–7) takes. His ontological view is, in its essentials, very like the non-naturalism that I defend in the text. One might allow for contingent identities, however, in which case the identity of a moral and natural fact is compatible with other possible worlds in which the moral fact is realized differently. This would yield a token-identity view of the moral-descriptive relationship. The issue between the two camps is not trivial, but I am going to allow myself to pass it by without comment. The non-naturalist can await a verdict from the metaphysicians, and take over whichever view of identity turns out to be true.


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respects must be identical in mental respects, and nothing can change its mental features without a correlative change in the non-mental world. This is an expression of a supervenience relation. Almost everyone who has thought about the matter has agreed that the moral, too, supervenes on the non-moral. Somehow, in a way yet to be explained, the non-moral features of a situation fix its moral status. From which it follows that a thing's moral status cannot change without some correlative change in its non-moral features. According to the sort of ethical non-naturalism that I favour, a moral fact supervenes on a particular concatenation of descriptive facts just because these facts realize the moral property in question. Moral facts necessarily covary with descriptive ones because moral properties are always realized exclusively by descriptive ones. Just as facts about a pencil's qualities are fixed by facts about its material constitution, or facts about subjective feelings by neurophysiological (and perhaps intentional) ones, moral facts are fixed and constituted by their descriptive constituents. A pencil's length or weight at a time is fixed and constituted by a particular molecular composition, though the same length or weight may, at other times, be realized differently. An instance of pain is exhaustively made up of a set of neural (and perhaps intentional) events, though the same kind of pain (i.e. the same property) can be realized differently at other times and in other people. So, too, the admirability of an action or motive may be realized by different sets of descriptive facts, but on any given occasion, the moral features are fixed by the descriptive ones that compose them at that time. This is the relevant constitution relation; ethical non-naturalists can invoke this relation to give meaning to the idea that descriptive features fix the moral ones. The appeal of thinking of the moral as a supervenient domain can be revealed by rejecting the supervenience claim and seeing what follows. Suppose we have two people, Jane and Elaine, both of whose histories are descriptively identical. Jane's situation is as earlier described. Elaine, in identical circumstances, does as Jane did, motivated as she was. Yet Elaine's action is not generous, kind, or good, and, all things considered, is in fact immoral. Now, by hypothesis, the feature that is supposed to generate the different moral assessments registers no effect at all on the descriptive world. The descriptions we can provide of the respective behaviours, the effects of their actions, the content of the thoughts prompting their actions, etc. will be identical in both cases. Since the moral assessment of the two cases differs, there must be some feature to explain this difference. If the feature is not a non-moral one, then it must be a moral one. But where would this moral

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differential enter into the picture? Again by hypothesis, we cannot point to a difference couched in descriptive terms—Elaine did, and Jane didn't, break a promise, disappoint someone's expectations, injure another, testify falsely, etc. It must be something on the order of—Elaine did, and Jane didn't, wrongfully break a promise, etc. But then we are back where we started. Both Jane and Elaine said the same words, in the same descriptive contexts, against the same background of expectations, past actions, and contemporary conventions. The wrongfulness of (say) the promisebreaking, which is to explain the immorality of Elaine's conduct, itself requires explanation. Presumably it will involve Elaine's having violated the relevant moral standards that govern fidelity. But how could she do this, if Jane didn't, and if her actions are in all non-moral respects identical to Jane's? If the moral fails to supervene on the non-moral, then the non-moral world does not control the moral world. But if that world does not control the moral world, then the moral world is out of control. Moral assessments would be arbitrary, as our Jane and Elaine example showed. I think that reflection on these matters reveals what many philosophers have claimed: that the moral, as a matter of conceptual truth, supervenes on the descriptive. We cannot conceive of a plausible moral order that licenses different moral ascriptions for situations that are in all other respects identical. So far as I can tell, we have hopes of explaining how the moral so reliably depends on the descriptive only if we think either that moral and descriptive properties are identical, or that moral properties are constituted exclusively by instantiations of descriptive properties. To reject these options is to adopt a position closely analogous to that of the substance dualist in the philosophy of mind. Whether something is good, or whether a person believes or desires something, clearly does seem to depend a great deal on how the non-moral and non-mental world is arranged. Yet on both views, the goodness or the intentional attitude exemplified in particular cases is claimed to be something other than a matter of how the natural world is arranged. Malebranche's occasionalism was at least forthright. It expressed a clear-sighted realization that something very like the hand of God was needed to explain why the mental appeared to exhibit such dependence on the physical, while being neither identical to nor constituted by it. The present view, too, requires something on the order of divine intervention to explain the intimate connection between something's moral status and its natural features. If the moral is neither identical in kind to the natural, nor exhaustively constituted in particular cases by it, then there is no explanation (other than God's fiat) of why the moral should be as specially dependent on the natural as it is.


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V. Conclusion The central challenge for ethical non-naturalists is to explain why we should believe in the existence of a realm of moral facts that is something other than a subspecies of natural facts. I think that the best answer proceeds by stages. First, the arguments of Chapter 1 give us reason to think that morality is something other than an elaborate fiction, or a set of non-cognitive expressions that do not (and do not try to) refer to anything at all. So we have some reason to try to accommodate moral values in our ontology. Once we take that step, we have two alternatives: to identify moral properties and facts with descriptive ones, or to enter a sui generis line in our ontological budget. The main reason to resist the first, classical naturalist option stems from the history of failed efforts to identify moral properties with descriptive ones, and the fact that extant realist moral semantics provide only a slim basis for optimism about revealing such identities. This history, and this fact, give us good reason to suppose that moral properties are not identical to any other kind of property. We would have excellent reason to rethink that conclusion if the non-naturalist were forced to a view that was structurally similar to that of the substance dualist. But non-naturalists can instead invoke the constitution relation, familiar from other recognized disciplines, in order to avoid charges of metaphysical profligacy. Still, there is a battery of metaphysical arguments that seeks to put pressure on the non-naturalist, and to reveal the attractions of a reductionist ontology. I believe that these arguments, in the end, are resistible, and that non-naturalists have nothing to be ashamed of with their relatively expansive ontology. To see whether that is so, let us turn directly to the reductionist's arguments, which will occupy the whole of the chapter to come.

4 Supervenience and Causation I. Metaphysical Worries Generally speaking, what unites ethical naturalists and non-cognitivists is a naturalistic picture of the world. That picture limits the entities and relations in the world to those whose existence is ratified by the ideal version of physics and the special sciences. To be sure, there has been a vigorous debate about whether we have or can have a clear understanding of what is meant by the natural or the physical.35 Assume for now that the natural is like the pornographic—we know it when we see it, even if we cannot supply a perspicuous explication, much less a definition, of the concept. This much is a concession to opponents; if the notion of the natural is incoherent, or ineliminably underspecified, so much the better for non-naturalists. If a division between the natural and non-natural cannot be maintained, then much of the impetus for the metaphysical critiques of ethical non-naturalism lapses. But let us suppose, as seems intuitively right, that some such division can be vindicated. We might, for simplicity's sake, fix on paradigmatically descriptive phenomena, of the sort studied by physics, chemistry, engineering, astronomy, geology, etc., as a way of fixing the boundaries of a naturalistic world view. The question is whether moral facts will find a place therein. There are three central arguments for limiting our ontological commitments in the way suggested by a wholly naturalistic picture of the world. Each argument begins by noting the very substantial progress made by the natural sciences. These disciplines have become models of successful enquiry. We believe in their general accuracy because of their predictive and explanatory successes, and their practical fruitfulness. The starting point of these

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See the discussion in the previous chapter, and Crane and Mellor 1990 , and Crane 1991 , for doubts on that score.


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arguments, then, is a confidence that the world is largely as it is depicted by the natural sciences (subject to future corrections by these very same sciences). Before introducing these arguments, let us briefly consider a popular prećis of them that strikes me as a fairly typical case of philosophical overreaching. The argument runs as follows: a claim is true only if it is ultimately capable of vindication by the best physics; moral claims receive no such accreditation; therefore no moral claims are true. On such a view, physics threatens a kind of intellectual imperialism—either get subsumed within the empire or suffer the consequences. There doesn't seem any place for moral properties in physics—we don't hear of the goodness of an electron's orbit or the admirability of a wave function. Therefore we have good reason to think that no moral claims are true. Let us leave aside the question of whether the argument's second premiss is true; the question, that is, of whether moral notions will be omitted from the best physical explanations of the workings of the world. (It seems to me that they will be left out in this way. Though physics isn't at present complete, and may never be, its increasing sharpenings give no indication of requiring moral categories to fill in the theoretical blanks.) The problem for the argument is the first premiss. The view that underwrites the first premiss is physicalism, the claim that everything that exists is physical. Importantly, physicalism is not itself a theory that can be certified by physics. Physicalism is an ontological claim that limits the occupants of the universe to physical stuff and physical relations. But asserting such a limitation is a metaphysical undertaking. Physics may, in principle, offer complete explanations of physical phenomena, but physics isn't in a position to pronounce on the issue of whether physical phenomena are the only phenomena there are. In short, physics has no standing at all in assessing the merits of the first premiss. But then the premiss is self-refuting: it asserts that truth is contingent on ratification by physics, yet the premiss itself cannot be thus confirmed. One way to see this is to imagine a perfected, complete physics. Physicalism is not entailed by such a theory. Platonists about numbers, libertarians about free will, and non-naturalists in ethics would be issuing no contradictions in continuing to maintain their views compatibly with the ideal physical theories. This is not say that the causal closure of the physical domain does not create problems for such views. It does, in a particularly sharp way (as we will see below). But the game isn't over before it begins; establishing the boundaries of a complete ontology, and in so doing determining whether

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non-physical things can have a place therein, is outside the purview of physics. That the edicts of a discipline are not couched in physical terms or directly reducible to physical properties or relations is not, by itself, sufficient to disqualify the non-physical from ontological credibility. That said, we must acknowledge the real pressure brought to bear by the powerful record of success in physics and other natural sciences. This pressure can manifest itself in at least three distinct metaphysical worries that underwrite widespread doubts about moral realism's plausibility. It pays to clearly distinguish them, since one may have force even if the others can be answered. The first metaphysical concern is expressed by the Queerness Argument, so named because of the epithet that J. L. Mackie attached to the realist's view when he criticized it (1977: 38 ff.). Mackie argued that realists are committed to the existence of a sui generis entity: a fact or property that had the power, necessarily, to supply both a categorical reason for action for everyone, and the motivation to pursue such action to anyone who rightly appreciated it. This special blending of the factual and the normative was something unique and strange. Those who shared Mackie's strongly empiricist leanings couldn't see why we should allow such a thing into our ontology, especially when all the problems it was introduced to solve were (it was claimed) neatly handled with a less extravagant world view. The success of the Queerness Argument depends on the plausibility of the premisses Mackie relies on to press it. I subject these premisses to extended scrutiny in subsequent chapters, and so will postpone consideration of this first objection until then. To anticipate, my view (defended in Chapter 8) is that moral facts do have intrinsic reason-giving force, and that this special feature cannot be argued for by means of more general, even better-justified premisses. Nevertheless, I argue that this is not inexcusably mysterious. Further, I reject Mackie's assumption that moral truths or judgements must be necessarily motivating, and so reject the burden assigned to realism that it must account for any such motivational role. (These views are defended in Chapter 6.) The second metaphysical objection claims that moral realism encounters insuperable difficulties in explaining the supervenience relation that obtains between moral features and natural ones. Realists will agree that moral features are somehow fixed by natural ones, that things possess moral qualities in virtue of their natural ones. But, it is claimed, realists have no plausible story to tell about how this relation—the ‘in virtue of ’ relation—is to be cashed out. The explanatory failure is thought to take two forms. In the first


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version of the Supervenience Argument, realists cannot explain why, quite generally, the moral domain supervenes on the non-moral. Simon Blackburn (1971, 1986) has put this challenge most forcefully, and it is his account that we will focus on in what follows (section II, below). But even if realists can answer Blackburn's arguments, they are said to have difficulty explaining why particular (kinds of) moral facts36 supervene on the ones they do. This allegation serves as the basis of a second Supervenience Argument, discussed below in section III. The third argument suggests that the reasons that warrant confidence in a naturalistic picture are also reasons to reject the existence of moral properties and facts. That is because the test of ontological commitment that can be gleaned from the natural sciences is one of causal efficacy. We believe in the existence of the entities we do because they play a role in causing observable phenomena. Moral facts, it is claimed, cause nothing. Therefore we have good reason to think that such facts (and their correlative properties) do not exist. I shall call this the Causal Argument. Underlying the Causal Argument is the conviction that the facts or properties that a realist claims to exist are ontologically superfluous. When we try to discern what exists, an exhaustive inventory of states or events has no need of moral attributes. When we enumerate the events that comprise an intentional killing, for instance, indulgence in moral assessment conveys no new information. The police report might mention such things as the victim's position, the size of the weapon, the location of the event, the time of the occurrence, etc. We don't need to add the further claim that the act was wrong in order to provide a complete description of the event. We all recognize the sorts of things that are claimed to serve as the subvening level of moral ascriptions. We don't all accept that there is this additional set of supervening facts, and, further, it isn't clear what explanatory need is satisfied by invoking them. We can explain everything that goes on in the world without citing something's admirability or viciousness. Just as

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A reminder: moral facts, as I am understanding them, are instantiations of moral properties. These facts may exhibit different levels of generality, depending on whether we are speaking of the instantiation of a moral property by a thing at a given time, or whether we are speaking of classes of instantiators across a range of times (at the limit, in perpetuity). So all of the following are candidate moral facts: the wrongness of Steven Biko's torture and killing in Port Elizabeth prison, September 1977; the wrongness of such treatment for imprisoned South African resisters under the apartheid regime; the wrongness of such treatment for all prisoners at all times. The important contrast is between moral facts, as I am construing them, and moral principles, which can be true or false, but which, in virtue of their conditional form, do not instantiate the truth conditions of true moral assertions.

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(it is claimed) we have reason to doubt the existence of an immaterial soul, because all of the behaviour it was introduced to explain can be explained by reference to physiological workings, so too we can rid ourselves of moral talk and just stick to the natural facts that are alleged to be the constituents of the moral facts. Occam's razor tells us not to multiply entities beyond necessity. We haven't any ontological need for moral entities. They may serve a psychological need, but that can't support a metaphysics; we don't, after all, rightly infer a god's existence from our felt need to believe in one. Though both the Supervenience and the Causal arguments need considerable fleshing out, we are now in a position to see why many moral cognitivists have opted for classical naturalism, even in the absence of plausible candidate reductions or mechanisms for rendering such reductions. If moral properties are identical to natural ones, then moral facts are identical to natural facts, and so inherit their causal efficacy, thus immunizing them from the Causal Argument. And if moral properties are identical to natural ones, then the relation of the moral and natural worlds is straightforward—there aren't two such worlds requiring a linkage, but just one that may be described using different vocabulary. So supervenience concerns are easily abated. The objections from queerness, supervenience, and causation are quite serious ones. They underlie a good deal of scepticism about moral realism, both from excellent philosophers and from ordinary folks whose articulation of their doubts reveals an attachment to these objections. Postponing consideration of the Queerness Argument until later chapters, we can focus first on worries that centre on supervenience. As I have indicated, there are really two distinct arguments at work in this area. Let us take them in turn.

II. The First Supervenience Argument If the arguments at the end of the previous chapter were on target, then ethical non-naturalism, with its claim that every moral fact is constituted exclusively by a set of descriptive facts, can plausibly explain just how it is that the moral so obviously depends on, and covaries with, the descriptive. We can see how this will work in detail by responding to two lines of objections. The first of these has been most sharply developed by Simon Blackburn (1971, 1984: 182–7, 1986). Blackburn claims that the realist cannot explain why the moral supervenes on the non-moral, since realists are also, he thinks,


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committed to the lack of entailment thesis. This holds that no set of non-moral truths entails any particular moral evaluation. This lack of entailment makes supervenience mysterious. For if no non-moral description entails any moral evaluation, then it should be possible for the very same kind of non-moral state of affairs to sometimes be good and at other times bad. But supervenience tells us that any such ‘mixed world’ is impossible: that if some set of base properties [B*] once subserves some property [S], then B* must (in that world) always do so. Endorsing the lack of entailment thesis makes it very difficult to explain why this should be so. I think that the natural move to make here is also the best move. We should abandon the lack of entailment thesis. Indeed, it isn't clear why Blackburn assumes that realists are intent on rejecting the relevant kind of entailment. Surely ethical naturalists who are realists will insist that there is (at the least) a metaphysical entailment linking naturalistic descriptions with certain moral claims. And even non-naturalists can come on board. Thus G. E. Moore: I should never have thought of suggesting that goodness was ‘non-natural,’ unless I had supposed that it was ‘derivative’ in the sense that, whenever a thing is good (in the sense in question) its goodness (in Mr. Broad's words) ‘depends on the presence of certain non-ethical characteristics’ possessed by the thing in question: I have always supposed that it did so ‘depend,’ in the sense that, if a thing is good (in my sense), then that it is so follows from the fact that it possesses certain natural properties, which are such that from the fact that it is good it does not follow conversely that it has those properties. (Moore 1942: 588; emphases in original) Moore is here insisting on an asymmetrical relation of dependence. A true moral predication does not entail any particular descriptive one; that is one implication of rejecting an identity thesis linking moral and natural properties. But ‘non-ethical characteristics’ do fix a thing's moral features. Though Moore doesn't make explicit mention here of entailment, his talk of ‘following’ can be understood to refer to this relation. So whether realists prefer naturalism or non-naturalism, the problem Blackburn sets for them can be avoided, so long as they reject the lack of entailment thesis. We explain the ban on mixed worlds by claiming that a duly specified set of non-moral properties metaphysically must give rise to a certain moral property. The dependence relation referred to by Moore can take the form of an entailment relation specifying metaphysically sufficient non-ethical conditions for the instantiation of moral properties. The reason any given B* cannot give rise both to M and to not-M is that the presence of B* necessitates the presence of M. For instance, it might be necessarily true that the

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intentional torture of another for pleasure is wrong. Anyone behaving in that way would be evil, in every possible world. Blackburn himself notes the possibility of such a response but remains undeterred. He simply moves the problem to a different modality—logical or conceptual (as opposed to metaphysical) necessity. That moral features supervene on descriptive ones is thought a conceptual truth, but no propositions specifying entailment relations between moral and descriptive properties are true in virtue of the meanings of the incorporated terms. So the problem of explaining a mixed possible world re-emerges: why should it be a conceptual truth that a moral property once resulting from a descriptive one must (in that world) always do so, when it is conceptually possible for any configuration of descriptive properties not to underlie the moral property it actually does? Assume for now that it is a conceptual truth that moral facts/properties/relations are supervenient ones. The problem, then, should be that competent speakers of a language can conceive of a world in which the base properties that actually underlie particular moral ones fail to do so. But there is no mystery here, since people can conceive of many things that are not metaphysically possible. If certain base properties metaphysically necessitate the presence of specified moral properties, then the conceptual possibility that they fail to do so reveals only a limitation on our appreciation of the relevant metaphysical relations. There is no deep explanatory puzzle resisting resolution here. The realist has a further response that addresses the alleged problem of the ban on mixed worlds at the conceptual level. This response directly invokes the constitution story that got told at the end of the previous chapter. According to that account, moral properties will be realized exclusively by instantiations of descriptive properties, though moral and descriptive properties are non-identical. Non-naturalists (and non-reductive ethical naturalists) will cite this relation as the basis for explaining the supervenience of the moral on the descriptive. Covariance is explained by means of constitution: something possesses the moral status it does in virtue of its descriptive constituents. These latter exhaustively constitute the former. That is why any two situations that are descriptively identical will be morally identical as well, and why any change of moral status must be explicable by reference to a change in descriptive features. With this background picture in mind, we can reply to Blackburn's worry in one of two ways, depending on how the relevant supervenience claim is interpreted. Specifically, the claim either does or does not incorporate


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reference to the realistic nature of the supervenience relation. It may be read either as (S1): if a concatenation of descriptive properties once underlies a moral one, then it must (in that world) always do so, or as (S2): if a concatenation of descriptive properties once underlies a moral one, then it must (in that world) always do so, and do so realistically, i.e. independently of any beliefs about these relations. S2 is not a conceptual truth, so if it is the intended reading, Blackburn's move to logical or conceptual necessity fails to undermine realism. S2 isn't a conceptual truth, because such people as Blackburn and other antirealists perfectly well understand the concept of supervenience and yet deny that the supervenience of the moral is best construed realistically. Antirealists, if I am right, are mistaken about the nature of ethics, but the mistakes they make rarely, if ever, amount to linguistic errors. If S2 isn't a conceptual truth, then even though the relevant lack of entailment theses will be conceptual truths, no damaging supervenience/lack of entailment claims will appear at the same modality. The realist's response at the level of metaphysical necessity can suffice as a response to the problem of mixed possible worlds. Problems remain even if S1 is the proper reading. S1 either is or isn't a conceptual truth. If it isn't, then, again, there is no damaging supervenience/lack of entailment combination at the level of conceptual necessity. So suppose that S1 is a conceptual truth. Still, this creates problems for other domains we intuitively believe realistic; we must consider other supervenience relata (e.g. mental and physical states, chemical and atomic facts) in light of S1. We should read supervenience claims in such domains as follows: whatever configuration of base properties subserves a mental or chemical one, when once it does so, it must (in that world) always do so. This is a conceptual truth if S1 is. Yet for each domain, it is very implausible (just as in the moral case) to claim that there are conceptual truths that express entailment relations linking the particular base and supervenient properties. So there is a problem about explaining the ban on mixed worlds in all these areas. If this difficulty is sufficient to create a case against a realistic interpretation of the relevant domain, then we should be antirealists about chemical facts, mental states, colours, etc.; all should be expunged from our ontology, and explained as a matter of projection. In effect, we can explain the supervenience of a property S on a property B* if we can correctly claim that B* underlies or fixes S, because it constitutes S, in the

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ways described in the previous chapter. And since that constitution account is the very same kind of account as that relied upon by those who defend structurally similar, non-reductionist views about the mind, or mid-sized physical objects, I think that we have good reason to suppose that there is a parity between the moral case and that of other, recognizedly realistic domains. If constitution relations are to explain a supervenience relation, then the general supervenience claim will say that, necessarily, if any grouping of base properties B* underlies (because it constitutes) property S, then (in that world) anything else that is also B* must be S. This claim is a conceptual truth, no matter what sorts of properties are substituted for the variables B* and S. What we have here is a notational variant on Leibniz's law of the identity of indiscernibles. If things are indiscernible at the ‘base’ level, then (problems of intensional contexts aside) they will share their properties in toto. It isn't clear that there is any more fundamental metaphysical or conceptual premiss from which to derive such a view. If a set of properties once fixes the instantiation of another, it will (in that world, and absent the presence of new, potentially disruptive properties) always do so. This is as (in)explicable as Leibniz's law. Even though it is not a conceptual truth that the mental is instantiated by the physical, it is a conceptual truth that if a set of physical properties once underlies a mental one, it must (in that world) always do so. The same goes for chemical and colour facts. So the relevant supervenience claim in each of these domains is a conceptual truth—if a natural/ physical/atomic/primary quality grouping once fixes (because it constitutes) a moral/mental/chemical/colour fact, then it must (in that world) always do so. Since it is also a conceptual truth that, for each of these domains, those groupings that actually do underlie the supervenient phenomena might not have done so, we have, for each domain, a supervenience/lack of entailment combination at the conceptual level. Thus a choice: either abandon the claim that such combinations generate explanatory failures, or embrace antirealism about all such domains. Blackburn himself is unwilling to take the latter option; he had hoped to display a problem peculiar to ethics. I don't see that he has done this. So unless one is prepared to accept a global antirealism, Blackburn's argument from supervenience against moral realism is unpersuasive. Finally, we might try a bit of table-turning and see whether Blackburn himself, or expressivists generally, have any plausible explanation of supervenience to offer. It doesn't seem so. The supervenience objection to realism begins with the claim that it is a conceptual truth that the moral supervenes on


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the descriptive. But such supervenience, for the expressivist, is nothing to do with properties, and everything to do with attitudes. What supervenience amounts to, on non-cognitivist grounds, is a constraint on attitudes and actions: when faced with descriptively identical situations, one must express identical attitudes or prescribe identical actions. But whence this imperative? And what is the sense, and force, of this ‘must’? There are two possible answers. First, we must exemplify this type of consistency because doing so makes one's life go better. This is Blackburn's (1986) view. But surely the benefits of such consistency are too contingent to justify a proposition thought to be conceptually necessary. Alternatively, one might claim that, by definition, moral behaviour requires attitudinal consistency: one must, if one's actions are to count as moral, behave with this sort of consistency. An agent who responds differently to descriptively similar circumstances is, by definition, behaving immorally. One can say this. It may well be true. But this is stipulation, not explanation. Ultimately, the explanatory demand requires that non-cognitivists give an account of why morality requires such attitudinal consistency. The first path offers such an explanation, but at the price of implausibility. The second path offers no explanation at all. To the extent that the supervenience of the moral upon the descriptive requires explanation, non-cognitivists have no plausible way to satisfy this requirement.37

III. The Second Supervenience Argument There is a second argument from supervenience that threatens the credibility of ethical non-naturalism. Since nonnaturalists deny that moral properties are identical to natural properties, it is usually thought that they must also deny the existence of reductive necessary and sufficient conditions for moral properties.38 But in the absence of such conditions, how can we explain the supervenience of specific moral properties on the particular base properties

37

See Zangwill 1997 : 510–11 for a similar argument.

38

Such conditions are reductive if they are describable entirely in a vocabulary that is different in kind, and in some way more respectable, than the one used to describe the property being reduced. That these conditions be reductive is crucial, since moral terms and properties may be defined by or identical to other evaluative terms and properties. Wrongness, for instance, might be defined as action that merits guilt, but the notions of merit and guilt either lack complete necessary and sufficient conditions, or have essential conditions that are evaluative themselves. And so, presumably, whatever metaphysical or epistemological puzzles arise about moral properties will arise as well for these evaluative ones.

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that underwrite them?39 Non-naturalists, it is assumed, are wedded to the following model of moral properties: a moral property M is multiply realized by (sets of) base propertiesN1,N2,N3,...Nn. The basic problem is again explanatory: what explains the content of the list of base properties? The puzzle is sharpest if we suppose that the list is infinitely long, but it is plain even in cases where we imagine a short, finite list of base properties. Suppose, for instance, that wrongness occurs in just four ways. So there are four sets of descriptive base properties that give rise to wrongness. The question is: why just these four? What explains why all four, and no others, make the cut? Here what is required is not just a defence of why the moral supervenes on the descriptive, but why moral properties supervene on the particular ones they do. Classical naturalists have a ready answer to this question. They deny the existence of supervenience, strictly speaking. Supervenience is introduced to relate distinct properties, but these naturalists insist that for any moral property there is just a single descriptive property that ‘realizes’ it, this property being identical (despite the different designations or concepts used to refer to it) to the moral one. Classical naturalists can easily account for some appearances of multiple realizability: the different naturalistic ways of realizing a moral property must each, in turn, be instances of the naturalistic property that is claimed to be identical to the moral one in question. So, for instance, a naturalist might argue that some version of act utilitarianism is correct, while admitting that there are different naturalistic configurations that can give rise to moral rightness. This doesn't mean that moral rightness is multiply realizable, that we must introduce a supervenience relation linking rightness with a plurality of naturalistic properties. Rather, though rightness can be realized by a variety of configurations of naturalistic properties, each such configuration will, if it is really an instance of rightness, itself instantiate a single natural property (say, maximizing happiness). For classical naturalists, what is crucial is the existence of this single naturalistic property whose instantiation completely controls, unifies, and explains the instantiations of its associated moral property, just because it is identical with it. The first thing to note is that non-naturalists can accept the existence of reductive necessary and sufficient conditions for moral properties. Such conditions specify a criterion of necessary coextension: necessarily, if property M is instantiated, so too is property N, and, necessarily, if N is instantiated, so too

39

This is a general problem for non-reductive views. In non-moral contexts, this problem is raised by Searle (1984 : ch. 5), and Papineau (1993 : ch. 2); in moral contexts by Wedgwood (1999 ).


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is M. Non-naturalists can accept the necessary coextensiveness of moral and descriptive properties, on the assumption that properties can be necessarily coextensive without being identical. I think that this assumption is true. One way to support the assumption is by reductio. The necessary coextension test of property identity says that necessarily, if properties A and B are necessarily coextensive, then A and B are identical. Suppose this test is true. Then the relational properties of being necessarily coextensive with and being identical to satisfy the antecedent; identical properties are necessarily coextensive, and necessarily coextensive properties are identical. But if these two properties satisfy the antecedent of the test, and the test is true, then the consequent must hold of them as well. Therefore the property of being necessarily coextensive with A must be identical to the property of being identical to A. But this seems false. It seems that we are referring to different features when we assert the existence of an identity relation, as opposed to one of necessary coextension. So long as necessary coextension and identity really are distinct properties, this test of property identity is mistaken. Here is another argument against the coextension test. If the test is correct, then triangularity and trilaterality (for closed figures) are really the very same property. (Jackson 1998: 126–7 uses a similar example to argue for the necessary coextension test.) Given that these features are necessarily coextensive, the test yields the diagnosis that we have two concepts that refer to just a single property. But if being triangular and trilateral were identical properties, then presumably being biangular and bilateral would be identical, and so too would being angular and lateral. It is true that wherever there are sides, there are angles, and wherever there are angles, there are sides. Yet having angles and having sides certainly seem like different properties. If they were identical, then no differences could distinguish them from one another. But angularity is a function of the distance between two intersecting lines. Laterality isn't that. Thus a difference. Thus discreteness. And discreteness despite necessary coextension. Thus the necessary coextension test is mistaken. If the coextension test is mistaken, then non-naturalists can accept the existence of descriptive properties that are necessarily coextensive with moral properties. For that would not violate their central metaphysical tenet—a rejection of moral–descriptive property identities. If non-naturalists were to accept necessary coextensions, while rejecting identity, that would place them on equal footing with naturalists who seek to explain the instantiations of a moral property by isolating a single descriptive property that is necessarily coextensive with it. If moral and descriptive properties are necessarily coextensive, then there are metaphysically necessary and sufficient

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conditions allied with moral properties that can determine the conditions under which moral properties are instantiated. So the second supervenience argument would raise no special problems for non-naturalism. But that can't be the end of the story. It is a story some non-naturalists may want to tell, but all non-naturalists that I know of in fact deny the claim that, for any moral property, there is a single descriptive property that is necessarily coextensive with it. My hunch is that the best explanation for this lies in the perceived attractions of ethical pluralism. It has seemed like ethical common sense to many people that moral properties are multiply realizable. Classical naturalists cannot allow for this. For they are committed to the identity of moral and descriptive properties, and so there will be a one–one relation between such properties. These naturalists must be ethical monists, i.e. must endorse normative ethical theories that determine the instantiation of a moral property by reference to just a single descriptive property: in particular, the descriptive property that is claimed to be identical to the moral property in question. It seems to me that the normative flexibility afforded by non-naturalism represents an important advantage of the theory. If my rejection of the coextension test is on the mark, then non-naturalists can, as I have argued, embrace a monism that makes a moral property necessarily coextensive with (but not identical to) some single descriptive property. Non-naturalists can also allow for a plurality of descriptive properties that realize a given moral one. Traditional naturalism doesn't fare well in the comparison. For it must show not only that moral and descriptive properties are necessarily coextensive—a very tall order in itself, requiring wide-ranging normative ethical investigation. It must also show that these necessarily coextensive properties are coextensive because they are identical (and not the other way around—that would be to rely on the necessary coextension test of property identity). Even if every possible instance of moral rightness were an instance of maximizing happiness, for instance, it might be that the two concepts refer to two properties, rather than to one. We would need some further argument for establishing the identity claim. Non-naturalists, by contrast, can be perfectly ecumenical about the deliverances of normative ethical theory. Theirs is a view compatible both with monism and pluralism. Even if they embrace monism, they aren't encumbered with the further argumentative demand to establish an identity between the coextensive properties. This gives us reason, other things equal, for preferring non-naturalism to reductive ethical views. But things are rarely equal, and reductivists can take this chance to reassert the second supervenience argument. This will apply to all non-naturalists


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who reject the necessary coextensiveness of moral and descriptive properties (thus, to all extant non-naturalists). In effect, the supervenience worry is a worry about the pluralistic element of these non-naturalisms. It demands some sort of explanation of the basis for nominating just a handful of descriptive properties as the constituents of a given moral property. Take a non-naturalist's favourite array of descriptive properties: why are these, and no others, invariably linked to the instantiation of a given moral property? This is such a hard question that it pays to see why naturalists themselves are not immune from difficulties in answering it. Recently, Frank Jackson, an avowed naturalist, has adhered to the letter of the law while trying to accommodate the pluralism that non-naturalists have always found so attractive. Here is an epitome, in Jackson's own words, of his central argument (perhaps inspired by Kim's very similar argument of 1990: 18 ff.) for the identity of moral and natural properties: Let E be a sentence about ethical nature . . . each world at which E is true will have some descriptive nature: ethical nature without descriptive nature is impossible . . . . And, for each such world, there will be a sentence containing only descriptive terms that gives that nature in full. Now let w1, w2, etc. be the worlds where E is true, and let D1, D2, etc., be purely descriptive sentences true at w1, w2, etc . . . . Then the disjunction of D1, D2, etc. will also be a purely descriptive sentence, call it D. But then E entails and is entailed by D . . . . The same line of argument can be applied mutatis mutandis to ethical and descriptive predicates and open sentences: for any ethical predicate there is a purely descriptive one that is necessarily coextensive with it. It follows that ethical properties are descriptive properties. For it is a consequence of the way the ethical supervenes on the descriptive that any claim about how things are made in ethical vocabulary makes no distinctions among the possibilities that cannot in principle be made in purely descriptive vocabulary. (Jackson 1998: 122–3) Look at the second paragraph. The natural reading is that the second sentence explains and justifies the first; ethical properties are descriptive properties because descriptive vocabulary makes every distinction that ethical vocabulary could make. This move presupposes the coextension test of property identity, and so is vulnerable on that account. But leave that aside. The relevant point here is that Jackson's exposition encourages a reading that allows for a plurality of descriptive base properties that realize any given moral one. This isn't non-naturalism, however, because if Jackson is right, the base properties can be gathered together in a finite disjunctive property that will be necessarily coextensive with (and so, for Jackson, identical to) a given moral property. The disjunctive property, consisting exclusively of

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logical connectors and descriptive disjuncts, will itself be a descriptive property. So Jackson gets himself the best of both worlds. He allows for the plausible claim that any given moral property is realized by many descriptive properties, but he retains classical naturalism by cobbling the descriptive properties together under a single disjunctive umbrella property. Though Jacksonian naturalism asserts, and ethical non-naturalism denies, the existence of property identities linking moral and descriptive properties, the difference doesn't amount to much in this context.40 That is because both theories allow for a plurality of descriptive properties that can realize any given moral one. The difference lies solely in Jackson's willingness to countenance highly disjunctive properties in his metaphysics. As a normative theoretical matter, both Jackson and his non-naturalist counterparts might agree in every case on the list of descriptive properties that underlay the moral one. The only difference would be in Jackson's insistence that these descriptive properties formed a single, discrete property that consisted in their disjunction, and that such a property was the very same property as the moral one in question. That is an important difference, worthy of discussion.41 Rather than supply it, we may move directly to the central point: Jacksonian naturalism fares no better than non-naturalism when it comes to responding to the second supervenience argument. Recall the relevant worry: if we allow a plurality of descriptive properties to underlie a moral one, then there will be no unifying explanation of why just these, and no others, are ‘grounding’ the moral property in question. We make no progress in this enquiry by announcing that the various underlying descriptive properties can be agglomerated into a single, disjunctive property. For we can rephrase the supervenience worry by asking, of any complex disjunctive property said to be identical to a moral one: Why these disjuncts and no others? There is no substantive difference between this question and that posed to non-naturalists by adherents of the second supervenience argument. Crafting a complex disjunctive property does not immunize naturalists from the supervenience worry. They are as vulnerable as non-naturalists on this matter.

40

In other contexts the difference may be quite important. For instance, Jackson believes that two terms designating identical properties must themselves be synonymous. So if moral and descriptive properties are identical, then moral terms can be descriptively analysed, and are synonymous with some descriptive counterpart. That is surely something that non-naturalists will want to reject.

41

For what strikes me as well-taken scepticism about the prospects of such disjunctive properties, see Armstrong 1978 : ii. 19–23 and Kim 1998 : 107 ff. For a recent piece that contains a good summary of some of the major arguments, and a defence of disjunctive properties, see Clapp 2001 .


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And just how vulnerable is that? Not very, I would suggest. Suppose, to avoid the supervenience worry, naturalists insist that, for any given moral property, there is a non-disjunctive descriptive property that is identical to it. An explanatory puzzle still arises: why this descriptive property and no other? After all, naturalistic identifications are anything but self-evident. Perhaps the most persistent criticism of naturalism has been its inability to persuasively defend identity claims linking particular moral and descriptive properties. So it isn't as if naturalists are in the clear here, as if theirs was the default position. They still have some explaining to do. They are not without resources. Naturalists can take up two (potentially complementary) routes to defending their favoured identity claims. First, they might cite a particular descriptive property as best explaining and unifying our considered normative judgements that focus on the extension of the moral property under scrutiny. This is an appeal to the outcome of processes designed to secure reflective equilibrium. Second, naturalists might defend a particular model of moral theorizing (e.g. Pettit and Jackson's moral functionalism, or Harsanyi's utilitarianism, or Harman's relativism), and claim that the correct application of such a theory yields the surprising conclusion that, for every moral property, there is a non-gerrymandered descriptive property that is identical to it. One might say, with some merit, that the continuing force of open-question concerns shows that the naturalist programme still fails to accord with most of our considered judgements about what is right and wrong, and so fails to pass the first, reflective equilibrium test. No candidate identities relating apparently distinct moral and descriptive properties have earned broad support. One might also say that our existing normative convictions, which imply a rejection of moral–descriptive property identities, are reliable enough to undermine the plausibility of any moral theory that requires their abandonment. I don't want to positively affirm either reply, whose vindication (or refutation) would easily require another book-length undertaking. The important point here is that both replies are available to nonnaturalists in defending the particular supervenience relations they favour. Non-naturalists, in defending specific supervenience relations, can avail themselves of precisely the same kinds of arguments that naturalists deploy in defending the identity claims they endorse. The explanatory demand at the heart of the second supervenience worry can be met only by undertaking substantive ethical investigation. Defending the content of the descriptive properties—whether one or many—that underlie any given moral property is something that can be done only by involving

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oneself in the various debates within normative ethics about the correct standards governing our ascriptions of rightness, goodness, virtue, etc. Importantly, the explanatory resources made available through normative ethical theorizing are as accessible to the non-naturalist as to the naturalist. And that is enough, it seems to me, to answer the second supervenience charge. In answer to its demand: why just these base properties, and no others?, the nonnaturalist (like the naturalist) must ultimately refer to results in normative ethical theory for support. If non-naturalists do their job correctly, they will vindicate the contours of the relevant descriptive properties in the only way possible—by showing how our other particular and theoretical commitments mutually support the selection of just these base properties.42 I think that there are two residual worries that need to be addressed. The first comes from recognizing that there are two ways to read the second supervenience challenge. It might be asking non-naturalists to explain what makes it true that certain descriptive properties underlie the moral ones. Or it might be asking non-naturalists to justify their claims to have fixed on the correct descriptive properties that underlie the moral ones. The response I have given on behalf of non-naturalism reads the supervenience challenge as the second of the queries just mentioned. But what of the first? As I see it, the realist, whether naturalist or non-naturalist, has no answer to the first question. Realists have no explanation of what makes their favoured property identities or supervenience relations true. These identities or relations are expressible in moral laws or principles. What the first query demands is an account of what it is in virtue of which these fundamental moral rules are true. Realists will claim that there is no intelligible and

42

It might be thought that this appeal to mutual support and a reliance on reflective equilibrium is incompatible with the ethical non-naturalism on the table. The thought is that non-naturalism defends the a priori knowledge of some fundamental moral truths, which is incompatible with the coherence theory at the heart of reliance on reflective equilibrium. Yet coherence theories might allow for a priori moral knowledge, in which case there would be no incompatibility. And even if they don't, there is a consistent picture in the offing. To see that, we need to distinguish between the method best suited to a vindication of a moral principle, and that method or theory that supplies the correct conditions for epistemic justification or warrant. In Part V, I introduce the notion of demonstrative justification , to refer to an ability to vindicate one's beliefs, to show that they are correct, and distinguish this from epistemic justification, which refers to the conditions under which one's beliefs enjoy positive epistemic status. Appeals to reflective equilibrium are most effective when understood as the basis of demonstrative justification, which is the focus of the discussion here. In defending one's preferred moral principles, appeals to self-evidence, or to reliable belief-forming mechanisms, both of which do good work when it comes to epistemic justification (or so I argue in Chapters 11 and 12), are of little use. So demonstrating the moral significance of a given descriptive property may require appeals to reflective equilibrium, even if beliefs of this sort do not depend for their positive epistemic status on finding a location within such equilibrium.


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plausible answer to such a question. Indeed, to insist that the fundamental laws or principles of ethics require something to make them true just presupposes the falsity of moral realism. To see this, we need only imagine the same query being addressed to realists about a discipline such as physics. Suppose that we manage to codify the fundamental laws of physics, and then ask: what makes them true? Not: why are you justified in believing that they are true? Not: what internal relations of explanation and consistency would lead rational observers to the conclusion that just these are the basic laws of physics? Realists about physics will scratch their heads; what makes physical laws true is ‘the nature of the physical world’. Not very helpful. The problem is that an answer to this first query cannot be illuminating, on the assumption that the basic rules of a domain are best construed realistically. The very intelligibility of the question presupposes an antirealist understanding of the domain. As noted in Chapter 2, the motivation for this first query probably relies on the thought that laws require lawmakers. Realists about physics (or anything else) can rightly turn such a demand away. If one wants to know why some particular law merits incorporation, this is a justificatory question, and is answered by reference to ‘firstorder’ physics. The situation is the same in ethics. If the worry is that one's favoured moral rule, one linking moral and descriptive properties, really is no rule at all, then the best defence is to do first-order ethics and to try to show the attractions of the rule vis-a`-vis other warranted ethical commitments. But if the worry instead is that one can have no justified confidence in the content of one's favoured rules until one has an account of what it is that makes such rules true, then one just begs the question against a realistic interpretation of the rules, be they physical or moral ones. This doesn't, of course, show that realism about such domains is true. It does show that the explanatory demand expressed in the first query is legitimate only if realism about a domain is false. That is not something we can assume from the outset. The second residual worry is a problem expressly for non-reductive realists, be they naturalists or non-naturalists. There is a standing presumption against any view that is irreducibly pluralistic. In every area of enquiry, philosophical or not, there is a powerful theoretical drive for simplicity. Faced with disparate phenomena, we seek to identify the smallest possible set of ultimate causes or explanations of the matters in question. This is a respectable undertaking, and it accounts for a good deal of classical naturalism's attraction. For classical naturalists can explain the moral verdicts to be rendered in very diverse contexts by reference to just a single property, which will generate a

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theoretical economy that non-naturalists (who embrace pluralism) cannot attain. If, after extensive investigation, nonnaturalists fix on a plurality of descriptive base properties that constitute moral rightness, and then allow that these cannot be reduced to one another or to some other, single descriptive property, then they are left with a theory that lacks the unifying power, the simplicity and elegance, of (non-disjunctive) naturalistic alternatives. It is important to recall that non-naturalists can be monists. If irreducible pluralism is too much for one to stomach, monism (via necessary coextensions, as opposed to identities) remains an option. But I don't see why we should rule out pluralism from the start. It is true that pluralists will be unable to cite some yet more general principle that justifies their ultimate supervenience principles—the principles that specify, in the most general possible terms, the various descriptive properties that underlie any given moral property. But then monists will be unable to cite any more general principle from which to derive their favoured identity claim. Both camps have to allow for ‘brute’ relations at the bottom-most level of ethics. By definition, there cannot be any deeper, more basic, general, or fundamental justification of the moral–descriptive relation that is claimed to be ultimate. The classic justificatory strategy of citing a more general principle in defence of a principle under challenge has its limits. At these limits—one's ultimate supervenience or identity principle(s)—there is either nothing more that can be said, or all that can be said must invoke coherence considerations, displaying the mutual support that one's ultimate principle(s) receives from lower-level moral beliefs and non-moral beliefs of various kinds. Here, the only relevant difference between classical naturalists and non-naturalists is in the number of ultimate principles they are willing to countenance. That non-naturalists (who also reject necessary coextension) allow for a greater number of such principles can't by itself be a decisive criticism. Whether the pluralism at the heart of extant non-naturalism is metaphysical profligacy, or rather a sensible recognition of complexity, is something to be settled only after a very great deal of normative ethical investigation. At this stage of the game, then, we have good reason to think that non-naturalists can satisfactorily answer the supervenience arguments.

IV. The Causal Argument Many people nowadays no longer believe in God, or the immortal soul, or the efficacy of a witch's curse. Though some of the causes of doubt differ from


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case to case, there is at least one common explanation at work: none of these things is required to explain the goingson of our world. The seasonal cycles, the onset of illness, the occurrence of drought were once explained as the workings of supernatural agents. They are now seen as manifestations of natural laws. The promptings of the soul are no longer ascribed to a separate substance, but are seen as complex alterations of matter. The power of a witch's curse extends only so far as its victim's suggestibility. Explanations that used to invoke non-natural forces are increasingly set aside in favour of those couched exclusively in terms amenable to scientific confirmation. We can cull a test of ontological credibility from this history. The test says that something earns ontological credibility only if it is required to explain what occurs in the world. The test represents an explanatory requirement that has come to be thought of as a specifically causal requirement. Though very little has been said about precisely why this should be so, my surmise is as follows. Causal matters are usually understood realistically; whether something causes something else is widely thought to be an objective matter, fixed in a stance-independent way. If moral facts are causally efficacious, then we have excellent reason to construe them realistically. Thus a causal test is a perfect way to settle the metaphysical status of those things that pass and fail it.43 Explanatory matters are fundamentally different. What counts as a good explanation will, in very many contexts, depend crucially on our interests and epistemic limitations. So being helpfully explanatory is not, by itself, a sufficient indication of the metaphysical status of the explanans. When it comes to determining the metaphysical constituents of the world, realists about such constituents do not want to make a determination primarily based on our interests or epistemic limitations. On the contrary: whether something really exists is not ultimately a matter of whether we find its postulation useful or illuminating. Passing some explanatory test is not enough to mark off the boundaries of the real. We need to align explanatory power with something like causation to allow it to do such work. Thus the emphasis, in recent literature, on the question of whether moral facts are causally efficacious (Audi 1997: 115–21; Brink 1989: 182–97; Blackburn 1991; Dworkin 1996; Gibbard 1990: ch. 6; Griffin 1996: 61–4; Harman 1977, 1986; McGinn 1997: chs. 2 and 3; Quinn 1986; Sturgeon 1984, 1986,

43

Of course such a test will fail of its purpose if one assumes that causal relations are not best construed realistically. Yet all who deploy a causal test, either for the purpose of abolishing moral facts, demoting them to constructed entities, or vindicating their realistic status, rely on the view that whatever passes a causal test is best thought of as realists would do. I will therefore avail myself of that assumption in what follows.

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1991, 1995; Thomson, in Harman and Thomson 1996: 74–94; Wright 1992: ch. 5). At least initially, this question seems to have an obvious, positive answer. Moral facts are routinely invoked in causal explanations of events in the world. An officer's moral corruption explains his having taken bribes; the goodness of the benefactor caused her to donate as she did; the stranger's moral probity caused him to return the found money to its rightful owner. The ease with which we can produce such examples should show us that they are not enough to settle the matter in the realist's favour. Two things point up the difficulty for the realist. First, passing the counterfactual test of causation relied upon by some realists (Sturgeon 1984; Brink 1989) is insufficient to certify the realistic nature of the facts in question.44 The test claims that C is a cause of O if O would not have occurred as it did had C not occurred as it did. Yet non-realistic facts pass this test. For instance, if it weren't against the law to steal, then the burglar wouldn't have been prosecuted and jailed. The legal standards that make this claim true are not realistic—they are not true independently of the attitudes anyone takes towards the propositions they express. On the contrary, legal standards, like those of etiquette, games, and voluntary associations, are best understood as constructed from people's attitudes and practices. Yet standards in all of these domains will easily find a place in counterfactuals of the above sort. So passing the counterfactual test is insufficient to merit a realistic interpretation. Second, the crux of the matter is not whether citation of a kind of fact can figure in causal explanations, but rather whether such mention is required in such explanations. Harman (1977: chs. 1 and 2), who is originally responsible for pressing this objection, acknowledged that we could cite the wrongness of the deed to explain (in his example) the shocked reaction to a scene in which children are setting a cat on fire. His objection is that we need not do so. Only the beliefs, desires, and aversions of the onlookers are required to fully account for their indignant responses. We can't explain the outraged response without citing such attitudes—the alleged wrongness couldn't, all by itself, get the onlookers to respond as they did in the absence of any prior attitudes. By contrast, these attitudes can stand by themselves as a complete explanation of the moral judgement rendered in this scene (or any other). Harman isn't

44

It is also insufficient, strictly, to certify genuine causal relevance. The test fails to handle cases of causal pre-emption, causal overdetermination, and those in which a cause is nomologically tied to some other, epiphenomenal feature. That feature will ordinarily pass the counterfactual test, just in virtue of its lawlike correlation with the genuine cause, and yet will itself be causally inert. Sturgeon and Brink both realize these limitations, and proceed by offering examples that do not involve these types of aberrant cases.


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denying that what the children are doing is wrong. But the wrongness of their action is dispensable when it comes to explaining the cause(s) of the indignant response to what they are doing. Therefore we do best to understand wrongness, and other moral properties, as a by-product of our attitudes and agreements, rather than as a stanceindependent constraint that could measure their propriety. This view of things expresses the substance of a classic case against ethical objectivism. Non-cognitivists and relativists need only postulate familiar things to account for our practices of moral evaluation—such things as desires, wishes, ancillary beliefs, etc. We needn't suppose that states or events are really evil, or fine, or vicious. Everyone agrees that the world contains the sorts of things ratified by science. Realists add objective reasons or values to the list. Adding to the list is presumptively unjustified; Occam's razor places the burden squarely on those who would expand the ontology. As some have noted (Wright 1992: 190–1; Korsgaard 1996a: 45–6; Audi 1997: 115), Harman's argument as it stands does not work. No matter the content of one's judgements, they might always be causally explained by reference to one's existing belief network, as opposed to the workings of an external world impinging on a subject in such a way as to elicit a judgement that confirms the existence of its putative cause. One might explain the scientist's judgement that a proton has passed by reference exclusively to the scientist's background beliefs about the causes of vapour trails in cloud chambers. Without such beliefs, the judgement wouldn't have been rendered. And such beliefs, in combination with the relevant empirical observation (of the vapour trail), seem by themselves sufficient to explain the occurrence of the judgement. Things are exactly the same in the ethics case. Without background moral beliefs, no moral indictment of the children's behaviour would have been rendered. And such beliefs, together with the relevant empirical observation (of the children's behaviour towards the cat), are sufficient to explain the occurrence of the moral judgement. In both cases, we can offer a complete explanation of the protagonist's judgement exclusively by reference to his existing beliefs and observations. If, despite this, we insist that the scientist's judgement does partly confirm the existence of the proton, then we haven't any reason to refrain from crediting moral judgements with like powers of confirmation. Yet there is something to Harman's argument. In particular, we seem to have greater warrant in the physicist's case because the postulated entity has caused some observable phenomenon, which itself served as the basis for inferring the existence of the cause (the proton). In the moral case, the

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wrongness of the evil deed isn't what caused the children to set the cat on fire; indeed, the wrongness didn't cause them to do anything at all. Part of the explanation of this is that the wrongness, unlike the activities of the proton, supervened on other phenomena. Wrongness is, in Ross's words, a ‘resultant’ attribute (1930: 121 ff.). There is always ontological pressure to eliminate, reduce, or offer an antirealist construal of resultant, supervenient phenomena. Questions about their causal efficacy play a large role in explaining such pressures. It is precisely the greater causal explanatory role for physical entities that underlies Crispin Wright's recent (1992) attempt to cast doubt on the ontological credentials of moral states and entities. Physical facts have, in Wright's terms, a much wider cosmological role to play. Such a role is measured by the extent to which the matters in question are ‘potentially contributive to the explanations of things other than, or other than via, our being in attitudinal states which take such states of affairs as objects’ (1992: 196 (Wright's emphases) ). In effect, Wright believes that Harman has settled on just the wrong kinds of explananda for determining the ontological status of ethical states. Whereas Harman focuses on the question of whether moral facts are required to explain why we make the moral judgements we do, Wright thinks that our reasons for positing the existence of some entity or state of affairs depend on the extent to which such things explain non-intentional occurrences.45 Wright does not believe that moral facts are ever ‘potentially contributive to the explanation’ of such things, and as a result, he believes that we have excellent reason to reject realism about ethics. Though Wright's test deserves more discussion than I can give it here, let me briefly offer two reservations about the test and the use he makes of it. First, the test itself seems question-begging. Morality is essentially a matter of regulating and assessing the activities of agents. It would be a strange conception of morality that insisted on the existence of realized moral value in the absence of agents. (Nothing morally amiss in the Palaeozoic era, for instance.) Since morality has essentially to do with agents and their actions, whose characterization requires essential reference to intentional attitudes, it is questionable whether an ontological standard that requires a showing of explanatory efficacy quite independently of such attitudes is really as neutral as it purports to be.

45

Cf. Lycan 1986 for similar reservations about the relevant explananda in causal tests. After that, however, they part ways: Wright ultimately argues for an antirealist construal of morality, while Lycan develops his arguments in a way that is much more sympathetic with moral realism.


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But we might have good reason to suspend this criticism, for some moral facts do seem to possess the necessary independence to pass Wright's test. The subtly unfair administration of a contest can explain why certain people are eligible for the winner's circle, and why others are left empty-handed. An anonymous benefactor's generosity or moral goodness can explain why an impoverished beneficiary's bank account contains much more than she thinks it does. A ruler's secret viciousness, duplicity, and evil nature can explain why certain of his enemies are no longer around to oppose his authority. Rather than multiply examples, we can make a general point: moral qualities can wield their influences in ways that are insidious, undetected, unconscious, unrecognized, etc., all leaving the initiators or affected parties either ignorant of the moral status of the relevant causes, or without any beliefs at all on the matter. Having such power is sufficient to pass Wright's test, and so make moral discourse eligible for realistic construal.46 If these last remarks are on the right track, then we can construct a dilemma. We might follow Wright and craft an explanatory test that demands that moral facts be able to explain non-moral facts, in which case moral facts pass this test. Or we might follow Harman and craft a test that demands that moral facts be required to explain (i.e. serve in the best explanation of) non-moral facts. But in this way lies trouble as well. As I will try to show later in this chapter, any such test, incorporating as it does essential reference to evaluative notions, is lacking in normative authority for anyone other than those already convinced of its merits. So whether one opts for an explicitly non-evaluative explanatory test, or a best explanation requirement, the implications of the test do no damage to moral realism. Despite their substantive differences, both Harman's test and Wright's test are animated by the same spirit. On such views, to assume that there are distinctively moral occurrences in the world that require specifically moral explanations is to beg the question in favour of the realist. A more neutral approach would not take the existence of a moral world for granted, but instead would ask whether putative moral facts are required to explain anything that doesn't already presuppose their existence. We don't require moral facts to explain naturalistic occurrences in the world—presumably, the natural sciences do a fine job of that. We could also focus more specifically on our practices of moral evaluation and ask whether we must postulate the existence of moral facts in order to account for them. And the antirealist

46

For a fine complementary discussion of Wright's reliance on the width of cosmological role, see Cuneo unpublished MS a .

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answer here is that there is no such need; we can satisfactorily make such an accounting without invoking a realm of objective moral facts. We render the moral assessments we do, deliberate in terms of the moral categories that we do, etc., only because we have a particular set of commitments. And these commitments are explicable in terms of our acculturation, individual upbringing, and genetic endowment—in other words, in terms of sociology, psychology, and biology. We needn't postulate the existence of a realm of moral facts that subsist beyond the ratification of such disciplines in order to explain our moral thought and practice. So goes the familiar story. But that story is really the expression of a conclusion, rather than an argument for it. We can't tell, for instance, whether we do indeed require moral facts to explain our evaluative practices until we know how good competing explanations are. In Part I, we saw some reasons to doubt whether many of realism's critics have resources ample enough to explain all that required explaining. If I was right, expressivists in particular will have to jump ship earlier than they nowadays want to do—they must take issue with the characterization of what requires explaining. They cannot take the propriety of common-sense moral phenomenology for granted and explain it through the devices available only to the natural and social sciences. They must question the phenomenology itself, owing to their inability to preserve the appearances in ethics (the possibilities of truth, knowledge, and error; the rejection of relativism, etc.). Expressivists must shift their ground and focus on the non-moral world. They must claim that moral facts are unnecessary to explain anything that occurs there. It is tempting to charge such critics with begging the question at this juncture. For why should we insist that the ontological credibility of moral facts depends on their being able to explain things that occur outside of their domain? We don't demand a showing that astronomical facts cause glandular facts, or that harmonic facts cause meteorological facts. That the starry heavens leave our glands intact, or that birdsong leaves the higher atmosphere quite by itself, does not impugn our confidence in the existence of stars or sound waves. Rightly so. But if the ontological credentials of such things are impeccable, without their having to causally explain events outside of their own domain, then why should moral facts be held to any higher standard? I don't believe that there is a good answer to this question. In the end, I think that we do have good reason to believe in moral facts, realistically construed, even if they are unable to causally explain non-moral facts. But to get to this conclusion, we must first confront The Causal Argument:


1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

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Moral facts do not cause anything in the non-moral realm. Moral facts do not cause anything in the moral realm. Therefore moral facts don't cause anything at all. If a putative fact causes nothing, then we lack any reason for justifiedly believing that it exists. Therefore we lack any reason for justifiedly believing that moral facts exist.

That is bad enough. But we can strengthen the sceptical conclusion: 6. If a putative fact purports to cause something that is better explained by something else, then we have good reason to deny the existence of any such fact. 7. Anything that moral facts might purport to cause can be better explained by the citation of non-moral facts. 8. Therefore we have good reason to deny the existence of moral facts. This argument claims that we not only lack good reason for believing in moral facts, but also possess good reason for thinking that they do not exist. The parallel with a familiar argument for atheism is striking. God, it is claimed, is not necessary to account for morality—moral intuitions, practices, and categories are constructed from human tastes, or conventions. And God isn't necessary to explain the workings of the natural world—physics, chemistry, molecular biology, and related sciences will do for that. God is not only explanatorily unnecessary, but indeed superfluous, for all things that God might be invoked to explain are explicable by reference to other kinds of facts whose existence everyone, theist and atheist alike, takes for granted. (I have in mind here the sorts of things just mentioned—human tastes and conventions, and the entities whose existence is confirmed by the natural sciences.) Therefore we not only lack reason to believe in God, but have positive reason to deny God's existence. I will only very briefly return to the question of whether moral realists, who reject the conclusion of the Causal Argument as just formulated, must thereby embrace theism, or at least view their theory as epistemically on a par with theism. It must be tempting to think so. For now, however, let us concentrate on the argument's first two premisses, and so on the question of the causal efficacy of moral facts. Consider premiss (1) first. It claims that moral facts are not needed to causally explain the workings of the natural world. If classical ethical naturalism is true, then this claim is false. For if classical naturalism is true, then

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any causal powers conferred by the relevant natural properties will be conferred by the moral ones that are identical to these properties (in all but name). Moral facts, being identical to natural facts, will inherit their causal efficacy. A critic might, at this juncture, insist that nevertheless all that was needed for causal explanation were the natural properties. But I don't know how—other than questioning the identity of the moral and natural properties in the first place—the critic could make this charge stick. For if we allow that moral and natural properties are genuinely identical, then a fortiori they will share all of their features, including their causal powers. Those (like me) who reject ethical naturalism cannot have such an easy time of it. The difficulty is perhaps best expressed by Kim (1998), presented as a critique of token-identity theories in the philosophy of mind. This argument can be taken practically wholesale into the ethical realm, with equally troubling results. Kim's target is non-reductive physicalism. Such theories are non-reductive in so far as they reject the identification of mental and physical properties. Such theories are physicalistic in so far as they endorse the claim that everything that exists has some correct physical description. The theories in question claim that while every mental event is also a physical one, one cannot deduce a physical description from a mental one. Mental descriptions do not entail physical ones. The structural parallels with ethical non-naturalism should be clear. To my mind, Kim's argument draws our attention to the serious implications of non-reductive theories in both philosophy of mind and in ethics (though Kim says nothing about the moral case). The question, to be addressed below, is just how damaging the relevant implications are. Here is the essence of the argument: 1. The physical domain is causally closed—every physical event has a full and complete set of physical antecedents that cause and explain its occurrence.47 2. The mental is not identical to the physical. 3. Therefore if mental facts cause physical occurrences, then there is systematic causal overdetermination of physical occurrences. 4. There is not systematic causal overdetermination of physical occurrences. 5. Therefore mental facts do not cause physical occurrences. The conclusion is anathema to most philosophers, precisely because they adhere to a causal-explanatory test of ontological credibility, and do not want to eliminate the mental from their ontology. Those who reject the conclusion can question the argument's premisses or its validity. Of the premisses, the fourth seems to be true. If there were systematic overdetermination here, then (apparently) either kind of cause would be sufficient, in the absence of the other, to bring about the relevant physical outcome. Yet the mental is not, in the absence of the underlying physical cause, at all able to bring about a physical outcome. The second premiss is a defining feature of non-reductive physicalism. The first seems quite securely established by the inductive evidence we can offer on its behalf. Further, to reject the closure principle is to commit oneself to substance dualism, or something that inherits its mysteries. For if some physical outcomes are not sufficiently caused by physical antecedents, then something non-physical must be invoked to explain the outcome. And no one has been able to offer a plausible account of how non-physical stuff can causally interact with the physical world. So we have good reasons to endorse the closure principle. If we avail ourselves of those reasons, this leaves the following choice for non-reductive physicalists: find a logical flaw in the argument, or accept its conclusion. The move from (3) and (4) to (5) is obviously a valid instance of modus tollens. The move from the first premiss (causal closure) and the second (non-identity) to the third (overdetermination) also strikes me as valid. For if, by (1), physical facts suffice to causally explain all physical phenomena, and if, by (2), the mental and the physical are not identical, then if there are mental causes of physical outcomes, we have two sets of causes of physical outcomes. Since, by (1), the set of physical causes is sufficient for the task at hand, the addition of a 47

To allow for the falsity of determinism, we can, following Papineau (1993 : ch. 1), define the causal closure of the physical in terms of physical facts exclusively fixing the chances of every physical occurrence, rather than necessitating them. I will ignore this wrinkle in my exposition; incorporating it doesn't seem to alter anything of importance for what follows.


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set of mental causes yields overdetermination. The ethical non-naturalist is in precisely the same situation as the non-reductive physicalist. Non-naturalists insist on the non-identity of moral and descriptive properties, and have just the reason all others do for accepting the causal closure of the physical. And therefore non-naturalists will be forced either to the view that there is systematic overdetermination whenever a moral cause is invoked, or to the position that moral facts do not cause physical (or other natural) ones. But the same argument we saw a moment ago works against the existence of systematic overdetermination: it is false that any moral cause would yield the outcome it does even in the absence of the relevant descriptive cause on which it so obviously depends. So we have good reason to think that moral facts do not cause descriptive outcomes.

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If this argument works, then moral realists may still hope to vindicate moral explanations by claiming that moral facts are needed for the causal explanation of other moral facts. But the argument just given supplies equally good reason for doubting this (and so for endorsing premiss (2) of the Causal Argument). If we embrace constitutive nonnaturalism, then we will not require citation of moral facts to causally explain any putative moral fact. For according to this sort of non-naturalism, the rightness or goodness of anything will be brought about by the descriptive facts that constitute it in a given instance. It is the specific configuration of descriptive features that accounts for something's moral status. True, the moral status of a situation can be explained by a conjunction of moral principle and nonevaluative description. But this is not a causal explanation. A moral principle is an abstract entity that lacks any causal powers. To the extent that we restrict ourselves to the question of what has caused (say) Jane to be generous, or Mao to be cruel, we are looking for what has caused the instantiation of the descriptive properties on which these moral properties supervene. And we needn't cite a moral property in such an account. Other descriptive properties will suffice, given the causal closure of the descriptive. If we are interested instead in why we should consider such descriptive properties as giving rise to the moral properties they do—why (e.g.) intentionally dispossessing millions of peasants and starving millions more are instances of cruelty—why such things ‘cause’ an agent to be cruel—then we are back to the second supervenience worry, or a worry about first-order normative theory. The lesson that Kim wants us to draw is that supervenient phenomena are epiphenomenal. Instances of the ‘base properties’ do all the causal work, even where the causal explananda are instantiations of other supervenient properties. Moral properties, being supervenient (as opposed to type-reducible), are thus epiphenomenal. They are causally impotent, and are thus unable to causally explain anything—moral and non-moral outcomes alike. Since we have, in principle, better explanations available of all that occurs in the world, purely in terms of non-moral causes, then it follows (by the Causal Argument) that we not only lack reason to believe in the existence of moral facts, but have positive reason to reject their existence. At this point it might be tempting to try to elude the conclusion by identifying partners in crime. Look at all the other phenomena that would have to be banished from the ontology if the argument went through—in short, all supervening phenomena, which, by this argument, would be rendered epiphenomenal. If Kim's argument is sound, this is a conclusion we really would have to live with. But this isn't yet as bleak as it sounds. For


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we can retain the phenomena we'd like, so long as we can make out the claim that they are type-identical to physical kinds, rather than supervenient. For if they are type-identical, then the ‘higher-order’ phenomena, being identical to the ‘lower-order’ phenomena, share all features, including causal features. There would be no overdetermination, no epiphenomenalism, and consequently no mandate for ontological downsizing. This is a powerful argument for identity theories in philosophy of mind, and for classical naturalism in ethics. Nevertheless, I think that the argument is mistaken at a crucial point. It does appear that Kim is correct in thinking that overdetermination results from the combination of the causal closure of the physical, non-reductive physicalism, and the ability of the mental to bring about changes in the physical world. But this overdetermination needn't be invidious—there might, in fact, be systematic overdetermination here. The fourth premiss of his argument—the one alleging an absence of systematic overdetermination—seems to me mistaken. Though every physical event has a complete physical cause, many such will also have mental causes. But this sort of overdetermination, which will exist in every case in which the mental affects the physical, is not the sort in which each distinct cause would suffice, independently of any other, to bring about the effect it does. It is false that beliefs and desires, absent any physical realization, would be enough to bring about a change in the physical world. The kind of overdetermination that implies such a thing is mistaken. But non-reductivists can avoid that conception, while also plausibly avoiding the identity theory that seems to Kim to be the only alternative. They can do this by relying on what Kim has elsewhere called the causal inheritance principle (Kim 1992). This principle says that for any property M that is instantiated at a time by the realization of property P, M's instantiation inherits at that time (possibly a subset of) P's causal powers. If the causal inheritance principle is true as applied to the mental, and if a constitution account similar to the one that I have defended for the moral realm is correct, then mental properties, being realized by physical ones, will possess the causal potency of their physical realizers. And so we can keep them in the ontology. On this picture, it can and often will be true that a given mental event, all by itself, is sufficient to cause whatever physical outcomes it does.48 And also

48

Thus the locution ‘X causes Y all by itself ’ does not imply that X is able, absent any of its constituent elements, to cause Y. Instead, it stands for the idea that X, constituted as it is , causes Y without the aid of anything other than X.

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true that a physical event, all by itself, is sufficient to cause that very same outcome. And so there will be overdetermination. But this is not objectionable if the mental event is exhaustively constituted by a physical event, and inherits its causal powers. Indeed, this form of overdetermination is rampant, and occurs in any case of something that is constituted by causally efficacious phenomena. Any given tree, for instance, is constituted by a concatenation of molecules. When it falls and causes a loud noise that scares a bystander, we can (in principle) cite a molecular story that will explain the sound and the scared reaction. And we can also say, truthfully, that the tree, or its falling, all by itself, caused the very same result. So there is a kind of overdetermination here. But it is harmless. The two explanantia do not compete with one another. So we have a way out of Kim's reductionist argument. Not so fast, says Kim. He thinks that non-reductivists cannot reap the obvious rewards of the causal inheritance principle, because he also believes that a property is a real property only if it possesses independent causal power—only if its instantiation by itself has causal implications, apart from the instantiation of any other properties it may in an instance depend on or be realized by. If it has no such independent causal powers, then either it isn't a real property at all, or it is, but is identical with the base property that is realizing it. Call this principle the strong causal test of ontological credibility. Armed with this test, Kim has all he needs to push us either to eliminativism, or to a strong form of reductionism (type-identity theory). I think that we have exceedingly good reason to reject Kim's strong causal test. I think we have reason enough when it comes to intentional mental properties, such as believing and desiring (Putnam 1967; Davidson 1970a; Fodor 1974; Boyd 1980; Dupre´ 1993; Bealer 1994). But substantiating that conclusion would certainly take us too far afield, and is anyway very well done by those just cited. Rather than rehash their arguments, let us shift attention to the nonintentional realm. The strong causal test—indeed, any causal test at all—seems inappropriate when it comes to mental phenomena such as qualia, and to moral facts. Though there are exceptions, attributions of qualia or moral facts are not warranted in virtue of the causal role such things are expected to play. We believe there is such a thing as the pungent taste of wasabi or the acrid smell of a sulphur pit because we have had a direct experience of it, not because the experience has caused something apart from itself. It may or may not play such a further causal role, but our evidence for the existence of such subjective experience and our warrant for believing in its existence does not depend on


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its causal powers.49 Moral facts are in some ways similar. Though moral apprehension needn't model the directness and the immediate and substantially non-cognitive aspects of qualitative experiences, our warrant for thinking that moral facts exist is likewise independent of the effects they might bring about. The explanation of this is very different from that in the case of qualia. The explanation in the moral case has essentially to do with the normativity of the moral. If moral realists are right, then the propositional attitudes that express moral judgements are usually beliefs, which, when true, correctly describe certain facts. These facts, if causally efficacious at all, are so in virtue of the descriptive properties that realize them on given occasions. Moral facts, and moral properties, do not possess independent causal power. Given my preferred story, one that involves a property dualism and the claim that moral facts are invariably constituted by sets of descriptive facts, this lack of independent causal power should be entirely unsurprising. As supervenient and constituted phenomena, any other story would be very surprising indeed. We don't individuate moral properties in terms of their causal powers. They don't function in our vocabulary as ways of marking distinctive causal contributions. If they did, then their primary kind of ratification would involve appearance in lawlike generalizations with great predictive power. But that isn't the way it works. We can put things together so that such generalizations are made available—it's been done (Sturgeon 1984, 1986; Brink 1989: 192 ff.). What this shows, though, is that being a kind embeddable in a law is insufficient to vindicate a realistic reading of the kind. It is true that, other things equal, morally good people will aid others in need. It's also true that we couldn't individuate physical kinds in such a way as to craft a law that expresses this same general truth while deploying just physical vocabulary. But that doesn't vindicate moral realism. How could it? Legal kinds and etiquette kinds can find themselves in laws. Their predicates generalize in ways that physical ones can't. But these are paradigmatic instances of non-realistic kinds. So our ability to formulate defensible moral laws does not show that moral facts are causally efficacious. But we don't need such a showing to vindicate moral realism.

49

Kim himself recognizes this (1998 : 101–2, 116), but doesn't offer a way to square the views that qualia fail to be relevantly causally efficacious, are not type-identical to any physical properties, and yet really exist. His endorsement of the strong causal test of ontological credibility forces him to give up his views either about the existence of qualia, their causal inefficacy, or their irreducibility to nonmental properties. My own view is that the test itself is what must go.

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I do think that there are such things as moral laws. I think it likely that every one of them will incorporate a ceteris paribus clause, though establishing that point is extremely difficult and a matter of fundamental normative ethical theory, and so beyond our present scope.50 The relevant point here is that moral laws are standards that are not meant to be descriptive, except in an attenuated sense. If moral realism is correct, then true moral judgements describe the implications of such standards. But the laws themselves are normative: they supply a standard that behaviour should conform to. The merits of the standard don't depend on its predictive efficacy, and the standard isn't falsified in the face of even universal behaviour that flouts it. If moral standards aren't meant to describe the behaviours and causal relations of entities in the world, then what function do they have? My view, defended in Chapter 8, is that they serve as a basis for justifying ascriptions of reasons. That is because, as I see it, moral obligations (and possibly other kinds of moral facts or relations) are intrinsically reason-giving. But suppose I am wrong about that. Then moral standards do not function as means of specifying reasons. Still, they do function as devices for specifying oughts. And that is not something that neatly fits the paradigm of descriptive, scientific laws. Nothing I have said here is intended to represent an argument for moral realism. I do not think that considerations of causal or explanatory efficacy can do that. The best that realists can do in this forum is to reveal the weaknesses of the arguments designed to undercut realistic allegiances by relying on such considerations. We don't believe in moral facts because of the causal work they do. But we shouldn't deny their existence because of their lack of independent causal power. Recognizing that the moral is part of the normative dimension should insulate it from demands imposed by the strong causal test. The strong causal test has serious liabilities. It forces us to the conclusion that unless intentional properties are typeidentical to physical ones, then there is no such thing as a belief or desire. Because the test individuates properties on the basis of their essential independent causal powers, it is committed to the necessary coextension test of property identity: properties that are necessarily coextensive will, of necessity, share their causal powers.

50

The further issue of how best to construe such ceteris paribus clauses is also an issue of some interest. For thoughts on this, see Davidson 1970b ; Pietroski 1993 ; Frazier 1995 ; Shafer-Landau 1997 .


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If, per the strong causal test, properties are individuated in virtue of their independent causal powers, then necessarily coextensive properties will be identical. This is just the test that came in for criticism in the previous section. The strong causal test also raises problems for itself when allied with very plausible epistemic claims. To see this, let us begin with a (hopefully) innocuous assumption: that it makes sense to say that we ought to believe the truth about what exists. Consider the alternatives: there are no standards of epistemic assessment at all (and so nothing that we ought to believe), or there are, but none that tells us to believe the truth about ontological matters. If we ought to believe the truth about what exists, then we have at least an explanation of the introduction of a causal test—it is designed to aid us in fulfilling this epistemic duty. Surely its adherents think that we ought to believe that this test and its implications are true. Yet if normative facts don't exist, because of their lack of independent causal power, then there is no fact to the effect that we ought to believe the causal test, disbelieve moral realism, etc. But if there are no such facts, then those who reject the causal test may be epistemically faultless. All the evidence and argument there is would point in no direction at all—for such pointing would amount to a case for, a justification of, a warrant to believe, the causal test (or its rejection). Yet such things are nothing more than kinds of normative facts. If we bar them from the ontology, we eliminate the possibility of accrediting any belief about these matters. Once we recognize that the epistemic standard associated with the causal test—that one ought to believe only what the test warrants—is itself normative, then (following Harman et al.) the standard can have only the non-cognitive or relativistic force that any normative standard has. Yet on this alternative, opponents of the test need be making no error at all in rejecting it. That's hardly consistent with the position that the causal critics have adopted vis-a`-vis their favoured claims. So maybe we should let those normative facts—specifically, epistemic facts—back into the ontology? Yet once we let in the oughts, it isn't clear how, on ontological grounds, we could bar the door to moral facts. If epistemic obligation and justification pass ontological muster, it is difficult to see why we shouldn't also allow moral obligations and justification into our world. We can't touch or taste them; they don't cause anything of their own accord; but only an overassertive empiricism would force us, from these claims, to deny their existence. If we are unprepared to admit the existence of normative facts, then the claims of those who deny them cannot be justified, warranted, credible, or well-supported. Yet if we let normative facts back in, then we have a dilemma.

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Either we insist on the causal inefficacy of normative facts, in which case, having allowed them entry into the ontology, we must give up the strong causal test. Or we take their admission into the ontology, coupled with the causal test, as an indicator that normative facts can, after all, possess the relevant sort of causal power. But if they do possess such causal power, then causal considerations no longer pose any threat to their existence. The debate about the causal efficacy of moral facts has been couched in terms of an inference to the best explanation. Harman allowed that realists had an explanation of our use of causal idioms in moral talk, but he thought that we could do better by eschewing moral facts and sticking with the facts as recognized by the natural sciences and intentional psychology. But of course the very idea of a better explanation is itself evaluative, presupposing as it does some evaluative standard(s) that can assess the explanatory merits of competing hypotheses. Harman, and others who would follow his lead, must take one of two paths. Either there is or there isn't a fact about the status of an explanation being best among competitors. If there are such facts, then either they must possess independent causal powers, or the causal test fails. Either way, moral realists can rest easy. If there are no such facts, then the basis of Harman's criticism collapses, and so, again, realists are out of danger. In the end, causal considerations do not represent a good basis for rejecting moral realism.

V. Conclusion The requirement that something earn its way into the ontology by displaying its causal efficacy has played an obviously important role in the development of the natural sciences. We no longer believe in witches and trolls and sprites because of this requirement. To the extent that belief in such entities rests on a belief in their continuing causal influence, such eliminativist responses are warranted, as science has given us reason to deny their existence. We don't need to postulate such entities in order to explain the causes of sickness, crop failure, or earthquakes. In so far as these supernatural entities are assumed to exist just in virtue of playing such causal roles, these supernatural beings are competitors with the entities whose existence is ratified by the natural sciences. They don't fare very well in such a competition.51 But moral facts—or any normative facts, for that matter—aren't in the same position. Moral facts don't compete with scientific ones, because moral

51

Does this mean that the progress of the natural sciences has given us equally good reason to deny God's existence? Not necessarily. Scientific progress would supply such reason only if theistic assumptions were in direct competition with naturalistic causal explanations. The reason we shouldn't believe in demiurges and sprites is because they are entities whose existence was to have been vindicated by citing their role in explaining the very phenomena that the natural sciences can now explain better. For most theists, God no longer plays that role. God isn't introduced to explain why a volcano erupted, or a hailstorm destroyed the crops, but instead for a variety of functions (e.g. as the author of the moral law) other than that of actively intervening in earthly affairs so as to continually cause all that occurs in the natural world. That sort of God would be one whose postulated existence would be in direct competition with the causal explanations offered by the natural sciences. But theists needn't take such a view, and so needn't fall prey to the argument that has entitled us to dismiss the minor supernatural characters (leprechauns, trolls, etc.) from our ontology.


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facts don't have causal work as their essential function. It may be that any class of facts earns its ontological wings only by being necessary to explain certain phenomena. But it would be a mistake to suppose that all proper explanation is causal. Moral facts don't have an ineliminable role to play in the explanation of empirical events. We don't in the first instance invoke moral rules for predictive purposes, but rather to set standards that may or may not be met. Normative standards generally, when true, serve to explain the normative status of particulars or kinds. That the standards themselves, or the phenomena they are invoked to explain, do not have independent causal power does not constitute a good argument for denying that they exist. In this chapter and the preceding one I have tried to display the attractions of a non-naturalistic view of moral properties. This has required defending non-naturalism against the powerful arguments from supervenience and causation. I supplemented this defence with earlier criticisms of ethical naturalism. I do not take these criticisms to be decisive. Rather, I hope to have established a strong presumptive case against ethical naturalism, which, together with the defence of non-naturalism here, and the case made for cognitivism in Chapter 1, should leave us at least provisionally convinced of non-naturalism's merits. Yet for all I have said thus far, it remains possible that there is just a single descriptive property identified with any given moral property. If, despite the arguments of these chapters on metaphysics, some version of classical ethical naturalism turns out to be correct, it is important to note that this would not be inimical to moral realism. On the contrary. What I have tried to show here is that moral realism suffers no metaphysical ills even if it departs from naturalistic assumptions. If some form of classical naturalism is ultimately vindicated, then moral properties, being natural ones, will face no special metaphysical barriers. The real worries crop up if we reject naturalism. The challenge, which I hope to have met, is to show how real moral properties can exist even if such properties are not identical to the properties essentially referred to in perfected scientific theories.


Part III Moral Motivation


5 Motivational Humeanism I. The Non-cognitivist Argument Everyone recognizes the deep pull that moral judgements have on us. All of us, or almost all of us, are moved at least to some extent to follow our evaluative judgements. To all appearances, judging something good or right has some intrinsic pull; when explaining why someone acted as she thought best, we don't ordinarily need to cite anything other than her evaluative judgement to that effect. And we take ourselves to be rightly suspicious of those who consistently remain unmoved in the face of their moral affirmations. What we suspect, at bottom, is that they don't really hold the views they claim to do. If they did, such commitments would reveal themselves, more than occasionally, in their behaviour. These commonplace remarks on the nature of moral motivation point up a perennial problem for moral realists. If, as realists claim, moral facts are fixed in stance-independent ways, then why should we, each of us viewing matters through some particular ‘stance’ or outlook, take an interest in such objective facts? In particular, how can realists explain the very strong connection between morality and its ability to motivate, especially when morality purports to focus on a realm whose truths do not depend on the attitudes we bring to it? We can bring out the force of this question by comparing the motivational power of morality to that of facts and judgements in other apparently stanceindependent areas, such as mathematics or chemistry. Surely our concerns in these domains are in some sense quite optional, and just as surely, judgements about such subjects only occasionally, contingently prompt us to action. Morality's ability to move us is much more reliable than that of any other objective domain. This needs explaining. Many believe that the best explanation requires a rejection of moral realism.

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Thus one of the major objections to moral realism is its claimed inability to account for the nature of moral motivation. This objection has taken two basic forms. The first, advanced by Mackie (1977: 40), says that realism is committed to the existence of moral entities that, on being beheld, would necessarily compel an agent to allegiance. But there are no such entities. So realism is false. Mackie is right to suppose that there aren't any entities of the sort he describes. He is wrong to suppose that realists are committed to their existence. Whether attention to any given fact generates motivation depends on what else is in an agent's motivational profile. This is so for non-moral as well as moral facts. A person who is ill equipped to appreciate the relevance of a non-moral fact will be unmoved by its presentation, even if, as the case may be, this fact is highly relevant to achieving one of his aims. And a deeply immoral person, even after being confronted with the moral truth, may nevertheless remain indifferent to it. It is unfair to saddle the realist with the claim that moral facts must motivate all agents who detect them, regardless of the antecedent dispositions of the agent. A variation on this argument is more plausible. The variation has it that realism is committed to the view that all rational agents, upon perception of the moral truth, will be motivated to comply with its demands. But, so the story goes, agents can rationally remain indifferent to morality. Therefore realism is false. We won't be in a position to assess the merits of this argument until we have done more to sort out the notion of rationality and the connection, if any, between the demands of reason and the demands of morality. That is the subject of Part IV, so I defer consideration of this argument until then. Let us, then, direct our attention to a distinct kind of antirealist argument. This is also an argument claiming that realism lacks a plausible account of moral motivation. But the focus here is on the motivational role of moral judgement, as opposed to moral facts. Rather than assign to realists a view according to which moral facts by themselves possess powers to motivate, this argument centres on our expressions of moral appraisal, and claims that realism cannot accommodate the motivating powers of such expressions. This classic antirealist argument—call it the Non-cognitivist Argument—employs widely-held premisses which, taken together, yield a conclusion that entails the falsity of moral realism:

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1. Necessarily, if one sincerely judges an action right, then one is motivated to some extent to act in accordance with that judgement. (Motivational Judgement Internalism) 2. When taken by themselves, beliefs neither motivate nor generate any motivationally efficacious states. (Motivational Humeanism) 3. Therefore moral judgements are not beliefs.52 (Moral Non-cognitivism) Colloquially: necessarily, moral judgements motivate. Beliefs don't. Therefore moral judgements aren't beliefs. Since beliefs are our mental vehicle for representing facts, it follows that moral judgements are not essentially fact-stating. Moral realism (indeed, every form of moral cognitivism) entails that moral judgements are beliefs that are sometimes true and that, when true, are fact-stating. Therefore moral realism (and moral cognitivism generally) is false. I believe that we have good reason to be suspicious of both premisses of this argument. In particular, I will (in the present chapter) offer some considerations to oppose motivational Humeanism, and endeavour to undermine the major arguments in its favour. But because it is so difficult to understand the essential conceptual elements of human motivation, I hesitate to rest my rejection of the Non-cognitivist Argument on my anti-Humean remarks. Thus I proceed from those remarks to a discussion (in Chapter 6) that takes aim at the argument's first premiss, the claim that normative judgements necessarily motivate. I argue that amoralism is a genuine possibility: one may sincerely endorse the rightness of an action without thereby being motivated to perform it. So the sort of internalism expressed in the first premiss is mistaken. Nevertheless, the realist is still in need of an explanation for the widespread, reliable connection that clearly does obtain between moral judgement and motivation. I conclude the following chapter with some speculations on how this might be accomplished. If I am right, then not only are both of the premisses of the classic Non-cognitivist Argument mistaken, but the moral realist has a plausible, positive conception of moral motivation to offer in its place.

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No one lays the argument out quite as baldly as this, but it does seem an accurate representation of an argumentative strategy endorsed by Stevenson (1937 : 14–31); Aiken (1950 ); Hare (1952 : 79–93); Nowell-Smith (1954 : 36–43); Harman (1975 ); and Mackie (1977 : 27–42). Simon Blackburn also advances this argument, but with some reservations: see Blackburn 1984 : 188–9.

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II. The Attractions of Anti-Humeanism Premiss (2) of the Non-cognitivist Argument is a partial statement of a Humean theory of motivation. The Humean theory of motivation claims (at the very least) that beliefs and desires are distinct existences, and so do not entail one another; that desires are necessary for motivation; and that beliefs are never sufficient for motivation. I will focus my attention on trying to show that this last component of the Humean theory is false, and that its second constituent claim is (at best) questionable. I will make only brief remarks related to the first claim. Let us assume that a desire is an intrinsically motivating state. That assumption is neutral with respect to the truth of the Humean theory. Desires may not be the only intrinsically motivating states. Beliefs may motivate all by themselves, or, by themselves, generate motivation that does not stem from having forged a link with basic, non-derived desires. Not all beliefs have this power. Some, perhaps all, evaluative beliefs do. Evaluative beliefs ascribe value (moral or nonmoral) to acts or states of affairs. Believing something desirable, taking oneself to have a reason to act, judging an option admirable or good, may prompt action even in the absence of antecedent desires. Most people believe this. So do a few philosophers. The shortlist includes the usual anti-Humean suspects (Nagel 1970; McDowell 1978, 1979; Platts 1991; Wiggins 1991; Dancy 1993; Scanlon 1998). Perhaps surprisingly, we can also add Bernard Williams, who, in an influential paper otherwise devoted to defending a Humean conception of practical reasons, emphasizes the plausibility of the claim that beliefs can constitute motivations to act (1981a: 107). Anti-Humeanism, in this context, is the contradictory of the Humean view of motivation. Specifically, for my purposes, anti-Humeanism is the view that at least some evaluative beliefs are sufficient by themselves to motivate. We can understand such sufficiency in one of two ways. We might take it literally: we need no desires or affective states in a given case to produce motivation, the belief being all that is needed to get one going. I will call this the Kantian interpretation of anti-Humeanism. Alternatively, beliefs may be sufficient in the sense that they are able, by themselves, to generate what are sometimes called ‘motivated’ or ‘derived’ desires (cf. Nagel 1970: 29), which, together with the evaluative beliefs, are sufficient to motivate. Let us refer to this view as the Rossian interpretation, after the line suggested by W.D. Ross (1930: 157 ff.). I will not take a stand on the important issue of whether the Kantian or Rossian interpretation is the better of the two. Either form of sufficiency is


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opposed to the Humean view, which sees beliefs of any stripe as motivational elements that are subsidiary to desires. An important battery of supporting considerations, all deriving from the phenomenology of motivational experience, favours the anti-Humeanism view. Before theorizing about motivation, most of us would find it plausible to suppose that some evaluative beliefs—‘that simply must be done’; ‘that is the right thing to do’—can motivate all by themselves. In most cases, if asked, the agents prompted to action would also admit to wanting either to do the action itself, or to obtain some goal expected to be secured through the action. But in some cases they wouldn't. Sometimes a desire simply doesn't appear on the scene—‘I saw that it needed to be done, and did it. I don't recall wanting anything at all at the moment.’ In other cases a desire is present, but as a countervailing force to be overcome by an evaluative belief. One does what's right, because it's right, and this in the face of strong temptation. The desires are all on one side and the evaluative belief on the other. Belief sometimes wins. Actors in such situations often describe their motivations in this way: I wanted to give in, yield to my desires. I didn't because I thought it would be wrong to do so. I didn't want to x (stand in front of that bullet, accept the blame, remain chaste), but duty called. I knew what had to be done, and did it, desires (passions, wants, inclinations) be damned. Why think that all such testimony must involve deception: either self-deception, or the intended deception of one's audience? It seems instead that interpretative principles give us reason to render such judgement only as a last resort. Common sense tells us that ordinarily our desires accompany, and often prompt, our actions. It also tells us that they sometimes don't. Indeed, the Humean here seems to be in just the same position as psychological egoists are when they try to explain away the motivational reports of those whose testimony favours altruistic theories. When it comes to egoistic or altruistic motivation, all we have to go on is the testimony and behaviour of the agents in question. These sources of evidence are defeasible, to be sure, but the abundance of evidence favouring altruistic motivation places a very heavy burden of proof on the egoist. Likewise, people often speak as if anti-Humeanism accurately captured their motivations.53 They say they did something because they thought or believed that it was right; they pursued a goal

53

This is not to say that their testimony usually omits desires altogether. Rather, such testimony favours anti-Humeanism so long as it allows for at least some cases in which beliefs are sufficient to motivate. This is compatible with allowing that desires are often (or even always) part of the motivational story.

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because they realized or came to appreciate that it was good. This familiar way of speaking may just be an elliptical way of referring to or expressing desires, but that should not be our starting point. We would need to be argued to such a conclusion. I don't believe that Humeans have provided adequate arguments to get us there. A Humean might object to the analogy between Humeanism and psychological egoism in the following way. Egoism is implausible for two reasons: first, the view appears to run contrary to the available empirical evidence (offered by testimony and behaviour); second, there are no good a priori arguments to countermand the empirical burden created by agents' testimony and behaviour. But Humeans will claim that we can discount the anti-Humean evidence that comes from our familiar ways of describing our motivations. We can discount it because there are good a priori arguments for thinking that motivation must arise as Humeans claim it does, rather than as anti-Humeans allege. I know of five arguments to establish this claim, and I don't think that any of them succeed. Before we consider these arguments, let me do a bit more to develop the presumptive considerations in favour of antiHumeanism. There are two kinds of examples that do especially well at buttressing anti-Humeanism's phenomenological appeal. The first asks us to attend to ordinary inference; the second involves mistaken firstpersonal ascriptions of desire. Imagine first a perfectly ordinary case of believing on the basis of some evidence. One seeks out the evidence, or the evidence just presents itself, and one infers some conclusion thereby. We do this all the time. But it sounds either strange or just superfluous to attribute to us all a desire to form beliefs, or a desire to make inferences.54 Explaining such acts via our desires seems forced. The same diagnosis arises in the case of other mental acts such as remembering, fixating, mulling, and worrying. It makes sense to speak of us as doing such things; therefore such things are actions. But, special cases aside, we neither desire to do such things, nor believe that by doing them we will thereby satisfy any other of our desires. Desires are not implicated in the most natural and straightforward explanation of such actions. Another example that supports the phenomenological appeal of anti-Humeanism is the case in which one mistakenly ascribes to oneself a desire. This can happen—we are not infallible about the existence and content of our desires.55 When we do make this sort of mistake, and act on it, the simplest

54

Scanlon discusses this example in 1998 : 35–6.

55

Michael Smith has done an especially good job at showing this. See Smith 1994 : 105–10.


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explanation of our action is exclusive citation of the mistaken belief (that one has the relevant desire). Suppose that you have convinced yourself of your desire to become a lawyer. Your father and grandfather were ones before you; it has always been expected of you; you find yourself in law school surrounded by others with this same desire. But you do desultory work; your attention flags as others recite cases and discuss networking over lunch; the law library enervates you. You take a summer job as a carpenter, love it, quit law school, and never look back. You reflect not long after and realize that you never really wanted to become an attorney. You thought you did; you see now that you were mistaken. What explained your willingness to endure the ongoing tedium of law school? Why couldn't it be your belief, perhaps repeatedly rehearsed, that being an attorney was what you wanted? You convinced yourself of its value, and you pursued it accordingly. This example points up a general lesson. Our actions may sometimes involve us in ongoing aggravation or tedium, extreme physical pain, emotional contortions, sufferance of another's stupidity or arrogance. Very few of us desire to experience such things. The Humean must explain our willingness to put up with these things by citing a further desire—a desire for some goal that we believe attainable via the unpleasantness. But this is implausible for those cases in which we mistake our desires. You put up with the drudgery of law school because you believed that you desired a legal career. You didn't desire to be in the law school environment, and, as it turns out, you didn't desire the end that such tedium makes possible—that of becoming an attorney. Why insist that there must, somewhere, nevertheless be some desire in back of things that explains your behaviour? The natural, and simplest, explanation of these sorts of situations is that mistaken beliefs alone are doing the motivating work. (And once we grant that beliefs about our desires are sufficient to motivate, we would need extremely good reason to deny the further claim that other sorts of beliefs— those ascribing value or reasons for action—are sufficient to motivate as well.) Of course, it is always open to the Humean to reply to such examples by insisting that agents do what they do only because things matter to agents, only because they care about something or other, where such caring is the operative state that explains the motivation. Had the would-be lawyer in this example not cared, for instance, about meeting his parents' expectations, or continuing a family tradition, then we would have no explanation for why he continued his studies as long as he did.56

56

Thanks to Philip Clark for raising this objection.

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I think that this is right: we can allow that caring is what is doing the motivational work. But this helps the Humean only if we analyse such caring as an instance of a desire, or some other non-cognitive state. But caring may be best analysed as a kind of valuing: to care about someone or something is just to value it. And valuing, I believe, should be seen as a cognitive undertaking, as expressive of a belief about what has value. Assessing something's worth is a matter of adducing various reasons, weighing their strength or judging their relations with one another, taking into consideration salient non-evaluative facts, etc. All of these are cognitive exercises. If I think that something is completely worthless, has no value whatever, not even as a means to something else, then I probably don't care about it.57 Not only does it sound perfectly natural to describe someone as holding, believing, or thinking that something has value, it is also plausible to claim that valuing is not conceptually reducible to some form of desiring. We can always take a critical attitude towards what it is that we desire, or desire to desire. Denying the reduction of valuing to desiring makes sense, for instance, of the common phenomenon of trying to get one's desires to conform to one's values. Perhaps all we are doing in such cases is attempting to get our desires to line up with one another. But that isn't the natural diagnosis of what is going on. We have further reason to resist this diagnosis if it is ever the case that judging something right or good can sometimes leave us cold. Remaining indifferent to one's evaluative judgements would be conceptually impossible, were valuing just desiring, and desiring a necessarily motivating state (as Humeans believe). Yet such indifference is possible, as I will try to show (in the next chapter). If the arguments for this possibility are correct, and if desires are necessarily motivating, then valuing is not reducible to desiring.

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Why the qualification? I want to allow for instances in which someone (say, an addict, or a reluctant lover) is moved to pursue what she regards as (relatively) worthless. We can offer two diagnoses of such cases. In the first, agents don't really care about such things, but are moved anyway to pursue them. This is perfectly compatible with antiHumeanism, since that theory allows that some motivation may proceed primarily through desires. Anti-Humeanism only insists that there is some motivation that proceeds primarily or exclusively through belief. In the second diagnosis, agents are moved to pursue what they regard as (relatively) valueless because they do, despite their reservations, care about such things. In that case, we would have to admit that caring can have a cognitive and a non-cognitive manifestation. Caring could not be analysed as an exclusively cognitive phenomenon. This would force me to qualify the remarks in the text, but not in a way that compromises anti-Humeanism. For that view, again, insists only that there are some cases in which belief is sufficient for motivation. If caring is sometimes (in fact, ordinarily) understood to refer to a kind of evaluative belief, and if such beliefs are at least sometimes sufficient for motivation, then that is enough to vindicate anti-Humeanism.


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So the fact that an agent is motivated only if she cares about something, only if things matter to her or are valued by her, does not undermine an anti-Humean analysis of motivation, since caring, mattering, and valuing can be plausibly understood as anti-Humeans would do. I think that the various appealing considerations to do with the phenomenology of motivational experience, the examples of ordinary inference and mistaken ascriptions of desires, and the availability of an anti-Humean analysis of valuing, combine to create a strong presumptive case on behalf of anti-Humeanism. Let us see whether it can withstand the strongest of the Humean arguments.

III. Five Humean Arguments There are five arguments that might undercut or override the presumption in favour of anti-Humeanism. I'll take these in order, from those that present the least difficulty, to those that are harder to deal with. The first of these is the argument from moral nihilism, which represents an oft-told tale, one nicely encapsulated as one of the central arguments of Blackburn (1985). It begins with some common ground: that beliefs are, in their essence, representational. A belief is that mental state that reports, that depicts, that conveys the facts as an agent sees them. A belief expresses how an agent takes the world to be. A belief can be true or false, accurate or inaccurate. Now, if there are beliefs of a certain kind, then there ought to be something that these beliefs represent. But if nihilists are right, then there is no reality for evaluative beliefs to represent. And this leaves us with two choices. First, we might convict all agents of a deep, possibly ineliminable error of presupposition in their moral practice; they do believe various things about what is right and good and admirable, but all such judgements are mistaken. (This is Mackie's 1977 view.) Or, second, we might refuse to conceptualize moral judgement as belief; people are not trying to represent a non-existent moral reality, but are instead expressing something other than a belief or cognitive state in their moral judgements. On this last option, we have hopes at least of preserving common moral practice and withholding a verdict of massive error. That is preferable to convicting most or all of us of substantial error. So we have excellent reason for endorsing Humeanism as the correct conception of moral judgement. The problem with this argument is that it presupposes moral nihilism, and so can't be used in an argument, like the Non-cognitivist Argument, that

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seeks to undermine moral realism. The anti-Humean who is not also an error theorist can easily escape the horns of the dilemma by rejecting the nihilism that generated it. Since we are investigating the merits of an antirealist argument that has Humeanism as one of its two premisses, we beg the question if we just assume nihilism (and so the falsity of realism) in order to establish Humeanism, which in turn is to be used to establish nihilism. One needs independent reasons for believing in Humeanism if one is to rely on it to establish non-cognitivist, antirealist conclusions. In this context, assuming the truth of moral nihilism lacks the independence necessary to do the relevant work. We might next consider the argument from internalism about reasons. This argument tries to undermine the phenomenological appeal of anti-Humeanism by claiming that an agent's believing herself to have a reason presupposes the presence of a desire. Once the evaluative belief is in place, we don't need to go looking for some new desire that might accompany it and generate motivation. One has the belief in the first place only if one has an appropriate desire. Since (it is claimed) evaluative beliefs presuppose desires, the motivation that apparently derived from the evaluative belief all by its lonesome is actually to be accounted for by the underlying desire.58 The crucial claim here is that one has a reason to do something only if one has an appropriate desire (e.g. a desire to do that very action, or a desire for some end one believes achievable through that action). If that is so, then correctly judging oneself to have a reason entails the existence of a desire. If such beliefs entail the presence of a desire, then we needn't look any further than the desire to explain the motivation that appears to derive from the evaluative belief itself. The claim that one has a reason only if one has a desire is a specific form of a more general thesis that Bernard Williams calls internalism about reasons: necessarily, if one has reason to do x, then one must be able to be motivated to do x (Williams 1981a: 102). If internalism about reasons is false, then the more specific claim is false as well. I believe the general kind of internalism is false, though it has been raised by some philosophers to the level of a conceptual truth. I will set out my reasons for thinking this brand of internalism false in Chapter 7. For now, however, since I cannot do anything other than simply register my disagreement, let us proceed as if this sort of internalism were true. Still, this second argument does not succeed.

58

Thanks to Steve Arkonovich for pressing this objection.


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Suppose reasons do entail the ability to be motivated, and that this ability presupposes desires. Then correctly judging oneself to have a reason entails one's having a desire. But not all evaluative beliefs involve the supposition that one has a reason for action. Even if an action's rightness, goodness, admirability, etc. in fact entail a reason for action, one may judge an action right, good, or admirable without judging that one has reason for action. This is so either because one hasn't thought of the connection, or has but mistakenly believes that goodness or rightness, by itself, does not supply reason to act. Just as one can judge that Twain was an awfully funny writer without entering a judgement on Clemens (because of ignorance about the identity), so too one can judge something good or right without also believing that one has a reason for action, even if truths about goodness, rightness, etc. just are, or entail, truths about reasons for action. So even if something's being good or right entails a reason for action, and even if reasons entail desires, not all evaluative beliefs presuppose the existence of desires. This can be shown in another way. Suppose again that reasons entail desires. Suppose, contrary to what I've just argued, that evaluative beliefs are invariably beliefs about what reasons we have. Then all of an agent's correct evaluative beliefs entail the existence of at least one of her desires. But what of her false evaluative beliefs? She believes herself to have reason to Φ, but in fact lacks any such reason. Still, she certainly might be motivated. Motivation doesn't depend on a belief's being true, as we all at some point have discovered to our regret. So even if reasons entail desires, and even if evaluative beliefs invariably ascribe reasons for action, this second argument fails to implicate a desire in a class of cases where motivation undoubtedly exists—that of false evaluative beliefs. The third argument is what I shall call the argument from identical beliefs: 1. If beliefs were sufficient to motivate, then two people with the same belief must be identically motivated. 2. People with the same belief can be motivated differently. 3. Therefore beliefs are not sufficient to motivate. The argument is valid. The second premiss is true. But the first premiss is false. People with identical beliefs can be differently motivated because of other beliefs or desires that they don't share. You and I both believe that a bus is hurtling toward us, that we are directly in its path and will be killed unless we move. I move and you don't. We had different motivations, which prompted us to different actions. But these different motivations could be explained by

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different evaluative beliefs (I think it good to remain alive; you believe that life is not worth living). Or they could be explained by different desires (I want to remain alive; you don't). Anti-Humeans needn't deny that desires are motivational states. So they needn't deny that motivations created by beliefs can be overridden or even extinguished by competing desires (or competing beliefs). The first premiss of the argument from identical beliefs is false for the same reason that it would be false were ‘beliefs’ replaced by ‘desires’. Two people with desire D may be differently motivated, because one may have stronger competing or complementary desires (or beliefs) than the other. The first person acts contrary to D and the second doesn't. That doesn't show that desires are anything other than intrinsically motivating. So too for evaluative beliefs. It is tempting at this point to introduce examples that conflate two quite distinct mental states. Consider an earlier, antiHumean example: what explains my inferring the consequent upon believing a conditional and its antecedent? Citation of a desire seems superfluous. My beliefs alone appear to explain the inference I make. But an advocate of the argument from identical beliefs may say that there nevertheless must be a latent desire that explains the inference. For if we were to imagine that I desired, quite strongly, not to make such inferences, then I wouldn't make them. And this shows that when I do make them, I have a desire to do so, or a desire that I believe would be satisfied by doing so. This reasoning involves a mistake. In many cases, an agent's strong desire not to Φ explains why she doesn't Φ. But this doesn't license us in attributing to an agent a desire whenever she Φs. That a desire can serve as a motivational defeater does not prove that it must be there as a motivational ‘prompter’. At most (and this is questionable), what we can infer is that motivation to Φ requires an absence of a (sufficiently strong) countervailing desire not to Φ. But the absence of a countervailing desire does not entail the presence of any desire. One may lack the desire not to Φ without having any desire at all. This is true for all cases in which one is indifferent to the prospect of Φ-ing. It is also true of most cases in which the proposed activity is one that the agent has never thought of. I may lack a desire to avoid making modus ponens inferences without also having a desire (to make such inferences, or to do anything else). Even if, in strange circumstances, my failure to infer the consequent is explained by a desire not to make modus ponens inferences, it does not follow that when I make modus ponens inferences I am prompted to do so by a desire. So, generally, even if the best explanation of an agent's not


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Φ-ing in a given case cites her desire not to Φ, we are not compelled to attribute a desire to an agent whenever she Φs. Now consider a variant on the argument from identical beliefs. Suppose we alter the first premiss of the argument so that it refers to one's entire belief set. The argument would then run as follows: if beliefs were sufficient to motivate, then two people who shared all of their beliefs would have to be identically motivated. But this is false. Therefore beliefs aren't sufficient to motivate. We might be tempted at this point to reject the second premiss—the claim that people who share all beliefs needn't be identically motivated. The anti-Humean might say that since we are dealing with a purely imaginary situation now, our judgement that they might be differently motivated cannot really be tested, and relies on a surreptitious attachment to Humeanism that begs the question. But this doesn't strike me as promising. Two people with identical belief sets could do different things, and so be motivated differently. This is true because they might possess different desires, and this difference could explain the difference in motivation. Again, anti-Humeans needn't deny that desires are motivating states, and so needn't deny that different desires can, even in the face of identical beliefs, alter overall motivation. This admission is compatible with the claim that beliefs can motivate all by themselves. How about the following familiar thought experiment: imagine a person with consistent evaluative beliefs but no desires. Wouldn't this person be stymied, motivationally inert? If so, isn't this to be explained as the Humean claims? The answer is that indeed it is, but that the imagined immobility is simply an expression of Humeanism, and so begs the question against opponents. The anti-Humean would claim that a battery of consistent evaluative beliefs is sufficient to get the agent going—no unmotivated desires needed (though always welcome). The thought experiment gains what plausibility it has when we imagine the relevant beliefs to be non-evaluative. Someone whose head contained nothing other than the beliefs that 2 + 2 = 4, that an octagon has eight sides, and that Lisbon is the capital of Portugal would be in a state of suspended animation. But those not already convinced of Humeanism would have no difficulty imagining the engagement of someone whose beliefs had at least some evaluative content. The argument from continuity and uniformity takes its starting point from the observation that non-human animals are clearly the sorts of beings who can be motivated to do things. Yet such animals either lack beliefs entirely, or possess only instrumental, non-evaluative beliefs. We ought to see ourselves as essentially continuous with the other inhabitants of the animal kingdom.

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If they don't need evaluative beliefs to get motivated, then there is a presumption that we don't need them, either. This presumption is strengthened if we focus on non-moral motivation among human beings. We seem to be able to explain such motivation by employing the familiar belief–desire model. Since we can often explain motivation without the aid of evaluative beliefs, then introducing them seems superfluous. Why talk of evaluative beliefs when all the relevant explanatory work can be done without them? If we allow that the belief–desire model is appropriate in many cases, considerations of uniformity argue for extending the model's reach as an explanation for the whole of human motivation. The first line of reply should take issue with the claimed continuity between non-human and human motivation. No doubt much of our more ‘animalistic’ inclinations are explicable by reference to workings that are quite similar to those of other animals. But we are not just alike, as everyone knows. Our reflective capacities are so far superior as to mark a division in kind, rather than degree. We are not exclusively driven by instinct and need, but are capable of sophisticated assessment of both unsolicited promptings and chosen ends (and much in between). Our ability to take our lives and actions as objects of reflection, and to take that reflection as the basis of deliberation and action, signifies a relevant discontinuity from other animals. Yet this reflective ability may well receive expression in evaluative belief; indeed, that is precisely where we should expect to see its introduction. The anti-Humean may argue, with more than superficial plausibility, that one of the bases for distinguishing us from the rest of creation is just the presence of evaluative beliefs in structuring our motivations. Considerations of uniformity raise more serious worries. If we grant that non-moral motivation is best explained by means of a Humean belief–desire model, then we will want to know why it isn't always thus explicable. The Humean can claim that theoretical economy requires a uniform account of motivation. If our beliefs, when dealing with nonmoral matters, need some assistance in generating motivation, then why does a change in subject matter signal a change in a belief's motivational powers? Anti-Humeans here are forced to say either that desires take a back seat in even non-moral motivation, or that they are the main story there, but play only a secondary role (or none at all) when it comes to moral matters. One reply that anti-Humeans may make is to deny the claim that the belief–desire model really does best explain what is going on in non-moral cases. It might be, for instance, that all action is done under the guise of the good, in


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which case anti-Humeans might defend the sufficiency of evaluative beliefs (often non-moral ones) for motivation in even non-moral contexts.59 On this line, one is moved to take some action only if one believes the action to be in some ways good, attractive, valuable, etc. Such beliefs, like desires, needn't be consciously formulated, present to mind, or even transparent to introspection. If any such story is plausible, then the Humean argument is greatly weakened. For its reliance on uniformity considerations is only so strong as the initial claim that non-moral motivation is best explained by the belief–desire model. With that starting point, considerations of theoretical economy would have us extrapolate a like story to instances of moral motivation. But why think that we should start there? The argument from uniformity just assumes that Humeanism is the default position, and so just assumes that anti-Humeanism is false until it is shown to be true. This is genuinely question-begging, since we have yet to see a successful argument that establishes even the presumptive superiority of the Humean account.60 Still, Humeans may query the force of this reply by pointing out how little room it leaves for desires to do any motivational work. If in both moral and non-moral cases evaluative beliefs play the primary or exclusive motivational role, then what is left for desires to do? And aren't desires crucial after all, as

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That all action is directed at outcomes viewed by the agent sub specie boni is a tenet ordinarily endorsed by Humeans (see, e.g., Davidson 1978 ; Stampe 1987 : 355). But antiHumeans can take over this claim and make it their own. (For scepticism about the advisability of such a move, see Velleman 1992 .)

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It is important to note that anti-Humeans might have a plausible reply to the argument from economy even if we grant (as I believe we should not) that Humeanism is the default account of non-moral motivation. Suppose we make this concession. Anti-Humeans will then be in a position of allowing that some cases of non-moral motivation are best explained by invoking desires, but insisting on a primary role for (evaluative) beliefs when it comes to moral motivation. The dualistic theory that results needn't be ad hoc or lack conceptual coherence. Scanlon (1998 : ch. 1), for instance, offers us a bifurcated theory that seems well motivated, drawing as it does on a set of distinctions among different types of desire and carefully displaying a rationale for restricting their motivational power to only a small subset of cases. Scanlon's theory may be true; if not, another like it may be. The important point here is not to pick and choose among them, or even defend the general idea that some such view is correct. The point is rather to make clear the resources of anti-Humeanism. Anti-Humeans can accept the assumption that there is some uniform account of moral and non-moral motivation. If so, they will need to spell out a ‘guise of the good’ story. Alternatively, anti-Humeans may deny the uniformity assumption, and defend a view similar in outline to Scanlon's recent account. Since I won't be taking sides on how best to pursue the development of anti-Humeanism, it might be tempting to suppose that we should opt for Humeanism until some positive anti-Humean account is defended. But that would be warranted only if we already had in hand a plausible defence of Humeanism. Not only are we lacking one as yet, we do have some considerations, to do with the phenomenology of motivation, etc., that should incline us (lightly, perhaps) to anti-Humeanism. So even here, we should not take the absence of a positive, detailed anti-Humean account as sufficient grounds to presumptively side with Humeanism.

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we can see when we focus on typical instances of belief? No one thinks that mathematical, historical, or empirical beliefs will motivate anyone all by themselves. There is a plausible and a less plausible line of thought embedded in this last paragraph. The less plausible path tries to establish the merits of a belief–desire model by displaying the motivational impotence of typical beliefs. But that is bound to fail, since anti-Humeanism is not committed to their potency. The anti-Humean does not say that every belief is sufficient to motivate. Only evaluative beliefs are sufficient. Are they also necessary? That depends on the details of the anti-Humean view under consideration. Some anti-Humeans will want to say this, thereby developing a completely uniform account of human motivation. But others (cf. n. 9) will espouse a hybrid theory that allows desires a primary motivational role in some circumstances. This is a sacrifice of theoretical uniformity; whether the sacrifice is worth it depends on how defensible the details of the hybrid theory turn out to be. Rather than take a stand on such matters, which would require exhaustive investigation into the nuances of various proposals on this front, let us simply record the possibility of developing an anti-Humean theory along such hybrid lines. This leads us directly to the other Humean challenge, which insists that anti-Humeans have unduly downplayed the role of desires in motivation, especially if anti-Humeans develop a uniform account such that moral and non-moral motivation is explicable via evaluative beliefs. In such accounts, there seems precious little for desires to do.61 Humeans find such dismissals completely unacceptable. But that is the expression of the conclusions they have already come to, rather than something that we can accept as a neutral starting point in our investigations. Humeans might be right to suspect such dismissals, but that is something that can be settled only after having done all the hard work in fixing the nature and role of desire in motivation. A last, quite powerful argument on behalf of Humeanism seeks to reaffirm the central role of desires in human motivation, thereby uprooting such anti-Humean strategies. This is the argument from direction of fit, developed by Michael Smith (1994: 116): 1. 2. 3. 4.

Having a motivating reason is, inter alia, having a goal. Having a goal is being in a state with which the world must fit. Being in a state with which the world must fit is desiring. Therefore having a motivating reason is, inter alia, desiring.

A motivating reason is anything that actually motivates, regardless of whether there is any good justification for being so motivated. The other things alluded to in the first premiss and conclusion include, and will on some conceptions be limited to, means–ends beliefs. So premiss (1) represents the idea that taking some consideration as a reason, and being motivated thereby, entails (because is at least partly constituted by) having a goal. Smith claims that this premiss is a conceptual truth. I think that this premiss begs the question. Having a goal is most naturally understood as intending to bring about some state of affairs. Call this state of affairs an end state. According to premiss (1), being motivated is a matter of positing an end state and deliberating about (or just seeing) how to realize it. I think that this picture unfairly prejudges our assessment of anti-Humeanism. For if antiHumeanism is correct, then motivation needn't be a teleological matter; it need not involve seeking after some end state. On the anti-Humean picture, what can motivate an agent is a belief that an action is one's duty, that it is valuable, etc. There is no statement of an end state in such a characterization of motivation. Nor need there be an implicit, entailed postulation of some sought-after state of affairs. Means–end reasoning, and the motivation it leads to, is quite naturally characterized as essentially involving the positing of an end state. But not all motivation need exemplify a means–end model. If the anti-Humean is right, then seeing that something is right or good is sufficient to motivate one to do it. When this occurs, one may be motivated without having a goal. One needn't conceptualize an end state and seek to realize it. Indeed, the mark of what we might call deontological motivation is the absence of such an end state from the agent's understanding of what is going on. She believes that an action has a certain feature (being right or obligatory, for 61

This is exactly the position that Dancy and Scanlon, in their different ways, defend at length. See Dancy 1993 : chs. 2 and 3 and Scanlon 1998 : ch. 1.


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instance), and is moved to act on that basis alone. She needn't conceptualize some state of affairs and take the realization of that state as a goal to be attained by her action. I think that this anti-Humean analysis works even if we assume that any correct moral theory is itself teleologically structured. If what is right is essentially a matter of bringing about certain states of affairs, then one might argue that a commitment to do right must be understood to involve a commitment to realizing certain end states, and that reimports the teleological element to motivation. But this move is of limited appeal. It works only for those agents who see morality in teleological terms. Not all do. The important issue here is not whether morality actually embodies a teleological structure, but rather whether agents think it does. Even on the assumption

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that morality is teleologically structured, it is an intentional fallacy to assume that every agent committed to doing right is therefore going to think in terms of realizing some valued end state. One can avoid the fallacy by assuming that every agent believes that rightness is a matter of realizing some end state. But that assumption is patently false. So, even if morality is teleologically structured, many fail to see it as such, and thus many may lack any intention to realize some end state in doing what they believe to be right. Thus, for all we've said, an agent may be motivated by evaluative beliefs without at the same time having a goal to be brought about thereby. To assume otherwise is to beg the question in favour of a Humean theory of motivation. But question-begging premisses can still be true. Perhaps there are good arguments yet to be made on behalf of the first premiss. The considerations offered against premiss (1) just assumed the plausibility of anti-Humeanism, so it isn't as if we are in a position to conclude that the first premiss is definitely false. Instead, we are at a standstill. That isn't very satisfying, since it reveals anti-Humeanism's vulnerability: if premisses (2) and (3) are true, and if a better, nonquestion-begging argument for premiss (1) comes along, then anti-Humeanism appears to be in hot water again. But I doubt that is so. Even if the argument is sound, it doesn't establish the Humean conclusion it was meant to. To see this, briefly consider how we might construe the second and third premisses of Smith's argument. Premiss (2) tells us that having a goal is being in a state with which the world must fit. How to unpack this metaphor? According to Smith, having a goal is a state that tends to endure even after one perceives that one's goal isn't yet achieved; such a perception rather disposes the subject to alter the world so as to bring about the satisfaction of her goal. Those who perceive that their goals aren't yet satisfied, and then sit by and do nothing, don't really have goals at all; just wishes, or fantasies, or hopes. As we saw in Chapter 1, we do best to replace Smith's talk of tendencies to endure with explicitly normative criteria, so that beliefs, for instance, are states that ought to extinguish, rather than those that tend to extinguish, upon a (nondiscounted) perception that their content is not realized. We can alter Smith's conception of direction of fit in this way at no cost to the master argument that he is advancing. For it is true that the appropriateness of a goal isn't determined by whether it accurately represents the world as it is. As premiss (2) claims, goals must fit the world, not the other way around. In simple terms: the fact that the world doesn't match the goal's content doesn't impugn the goal.


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What of premiss (3)? This tells us that being in a state with which the world must fit is desiring. Part of Smith's motivation for developing such an account is his rejection of a standard, phenomenological account of desires, according to which desires are invariably ‘felt’, have a distinctive phenomenological presentation, and are infallibly introspectible. The first two features, and sometimes the third, have traditionally been used to distinguish belief from desire. If we can't rely on these features, we need a different basis for making the distinction. Smith believes that the notion of direction of fit will do the job. Smith responds to the familiar point about the diversity of kinds of desires in a philosophically respectable way—he defines them by trying to identify what is common to them all (‘brute’ appetites, calm passions, long-term projects, etc.). The common denominator is their disposing their subjects to action. Smith's willingness to identify desires with pro-attitudes (1994: 117), the generic state of motivation, makes this clear. Being motivated just is desiring. Some anti-Humeans will baulk at this.62 I won't. I am prepared to grant the truth of premisses (2) and (3). If, in addition, we suspend our qualms about the first premiss, then Smith's argument goes through. And this seems a victory for Humeanism, because the conclusion appears to undermine the view that beliefs alone can explain motivation. But that isn't so. Recall the two senses of sufficiency that arise in this context. The first, stronger version has it that evaluative beliefs are all by themselves enough to get one going—no desires needed. The weaker view claims that beliefs must be supplemented by desires, but that the relevant desires can themselves be generated by evaluative beliefs. Beliefs are, all by themselves, sufficient to yield motivated or derived desires, which, together with the evaluative beliefs, generate motivation. Though the conclusion of the argument from direction of fit is

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Some anti-Humeans will claim that premiss (3)—that being in a state with which the world must fit is desiring—is question-begging. They will argue that evaluative beliefs represent such states. But this raises a problem. For evaluative beliefs, qua beliefs, must also fit the world. And so such anti-Humeans will have to say that evaluative beliefs have two, opposing directions of fit. I don't understand how that can be, since the direction of fit of a state with the content that p is understood in terms of its counterfactual dependence on the perception that not-p. If a state has both directions of fit, then, on perceiving that not-p, it is both the case that it ought not to extinguish, and the case that it should. That is problematic, to say the least. One might claim that evaluative beliefs can have two directions of fit, in virtue of having two contents, one aimed at describing the value attaching to some course of action, the other aimed at characterizing the end state being sought. But this seems ad hoc, at least if one is willing in all other contexts to distinguish belief from desire in terms of direction of fit. Further, it seems a plausible governing assumption of intentional attitude ascription that we individuate mental states by virtue of their contents. A unitary state with two contents (never mind their competing directions of fit) violates this plausible assumption.

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incompatible with the strong view, it does nothing to undermine the second, weaker version of anti-Humeanism. So even if we grant its soundness, the argument fails to undermine the anti-Humean view that beliefs are sufficient to generate derived desires that, together, yield motivation. What the argument really does, it seems to me, is to supply an innovative way to argue for what may be a conceptual truth—that whenever an agent intentionally Φs, we can truly say of her that she wanted to Φ. But, as G. F. Schueler has clearly shown, this use of ‘want’ does not entail the presence of a more specific mental state (a desire) which initiated or caused (in conjunction with a means–end belief) the subsequent action.63 I think that Schueler is right in insisting on two irreducible senses of ‘desire’ or ‘want’. He restricts the use of ‘desire’ to the more particular mental states, and uses the term ‘pro-attitude’ to designate the generic state of motivation, or, better, to denote the fact that an agent has been motivated. The class of desires proper is diverse, and there is nothing, apart from their being intrinsically motivating, that unifies the class. They include appetites, urges, cravings, longings, hopes, wishes, aversions, and the whole set of ‘calm passions’ which we would colloquially term ‘desires’, and whose content we can seek to justify or support by deploying reasons. The desire to sponsor a runner in a charity race needn't have any distinctive feel, needn't answer to any specific need of mine, needn't yield pleasure upon its satisfaction, but is a desire for all that, and one that is, to use Scanlon's terms, a ‘judgement-sensitive attitude’ (Scanlon 1998: 18–22), because its existence, or at least rationality, depends on various judgements the agent makes about its appropriateness. Desires proper are intrinsically motivating. In contrast to such mental states, pro-attitudes are not really distinct mental states at all, but rather a way of attributing intentionality to an action (and to its agent). This latter view is very close to Jonathan Dancy's (as set out in Dancy 1993: chs. 2 and 3), which he calls the ‘pure theory’ of motivation (pure because beliefs alone are thought to cause and explain motivation). Unlike Schueler or Scanlon, Dancy denies any causal efficacy to desires, and so, in effect, rejects the claim that there are desires proper. Nevertheless, Dancy allows that every instance of purposive action entails a desire. He sees a desire simply as the agent's being motivated by the gap between two beliefs: one about how things are now, and the other about how things will or would be after the contemplated action. Thus every purposive action entails the presence of a desire, but desires

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Schueler 1995 , esp. ch. 1, and ch. 5, pp. 156–61. Nagel seems to be suggesting this point in 1970 : 29.


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are not distinct motivating states. Rather, desires are ascribed to agents as a way of marking the fact that they have been motivated by a set of beliefs alone.64 Let us retain Schueler's usage and maintain the distinction between desires proper, which are intrinsically motivating states, and pro-attitudes, which are not. We attribute pro-attitudes in ex post fashion, as an alternative way of designating intentional action. In this sense, we can truly say of someone with a gun to his head that, since he intentionally handed over the money, he wanted to do so, i.e. had a pro-attitude towards doing so. Since he was moved to act, he wanted to act—this is allowed to be a conceptual truth. But saying this is compatible with correctly denying the existence of any discrete desire to hand over the money, or a desire for some further goal that handing over the money is believed to satisfy. This lets us make sense of the familiar cases that support an anti-Humean phenomenology. We often appear to speak truthfully about our doing things even though we ‘didn't want to do them at all’, or ‘wanted very much not to do them’; and we cite our motives in such cases as duty, responsibility, conscience—in short, a belief about what reasons we have, what is appropriate, what we should or must do, regardless of our desires. The distinction between the generic pro-attitude and the more particular desire does not by itself support anti-Humeanism, but it does leave room for a reply to Smith's argument, or, rather, a way to show its limited effect in undermining anti-Humeanism. For once we grant that agents invariably want to do what they intentionally do, we can still ask why they formed the intention in the first place. And we will need a new argument for thinking that every instance of forming an intention arises as a result of being prompted by one's desire(s) and attaching to it a means–end belief. Indeed, we have good reason for thinking that this is not invariably what happens. The reason is supplied by the earlier case in which one mistakes one's desires. In such cases, what generates an intention to act is a belief that one has a desire, combined with another belief that the desire is best satisfied by acting in a certain way. Here, what explains action is a combination of two beliefs. If we are to find a desire anywhere in the picture, it must be a postulated higher-order desire to act on the beliefs one has about one's desires

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Thus Dancy: ‘though necessary for the eventual action, it [a desire] is not a cause of that action; it does not pull its own weight in the causal story. (Its occurrence does not contribute to the explanation of the action, though for logical rather than causal reasons we could not suppose the action possible in its absence.) The pure theory here . . . agrees that the desire just is the agent's being motivated by his beliefs’ (1993: 20).

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and the ways in which they are best satisfied. But this seems more than a bit top-heavy. The more natural explanation simply invokes the mistaken belief (about which desire one has) and the means–end belief. These two are all that are needed to explain why the agent of our earlier example formed the intention to remain in law school, and so, in a formal sense, wanted to remain in law school. Allowing that he wanted to do so is compatible with explaining his intentions and motivations solely in terms of beliefs. It is important to see that the force of this point is not restricted to the minority of cases in which one mistakes one's desires. Any case in which one reflects and deliberates about what to do will be best explained by one's (true or false) beliefs—beliefs about what is desirable, about what one desires, about what is worthy, important, right, valuable, good, or interesting to pursue, plus beliefs about how to get there. Admittedly, not all intentional action is deliberative, so we must beware of creating a picture of motivation that paints it in exclusively cognitive terms. Sometimes we just do something, without deliberation, as when we impulsively reach out to pet a lolling cat, or grab the nearest soda to quench our thirst. Some acts are prompted by desires proper (especially when the desires have intentional objects, rather than propositional content). So there is no need to deny that the traditional Humean picture, in which desires initiate action, and are coupled only with means–ends beliefs to yield action, is ever a correct description of motivation. There is no need to deny that desires are intrinsically motivating. There is no need to deny that we can say of every intentional action that its agent wanted to do it. What the anti-Humean denies is that the explanation of why we form intentions to act, and so act, will not always require citation of a desire. In fact, invoking desires as explanations of action seems appropriate in only a minority of cases, namely, those that do not involve deliberation. Deliberative acts can be explained just by citing the combination of evaluative beliefs or beliefs about one's desires, with means–end beliefs. Since many instances of moral motivation do involve deliberation, we have good reason to analyse such cases as the anti-Humean suggests.

IV. Conclusion Even if the details of the view I have just sketched need alteration, the basic point remains: Smith's argument incorporates what seems to be a question-begging premiss, and even if we waive that concern, his argument does not


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undermine the weaker of two anti-Humean views. That conclusion, combined with the criticisms of the other Humean arguments, and the considerations in favour of anti-Humeanism, seem to me enough to create a strong presumptive case against Humeanism. At this point, then, we have good reason to reject the second premiss of the Non-cognitivist Argument. If Humeanism is false, then that argument is unsound, and so represents no threat to moral realism. We might end it there, but a more cautious strategy would hesitate before sounding Humeanism's death knell. All sensible philosophers know that their favourite arguments often lack the success that they would wish for them. So, in an effort to cover my bases, let us proceed to consider the first premiss of the Non-cognitivist Argument, the premiss that affirms motivational judgement internalism: necessarily, if one sincerely judges an action right, then one is motivated to some extent to act in accordance with that judgement. In the next chapter, I want to show that we have excellent reason for rejecting this view, especially if we were to assume that Humeanism is true. So even if my antiHumean arguments fall short, the Non-cognitivist Argument will fail to supply a good basis for rejecting moral realism.

6 Motivational Judgement Internalism 1. A Taxonomy of Internalisms What better way to explain why moral judgements motivate as they do than by analysing such judgements as expressions of intrinsically motivating states? If, in judging something good or right, I am (say) giving vent to one or another of my emotions, which themselves are enough to prompt me to act, then we have a ready way of accounting for the pull that such judgements exert on us. We also have a way, it seems, of forging a connection between moral judgement and motivation that is so tight that it becomes impossible to sincerely make such a judgement while remaining completely unmoved. And this is just what the first premiss of the Non-cognitivist Argument claims. Internalism of this sort—that which alleges a conceptual or ‘internal’ connection between moral judgement and motivation—is not committed to the obviously false claim that all sincere moral judgement issues in action. Instead, the claim is that one sincerely and genuinely issues a moral judgement only if such a judgement is motivating to some degree or other. Everyone recognizes that the motivational efficacy of our moral commitments might be overridden by competing considerations. What is alleged in the internalist premiss of the Non-cognitivist Argument is the impossibility of remaining completely indifferent to one's sincere moral judgements. Before assessing this first premiss of the Non-cognitivist Argument, we need to be sure that the kind of internalism it conveys is clearly distinguished from many other theories that go by that name. At the most general level, moral internalist views are of two kinds. Judgement internalist theories specify

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necessary connections between moral judgements, on the one hand, and either motives or justifying reasons, on the other. Existence internalist theories claim that moral obligations necessarily motivate, or necessarily provide good reasons for action.65 The motivational variant of existence internalism has been widely thought implausible, given its implication that moral obligations cease to apply to agents who are unmotivated to comply with their requirements. The rationalist option is taken quite seriously, and is the subject of ongoing philosophical debate. I defend the rationalist thesis in Chapter 8. Here, however, I mention these theories only to set them to one side. My concern at this point is entirely with the nature and merits of (one form of) judgement internalism. Judgement internalism comes in three major varieties. Motivational judgement internalism (MJI) claims that, necessarily, a person sincerely judging an action right is motivated to some extent to comply with her judgement. MJI has a weak and a strong version, depending on whether the motivation can be overridden by competing motivations (weak MJI), or not (strong MJI). The strong version disallows for the possibility of akrasia, and so is not much in favour. The weak version has received quite broad support, and has itself lent important support to a variety of antirealist positions in metaethics. In order to avoid saddling the internalist with the unpalatable stronger view, I will proceed on the assumption that it is the weaker version of internalism that finds a place in the Non-cognitivist Argument. This weaker version constitutes the focus of what is to come. Before proceeding in that direction, however, we should take note of two further judgement internalist positions. Unlike MJI's focus on motivation, reasons judgement internalism (RJI) stipulates a necessary connection between moral judgements and justifying reasons for action. In its general form, RJI states that, necessarily, a person who sincerely judges an action right has reason to perform that action. Like MJI, RJI has a weak and strong form, depending on whether the justifying reason for action supplied by one's moral judgement is defeasible or not. Strong RJI has been generally thought implausible because of its implication that one's sincere moral judgements cannot be mistaken—if they could be in error, then they wouldn't necessarily supply the best possible justification for action, contrary to the thesis. So weak RJI has taken centre stage in philosophical debates about the relation between moral judgement and justifying reasons for action.

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This terminology originates with Stephen Darwall (1983 : 51 ff.).

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We can identify a final kind of judgement internalism, one that has rarely been distinguished from RJI. Hybrid judgement internalism (HJI) states that a person sincerely judging an action right has reason to be motivated to perform that action.66 Like its counterpart judgement internalisms, HJI too has a weak and a strong version, depending on whether the reason for motivation that a sincerely held moral judgement supplies is just a reason (weak HJI), or the best possible reason (strong HJI). Since action presupposes motivation, RJI in its general form entails HJI. But I am unsure about the converse. It seems to me possible for agents to have reason to be motivated to perform an action even if one lacks reason to do it. It might, for instance, be a good thing for an agent to possess a standing motive to act in a certain way, even if in particular cases there is no reason at all to act on this motive. If this sort of division between motive and action is a conceptual possibility, HJI does not entail RJI. Motivational and reasons judgement internalism are logically independent of one another. RJI can be true even if MJI is not: RJI doesn't insist that agents are always motivated to some extent to comply with their sincere moral judgements, but only that if they fail to be thus motivated, then they are to that degree irrational. And MJI can be true even if RJI is not: it may be that one is always motivated to comply with one's moral judgements, even if one sometimes lacks a justifying reason for doing so. Since RJI entails HJI, it follows as well that MJI and HJI are logically independent of one another. This taxonomy certainly doesn't cover all that has been mentioned even in the ethics literature under the heading of ‘internalism’.67 The importance of the taxonomy lies not in its comprehensiveness, but rather in the fact that it enables us to see clearly that most moral internalisms are logically independent of one another. That is important because it shows that we must take the different forms one by one, and can't assume that the failure (or success) of

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David Brink also uses the locution ‘hybrid internalism’, but he is referring to a quite different beast. On his use, hybrid internalism is the theory that stipulates a necessary connection between the making of a true moral judgement and motivation or reasons for action. For Brink's discussion, see Brink 1989: 41 ff.The best defence of hybrid judgement internalism is given by Michael Smith (1994: ch. 3). His practicality requirement is, so far as I can tell, identical to what I have been referring to as the strong version of hybrid judgement internalism. I criticize this sort of internalism, in Shafer-Landau 1999.

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Each of the following theses has been introduced to the literature as an example of internalism (I omit modal operators for the sake of convenience). All but the last two have a stronger or weaker version, depending on whether the parenthetical term is included. The internalism at issue in this chapter is the weaker version of the first thesis, prefixed by a necessity operator:Motivational Judgement Internalism: If one judges an action right, then one is (defeasibly) motivated to do it.Reasons Judgement Internalism: If one judges an action right, then one has (defeasible) reason to do it.Hybrid Judgement Internalism: If one judges an action right, then one has (defeasible) reason to be motivated to do it. (This is Smith's practicality requirement. See Smith 1994: ch. 3.)Motivational Existence Internalism: If one is morally obligated to perform an action, then one is (defeasibly) motivated to do it. (This is one of Nagel's characterizations of internalism (1970: 7), but because of the implausibility of the contrapositive, not one that he (or anyone else) has taken very seriously.)Moral Rationalism: (i.e. reasons existence internalism): If one is morally obligated to perform an action, then one has (defeasible) reason to do it. (This thesis is defended in Chapter 8.)Rational Egoism: If an action advances one's self- interest, then one has (defeasible) reason to do it. (This thesis is criticized in Chapter 8. )Prudential Internalism: If an action redounds to one's self-interest, then one can be motivated to perform that action. (This is the version at the heart of much recent debate about intrinsic value and individual well-being.)Internalism about Reasons: If one has a reason to perform an action, then one can be motivated to perform that action. (This thesis is criticized in Chapter 7.)

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one sort entails that of another. Some forms of internalism are less plausible than others, and each must be assessed on its own merits. That said, let us turn to discussion of the brand of motivational internalism (weak MJI) that will be the focus of the remainder of this chapter. This form of internalism, recall, says that necessarily, if one sincerely judges an action right, then one is motivated to some extent to act in accordance with that judgement. Its contradictory—motivational judgement externalism—claims that it is at least conceptually possible for a sincere normative judgement to entirely lack motivational power. I believe that this form of externalism is true, and that motivational judgement internalism (henceforth, just ‘internalism’) is thus false. If I am right about that, then we have a way of defeating the Noncognitivist Argument, even for those who remain sceptical of the criticisms of Humeanism offered in the last chapter.

II. The Amoralist The externalist position is usually framed by reference to an amoralist, one whose characteristic disposition is to disregard what he takes to be genuine moral demands. But we needn't imagine anything so strong; we need defend only the conceptual possibility of an agent who on a single occasion fails to be motivated by a moral judgement that he endorses. We don't have a ready word for such an individual, so I will stick with ‘amoralist’, with the caveat that the moral indifference we assign such a person needn't be systemic. Many philosophers, and not just philosophers, have thought it possible that such people exist. Establishing the possibility is all we need to undermine motivational

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judgement internalism; one doesn't show this brand of internalism true just by showing (if one can) that there are in fact no amoralists. Internalism is vindicated if and only if there cannot be any such people.68 Let us bring the amoralist into sharper focus. Consider two kinds of cases. In the first, one temporarily loses one's moral footing, perhaps because of extreme temptation, duress, or inebriation. The principles one really holds are temporarily forgotten (but not abandoned). In the second kind of case, one's scruples are intact, but owing to ignorance, inattention, or mistaken belief, one fails to see that a given particular action is called for by one's principles. In either sort of case, one may fail to be motivated to act in accordance with one's sincere moral judgements. Certainly both kinds of case do occur, but pointing this out can hardly be sufficient to undermine internalism. What the externalist needs to provide is a conceptually possible instance of an individual whose judgements of right conduct are present to mind, and who genuinely judges that a given available action is right, but who is nevertheless unmotivated to act appropriately. Here is a quick argument to show that such persons are possible. What is imaginable is conceptually possible. The amoralist is imaginable. Therefore the amoralist is conceptually possible. Therefore internalism is false, and externalism true. The difficulty is that each premiss is controversial, and when taken together they are doubly so. We surely can imagine a person uttering the words ‘that action is morally right’, while remaining unmoved. The question is whether we can imagine an unmotivated person sincerely saying such a thing. We seem to be able to imagine such sincerity. But can we really? Internalists will deny this, since they insist that sincere moral judgements entail, or just consist in the expression of, some motivational attitude. Whether the break comes between imaginability and possibility, or apparent versus real imaginability, the internalist insists that the amoralist lies on the wrong side of the divide. Thus examples cannot clinch the case for the externalist, since the internalist will say of any putative amoralist that he is just mouthing the words we love to hear, rather than sincerely making a moral endorsement. Still, sketching cases of putative amoralism can test the degree to which we are committed, prior to

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What is the relevant modality here? Advocates of motivational judgement internalism have almost always insisted that the motivational efficacy of moral judgement is a conceptually necessary truth. It is open to fans of this sort of internalism to endorse it either as some other sort of necessary truth (say, a metaphysical one), or to simply insist that there is a constant conjunction between moral judgement and motivation. But the philosophical justifications for this kind of internalism, especially as it finds a place in antirealist arguments, have always led to the strongest version, and it is this version that will be the focus of what follows.

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developed metaethical theorizing, to the possibility of the amoralist. I think that our common-sense intuitions do create (revisable, rebuttable) philosophical presumptions, and I want to paint some scenarios that I hope will incline the uncommitted reader to the externalist position I favour.

III. An Objection Before I present these scenarios, we need to consider an important objection that threatens to undermine their efficacy. The objection claims that anti-Humeanism and externalism are incompatible. Evaluative beliefs are intrinsically motivating, as the anti-Humean claims, only if, necessarily, they motivate those who hold them. So anti-Humeanism requires the truth of internalism. The falsity of either of the premisses of the Non-cognitivist Argument entails the truth of the remaining premiss. So there is an internal tension in my criticism of the Non-cognitivist Argument. In a nutshell: if Humeanism (premiss 2) is false, then some beliefs—most plausibly evaluative beliefs, beliefs about what is good or right—do motivate all by themselves, or at least, taken by themselves, entail desires which, when conjoined with the beliefs, are sufficient to motivate. But this seems to be equivalent to the claim that evaluative judgements entail motivation. And that is precisely what internalism claims. So it seems that if we reject Humeanism, we should endorse internalism. Yet I reject Humeanism, and am proposing to reject internalism as well. That is inconsistent. This is close but not quite right. Rejecting Humeanism entails that some beliefs are intrinsically motivating. But evaluative beliefs (including specifically moral beliefs) might be intrinsically motivating without being necessarily motivating. And internalism is a thesis about necessary motivation. So one may reject Humeanism without also embracing internalism. If Humeanism is false, then a belief, when it motivates, may motivate in virtue of its own nature and content, either entirely without the aid of ancillary affective states (as, e.g., Dancy 1993 or Scanlon 1998 would have it), or by means of generating such states (as, e.g., Ross 1930 and Nagel 1970 counsel). I will speak of a belief's being intrinsically motivating if either of these conditions holds. So if Humeanism is false, then evaluative beliefs will be intrinsically motivating. Yet it seems that there might be circumstances in which an intrinsically motivating belief exerts no motivating influence whatever, say, owing to competing beliefs or desires, physical exhaustion, severe depression, etc. If this is possible, then a belief may be

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intrinsically motivating without being necessarily motivating. Thus if this is possible, Humeanism may be false, and internalism false as well. So the falsity of Humeanism would not entail the truth of internalism. Both premisses of the Non-cognitivist Argument may be false. Whether that is so or not depends (among other things) on how one understands the notion of a motivational defeater. There are two relevant options. The first claims that a defeater operates by overriding an existing motivation, which nevertheless remains to some small degree. Following a similar debate about reasons and values, we can call such motivation pro tanto. Such motivation, when defeated, does not disappear completely. Some remnant remains, however weak or actually causally inefficacious. Alternatively, we might conceive of a defeater as extinguishing the motivation that, in other contexts, would exist were it not for the presence of the defeater. Again, we can borrow terms from debates about practical reason and value and call such motivations prima facie.69 If intrinsic motivation is pro tanto, then any belief that is intrinsically motivating will be necessarily motivating; it will, in every possible context, generate some motivation, however weak. The truth of anti-Humeanism would entail the truth of internalism. Alternatively, if intrinsic motivation is prima facie, then evaluative beliefs, even if intrinsically motivating, may nevertheless entirely fail to motivate in certain contexts, owing to defeaters that extinguish the motivation that would otherwise exist. So evaluative beliefs would not necessarily motivate. Anti-Humeanism would not entail the truth of internalism.

IV. The Examples I believe that the examples I am about to offer create good, though not conclusive, reason to accept the claim that the motivation provided by moral judgement is prima facie, rather than pro tanto. There are reasons for thinking that moral judgements that are able, by themselves, to motivate in some contexts may entirely lack their ordinary motivational power in unusual

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Consider an analogous debate, that between Moore and Ross on the nature of intrinsic value. Moore thought that certain aesthetic enjoyments were pro tanto valuable (though he didn't put it in such terms): every such enjoyment was intrinsically valuable, though in some cases, its value was overridden (though not extinguished) by that of the larger context in which it was experienced. Ross, on the other hand, thought that such enjoyments were only prima facie valuable. Though ordinarily valuable, they were capable of entirely losing their value under certain conditions.

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circumstances. If that is so, then internalism is false—there would be no necessary connection between a moral judgement and motivation. And so the first premiss of the Non-cognitivist Argument would be undermined. A strength of the examples that follow is that they are, so far as I can tell, neutral as between Humean and antiHumean assumptions about moral judgement. Whether moral judgement is best construed as belief, or as an expression of some sort of non-cognitive attitude, such judgements may sometimes lack all motivating force. So the falsity of internalism would not entail the truth of Humeanism. It might be that both internalism and Humeanism are false. (a) If internalism were true, then every agent at every opportunity would have to be motivated to some degree to act upon her moral endorsements, no matter what she perceives the content of those endorsements to be. Many have held that moral demands can be so strenuous as to be unsatisfiable in particular cases. It seems conceptually possible for an individual who holds this view to fail to be appropriately motivated. Of course, this is so only if agents who see the pursuit of a goal as futile do not thereby abandon their view of the worthiness of the goal. They often do. And perhaps wisdom dictates such a course—if ought implies can, then the relevant inability will cancel the obligation. But people don't always think this way. Some people straightforwardly reject this deontic principle, and many others make judgements that reveal an implicit rejection of it. When considering non-moral cases, it seems conceivable for agents to lose all motivation if they judge the accomplishment of a goal to be impossible. A sincere prediction of futility may be sufficient to entirely sap one's motivation for carrying through. Importantly, such a prediction does not appear to entail revocation of the value judgement. Unless there is something special about judgements of ‘moral futility’ that distinguishes such judgements from their non-moral kindred, we have reason to take the example at face value, and allow for the possibility of an amoralist. (b) Most of us believe that the demands of prudence and morality can conflict. Even at moments when we perceive the conflict to be very great, we may feel ourselves perfectly able to discharge our duty. (Thus we have a case distinct from (a).) Nevertheless, the anticipated costs of doing so may be appalling. Faced with such prospects, we may waver. Fear can overtake a motivation to do one's duty. By concentrating long and hard enough on the anticipated costs of doing one's duty, couldn't fear extinguish a motivation to fulfil one's obligations? When the perceived sacrifice is very great, why couldn't we lose our nerve utterly and just baulk at the prospect of acting in the right?

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Imagine a soldier during wartime who believes it his duty to fight for his country. He knows that in two weeks' time he will be called to the front. As the days pass, he dwells increasingly on the horrors he may face. His fortitude diminishes accordingly. After several days he is struck by what seems to him a complete absence of motivation to fight. He recognizes the convenience of modifying his moral views. If he embraced pacifism, or at least came to morally oppose the present war, then he could with good conscience justify his unwillingness to fight. But he cannot do this. He thinks himself a coward precisely because of his lack of motivation to do his perceived duty. By his own account he is entirely unmoved by the prospect of doing what he morally ought to do. (c) Rather than see moral obligations as either occasionally unsatisfiable or as demanding extraordinary self-sacrifice, we can imagine an agent who views such obligations as perfectly reasonable, and as achievable by ordinary persons. But she is not such a person, or does not see herself as one. She is clinically depressed, apathetic, relatively affectless, or otherwise listless to an extreme degree.70 Such a person can issue non-moral evaluative claims and entirely fail to be moved by them, all the while wishing she were capable of such motivation. Again we would need a special story to explain why, on the one hand, we believe that certain agents actually do exhibit this sort of lassitude in the face of a broad range of their evaluative judgements, while on the other hand regarding it as conceptually impossible for them to remain unmoved when endorsing the particularly moral subset of their evaluative judgements. Unless there are motivational elements that are unique to moral judgement, we have reason to follow the appearances and allow for the possibility of an agent's indifference to her moral as well as non-moral evaluative judgements. (d) Now take a different sort of case. Imagine an introductory philosophy student who has become convinced of the truth of a sort of ethical relativism. She believes that the ultimate moral standard comprises the fundamental mores of the society in which an action is performed. Armed with this view of morality, she issues certain moral judgements that she takes to be correct. But she is alienated from her society. Or, more likely, though she finds much of the prevailing cultural code amenable, she rejects a strand. She is voicing what she takes to be the moral truth, yet is unmoved.71

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See Mele 1996 for a fuller discussion of possibilities on this front.

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A similar sort of example can be found in Copp 1995b: 204. Copp's fine article contains many points complementary to the ones I develop in this section.Jonathan Dancy rejects the force of this sort of example: ‘In the case of amoralism, we may all admit that there is the person who sees the institution of morality from outside, as something whose claims on us he rejects. But this person does not accept the moral judgements whose relevance he denies; at best, he merely knows what judgement would be made by others’ (1993: 5). But what notion of acceptance is at play here? We beg the question against the externalist if we just assume that acceptance entails motivation. Cognitivists such as Dancy should understand the notion as one of believing true. In that case, however, it seems perfectly possible for the agent who is alienated from morality to believe that certain moral propositions are true, while remaining entirely unmoved. Compare the person who believes that certain legal propositions are true, and yet considers herself either above the law or so spiritually dissociated from her society that she no longer has any incentive to abide by its decrees. The strength of the analogy does not depend on seeing morality as conventional, as law is.

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(e) Finally, consider the agent whose sincere moral endorsements have been invariably accompanied by some motivation. But something awful happens to this person, causing her to reassess her attachment to morality. It's not that she comes to issue different moral judgements. She agrees that what was once her duty remains so. It's just that she no longer feels compelled to ‘play that game’, to give any sort of priority to moral demands. We can apparently imagine the same sort of thing occurring with a person who has suffered one of a few different kinds of brain trauma that undermines motivation, but leaves most cognitive abilities relatively unaffected. These agents say and claim to believe the things they did prior to the traumatic events. Yet they are no longer motivated to comply with demands they view as moral ones. So much for the examples. Externalists claim that the connection between holding a moral judgement and being motivated is a contingent one. Specifically, it is contingent on a person's psychological make-up and on the perceived content of moral demands. Cases (a), (b), and (d) represent examples in which the second sort of consideration may undermine the relevant motivation. Cases (c) and (e) are examples of aberrations in psychological make-up that can cut the connection between moral judgement and motivation. I started the enumeration of examples by admitting that they could, at best, establish some presumption on behalf of externalism. If they have achieved that much, it is incumbent on the internalist to display the conceptual incoherence exemplified in each of the examples. Let us trace some of the routes internalists might take to do this. One thing that all motivational internalists will agree on is that the examples I have just sketched must fail, and fail because of a mistake that the agent makes. There are three relevant sorts of mistake that can undermine the examples. (i) The agent may wrongly think that she is making a moral

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judgement—her statement may lack moral content. (ii) Her statement may have moral content, but she doesn't really endorse it, though she thinks that she does. (iii) She may commit neither of these mistakes, but instead may fail to notice that she is, after all, motivated to comply with her sincere moral judgement. If the internalist is right, one or more of these errors must beset the agents in all of my examples. We should be wary of attributing either of the latter two sorts of errors to the characters in the examples. Take the case of the soldier in example (b). Why must we insist, as a conceptual truth, that he really does have some residual motivation to fight, or that he has modified his views of where his duties lie? His views on a soldier's duty may remain firm, which is just why he would feel himself a coward, rather than a conscientious objector. And he avows an absence of motivation. If in non-moral contexts the prospect of an outcome is fearful or repugnant enough, we readily allow that a motive to carry through may be extinguished. We'd need a very special story to justify the claim that such a possibility exists in every context but that in which the fear or repugnance is associated with the fulfilment of a perceived moral duty. The diagnoses of error contained in (ii) and (iii) amount, in effect, to a claim that the agents are ignorant of what moves them, or of what they genuinely take to be right or dutiful. Surely agents do make such mistakes. But just as surely others are only infrequently in a position to justifiably level such charges. In particular, internalists would make such charges not on the basis of any detailed acquaintance with the psychology of the agent, but instead from the vantage point of a comprehensive view that eliminates such possibilities from the start. Such a strategy embodies just the same potential dangers as those that beset psychological egoism. Egoism flatly rejects any disconfirming evidence of altruistic motivation, by insisting that a person's testimony of altruistic motivation must be either insincere, or undermined by self-interested motives of which he is unaware. Now psychological egoism may be true, and so may motivational internalism. But their best defence does not come from charges that agents in certain cases simply must be duplicitous or ignorant of what motivates them. For the internalist, then, the best strategy is to deny that the judgements issued by putative amoralists really have moral content after all. While all five examples involve people who use the moral terms that others do, obey the same rules of grammar, and are inclined to accept the truth of moral judgements made by moralists, the amoralist characters do not really make the same judgements as others who say the same things, and this because they fail to be motivated by their judgements. It isn't that the moral judgements such

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agents make are bad, false, pernicious, or half-hearted. Rather, these agents try, but (unbeknownst to them) entirely fail to make moral judgements in the first place. I don't think that cognitivists have a good strategy for explaining away such examples. They view the essential aspect of moral judgement in terms of its meaning, truth conditions, and epistemically assessable content. As cognitivists see things, these features of moral judgements remain the same regardless of the associated attitudes of agents who issue them. Thus cognitivists will have a very difficult time trying to defend the diagnosis that, owing to differences in motivation, agents who say the very same things, in the same community, under similar conditions, etc., actually mean different things by their utterances.72 The best cognitivist option is one in which cognitivists accept externalism, thereby allowing that some agents may sincerely judge actions right while lacking any motivation to act on their judgements. The traditional strategy of defending the impossibility of an amoralist comes from the non-cognitivist camp. Starting from the idea that there is no moral reality that agents are trying to appreciate or depict in their moral judgements, non-cognitivists have analysed such judgement as the expression of non-cognitive states. They have focused not on the content or meaning of moral judgements (there being none, strictly speaking), but rather on the speech act undertaken when one utters a moral judgement. This has usually been seen as a kind of emotional venting, prescribing, or some other expression of a non-truth-evaluable state. The basic non-cognitivist idea is that whatever receives expression in moral judgement is a non-cognitive state. And such states, it has been thought, are invariably motivating. So if one utters what appears to be a moral judgement and yet truly is indifferent, one is not really issuing a moral judgement at all. Moral judgements necessarily motivate because moral judgements are, essentially, the expression of necessarily motivating attitudes or states. The absence of such an expressed attitude or state entails that the judgement is not a moral one. Perhaps such a judgement isn't even an evaluative one—Hare, for

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The closest any cognitivist comes to this is McDowell (1979 ), but even there the argument applies only to the actions and motives of the virtuous agent. McDowell sees a virtuous agent's grasp of matters as issuing in moral judgements that silence (rather than override) any possibly competing reasons. If one really thinks that just a single reason is relevant or applicable in a given situation, then perhaps having that thought is invariably sufficient to motivate one to act appropriately. But even if McDowell's picture of the virtuous agent's judgements is correct, and even if it is plausible that such an agent would thereby invariably be motivated to act in accordance with her judgements, we have a defence of internalism only as it applies to virtuous agents. That is a quite serious restriction of its scope.

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instance, famously took this view, when convicting alleged amoralists of employing tacit inverted commas when uttering the words that moralists uttered (Hare 1952: 124–6, 163–5; 1963: 100 ff.) For Hare, the judgements of putative amoralists were really factual reports of conventional moral attitudes, cloaked as sincere first-personal moral endorsements. On such a view, the cases of futility, stringency, lassitude, alienation, and trauma all involve agents who hope to issue, and who take themselves actually to issue, moral judgements. They are each one of them mistaken. There are two difficulties for this account. The first is that it makes internalism only as plausible as the non-cognitivism that underwrites it. But we have good reasons, reviewed in Chapter 1, for doubting the plausibility of non-cognitivism. Since internalism relies on the plausibility of non-cognitivism, internalists must supply satisfying answers to these problems if they are to have a chance at dislodging the case for externalism created by the examples and arguments above. The second problem with the internalist reply is that it relies on undeveloped views about the nature of the noncognitive states that are claimed to receive essential expression in moral judgements. Internalism is true only if the noncognitivist analysis of moral judgement is true, and only if the non-cognitive states and attitudes expressed therein are necessarily motivating. Even if we grant non-cognitivism for the moment, and even if we grant that the non-cognitive states receiving expression in moral judgement are often motivating, we still require an argument for thinking that every such motivating state is also necessarily motivating. We would need an argument, in other words, to the effect that the relevant non-cognitive states always motivate in a pro tanto, as opposed to prima facie, way. I don't know of any such argument. Even if we suppose that desires, for instance, are intrinsically motivating states, and also suppose that moral judgements express desires, we require further argument for thinking that the motivating power of desires cannot be extinguished, that desires persist only so long as they continue to motivate. Whether desires are the relevant state, or whether some other kind of affective, non-cognitive state is expressed, the problem remains. This comes out clearly in an informal survey of extant non-cognitivist views. Ayer (1936) and Stevenson (1937) were not very specific in identifying the candidate non-cognitive states that were voiced in moral judgement. Blackburn (1987) is quite catholic about the possibilities, as is Timmons (1999).73

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For Blackburn's catholicism, see 1987 , as reprinted in 1993a : 168. Blackburn appreciates the possibility of advocating expressivism and rejecting internalism: see Blackburn 1996 : 85.

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Hare (1952, 1963) and Gibbard (1990), on the other hand, are very specific. Their theories are as plausible as their views that universalizable, overriding prescriptions (for Hare), or commitments to norms regulating guilt and anger (for Gibbard), are what essentially receive expression in moral judgement. However we decide that issue, it is a further question whether the expression of a prescription, or a commitment to such norms, is a necessarily motivating state. In Gibbard this question is left quite open. It seems a closed question only for Hare. He sees moral judgements as overriding, in the sense that a judgement counts as a moral judgement only if one is moved to comply with it even when it conflicts with other claims to one's allegiance. This does ensure internalism; something counts as a moral judgement only if it motivates. But internalism is then won at the cost of ruling out the possibility of akrasia, at least when one's considered judgements are moral judgements. And that is very implausible. That, combined with other liabilities of Hare's prescriptivism (e.g. its allowance that the moral views of fanatics may be on a par with those of the rest of us), seems to me enough to conclude that non-cognitivists have yet to successfully defend the claim that the relevant non-cognitive states are not only intrinsically, but also necessarily, motivating. Thus we have good reason to side with the externalist, until such time as there is a satisfactory defence both of non-cognitivism, and of the pro tanto motivating power of the non-cognitive states that allegedly form the core of every moral judgement.

V. Internalist Worries The case for externalism can be strengthened if we are able to assuage internalist worries about it. These worries take two forms. First, one might dislike the cognitivism that is naturally allied with externalism. And, second, one needs to show how, on externalist grounds, the widespread connection between moral judgement and motivation can be explained. There are two replies to make to the initial worry. The first is that externalism does not depend on cognitivism. If noncognitive states can fail to be necessarily motivating, non-cognitivists too might accept externalism. Yet even if such states are invariably motivating, the externalist's reliance on cognitivism isn't very problematic. All this reliance amounts to is the claim that moral judgements are truth-evaluable beliefs, having as their purpose the accurate representation of moral reality (however construed). That is surely the default position in ethics. And though particular cognitivist theories all come in for various criticisms, cognitivism per se is neutral with respect to

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metaphysical, epistemological, and normative issues. It is capacious enough to include varieties of subjectivism, relativism, rationalism, realism, contractarianism, ideal observer theories, and error theories. It is compatible with foundationalist, coherentist, reliabilist, sceptical, and contextualist views of epistemic justification and warrant. It allows for views of practical rationality that make reasons contingent on perspectives, interests, and motivations, and for views that reject such restrictions. Cognitivism is even neutral on motivational issues: cognitivism takes no stand on whether moral beliefs are intrinsically motivating, necessarily motivating, or neither. This diversity largely immunizes cognitivism from the more particular criticisms levelled against its instances. Even if the metaphysical and epistemological worries outlined in Chapter 1 are correct, for instance, there are many other cognitivist theories that can satisfactorily address them. And even if, at the limit, we are led to conclude that moral nihilism is true, that epistemic scepticism regarding moral judgements is true, that any reasons we have are agentrelative, and that all motivation is contingent on one's antecedent desires, still, cognitivism may well be true. It may be that our moral beliefs are uniformly false, that they cannot be justified or warranted, that they fail to identify agentneutral reasons, that they are motivationally inert without the assistance of independent desires. None of that undermines cognitivism. It is its great strength that it is so accommodating of these diverging substantive views in various areas of metaethics. That is a large part of the explanation for why it should be construed as the default position in ethics. Externalism's typical reliance on cognitivism may be problematic, but it would take a great deal of argument to show it so. That is a view that we would need to be argued to. The second worry is more pressing. If externalists cannot account for the obviously close connection between the making of a moral judgement and the motivation to adhere to it, then they are in trouble. There are two especially relevant items to be entered into evidence. Fact: everyone we know is motivated to some extent to comply with his or her moral judgements. Fact: we suspect the sincerity of someone who proclaims fidelity to a moral code, all the while showing no inclination to abide by it. Here, appeal to the phenomenology of moral experience seems to support internalism rather than externalism. Moral judgements do exert a pull on us, and internalists have a simple, straightforward explanation of this. The externalist story cannot be so simple. If the account is too byzantine, or if externalists just think of the first fact as miraculous, and the second as evidence of an unjustifiedly suspicious nature, then externalism is in serious trouble.

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Of course, it's not that we observe every person to be motivated to some degree to comply with each of her moral judgements. Rather, the appearances tell us that every person is usually motivated to some degree to abide by her moral judgements. So the appearances aren't clearly on the side of internalism, even here. Still, externalists do have to offer some account of the breadth of conscientious motivation, where that is understood just as motivation to act in accordance with the moral judgements one endorses. Externalists who reject the Humean theory of motivation have a ready answer: moral beliefs are intrinsically motivating, but their motivational efficacy is sometimes extinguished in unusual circumstances. Since it is indeed unusual for an agent to be completely indifferent to her moral judgements, these sorts of externalists appear to have a quite plausible story to tell. The near-perfect alignment of moral judgement and (some degree of) motivation can be explained by the intrinsic, prima facie motivating power of moral judgement. This is the sort of story that I would wish to tell. But it is important to see that we have good reason to reject internalism even if Humeanism is true. If we assume, with cognitivism, that moral judgements are beliefs, and assume, with Humeanism, that beliefs are not intrinsically motivating, then we will have a problem explaining the breadth of conscientious motivation. Let us grant these assumptions in the following discussion. Even so, the problem can be solved. If moral beliefs alone do not move us, then presumably it is some accompanying desire that (in tandem with the moral belief) does the trick. But what could this desire be? The worry is that the natural candidate—a desire to do what we believe to be right—seems, for various reasons, to be problematic. And no other candidate seems available. Let us refer to the desire to do what is right, understood de dicto, as the motive of duty.74 There are two fundamental reasons for suspecting any externalist account that tries to explain the motivational efficacy of moral judgements by saddling us all with the motive of duty. The first is that we can tell from simple introspection that many of our motivated moral actions are

74

Two points. First, the motive to do what is right, understood de dicto, is expressed as follows: ‘I want to do what is right,’ or ‘Let me do this because it is right.’ The presentation of an action qua duty is what is crucial here. Its de re counterpart would substitute for ‘right’ the specific things thought by the agent to be right. So, for example, the de re version would be something like ‘I want to help the poor, not bear grudges, be more sympathetic, etc.’ (I take the de re and de dicto terminology from Michael Smith 1994 : 74.) Second, obviously, the motive of duty as I am understanding it differs crucially from Kant's conception of it. He would fail to recognize any desire, no matter its content, as what he called the motive of duty. With apologies to Kant, this seems the most felicitous way of characterizing the desire, so I will stick with it in what follows.

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unaccompanied by such a desire. The second is that assigning the motive of duty as the explanation of moral motivation would be false to our understanding of virtuous agents. We believe that agents are virtuous largely because of their motivations. But we nowadays frown on the view that sees those who assiduously attend to the moral qualities of their conduct as paragons of virtue. On the contrary—those possessed of the motive of duty seem just a tad too preoccupied with the moral worth of their actions. Perhaps surprisingly, it seems that virtuous agents will not, or not usually, possess the motive of duty. Thus the externalist account runs afoul not only of our introspective evidence, but of our widely shared conception of what a good agent is like.75 This argument is successful only if (i) externalists must attribute to (just about) everyone the motive of duty, and (ii) such attribution is false to our understanding of the character of virtuous agents. I believe that both (i) and (ii) are mistaken. The case against (i) proceeds as follows. An agent's judgements of moral obligation call for actions that are thought by the agent either to redound to his own interests or to impose a net personal cost. Presumably we can ordinarily explain motivation in the first sort of case by referring to an agent's standing self-concern. In cases where the demands of morality and prudence are thought to conflict, we can usually explain motivation by reference to desires other than the motive of duty. Desires to be kind, to help one's family, to support just institutions, to avoid harming others, etc., will ordinarily be able to explain why our motivations track our moral judgements. There is no reason to think that these desires can exist only if they are derived from the motive of duty. So we do seem able to account for most cases of conscientious motivation without introducing the motive of duty. Now suppose this simple story is too simple. Suppose that for some reason the externalist really must cite the motive of duty to explain why so many seem so conscientious. I think this is less troubling than it may initially appear. On any plausible account of desire, we will be able to make mistakes about whether we desire something. Introspective evidence about the existence and content of desire is fallible. Desires are not always, or even usually, palpably felt states with a distinctive phenomenological presentation. On the contrary, standing desires such as the desire to have a successful career, to have healthy parents, to avoid giving offence, have no distinctive ‘feel’ at all. Largely because of this, one may possess such desires without at every moment being aware of them. As I see it, if we are to characterize the motive

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This anti-externalist argument is most powerfully developed by Michael Smith (1994 : 71–6). I offer a reconstruction and critique of the argument in Shafer-Landau 1998 .

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of duty as a desire, then in most cases it precisely fits this characterization. It is ordinarily present without being present to mind, and this fact is what allows us to address the problem in (ii). Even if externalists must assign to agents the motive of duty in order to explain the reliable connection between moral judgement and motivation, this needn't undermine our conception of virtuous agents. We can see the motive of duty as a special sort of standing desire (if we must), one that serves as a limiting condition on the formation of other desires.76 Seen in this way, the motive of duty will ordinarily function to undercut the development or manifestation of a desire for something that is viewed by the agent as immoral. Of course the motive of duty can also function as a selfconscious first-order attitude, awareness of which impels one to dutiful conduct, or checks one from crossing over to immorality. In some cases, notably those involving temptation, having the motive of duty function in this way is precisely what we would expect of virtuous agents. Perhaps those who have the motive of duty present to mind as a matter of course are too careful of their moral standing. But the motive of duty needn't function in this way, and it seems perfectly correct to admire agents who possess this motive as a limiting condition, especially if their estimation of what is good and bad is usually on target. Thus externalists can either cite a battery of self-interested and other-regarding desires whose content is narrower than the motive of duty, or can cite the motive of duty itself, as the explanation for why motivation so reliably tracks moral judgement. True, the externalist must now tell some story about why (almost) everyone actually possesses such desires. But such an account is not far to seek. Indeed, there are four familiar stories externalists can choose from, though externalism per se is not committed to any particular one of them. The first sort (what I'll call innatism) claims that many of the explanatory desires are had by nature. The second (the socialization story) cites cultural and parental influences to account for the relevant desires. The third (the self-creation story) claims that we acquire such desires in good part on our own, taking our natures and socialization into account, but ultimately determining for ourselves which moralized attitudes we will possess. And the fourth (the hybrid account) claims that some combination of nature, nurture, and self-creation plays an indispensable role. Of course each option is really a broad family of options, and none of the particular stories we tell at this level will be

76

For development of the idea of the motive of duty as a limiting condition, see Barbara Herman 1993 : chs. 1 and 2.

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self-standing. We can ask of any innatist account why our human nature is as it is, and of every socialization story why we are inculcated to have just the attitudes we do. As I see it, identifying the true (and certainly extremely complex) account is largely a matter for social science, rather than philosophy. I don't have that account in hand, and in any event wouldn't want to present its (doubtless highly contentious) outlines, lest I convey the impression that externalism's fate rested on the plausibility of just that story. Externalism is true if there is some true innatist, socialization, self-creation, or hybrid account of the origins of the desires that constitute conscientious motivation. The importance of any such account is that it makes the existence of the relevant motivating attitudes contingent. This is easily seen when it comes to socialization stories, which explain the attitudes that constitute conscientious motivation as arising from early moral education and upbringing. On this line, it is conceptually possible for moral judgements to fail to motivate because it is conceptually possible for individuals either to receive a quite poor early training, or to receive a fine one and later distance themselves from it in fundamental respects. Self-creation stories likewise leave room for amoralists, since the sort of autonomy such stories presuppose is compatible with coming to widely divergent views on the value of conscientious motivation. Since any hybrid account of the origin of moralized attitudes will include a picture of either or both kinds, it too readily supports externalism. Innatist theories also allow for the truth of externalism. Innatist stories of moralized attitudes are nowadays very unpopular. But even if some such account turns out to be true, innatist theories are committed only to the view that the attitudes which explain conscientious motivation are had by nature. They are not committed to the stronger claim that everyone innately possesses such desires, or that everyone's innate desires invariably align with their moral endorsements. Thus we again make room for the possibility of an amoralist. The story that eventually gets told will explain the broad presence of conscientious motivation, while leaving conceptual space for the amoralist. On the assumption that some such story is plausible, the externalist, even on the assumption that Humeanism is true, can fully meet the second internalist criticism, that of explaining the ordinarily reliable connection between moral judgement and motivation. And of course the externalist also has a compelling tale to tell if Humeanism is false. Indeed, we can replace the above conception of the motive of duty with Kant's own, seeing it not as a kind of desire but as a cognitive state, and the story will again go through. We could then readily rely on a combination of more particular evaluative beliefs, conjoined with the motive of duty, to explain the actual extent of conscientious motivation.

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VI. Conclusion A perennial criticism of moral realism is that it cannot explain why moral judgements motivate as they do. This criticism, in its strongest form, combines motivational judgement internalism with Humeanism about motivation. Though Humeanism is very widely accepted among philosophers, I have tried to show, in the previous chapter, that we have reason enough to unseat it, and to take more seriously the merits of a view according to which evaluative beliefs are intrinsically motivating. Yet one must proceed with caution when criticizing a theory so widely endorsed, and it would be unwise to rest one's entire case on such criticisms, especially when they are confined to just a couple of dozen pages. Besides, realism per se is neutral with respect to the Humean theory of motivation; one may well hold that there are stance-independent moral truths which, when believed, motivate only in the presence of some contingent or independent desire (cf. Mill 1979: ch. 3; Frankena 1976; Brink 1989; Railton 1986, 1992). So, hedging one's bets, it would be nice to have a defence against the Non-cognitivist Argument available to those realists who favour a Humean approach. That defence involves taking direct aim at the first, internalist premiss of the Argument. To that end, I have tried to undermine internalism through a series of arguments and examples, and hope, at the very least, to have created a presumption strong enough to dispel any temptation to see internalism as an a priori constraint on metaethical theorizing. (Stevenson (1937) succumbed to this temptation, and he surely wasn't alone in doing so.) We are misled if we move from the obvious fact that moral judgements are usually motivating, to the stronger claim that they cannot fail to be. We are mistaken to think that we should be arguing from a commitment to internalism. If I am right, defending internalism requires arguing us out of externalism. That is the proper order of argument in this area of moral psychology. Because internalism can be defeated on either Humean or anti-Humean assumptions, we have further reason to think that the two premisses of the Non-cognitivist Argument are logically independent of one another. So, contrary to an earlier worry, rejecting one of the Argument's premisses does not force us to embrace the other. If I am right, both premisses are mistaken, and the Non-cognitivist Argument is unsound. Moral realism can accommodate a plausible view of moral motivation.


Part IV Moral Reasons


7 Reasons Internalism I. The Scope of Practical Reason Why Be Moral? If moral realism is true, then there are facts about the moral status of situations—it is a fact, for instance, that torturing anyone for pleasure is wrong, and a fact that prudent and principled opposition to dictatorship is right. Do such facts necessarily supply us with reasons for action? It is important to see that realism per se is neutral on this question. Whether moral facts invariably supply reasons for action depends not on realism alone, but very importantly on which theory of practical reason one adopts. The truth of moral realism implies the existence of objectively correct answers to many moral questions. At issue here is whether we ought to take such answers as sound advice about how to behave. Here we have a set of facts—moral facts. And there we have a set of possible actions. Why should we let the first set influence decisions about the second? Do we have reason to guide our conduct by moral norms? If so, are moral facts intrinsically reason-giving, or do they supply reasons, when they do, only in virtue of their connection with other considerations that are themselves intrinsically reason-giving? The two typical contexts in which such questions arise are familiar. The first is one in which another person misbehaves with impunity. The second is one in which we ourselves are tempted to immorality, for prospects of avoiding loss or gaining good. In both sorts of case, reiterating the nature of the immorality may not be enough to prevent it. Perhaps nothing will. But we would like to be able to say that there is some good reason that such agents are ignoring. Many would also like to say that this reason is the best possible reason, and so claim of serious wrongdoers that they are irrational. My own view is that we can at least partly indulge our wants on this score, and rightly

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say of such individuals that they are, indeed, acting contrary to good reason. Whether this is always the best reason is another matter, one too difficult to decide here. To see why, we need to investigate the plausibility of some prominent conceptions of practical reason, and have some idea of what morality requires of us. For whether we invariably have reason, perhaps the best reason, to do as morality says depends on two things: the correct theory of reasons for action, and a sound understanding of what morality really requires of us. If, for instance, as many philosophers believe, our best reasons are invariably prudential, and morality sometimes does demand a net sacrifice of self-interest, then we don't always have best reason to comply with morality. Here I will focus exclusively on the first matter, the requirements of a theory of practical reason. Regarding the content of moral requirements, I will just assume that the familiar array of altruistic demands covers most of the territory, and that fulfilling these demands sometimes makes us less well off than we would otherwise be. Wouldn't it be nice if that were wrong, and there were a perfect coincidence of self-interest and morality? Showing that each of us has reason to be moral would then be a much easier task. Because I won't be involved in any substantive investigation about the content of moral demands, we can't rule out the possibility that such a rosy view may be correct. But it would be too much to assume it at the outset. There is another manoeuvre that makes answering the ‘why be moral?’ question easier than it should be. On this line, every moral obligation entails a moral reason, just as every legal obligation entails a legal reason, every associative obligation entails an associative reason, etc. So those who are morally obligated necessarily have some reason to comply, and this reason supplies the answer to those who question the grounds of obedience. Even if it is true, though, that every obligation of a kind entails a reason of that very kind, this is clearly insufficient for addressing the sort of scepticism about practical reason that we are at present concerned with. For we can always ask what reason we have to give reasons of the particular sort (moral, legal, associative, etc.) any weight. This is most easily seen when it comes to obligations generated from optional allegiences, such as those incurred when one voluntarily elects to join a choral group or a congregation or a fraternal order. The Benevolent Protective Order of Elks has its by-laws, which generate obligations, which, on this view, entail ‘Elk-reasons’. But when these conflict with prudence, conscience, or just flagging interest, it is always open to us to query their force and to ally ourselves with considerations that oppose Elk-reasons. Thus even

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if moral obligations entail moral reasons, we will still want to know whether there is warrant for taking such reasons seriously, even if we lack interest in engaging in moral thinking and action. I believe there is. The ‘why be moral?’ question is a question about what reasons we have for being moral. This question, in turn, usually devolves into that of the rationality of moral obedience. Since the notion of rationality is a slippery one, it pays to be clear about the use of the term in the ensuing discussion. Before knowing whether it is always rational to be moral, one needs to know what it is to be rational.77

Rationality Consider two figures, classic bogeymen of the moral philosopher. The immoralist avows and acts on gravely mistaken moral principles. The amoralist either issues sound moral judgements but lacks motivation to abide by them, or refrains from making any moral judgements in the first place. These people are problems. They pose philosophical problems, some of which we will deal with below, and they certainly pose practical problems when encountered in our lives. We want them to change, and levying a charge of immorality won't do the job. What more is added by a charge of irrationality? T. M. Scanlon (1982, 1998) has subtly developed a moral theory around our need to justify our attitudes and behaviour to others, and to expect from others a like need that is responsive to our demands for justification. This strikes me as a deep but contingent fact about most of us, and it is the absence of this psychological susceptibility in the immoralist and amoralist that explains much of our worries about them. Of course we are also worried about the havoc they will wreak. But perhaps they would change course if we could make them see reason? If they were rational, would they come around and see things as we do? That depends on two things: what rationality is, and what the best theory of reasons requires. We need to distinguish these: to supply, on the one hand, an understanding of the very idea of rationality, and, on the other, to identify the sorts of things that count as good reasons. These are often conflated, as, for instance, in the version of a Hobbesian theory which defines rationality as action which promotes one's interests, or a Humean view which analyses

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One also needs to know what it is ‘to be moral’, of course. When we ask whether it is rational to be moral, we might be asking not only about the content of moral demands, but about whether there is (best) reason to act morally in every instance, or whether there is (best) reason to retain and develop moral dispositions. This difference may make all the difference in addressing the question.

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rational action as that which best satisfies one's desires.78 It may be that one's best reasons forbid sacrifice without compensation, or demand maximal desire satisfaction, but we can't legitimately obtain such results by definitional fiat. As I see it, to be rational is simply to be appropriately responsive in one's attitudes and behaviour to sufficiently good reasons. To be irrational is to be insensitive, in one's attitudes and behaviour, to sufficiently good reasons.79 What sorts of considerations count as good reasons, and what amounts to appropriateness and sufficiency in a given context, are determined not by the idea of rationality itself, but by a substantive theory of reasons. So whether, for instance, sufficiency always requires optimizing rather than satisficing, or whether good reasons are always agent-relative, are questions to be decided by substantive argument, rather than conceptual analysis. That is as it should be, since we wouldn't want to accuse Hobbesians, Humeans, and Kantians of merely talking past one another. They are engaged in a genuine debate about what kinds of reasons we have. They are talking about the same thing and coming to different conclusions. They disagree about what rationality requires, and about what kinds of reasons are sufficiently good, but can all agree to the general characterization of rationality I've just provided. If I am right, then we cannot follow Scanlon in his view that the very idea of rationality is captured by the idea of a person's attitudes conforming to his or her own judgements.80 This kind of psychological coherence may be something which we always have reason to seek or exemplify. But not because such coherence is definitive of being rational, but rather (if at all) because the best theory of reasons tells us to do so. To criticize someone, or someone's actions, as irrational is a quite strong kind of normative indictment. I think it important to preserve this feature in any analysis of (ir)rationality. If my analysis of irrationality is on target, then those who are irrational or behave irrationally are properly subject to such indictment, because they fail to attend to sufficiently good reasons. It strikes me as a weakness of Scanlon's view that it does not accommodate this

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I don't mean to imply that Hobbes or Hume held just these views—in fact, I think they didn't. For good or ill, these particular views have come to be associated with these philosophers, and I will retain the associations in what follows.

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This analysis is explicitly non-reductive, and so won't do for every possible conceptual need. But the analysis strikes me as plausible and usable for all of the purposes of the present chapter. It has the appearance of being a truism, it captures relevant platitudes, and, importantly, it does not pre-empt substantive disagreement regarding first-order issues about rational policies and practices.

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To be fair, Scanlon describes failure of such conformity only as ‘the clearest sense’ of irrationality, and does not explicitly say that he is offering an analysis of irrationality. Nevertheless, reading his remarks in context makes it appear as if this is what he has in mind. (See Scanlon 1998: 25 ff.)

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feature. For there needn't be anything criticizable about (say) failing to conform one's desires to one's moral judgements. When one's moral judgements are quite badly off target, an indifference to acting on them is rather to be encouraged than criticized. An integrated psychology is not invariably a good thing—the normative attractions of this sort of integrity depend importantly on the content of one's normative attitudes.81 As I see it, whether the immoralist or amoralist is rational depends on what the sufficiently good reasons for such individuals are. If a Hobbesian theory is right, for instance, and if the fulfilment of moral demands is not always conducive to self-interest, then such figures are not necessarily irrational. If the Hobbesian theory is correct, but a Platonic or Aristotelian view of eudaimonia is also largely correct, then the immoralist and amoralist will invariably have excellent reason to conform their attitudes and conduct to ethical demands, and would do so if sufficiently attentive to the relevant considerations. If our best reasons have to do with promoting our interests, or satisfying our desires, or achieving psychological integrity, then answering the ‘why be moral?’ question requires, respectively, a host of views regarding the nature and content of self-interest, our desires, or reflective psychological equilibrium. Of course, our best reasons may arrange themselves under a different organizing principle, or they may spring from irreducibly plural considerations. It seems to me a strength of my position that all of these issues are left open by the general analysis of rationality presented here. We cannot know whether the amoralist or immoralist is invariably irrational just by having in hand an understanding of the very nature of irrationality.

The Antirealist Challenge Antirealists, especially those who resist ethical objectivism, have always had an easier time explaining the normativity of morality. If moral judgements record or express our own normative endorsements, and if such endorsements, as is usually assumed, are intrinsically reason-giving, then we have a ready explanation of morality's ability to generate significant reasons. Since realism insists on fixing the content of moral demands in a stance-independent way, realists have encountered more difficulties in explaining how morality supplies us with reasons. Indeed, starting from some widely accepted assumptions about the nature of reasons and their link with morality, antirealists are able to craft an argument that seriously jeopardizes realism's plausibility. Call this the Desire-Dependence Argument:

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I argue for this in Shafer-Landau 1999. See also Robert Johnson 1999: 69.

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1. Necessarily, if S is morally obligated to Φ at t, then S has a good reason to Φ at t. (Moral Rationalism) 2. Necessarily, if S has a good reason to Φ at t, then S can be motivated to Φ at t. (Reasons Internalism) 3. Necessarily, if S can be motivated to Φ at t, then S must, at t, either desire to Φ, or desire to Ψ, and believe that by Φ-ing S will Ψ. (Motivational Humeanism82) 4. Therefore, necessarily, if S is morally obligated to Φ at t, then S must, at t, either desire to Φ, or desire to Ψ, and believe that by Φ-ing S will Ψ. The Desire-Dependence Argument, if sound, is sufficient to make out the claim that the content of moral obligations crucially depends on an agent's desires. This is a kind of contingency that is inimical to moral realism.83 Since the Argument is valid, it is clear that moral realists must reject at least one of its premisses. There is no consensus on which to abandon. In fact, each premiss is so intuitively plausible that we can often explain a philosopher's rejection of a premiss by citing his or her endorsement of the two remaining ones. Despite the initial attractiveness of each of the premisses, common sense tells us that the conclusion of the DesireDependence Argument is false. The conclusion implies that we must tailor the content of moral obligations to ensure that they don't outstrip our desires. The argument offers a specific answer to a question that has vexed many moral theorists in recent years—what are the limits beyond which a moral theory is too demanding? The argument tells us, in effect, that any putative moral requirement that fails, or is believed to fail, to fulfil our desires is too demanding, and so cannot be morally obligatory. But very few people accept this. Most believe that morality can sometimes require the greatest sacrifices of us, and this despite the fact that undertaking such sacrifices may satisfy none of our desires and may cost us our livelihood or our lives. We don't craft the contours of moral obligation to fit an individual's desires. Moral obligations instead represent standards by which we judge the fitness or suitability of a person's desires. The egoist and

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This is a bit more specific formulation of Humeanism than the one at centre stage in Part III. There, the emphasis was on the alleged motivational inefficacy of beliefs. Here, the relevant feature is the motivational efficacy of desires. These features are complementary, of course; to the (small) extent that Humeanism about motivation receives attention in this chapter, the focus will be on the importance it assigns to desires in the constitution of motivation.

83

The conclusion of the argument is compatible with the existence of some universal moral obligations, i.e. moral duties incumbent on everyone , since there may be some desires that everyone shares. But this just shows that endorsing the possibility or existence of universal moral obligations is not sufficient to qualify one as a moral realist.

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the sadist are not held to less demanding moral standards just because of their aberrant psychological profiles. The common-sense view supports realism's claim that something is wrong with the Desire-Dependence Argument. Since it is logically valid, we must impugn at least one of the premisses. One path, already pursued in these pages, is to question the third premiss of the Argument, i.e. the Humean theory of motivation. Though I hope to have successfully pursued such a challenge, I will proceed here on the assumption, shared by many realists and by most philosophers, that the Humean theory is true. That leaves the realist to challenge either or both of the first two premisses. In what follows, I will attempt to undermine the argument's second premiss (in this chapter) and defend its first (in the next). My aim will be to show that, necessarily, there is always good reason to do as morality says, even if such reasons cannot motivate the agents to whom they apply.

II. Varieties of Reasons Internalism Premiss (2) of the Desire-Dependence Argument tells us that one has a reason only if one can be motivated by it. We can follow common philosophical parlance and speak of the premiss as a statement of internalism about reasons, or reasons internalism, for short. Premiss (2) alleges an internal or necessary connection between what reasons we have and what motivations we are capable of having. The sticking point about reasons internalism is understanding the relevant modality expressed in the locution ‘can be motivated’. What sense of possibility is implied by this phrase? The friend of reasons internalism (henceforth, just ‘internalism’) must find a middle ground between two extremes. At one end is logical possibility: one has a reason only if it is logically possible that one be motivated thereby. But conditioning a reason on the logical possibility of motivation fails to exclude anything as a candidate reason, and so this modality is too weak. The opposite extreme is represented by the view that something is a reason only if it actually motivates. But this is plainly false, or relies on conflating motivating reasons (the actual motives that explain an agent's action) with justifying reasons (those considerations that support, legitimize, or justify an action, whether undertaken or not). We are here speaking of the latter kind of reason. We can be moved by poor reasons and unmoved by good ones, owing either to temperamental frailties or to various kinds of ignorance. Our failure to be moved by good reasons doesn't extinguish their normative status. Thus this modality is too strong.

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Physical possibility appears to occupy a middle ground, but understanding the relevant modality in this way is implausible as well. This reading would render internalism as the claim that one has a reason to Φ only if one is physically able to possess the relevant motivating beliefs and/or desires. Now this is either too weak or too strong. On the one hand it seems too weak, since almost everyone appears physically able to believe or desire anything at all. Thus almost nothing would be excluded as a candidate reason. On the other hand it appears too strong, at least if determinism is true. That's because the truth of determinism would imply that physical possibility is exhausted by what actually occurs. Thus the only physically possible motivations would be just the ones one actually has.84 But this renders internalism false, for the reasons given in the preceding paragraph. The most plausible alternative is what we might call rational possibility. On this conception, one can be motivated to Φ if and only if one is already motivated to Φ, or one would be motivated to Φ were one to rationally deliberate in a successful fashion. Incorporating this understanding, premiss (2) tells us that one has a reason to do something only if one either is motivated to do it, or would, through sound deliberation, be motivated to do it. This conception has two important variants, one developed by Christine Korsgaard (1986), and the other by Bernard Williams (1981a, 1989). Both Korsgaard and Williams think that internalism is true. Both agree that reasons bear a necessary connection to our capacities for motivation, which in turn must be understood by reference to our capacities for rational deliberation. The difference in their views lies in their understanding of the materials that serve as starting points for rational deliberation. For Williams, rational deliberation must be rooted in one's existing motivations. On his account, motivation that is deliberatively unrelated to one's already existing motivations cannot be rational. It is somewhat unclear whether Korsgaard accepts this restriction, but has a more capacious understanding of what can qualify as a motivational state or as rational deliberation; or whether she largely agrees with Williams about these matters, but disagrees with his restriction that rational deliberation must, to give rise to genuine reasons, take its start from our existing motivations.85

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This is true even if beliefs and desires are not identical to physical states; so long as beliefs and desires supervene on such states, what beliefs and desires we can have is constrained by the physical possibilities of the subvening states. If these are determined and can occur only as they do, then the same applies for the supervening mental states.

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I am inclined toward the former view, at least with regard to Korsgaard's later writings. In Korsgaard (1996a ), for instance, her view seems most naturally understood as one in which she accepts Williams's restriction, but has a more optimistic view about the powers of rational deliberation. As I read her revised Tanner lectures (1996a ), Korsgaard does believe that one has a reason only if rational deliberation that started from one's existing motivations would take one to it. It's just that one's existing motivations, as given by one's autonomously elected practical identities, would, no matter the particular content of these identities, always lead one to some version of the Kantian moral law. So we all, qua rational beings, necessarily share certain moral ends and reasons. This is something that Williams does not accept.

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Rather than pursue this exegetical issue, or even take sides on whether Korsgaard or Williams is advancing the more plausible form of internalism, I will briefly discuss Korsgaard's view, and show why, even if correct, it does not threaten realism. Williams's theory, on the other hand, poses a genuine threat to realism, and so requires more extensive discussion. According to Korsgaard, something is a reason only if it will motivate rational agents (1986: 11). Korsgaard envisions rationality as essentially incorporating a motivational aspect, such that one who has reason to Φ will necessarily be moved to Φ in so far as she is rational. So being rational is partially defined as being motivated to act on genuine reasons. But if being motivated to comply with one's reasons is part of the definition of being rational, then it is tautologous to say that one has a reason only if one would, if rational, be motivated to abide by it. Internalism is secured by definitional fiat: reasons must be capable of motivating rational agents, but this is only because such agents are defined as those who are motivated by reasons. On this understanding, internalism and the motivational capacities implied by it cannot supply any constraint on what counts as a reason. Korsgaard appears to endorse this conclusion (1986: 21–2). The internalism requirement, she says, ‘is correct, but there is probably no moral theory that it excludes’ (1986: 23). Better: there is no moral theory that it could possibly exclude, since, on the present reading of rationality, internalism is tautologous. This conception of rationality is not beyond challenge: one might advance arguments for a conception that lacks a motivational component, or substitutes a weaker one. Or one might query the compatibility of the motivational account with Korsgaard's favoured Kantian conception, one that ties rationality to the ability to undertake categorical imperative procedural reasoning. Rather than pursue such challenges, we would do well to remind ourselves of the larger picture. We are interested in the plausibility of reasons internalism because of its role in an antirealist argument. If we are led to view internalism as tautologous, then reasons internalism must be true. But, importantly, this version of reasons internalism is not the same as the one enshrined in premiss (2) of the Desire-Dependence Argument. Korsgaard's internalism is a thesis about the reasons of rational agents; premiss (2) includes

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no such restriction. Premiss (2), as it stands, is anything but tautologous. So we cannot rely on the considerations that Korsgaard advances in order to substantiate premiss (2). Because Korsgaard's internalism is not identical to premiss (2), it supplies no support for the Desire-Dependence Argument.86 There is another way to appreciate this point. Internalism, understood as a tautology, severs the connection between reasons and our actual psychologies, and so allows for the possibility of reasons that exceed or outstrip our actual desires, projects, loyalties, interests, and needs. The tautologous version—rational agents are motivated to comply with the reasons that apply to them—leaves it entirely open as to whether such reasons depend for their existence on the content of our contingent conative profiles. Since, for all we now know, the content of reasons need not be conditioned on subjective or contingent features of individual personalities or psychologies, the truth of internalism, on this picture, is no threat to realism. Let us therefore take up Williams's version of internalism, which does pose a problem for moral realists. Williams's characterization of what I am calling rational possibility has it that a consideration can motivate only if it already does motivate, or would motivate if one were to rationally deliberate from one's existing motivations. And so Williams's internalist requirement reads: one has reason to Φ only if one is motivated to Φ, or would be motivated to Φ were one to rationally deliberate from one's existing motivations.

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What if we were to refashion the Desire-Dependence Argument by retaining its first premiss, incorporating Korsgaard's internalism as the second premiss, and altering the third premiss accordingly? Thus: (1) One has a moral obligation to Φ only if one has a reason to Φ. 2'

If rational, one has a reason to Φ only if one can be motivated to Φ.

3'

If rational, one can be motivated to Φ only if one has a desire that will be served thereby.

4'

Thus, if rational, one has a moral obligation to Φ only if Φ-ing serves one's desires.

This is not an antirealist position (though some realists will reject it). Nothing about the argument's conclusion per se threatens the central realist claim: that moral truth is fixed in a stance-independent way.To see this, imagine an agent who lacks any desires that might be satisfied through moral conduct. The refashioned argument does not force us to reconceive the content of the moral obligations that apply to such an agent. Instead, the absence of the relevant desires signals the agent's irrationality. As Korsgaard sees it, an agent is rational to the extent of being motivated by her genuine reasons. If premiss (1) is true, then an agent's moral obligations generate such reasons. If she remains indifferent, then this is her problem, so to speak, and does not signal a need to alter the content of any moral demand.In short, moral realists can be rationalists, and so endorse premiss (1). Since premiss (2') is meant to be a tautology, realists can accept that, too (if it is true). And many realists embrace motivational Humeanism, which entails the more specific version of it as given in (3'). So realists can accept the conclusion. Those who don't will rest their opposition on a rejection of either (1) or (3'). The important point is that Korsgaard's internalism is not by itself, or positioned within the context of the refashioned argument, incompatible with moral realism.

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In Williams's terms, this forges a link between reasons for action and one's subjective motivational set. Williams is more accurate and imaginative about the contents of such a set than most philosophers—he discusses such things as loyalties, personal projects, and emotions, as well as beliefs and desires, and does not purport to offer an exhaustive accounting. He also presents a more nuanced picture of rational deliberation than the standard instrumental model, allowing, for instance, that various exercises of imagination can qualify as such deliberation (1981a: 105; see also 1995: 38). He doesn't claim to have developed anything like a complete picture of sound reasoning, but in his view such an account isn't required to substantiate his main claim. The key points for Williams are (1) that one couldn't possibly be motivated to Φ unless one had something in one's already-existing motivational set from which one could generate such motivation, and (2) that the absence of such an element prevents one from having any good reason to Φ. I think that both (1) and (2) are false. (1) announces the impossibility of a certain kind of motivation, which I shall call motivation ex nihilo: motivation that is unrelated to any pre-existing motivational elements.87 Such motivation seems not only possible, but occasionally actual. Nevertheless, the circumstances in which it can arise are not centrally relevant to testing the claim of whether reasons must be conditioned on our motivational capacities.88 So I shall grant, for the remainder of this discussion, that Williams's assumptions

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One might think that a commitment to the impossibility of motivation ex nihilo presupposes a commitment to a Humean theory of motivation. So if we could undermine the Humean theory, we could thereby establish the possibility of motivation ex nihilo . (Derek Parfit, in a characteristically nuanced and challenging piece, takes this line, and relies on it as a way of criticizing Williams's internalism (1997 : 115).) But such a thought is mistaken. Undermining the Humean theory does not show that there can be motivation ex nihilo . In fact, it makes it even more difficult to argue for the possibility of such motivation. For if we reject the Humean theory, then we must allow that evaluative beliefs are sometimes sufficient to motivate. If that is so, then they take their place in an agent's subjective motivational set. Thus if the Humean theory is false, then motivation ex nihilo requires motivation that is entirely independent of one's desires and one's evaluative beliefs. Such motivation may be possible, but undermining the Humean theory makes it harder to show it so.

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Motivation ex nihilo refers to motivation that bears no relation to any of one's existing motivations. This is indeed impossible—conceptually impossible—if we are attempting to conceive of a case in which an agent can Φ or avoid Φ-ing at t even though at t he entirely lacks anything among his motivations that would lead him to Φ or avoid Φ-ing. But I take it that the debate about motivation ex nihilo focuses instead on the possibility of an agent's being motivated at t to Φ, even though there is nothing, 2 at t , in his subjective motivational set that licenses him to do this. The question is whether an agent can be brought to a state in which he is motivated to Φ, and so has 1 something in his subjective motivational set that licenses Φ-ing, even though prior to his being in such a state nothing whatever in his subjective motivational set was rationally related to Φ-ing. The answer seems to be ‘yes’. Any such transition cannot, by hypothesis, involve rational deliberation. McDowell (1995 ) fixes on the possibility of a fine upbringing or radical, arational conversion to fill in the gap. Millgram (1996 : 207) offers an alternative that invokes non-deliberative direct practical perception.

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about the nature of motivation are in fact correct— that there can't, really, be such a thing as motivation ex nihilo, motivation that bears no relation to one's existing motivations. With that assumption in place, I want to direct my attention to testing his second claim—that one has a good reason to Φ only if there is, within an agent's subjective motivational set, something that can excite an interest in Φ-ing. If Williams is right, then one has a reason to do something only if one is motivated to do it, or would be motivated to do it after rationally deliberating from one's actual motivations. I know of four arguments for thinking this correct. I believe that they all fail.

III. Arguments for Reasons Internalism The Browbeating Argument Let us begin with perhaps the weakest of the arguments, probably not meant by itself to be determinative in the debate between internalists and externalists. This argument for reasons internalism consists of an attack on reasons externalism. Since these are contradictories, this is a strategy as good as that which sets out to supply positive argument for internalism. The criticism of externalism is basically that it allows for ‘browbeating’; for criticizing someone for failing to adhere to reasons whose existence he denies (Williams 1981a: 105–6). Externalism allows for this because it allows for the existence of reasons that have no appropriate link to an individual's motivations. Internalism is thought to prevent this, because on its view all reasons must be within deliberative reach of the agent for whom they are reasons. Externalism is implausible because only it licenses browbeating, a kind of conduct acknowledged by all to be faulty. The first thing to say is that externalism per se is neutral about the merits of browbeating, and any decent normative theory (i.e., one specifying substantive reasons) would have one refrain from such conduct. Still, the relevant question isn't whether to condone browbeating, but whether the charge that is at the heart of a browbeating episode is true—namely, that the agent in question has reason to do something, even though he does not recognize it. It is objectionable to tell the truth in any number of contexts, including situations in which veracity is sure to do no good and is sure to do some harm. Browbeating is such a case. But its unattractive quality is compatible with its message being true. Externalists who insist on such behaviour are doubtless criticizable for their indulgence, but the unsavoury messenger may be telling the truth for all that. (Cf. Scanlon 1998: 371–2.)

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We can sharpen the point by highlighting the fact that internalists, too, may license unproductive criticism. If internalists are right, then there must be a sound deliberative route from one's actual motivations to one's reasons. But many individuals lack the ability to take such a route—cognitive or affective deficiencies can yield or represent blindspots that render a person unable to undertake the kind of rational deliberation that would generate insight into one's reasons. When faced with this kind of blindness, it would be browbeating to confront the individual and insist that, despite her denials, she nevertheless has a reason. Yet in this case internalists would not deny the truth of the reasons claim. There can be a sound deliberative route from one's motivations to a reason even if psychological impediments prevent one from ever being able to trace such a route. The browbeating charge ignores this, and so fails to appreciate the fact that internalism too allows for the possibility that good advice will fall on deaf ears. Williams (1989) offers us what is in effect an update of the browbeating argument, here focused on the preconditions of warranted blame. Like the browbeating argument, this argument focuses on what can be accomplished during an episode of criticism, and likewise saddles the externalist with unsavoury commitments. This argument claims that only those who accept Williams's link between reasons and motivation can adhere to the constraint that blaming be, at least in principle, an effective means of redirecting another's actions. There would be no point in blaming someone whose subjective motivational set contained nothing that would leave him anything but indifferent to the censure. But if reasons entailed a link to one's motivations, then at least in principle anyone properly blamed is within reach. The blamed individual is susceptible to suasion, because blaming will cite reasons that the agent neglected, and such reasons will, if Williams is right, implicate considerations that already motivate the subject of blame. This sounds right if we accept that the point of blame is to redirect another's behaviour. It often is. Williams (1989) throughout understands blame in its performative mode—blame is not simply a verdict of censure, but is an act in which one communicates this verdict to another. Such communication might indeed lack a point, if the ‘blamee’ is beyond the pale—if he really does lack anything in his motivational set that might, after deliberation, prompt him to be moved as the critic wants. But this does not undermine the possible justice of the verdict. The judgement of censure may be true even though there be no recipient—even though, for instance, the one issuing the blame does not do so publicly, but keeps her own counsel. So long as we distinguish, as we should, between the efficacy of issuing blame and an agent's deserving blame, this

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criticism of externalism will not do. The externalist will insist that some agents may deserve blame, and perhaps deserve to be blamed, even if nothing in their existing motivations will generate conduct that corrects the failure that the blame is directed to.

The Action Explanation Argument The second argument for internalism starts from the view that, as Williams claims (1981a: 106–7), our reasons are linked with the possibility of explaining action. Reasons figure in action explanation, but if there were reasons that were unrelated to our subjective motivational sets, then they could not possibly explain our actions. Yet it must be possible to explain our actions by citing our reasons for performing them. Therefore reasons must be related to our subjective motivational set. Therefore internalism is true. This argument is sound under one interpretation, but not the one that would lend support to internalism. The argument works perfectly if we assume that the relevant reasons are motivating reasons. It is impossible to explain action without citing the considerations that supplied our motivations. Such motivations, or motivating reasons, are invariably constituents in our subjective motivational set. But motivating reasons are of a different category from the sorts of reasons (justifying reasons) at the heart of the internalist thesis. Reasons internalism is a claim about good reasons—considerations that justify or legitimize action. Not every good reason is acted on, and not every action is prompted by a good reason. The confusion lies in using the same term, ‘reason’, for two distinct kinds of thing: motives, which are psychological states,89 and genuine (good, justifying) reasons, which are not. Considerations to do with the explanation of action are relevant to

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We sometimes speak of motivating reasons as the facts that are represented in the propositional content of the beliefs or desires that motivate us. Since such facts are not psychological states, we either have to give up this way of speaking, or find a different way to draw the distinction between motivating and justifying reasons.To illustrate: we can explain someone's spending the night in the library by citing her desires or beliefs about the value and necessary means to doing well on the next day's exam, in which case the motivating reasons are psychological states. But we might also say that the reason that motivated her was the fact that such studying would best prepare her for the examination. This fact isn't any kind of psychological state, and hence we couldn't distinguish motivating reasons from justifying reasons by insisting that the former but not the latter are psychological states.I believe that we should not view motivating reasons as facts, but instead as psychological states. This is because action can always be explained in terms of psychological states, but it cannot always be explained in terms of facts. This will be so whenever an agent mistakes her grounds for acting. If, in the above example, the agent didn't realize that her exam wasn't for another two months, then there is no fact about the exam and her preparation that explains her studying. There is just her mistaken beliefs and/or desires. The psychological state account will always work; reference to facts won't.

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motives. Internalism is a thesis about justifying reasons. Thus this argument will not do. Williams, in a later piece on this matter, gives the argument as follows: ‘If it is true that A has a reason to Φ, then it must be possible that he should Φ for that reason; and if he does act for that reason, then that reason will be the explanation of his acting. So the claim that he has a reason to Φ—that is, the normative statement “He has a reason to Φ”—introduces the possibility of that reason being an explanation’ (1989: 39). Focus on the initial statement. The conditional gains its plausibility by implicitly assuming that the kind of possibility mentioned in the consequent is logical possibility. But that won't get Williams his conclusion. He must mean what I have called rational possibility if the argument is to go through. Yet employing this sense of possibility just begs the question— whether having a reason entails the possibility of being motivated upon rational deliberation is precisely what is at issue. So Williams's latest words on the alleged link between justification and action explanation do not get us any further on. Korsgaard (1986) endorses Williams's point linking the existence of reasons with their potential to motivate and explain action. She offers two arguments in favour of internalism based on considerations to do with action explanation. In the first, she claims that ‘unless reasons are motives, they cannot prompt or explain actions. And, unless reasons are motives, we cannot be said to be practically rational’ (1986: 11). But we can be said to be practically rational. Thus ‘it seems to be a requirement on practical reasons, that they be capable of motivating us’ (11). So: our being practically rational depends on our reasons being our motives. Since we are practically rational, our reasons must be capable of motivating us. Therefore internalism is true. The externalist should agree with Korsgaard in thinking that our reasons must be capable of moving us to the extent that we are practically rational. But we aren't always practically rational. So Korsgaard has not shown that reasons must be capable of motivating us full stop, but only that this motivational link is forged when we are practically rational. That falls short of a defence of internalism. In a second argument, Korsgaard insists, following Falk (1948: 121–2) and Nagel (1970: 9), that ‘if acknowledgement of a reason claim did not include acknowledgement of a motive, someone presented with a reason for action could ask: Why do what I have a reason to do?’ (1986: 11). In other words, if reasons were not also motives, then acknowledged reasons would not rationalize to an agent the actions they support. But this is precisely the job that reasons do. Therefore externalism fails to explain the very nature of a reason.

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This is too quick. In the first case, one can sensibly ask why one should do what one has a reason to do, because one may recognize the existence of countervailing reasons, and be puzzled as to which reason should receive priority. In other cases, where one recognizes a reason to be conclusive and determinative, one cannot sensibly ask why one should do what one has reason to do. But in such circumstances the externalist isn't committed to thinking this a sensible question. What the externalist will insist on is the possibility of motivational failure in the face of reasons believed to be determinative, perhaps because of accidie, depression, violent passion, etc. The agent in such a case won't ask why she should do what she acknowledges she has most reason to do. She knows why. But she may remain unmoved anyway. Again, this needn't undermine the existence of the reason. There is a general problem with efforts that try to forge a link between reasons and action explanation. The impetus behind the internalist insistence on this connection is the thought that something can be a reason only if it can potentially explain the conduct of the agent for whom it is a reason. But even internalism falls foul of this requirement. Various emotional, neurotic, or phobic susceptibilities may render an agent incapable of motivation even in cases where the actions in question are rationally related to the agent's existing motivations. That an agent fails to make the rational connection, or succeeds in this but fails thereby to be motivated (owing to psychological infirmities), is not thought by internalists to entail the absence or extinction of a reason. Yet these are cases in which the affective disabilities, if severe enough, will invariably prevent their agents from being motivated. In such cases, the relevant reasons will never figure in an explanation of the agent's actions. There is no scenario in which the agent, with her existing motivations (including her affective impairments), would act on the acknowledged reason. This is a genuine break between reasons and action explanation.90 This can lead us in one of two directions. We may abandon the requirement that reasons be able to figure in action explanation, in which case externalism's failure to satisfy the requirement is no flaw. Or we may retain the requirement, in which case internalism too must be rejected.

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See Cohon 1993 : 271 for an argument similar to the one developed in this paragraph.

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The Avoidability Argument Williams (1989) provides us the materials for two further arguments, both of which focus on the notion of blame and its relation to reasons.91 The first of these is what I shall call the Avoidability Argument: 1. If one is properly to blame for Φ-ing, then one ought to have refrained from Φ-ing. 2. If one ought to have refrained from Φ-ing, then one could have refrained from Φ-ing. 3. If one could have refrained from Φ-ing, then such avoidance must be licensed by one's subjective motivational set. 4. Therefore if one is properly to blame for Φ-ing, then refraining from Φ-ing must be licensed by one's subjective motivational set. This argument is valid and its premisses are all appealing. Yet the conclusion, though not by itself a statement of internalism, is one that is difficult for an externalist to accept. To see why, consider the following argument: 1. Blameworthiness entails a failure to adhere to a good reason. 2. One's reasons needn't be rationally related to one's subjective motivational set. 3. Therefore one may be blameworthy for actions or omissions that bear no relation to one's subjective motivational set. This argument is also valid. Its second premiss is a statement of externalism. The first premiss seems a conceptual truth. But the conclusion contradicts that of the previous argument. So externalists must either reject what appears to be a conceptual truth, or reject a premiss of the Avoidability Argument. We might try rejecting the alleged conceptual truth. Some hard determinists and utilitarians will do this. They will claim that a person is properly to blame if blaming that person is morally acceptable, and that the moral acceptability of blaming depends not on a person's adherence to reasons, but on the good consequences that might emerge from the act of blaming. This strikes me as weak, however, since it does seem appropriate to distinguish between blameworthiness, on the one hand, and the appropriateness of expressing blame, on the other. An individual might be blameworthy for some conduct, and so be properly to blame, without it being morally acceptable to convey the

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Williams does not explicitly develop either of these arguments. But both of them strike me as powerful arguments that deserve attention, and both have a basis in some of the remarks that he makes in the 1995 article.

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condemnation. If that is so, then the hard determinist's argument fails to undermine the conceptual truth. There might be other reasons for rejecting the link between blame and failure to adhere to good reasons, but this does not seem a promising route to a defence of externalism. Better would be a direct critique of one of the premisses of the Avoidability Argument. But which one? I think that the second premiss is vulnerable. This premiss, which expresses one version of the ought-implies-can principle, should be read to refer to rational possibility. In other words, the second premiss, in this context, should be read to say that if one ought to avoid Φ-ing, then such avoidance is possible, in the sense that such avoidance is rationally related to one's existing motivations. On an assumption that both internalists and externalists can share, if one ought to Φ, then there is a reason for one to Φ.92 It makes little sense to insist that one ought to Φ, though one lacks any reason at all to Φ. Alternatively, it makes good sense to excuse someone for failing to Φ by correctly stating that there was absolutely no reason to Φ. Now, if ought implies can, then the relevant inability cancels the ought. The relevant inability in this context is the inability, via rational deliberation, to be motivated. But since that is so, the assertion of the ought-implies-can principle in this context begs the question against the reasons externalist. It says that one ought to Φ, and hence that there is a reason to Φ, only if one can, through rational deliberation, be motivated to Φ. That is just an assertion of the truth of reasons internalism. That is why the externalist will reject the second premiss of the Avoidability Argument. Such a rejection sounds implausible because of the modal assumption that ordinarily accompanies discussion of the ought-implies-can principle. The assumption is that the principle refers to physical possibility: it is obvious, to use familiar examples, that the explanation for why one isn't obligated to jump over skyscrapers or stop an avalanche with one's bare hands is that it is physically impossible to do so. But if physical possibility is the right way to understand the ought-implies-can principle in premiss (2), then physical possibility must be read into the third premiss as well, else the Argument will contain a fallacy of equivocation. But read this way, the third premiss is clearly false—it is false that one's physically possible actions are limited to those that are licensed by one's subjective motivational set.

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This doesn't beg any questions about the status of moral rationalism—the view that moral obligations entail reasons, and the first premiss of the Desire-Dependence Argument—because it is an open question at this point whether one ought to comply with one's moral obligations.

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In short, if the relevant modality in premiss (2) is physical possibility, then the validity of the argument requires that premiss (3) be read this way. But then premiss (3) is false, rendering the argument unsound. If the relevant modality is rational possibility, then the second premiss begs the question against externalism. So on either reading of the second premiss, we have good reason to think the Avoidability Argument unsound.

The Unfair Choices Argument Consider an act, Φ, whose omission is morally condemnable. Suppose that Φ is also rationally impossible for a person to perform; nothing in her existing motivations is rationally related to Φ-ing. Internalists may claim that blaming this person for not Φ-ing is giving her an unpalatable choice: either subject yourself to blame (for not Φ-ing), or do something (Φ) which is irrational for you to do. Forcing such a choice is surely unfair. Only externalists force such choices. There are two replies available to the externalist. The first allows that forcing such choices is indeed unfair, but denies that externalism presents agents with such dilemmas. The second option accepts that externalism allows agents to be faced with such choices, but denies the unfairness of such situations. I prefer the first route, but my preference is supported by some controversial views about rationality which other externalists may wish to eschew. I will offer the more controversial strategy first. The faint of heart can avail themselves of an argument with broader appeal if this fails. The internalist objection, in a nutshell, claims that it is unfair to force a choice between blameworthiness (for failing to do right) and irrationality (for doing right, despite having no motivation for doing so). But to think that externalism is committed to forcing such a choice is to beg the question, by assuming that doing something unrelated to one's motives is irrational. This assumption is not uncommon, and can derive support from a very widely held view of irrationality. This view claims that one's act or attitude is irrational if it fails to comport with one's values, goals, commitments, etc. Since such things are among the components of one's subjective motivational set, it would follow that doing something unrelated to one's motives is irrational. But this presupposes what seems to me to be an unduly narrow concept of (ir)rationality. As I mentioned earlier, my view is that to be irrational is to be insensitive, in one's attitudes and behaviour, to sufficiently good reasons (whatever those happen to be). If we retain this neutral understanding of irrationality, we can see that the internalist is simply assuming that sufficiently good reasons must be rationally related to one's existing motives. The

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externalist will deny this. For any action Φ whose omission is morally condemnable, the real choice offered by the externalist is this: either subject yourself to blame (for not Φ-ing), or do something (Φ) which is unrelated to your existing motives. There doesn't appear to be anything unfair about offering such a choice to the intransigent bully or the committed misanthrope. A forced choice between irrationality and blame is unpalatable, and any theory that subjects agents who are otherwise blameless to such a choice is suspect for that reason. But the internalist arguments offered thus far do not show that externalism generates any cases in which agents are faced with such a choice. Much more needs to be said about the operative notion of rationality, and as it stands many will remain unconvinced. So let us retreat to a safer view. The second externalist path accepts the possibility of situations in which an agent may lack any motivation to do the right thing. But externalists can avoid imposing unfair choices on agents in such cases. Two diagnoses are possible, depending on whether the agent is at least partially responsible for the cultivation of his character. If he isn't, then he lacks control over which elements find themselves in his subjective motivational set. On that assumption, it truly is unfair to blame him for failing to do the right thing. But then it will be unfair to blame him for anything. Agents might still be faced with situations in which they lack motives to do the right thing. Yet failure to act rightly will not, under the present assumption, warrant a judgement of blameworthiness. So, on the assumption that agents do not bear any responsibility for their motives, externalists will not present agents with forced choices between blameworthiness, on the one hand, and action for which they entirely lack a motive, on the other. The choice instead will be to act as your motives allow, or to do the right thing. This isn't itself an unfair choice, especially if one is withholding blame from those who fail to do the right thing. Alternatively, we might assume that agents are at least partially responsible for their motives. Agents may still find themselves in situations in which they lack a motive to do the right thing. But on our present assumption, their motivational failure is their responsibility. If, for instance, they have freely chosen to ally themselves with the principles of a ruthless terroristic organization, then their complete unwillingness to stay a cruel hand is their fault. In effect, if one is responsible for one's motivational make-up, then one can't plead innocence when left cold by the prospect of doing right. There doesn't seem anything unfair in holding people morally responsible for the situations they find themselves in, if we can hold them responsible for the motivations that got them there in the first place. So agents may sometimes be faced with a

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choice between being blamed (for their wrongdoing), or doing what they have no motivation to do (namely, the right thing in the circumstances). Yet under the assumption that agents are responsible for their practical judgements and other motivations, this choice is not an unfair one. Agents either are or are not responsible for the motivations they possess. If they are responsible, then the choice between blameable and unmotivated activity is not unfair. If agents are not relevantly responsible, then such a choice is unfair, but externalists do not force it. Instead, they allow for situations in which agents must choose between doing right and doing what they are motivated to do. But in such a case, those who follow the last course are not to blame. So, again, externalists do not confront agents with unfair choices. This concludes the defensive work to be done on behalf of reasons externalism. If I am right, the most powerful of the criticisms of externalism fail in their aims. By itself, this does not show that externalism is true. However, if we combine this defensive work with arguments that succeed in revealing internalism's weaknesses, then, since internalism and externalism are contradictories, we will have all the materials necessary for constructing a strong case for externalism. Let us turn, then, to a consideration of anti-internalist arguments. If all goes according to plan, we will see that reasons internalism is vulnerable to serious objections, thereby undermining the plausibility of the second premiss of the Desire-Dependence Argument.

IV. Two Arguments against Internalism If internalism is true, then one's reasons are restricted to those rational extensions of one's existing motivations. This restriction is illegitimate, or so I shall argue. I will offer two sets of considerations designed to show that the restriction is ill conceived. The first proceeds via counter-example. Consider a person whose melancholia combines with a dismal pessimism about prospects for happiness. She is effectively a shut-in, her shyness and poor self-conception proof against engagement with the larger world. She is clearheaded enough, and can imagine the experiences of mingling, social chat, and light flirtation. But she anticipates no pleasure from such activities, and the dread she experiences when imagining them is enough to prevent her from making any movement to change the status quo. For such a person, nothing in her existing motivations would lead her to take steps to ease her into a flourishing social life. No dance lessons, no

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hesitant first calls that chance a titter or a put-down. Yet let us suppose that she would find new pleasures, even some delights, were she to emerge from her shell. In appraising her life, she would judge herself far better off in the world than out of it. From within, she would come to endorse the value of the experiences achievable only by extending herself, making herself vulnerable, occasionally being hurt, but more frequently finding pleasure with others. It is this ex post validation that makes it true to say of her, in her earlier phase, that she had a reason to extend herself. The general point is this. It is true of many different kinds of people that if they were somehow to ‘look beyond’ the picture of things they have grown used to, they would find themselves with an outlook, a plan of life, and set of circumstances that they would find more valuable than they could ever have imagined. In such cases, realizing the relevant benefits often requires a change of character. Prior to this change, the prospects of the new life do not appeal, just because they are rationally unrelated to one's present outlook. But one may have reason to change that outlook. One's aspirations may be unduly cramped. One may undervalue the range of enjoyments available only to those who embody the traits that now seem unattractive or unachievable. One's preferences may have been formed under circumstances that bear little relation to the possibilities ahead. In any event, the goods available only to those who make such changes may be so valuable as to make it true that one has, despite one's present motivations, a reason to make the necessary changes. An appeal to make such changes may fall on deaf ears; indeed, it almost certainly will, given that the example makes its point only if the appeal does not contain a rational relation to the addressee's existing motivations. Yet this is not bluff, bluster, bullying, or browbeating. Here, the value of certain experiences would have been endorsed by the agent herself, after she has had the benefit of those experiences. There is a reason for her to extend herself, even though nothing in her present make-up suggests the value of doing so, at least partly because she herself will recognize the value that such exertions bring.93 We need to be careful not to overstate the point here. The example doesn't commit us to the claim that one at present has an external reason whenever acting on it would lead to value, or to more value (either objectively considered

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Millgram (1996: 203 ff.) has a good example and a fine discussion that makes the same point. He introduces us to Archie, a sour, insensitive type who has reasons to change, but whose insensitivity entirely prevents him from seeing their force. Yet somehow he does change, and sees quite clearly that the benefits of being a more sensitive soul are genuine, deep, and lasting. Once changed, he appreciates how much better his life really is, and so recognizes the fact that he had, while still insensitive, a set of powerful reasons to alter his character. This despite the fact that such reasons were entirely unrelated to his then-existing motivational set.The internalist might say that my shut-in, and Millgram's Archie, are just insufficiently imaginative about the relevant options. In either case, internalists are allowed to correct for this shortcoming in determining whether there are applicable reasons that the agents are missing. Yet why think that the very best imaginings of such agents will take them to these new reasons? Given where they are starting from, there is no reason to suppose that exercising their imagination impeccably would get them to see the appeal of a new way of life. Others might quite easily spot the relevant attractions, but, then, such perspectives are external to the ones under consideration. The whole idea behind internalism is that one's existing outlook and motivations, purged of false beliefs and aided by imagination, will exhaustively identify all of one's reasons. Since the imagination is operating over a set of particular commitments, there is no guarantee that these commitments, even after cleansing, will lead an agent to be moved in ways that they later, after great change, find very appealing.

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or from the agent's own (later) point of view) than action from internal reasons. These views might be right, but they aren't vindicated by a single example. A second argument begins with another imagined scenario. Consider a person so misanthropic, so heedless of others' regard, so bent on cruelty, that nothing in his present set of motives would prevent him from committing the worst kind of horrors. He cannot, in the relevant sense, be moved to forbear from such behaviour. But why should this unfortunate fact force us to revise our standards for appropriate conduct? Nothing we say to him will convince him to modify his behaviour. But is this intransigence a basis for holding him to different standards, or isn't it rather a justification for convicting him of a kind of blindness? It is natural to say that people have reason to refrain from behaviour that is fiendish, callous, brutal, arrogant, or craven. We don't withdraw such evaluations just because their targets fail (or would, after deliberation, fail) to find them compelling. Internalists are in a difficult position here. If internalism is true, then the rational impossibility of Φ-ing means that there is no reason to Φ. Now if blame requires failure to adhere to good reasons, and rational impossibility entails an absence of reasons, then agents for whom avoidance of evil deeds is rationally impossible are morally blameless. The worst of the lot—the hatemongers and misanthropes, the Streichers or the Himmlers of the world—would thereby be immune from blame. And hence, presumably, from punishment, since proper punishment is predicated on blameworthiness. The argument can be put more straightforwardly as follows: 1. If internalism is true, then one has no reason to do what is rationally impossible. 2. If one has no reason to Φ, then one can't be justly blamed or punished for not Φ-ing. 3. Therefore if internalism is true, then one can't be justly blamed or punished for avoiding what is rationally impossible.

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4. Some agents are justly blamed or punished for their evil deeds, even though avoidance of such conduct was rationally impossible. 5. Therefore internalism is false. Those who dislike the conclusion have just two premisses to choose from, since the first premiss is true by definition. The second premiss is strong. It ties blameworthiness (and suitability for punishment) to the existence of reasons. To reject the second premiss is to insist that agents may be blameworthy despite lacking any reason to refrain from their unseemly conduct. Such a stand commits one to the view that one could be properly blameworthy for Φ-ing even though one had no reason not to Φ; blameable for Φ-ing, though no consideration at all inclined against Φ-ing. That is quite a strange view. For we rightly suppose that whenever someone is blameworthy, there is in principle some explanation of this fact, some feature in virtue of which an agent is blameworthy. That feature must embody a failing. And this failure is best understood as a failure to appreciate or adhere to considerations that favour or oppose some attitude, choice, or action. But such considerations are just what reasons are. So rejecting the second premiss leaves one with an unrecognizable view of the conditions under which agents are properly subject to blame. The last option is to reject the fourth premiss. In this context, it helps if we focus again on various malefactors, say, the disciplined immoralist, or the single-minded, principled fanatic. These unsavoury characters find themselves without the kinds of motives that the rest of us routinely deploy to prompt our benign impulses and check our harmful ones. Those who reject the fourth premiss must say of such agents that they oughtn't to be blamed or punished for the evil that they do. Yet these agents are not insane, or incapable of resisting their impulses. They have set out on a path of terror, or destruction, and have methodically pursued their vision. Internalism would immunize such agents from moral criticism. So internalists are faced with the choice of withholding blame from the very worst that humanity has to offer, or embracing an unpalatable view of blameworthiness that severs its connection with sensitivity and adherence to reasons. Externalism easily avoids this dilemma, and that is good reason to prefer it to internalism.

V. Conclusion We need special justification for moving away from our present practices of evaluation. Reasons internalism would require such a move. Yet the

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arguments offered on its behalf are, in the end, unpersuasive. The first argument conflates the truth of a claim with the wisdom of expressing it, or, in its updated version, mistakenly assumes that one deserves blame only if expressing it will effectively redirect behaviour. The second argument overlooks the distinction between motivating and justifying reasons. The third incorporates either a false or a question-begging premiss. The fourth incorrectly assumes that externalists must force an unpalatable choice on those unmotivated to do right. We lack positive justification for endorsing internalism about reasons, and have, from our ordinary evaluative practices, two plausible bases for rejecting it. The first of these relies on cases in which an agent ratifies the existence of external reasons from a post factum standpoint that we regard as more practically enlightened. The second of these reveals the special difficulty that internalists face when trying to accommodate a palatable conception of blameworthiness. This combination of argumentative vulnerabilities gives us good reason to reject the internalist conditions on the existence of practical reasons, and thus to accept the possibility of reasons that apply to agents regardless of their existing motivations. If that is right, then the second premiss of the antirealist's Desire-Dependence Argument, the one alleging the truth of reasons internalism, is mistaken. The assumption that we always have reason to do as morality says, combined with reasons internalism and motivational Humeanism, would be sufficient to undermine moral realism. But even if we suspend doubts about the Humean position, we now have good reason to suppose that this classic antirealist argument is unsound. On the line I have taken, our reasons can exceed our capacity to appreciate them, or to be motivated by them. Some of these reasons, for all we now know, may be moral ones. If I am right, in fact, we all have excellent reason to do as morality bids, even if moral demands are unrelated to the commitments that presently move us. I turn now to defence of this claim.

8 Moral Rationalism I. Realism and Rationalism Even those prepared to accept the conclusions of the previous chapter may still feel that a large piece of the puzzle has been neglected. For even if we have a good way of defusing the antirealist's Desire-Dependence Argument, by revealing the weaknesses of its second premiss (reasons internalism), and its third (motivational Humeanism), there remains an outstanding challenge to moral realism. If the Desire-Dependence Argument is unsound, then we needn't constrain the content of moral obligations as antirealists would suggest. But this leads directly to a distinct worry: if the content of moral obligations is desire-independent, then how can such obligations supply us with reasons for action? Morality, it is assumed, is intrinsically or necessarily normative: moral obligations constitute or entail reasons for action. If moral realists cannot offer any plausible explanation of this appearance, then we must take it as a very serious strike against their view. One realist reply would be to reject the assumption that underlies this worry. Realists might reject the claim that moral obligations are, or entail, reasons for action. Yet once we reveal the difficulties facing reasons internalism, we are no longer forced to see reasons as having to answer to our motivational capacities. And this in turn undermines perhaps the major argument against moral rationalism (the view that moral obligations are, or entail, practical reasons). That argument runs as follows: moral obligations sometimes fail to find a source in our subjective motivational set; reasons cannot fail in this way; therefore moral obligations cannot be or entail reasons. Yet if the arguments of Chapter 7 are correct, reasons can fail in just this way—we can have reason to act or think in a certain way, even if nothing in our present mental make-up is rationally related to such an action

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or outlook. And therefore we may well have reason to do even that which bears no relation to our commitments. With the defeat of reasons internalism, rationalists can immunize themselves from a powerful argument designed to undermine their view. But there are other antirationalist arguments that will need to be confronted, and rationalists must offer some positive grounds on behalf of their view. Suppose they fail in these efforts. That does not undermine moral realism, since realism per se is neutral with respect to rationalism. Indeed, moral realists have divided on the merits of moral rationalism, and have accepted it, when they have, on the basis of arguments whose scope extends beyond that of justifying realism itself. For realism is a theory of the status of moral truths, while moral rationalism is a theory of practical reasons. The central realist claim is that the truth of moral judgements is fixed independently of the stances that anyone takes towards the propositions such judgements express. Such a view is perfectly compatible with moral rationalism, or its rejection. Likewise, moral rationalism is compatible either with moral realism, or with any of a number of antirealist doctrines. Realists who have rejected rationalism have typically argued as follows (see, e.g., Brink 1989: ch. 3; Railton 1986: 166–71, 1992). First, ally realism with plausible claims about the content of morality, to the effect that moral demands sometimes fail to serve our interests or satisfy our desires. Then add the claim that one has reason to act only if doing so promotes one's interests or satisfies one's desires. There is no inconsistency in such a view, or indeed any internal pressure from realist commitments to abandon either the very popular views of substantive ethical demands, or those of practical reason. Yet the combination of realism, the relevant moral claims, and these theories of practical rationality spells disaster for moral rationalism. For the combination yields the conclusion that one may lack any reason to do as morality requires. The moral of this familiar story is that realism can easily resist one arm of the queerness objection issued by Mackie (1977: 40–1). Mackie alleges, first, that realists are committed to the view that moral facts entail reasons for action, but, second, that this entailment is sui generis, mysterious, and ill motivated. On this line, the falsity of moral rationalism entails the falsity of realism. That argument is flawed because, as I have said, realism is by itself free of any commitment to moral rationalism. So even if rationalism is false, realism would emerge unscathed. Realists who reject rationalism should simply insist that morality is only contingently reason-giving; moral demands

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supply reasons for action only when they align, for instance, with one's desires or interests. This is a perfectly consistent view. Though consistent, I am not in the end persuaded, and that is because the familiar theories of practical rationality that underlie the resistance to rationalism seem to me to be suspect. As I see things, moral realism does best to ally itself with moral rationalism. In what follows, I offer a presumptive argument for rationalism, and then explore the strongest of the arguments designed to undermine it. I don't think that any of these arguments succeeds. At the end of the day, if all goes according to plan, this leaves us with good reason for endorsing rationalism, no good reason not to, and so a strong, albeit non-conclusive, case for moral rationalism. If I am right, stance-independent moral facts supply us with reasons of their own to do as they direct.

II. A Presumptive Argument for Moral Rationalism Imagine someone doing an act because she thinks it right—she acts from the motive of duty, and, let us suppose, in this case she is on target about what duty requires. What justifies her in performing such an act? If she correctly cites an action's rightness as her reason for performing it, we don't ordinarily question the legitimacy or conceptual coherence of her doing so. But if the rightness of an act itself was no reason at all for performing it, then we would have to do just that. It could never be the case that the rightness of an act was what justified or legitimized its performance, made its performance appropriate under the circumstances. For legitimacy, appropriateness, and justification are all normative notions, and their proper application depends crucially on the existence of reasons. If the rightness of an act was itself no reason to perform it, then even the prima facie justification of virtuous conduct would always be contingent on a showing that it (say) serves self-interest or satisfies the agent's desires. The implausibility of such a view implies that an action's rightness constitutes a good justifying reason for performing it. We can support this view by considering immoral acts as well. When we deem someone's behaviour morally unjustified, we imply that he has violated a standard of appropriate conduct. Suppose such standards did not by themselves supply reasons for action. Then we would be forced to allow that though some actions are unjustified, immoral, improper, illegitimate, or inappropriate, there nevertheless may be no reason at all to avoid them. But this seems wrong—not only conceptually confused, but also gravely unfair. It seems a conceptual error to cite a standard as a guide to conduct and a basis

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for evaluation—to say, for instance, that S ought to have Φ-ed, and was wrong for having failed to Φ—and yet claim that there was no reason at all for S to have Φ-ed. And it seems unfair to criticize violations of such standards while admitting that an agent responsible for offensive conduct may have had no reason to do otherwise. The fairness and appropriateness of moral evaluation rest on an agent's attentiveness to reasons. An agent who correctly claims to have ignored no reasons for action cannot be held to have violated any moral standard. This plausible thought is true only if moral rationalism is true. We are left, therefore, with the choice of either endorsing moral rationalism, or endorsing the idea that proper moral evaluation of an agent has nothing to do with the agent's attentiveness to reasons. Those who take the latter option must shoulder the burden of explaining just what (other than reasons) could serve as the basis for moral assessment, and just how this basis will manage to avoid the apparent unfairness of criticizing agents for conduct they had no reason to avoid.

III. Four Antirationalist Arguments I think that the considerations just offered provide a good basis for accepting moral rationalism. We can strengthen the case if we are able to defuse the strongest arguments against it. Let me proceed with this task by focusing directly on the four antirationalist arguments that I believe to have the greatest chance of undermining moral rationalism. The first of these—the Reasons Internalist Argument—relies on some familiar views to do some new work: 1. 2. 3. 4.

Reasons Internalism is true. Motivational Humeanism is true. Moral obligations apply to agents independently of their desires. Therefore moral rationalism is false.

This argument is logically valid. If reasons must be capable of motivating, and if motivation implicates pre-existing desires, then one has reason to Φ only if Φ-ing is properly related to one's pre-existing desires. If moral obligations apply to agents independently of such desires, then the classes of moral obligations and reasons for action are either not even extensionally equivalent, or are, but only contingently so. This is incompatible with moral rationalism. According to this argument, what reasons we have depends on our

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motivational capacity, which in turn depends on our pre-existing desires. What moral obligations we have does not depend on our desires. Therefore we may entirely lack reason to fulfil our moral obligations. Therefore moral rationalism is false. If, as I have argued, both reasons internalism and motivational Humeanism are false, then this first argument for rejecting moral rationalism will not do. A second argument poses a greater threat, because it does not depend on either internalism about reasons or motivational Humeanism. Call this second argument the Rational Egoist Argument: 1. Rational Egoism is true. 2. Weak Ethical Egoism is false. 3. Therefore Moral Rationalism is false. Both premisses have broad appeal. Rational egoism is the thesis that one has a reason to Φ if and only if Φ-ing will serve one's self-interest.94 Weak ethical egoism is the view that one is morally obligated to Φ only if Φ-ing will serve one's self-interest.95 The falsity of weak ethical egoism entails that adherence to moral requirements may sometimes fail to serve one's self-interest. Rational egoism entails that one lacks reason to perform actions that fail in this way. Therefore the combination of these views entails that one may be morally obligated to Φ even though one lacks a reason to Φ. Therefore this combination entails that moral rationalism is false. On one understanding of self-interest, rational egoism would be reducible to the most popular version of reasons internalism, and so the Rational Egoist Argument would go the way of the Reasons Internalist Argument. The two arguments are equivalent if a certain conception of self-interest is true—call this conception, for obvious reasons, the desire-satisfaction view. The desire-satisfaction view says that an act, Φ, is in one's self-interest only if Φ-ing contributes to the satisfaction of one's desires. If, according to rational

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This is actually the weaker of two versions of rational egoism. The stronger version says that one has a reason to Φ if and only if Φ-ing will best promote one's self-interest. This version fails to allow for a distinction between having a reason, and having the best reason. The weak version, by contrast, allows for defeasible reasons—namely, anything that will promote one's self-interest, but to a lesser degree than an available alternative. The weaker version is the more plausible, and so will occupy centre stage in what follows.

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Contrast this with a stronger version of ethical egoism: An act is morally right if and only if it best promotes one's self-interest. Weak ethical egoism (= premiss 2) is the more plausible version, and will be the focus of subsequent discussion. The falsity of weak ethical egoism entails the falsity of the stronger version, but not vice versa.

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egoism, one has reason to Φ if and only if Φ-ing serves one's self-interest, and if, per the desire-satisfaction view, Φing serves one's self-interest only if Φ-ing satisfies one's desires, then one has a reason to Φ only if Φ-ing satisfies one's desires. This is just a statement of weak instrumentalism, which is the most popular version of reasons internalism. (Strong instrumentalism claims that desire satisfaction is sufficient, as well as necessary, for having a reason.) Thus if the desire-satisfaction view is true, and rational egoism is true, then weak instrumentalism is true. Since both weak and strong instrumentalism are specific forms of reasons internalism, they are vulnerable to the general arguments against reasons internalism offered in the previous chapter. What this means is that if we accept a desiresatisfaction view of self-interest, then there is no independent second argument against moral rationalism. The Rational Egoist Argument collapses into the Reasons Internalist Argument, and suffers the same fate. This collapse occurs only if the desire-satisfaction view of self-interest is true. Without considering the merits of such a view, I suggest we simply assume its falsity here, so as not to make things too easy for the moral rationalist. On that assumption, this second argument would not collapse into the first. The Rational Egoist Argument would still pose a threat to moral rationalism. Such an argument has only two possible points of vulnerability: its endorsement of rational egoism, or its rejection of weak ethical egoism. Moral rationalists might ambitiously offer a critique of this last claim. This would kill two birds with one stone. For if rationalists could vindicate weak ethical egoism, then, by embracing the rational egoism of the first premiss, they will have created a positive argument on behalf of moral rationalism. If rational egoism is true, and weak ethical egoism is true, then moral rationalism is true. If moral duties are guaranteed to promote self-interest, and one always has reason to undertake such promotion, then one has a reason whenever one has a moral obligation. That is moral rationalism. There is a chance that this argument is sound. To show it so, one would have to vindicate weak ethical egoism, and so defend a particular conception of self-interest, a theory of the conditions under which one's self-interest is served, and a first-order moral theory that aligns these conditions with the content of moral demands. Though I favour moral rationalism, I don't want to avail myself of this route to getting there. If weak ethical egoism is true, then we have a powerful argument for moral rationalism only if rational egoism can be vindicated. If weak ethical egoism is false, we have a powerful antirationalist argument only if rational egoism can be vindicated. Both

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routes obviously depend for their success on the truth of rational egoism. I am unwilling to grant that assumption. We can sidestep the difficulties associated with investigating weak ethical egoism, so long as we can raise enough doubts about the truth of rational egoism. That is what I want to do. The challenge is to show that agents might have reason to act morally even if doing so does not serve their interests. Success in this case will not amount to an argument for moral rationalism, but rather an argument that undermines a perennial antirationalist critique, by undermining the rational egoism that provides its essential support. It may be that promotion of self-interest always supplies a good reason for action. But why believe that this is the only kind of good reason there is? Most of us firmly hold judgements that imply the falsity of this thesis. If I see someone distractedly crossing the street, about to be run over, I have reason to yell out and warn her. There is some consideration that favours and justifies my issuing such a warning, even if I (stand to) gain no benefit thereby. If I see a gang of men corner a young woman, taunt her and begin to drag her into a dark alley, I have reason to notify the police, immediately intervene, and call for the assistance of others to help. If I spot a seriously dehydrated hiker while in the backwoods, I have reason to offer up my canteen. Of course we can imagine situations where, all things considered, I have most reason not to perform these actions. But special circumstances aside, such cases certainly appear to provide at least defeasible reason for action, even though our interests are not served, and may only be hindered, by rendering such aid. The appeal to our deeply held normative convictions can be supplemented by two criticisms of rational egoism. The first relies on the importance of autonomy. Autonomous choices for desired or valued ends at least sometimes supply reasons for action, even when such choices are known by the agent not to enhance (or perhaps only to damage) his self-interest. If a soldier decides to sacrifice himself for his comrades, then he has some reason to take the means necessary to saving their lives, even though such actions are condemned from the rational egoist standpoint. If, less dramatically, a person autonomously decides to bestow an anonymous charitable donation sufficiently large to do herself some harm, she nevertheless has some reason to carry through with her resolution. Reasons here, as in the soldier case, may also stem from the needs of those the agent is trying to help. But that isn't necessary to make the relevant point. All that is needed is a recognition that autonomous choices do sometimes supply reasons for action, even though such choices may fail, and be known by the agent to fail, to promote the agent's own interests.

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There are only two ways to dispute this anti-egoist conclusion. The first is simply to deny the independent value of autonomy. On this line, autonomous choice may in some cases supply reasons, but only derivatively—only because and to the extent that acting on such a choice promotes one's own welfare. As far as I am aware, however, there is no good argument for this conclusion—no sound argument that shows that autonomy is only derivatively valuable in this way.96 The alternative is to allow for the independent importance of autonomy, but to claim that autonomous choice and selfinterest can never conflict, because autonomous choice invariably promotes self-interest: one has reason to Φ if and only if Φ-ing promotes one's self interest, and, necessarily, Φ-ing promotes one's self-interest if one autonomously chooses to Φ. But why think this? Why think it impossible for an agent to know that an action will damage his interests but to autonomously choose to do it anyway? It certainly seems possible that agents may, with relevantly full information and a minimum of external pressure, choose to perform actions that they believe will damage their interests. Surely the burden is on those who claim that in every such case the agent must either mistake his interests, be ignorant of relevant facts, or somehow be subject to far greater external pressure than was initially imagined. The burden here is significant. We seem easily able to construct examples in which autonomous choice isn't attended by the relevant sorts of mistake, ignorance, or coercion. And there is a ready explanation for this. Autonomy in choice refers to the conditions under which the choice is made. Whether such choices promote self-interest is a matter of what effects ensue from these choices. Given the huge variety of factors that can influence the outcome of one's choices, it would be miraculous were there an invariant connection linking the conditions that define autonomous choice with a specific kind of effect resulting from such choice (namely, promoting self-interest). A second argument against rational egoism takes its inspiration from an argument against a strong form of ethical egoism, which claims that acts are right if and only if, and because, they (best) promote one's self-interest. The

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One could clinch the argument by showing that one always has reason to do as one autonomously chooses; that, necessarily, autonomously choosing to Φ is a reason to Φ. This may be right, but I wouldn't want to rest my case on it. Even if it is false, however, one could still argue that autonomous choice is independently valuable, and that it often or usually supplies reasons for action. It would then be incumbent on the rational egoist to show that those cases in which it fails to supply reasons are precisely those in which one's welfare is sacrificed. I have not seen an argument for this conclusion that did not already presuppose the truth of rational egoism.

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best criticism of this kind of ethical egoism points to its inability to justify its policy of preferential treatment. In effect, ethical egoism sanctions a policy in which each person gets to elevate his or her interests over all others. Such a policy is a departure from the default ethical position in which equals should receive equal treatment. In response to the charge that ethical egoism licenses discriminatory treatment (because it sanctions treating the welfare of others as less important than one's own, without justifying this preference), egoists have two replies. The first is to accept that their theory is a policy of unequal treatment, but to deny that this is damaging, by citing a relevant feature that justifies such unequal treatment. The second is to argue that ethical egoism is not a policy of preferential treatment, but is perfectly egalitarian. The second reply doesn't work. It says that egoism is egalitarian because it confers on every person the same privileges. Everyone gets to treat her interests as more important than anyone else's. But this is not enough to insulate the egoist from charges of undue preference. For the relevant context in which such charges are raised is one in which A has harmed B in order to benefit herself, A. B or anyone else can ask for justification. ‘Because I'm me’ isn't sufficient. And it won't do at such a juncture to say to B that she is permitted to do the same to A when she, B, gets the chance. A's treatment may prevent B from ever getting that chance. Further, that everyone gets to treat others abominably does not justify such treatment. Ethical egoism is egalitarian in one sense—everyone gets the same moral privileges. But it is inegalitarian in another—it allows one person to give herself complete priority over another for no reason other than the fact that she is the author of the action. The other reply admits that ethical egoism is a policy of unequal treatment, but seeks to justify this policy by citing a relevant difference that justifies the inequality. Not all discrimination is bad—some students, for instance, deservedly get different grades from others. So long as one can cite a relevant difference that justifies the differential treatment, such treatment is completely above board. Now suppose that you've worked very hard to earn what you have. Suppose also that I correctly judge that I would benefit by taking your goods by force. In that case, I am not only allowed to do so, but morally must do so. I am treating myself and you differently. What licenses such treatment? That I would benefit does not explain why I am allowed (or required) to give my own interests priority over yours, since you would benefit (or at least avoid harm) were I to refrain from the forcible taking. There is a stronger and a weaker criticism of ethical egoism at work here. The stronger criticism, levelled by utilitarians, says that the fact that an act

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will promote one's own interests supplies no basis whatever for priority. The weaker criticism claims that this fact does give some reason for priority in some contexts, but that this priority is defeasible and is in fact often defeated by such things as other persons' deserts, needs, and interests. We need only the weaker claim to establish the anti-egoist point. We could go so far as to concede that it is just a brute fact that one is morally allowed to give some priority to oneself, while still demanding justification for the ethical egoist's claim that such priority is the only morally relevant consideration there is. It strikes me that the rational egoist faces precisely the same objection. We might allow that it is simply a brute fact that there is always reason to promote one's self-interest. But we need an argument for thinking that this is the only nonderivative reason there could possibly be. Such a claim isn't self-evident, and it conflicts with some of our other very deeply held beliefs. The rational egoist claims that the only consideration that can support or justify an action is its conduciveness to self-interest. But why don't the like interests, needs, wants, and autonomous choices of others also constitute a basis for rationalizing action that serves them? They are different from one's own interests etc. in only one respect: that they are not one's own. Even if we concede (as many do not) that this difference makes some difference, why does it make all the difference? It seems instead simply to be an assertion of an unjustified policy of preferential treatment. What is it about oneself that gives one licence in every situation to give one's own concerns priority over others? That everyone has such licence does not justify it. It isn't clear what could possibly do so. Rational egoism conflicts with many firm convictions we have about cases. It cannot accommodate a suitable role for autonomy in supplying reasons for action. And rational egoism forces us away from a default position of equality, in ways that are structurally similar to those of ethical egoism, and yet fails to justify the policy of preferential treatment that it is committed to.97 If in the end rational egoism is unsupported, then the Rational Egoist Argument fails to supply good grounds for rejecting moral rationalism. Consider, then, the Analogical Argument, which is clearly inspired by Philippa Foot's seminal article (1972).98 Foot drew attention to a distinction between two senses in which imperatives can be said to be categorical. In the first

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The most plausible arguments that have been offered on behalf of rational egoism are carefully dissected and shown to be unsound in Shaver 1999 . This short book is wonderfully lucid, rigorously argued, and compelling in its rejection of the principal arguments offered on behalf of rational egoism.

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Foot has since withdrawn her support for the central conclusions of this influential article. See Foot 2001 : 60 ff.

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sense, obligations or commands are categorical just in case they truly apply to an agent regardless of whether her desires are thereby satisfied or her interests thereby promoted. But, as Foot pointed out, one cannot infer from a demand's being categorical in this sense that it is also categorical in another sense—that of supplying a reason for anyone to whom it truly applies. As she argued, the demands of law or etiquette are such that they apply to an agent even if she doesn't want them to, and even if her interests aren't served by obedience to the demands. But whether one has any reason to comply with such demands is said to depend on the possible congruence between the content of the demand and one's desires or self-interest. Thus Foot: ‘The fact is that the man who rejects morality because he sees no reason to obey its rules can be convicted of villainy but not of inconsistency. Nor will his action necessarily be irrational’ (Foot 1972: 161–2). What we have reason to do depends on what serves our desires or interests. In some cases, neither our desires nor our interests will be promoted by acting morally. Therefore in some cases we lack reason to do as morality commands. Indifference to moral demands needn't be irrational. As an argument from analogy, this can't be absolutely watertight, but it can shift the burden of proof to the rationalist, who, in the face of this argument, must take either of two options. The first is to argue that the demands of law and etiquette are in fact necessarily reason-giving. The alternative is allow that they are not, but to point up a relevant disanalogy between moral requirements and those of law and etiquette. The first option has found favour among some jurisprudential writers, who believe that there is always some reason to obey the law. Most, however, believe this because they endorse some sort of natural law theory, and so endorse the idea that there are some moral constraints on what can qualify either as a legal standard or as a system of law. In other words, most of those who endorse the view that legal requirements are necessarily reason-giving do so because they think that moral rationalism is true, and think that there is a necessary connection between what the law requires and what morality requires.99 The reason-giving force of legal demands, on any such account, is ultimately to be explained by the reason-giving force of moral requirements.

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This is why legal positivists, such as Hart, have faced genuine difficulty when endorsing the idea that there is always some good moral reason to obey legal commands. If the law has no necessary connection with morality, it is hard to explain how there need always be a (defeasible) moral obligation to behave lawfully. Fuller's critique (1958 ) of Hart 1958 , in most points unpersuasive, hits its target here. As Feinberg (1981 ) has argued, legal positivists do best to abandon the claim that legal requirements entail moral reasons for action.

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Such a response just assumes the truth of moral rationalism, which we obviously cannot do in this context. Further, we can point to the limited appeal of such a response without getting enmeshed in the debate about the merits of natural law. For even if some version of natural law theory is correct, Foot's challenge remains, since we can point to the obligations of etiquette as instances of requirements that are categorical in the first, but not the second, sense. While it is true, as anyone who reads Miss Manners will know, that most rules of etiquette have a moral basis, no one would deny that certain of these rules, such as that dictating where to lay the fish knife on a table setting, are morally arbitrary. Such rules apply even to those who haven't any desire or interest in obeying them. But such rules do not generate reasons for conformity all by themselves—they generate reasons, when they do, only because the rules are coextensive with moral requirements, or because adhering to the rules will advance one's existing commitments. If in a given context properly laying the fish knife serves no moral ends, and serves no personal ones, either, then it is difficult to see what reason one could have for concern about its placement. So there are requirements that are categorical in one sense without being categorical in another: such requirements apply to individuals regardless of their ends, but do not necessarily supply such individuals with any reason for action. It is incumbent on the moral rationalist to explain this. The explanation, I believe, invokes the idea of jurisdiction. A jurisdiction comprises a set of standards that dictate behaviour for a defined set of members.100 The rules of etiquette, or those of a board game, do not necessarily supply reasons for action, because they are not necessarily applicable; they are inapplicable to all who find themselves outside the relevant jurisdictions. A variety of factors can explain one's extra-jurisdictional status. An accident of birth explains why I am not subject to the civil statutes of Ethiopia. An autonomous choice explains why the code of the local Teamsters union does not apply to me. The choices of others explain why I am not bound to uphold the duties of a Prime Minister or President. For these reasons, and others, the strictures of the relevant domain (law, etiquette, fraternal societies, etc.) may fail to apply in a given case. And if such standards fail to apply to one's conduct, then a fortiori they will fail to supply one with reasons for action.

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The set may be defined territorially, as in the law, or may be defined by voluntary allegiance, as with a charitable association or bridge club, etc. Discussion of the different sources of membership is important for other contexts, especially political philosophy, but doesn't much matter here.

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In this sense, the scope of the relevant rules is limited. As I see it, this limit is explained by the conventional origin of such rules. For any given convention, whether it be focused on law, etiquette, or play, one may lack reason to adhere to its rules because one is not a party to the convention. The requirements of law, etiquette, and games are all circumscribed. For any requirements of conventional origin, it is always in principle possible to find oneself outside the jurisdiction. The reasons generated by conventional rules are therefore reasons that exist only contingently. Morality is different. Its scope is pervasive.101 Every action is morally evaluable—even if the pronouncement is simply one of permissibility. There is no exiting the ‘morality game’. One may renounce morality, may act without regard to the moral status of one's conduct, may in fact act with the intention of behaving immorally, but all such dissociative strategies do not free one from susceptibility to moral assessment. This distinguishes moral requirements from those in the law, etiquette, or games. Requirements of law, etiquette, etc. are only contingently applicable, and so only contingently reason-giving. Moral requirements do not exhibit this sort of contingency. What explains this special character of moral assessment? I think it must be that morality is objective, in the sense that its true claims are correct independently of whether anyone thinks so. We don't create the principles that generate moral requirements. The principles are not constituted by, and do not apply to us in virtue of, conventional agreements. Moral requirements are inescapable because they are not of our own making. This does not explain why moral rationalism is true. The pervasive scope of moral evaluation does not explain why moral facts are necessarily reason-giving. But it does serve as the basis for resisting the Analogical Argument, because a relevant disanalogy among kinds of desire-independent requirements has been identified. Not every categorical requirement is necessarily reason-giving, because some such requirements are conventional in origin, and so supply reasons only contingently. Morality's content is not conventionally fixed, and so we lack this basis for thinking that it supplies reasons only contingently. This reply assumes that moral requirements are not conventional. If morality is conventional, then the Analogical Argument, so far as I can see, is sound, and moral rationalism must go by the board. But to assume that

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See Scheffler 1992 : 25–7 for a good discussion of this claim.

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morality is conventional at this point is just to beg the question against the realist, and so, more importantly here, to beg the question against the moral rationalist, by supposing that his favoured reply to the Analogical Argument cannot work. By contrast, there is nothing question-begging at this stage about assuming the truth of moral realism, since realism by itself is neutral with respect to moral rationalism—many realists, as noted before, reject moral rationalism. It would be question-begging to allow the truth of moral realism if the arguments we have been discussing were designed to prove its truth. But they have not had that aim. Instead, the focus is on defence of moral rationalism, as one part of a larger project of showing that realism does not fail to properly account for the normativity of morality. To test that hypothesis, one must assume realism's truth and examine its implications. If my argument thus far is sound, one of these important implications is that realism can, in fact, be enlisted on behalf of moral rationalism in its defence against an otherwise quite powerful argument. Moral realism is compatible with, and indeed supports, moral rationalism. Consider, then, a final argument that I will call the Argument against Intrinsic Reasons: 1. If moral rationalism is true, then moral facts are intrinsically reason-giving. 2. There are no intrinsically reason-giving facts. 3. Therefore moral rationalism is false. The idea here is that rationalism entails that moral facts possess a quite special feature—that of being intrinsically normative. But no fact possesses this feature—any consideration supplies reasons only contingently, say, in virtue of possessing the right sort of relation to one's desires, or interests. Therefore rationalism is false. Before proceeding to criticize the second premiss of this argument, I want to say something about its first claim. I think that it may well be true, though nothing I say here will go any way towards settling the issues it raises. To appreciate these issues, we need to introduce a distinction between what I shall call extrinsic and intrinsic versions of moral rationalism. Extrinsic moral rationalism explains the necessary reason-giving force of moral facts by pointing to something other than moral facts as intrinsically reason-giving, and establishing a necessary connection between moral facts and such further considerations. An example of such a theory is one that endorses both ethical egoism and a strong form of rational egoism (namely,

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one which says that one has a reason to do something if and only if, and because, doing so promotes one's self-interest). On this view, moral facts are necessarily reason-giving because they are facts about self-interest, which in turn is necessarily reason-giving. Intrinsic moral rationalism, on the other hand, has it that moral facts are themselves intrinsically reason-giving, i.e. supply reasons for action regardless of the content of specific moral demands and their relation to other intrinsically or necessarily reason-giving kinds of considerations. According to this version of moral rationalism, that some act is (say) fiendish, treacherous, or cruel just is a reason not to undertake it. The first premiss of the Argument against Intrinsic Reasons fails to acknowledge the possibility of developing any version of extrinsic moral rationalism. It commits the rationalist to the view that moral facts must be intrinsically reason-giving, which is something that extrinsic rationalists will reject. If, as extrinsic rationalists will insist, the truth of rationalism does not hinge on the possibility of intrinsically reason-giving moral facts, then the first premiss of the Argument is false. And therefore the Argument would be unsound. The plausibility of this line of reply depends on the prospects for extrinsic moral rationalism. Without taking a stand here, let us note simply that it is not without some appeal, which can be seen by contrasting it with intrinsic moral rationalism. The two kinds of rationalism have correlative strengths and weaknesses. The strength of extrinsic moral rationalism resides in its ability to offer a general account of the reason-giving force of moral facts. One has something to say by way of explaining the normativity of moral facts—their normativity is derived from their necessary connection with some other class of considerations already recognized as intrinsically reason-giving. The vulnerability of this sort of rationalism lies in the claimed link between moral facts and the other considerations acknowledged to be normative. In the above example, for instance, even if we allow that there is always reason to promote self-interest, most deny that there is any necessary connection between moral facts and the promotion of self-interest. Intrinsic moral rationalism avoids this difficulty, because it rejects the strategy of establishing the normativity of moral facts by forging a connection between them and other kinds of facts. But this gain comes at the cost of an apparent inability to explain just how moral facts, of themselves, do necessarily supply reasons for action. The intrinsic rationalist seems reduced simply to insisting on the bare normativity of moral facts, and that has struck many as unacceptable.

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If we are satisfied that the weakness of extrinsic moral rationalism is only apparent, then we can offer the aforementioned reply to the Argument against Intrinsic Reasons. We can reject its first premiss by rejecting the claim that rationalism's truth requires us to postulate the intrinsic normativity of moral facts. This may be the way to go. Vindicating this strategy requires two things: identifying the class of intrinsically normative considerations, and establishing the necessary connection linking them to moral facts. I don't have a plausible story of this sort to tell. That may simply be an imaginative failure on my part, and nothing that follows is meant to foreclose possibilities on this front. If some version of this strategy can be plausibly maintained, so much the better for moral rationalism. In the absence of such an account, it is best to avoid tying rationalism's fate to the chance that moral facts do bear necessary relations to other, intrinsically normative facts. So let us proceed as if the first premiss of the Argument against Intrinsic Reasons is true, and assume that rationalism's promise does depend on the existence of intrinsically normative facts. On that assumption, rationalism can be refuted by establishing that no such facts exist. This is what is claimed in premiss (2). I do not think that such a claim can be sustained. Those who affirm premiss (2) will say that all reasons derive from an agent's perspective. For consider the alternative: if reasons exist regardless of one's beliefs, desires or interests, then where do they come from? (And how can we know them?) What, other than an agent's own perspective, could serve as a source of normative authority? To insist that a set of facts could contain within themselves normative authority for agents, regardless of their outlooks on life, seems obscurantist, and gives the appearance of prematurely cutting off any helpful explanation of normativity. If this is obscurantist, I think we have no choice but to embrace the mysteries. I think that intrinsic normativity is ineliminable. To see this, consider the parallels between conditions of epistemic and moral assessment. We say that agents, if they have reason to believe anything at all, have reasons to believe the truth, and to conform their reasoning to truth-preserving schemas, even if believing the truth is not conducive to the goals they set themselves. Suppose someone, on the basis of excellent evidence, accepts the truth of a conditional and its antecedent, but denies that she has any reason to accept the consequent. It's not just that she may have (possibly overriding) reasons which oppose making such an inference. Someone might correctly believe that all passengers aboard a downed airliner have been killed, while knowing that her brother was among them, and yet resist drawing the terrible conclusion. Practical considerations, such

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as sustaining emotional stability, may militate against believing the truth, and may, for anything said thus far, be so strong as to outweigh it in given instances. But the sister who holds out hope against all evidence, and contrary to the logical implications of her own beliefs, is in some real sense acting against reason. Indeed, she is, in one sense, behaving irrationally, though also in a way that is fully understandable. She is acting contrary to sufficiently good reasons—reasons that are there to tell her, and anyone in her epistemic situation, that she ought to believe something that she cannot bring herself to believe. To say such a thing commits one to the existence of what I shall call non-perspectival or intrinsic reasons. I believe that there is intrinsic reason to think that two and two are four—the fact itself provides one with reason to believe it. One needn't show that such belief is somehow related to one's adopted goals in order to justify believing such a thing. If, unusually, success at basic mathematics was entirely unrelated to one's preferred activities, one would still have good reason to think that two and two were four, not five or three. The basic idea here is that certain things can be intrinsically normative—reason-giving independently of the value actually attached to them by agents. The opposing view insists that what reasons there are stem entirely from an agent's own contingent commitments. Antirationalists might allow that there are values that obtain independently of an agent's attachments, but that claim would have to be coupled with a further one, to the effect that whatever reason-giving force such values have is entirely dependent on the agent's own investment. There are no reasons at all apart from a particular agent's perspective. The rationalist insists that the reasons generated from within these perspectives can be assessed and can in cases collude with, or compete against, reasons that are non-perspectival. The epistemic rationalist claims that certain (kinds of) reasons for belief are like this. We behave in an epistemically appropriate fashion when our practices track these reasons, which are not all of our own making. There is reason to believe that two and two are four, and that the consequent follows from a conditional and its antecedent. We don't make these reasons up; most perspectives recognize such reasons, but their existence does not depend on such recognition. Those outlooks that fail to acknowledge these reasons are missing something. There are clear parallels with moral rationalism. The moral rationalist says that certain kinds of facts—moral facts—necessarily supply us with reasons for action, as well as reasons for belief. Everyone has a reason to regard

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genocide as evil, because it is true that genocide is evil.102 And everyone has reason not to participate in genocide, because it is a fact that we are morally obligated to refrain from such participation. Or, to take the usual example, no worse for being usual: we have reason to alleviate another person's excruciating pain, if we can do so effectively at very little cost to ourselves. There are considerations in such cases that justify alleviating such pain, even if doing so is neither desired for its own sake, nor instrumental to one's desires. Those who overcome their indifference and manage to offer assistance in such cases are acting appropriately, or more than appropriately. Their actions are proper, legitimate, and justified. They wouldn't be, were there no reason at all to undertake them. Such reasons may be defeasible, but they apply to us even in the absence of any instrumental relation to our goals. Let us define antirationalism in this context as the view that there are no intrinsically normative facts, truths, or entities. If antirationalism is correct, then no propositions are intrinsically normative—no proposition is such that anyone, regardless of her perspective, has reason to believe it. Anything can

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Putting it this way, and talking of intrinsic normativity, may give the appearance that rationalists are committed to the view that one has a reason to believe every truth—that every true proposition, by itself, creates some reason to believe it. This is what (partially) supports the moral rationalist's claim that every true moral requirement creates some reason to abide by it. Yet surely we do not have reason to believe every truth, for such a thing is impossible, and one can't have reason to do the impossible.I think that what is missing here is a recognition that many reasons, whose existence does not depend on their bearing an instrumental relation to an agent's ends, will nevertheless have certain application conditions built in. These conditions are of two kinds: those that define the set of agents bound by the reasons, and those that define the circumstances under which such agents are bound. It would be silly, for instance, to assign to the epistemic rationalist the idea that the intrinsic normativity of certain facts entails that trees or birds have reason to believe them. So, too, moral rationalists are not committed to the claim that various moral acts supply reasons for babies or the comatose to act in certain ways. As a general matter, it seems plausible to suppose that the agent application conditions of reasons must incorporate some kind of ought-implies-can principle. Since birds and trees cannot act on any epistemic (or moral) reasons, such reasons do not apply to them. This doesn't seem to undermine whatever intrinsic normativity they might have. So, in my example, everyone does have a reason to regard genocide as evil, provided, of course, that one is able to form evaluative beliefs in the first place.That reasons possess certain circumstantial application conditions does not prevent their being intrinsically normative, either. A fact may give anyone, regardless of his or her interests or perspective, a reason to believe that p, or to do x, but only in certain conditions. Many positive duties are like this. Everyone has reason to be beneficent, but only when others are in need. Everyone has reasons of fidelity, but these apply only in conditions of having made a promise. Promisors (qua promisors) have different reasons from non-promisors, but this doesn't alter the intrinsically normative character of the reasons that apply to promisors.The essential point here is that such application conditions are compatible with the intrinsic normativity of certain facts. The goal of much first-order normative theory is to identify and defend these conditions. That is a project for another time.

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supply reasons, but only if its reason-giving force is ratified from within a perspective. In its effort to cast doubt on the possibility of intrinsic reasons, antirationalism must commit itself to the view that what reasons we have—for belief and for action—depend entirely on one's outlook. If they weren't dependent in this way, then they would be non-perspectival—there would be intrinsic reasons after all. Yet once we meet the conditions of an antirationalist theory, we see that such a theory cannot rationally compel the allegiance of its detractors. For, by its own lights, antirationalism (like all views) has nothing in itself to recommend it to anyone not already convinced of its merits. If the reason for endorsing antirationalism is just relative to one's perspective, then those who reject antirationalism are ignoring no reason that should incline them to revise their normative and philosophical views. This does not prove that antirationalism is false. But if you don't already believe it, then, per its recommendations, you may have no reason to change your mind. And this has a surprising consequence. Suppose antirationalism is true. If it is, the truth about normativity would be epistemically inaccessible for some agents (namely, rationalists) who were fully non-normatively informed, and deliberating impeccably from their normative starting points. Yet this division between truth and epistemic accessibility is a hallmark of philosophical realism. In other words, to insist that all reasons are relative to one's perspective is to be committed to the view that there are philosophical truths (here, about normative matters) that even some idealized agents would fail to grasp—namely, those rationalists whose views, as just described, are based on full non-normative information and perfect reasoning. This is great news for the moral realist. For the truth of antirationalism, combined with the existence of informed, rational, and unbudgeable rationalists, would prove that there is a division between truth and epistemic accessibility. That division would explain why fully rational and informed agents might persist in their moral disagreements, thereby deflecting a perennial criticism of moral realism (more on this in the next chapter). Further, once one accepts the existence of epistemically inaccessible truths, then another traditional criticism of moral realism (to the effect that it countenances such truths) must be given up. (More on that in Chapter 10.) So moral realism gains support even on the worst-case scenario, that in which antirationalism is true, despite our having some powerful reasons for thinking it false. The antirationalism at the heart of premiss (2) is either true or false. I have tried to show that it is false. But even if I have failed, we are still far short of a

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proof of its truth. And were such a proof forthcoming, this would aid, rather than undermine, moral realism. For antirationalism itself would be an instance of a proposition whose truth would be epistemically inaccessible to some with relevantly full information and perfect deliberative powers. That protects moral realism from the global antirealist dismissal of such a possibility, and also enables it to address a long-standing worry about how it handles persistent moral disagreement. In short, though we have good reason to reject the second premiss of the Argument against Intrinsic Reasons, the realist can rest easy even if it is true. And this should not surprise. Earlier in this chapter, I indicated that moral realists have divided over the question of rationalism's truth, and that realism per se is compatible with either rationalism or antirationalism. What may be surprising, however, is the support that realism offers rationalism (as detailed in the discussion of the Analogical Argument), and, especially, the support that antirationalism offers to moral realism. In the end, I believe that the weight of the arguments opposes moral antirationalism. But even if antirationalism is true, we both lack reason to believe it so, and have reason to think that its truth would do much to strengthen, not weaken, moral realism.

IV. Partners in Crime All of this still leaves us short of an account of why moral facts are intrinsically reason-giving—thus far we have attempted to display the attractions of rationalism, and have tried to undermine the critiques of rationalism, but haven't offered any concrete explanation of why moral facts supply reasons (for action or evaluation). The intrinsic moral rationalist does not explain the normativity of moral facts by positing a necessary connection between them and other kinds of intrinsically reason-giving considerations. But if this explanatory route is barred, what other route is available? The worry here is the same as that which besets accounts of candidate intrinsic values. We ordinarily explain the value of something by displaying its relation to something else acknowledged to be intrinsically valuable. But when one's candidate intrinsic values are themselves questioned, this strategy must fail. Suppose one claims that any situation in which an innocent child is maimed solely to produce pleasure for his tormentor is bad, in itself. Isn't this true? But there's very little one can say to someone who understands the proposition and still doesn't believe this. The intrinsic moral rationalist is in much the same boat when defending the normativity of moral facts.

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According to her, there is no more fundamental kind of normative consideration from which moral facts can derive their reason-giving force. But just as the inability to cite a more fundamental consideration doesn't necessarily undermine the claim about intrinsic value, so too it needn't undermine the claim about normativity. One must recognize the limits of normative explanation. That said, rationalists must concede that their favoured theory does not enjoy the same degree of endorsement as the verdict we reach in the example in which a child is maimed. But this shouldn't be seen as a stumbling block to acceptance of rationalism. Intrinsic moral rationalism is a much more complicated, less obviously correct, and less immediately appealing view than the one expressed in the example. Further, the parallel with defending claims of intrinsic value should alert us to the difficulty of justification in these contexts. Justification here is a matter of defusing arguments designed to undermine the relevant view, and adducing some non-conclusive considerations that favour it. In case such a strategy is thought by its nature to be too weak to establish the requisite degree of justification, we need to remind ourselves that this is all that can be hoped for even for those theories of practical reasons whose allegiance is much broader than moral rationalism. The brute inexplicability of the normativity of moral facts is not different in kind from that which besets other, familiar theories of practical reasons. Consider both rational egoism and instrumentalism. Proponents of these theories claim, respectively, that self-interest or desire satisfaction are the sole kind of intrinsically reason-giving consideration. Defence of such views always consists in offering replies to criticisms, and evidence far short of demonstrable proof as positive support for their views. Indeed, on the assumption that self-interest is not identical with or best measured exclusively by desire satisfaction, at least one of these popular theories must be false. Both rational egoism and instrumentalism are often favourably compared to intrinsic moral rationalism on explanatory grounds. Their preferred source of reasons—agents' contingent interests or desires—themselves pose no special metaphysical puzzles, and their content offers ready, if fallible, epistemic access. This is meant to contrast with rationalism's mysterious invocation of intrinsic reasons. Yet the central claim of each of rationalism's competitors here is nothing other than the insistence that interests or desires are themselves intrinsically normative. It is reasonable to ask how interests or desires can possess this special status. And why do only interests or desires, as opposed to logical implications, various empirical truths, and moral facts, possess this special property? Egoists or instrumentalists about reasons also

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have some explaining to do. Here is a particular kind of fact—Φ-ing satisfies one's desires, or promotes one's interests. And to this we attach a very special property—that of supplying in itself (or, for extrinsic versions, at least entailing) a reason for action. To the extent that this property is mysterious, the mystery attaches equally to egoism or instrumentalism. The relevant point here is that strategies for defending any such view—any candidate for intrinsically normative consideration—are similar across the board. The rational egoist will not be able to point to a kind of normative consideration more fundamental than self-interest, to which the reason-giving force of self-interest is of necessity related. The instrumentalist is likewise handicapped when trying to establish the intrinsic normativity of desire satisfaction. This kind of explanatory failure is not itself an argument against any one of these theories. In response to the charge that intrinsic moral rationalists are unable to explain the normativity of moral facts, rationalists should be prepared to point to partners in crime. They needn't look very far.

V. Conclusion Moral rationalism can survive the strongest arguments designed to undermine it. The Reasons Internalist Argument, the Rational Egoist Argument, the Analogical Argument, and the Argument against Intrinsic Reasons do not, in the end, point up insuperable difficulties for the rationalist. There are strong considerations to do with the conceptual coherence and the fairness of moral evaluation that support moral rationalism. And intrinsic rationalism's insistence on the irreducibly normative character of moral facts should not be an impediment to its acceptance. Any problem that may arise in this context is one shared by rationalism's competitors—they do not deny intrinsic normativity, but rather assign it to something other than moral facts. If I am right, one always has reason to do as morality says. Whether this is the best possible reason—whether moral considerations are invariably overriding—is another matter. One can't settle that issue without having in hand a theory of normative ethics, an inventory of non-moral reasons, and a method for measuring their relative strength. We don't need to undertake such extensive investigations to establish the more circumscribed defence of rationalism that is the focus of the present chapter. Realists have always had available to them three strategies regarding the normativity of moral facts. The first is to concede to their detractors the claim

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that moral facts are only contingently reason-giving, but then to argue that this does not impugn the possibility of stance-independent moral facts. The second is to insist that moral facts entail reasons for action, because such facts are necessarily related to another, intrinsically reason-giving class of considerations. The third—my preferred strategy—is to argue that moral facts are fully normative because they supply by themselves reasons for action, though at this stage we cannot know whether they are invariably the best such reasons. Moral demands and relations constitute, in themselves, significant reasons. An action's goodness is itself reason for performing it; its wickedness reason for refraining. If rationalism is true, then moral demands themselves supply, or at least entail, reasons for action. Realists can accept this if reasons are not constrained by subjective motivational sets. Rejecting reasons internalism allows us to justifiably take up such a view. Having done this, we can easily see that realism is fully compatible with moral rationalism. Indeed, as our discussion of the Analogical Argument showed, realism offers positive support for rationalism. If, as I have argued, rationalism provides the best account of morality's normativity, then moral realism cannot rightly be charged with a failure to explain morality's role in generating reasons. Rationalism might be false, of course, and if it were, then moral demands would only variably align themselves with reasons for action. The explanation of such misalignment is the provenance of a normative ethic and a substantive theory of reasons for action, rather than a metaphysic of morals. Importantly, however, if rationalism were false, then the basis of a charge of normative failure would be removed—moral demands would not entail reasons for action, and so there would be no call for realism to explain why they did. Thus we have good reason for thinking that moral realism can account for the normativity of morality, conceived either as rationalists would do, or as their opponents would prefer. I would be remiss if I failed to note a potentially unsettling consequence of the views about moral reasons that have been advanced thus far. We were able to assess the merits of reasons internalism and moral rationalism in ways that were relatively independent of each other. Now it is time to consider how well these discussions sit with one another. It must be said that the combination of rejecting reasons internalism and endorsing moral rationalism can be bracing. This combination yields a view according to which we may have moral reasons that are inaccessible to us—there may be no sound deliberative path that could take us to such reasons from our existing outlook. There is something undemocratic about such a view. We like to think that moral

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wisdom is equally available to all, or at least all of those sufficiently inspired to exercise their imagination and reasoning. The above-mentioned combination gives us no guarantee that such success is possible. This may be dispiriting, but is not by itself an adequate ground to call into doubt what has come before. The present combination of views forces us to the conclusion that some people will be blind to the moral obligations incumbent upon them. They will fail to see what they must do, even were they to reason perfectly from their present outlook. Theirs is a make-up so morally askew that nothing therein is rationally related to moral demands. I think it only unwarranted optimism to discount such a possibility. Of course this is the most extreme of the possible scenarios licensed by the combination of moral rationalism and reasons externalism. If we turn our attention to the rest of us—all of those actually reading this essay, for instance—what we are much likelier to see are cases in which a selective moral blindness besets us, rather than a wholesale moral opacity. At least most of us inhabit outlooks that will prevent our fully seeing the right and the good for what they are, even if we were to sharpen our existing lenses to as fine a grade as possible. In such cases, we remain ignorant of the reasons that apply to us because we need to change our outlooks in one respect or another—no amount of sound reasoning from our present perspective will take us to the truth. Accurate first-personal diagnoses of such cases will be hard to come by, since such diagnoses presuppose a corrective lens whose absence is precisely the cause of the problem. But this doesn't distinguish the moral case from many others, in which an impediment of one sort or another prevents accurate perception. What all of this boils down to is the possibility that we may have nothing convincing to say to a Gyges, or to a sufficiently cunning Thrasymachus or Foole. Even were they able to reason perfectly from the motivations they find themselves with, they might have nothing but a sneer and the back of their hands for those who counsel a moral path. Perhaps even these people are within reach, but reaching them will not be a matter of pointing out how their existing motivations are rationally related to the moral ends they at present do not share. Perhaps everyone, at some point in his or her life, was indeed capable of forming the sorts of motivations from which morality can be gained. But straitened circumstances and a history of poor choices can bring one to the point where all the rational extensions of one's outlook make morality seem a sucker's game. Some will seek to certify the edicts of such an outlook, restricting reasons to those considerations that can be vindicated by its rational extensions. Unsurprisingly, I think the preferred

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path is to convict such individuals of a (possibly ineliminable) blindness to the moral reasons that genuinely apply to them. The circumstances that generate such blindness, and the blindness itself, are often tragic. But we do best to see such tragedies for what they are, rather than to try to explain them away.

9 Rationality and Disagreement Those who advance antirealist conclusions often rely on considerations to do with disagreement to support their views. The basic idea, developed in the two-part argument offered below, is that the many moral disagreements we actually encounter, as well as the hypothesized moral disagreements we can anticipate among more ideal judges, are best explained by central antirealist assumptions. I think that this line of argument is mistaken at a number of points, and will try to reveal its weaknesses in what follows.

I. The Argument from Disagreement The argument begins with the introduction of the evidence: the existence of widespread, sometimes intractable interpersonal and intercultural ethical disagreement. The claim is that this evidence is best accounted for on the assumption that moral judgements give voice solely to relatively parochial views, there being no objective truth that they might capture. This view is commonly supported by noting a contrast in the degree of consensus within the natural sciences, on the one hand, and moral enquiry, on the other. There are those who accept the plausibility of realism when it comes to geology or physics or molecular biology, but who take a decidely sceptical attitude towards moral claims. Scientific enquiry, broadly construed, has generated a great deal of consensus within its own communities—consensus on substantive truths within scientific disciplines, as well as consensus on what constitutes appropriate methods for confirming such truths. By contrast, there is much disagreement both about how to make progress in ethical investigations, and about substantive ethical issues. Most people suppose that the kind and degree of convergence we see in science is attributable to the metaphysical standing of its subject matters. We

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have made great progress in such fields as hydrology, astronomy, and botany because these disciplines study things that are best construed realistically; their stance-independent reality serves as an extremely useful constraint on investigation. In these disciplines, we have some way of determining when theories fail to match up with the reality they are intended to describe. According to ethical nihilists and subjectivists, pervasive moral disagreement is good evidence for thinking that, by contrast, there isn't any such reality that is serving as a constraint on the development of moral opinions.103 If moral facts were ‘out there’, awaiting discovery, then we would have to charge at least one party to a moral dispute with having made some cognitive error. But given the breadth of such disagreement, surely the most charitable and plausible account of the matter is that no one need be mistaken. Instead, unlike successful scientists, moral interlocutors are simply registering their personal opinions, unfettered by an external moral reality that might check them. Their views reflect the only ethical standards there are, namely, those that have been constructed from personal experience or have emerged as an expression of social understandings. The extent of disagreement in ethics is best explained by the absence of any objective reality that could be captured by our moral judgements. As antirealists realize, the case as it stands at present requires supplementation. The reliance on a disanalogy between scientific and moral enquiry will go only so far, and is subject to plausible efforts to explain much of the differences away. Antirealists need a further argument for thinking that such explanations (on offer below) fall short. That argument is not far to seek. Here the relevant thesis is that even idealized enquirers would fail to converge on a set of ethical standards and verdicts, and that this lack of convergence warrants a rejection of realism. As it is usually framed, this argument claims that if everyone were perfectly knowledgeable and rational, and if realism about a domain were true, then there would be unanimity in judgements within that domain. But since we can expect no such unanimity in ethics, even among such ideal agents, we have excellent reason to reject moral realism. This argument sees realism as committed to the view that at least one party to genuine disagreement must be in error, and that any such error is properly characterized as a cognitive or rational failing. (See, e.g., Wright 1992: 175.)

103

The antirealist argument from disagreement has been given in similar versions by Blackburn (1985 ); Mackie (1977 : 36–8); Hare (1963 ); Stevenson (1937 , 1948 ); Williams (1985 : ch. 8). Replies have been offered by, among others, Wellman (1975 ); Hurley (1985 ); Brink (1989 : 197–209); McNaughton (1988 : 147–61); Miller (1985 ); Shafer-Landau (1994a ). See also Foot 1958 and 1959 .

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Now the powers of rationality, on realistic assumptions, are thought to be sufficiently great as to invariably home in on the truth. Everyone armed with such powers to a perfect degree ought therefore to converge in his or her judgements, in any domain that is best construed realistically. Yet we should expect moral disagreement to persist in even idealized conditions of enquiry. Therefore realism is false. The simpler explanation of moral disagreement—that individuals are reporting or expressing their own attitudes, which don't answer to any more objective standards—is therefore also the best explanation. Thus the argument from disagreement is really a two-part argument. The first part consists in presenting evidence for an antirealist conclusion—the existence of pervasive actual moral disagreement, and the greater degree of dissensus within ethics, as compared to that found in the natural sciences. Because such evidence is susceptible of competing explanations of more than superficial plausibility, a second element is introduced—the existence of hypothesized moral disagreement under ideal conditions. This is supposed to clinch the case against realism, since (it is claimed) realism entails the unanimity of views among properly ideal moral judges. It is this second element that warrants the antirealist explanation of actual, apparently intractable moral disagreement. Before assessing this two-part argument, let us consider a preliminary worry. This comes in the form of a charge that realists are forced to mischaracterize the nature of moral disagreement. If realism is correct, then moral error is cognitive error, and this sounds either wrong, or too underdone by way of fully describing the nature of moral mistake. For realists, the natural diagnosis of most actual moral disagreement is that the interlocutors are contradicting one another. It follows that at least one of them is holding a view that is false, and so making some sort of cognitive error. And that is to over-intellectualize what is going on in such cases. Moral error is first and foremost a matter of conative misalignment, and this element is left out of the cognitivist picture of moral mistake. I hope to have done enough to show that such a view is not the default position, but is rather an expression of a theory that we need to be argued to. According to moral realists, and cognitivists generally, moral mistake does centrally involve false belief, and this is what licenses us in speaking of cognitive error. But this is only the start of a full diagnosis in any given case. One's emotions and moods, one's acculturation and upbringing, one's passions, fantasies, aspirations, and insecurities, all play complex roles in generating the moral views one holds. Moral error, at least of the sort that

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involves attachment to false moral standards, often signals an affective misalignment as well. That moral error always involves cognitive error does not mean that it involves nothing else. The realist can grant such things their place in the aetiology and constitution of moral error, while continuing to regard moral error as mistaken belief.

II. Explaining Actual Disagreement Let us turn now to the argument proper. The argument has two parts; consider first the evidence supplied by the breadth and depth of actual moral disagreement. At best, such evidence places a burden of proof on the moral realist that will be more or less significant depending on how well the realist can do two things: (i) challenge the evidence as presented, and (ii) challenge the inference to antirealism that is drawn from the evidence. Regarding (i), it is a commonplace for realists to point to the very great deal of moral consensus within and across societies, and to mention matters on which the scientific community remains deeply divided. Though this is correct as far as it goes, it does not go far enough. At the end of the day, there does seem to be broader agreement in physics and chemistry than there is in ethics, both about method and about substance. This needs explaining. There are the obvious points: much moral disagreement stems either from disagreement about what the relevant nonmoral facts are, or is due to some error of instrumental reasoning. Clearing up these errors and getting consensus on non-moral facts would remove a great deal of moral disagreement. But probably not all. Some disagreement is attributable to impoverished imaginative and sympathetic capacities. Agents who display such limitations might, at some level, know the non-moral facts and yet be unable to situate themselves in the places of those who would suffer from their moral endorsements. This is a real failing, and one whose elimination would substantially lessen moral disagreement. In addition, some realists, myself included, will accept the idea that there is no uniquely correct answer to some wellformed moral questions. There are cases in which incommensurable or incomparable values are in play, and others in which various kinds of moral indeterminacy can manifest themselves.104 In such cases, we should expect something other than unanimity even among those who are reasoning well and possessed of all non-moral facts.

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I defend this claim in Shafer-Landau 1994a , 1995 . For a fine collection on the subject, see Chang 1997 .


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Ethics is concerned primarily with how people ought to treat one another. Ethical standards provide a basis for action and the cultivation of character; they prescribe what we ought to do and how we ought to be. Scientific or mathematical principles aren't meant to be like this. To the extent that they are allied with normative recommendations, or are deployed for practical ends that threaten the interests or standing of another, there is a correlative increase in the disagreement we can expect within the scientific community. Self-deception, special pleading, and inattention to the nuances of competing views often accompany normative enquiries when self-interest or ideological commitments are at stake; these faults arise as well within scientific communities when scientific matters are crucial to (e.g.) the allocation of resources or the determination of social standing. The fact that so much more is typically at stake in an ethical enquiry partially explains why disagreement is broader there than in the sciences. These considerations have been advanced by realists for a long while; David Brink (1989: 197–209) has done the best job that I know of in bringing them together and developing their individual and collective strengths in deflating the argument from existing disagreement. The last point he makes, taken from Parfit (1984: 453–4), is that the number of people and resources devoted to the development of secular ethical theories pales in comparison to those spent on scientific investigation. More philosophical effort may yield a greater consensus in ethics, perhaps one day rivalling that found in science. Even if this is too optimistic, we might explain at least some of the present disparity between the degree of consensus in science and ethics as owing to the far greater amount of people, time, and resources devoted to the articulation and testing of scientific theories. At this stage it is too soon to tell whether this package of explanations for existing disagreement is implausible. Whether the realist's account is satisfactory depends on what else the realist has to say—about ontology, epistemology, moral motivation, and reasons for action. And it depends on what antirealists have to say about these things as well. The ultimate question must be focused on which picture offers the best comprehensive metaethical view, and even if there were some advantage gained by antirealists on matters of disagreement, that advantage might be overridden when surveying the liabilities of realism's competitors and noting realism's strengths. We can't confidently pronounce on the degree to which realism is weakened by considerations of moral disagreement until we have in hand a wellgrounded comparative assessment of how realism and its competitors fare on a whole range of additional issues.

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That said, let me offer a further consideration that strikes me as supportive of the realist's analysis of actual moral disagreement. Disputes within ethics seem structurally to be quite similar to those within philosophy generally. Disagreement about the morality of abortion or euthanasia seems as intractable as that which separates nominalists from Platonists, theists from atheists, foundationalists from coherentists, libertarians from compatibilists. In none of these cases do we defer exclusively or primarily to scientific findings when trying to resolve the problems. Though the deliverances of the special sciences may have some role to play in these different debates, trying to resolve these problems is not primarily a matter of doing mathematics, physics, chemistry, biology, geology, or any combination of these. Philosophy generally, like ethics in particular, is not a science. If the argument from disagreement is sound, then this should lead us to an antirealism about all philosophical views. For the extent of disagreement within any branch of philosophy is surely as great as—perhaps greater than—that found among substantive ethical views. Yet this sort of highest-order philosophical antirealism isn't very plausible. Even philosophers who are substantively sceptical about some domain (universals, free will, God, or moral facts) write as if their views were correct—not just endorsed by them; not just consistent with the attitudes they antecedently held; not just reflective of the spirit of the times, but correct for everyone, always—correct, simpliciter. It doesn't make much sense to say that moral realism (or nominalism or physicalism) is true for me and false for you, or true in this epoch but false in another. And it is even less plausible to say that endorsing realism is nothing other than a non-cognitive expression of one's practical commitments—that a judgement of realism's truth is not itself truth-evaluable. Once we note this, the argument from disagreement against moral realism is considerably weakened. For the features that are used to generate a kind of scepticism about morality's status are shared by disagreements in all areas of philosophy. Disagreements in such areas as metaphysics, epistemology, and philosophy of language are pervasive and persistent, largely resistant to empirical resolution, and addressed without the benefit of determinate methods that are agreed by all to yield truth. Things are not relevantly different in ethics. If we are reluctant to see all metaphysical or epistemological opinions as nothing more than expressions of personal commitments, then we ought to be equally reluctant to take persistent ethical disagreement as a good basis for inferring the truth of moral antirealism. The disagreements that arise within moral discussion are not probative evidence for an antirealist diagnosis of morality.


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III. Explaining Hypothesized Disagreement This brings us to the second element of the antirealist argument. This is where the real philosophical action is, for two reasons. First, were this second element vindicated—were it true that there would be moral dissensus even among idealized judges, and that such dissensus is incompatible with the implications of realism—then realism would be false even if there were no moral disagreements at all in the real world. Second, the evidence about actual moral disagreement can't be properly weighed without introducing considerations that bear directly on the outcome of idealized moral enquiry. For the realist's best gambit regarding that evidence is to cite a host of failings that beset actual interlocutors who persist in their moral disagreements. It would be natural, then, to suppose that on realist assumptions, once those failings are corrected, the disagreement will disappear. And that is just what the antirealist supposes will not occur. Realists, it is assumed, are wedded to the idea that idealized enquirers will converge on a truth that is guiding their enquiry. The persistence of moral disagreement in such hypothetical circumstances is therefore warrant for rejecting realism about morality. Realists have two replies to this element of the argument. They might either defend the claim that idealized enquirers will converge in their judgements, or allow that they might not, but then deny that realism is committed to such convergence. I think that the realist is best advised to go this second route. I don't think that realists, operating from assumptions about idealization and rationality that their opponents will agree with, are able to substantiate the claim that there will be perfect convergence among ideal enquirers or judges. To see why, we should begin with the governing antirealist assumption about rationality. On this assumption, rationality is to be understood procedurally: being rational or exercising one's rationality essentially involves a series of operations over one's existing commitments. These operations involve deduction, induction, abduction, and instrumental reasoning. Being rational is a matter of enacting particular kinds of reasoning processes that have their origin in a set of commitments that are not themselves rationally assessable. On such a view, any belief or end, in principle, can be rational, so long as it is arrived at in the appropriate way. Our basic, non-derivative attitudes will not be subject to rational scrutiny. All that is rationally assessable will be so relative to these basic attitudes, which may, without irrationality, differ from person to person. That is why antirealists say that we should expect disagreement among agents who are perfectly rational.

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This procedural account is opposed to a substantive one, according to which one is rational only if one possesses certain particular beliefs or ends, and fails to possess others. Antirealists who press the argument from disagreement, claiming that perfectly rational agents may nevertheless disagree about moral matters, will insist that this perfect rationality be understood procedurally. For once we allow for substantive constraints on what can count as rational attitudes, we allow that rational beings, qua rational beings, will share the same commitments (namely, a commitment to the substantive reasons that define the rational perspective). And this, of course, makes it far likelier that if there are genuine moral reasons, then perfectly rational agents will converge on them, contrary to the guiding assumption of the argument from disagreement. Thus antirealists must begin with a procedural account of rationality; in particular, one that takes the relevant procedural input as contingent attitudes that may, without irrationality, differ from person to person. From this starting point we have two options. First, we might claim that we would continue our moral disagreements with one another, even if all of us were transformed into perfectly rational agents. That is almost certainly true, given our very disparate starting points. But that is hardly sufficient to threaten moral realism. It is also true that set theorists, physicists, and evolutionary biologists would very likely continue to disagree about the foundations of their disciplines, even if each reasoned with perfect propriety from his or her present intellectual commitments. Since that result doesn't cast doubt on the existence of objectively correct results in those disciplines, it shouldn't do so in ethics. But this isn't the end of the challenge. Suppose we expand our idealization to include features other than perfect procedural rationality. Purge us of our false beliefs; give us all (relevant) non-moral information, vividly presented; add to this the fullest sympathetic and imaginative capacities, and make sure that our attitudes are ordered in a perfectly coherent way. Now ask the question: are those who match this description going to converge on a set of moral verdicts, or a set of moral standards that are to govern those verdicts? If we imagine away all features of ourselves that can serve to distinguish us from one another, as Rawls (1951, 1971) and Firth (1952) do, then we might well expect unanimity among such agents. In that case, the argument from disagreement collapses; there would be no disagreement that the realist is unable to explain. Antirealists, of course, will object. Their best move is to query the initial conditions—the ‘erasure’ conditions, so to speak, according to which all


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differences among perfectly rational agents are papered over. They might instead follow philosophers such as Brandt (1979) or Railton (1986), who allow that our individuating features can remain with us even under the relevant conditions of idealization. Under those conditions, we might expect some residual disagreement among perfectly rational agents. Even with ample imaginative sympathy and flawless instrumental reasoning, after full and vivid confrontation with all relevant facts, with a belief set in finely tuned reflective equilibrium, it may be that agents will diverge in their moral views, given their incompatible starting points. (Again, if they don't, no problem for realism—the argument from disagreement dissolves.) For the realist enamoured of the idea that ideal judges will always converge, he must redraft the conditions that define the ideal standpoint, and good luck to him. But other realists can remain agnostic about the contents of the ideal standpoint(s), allow for dissensus among ideal enquirers, and stand fast to the view that even ideal moralists may, on occasion, fail to get things right. Before I explain this neat trick, let me enter a defensive claim. Since these envisioned scenarios are hypothetical, and in particular involve an idealization of a sort probably never realized, it isn't clear whether we have any evidence sufficient to tip the balance of argument one way rather than another. Predictions about convergence or dissensus under idealized conditions seem more an expression of realist or antirealist assumptions than of conclusions for which we can offer some non-question-begging evidence. Since every one of us falls short of the ideal in so many respects, we may be in a quite poor position to determine the existence or degree of consensus in the counterfactual situation in which we imagine our failings away. In short, we may be in no good epistemic position to determine what the outcome of moral enquiry would be under idealized circumstances. If that were so, then the most powerful element of the argument from disagreement would be severely weakened, and with it, the argument itself.105 This reply has greater plausibility if we are assuming something like Rawls's or Firth's characterization of the agents and their circumstances of choice. But the critic can rightly ask why we should opt for such a characterization, as

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Doesn't this ignorance cut both ways? Only if realists attempt to establish their claims by appeals to convergence under ideal conditions. But realists needn't do that, and few have gone this route in defending their views. The argument from disagreement is a standard antirealist critique; the ‘argument from agreement’, as it might be called, has not been nearly so popular. One good reason for this is that perfect convergence among idealized agents underdetermines a metaethic—such unanimity is compatible with many forms of constructivism, as well as realism.

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opposed to one, such as Brandt's, that seems antecedently likelier to allow for divergence among perfectly rational agents. Indeed, the critic can expand this challenge into a general one that claims that there is no single specification of the ideal standpoint from which to register moral views. Given the diversity of kinds of moral exemplars, we have good reason to think that there is more than one way to idealize the affective and cognitive nature of ideal moral enquirers and their conditions of choice, response, or enquiry. It is this diversity of idealizations that warrants the expectation of a lack of consensus among ideal observers. Fair enough. Yet realism is not threatened by this move. Even if there is no uniquely best picture of what an ideal agent looks like, or the conditions under which she chooses, there might still be correct answers to every well-formed moral question. There may be a variety of ways of getting at the truth, and a variety of kinds of conditions under which moral truth is likeliest to be gained. Realists needn't have any quarrel with such claims. As a metaphysical thesis, realism is committed to the existence of stance-independent truths. This thesis is compatible with a kind of epistemic pluralism, of the sort that allows such truths to be grasped in a variety of equally good ways. This is a quite general realist view. For instance, even if there is no such thing as the uniquely best characterization of an ideal physicist, or an ideal standpoint from which to render physical judgements, we may well believe that there are physical facts that are best construed realistically. So too with morality. Realists can endorse the idea of a truth of no one's making, while allowing for a number of different avenues that might reach it. Yet given the diversity of idealizations, shouldn't we expect dissensus among ideal agents? Suppose we do. That doesn't impugn realism. If divergence amounts to contradiction, then realists must claim that even ideal agents may fail to get things right. This would signal our inability to craft an idealization such that, necessarily, those who exemplify it perfectly track the truth. We would refrain from defining ideal enquirers in this context as those whose judgements invariably reflect the truth. If truth is not constituted by the deliverances of such ideal agents, but rather serves as an independent constraint on their efforts, as realists will insist, then there is no difficulty in entering this conceptual limitation on their best efforts. Though I don't know how to decisively argue for it, I think that the ‘diversity view’, in which we reject the notion of a single best standpoint from which to discover moral truth, is correct. We certainly have excellent inductive evidence for this claim, in the form of failed (though ingenious) efforts to identify such a viewpoint. Firth's (1952) ideal observer view, Brandt's (1979)


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cognitive psychotherapeutic view, Railton's (1985, 1986) full information approach, and Smith's (1994) advice model are just the most prominent recent attempts to specify a standpoint that necessarily yields moral truth. I won't try to argue against such efforts here,106 but will simply record my impression of their failure, which to me is indicative of the failure of the general project of supplying a set of non-moralized conditions sufficient to entail the identification of moral truth. As I see it, there is no single best perspective from which to secure moral truth, nor any non-questionbegging (i.e. non-moralized) method whose perfect exemplification entails a right answer to every well-formed moral question. Such concessions do no damage to realism. The question is whether ideal agents judging in ideal conditions (whether one model or many) will converge in all of their moral judgements. If they would, then the argument from disagreement entirely loses its force. If they diverge, in a way that entails contradiction, then realists will have to settle for a characterization of ideality that allows for the fallibility of even ideal agents. Because realism does not see truth as constituted by even idealized attitudes taken towards some subject, realism allows for the possibility that moral truth may elude our best epistemic efforts. If dissensus is on the cards, then agents can be ideal, in the sense of being situated in the very best epistemic conditions, perfectly adhering to the very best philosophically constructible methods of enquiry, while still being subject to error. This isn't incoherent, and is what we should expect a realist to say of any given domain, on the assumption that ideal judges will diverge in their opinions. Compare how things stand in philosophy generally. In most or all philosophical matters, we do, as I argued above, think that there are right answers not of our own making. And yet we have a hard time conceiving of a uniquely best standpoint from which to do metaphysics, or epistemology, or philosophy of science. Whether one ideal standpoint or many, we can say that those who inhabit the standpoint will either converge or diverge in their judgements. Convergence poses no threat to realism. But neither does divergence—realists about right answers for any philosophical domain must simply say that the relevant idealization fails to guard against the fallibility of ideal agents. The only ones who should feel threatened by the prospects of such dissensus are those constructivists who identify truth with the deliverances of ideal agents. Dissensus in that case is very serious indeed—so serious

106

See, among many possibilities, Velleman 1988 ; Sobel 1994 ; Rosati 1995 ; Loeb 1995 ; Shafer-Landau 1999 .

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as to require either a suspension of the law of non-contradiction, a withdrawal into relativism, or a recharacterization of the ideal standpoint (to ensure that dissensus is avoided). This yields an important lesson about rationality and rationalism. As we have seen, there are two families of theory about rationality. Substantive views forge necessary connections between rationality and attitudinal correctness. If you like such views, then it will indeed be impossible for ideal agents under ideal conditions to diverge in their views. But those who advance the argument from disagreement adhere to less substantive views of rationality. If, to take some popular examples, to be perfectly rational is just to flawlessly identify best means to adopted ends, to infallibly infer entailed conclusions from valid arguments, or to coherently order one's ends into a compossible set, then we should expect ideally rational agents to disagree about moral issues. Any such conception of rationality, when allied with realism, entails that perfectly rational agents may choose badly or believe falsely. This alliance allows for cases in which one is exercising one's reason impeccably, and yet still landing in error. This may sound strange, and especially strange for moral rationalists. For many have thought it an identifying feature of any kind of rationalism that, by virtue of the powers of reason, one is thereby able to identify all genuine reasons: the perfect exercise of reason ensures access to truth. But this would be so on just one condition: that every reason exists only in virtue of being a function of our reason. If the content of our reasons was conditioned on their accessibility to reason, then truth would be dependent on our epistemic limitations. But this is constructivism, not realism. Realists who are also rationalists hold that moral reasons are fixed in a stance-independent way. If that is so, then there will be no basis for assuming that our powers of reason must always, if successfully deployed, be able to accurately discover what reasons there are. Recall that the argument from disagreement gets off the ground only if we assume that some procedural conception of rationality is the correct one. It may not be. If a substantive account is correct, then an agent, in so far as she is rational, will have attitudes that correctly reflect the truth about what reasons there are. Any agent who is perfectly rational will be possessed of all such truths. So all agents who are perfectly substantively rational will be possessed of all such truths, and therefore there will be no basis for disagreement. I am not arguing here for a substantive conception of rationality, but instead pointing to a vulnerability of the antirealist position. To get the argument from disagreement going, antirealists must first show that no such


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substantive conception of rationality is true. They might do that—certainly, proceduralist accounts are the ones most favoured among philosophers these days. Yet if it comes to that, realists can take over a procedural conception of rationality, and advance fully adequate replies to the argument from disagreement. Even on proceduralist grounds, we might expect unanimity among ideal agents, as Rawls and Firth did, for instance. Or we might be less sanguine about such prospects, especially if we favour the view that there is a plurality of ideal conditions of choice and judgement. If dissensus is to be expected among ideal enquirers, realists may allow for the possibility of moral error among such agents. Realists would then have to maintain a distinction between truth and epistemic accessibility, even under humanly ideal conditions.107 That, after all, is the keystone of the realist enterprise. It may be corrupt, and the realist structure may therefore be in danger of collapse. But our discussion reveals that moral disagreement fails to supply good reason for suspecting the plausibility of this central realist tenet.

IV. Conclusion How damaging is the argument from disagreement? Not very. There is the actual evidence about the extent of moral disagreement. There are antirealist assumptions about how this is to be best explained. And then there are the competing realist explanations. The thought was that we could assess the plausibility of the realist explanations by predicting whether ideal enquirers would converge in their moral judgements. But now we see that such predictions are useless by themselves. Perhaps we aren't even in a position to justifiably make these predictions, in which case we would have to suspend judgement about the merits of the argument from disagreement. But even if we could predict these outcomes with certainty, realists are well prepared to defend themselves. Realists can rely on the analogy between moral enquiry and philosophical investigation generally to substantiate the claim that persistent, intractable

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Perhaps the strongest reasons to oppose such a distinction, at least in the normative realm, are those advocated by reasons internalists. Such internalists claim that there is a necessary connection between the truth (about what reasons there are) and a specific notion of this truth's epistemic availability: this truth must be reachable via a sound deliberative route with origins in an agent's existing beliefs, desires, commitments, etc. I hope to have shown, in Chapter 7, that the internalist arguments advocating an erasure of the distinction between normative truth and this sort of epistemic accessibility are not ultimately compelling.

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disagreement among informed and well-intentioned individuals is not enough to warrant antirealist conclusions. If there's no reason to suppose that even perfected enquirers will reach consensus on central moral matters, then there's as little reason to anticipate consensus on any other important philosophical issue. Yet surely there is a fact of the matter, realistically so understood, about whether, for instance, there is such a thing as agent causation, or abstract entities, or an all-perfect divinity. We will have our opinions about such matters, but they are ultimately answerable to a truth not of our own making. That is so despite the presence of intractable actual disagreement about these issues, and even the possibility of such disagreement among idealized enquirers. Therefore such disagreement poses no threat to philosophical realism of any stripe, and so, a fortiori, poses no threat to moral realism in particular. In addition, realists have satisfying answers to the problem of disagreement on either of the two relevant outcomes that we have discussed. If ideal enquirers converge in their moral judgements, then the argument from disagreement must obviously be scuttled. If the ideal enquirers diverge, then realists will insist that even ideal methods and conditions of choice or enquiry are insufficient to ensure correctness. This is false only if antirealism is true. It may be. But considerations of disagreement fail to show it so.

Part V Moral Knowledge


10 Moral Scepticism I. The Master Argument If the arguments of Chapter 1 are sound, then we have good reason to believe that there are moral truths. And if the arguments of the intervening chapters are sound, then we have good reason to construe such truths as realists do. But it is one thing to justifiedly believe that there are such truths, quite another to be able to identify them with warranted confidence. A classic case against moral realism begins from the assumption that any moral truths there are must be accessible to us, and maintains that realists have no plausible account of such accessibility. To be accessible, in the present sense, is to be capable of being known or justifiably believed. Moral scepticism is the view that no moral judgements fit this bill—no moral claims can be known or justifiably believed. Such scepticism sometimes originates in moral nihilism: if a domain of enquiry contains no truths, then it can yield no knowledge. But one can be sceptical about an area of enquiry even if one acknowledges that there are truths within it. Since this is pretty clearly a position of last resort, however, anyone taking such a stand bears the burden of explaining his confidence that there are such truths, while maintaining that these truths are unknowable. Realists seem likelier than others to find themselves bearing such burdens. Nihilists who deny truth in ethics relieve themselves of this worry, but at the cost of various implausibilities, retailed in Chapter 1. Constructivists will tie moral knowledge to knowledge of the deliverances of the relevant agents whose attitudes form the basis of moral truth. Obtaining such knowledge will be more or less difficult depending on the particular characterizations of the agents and attitudes that go into constructing moral truth. Nevertheless, the difficulties can in principle be overcome, so long as we have hope of gaining access to the relevant attitudes. Realists, however, will insist on the existence

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of truths that do not depend on the attitudes we have towards the propositions they express. This opens the door to the possibility that our cognitive abilities may be too limited to capture the nature of a moral reality not of our own making. With this possibility in mind, we have the basis for a master argument against moral realism: 1. If, on moral realistic assumptions, we are unable to acquire justified moral belief and knowledge, then moral realism is (probably) false. 2. Given moral realistic assumptions, we are unable to acquire justified moral belief and knowledge. 3. Therefore moral realism is (probably) false. Realists will reject either or both of the premisses of this argument. Most of our time will be spent on the second premiss, trying to show how realists can supply an account of how we may gain access to moral truth. But first a few words about the argument's initial premiss.

II. Realism and Epistemic Inaccessibility There are two ways of conceiving of this first premiss. Realism's inability to accommodate justified moral belief and knowledge might be thought either to entail the falsity of realism, or to create a burden of proof such that, other things equal, we have good reason to suppose realism false. There are three ways to defend the former view, each of which either begs the question against realism, or presupposes the soundness of an argument that has come in for criticism in earlier chapters. After substantiating this claim, I will try to show why the latter reading, even if true, probably represents only a mild threat to moral realism. Epistemic inaccessibility might entail antirealism if truth were thought to be a function of our attitudes, which in principle are epistemically accessible. So if we have established inaccessibility, we have established attitudeindependence, which, on this view, is inimical to truth. This of course is a statement of an antirealist conclusion, rather than any argument for the first premiss. We cannot assume from the outset that all correct moral standards have their content fixed by the attitudes of suitably placed human agents. That is to beg the question against the realist. Another criticism represents a specific instance of a quite general antirealist argument, to the effect that unverifiable claims cannot be true, perhaps

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because they are meaningless. Inaccessible moral judgements are unverifiable, and so, by this view, cannot be true. But realism, insisting as it does on the stance-independence of moral truths, allows for the truth of epistemically inaccessible propositions. So realism is false. There are two problems with this argument. First, the view that unverifiability entails absence of truth is itself no more verifiable than a typical moral claim, and so threatens to be selfreferentially incoherent. Second, we can point to classes of examples of unknowable propositions, at least some of which are true. Some truths about the distant past are not recapturable, because there is no evidence at all of what occurred, or what evidence there was has been destroyed or is too meagre to justify one interpretation over competitors. We might be unable to fathom some scientific truths about the origins or furthest reaches of the universe. Some truths about the thoughts or feelings of other agents may likewise remain permanently elusive, despite our best efforts to find them out. The general point is this: if we don't create the world, then it is only optimism to insist on the knowability of all of the world's truths.108 Why should all of the innumerable facts there are conform themselves to our epistemic limitations? Realists about any domain will maintain an in-principle distinction between truth and epistemic accessibility. Suppose we abandon the general antirealist assumption that epistemic inaccessibility spells disaster for the metaphysics that allows for it. Still, an argument might be tailored specifically to refute moral realism, via the claim that the special features of the moral realm require any moral truth to be accessible. On this view, morality is essentially practical—supplying us with motivation and giving us reasons to act. If we are to be motivated, and if a reason is genuinely to apply to us, then its content must be fixed by reference to our nature as it actually is, that is, by reference to our actual capacities and limitations. Given this conception, moral truth must, if it is to fulfil its practical roles, be accessible to those who are bound to abide by it. But moral realism offers no guarantee of the accessibility of its truths. Therefore moral truth cannot be understood as realists suggest. The plausibility of this argument crucially depends on the particular conception of practicality that is embedded in it. I believe that there are good reasons, offered in the previous chapters, for doubting this conception. Moral truths may remain unknown, and even when believed, need not motivate us. And moral reasons may apply to individuals who cannot in any relevant

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McGinn (1989 , 1993 ) has made much of this, especially as it relates to our apparent inability to solve central issues to do with the mind–body problem.

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sense be moved by them. If morality's practical demands may be inaccessible to us, in ways that I have argued for, then such inaccessibility does not force us to an implausible view of morality's practical nature. And so there would be no call to abandon the stance-independent view of truth that is at the heart of any realist enterprise. Thus realists can resist this last defence of the claim that epistemic inaccessibility entails realism's failure. Even though moral scepticism does not entail the falsity of realism, it might create some basis for doubting realism's truth. Yet even if this were so, the burden imposed on realism may be rather slight, and this for three reasons. First, even if realists at present lack a plausible account of gaining moral knowledge, they might in future be able to supply one. Even if we now had to accept moral scepticism, such acceptance may be only provisional. If, as almost every working philosopher believes, there is such a thing as philosophical progress, it might be realized in this area of moral epistemology. Second, the arguments that undermine prospects for moral knowledge may be perfectly general, and so pose no special problem for realism. Consider, for instance, the classic regress argument, which claims that particular moral beliefs can be justified in only one of three ways: either the belief is self-evident or derived by appropriate means from self-evident premisses, or it is embedded in a coherent set of other beliefs, or it is a link in an infinitely long chain of justified beliefs. Critics claim that none of the options is satisfactory, and so we are forced to moral scepticism. Importantly, this argument, if it works, does so regardless of one's metaphysics of morals. It may be that sound sceptical arguments (if there are any) have this general applicability, in which case the sceptical result, though doubtless quite disappointing, would be perfectly neutral in its implications for metaethics, and would not supply a reason for thinking moral realism inferior to its theoretical competitors. Third, even if we suppose that there are sceptical arguments that have special force against moral realism, the argumentative burden this places on realism depends on holistic considerations; it depends, in particular, on how well realism fares vis-a`-vis its competitors across the whole range of criteria for theoretical adequacy in metaethics. If realism makes good sense of our moral practices, yields a plausible metaphysics, has compelling views about moral psychology, and can develop a suitable account of morality's normativity, then it might be able to survive (worst-case scenario) the embarrassment of lacking a plausible moral epistemology. That depends on the theoretical virtues and vices possessed by its competitors.

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Rather than undertake that sort of comparative assessment here, let us move directly to a consideration of the master argument's second premiss. It may be that this preliminary discussion is academic, if realists can in fact offer a plausible account of how our moral beliefs may be justified and, on occasion, yield knowledge. I intend here to develop the beginnings of such an account, which has two parts. First, one must offer replies to sceptical arguments that seek to demonstrate the impossibility of moral knowledge and justified belief. Second, one must supply some positive account of how such knowledge and justification is to be gained. Let me turn to these in order.

III. Four Sceptical Arguments Even if moral scepticism does little to threaten moral realism, living with scepticism would cast a pall over much of our moral thinking and practice. It would be best were we able to refute it. Unfortunately, I see no hope of doing so. Moral realists, like realists about other domains, must live in uneasy tension with scepticism, never, I think, fatally succumbing to it, but never fully ridding themselves of legitimate worries about the epistemic status of their central claims. The sort of scepticism that will occupy centre stage focuses on the conditions under which an agent is epistemically justified in her moral beliefs. It claims, simply, that these conditions are in principle unsatisfiable, and hence are never satisfied. Moral scepticism seeks to undercut any attribution of positive epistemic status to an agent's moral beliefs. It would make the acquisition of moral knowledge and justified or warranted moral belief109 impossible. Moral sceptics can allow that some moral propositions are true or justified, because they can allow (though they need not) that there are moral truths or

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Henceforth I will usually speak of challenges to gaining moral knowledge, and omit mention of epistemic justification and warrant. These last notions are meant to be implicitly covered in such discussions.As these terms are sometimes used nowadays in the literature, justification refers to that feature of belief that makes it credible or probably true, given one's internally accessible evidence. Warrant refers to that feature of belief that signals a well-functioning cognitive system, and/or that feature which, together with true belief, entails knowledge. I will largely ignore these distinctions and treat these terms interchangeably, as ways of indicating the feature that confers positive epistemic status. Where differences between justification and warrant (and knowledge) become crucial, I will note that fact and discuss the various implications.

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veridical moral experiences.110 Nevertheless, such sceptics will insist that we are never in a good position to appreciate the alethic status of such propositions. In particular, there is no more compelling argument or evidence to support our moral beliefs than their contradictories. Consequently, we are never justified in holding the moral beliefs we do. Therefore we ought to suspend judgement about their content, rather than affirm any one of them. Here are perhaps the four most formidable arguments designed to establish such a conclusion. I think that we can offer a strong reply to the first, the No Adequate Evidence Argument. The others are more difficult to deal with. This first argument claims, against the possibility of moral knowledge, that there is no adequate evidence to support our moral views. All the empirical evidence there is is compatible with a wide variety of ethical diagnoses of it. And our only other sources of evidence—our considered judgements about principles and cases—are too dependent on historical, cultural, and personal contingencies to serve as a secure and reliable basis for justifying our moral beliefs. Yet this criticism, if successful, is sufficient to eliminate the justification we might have for any of our philosophical beliefs. In philosophy, as in ethics, the best empirical evidence underdetermines the correct theoretical understanding of it. In philosophy, as in ethics, we rely very heavily on intuitions and considered judgements to adjudicate between conflicting claims. Try doing modal metaphysics or analytic epistemology without the use of such convictions. It just doesn't seem possible. If that is so, then we have good reason to suppose that the following principle is true: (P) If there is no adequate evidence to support our moral beliefs, then there is no adequate evidence to support our philosophical beliefs. I think that this principle is true, and that we must reject its consequent, rather than accept the antecedent. For the latter course forces a wholesale philosophical scepticism. Given the truth of (P), the price of moral scepticism is

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Here it is crucial to distinguish between a moral proposition's being justified, and an agent's being justified in believing it. Call the former sort of justification propositional justification ; the latter, agent justification . Depending on which substantive view of propositional justification one holds, a proposition is prima facie justified if and only if it is either entailed or made probable by some true proposition, some veridical experience one has had, or some other proposition one believes. I won't pause here to register a preference among these views. The key point is that on all such views, a proposition may be justified even if no one is justified in believing it. The proposition that adultery is wrong is very likely justified, in the sense of being derivable from a true moral theory, moral experience, or other of one's beliefs. Yet an agent may believe it for all the wrong reasons, in which case she is not justified in believing a proposition that is itself justified.

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global philosophical scepticism. Yet this is surely too high a price for moral sceptics to pay, since they are affirming the warrant of at least one philosophical claim (namely, moral scepticism). Perhaps another way to look at the situation is this. If I am right, philosophical and moral claims are supported in similar ways, and enjoy the same general status. If we are prepared to be sceptical about moral claims, we must be equally sceptical about all philosophical claims. But that includes the specific philosophical recommendation to suspend judgement in the absence of determinative empirical evidence. It also includes moral antirealism proper, and all of the specific arguments offered on its behalf. That's hardly a secure basis from which to launch a critique either of moral realism, or of the possibility of its accommodating a plausible moral epistemology. Consider, then, the Vicious Circle Argument, which starts us off by asking us to evaluate our beliefs, and then shows us that there is no feasible way to do so. Each of us has a host of moral beliefs. Recognizing our fallibility, we aim to cull those that are false and acquire and retain those that are true. So we seek out a method for distinguishing our true from false beliefs. Which method shall we select? We want a method that is reliable. To know that a method is reliable is to know that it ordinarily sorts true beliefs from false ones. How could we know that? We could have a look at the method in action, and survey its recommendations. But we could know that it gives the right recommendations only if we knew that what it identified as true and false were really so. And that, by hypothesis, is just what we do not know. So we have a circle. Gaining moral knowledge is a matter of applying a method. One must select a method, one that reliably yields moral truth. But, if we can't already distinguish truth from falsehood, then we can't distinguish reliable from unreliable methods. And if we can't do that, then we can't distinguish which of our present convictions are true or false. We need a method for testing our convictions, but we need our convictions to select our method. Thus we are confronted with a vicious circle that prevents our ever getting started on the path to justified moral belief. The Relevant Alternatives Argument claims that we are justified in a belief only if we have been able to justifiably exclude all of its competitors. The argument proceeds with the claim that, for any moral belief, we are in no position to exclude its competitors. Therefore we are never justified in holding our moral beliefs. The contradictory of any substantive moral position need not involve any logical incoherence, and will, says the sceptic, be as compatible with all existing non-moral evidence as the position being affirmed. The only way to exclude a competing first-order moral belief is by relying on other

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first-order moral beliefs. But this is bound to beg the question, thereby undermining any justification for excluding the competitor. Consider an example defended in this context by Sinnott-Armstrong (1996: 14 ff.). He affirms the claim that nothing is immoral. To substantiate the claim that something is immoral, one needs, by the Relevant Alternatives Argument, to be able to exclude Sinnott-Armstrong's view. But one can't do that: any effort to display the falsity of his brand of nihilism is bound to rely on the sort of positive first-order moral claims that he is rejecting. Since such efforts will be questionbegging, they fail to justifiably exclude an important competing hypothesis. And that means that we cannot be epistemically justified in believing any positive first-order moral claim. We have already encountered the Regress Argument, which begins with the assumption that every substantive moral belief can be legitimately questioned. In answer to such a challenge, one can say either that one is immediately justified in a belief, independently of its relations with one's other beliefs, or that the belief in question is justified in virtue of being appropriately related to beliefs of the first class. The first option has, historically, usually amounted to the claim that some beliefs are self-evident; they contain within themselves so much intrinsic plausibility as to confer (at least defeasible) justification on anyone who holds them in virtue of adequately understanding them. Sceptics won't have much truck with self-evidence, especially as applied to moral beliefs. (The many reasons for this will be canvassed in the next chapter. I try to show there why such scepticism is unfounded.) But neither will sceptics be at all sanguine about prospects for justifying moral beliefs in the second way, i.e. by revealing their relations with other justified beliefs. These other beliefs—the ones doing the justifying—must themselves be justified. Either they will be self-evident (not likely), or they will require assistance from yet other beliefs. Now this sort of thing will come to a stop or it won't. If it doesn't, then we have an infinite regress, which justifies nothing. If the justificatory chain does come to a stop, then how? Either by means of a self-evident starting point (again, discounted by sceptics), or by establishing an interconnected web of beliefs, each supporting and receiving support from a battery of other beliefs. For any given belief p, it might receive support from beliefs q, r, s, and t. To receive genuine support, these beliefs too must be justified. Suppose they are—by beliefs a, b, c, and d. These, of course, must themselves be justified. At some point, the initial belief, p, will be providing support for one of these justificatory outliers. But this lands us in a circle. And sceptics will insist that justificatory circles are vicious, no matter their size. In short, any given moral belief is either

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self-evident, a link in an infinitely long chain, or justified by beliefs whose own justification depends on it. Each of these options is untenable, and therefore so too is the prospect of gaining moral knowledge.111 Now the first thing to note is that we would be left with quite potent forms of scepticism even if the references to specifically moral beliefs in the presentation of each argument were eliminated. Each of these arguments has a perfect analogue in a form of general scepticism, and thus succeeds, if it does, in undermining epistemic credibility for all sorts of beliefs. The Vicious Circle Argument applies as well to perceptual and memorial beliefs as it does to moral ones. The Relevant Alternatives Argument descends from Descartes, who used it in non-moral contexts to cast doubt on mathematical and empirical beliefs. The Regress Argument is an argument from elimination that is applicable across the whole range of belief contents.112 Moral realists can take some comfort in this. The general nature of these sceptical arguments provides support for a possibility canvassed earlier, to the effect that the success of sceptical arguments may be neutral with respect to realism's merits. If any of these arguments works, then realists are not the only ones to suffer—Kantians, relativists, contractarians, etc. must all abandon hope of gaining moral knowledge. So we could not infer the falsity of realism, or its inferiority vis-a`-vis competitors, from the success of any of these sceptical arguments. The existence of global sceptical analogues to these arguments also shows that we should treat moral and non-moral beliefs as equally (in)vulnerable to such scepticism, at least until we are presented with further arguments

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The Is–Ought Argument is a special case of the Regress Argument. The Is–Ought Argument claims that no moral belief is self-evident, and that any moral belief must therefore be justified by being appropriately related either to another moral belief, or to a non-moral belief. A non-moral belief won't do: moral beliefs can't be deduced or inductively inferred solely from non-moral ones. Nor will (the content of) moral beliefs be required to best explain the goings-on of the non-moral world. So if a moral belief is to be justified, then that must be routed through other moral beliefs. Yet these other moral beliefs themselves require justification, and, per the Regress Argument, we will be left ultimately either with an infinite regress, or with circularity (since self-evidence has been discounted). In short, the Is–Ought Argument couples the Regress Argument with the claim that moral beliefs cannot be justified exclusively via non-moral beliefs, to generate the conclusion that we lack justification for holding any of our moral beliefs.

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Actually, there is one scenario under which the Regress Argument would present a greater difficulty for moral knowledge than for other kinds of knowledge. That is one in which a critic is unwilling to countenance moral regress-stoppers, though comfortable with some non-moral basic beliefs. The idea would be that no regress can be stopped by either infinite or circular reasoning, and no regress could be stopped by a moral belief, though some non-moral lines of questioning could be stopped by (say) self-evident non-moral beliefs. As I will try to show in the next chapter, however, the case against self-evident moral beliefs has been overrated. If I am right, we can stop regresses on some moral questions by ultimately citing a self-evident moral belief.

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designed specifically to undermine prospects for moral knowledge. So, to the extent that we are prepared to resist scepticism in other areas, we ought to be similarly ready to do so in ethics. And surely we do suppose that these sceptical arguments are in some ways unsound, though we may be unclear about the precise location of their deficiencies. The global sceptical analogue of each of these arguments, for instance, has been used to cast doubt on our basic empirical beliefs. But none of us, really, is prepared to suspend judgement about the existence of an external world. We have greater confidence in certain of our doxastic starting points than in the soundness of any sceptical argument. Absent further argument, our moral beliefs should be accorded similar initial credibility. Here we can take a page from common responses to the sorites paradox, which on one reading can be taken as a sceptical argument. The sorites is an argument that starts from a claim that everyone accepts (a grain of sand is not a heap), adds a second claim that seems impeccable (the addition of a grain cannot transform a non-heap into a heap), and proceeds by a form of inference (mathematical induction) that appears perfectly valid, all in the service of generating a conclusion that is absurd (a pile of a billion sandgrains is not a heap). The sceptical reading of the sorites invites us to reject the coherence of the predicate embedded in the argument (being a heap; other familiar examples include being bald, red, or tall), and so reject the truth of any judgement that attributes the predicate. Like the sceptical arguments sketched above, much work has been done in efforts to dissolve the sorites, by rejecting either a premiss or the validity of the inference schema. And the results have met with similar success: no fully satisfying solution to any of these sceptical arguments, including the sorites, has been developed.113 What to do? We might just toss up our hands and capitulate, accepting that we should suspend judgement about nearly everything. None of us is prepared to do this—we all operate on the assumption that something must be wrong with the sceptical arguments. It may be that we really have no epistemically respectable alternative but to suspend judgement with regard to nearly all of our beliefs. Then we can have no justified confidence that we have existed for more than ten seconds, that we are not at present dreaming, that we have limbs and organs, that certain objects constitute a heap, or are red, tall, or bald, that there are things that exist apart from us, whose features and movements impinge upon our senses.

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For good surveys of the various extant solutions to the sorites paradox, see Williamson 1998 and Keefe and Smith 1997 .

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If these must go, then perhaps it isn't as hard to abandon our belief in the wrongness of those who ridicule and torture the defenceless, suborn witnesses to send an innocent to death, or kill a person because of the colour of his skin. Of course if it came to this, we'd have far better things to worry about than the truth of moral realism. Realism, like any other view, including all of its theoretical competitors, would be subject to the sort of sceptical scrutiny that prevents our being justified in believing it. But moral realists could at least take some comfort in the number and the excellence of their company.

IV. Believing Where We Cannot Prove Naturally, the best way to resist sceptical arguments is to identify the errors concealed within them. I think that the most fruitful way to do this is within the context of developing a positive account of epistemic justification. I will undertake that project in the following chapters. Prior to such an undertaking, or in the face of the failure of such efforts, what epistemic evaluation should we make of the beliefs (moral and non-moral) that we so deeply hold? If we are unable to undermine the sceptical arguments, then it can seem that we are being irrational or in some way epistemically culpable if we persist in our ordinary beliefs. Suppose that we are, in fact, unable to identify flaws in the sceptical arguments. Does it follow that we should accept the sceptic's conclusion? I don't see that it does. To insist otherwise is to affirm the following epistemic principle: (A) if one understands a proposition and the reasoning that supports it, and does not detect a flaw in that reasoning, then one should believe the proposition. There are two problems with (A). First, it isn't clear that (A) itself can be vindicated in the face of sceptical arguments of the sort we are now familiar with. Second, the epistemic obligation located in the consequent of (A) is either pro tanto or indefeasible. The principle is implausible if the obligation is indefeasible. But if it is pro tanto, then other considerations might warrant us in retaining our non-sceptical beliefs even in the absence of compelling refutations of the sceptical arguments. Consider this last possibility. Even if we are right to accept (A), this principle certainly seems defeasible. Our inability to detect a flaw in the reasoning that supports a claim might simply reflect our limitations. Argumentative flaws may escape detection: there may be a basis for our rejecting

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an argument even if we fail to take proper note of it. So even if we do not find errors in the sceptical arguments, any epistemic duty we may have to believe their conclusions is, at best, defeasible. Defeasible—but defeated? Consider the first option. What is the status of (A)? If we consistently apply the standards of acceptance expressed in the sceptical arguments, then we should suspend judgement about (A). (A) isn't selfevident, indubitable, incorrigible, evident to the senses, etc. We can't begin by simply assuming its truth. And we lack a determinate method for assessing such principles. Even if we are presented with such a method, we can have confidence in it only if we already know that it reliably distinguishes epistemic truths from falsehoods. But, given sceptical strictures, that is precisely what we do not know. Further, we can't definitively discount alternatives to (A), including, for instance, Pyrrhonian (B), which tells us to suspend judgement about all propositions, even if we have decided that their supporting arguments are sound. (One's assessments, after all, are liable to error.) And since (A) isn't self-evident, can't be justified via infinite regress, and is itself (like everything else) unsupported by circular reasoning, then we can't be justified in believing it at all. If we proceed as if the sceptical arguments are sound, then we lack good reason to believe (A). But (A) is what directs us to affirm the sceptic's conclusion. So, for instance, if we really are caught in a vicious circle when assessing epistemic principles such as (A), then it is not incumbent upon us to believe the sceptical conclusion of the Vicious Circle Argument, even if we are unable to locate a flaw in it. If we apply the standards of epistemic assessment implicit in the sceptical arguments, then we will have to suspend judgement about (A) itself. The result is that even if we cannot identify the flaw in sceptical arguments, we are epistemically within our rights to refrain from endorsing sceptical conclusions. We can see this in another way. Either we are epistemically justified in believing (A), or we are not. If we are epistemically justified in believing it, then at least one normative principle, (A), can escape sceptical arguments, even if we are not sure how this is possible. But it would be strange were (A) the only survivor. If (A) passes epistemic muster, other epistemic principles will probably do so as well. (And why stop there? Moral principles are also normative principles.) Whatever it is that explains how we can be epistemically justified in believing (A) may do the same work when it comes to our other doxastic commitments, both principles and particular judgements. So if we are epistemically justified in believing (A), then we are, probably, similarly justified across a range of our beliefs, even if we don't know how or why this is so.

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Alternatively, suppose that we are not justified in believing (A). This means that even if we are unable to detect an error in the sceptical arguments, we are not epistemically required to believe their conclusions. But if we are not required to believe those conclusions, then we are not required to suspend judgement about our beliefs, moral or otherwise. And that means that we are epistemically at liberty to continue to believe as we do (at least until faced with other challenges to our beliefs' credibility). This conclusion can be strengthened if we introduce a distinction between internal and external perspectives in epistemology. Internalists condition epistemic appraisal on what is in some sense available to an agent, ‘internal’ to her network of beliefs and doxastic powers. To be epistemically justified, for instance, the basis of one's justification must in principle be accessible; considerations that one cannot be aware of cannot supply the grounds that confer epistemic justification. Externalists are just those who reject internalist strictures. Externalists will claim that an agent may be warranted in her beliefs even if she cannot recognize that she is, or cannot appreciate the warrant-conferring relations that obtain among her beliefs, or among the reliable belief-forming processes or mechanisms whose proper functioning transforms true belief into knowledge. It is easier to meet sceptical challenges when one is operating from externalist assumptions. Since externalists allow that we might be warranted in our beliefs even if we can't see how or why we are, such theories explain why we might be warranted in our existing beliefs even if we are unable to identify a flaw in the reasoning that would defeat them. Scepticism presents tougher problems for internalist theories, since they insist on a kind of epistemic transparency. They condition epistemic justification on an appreciation of the content and relations of the beliefs or experiences that do the justifying. So if one is stumped as to how a belief might be probable or true, how one might be justified in believing it, or how potential defeaters of it are themselves to be defeated, then one is in a much more precarious epistemic situation. Yet internalists can rely on their guiding intuitions to offer a credible argument that defends a policy of retaining our existing beliefs in the face of sceptical arguments. The argument goes like this. People find scepticism compelling, to the extent that they do, only because the arguments used to support it are credible relative to their existing beliefs. This is relevant because it shows that, for internalists, the power of a sceptical recommendation to suspend belief depends on the support its argumentative premisses receive within existing belief networks. And this reliance on existing doxastic attitudes is a problem

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for scepticism. For it means that we have no choice but to normatively privilege our existing beliefs to some (possibly small) degree; for internalists, they are the arbiters of fitness. In that position, however, they create a significant burden of proof against any sceptical argument. Of course, sceptical arguments strike us as serious only relative to a small set of our beliefs. But once we grant our beliefs at least initial credibility, which we must do if we are to confer any epistemic justification on the emerging sceptical conclusions, then there is no in-principle reason to restrict the range of existing beliefs that enjoy this status.114 The cumulative force of these initial credibilities might be very great. For the internal indicators of truth that we rely on to assess any claim, including that of scepticism, incline heavily against scepticism. Some of the most prominent of these markers include affirmative answers to the following questions: is the view under consideration internally logically consistent? Does it cohere well with other of our beliefs? Are we unwilling under almost any conceivable circumstance to abandon it? Is it formed under conditions we regard as appropriate for making such judgements? Has it attracted broad consensus among judges whom we regard as especially well placed to assess such matters? Does it explain a good deal of what we take to require explaining, and do so in a more economical way than competitors? Admittedly, the answers we provide to such questions may be entirely off base. But we would have no way of recognizing this, and, importantly, whatever internal justification sceptical hypotheses can gain, it is by way of validation from these very same markers. For instance, if we had no basis to substantiate the assumption that we are reliable detectors of logical validity, then we would have no ground for assuming that the sceptical arguments really posed the threat we take them to be. Our thought that they are (at least) logically impeccable would be no better justified than the contrary belief. So taking scepticism seriously presupposes that we assign some initial credibility to our existing beliefs, including beliefs about the reliability of our reasoning powers. And when we consider the manifold sources of support (in terms of the internal truth-indicators) that some of our common, central moral beliefs enjoy, it is reasonable to suppose

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I think this is a partial explanation of why we consider conservatism a theoretical virtue. Conservatism counsels us to preserve as many of our existing beliefs as possible when making doxastic alterations. Of course this is only a pro tanto recommendation. But if we didn't grant our existing beliefs any degree of initial credibility, then we wouldn't, from an internal perspective, have any basis for making any evaluations at all (including evaluations of the merits of sceptical arguments).

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that they, along with many empirical and some theoretical beliefs, possess significant pro tanto justification. This argument, designed to complement the earlier ones attacking principle (A), gives me some hope that our resistance to a wholesale suspension of judgement, in ethics as elsewhere, has some epistemic credibility. If these defensive arguments are sound, then we may justifiably believe where we cannot prove, or, more precisely, we may believe even if we remain in the dark about the precise location of the argumentative vulnerabilities of scepticism.

V. Conclusion Suppose that the arguments I've just concluded are sound. Then we can be justified in our common beliefs without a diagnosis of the errors of scepticism. Yet even on that generous assumption, we are hardly out of the woods. A fully satisfying account of moral epistemology would offer solutions to the Vicious Circle, Relevant Alternatives, and Regress arguments. It would also offer a positive account of how we might gain moral knowledge, both of moral principles and of moral verdicts in concrete cases. And here we face two especially troubling challenges. According to the first of these, we have no plausible account of how we justifiably render moral judgement about particular cases. Either we rely on moral principles or we don't. If we don't, then we are forced to depend on intuition, the deliverances of which are notoriously idiosyncratic and unreliable. If we do rely on moral principles, then we must specify the inferential relation that obtains between principles and verdicts. But we can't do that. We can't do that because the moral principles from which verdicts are inferred will either be so general as to underdetermine a verdict, or so particular as to be unfit to serve as a basis for extrapolating verdicts in other cases. So whether we rely on principles or not, we lack any plausible way to justify our moral conclusions about cases. The second worry alleges that there is no plausible story to tell about how we are to gain knowledge of the moral principles themselves. The central difficulty here stems from a version of the Regress Argument. On this line of reasoning, there is no feasible way to derive moral principles from non-moral principles. And though some moral principles are derivable from others, these others require justification. The justificatory chain might be infinite, thereby justifying nothing. It might eventually loop back onto itself, thereby justifying nothing. Or it might terminate in some other way, thereby justifying nothing

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(since no moral terminus is self-evident). So we are not epistemically justified in holding any moral principles. These are both quite serious worries. My plan is to begin with efforts to defend knowledge of moral principles. In responding to this version of the Regress Argument, I hope to devise a solution powerful enough to answer the other sceptical arguments that have so threatened prospects for moral knowledge. In a nutshell, I hope to make it plausible that our knowledge of many moral principles derives from their self-evidence. The cost of this move, apart from attracting a good deal of scepticism in its own right, is that it stands in the way of developing a unified moral epistemology. For it isn't very plausible to suppose that our all-things-considered judgements about moral cases are themselves self-evident. Nor, I claim, is it plausible to suppose that such judgements are inferrable from self-evident principles. So how can we know them? Stay tuned.

11 The Justication of Moral Principles I. The Appeal to Self-Evidence We would go far in responding to sceptical worries if we could defend the existence of self-evident moral principles. I believe that we can. Beliefs are self-evident115 if they have as their content self-evident propositions. A proposition p is self-evident = df. p is such that adequately understanding and attentively considering just p is sufficient to justify believing that p. It is possible that agents who adequately understand and attentively consider just p may yet fail to believe it; for instance, other beliefs of theirs may stand in the way. If I have a standing practice of believing whatever my guru tells me, then his say-so in a given case may be sufficient to prevent me from believing a self-evident proposition that I understand and have attentively considered. Still, if I do get all the way to believing a self-evident proposition, my belief is justified. Even if this is a plausible conception of what it is for a belief to be self-evident, there may be no self-evident moral beliefs. There may be no self-evident beliefs because there may be no self-evident moral propositions. I don't believe that it is possible to prove or demonstrate the existence of such propositions. The best that can be done here is to offer candidates that are appealing (if any are), and to reply to criticisms of the idea. Let me take these in turn.

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Strictly speaking, it is a proposition, not a belief, that can be self-evident. But I will follow common parlance and speak of a belief's being self-evident as well, in virtue of its having a self-evident proposition as its content.

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It seems to me self-evident that, other things equal, it is wrong to take pleasure in another's pain, to taunt and threaten the vulnerable, to prosecute and punish those known to be innocent, and to sell another's secrets solely for personal gain. When I say such things, I mean that once one really understands these principles (including the ceteris paribus clause), one doesn't need to infer them from one's other beliefs in order to be justified in thinking them true. Of course, to understand the principles in the first place, one must have some other beliefs—one must know what pain is, for instance, and what punishment, threats, and secrets are. But once one deploys these ancillary beliefs in the service of understanding the propositions in question, no beliefs are required to serve as evidentiary premisses from which to infer the truth of the self-evident propositions. I don't know how to argue for the self-evidence of these (or other) propositions. Indeed, one might think that any success in doing so would undermine their purported self-evidence. But such a view is mistaken. Self-evident propositions might be such that, once understood, one is justified in one's belief, and also such that they are inferrable from other propositions. Some of the purportedly self-evident propositions above, for instance, might be derivable from some more general moral principle; those in possession of it might use it to bolster the case for the truth of the propositions, by laying out the derivation. Those who follow the derivation and as a result justifiably believe its conclusion may be doubly justified in their belief. Self-evident beliefs might thus be epistemically overdetermined—inferentially and non-inferentially justifiable.116 (See Audi 1997: 47–8, 1999: 216–17.) The familiar story that Utilitarians like to tell about our moral principles clearly illustrates this point. (See, e.g., Mill 1979: chs. 2 and 5.) It might be that all justified moral principles have the content they do in virtue of being derivable from the principle of utility. But if I am right, we might be justified in believing some such principles even if we had never conceived of the principle of utility. One is justified in thinking it wrong to torture others just for fun, even if one hasn't given any thought to the existence of an ultimate, unifying rule from which this principle can be derived. Yet if one learns of

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In this respect, self-evident beliefs are no different from other justified beliefs. One might justifiably believe that there are petunias in the hanging basket on my porch. Such justification may derive from an immediate, non-inferential sensory experience, or by talking oneself into believing it, or by remembering it, or by relying on testimony, or by all four means. The availability of one of these sources of justification is perfectly compatible with the existence of the others. So too with self-evident beliefs. That there is a chance of their being inferred from other premisses does not by itself undermine their self-evident status.

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utilitarian theory, becomes convinced of its truth, and then correctly infers the truth of one's pro tanto moral principles, one will have a dual justification for believing the self-evident ones among them. The above candidate self-evident propositions strike me as clearly true. In some cases this is just obvious, though other cases may require a bit more reflection. That one needs time to see the truth of a proposition is compatible with its being self-evident—some complex propositions require patience and work before an adequate understanding117 sets in, and it is only such understanding that is claimed to be sufficient for justification. Further, it does seem that we frequently believe such propositions as those above without actually inferring them—our belief is direct and immediate, and does not involve our having gone through a chain of reasoning or consideration of premisses. This of course is only necessary, and not sufficient, to qualify such a belief as self-evident. But suppose we cannot find anything ‘deeper’, any more fundamental principle from which to derive the allegedly self-evident proposition. And suppose that we haven't yet come to cases, advancing particular instances of the principle as a way of buttressing our endorsement of it. Aren't we still justified in believing that, absent special circumstances, one's enjoyment doesn't make it right to hurt others? There certainly seems to be something intuitively plausible about such a claim. In fact, despite much talk of the revisability of all of our judgements, this principle seems so plausible as to resist any efforts at revision. I would be more inclined to view a system that rejected it as corrupt, as a counterfeit morality, than to abandon such a claim. This resistance to doxastic alteration is itself neither strictly necessary nor sufficient for a belief to qualify as self-evident. But something like this degree of resolve is what we would expect to see attached to any self-evident belief. If there are any self-evident moral beliefs, then they can serve to address many of the sceptic's worries. The Vicious Circle Argument could be answered in either of two ways. First, one might say that believing self-evident propositions on the basis of coming to understand them is itself a reliable procedure, and that the results of such a method constitute knowledge, even if one cannot be sure that one is indeed engaging in this method. As we will see below, one may be ignorant or mistaken about the epistemic status of one's beliefs, and so a fortiori may fail to see that their content is

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What constitutes adequate understanding? Different conceptions of self-evidence will spell this out differently. A full accounting will have to have something to say on this point; here I want to remain neutral.

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self-evident. Nevertheless, an adequate understanding of the content of self- evident beliefs can be enough to constitute justification, whether or not we know or suspect that we possess such justification. Alternatively, one might resist talk of method here, and just say that, since certain beliefs are self-evident, we can sometimes be epistemically justified without any invocation of a method. Self-evident beliefs will be epistemically above board without their having been ratified as such by any method. The plausibility of either solution promises an avenue of escape from the vicious circle. The existence of self-evident moral beliefs also weakens the Relevant Alternatives Argument. This may occur in one of two ways, depending on whether holding a self-evident belief entails a justification for discounting all contrary beliefs. Suppose it does; suppose, that is, that holding a self-evident belief is sufficient to license one's rejection of all competing beliefs. Then one has met the demand set by the Argument; one's justification for belief is accompanied by justification for rejecting competitors. Alternatively, suppose that one may hold a self-evident belief without necessarily having the resources to explain away the attractions of its competitors. In that case, it is appropriate to reject the demand as set forth by the Argument. If one's belief is genuinely self-evident, then an adequate understanding is sufficient to confer justification, and so one's justification for believing is not conditioned on an ability to eliminate all competitors. The central premiss of the Argument—that one is justified in one's belief only if one is able to rebut all incompatible options—would be false. The Regress Argument is also answered once we allow for self-evident propositions—indeed, this is the most important classical rationale for introducing the possibility of self-evidence. We can avoid infinite regresses and circular argumentation by citing a belief that is self-evident (even if we are unaware of its being so). If there are self-evident beliefs, then a chain of justification may terminate in one of them with complete propriety. So self-evident propositions are of great utility in combating scepticism. Perhaps because they promise so much, they have attracted a great many criticisms. The following strike me as the strongest of these.

II. Objections to Self-Evidence The Argument from Demonstrative Justication Many think it crucial to moral justification that one be able to accurately supply the grounds that justify one's conclusions. One may lack any facility


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for doing so, even though having done all that was necessary to be otherwise justified in one's beliefs. The first criticism maintains that if one is unable to articulate the grounds that support the content of one's belief, then one cannot be justified in believing it. Yet it is in the nature of self-justification that it may sometimes leave one inarticulate in just this way—one may have nothing to say on behalf of one's candidate self-evident propositions. They just seem, on reflection, to be clearly true. If the criticism is correct, however, then an agent's inability to cite the justifying bases of his moral beliefs prevents his being justified in holding them. But the criticism is not correct. One does not undermine the claim that there are self-evident beliefs just by arguing that premisses must be invoked in order to show that one's belief is justified. It is usually true that such a showing requires a display of inferential justification—one must adduce considerations that support a belief, and this is inferential if anything is.118 But we have no reason to think that we are epistemically justified in holding a belief only if we can show that the belief is justified. The present criticism rests on a failure to distinguish between two different kinds of epistemic justification. The first asks of a given believer whether she is justified in holding a belief. Call this agent justification. The second asks of a given believer whether she is able to show that her belief is plausible. Call this demonstrative justification. The present criticism either conflates belief and demonstrative justification, or just assumes that an agent's justification for her beliefs is conditioned on her ability to reveal their plausibility. This latter assumption is false, on any of three conceptions of demonstrative justification. On the first conception, one justifies one's belief (i.e. shows that one's belief is justified) if and only if one can produce the reasons that support it. But believing simple mathematical propositions or analytic truths may be justified even if one can say nothing on their behalf. According to the second conception, one justifies one's belief just if one is able to adequately defend its status as justified. Such a showing requires a good deal of sophistication; specifically, one must not only possess the notion of epistemic justification, but be able to deploy it in a way that yields a defence of the epistemic status of one's original belief. Among those who cannot

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This actually overstates things a bit. In some cases, one might show another that a certain act was (say) immoral by doing that very act to her, and ‘seeing how she likes it’. Placing agents in others' shoes is often an effective way of showing them something about the moral status of actions. This needn't involve offering, or getting another to undertake, any inference at all. But most cases of justifying one's claims to others will involve inferential steps.

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demonstratively justify their beliefs in this way are those who lack the concept of epistemic justification in the first place. Yet surely such agents are justified in holding at least some of the beliefs they do. Lastly, one might show that one's belief is justified if and only if one can persuade another of its truth, or of its justification. Here, showing serves as a success verb, indicating an ability to convince others of the merits of one's claims. Yet this notion of justification makes demonstrative justification too strong a requirement for agent justification. One needn't convince everyone (or in some cases, anyone) in order to be justified in one's beliefs. You can be justified in retaining your memorial belief about the facts of an event you have witnessed even if you cannot convince other bystanders of all of the remembered details. We are justified in our thoughts about the earth's shape even if we are unable to bring members of the Flat Earth Society around to our point of view. In short, conditioning agent justification on any of these kinds of demonstrative justification isn't plausible for the nonmoral case, and, absent a compelling argument, it isn't plausible for the moral case, either. Many people who, after long experience, have become expert at some craft or art possess a kind of practical wisdom that issues in justified judgements, even though such individuals can find it difficult to articulate the grounds that confer justification in particular cases.119 Likewise, a person may be a good moral judge without being able to identify all of the things that led her to her views. It may be that a good moral judge must be able to identify the features of a situation in virtue of which an act or trait counts as right or good. But this ability need not translate into an ability to consciously identify these features as grounds, or an ability to construct for others a justification that links these grounds to the moral principle in question.

The Doxastic Ascent Argument Another alleged problem with non-inferential justification is that it falls foul of the doxastic ascent argument, offered by Laurence Bonjour (1985: 30 ff.; Brink (1989: 116–22) endorses the argument in all relevant respects). The argument claims that one's belief p can be justified only if one has a higher-order belief to the effect that (i) p is a token of a certain type of belief, and (ii) beliefs of that type are justified. This principle would make higher-order belief

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See Dreyfus and Dreyfus 1990 for an important defence of this view, and more generally of the view, defended in Chapter 12, that both moral and non-moral experts arrive at what I there call verdictive moral beliefs in a non-inferential way.


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necessary for justified belief, and this entails the impossibility of non-inferentially justified belief. As is well known, there are at least two good reasons for thinking this argument unsound. First, conditions (i) and (ii) would too narrowly constrain the set of justified beliefs. Many beliefs (e.g. simple perceptual beliefs, those of young children) are justified even in the absence of any accompanying higher- order belief about their proper classification or the class's justificatory status. Second, the argument threatens to create an infinite doxastic regress. Bonjour insists that the metabeliefs that justify a particular belief must themselves be justified. This requires having the appropriate sort of third-order typological and justificatory beliefs about the second-order beliefs, and so on, ad infinitum. This regress is vicious because it effectively undermines the possibility of justifying any beliefs. Since we do not in fact have an infinite set of metabeliefs, and (if Bonjour is right) there are no justified lower-order beliefs without the attendant higher-order beliefs, the absence of the latter signals the absence of the former.120

The Epistemic Ascent Argument The epistemic ascent argument, so named by Geoffrey Sayre-McCord (1996: 157 ff.), manages to avoid the pitfalls of its doxastic cousin while staying close to the original idea that inspired it. What follows is a fairly close approximation of Sayre-McCord's argument, modified slightly to make explicit the threat it represents to self-evidence: 1. S justifiably believes that p only if S has a reason, R, to believe that p. 2. S has a reason, R, to believe that p only if R is the content of one of S's beliefs. 3. Therefore S justifiably believes that p only if p is supported by some reason, R, which is the content of one of S's beliefs. 4. P can't be identical with R: a proposition does not supply evidence or support for itself. 5. Therefore S justifiably believes that p only if p is supported by a belief with a content other than p. 6. Therefore there are no self-evident propositions. Sayre-McCord, who has developed the most sophisticated extant version of moral coherentism (1996), does not himself believe that this argument is

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See, among many possibilities, Alston 1988 for development of both of these criticisms.

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sound. He accepts all premisses but the first. To explain his reservations about that premiss, he introduces a distinction between permissive and positive justification. An agent is permissively justified in her belief that p provided that she has no on-balance reason to reject p. An agent is positively justified in her belief that p just in case she has on-balance positive reason to accept it. With the distinction in hand, we can see that the first premiss just assumes that we are talking about positive justification. With this understanding, Sayre-McCord thinks that the argument goes through. But why not stick with permissive justification? It is powerful enough to do what we want—namely, to answer the Regress Argument. Permissively justified beliefs can stop the regress, so long as they can transmit positive justification to other beliefs down the inferential chain. Sayre-McCord believes that they can do this. (See Timmons 1999: ch. 5 for similar ideas.) If we operate with a notion of permissive justification, however, then the first premiss of this argument is false, the argument therefore unsound, and so the prospect of self-evidence in the clear (at least so far). Yet Sayre-McCord advocates coherentism because he believes that the permissive justification of any belief is a function of its inferential or evidential relations with other beliefs. Being such that there is no on-balance reason to oppose a belief is a matter of bearing certain probabilistic, confirmatory, and logical relations to a host of other beliefs. In a typical case, the permissive justification of a belief can be established (if it can) only by balancing the beliefs that oppose and favour it, and finding them of roughly equal weight. So we don't have anything like a vindication of selfevidence; rather, we have a solution to the epistemic ascent argument, but one that commits us to coherentism. Readers are well advised to pursue the details of Sayre-McCord's project in his lengthy, substantial paper. Rather than do that here, I want to venture a diagnosis of the argument more palatable to friends of self-evidence. My preferred solution is to endorse the first premiss, understood to refer to positive justification, but to reject the second premiss. Before I set out my case, just a quick word about the fourth premiss. Some proponents of self-evidence might claim that this premiss begs the question. Suppose that we focus on positive justification, accept the second premiss, and so embrace the third. In that case, an agent justifiably believes that p only if p is supported by the content of one of her beliefs. But (the friends of self-evidence might say) this is compatible with p supporting itself; indeed, this is just what it is for a proposition to be intrinsically plausible. There may be no such propositions. But premiss (4) just assumes this, rather


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than serving as an independent reason for supporting such a conclusion. As such, its dialectical vulnerability transmits itself to the argument as a whole. We need just as much argument for the fourth premiss as for the conclusion of the argument it is located in. That line of reply once convinced me, but I no longer find it very plausible. The reply understands self-evident beliefs as those that provide evidence for themselves. I'm not sure that this makes sense. As I am understanding self-evidence, a proposition is self-evident provided that those who really understand its content, and believe it on that basis, are thereby justified in believing it. This is not identical to, nor does it entail, the claim that a self-evident proposition provides evidence for itself. It, like all other propositions, entails itself, but something more must surely be meant by the provision of self-evidence, as only a small set of propositions are thought to count as self-evident. It's not clear what it would be for a proposition to provide evidence for itself. The unclarity of this ‘self-support’ notion of selfevidence is bound to seep into efforts, expressed in the paragraph above, to undermine the fourth premiss of the argument. If this self-support interpretation can be clarified, then so much the better for the defender of self-evidence. But I am reluctant to rest much on that possibility. My preference, instead, is to focus on the second premiss of the epistemic ascent argument. The premiss is suspect, and this for two reasons. First, the restriction of epistemic reasons to belief contents seems too narrow. When I come to believe that there is a keyboard beneath my fingertips, I do so not on the basis of any inference, but instead on the basis of perception. I do not first form some belief that serves as a premiss from which to infer the conclusion that here, beneath my fingers, lies a keyboard. Or: I am standing in front of a potted palm, in normal sunlight, eyes wide open. The presence of the palm, in these conditions, constitutes a reason for me to believe that there is a palm just inches away. This is the ordinary case; and yet it is a perception, or a fact or state of affairs, that supplies me with reason for my perceptual belief, rather than the content of any of my other beliefs. It may also be that memorial beliefs are justified without their being supported by other beliefs. In certain cases of especially strong and vivid memories, we might be perfectly justified in our recollections without their having been inferred from or supported by some further belief. So whatever reasons we have for our perceptual and memorial beliefs need not themselves be the contents of other of our beliefs. The second reason for doubting premiss (2) is that its internalism seems as vulnerable as the reasons internalism discussed in Chapter 7. Sayre-McCord

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defends the second premiss in the following way. To reject it, he says, is to commit oneself ‘to saying implausibly that considerations unavailable to a person can count as a reason that person has for believing one way rather than another’ (1996: 158, his emphasis). The particular locution Sayre-McCord relies on enhances the plausibility of his claim. To say that a person has a reason is often understood to mean that she is in possession of it, in the sense of being able to recognize and deploy it in relevant situations. And so, if a putative reason is unavailable to an agent, in the sense that she cannot recognize or utilize it when appropriate, then (by this line of argument) it is really no reason at all. But all the opponent of the second premiss needs is the claim that there can be a reason for S that is relevantly unavailable; here, a reason for S that is not itself the content of one of her existing beliefs. And that, hopefully, does not sound all that implausible, especially if we recall arguments from Chapter 7 designed to undermine reasons internalism. Though moral reasons figured in that discussion, it seems sensible to assign like features to epistemic reasons, at least absent further argument. If moral reasons might apply to agents who are unable to recognize them, the presumption is that the same thing goes for epistemic reasons. That, combined with the earlier examples to do with perceptual and memorial beliefs, should be enough to cast doubt on the merits of the epistemic ascent argument, and its rejection of the possibility of self-evident belief. (The critique is strengthened, of course, if beliefs are able to support themselves. Then premiss (4) would embody a petitio. But I am unsure about the prospects for developing such a line.)

The Agent-Relativity Argument Propositions are self-evident if attentively considering and understanding them is sufficient to justify belief. But coherentists will insist that this sort of attention is never sufficient to confer epistemic justification: whether a belief is justified depends on the other beliefs one holds. (These other beliefs don't have to be higher-order beliefs; that's why coherentists don't have to rely on the doxastic ascent argument to make their case.) This dependence relation, often cited as the claim that beliefs are justified only in virtue of their evidential or inferential relations to other beliefs, is a central plank in the coherentist platform. Coherentists will insist, for instance, that even though we found the claim that taking pleasure in another's pain is (other things equal) wrong, sadists will disagree. Call the proposition in question proposition (p). If one has no reason to endorse a proposition, then one isn't justified


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in believing it. Given their background beliefs, some sadists will have no reason to endorse (p). Therefore sadists aren't justified in believing (p). Therefore (p) is not self-evident. Friends of self-justification can makes three kinds of reply to this argument, the first two of which strike me as quite weak. First, they may simply claim that (p) was ill chosen—a different principle would be a better candidate for selfevidence. Perhaps. It isn't clear on what basis one would opt for a different candidate, but one natural thought is surely misguided. That natural thought is that a proposition is self-evident only if every competent speaker of a language will affirm it on understanding its terms. This criterion is too strong, and almost certainly unsatisfiable, given the existence of agents with seriously immoral sensibilities. Second, one might retreat to a claim that propositions may be self-evident for some agents without being self-evident for all. Thus (p) might be self-evident for us, but not for sadists. By relativizing the property of self-evidence, we allow that a person's background beliefs or moral outlook may undermine justification of a proposition which, for others with different sensibilities, may be perfectly self-evident. But this seems to give up the ship, since the only relevant basis for taking such a stand is the recognition that one's other beliefs bear directly on a determination of whether a belief qualifies as self-evident.121 (P) would be self-evident for us only because it comports with our other beliefs. It would not be self-evident for sadists because it does not derive support from their other beliefs. This is incompatible with the core idea of self- evidence, which makes relevantly full understanding of a proposition by itself sufficient to justify belief in it. A better tack would begin by distinguishing three epistemic states. The first is that of having no reason to believe a proposition. The second is that of having (on-balance) reason not to believe a proposition. The third is that of having (on-balance) reason to believe the negation of the proposition. A friend of self-justification can allow that the sadist may have (on-balance) epistemic reasons not to believe the allegedly self-evident proposition. He may even have (onbalance) epistemic reasons to believe the negation of that proposition. If one keeps the company of only torturers and sado-masochists,

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Audi (1999 : 222) defends the propriety of relativizing self-evidence, but only by reference to an agent's capacity for understanding. The context he has in mind is one in which something might strike God as true right off, though mere mortals would be able to grasp the proposition only via some inferential chain. This sort of relativization is different from that required by the present defensive manoeuvre, which relativizes self-evidence not to a capacity for understanding, but instead to an agent's sense of right and wrong (as measured or constituted by her other beliefs).

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and one has met the epistemic standards that prevail in such society, then one's regrettable stock of available epistemic reasons may incline one in these directions. Despite these concessions, the friend of self-justification must insist that if (p) really is self-evident, then the sadist does have an epistemic reason to believe it. A proposition may be self-evident even if one's other beliefs conspire to defeat its justification. Though the weight of tradition leans in the other direction, self-evident beliefs may be defeasible (Audi 1997: 37 ff.). The mental life of some sadists might be so impoverished that their best available epistemic reasons do dictate rejection or suspension of judgement about proposition (p). But it may be self-evident for all that, and such reasons (for all that's been said so far) may be overriding a presumption that an adequate understanding of the proposition creates all by itself. Nothing is gained by pointing to the fact that sadists may strenuously deny the existence of any reason to believe (p). One isn't an infallible indicator of one's own epistemic reasons. Propositions may be self-evident even if some agents fail to believe them, or fail to find them obvious or immediately compelling.122 Self-evidence is a normative notion—self-evident propositions are those that are sufficient to justify belief. That one fails actually to believe does not undermine the proposition's justificatory power, any more than failing to abide by the demands of generosity, or failing to find them obvious, vitiates those demands. Thus (p) may be self-evident, even if in the end the sadist also has epistemic reasons not to believe it, or reasons to believe its negation.

The Historical Contingency Argument Some say that the best explanation for our holding the moral views we do is that we acquire them through complicated socialization and acculturation processes. But if we hold our moral views primarily in virtue of some historical accident, then we lack sufficiently good reason to suppose that our own moral views, even those we take to be selfevident, are true. Here is one of those cases in which the origins of a belief really are relevant to its credibility. Given the fortuitous origins of our beliefs, it would be nearly miraculous were they to reliably line up with the dictates of any kind of realistic moral truth.

122

See Audi 1997 : 45–6, 102–3, and 1999 : 214 ff., for fine discussions of the distinction between mediately and immediately self-evident propositions. His whole exploration of self-evidence is nuanced and thorough.


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The problem with this sort of criticism is that it destroys too much. Most of what we believe can be traced to contingent historical sources. Our belief that the earth is many billions of years old, roughly round, not at the centre of the universe, and the site of millions of generations of evolutionary activity depends on our living when and where we do. Only a very small percentage of people across the ages have held such views. It makes sense to say that we believe them, in large part, only because of the times in which we live—after all, few of us have confirmed for ourselves that such things are true. Most of us hold these views about the earth, as we do so many of our views, on the basis of testimony. The content of testimony about most things will differ depending on the times and the culture in which it is offered. Since that doesn't undermine our justification for most of our other beliefs, we need some other argument to think that it does so here, in the moral case. The critic might think it unfair to invoke a set of empirical beliefs in this context. We are justified in relying on testimony about such matters as the nature of the earth only because at some point someone was able to prove (or nearly so) these claims, and there exists a set of procedures and claims from which one can reconstruct the proof, even if, like most of us, one isn't in possession of such materials. And that is relevantly different from the moral case, especially if one is claiming self-evidence for certain of one's moral views. True enough. But this still doesn't impugn the basic line of defence. For consider your own views about religion. Some of you are theists, some not. There is no analogue to empirical ‘proof ’ in this area. Yet believer or unbeliever, almost all of us hold the views we do in large part because of the family and culture we have been raised in. Apart from religious epiphanies on the one hand, and sharp breaks with religious parents on the other, most of the rest of us will have inherited our (a)theism from our upbringing. Were contemporary atheists plunked down in Paris six hundred years ago, few would have the courage of their present convictions. And theists of that age, were they trained in most contemporary centres of analytic philosophy, would probably have little sympathy for Western theology. If this sort of science fiction scenario doesn't appeal, just consider contemporary theists who profess allegiance to Judaism or Christianity. Doubtless their views would be quite different were they raised in Mongolia or Borneo. Yet they are presumably willing to credit themselves with justification for holding the religious views they do. The same sort of considerations apply to moral scepticism. Only a relatively few societies have created conditions in which such scepticism can be taken at all seriously. That, certainly, won't stand in the way of a sceptic's

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insistence that her scepticism is tenable. Nor should it. Ditto for philosophical views such as coherentism. Coherentists will insist on the plausibility of their central views, despite knowing full well that were they born in other circumstances, they either would not be doing philosophy at all, or would be doing it with a decidedly foundationalist bent. The historical contingency of most of our beliefs—empirical, (a)religious, moral, epistemological—is not by itself a defeater of beliefs that we are otherwise justified in holding. Awareness of such contingency ought to make one think twice, especially in the face of those whose commitments are opposed to one's own (more on this below). But by itself, an awareness of historical contingency, like the contingency itself, need not undermine or rebut any justification one otherwise has for one's beliefs. This is a perfectly general point that holds regardless of the putative source of justification and the actual content of one's beliefs. Whether one's justification derives from experience, coherence, or self-evidence, the fact that one's views would probably have been different in other contexts does not defeat whatever justification one's beliefs presently enjoy.123

The Argument from Disagreement I One doesn't undermine the claim that there are self-evident beliefs by citing the intractable disagreement that inevitably arises about which candidates are genuinely self-evident. Such disagreement focuses on the epistemic status of the beliefs under scrutiny. But a belief may be self-evident even if one does not believe that it is, or one believes that it isn't (cf. Audi 1999: 206, 215). One may fail to believe that a given belief is self-evident, either because one lacks the concept of self-justification, or because one has failed to attend to the issue and so has not formed any belief on the matter, or because one has thought about the matter but with insufficient care. Alternatively, one may falsely believe of a proposition that it is not self-evident, either because one lacks a fine grasp of the notion of self-evidence, or because one fails to see any reason to believe the proposition, or because one sees positive reason not to believe it. But there may be a reason to believe a proposition even if one mistakenly believes otherwise. And one may

123

Of course, if you thought that the only reason for believing as you do is that you have been raised a certain way, then you might well lack justification for your beliefs. But only a handful of us see things in this way. Most of us, despite our awareness of historical contingencies, take ourselves to have more substantive reasons for our empirical, (a)theistic, philosophical, or moral beliefs. These reasons may come from experience, testimony, internal coherence, etc. They might also, for all that has been said, come from the appearance of intrinsic plausibility that emerges after careful reflection.


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mistakenly suppose that there is positive reason to disbelieve a proposition. Finally, even if one is right in thinking that there is reason to disbelieve a proposition, the proposition (as already noted) may nevertheless be self-evident. The main point is that we are not infallible detectors of self-evidence, and thus disagreement about whether a proposition counts as self-evident is compatible with its really being so.

The Argument from Disagreement II Rather than concern ourselves with disagreement about the self-evidence of certain propositions, the critic might focus on disagreement about their truth. For any allegedly self-evident proposition, there will be some who, despite understanding it, will either suspend judgement or will believe it to be false. Such people may feel as confident in their own views as I am in endorsing principles such as (p), above. And their beliefs may exhibit as much conformity with the internal markers of truth as mine; both systems of moral belief may be internally coherent, may be equally in accord with the views of those deemed (from one's own perspective) to be experts, etc. Those who share my moral principles may be unable to compose an argument that could convince others to see things as we do. Indeed, if one sees one's moral principle as self-evident, one will deny the need to formulate any such argument as a precondition for being justified in believing it. But that leaves us in a position that seems to be on a par with a sadist who not only enjoys but thinks it perfectly acceptable to hurt others for pleasure. We feel equally strongly about our views. They are equally corroborated by the internal markers of truth. Both of us know the relevant facts to do with pain, pleasure, vulnerability, etc. And neither of us can convince the other of the error of his ways. This scenario, it is claimed, can be played out for every putative selfevident moral principle. Further, and perhaps more damaging, there may be no argument powerful enough to convince someone who is at present morally uncommitted that only one among competing views is uniquely plausible. If that is the case, then it seems that we can make progress in convincing others of our moral views only by begging important questions; only by presupposing the truth of claims that will be rejected by at least some others equally in possession of the non-moral facts, instrumental reasoning powers, and an internally coherent moral outlook. There are two diagnoses a critic might render in this situation. First, one might say that the differences in opinion show that there are, in fact, no

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self-evident truths. Any intrinsically plausible proposition would be such as to garner assent from anyone who adequately understood it; many do adequately understand allegedly self-evident moral propositions and yet reject them; therefore such propositions are not, after all, self-evident. Second, one might say that although the possibility of genuine self-evidence cannot be thus dismissed, the existence of intractable disagreement about such moral principles is sufficient to undermine our justification for believing in them. The first argument is problematic because of its first premiss. A proposition may be intrinsically plausible, adequately understood, and yet fail to compel assent. This will occur in just the situations the proponent of self-evidence would predict, namely, those in which the agent's associated beliefs are very badly off target, or those in which the agent's belief-forming mechanisms are badly damaged. Consider the first kind of situation. As we have seen, an agent's other emotions or beliefs may stand in the way of accepting or believing a self-evident proposition. These attitudes serve as impediments to assent, ones which nevertheless are perfectly compatible with an agent's adequate understanding of the proposition in question. Such impediments have various sources—gullibility, lack of experience, brainwashing, morally impoverished upbringings, facile thinking, etc. Regardless of our moral views, we can all admit that these are sources of error in moral thinking. (Which is not to say that they invariably lead to error; just that much error can be attributed to them.) Since these impediments may stand in the way of correct moral perception generally, there is every reason to suspect that they will have similar effects when it comes to appreciating the truth of self-evident propositions. Thus the reluctance of some to acknowledge the truth of what we take to be self-evident is not by itself sufficient to show that such principles are not, in fact, self-evident. Now consider the second sort of situation. Even for those propositions we take to be analytic (if any are), there is no logical or metaphysical necessity linking an agent's understanding of them and her belief in them. These are distinct mental acts or states, related not by entailment but by justification: the former justify the latter. If one understands that all bachelors are unmarried men and yet fails to believe it, that doesn't impugn the self-evidence of the claim, but rather signals some kind of psychological malfunction. This is, admittedly, a rarer thing than the appearance of the mistaken beliefs associated with the first diagnosis. Ordinarily, an agent's blindness to what is self-evident will be explained by reference to her ancillary attitudes, rather than to a breakdown in her belief-forming mechanisms. Either way, however, we


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have a plausible explanation of an agent's failing to see what strikes the rest of us, upon reflection, as clearly true. Since the defender of self-evidence is not committed to claiming that every self-evident proposition will command the assent of all, the first premiss of the first criticism is mistaken. And so the argument is unsound. Moral principles may be selfevident despite the existence of agents who understand and yet disbelieve them. The second criticism begins with an important concession, but proceeds with a potentially devastating sceptical argument. The concession: disagreement about allegedly self-evident moral principles doesn't show that there aren't any. So, unlike all other criticisms we have met with in this section, this one does not try to undermine the existence of self-evident moral principles. Instead, it tries to defeat any justification we might have for believing them. If there are self-evident principles, then, if one believes them upon understanding them, one is justified in one's belief. So the idea must be that awareness of the existence of intractable disagreement serves as a defeater of one's justification. Imagine an agent who becomes aware that some of her beliefs are the subject of such disagreement. If she can offer no diagnosis of her opponent's error, or can say nothing on behalf of her own views, then she may lack onbalance reason to favour her own views over competitors. But this is not the usual situation. If someone dissents from proposition (p), for instance, I will cite a host of other judgements that corroborate (p), and will seek to identify the sources of error that I believe to have beset the dissenter.124 If these moves themselves are justified—that is, if they involve reliance on beliefs that I am justified in holding, and types of reasoning that transmit justification—then the potential defeater will itself be defeated. In the cases we are discussing, it may be impossible to successfully convince one's critic of the truth of one's moral belief. There may be nothing one can say that would garner his approval. Indeed, the corroborating beliefs, and the diagnosis of his error, will probably be as controversial as the views they were intended to support, and so will probably fail to convince anyone who holds views of his sort. But why is that sufficient to undermine whatever justification such corroborators and diagnoses have? It doesn't do that in other cases, where we are in substantially the same position. Adherents of the Flat Earth Society will deny one's (non-self-evident) claim about the shape of the earth, and the reams of evidence one can produce will be of no

124

In this process one will have to work inferentially. So it may be that though one is initially non- inferentially justified in one's self-evident beliefs, responding to criticism alters the nature of the resulting epistemic justification. See also n. 4.

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avail. It doesn't follow that one's beliefs have been defeated, even if the corroborating evidence one cites, and the diagnosis of error one offers, are entirely dismissed by such a person.125 For instance, I may remain justified in a perceptual or memorial belief, even if others persist in disagreeing with it. This is so even if I have no corroborating evidence, but only a diagnosis of their error. I saw Jones steal that car; I remember being at the party when the clock struck eight. Suppose I formed these beliefs under nearly ideal conditions. I make my case and am met with disbelief. This needn't serve as a defeater for the positive justification I have for these perceptual and memorial beliefs. Just think of the classic Hitchcockian set-up. The innocent has nothing he can point to to exonerate himself. All of the evidence available to others is either neutral or damaging to his case. Still, he surely is justified in believing himself innocent. And this despite his inability to convince anyone else that this is so. The situation is no different when it comes to assessing claims of justification in normative and philosophical domains. Take someone who spends a career trying to solve the free will problem. She crafts a superb book (acknowledged as such even by her detractors), knowing all the while that she has nothing like a non-controversial demonstration or proof of her major claims. She is able, to her satisfaction, to respond to objections, to corroborate her conclusions with much supporting argument and evidence, and to offer diagnoses of her opponents' vulnerabilities. Yet all of this will fail to convince many or most of her colleagues. And she knows that. But I don't see that this reception forces her to suspend judgement on the matter she has thought so carefully about. Of course, others who have worked as hard and as well on the subject, but who disagree with her, are also justified in their views, and not all of these views can be true. But justification does not entail truth. What we have here, as elsewhere, is a case in which one cannot convince rational, open-minded, well-informed agents of the truth of one's own views. But, as we have seen, such views may be true nonetheless, and (the important point for present purposes) we may be justified in thinking them so.

125

One might try the following gambit: only a handful of people will be sceptical of the claim that the earth is round, whereas a great many more will dissent from any putatively self-evident moral principle. But I don't see what is gained by counting heads in this way. Indeed, it isn't even clear that such a count has it right—proposition (p), or Ross's prima facie principles, or the ones offered at the top of the chapter, are likely to be endorsed in almost every culture, by almost every individual within it. Indeed, over the course of human history something like Ross's principles have probably received wider endorsement than the dictates of Copernican astronomy.


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It is true that awareness of disagreement regarding one's moral endorsements may serve as a defeater. It will do so if one has nothing to say on behalf of one's moral views, after receiving or conceiving of a challenge from a dissenter whose conflicting views are themselves coherent, compatible with the non-moral evidence, etc. Crucially, one is in a different epistemic position before and after confronting such disagreement. Prior to this sort of confrontation, one may be justified in one's belief simply because of having understood a self-evident proposition. But after the challenge is issued, one is required to defend oneself. Yet if the case is an ordinary one, one will have something to say. One will point to the sort of support that one seeks to identify through efforts to obtain reflective equilibrium, and one will level criticisms against conflicting views. This is a matter of constructing arguments, or at least adducing reasons, both positive and negative, and this is an inferential undertaking if anything is. So any success one has in responding to such challenges will confer inferential justification, perhaps on a belief that was initially non-inferentially justified. We must admit that the arguments one relies on to substantiate one's views, and to criticize those of opponents, will not themselves be free of controversy, and will not convince all who need convincing. For all that, we can succeed in undercutting potential defeaters of our own views. For one may be justified in one's memorial, perceptual, testimonial, epistemological, and philosophical beliefs even in the face of scepticism from others who are knowledgeable and rational. And we have seen no reason in this context to treat moral claims any differently. If the bar is placed so high as to require convincing all such people of the truth of one's own beliefs, we will be justified in only a very little; so little, in fact, that the epistemological principle that insists on such (near-) unanimity will itself fail to satisfy its own standards of justified endorsement.

III. Conclusion We have considered seven arguments against the existence of self-evident propositions, and a further sceptical argument against the possibility of justifiably believing any that might exist. If I am right, these arguments are not compelling, and some of our moral beliefs are self-evident. Not all, or even most: many moral principles are not selfevident, and, as far as I can tell, neither are any of our moral beliefs about particular cases. There is much room for inference and argument in ethics, especially on behalf of controversial

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moral principles. But as I will now try to show, inferential justification has only a small role to play in the justification of our moral beliefs about cases. The classic self-evidence story, one which has us justifying our particular moral beliefs by deriving them from self-evident principles, is not the sort of tale I wish to tell. We could not hope for a tidier story. But in this case, as elsewhere, the simplest picture may not be the most accurate. Moral justification may be a messier business than any of the classical accounts have allowed for.

12 The Justication of Verdictive Beliefs The question we must now turn to is whether and how our verdictive moral beliefs can be epistemically credible. Verdictive beliefs represent all-things-considered moral assessments of actions or agents in particular circumstances. My view is that there are sometimes excellent grounds to support our verdictive moral beliefs, but that connecting these grounds to our beliefs will often have to proceed non-inferentially. This makes self-evidence the natural candidate for developing such an account, but verdictive beliefs, I shall argue, cannot be self-evident. This forces us to look elsewhere for the warrant-conferring grounds of verdictive moral beliefs. I believe that a reliabilist theory can help us in this matter. In what follows, I lay out the rudiments of a reliabilist theory of epistemic warrant and apply it to verdictive moral beliefs. I develop the view largely in response to foreseeable criticisms, and try to show how reliabilism offers a promising strategy for solving a very difficult epistemological problem.

1. Three Models of Ethical Theory The account we provide of the epistemic justification of moral beliefs may differ in important respects depending on what kind of moral belief is being investigated. Following Sidgwick, we can distinguish between those beliefs that represent an endorsement of moral first principles (the Categorical Imperative, the Principle of Utility), those that represent moral assessments of act types (it is wrong to break promises), and those representing a moral assessment of act tokens (it is wrong of Jones to break that promise).

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Beliefs of this last kind are instances of verdictive beliefs. Verdictive beliefs are all-things-considered judgements that express moral assessments of act (or trait) tokens.126 How can such beliefs be justified? Most epistemologists who consider this question supply an answer that presupposes the truth of what I shall call the standard model of ethical theory. The standard model says that all truths about the moral status of act types and tokens are derivable from an ultimate ethical first principle. The standard model is hierarchical—ethically relevant considerations are ordered by increasing generality and fixed by reference to some highest-order principle. This is basically an endorsement of ethical absolutism—the first principle of an ethical system is claimed to be absolute and ultimate. A principle is absolute if and only if it is such that no other moral principle or consideration can override its force.127 An ethical principle is ultimate if and only if it is absolute and such that all other ethical principles are derivable from it. With this model in mind, attention has naturally focused on how we can have justified belief in ethical first principles. Traditionally, foundationalists tell us that such beliefs may be directly, non-inferentially justified—infallible, indubitable, incorrigible, self-evident, or in some way justified by things other than other beliefs. Coherentists tell us that such beliefs are justified if and to the extent that they cohere with other beliefs one already holds. I want to explore different possibilities in this area, by rejecting the standard model that has underwritten most discussion in moral epistemology. I will reject the standard model without argument. Not that argument isn't, in the end, what is wanted, but supplying the necessities here would leave us no time to consider the alternatives I have in mind.128

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As far as I know, Foot (1978a ) coined the term ‘verdictive belief’. She understood the term more narrowly than I will do, using it to refer only to those particular beliefs that employed so-called thin predicates (right, good, obligatory, admirable). I will allow any conclusory ethical assessment about particular cases to count as a verdictive belief, regardless of the ‘thickness’ of the ethical predicates involved.

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We can put this a bit more technically as follows. A moral principle is a universally quantified conditional, with some grounding property specified in the antecedent, and the relevant moral property in the consequent: in every case, if something exemplifies grounding property G (lying, causing offence, selflessly assisting others in need), then it also exemplifies moral property M (wrongness, rudeness, goodness). An ethical principle is absolute if and only if the truth of its antecedent entails the truth of its consequent.

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I supply some of the needed argument in Shafer-Landau 1997 , in a way that does not rely on the plausibility of any particular metaethical view. Those who find ethical nonnaturalism congenial, however, have a further source of support. As mentioned in Chapter 4, though non-naturalism can allow for even the necessary extensional equivalence of descriptive and moral properties, non-naturalists have always baulked at such an option. Given the strong historical and contemporary resistance among nonnaturalists to the sort of biconditionals that could serve as absolute and ultimate ethical first principles, those tempted by non-naturalism will have further reason to reject the standard model, and will look elsewhere for an adequate picture of the structure of normative ethical theory.

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If we reject the standard model, we are left with two options: the particularist model, and the pro tanto model. Proponents of the latter view claim that there is a battery of moral principles each of which can be overridden by other moral principles. The difference between an absolute and a pro tanto moral principle is that the latter, but not the former, may genuinely apply to a situation without being determinative of the moral verdict to be rendered. By contrast, particularists deny the existence of both absolute and pro tanto moral principles, because they deny that any consideration is invariably and uniformly morally relevant—the salience of any given feature is dependent on context, so that in different contexts its moral relevance may be reversed or extinguished. This is inimical to the very idea of a moral rule, whose point is to identify morally relevant features that are either invariably morally determinative or invariably such as to create a rebuttable moral presumption.129 One might think that there is a further alternative to absolutism, prima facie theories, and particularism, namely, a casuistic model, according to which we cannot judge cases differently without also citing a generally morally relevant difference that justifies the difference in evaluation. (See, e.g., Jonsen and Toulmin 1988.) As I see it, the casuistic model is not really an alternative to the three models mentioned thus far, but is a form of either particularism or the pro tanto theory. For the casuistic model requires generally morally relevant properties to explain any difference in evaluations. We can understand the notion of generality in one of two ways. First, a property might be generally relevant in the sense of being universally relevant—wherever it is instantiated, it carries the same kind of value. If this is the case, then we can enshrine the value of such a property in a pro tanto rule—whenever, say, one acts beneficently, then the act is to that extent good or admirable, though the all-things-considered verdict can be affected by other factors that may override the goodness of beneficence. Alternatively, we can understand a property's being generally relevant as its being typically relevant, though in some cases the value ordinarily

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See McDowell 1979 , 1981 , McNaughton 1988 , and Dancy 1993 for good examples of particularism. McKeever and Ridge (forthcoming) offer a valuable survey and assessment of the varieties of moral particularism. See also the articles collected in Hooker and Little 2000 . Particularism is sometimes thought of as an account of the order of priority in coming to ethical understanding—specifically, as the view that we begin with justified verdictive moral beliefs, and use them to later uncover or justify general moral principles. Particularism as I am understanding it is not committed to this view of the order of epistemic discovery, or to the possibility that such verdictive beliefs can be used as a basis for justifying general moral principles.

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conveyed by the property's instantiation is either absent or reversed. So, for instance, we might say that beneficence typically is a force for good, though in unusual cases a person's beneficence either generates no moral credit, or is instead a kind of viciousness. But on this understanding of general relevance, we are right back to particularism. (Indeed, this seems to be just Dancy's considered view (1993: chs. 4 and 5).) Thus it seems best to limit our discussion of absolutism's alternatives to consideration of particularism and the pro tanto theory. Foundationalists and coherentists will probably disagree about the epistemic status of beliefs expressing pro tanto principles—the foundationalist will probably see such beliefs as basic (non-inferentially justified), and the coherentist will insist that there are no basic beliefs in the relevant sense. But, importantly, they may readily agree about how to justify verdictive moral beliefs. Such beliefs will be justified if and only if they bear the appropriate inferential relations to justified beliefs expressing the pro tanto principles. The problem is that we haven't yet received any clear, compelling story about the appropriate inferential relations. Here is a typical case: we begin with pro tanto principles that enjoin beneficence and fairness. We are in a situation in which benefiting another means making an exception of him. We come to a considered belief about what to do. Can such a belief be justified? If so, how? What is the relation that a justified verdictive belief must bear to pro tanto principles? It isn't deduction. It isn't induction.130 It isn't very clear at all. Things are no clearer if we turn our attention to the particularist model. Here we have verdictive beliefs but no moral principles. Instead, we have finely described details of concrete situations, and we have verdictive beliefs about the moral status of various features in such situations. How do we get from the details to the moral conclusions? Just what kind of inferential relation secures the justification of verdictive beliefs? Foundationalists and coherentists have traditionally had very little to offer by way of an answer to these questions. Perhaps they can do better than invoke the common talk of judgement, reflection, and balancing, which seems to me to be very largely metaphorical. I don't claim that anything that follows will show that such efforts must fail, but I prefer to strike out in a different direction. Coherentists and foundationalists agree about one thing: justified verdictive beliefs are justified inferentially. Coherentists believe this because they

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We might be tempted to suppose that induction can do the trick. For we might justify pro tanto rules by inductive inference from many verdictive beliefs. But that would be a solution to a different problem. We are asking here how we could justify the verdictive beliefs themselves.


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believe that all beliefs are justified inferentially. Foundationalists believe this because they restrict non-inferential justification to a small class of privileged beliefs whose epistemic credibility does not depend on their relations to other beliefs. Foundationalists are nearly unanimous in their rejection of the view that verdictive beliefs are members of the privileged class.131 Therefore such beliefs are to be inferentially justified, if justified at all. In contrast to both coherentists and foundationalists, my view is that verdictive beliefs are justified non-inferentially. Yet it seems very unlikely that verdictive moral judgements will be self-evident. Perhaps, as I have argued, at least some pro tanto principles are self-evident—not necessarily obvious or immediately apparent, and not necessarily endorsed by everyone, but sufficient by themselves to confer epistemic justification on anyone who understands them and believes them on this basis. Verdictive beliefs are probably not like this. If they are, so much the better for the emerging account—it can have a degree of unity that few have thought possible for this kind of moral epistemology. But it is hard to see how such beliefs could be self-evident. Indeed, to be justified in any such beliefs, it seems that one must first be justified in holding certain empirical beliefs about the existence of the relevant grounding facts. To believe, for instance, that it was wrong of Himmler to have encouraged his troops to harden their hearts to the murders they were committing, one must first hold the belief that Himmler was in fact issuing such encouragement. One is not justified in believing the moral verdict just on the basis of understanding it, since one may, for instance, lack any belief to the effect that Himmler encouraged his troops in this way. Of course, one might, just by understanding it, be justified in thinking that if Himmler encouraged his troops to kill innocents, and to harden their hearts, then it was wrong of him to do so, but this is now to hold a kind of moral principle, rather than a verdictive belief. The important point is that verdictive beliefs themselves are not candidates for self-evidence, just because an adequate understanding of their content is never sufficient to warrant belief in them—further, empirical beliefs are required in order to yield epistemic justification. It is a commonplace in ethics that moral properties or predications are ultimately supervenient on non-moral ones.132 It seems to me a plausible next step (though not an entailment) to insist that verdictive moral beliefs are

131

H. A. Prichard may represent the rare exception to the rule. See Prichard 1968 .

132

I say ‘ultimately’ to allow for cases in which moral predications supervene on other moral predications. Still, even if (say) rightness supervened on generosity or justice, presumably these latter properties themselves supervene on non-moral ones (perhaps in the way defended in Chapters 3 and 4).

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justified only if an agent has a justified belief about the instantiation of the relevant moral property's subvening features. To take a simple example: one's belief that some act was rude is justified only if one has a justified belief about the agent's intentions to cause offence, or the conduct's falling below conventionally accepted standards of propriety, etc. There are certain facts, specifiable in non-ethical terms, in virtue of which conduct counts as rude. If one hasn't any justified belief to the effect that these facts obtain, then one hasn't any justified belief that the agent or the conduct in question was rude. And the matter doesn't rest on my having used a so-called ‘thick’ concept—if one hasn't a clue about the facts in virtue of which someone's conduct counts as wrong, or some state of affairs is claimed to be good, then one's verdictive beliefs are equally unjustified. (See Blackburn 1985 and Audi 1997: ch. 4 for complementary suggestions.133) This brings us right back to the initial problem, that of explaining how we might be warranted in our verdictive moral beliefs. Verdictive moral beliefs are not self-evident. Their justification must rest on other beliefs. So, having abandoned prospects for self-evidence, it may seem that we are saddled after all with the unenviable task of trying to articulate the inferential relations that confer justification on verdictive moral beliefs. In what follows I will try to show how we can responsibly shirk this duty. Verdictive moral beliefs are not self-evident. They are not inferentially justified, either.

II Moral Reliabilism My solution to the problem of how to get from pro tanto principles or illustrative details to verdictive moral beliefs is to claim that such beliefs can be epistemically warranted, provided they emerge from a reliable belief-forming process. It follows from points made in the previous section that

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There is one apparent exception to the general epistemic principle that one has justified verdictive moral beliefs only if one has justified beliefs about the instantiation of the grounding or subvening properties. The exception arises in the case of testimonial evidence, where one is justified in holding some verdictive moral belief on the basis of accepting it from someone justifiably judged to be a moral authority, even though one may have no idea of the features in virtue of which the authority is (say) judging an action right or wrong. There is a hard line and a more moderate line to take here. The former would claim (perhaps because of the importance of self-legislation) that this sort of reliance on others is never a warrant-conferring basis for verdictive moral beliefs. The latter would claim that it may be, but only if the supposed authority herself has justified belief about the nature and instantiation of the grounding features. On the moderate version I prefer, the case of testimonial evidence is strictly speaking a genuine exception to the epistemic principle, but it doesn't seem very damaging, since the epistemic warrant must ultimately trace a route to the authority's justified beliefs about the grounding features.


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such processes must involve attention to the considerations that ground moral ascriptions. If (as seems plausible) such attention must take the form of beliefs, both about what the correct moral principles are, as well as whether their antecedents are realized in a given case, then reliable processes must involve what we can call grounding beliefs, as well as verdictive moral beliefs. The basic idea behind any form of reliabilism is that the epistemic status of a belief depends crucially on the way it came about. In particular, to quote reliabilism's most prominent advocate, ‘a belief is justified if and only if it is “wellformed,” i.e., it has an ancestry of reliable and/or conditionally reliable cognitive operations’ (Goldman 1979: 183). Some glosses on this account will help to fill in the larger picture here. First, it is important to immediately qualify Goldman's characterization by insisting that the justification that emerges from reliable cognitive operations is defeasible. As we will see, the epistemic value of reliability can be defeated in certain cases, rendering the ensuing beliefs less than justified tout court. Second, we need to clarify the notion of reliability in play. As a first pass, a process is reliable just in case it produces more true beliefs than false ones. A conditionally reliable process is one that produces more true than false beliefs, when the relevant cognitive operation begins with true beliefs. We will ultimately need to be more specific in the characterization of reliability, but this will do for present purposes. Lastly, different sorts of reliabilism can be developed depending on which cognitive operations are thought essentially relevant to conferring justification or warrant. The version at the centre of most discussions of reliabilism (that of Goldman 1986) identifies belief-forming processes as the relevant cognitive operations. I think that this is plausible. The account I develop is structured along process reliabilist lines.134 Reliabilism allows for the possibility of non-inferential warrant because it allows for the possibility of reliable processes that do not involve inferring some beliefs from others. Further, even for those processes that do involve inference (e.g. deduction), reliabilism claims that the justification that may attach to a given belief rests on its having been produced in a certain way, rather than in the logical or explanatory relations it bears to other beliefs. This marks an obvious, important difference from coherence theories. And while reliabilist views can be coupled with a foundationalist structure, they also differ sharply from traditional foundationalist theories, which see foundational

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Contrast process reliabilism with so- called ‘reliable predictor’ theories (e.g. Nozick 1981 : ch. 3). These latter make the justification of a belief dependent on whether it would have arisen even if the fact that makes the belief true did not obtain. Since a belief can ‘reliably track’ the facts without having been generated by a reliable process, the two kinds of reliabilist theories are distinct.

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beliefs either as indefeasibly justified or as self-evident. Reliabilists have rarely focused their attention on moral matters; for the most part, they have confined themselves to providing accounts of empirical knowledge and warranted empirical belief. (See, e.g., Armstrong 1973; Goldman 1979, 1986, 1992; Schmitt 1992; Swain 1981.) But these accounts may provide important assistance in tackling the problem we have set ourselves. One way to think of our present problem is as that of identifying the proper function that relates grounding beliefs to verdictive beliefs. Coherentists and traditional foundationalists will see the problem as that of specifying kinds of inferential relations that transmit the relevant justification. Reliabilists will see the problem as that of specifying the appropriate kinds of process that have grounding beliefs as ‘input’ and verdictive ones as ‘output’. My thought is that, rather than look to the content of grounding and verdictive beliefs, and then seek to establish some deductive, inductive, or other kind of evidential relation, we should shift our focus to the sorts of successful processes that get us from a variegated, disparate battery of grounding beliefs to firm, settled verdictive moral beliefs. These processes may be reliable even if there is no kind of inferential relation that transmits justification from the grounding beliefs to verdictive moral beliefs. I am drawn to this sort of account because of the promise it offers in solving the problem of how we might gain epistemic access to particular moral facts. It also does quite a good job of answering the sceptical worries we have encountered. For instance, the justification of a verdictive moral belief needn't be traced back to some other belief, itself in need of justification, but instead might terminate in a citation of the reliable process through which the belief was formed. So we have a neat reply to the Regress Argument. As we shall see, verdictive (and other) beliefs may be justified even if we are unable to show that its competitors are unwarranted. On the assumption that this is so, we will have an answer to the Relevant Alternatives Argument. Further, so long as we have exemplified reliable processes, the resulting beliefs are warranted, even if we are unable to identify the content of such processes, or defend the claim that our beliefs are their product. Since positive epistemic status, on a reliabilist account, does not require an ability to distinguish reliable from unreliable processes of belief acquisition, we can avoid the entanglements of the Vicious Circle Argument. I think that it will be helpful to develop the moral reliabilist account by way of offering replies to objections. I will try to anticipate the most important of these, in hopes of clearing away obstacles to the theory's acceptance, as well as putting flesh to its bones. Having made my replies, I will proceed to offer a


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positive account of how we may make progress in acquiring justified verdictive moral beliefs.

III Objections to Moral Reliabilism Causal Worries Reliabilism has almost always been developed as a theory of epistemic access to empirical truths, and this has naturally led to a causalist account of reliable processes. (See, e.g., Goldman 1979 and 1986.) The thought here is that beliefforming processes focused on the natural world are reliable in virtue of causal interaction between the world and the mechanisms that govern belief formation. So we might think that your belief that there is a book before your very eyes is warranted in virtue of having been caused by the book's being right where you think it is. With this model in mind, we may suppose that moral knowledge requires a knower to have causal interaction with the objects of knowledge, and this in turn requires an extremely hardy metaphysics of morals—specifically, one that posits ethical ‘entities’ with causal powers, and only (the bravest) moral realists can accommodate such a picture. Apart from metaphysical qualms about the existence of such entities, such an understanding would make moral reliabilism a quite parochial doctrine, of interest only to those sympathetic to such a metaphysics. That is contrary to my intentions here, as I hope to establish the plausibility of moral reliabilism for any cognitivist ethic—any ethical theory that allows for moral truth and the possibility of justifiably gaining access to at least some of it. In reply, we should note that the causalist component of reliabilism is inessential. It arises naturally in the context of empirical investigations, but whether reliable belief formation requires causal contact with external objects is a contingent matter, and will depend on the kind of investigation being undertaken. Reliabilism per se is not committed to a metaphysics of ethical objects with causal powers. And if the conclusions argued for in Part II are compelling, then the most plausible formulation of moral reliabilism will not, in fact, model the acquisition of moral knowledge on that of the empirical sciences. Mediating causal interactions between agents and moral facts will not be a precondition for the reliability of the belief-forming processes that generate moral knowledge. So for all we have said, reliabilism may be plausibly coupled with any cognitivist theory, and does not require (though it is compatible with) the sort of moral realism that posits the existence of independent moral causes.

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Adjudicating Doxastic Conict Suppose that a solid account of reliable processes of moral appreciation were forthcoming. Still, critics may argue that moral reliabilism is flawed because it offers no way of adjudicating the conflicts that emerge from different applications of reliable processes. The problem is exacerbated because there is every reason to suppose that there is a plurality of such processes. And whether one or many, we must allow that the relevant processes may be insufficient to ensure unanimity among those who properly employ them. Different agents applying the same process(es) may arrive at different conclusions. But why should this be thought problematic? A reliabilist, like an advocate of almost every other plausible epistemology, will allow that justification doesn't entail truth. When agents applying reliable processes emerge with conflicting beliefs, each of the beliefs is presumptively justified, but not all of them can be true. So reliabilism doesn't entail contradiction. The worry, however, is that it is not enough to say that some such beliefs must be false. A plausible epistemology needs to show how the clashes that emerge from the application of the favoured processes can be resolved. This worry hinges on the assumption that disagreement would emerge even among those who were fully successful in enacting morally reliable processes. This assumption may be false. But suppose it is true. Reliabilists do have something to offer those enmeshed in such disagreements. The advice is simple: engage again in reliable processes. Since there is very likely a plurality of such processes, this isn't a call simply to do what has once been done. Even if one does re-engage in the very same process, new features of a case may be seen as salient the second time around, especially if one's thinking is developed in response to someone who disagrees. Still, let us grant that even such remedial work may result in continued disagreement. This is either not problematic, or if it is, then reliabilism's competitors are identically undone. For any plausible epistemic theory, there will be some cases in which different agents hold incompatible but justified beliefs about which rules should fix a verdict. For instance, there is no guarantee, on either a coherentist or a foundationalist model, that all such disagreement can be resolved. There is nothing about foundationalism that ensures unanimity among foundational beliefs, unless this set is limited to logical truths, or otherwise so narrowed as to radically underdetermine a full set of justified moral beliefs. There is nothing about coherentism that rules out the possibility of conflict between beliefs located in different maximally coherent belief sets. For both


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foundationalists and coherentists, when different people have justified moral beliefs that conflict, often the best one can do is to appeal again to the rule one thinks should govern the case. There is no reason to suppose that all such appeals will be persuasive. Here, the justificatory resources run out upon citation of the relevant rule. In the reliabilist case, these resources run out after re-engaging in the relevant processes. In neither case does full justification entail unanimity or truth. If this is problematic, the problem is pervasive and signals no special difficulty for a reliabilist programme. The criticism presupposes that an epistemic theory or method is a good one only if successful adherence to it eliminates all conflicts among beliefs. Insisting on that condition would undermine all major theories of epistemic justification.135

Doubts about Epistemic Externalism Reliabilists have rightly seen that they must ally their theory with a certain kind of epistemic externalism, which consists of two claims: (i) the adequate grounds necessary to justify belief need not themselves be accessible to reflection, and so needn't be thoughts or beliefs, and (ii) beliefs can be justified without conscious attention to the support relations that obtain between the adequate grounds and the beliefs to be justified. If externalism of this sort is correct, then justified believers needn't be able to recite a story that links adequate grounds to belief. They will need only to have employed the right kind(s) of belief-forming process. The worry is that this sort of externalism is not, in fact, correct. And so the reliabilism that I have been trying to develop would be crippled from the start. At bottom, worries about epistemic externalism have centrally to do with its willingness to countenance a sort of opacity among justified believers. Many think it crucially important that a knower somehow be aware, or be capable of becoming aware, of the justifiers that confer positive epistemic status on her beliefs. Yet however natural and intuitively attractive such a requirement may seem, it is unacceptable on any of its most plausible construals. Rather than rehearsing arguments well made elsewhere for such a verdict (see especially

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Another response to this criticism is to acknowledge that the existence of competing justified beliefs is a defeater for one's own belief. I think that in this unqualified form the view is too strong, for reasons I have already given in the previous chapter (see The Argument from Disagreement II). But suppose I am wrong. Then the proper epistemic attitude to take in such situations would be that of suspending belief. This would be one route to showing what is in any event plausible, namely, that a belief's having been formed by a reliable process is a sufficient condition only of its being presumptively justified. Whether this presumption carries the day depends on the existence and the nature of any potential epistemic defeaters. More on defeaters below.

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Goldman 1999 and Greco 2000: 181–90), I will simply reiterate here the earlier claim of parity between moral and epistemic considerations (very well substantiated in Cuneo unpublished MS b). If the arguments of Chapter 7 were on target, and if the parity considerations are sound, then we have good reason to suppose that the strengths of externalism about moral reasons will transmit themselves to externalism about epistemic ones. If that is so, then the internalist strictures that represent one basis for rejecting reliabilism can be defeated, and with them this objection to moral reliabilism.

The Tenability of Hybrid Theories A further worry has to do with the hybrid nature of the present account. Theorists of all stripes prize uniformity and simplicity, and a mixed theory of the sort I am proposing naturally raises suspicions. The appeal to self-evidence with regard to certain moral principles is a paradigmatic form of internalism, while the reliabilism applied to verdictive beliefs is anything but. This may strike many as an untidy hodge-podge, inheriting the flaws of whichever view (internalism or externalism) one finds objectionable, without the compensating benefits of theoretical uniformity. The first thing to note is that many epistemologies are bifurcated in one way or another. Some mark their divisions by reference to epistemic virtues or goals. Foley (1987), for instance, thinks that epistemic rationality is determined by reference to what is cognitively accessible to an agent, while knowledge might involve elements that are outside the reflective ambit of the knower. Plantinga (1993a, 1993b) advances the concept of justification as a way of answering to internalist intuitions about positive epistemic status, while assigning to warrant the externalist element that, in sufficient degree and together with true belief, yields knowledge. Other theories, including the one I am developing, distinguish between the kind or source of positive epistemic status by reference to the ways in which one gains access to their truth. All foundationalists, for instance, distinguish the type of justification available for a belief depending on whether it is basic or derivative, i.e. whether inference is essential in the acquisition of justification. Yet the hybrid structure of classical foundationalism—one kind of justification for basic beliefs, another for the derivative ones—has not by itself been cause for concern among epistemologists. And the account I am offering may be no worse off in this regard. It is important to remind ourselves that uniformity is but one of many theoretical virtues. The hybrid nature of an account isn't itself a necessary


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failing, even if it is a perennial basis for suspicion.136 So much depends on how well such an account explains and justifies our existing deepest convictions, while also representing an attractive mechanism for evaluating old and new beliefs. Much also depends on how well competitors in the field are able to satisfy these demands. Since I don't want to go in for critiquing existing alternatives in moral epistemology, the defence I offer for my views in this chapter will, at best, create only a presumption of their success. But here, as elsewhere, we should be cautious before succumbing to the temptation to see truth in the simplest available accounts. There is a relevant possibility in this area that might succeed in assuaging worries about the bifurcated nature of the account I have developed here. For those who think of theoretical uniformity as a cardinal virtue, we can introduce a modification that yields an integrated moral epistemology. The modification is to make reliabilism the keystone of the entire edifice. We keep the picture of verdictive belief that we have been developing, and supplement it with the claim that the process of adequately understanding certain propositions (the self-evident ones) is itself sufficiently reliable to confer warrant. Of the reliability of such a process there can be no doubt; self-evident propositions are precisely those that yield justification when adequately understood and believed.137 An adequate understanding of self-evident propositions therefore invariably confers positive epistemic status on any emerging belief, and that is reliability if anything is.

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In ethics, especially, hybrid theories are often dismissed simply in virtue of their structure. Perhaps the most prominent recent instance of this is the critical reception of Scheffler's (1982 ) theory, which argued for the permissibility of maximizing goodness, coupled with a prerogative to refrain from doing so. The worries expressed in such criticisms were basically the same as those that have been levelled at Ross's (1930 ) pluralism for the past seventy years. Without a single principle to serve as the ultimate, unique basis of evaluation (in this case, for the rightness of actions), the emerging account was regarded as lacking sufficient theoretical unity to be plausible. This despite the fact that such accounts typically do far better than competitors at capturing the broadest range of our settled ethical judgements.

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Here, as before, I want to leave for further investigation questions regarding the nature of adequate understanding, and the processes that generate it. For a good starting point, see Audi (1997) and (1999), who develops a thoroughly cognitivist line. An important alternative has it that adequately understanding a moral proposition essentially involves some affective or motivational elements, so that, for instance, one adequately understands a moral proposition only if one has come to such an understanding through the exercise of some conative or non-cognitive faculties, or is motivated thereby to act in some manner. One might say, for example, that one doesn't really understand the requirement to perform charitable deeds unless one is motivated to perform them, or has come to such an understanding by (e.g.) empathizing with those in need. McDowell (1979), who is not there concerned with self-evident propositions, offers the beginnings of an interesting moral epistemology that makes adequate understanding dependent on motivational dispositions.Though I have defended (in Chapter 6) the view that one can believe a moral proposition without being motivated, it remains an open question as to whether or how far one can be epistemically justified in such belief without correlative affective inputs (or outputs). That depends, as I see it, on how reliable our moral beliefs can be in their absence, i.e. how likely we are to believe correctly when unaided or unguided by our emotions and sympathies. Here I simply want to register the importance of this question, rather than do anything to try to resolve it.

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Thoroughgoing internalists will insist that it is the understanding itself, rather than its reliability, that confers justification. The reliability of adequate understanding is not fortuitous, to be sure, but on such an account, the reliability is nonetheless irrelevant from a justificatory standpoint. This may be correct. If so, we would have to live with the hybrid features of the resulting account. But those with less rigorous internalist leanings, and a greater desire for theoretical uniformity, may be willing to accept the integrated reliabilist line I have just sketched.138 I will remain neutral here, as taking a stand would require doing more by way of investigating the merits of such uniformity, as well as the merits of the internalism that would threaten it (given a reliabilist view of verdictive belief). But at this point the moral reliabilist seems to have at least the promise of an adequate reply to the present worry. A unified account may be in the offing; alternatively, the structure of a hybrid theory is not by itself sufficient to discount whatever merits it may possess.

The Generality Problem A further worry has to do with the individuation of processes. According to reliabilism, the epistemic status of a belief depends on the reliability of the process that produced it. But, for any given belief-forming process, there are innumerable ways it may be characterized. In particular, we must fasten on a description at the appropriate level of generality. The worry is that there is no plausible way to do this that does not already presuppose the epistemic verdict we hope to reach. Suppose that we adopt the narrowest correct description of a belief-forming process, say, one that includes reference to the time, place, and name of the agent who embodies it. In that case, there will almost certainly be a distinct process for every correct ethical judgement. Yet talk of the reliability of processes implies a focus on types, as opposed to one-off events. A process that yields a true moral belief, but is instantiable only once, adheres to the letter but not the spirit of reliabilism. We must also be sure to avoid the opposite problem, taking care not to characterize the relevant processes in an overgeneral way. Here, being too general means that the account fails to distinguish beliefs of obviously

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We might also have here an instance of a possibility mentioned earlier, that of justificatory overdetermination. This view would take the adequate understanding of selfevident propositions, and the reliability associated with such understanding, as each of them sufficient to confer positive epistemic status.


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different epistemic status. This would be the case, for instance, were we to characterize someone's belief-forming process as one of being influenced by one's emotions, or believing on the basis of another's testimony. Such descriptions will do the reliabilist no good, as these processes are of widely varying reliability in different contexts. The emotional promptings of many people are quite reliable, while those of others are only occasionally on the mark. Accepting another's testimony is also only variably reliable; all depends on the informant and his knowledge of the relevant topic. If reliabilism is coupled with such general descriptions of belief-forming processes, it will be forced to regard the moral judgements of the phronimos and the manic-depressive, the testimonial beliefs of the savvy and the gullible, as epistemically indistinguishable. Best to avoid that if we can. The basic problem arises because any given belief is a token of indefinitely many process types. Reliabilists must offer a principled way to identify which type will be deemed relevant for assessing the epistemic status of the belief under scrutiny. We need to provide some level of descriptive generality that yields repeatably instantiable processes without being over-general.139 Critics charge that no non-arbitrary middle ground can be secured. This criticism really takes two forms, which its proponents usually fail to distinguish. The first concludes that there is no unique process that caused a given belief. The second is neutral on this matter, but insists that even if there is just a single process, we (can) never know which one did the trick. None of those who have pressed the first criticism (Pollock 1984, 1986: 116–20; Cohen 1985; Feldman 1985; Plantinga 1988: 24–31, 1993a: 198–9; Conee and Feldman 1998) have shown that a solution is impossible. The most thorough of the critics (Conee and Feldman 1998) consider extant replies to the problem and restrict themselves to criticizing these replies. Yet Conee and Feldman have not attempted to show that reliabilists are in principle unable to offer a plausible solution. Indeed, even if their criticisms are all perfectly successful, the most that they have shown is that we at present have no good way of distinguishing, from many candidates, just which process actually did generate a particular belief. But this is now an instance of the second criticism, and, as we shall soon see, the fallout from such ignorance would not be as damaging as many have supposed.

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As Heller (1995 : 511–12, 514 n. 6) notes, ‘the generality problem’ is something of a misnomer. Often the difficulty for reliabilism is that it needs to find a way to select the relevant process type from a great number of possibilities, many of which will be describable at the very same level of generality. So ‘the generality problem’ is really just a specific case of the larger problem of process selection.

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Consider the first criticism for a moment. No one has shown that there is not, as a matter of fact, something that is the process by which a given belief is generated. So long as there is such a process, then the generality problem poses no threat to reliabilism's conception of positive epistemic status. And, indeed, there is a plausible general case to be made for thinking that there are unique belief-forming processes. The case rests on two assumptions, one metaphysical, the other empirical. First, what beliefs we have, and what processes cause them, are best understood realistically—we may be mistaken in our ascriptions of such things, and their nature does not depend on the way we choose to describe them. There is a stance-independent fact of the matter as to which beliefs we have, and which processes caused them.140 Second, beliefs, like other psychological phenomena, are not usually causally overdetermined. Though the causal chains that lead to a belief may be quite complex, it is not usually the case that there are two or more such chains, embodying intentional, mentalistic properties,141 each of which would have generated the belief in the absence of the other. These two assumptions strike me as very plausible, though I will not argue for them here. If they are true, then it follows that there is ordinarily such a thing as the process that generated a belief. If that is so, then the generality problem, at its worst, would impose an unwelcome epistemic limitation, but would not represent a threat to reliabilism's central claim about the necessary and sufficient conditions for positive epistemic status. It may be that the reliability of a belief-forming process is the determining factor in fixing the justification of a belief, even if we were unable to identify the relevant process in any given case. Now consider the second version of the generality problem. Suppose that its criticism succeeds: we would have no principled way to single out, from

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Compare Alston's (1995 : 17 ff.) discussion, which also recognizes the importance of what he calls psychological realism as an element in a solution to the generality problem.

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This qualification is important, since (as I argued in Chapter 4) most causally efficacious supervenient phenomena do involve themselves in a harmless kind of overdetermination. The problematic sort of overdetermination would be one in which there are independent belief-forming chains each sufficient, in the absence of the other, to yield a given belief. Then we would have trouble isolating just one as the relevant process whose reliability determined the epistemic status of a given belief. But that sort of overdetermination, I am assuming, only rarely occurs in doxastic contexts. Instead, we have, in the typical case, a belief that is formed via just a single psychological process (i.e. one that involves thoughts, emotions, perceptions, etc.). Though such a process will be constituted by physical or molecular processes, and so be implicated in an inoffensive sort of overdetermination, it is the reliability of the psychological process that is crucial. So long as there is just one such process behind at least most beliefs, we have the needed assumption that will enable us to resist the present challenge.


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many plausible candidate processes, just which one actually caused a given belief. What follows? Only this: reliabilists would be unable to defend their epistemic assessments of particular beliefs. For doing so, according to reliabilism, is a matter of noting the reliability of the relevant belief-forming processes. And without an answer to the generality problem, we wouldn't be able to defend our citation of just one such process as the relevant one, i.e. the one that was causally efficacious in a given instance. This is not as damaging as it might appear. True, agents would be in no position to show that their epistemic evaluations are credible, since they would be unable to defend the identity of the process whose reliability they take to be relevant for such evaluations. But this is a failure in demonstrative justification, and, as we have seen, an absence of demonstrative justification does not entail an absence of agent justification. Even if we lack any general criteria enabling us to isolate causally efficacious processes, it does not follow that we are unjustified in our epistemic evaluations. For the reliabilist, judgements about the epistemic status of our beliefs are, like all judgements, justified to the extent that they are formed by reliable processes. It may be that our evaluative epistemic judgements are sometimes reliably formed, even if those judgements do not reflect an ability to articulately solve the generality problem—even if, that is, the agent making the evaluation is unable to offer a principled basis for identifying just one candidate as the sole process responsible for generating the belief that is being evaluated. The generality problem, left unsolved, leads to scepticism about the epistemic status of our beliefs only if the only reliable way to assess a belief is by first noting its unique causal basis and then examining the reliability of that process. Reliabilism per se is neutral on this matter, though it does seem that we can sometimes reliably appreciate the epistemic status of beliefs without detecting the unique belief-forming processes that generated them. If that is right, the generality problem, even if unsolved, would not leave us ignorant about the epistemic status of our beliefs. At its worst, it would cast doubt only on our ability to demonstratively justify our evaluations of the epistemic status of our beliefs. That's not great, but it would not threaten reliabilism's central tenets, or the prospect of our knowing many things, including the epistemic status of our beliefs. The generality problem represents nothing like a mortal danger for reliabilism. We can further diminish the threat posed by the generality problem by asking why this problem, if it is so worrisome, doesn't also arise for every other case in which we are interested in making causal attributions. If the generality problem handcuffs reliabilism, then it should likewise undermine

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any investigation whose outcome depends on our being able to distinguish genuinely causally relevant processes from mere pretenders. But this doesn't happen. Science goes on its way. Doctors, chemists, and biologists are not stymied by their lack of a solution to the generality problem. Progress in their disciplines very often amounts to distinguishing genuinely efficacious processes from their more particular or general likenesses. If this can be plausibly done elsewhere, without the aid of theoretical solutions to the problems of causation, then I see no reason to suppose that it can't be done when the subject matter is the individuation of causally efficacious psychological processes. We can move beyond these defensive manoeuvres and note the basic outlines of a plausible positive reply to the generality problem. Suppose my friend, who is an expert on West African politics, tells me that Monrovia is the capital of Liberia. I had no idea. I believe what he tells me. How do we describe the process that led to this belief? Do I believe anything anyone tells me? Anything other men tell me? Whatever my friends tell me? Whatever this particular friend tells me? Whatever he tells me about politics? Or about West African politics? And so on. Presumably these differences make a difference. Some are reliable processes and some are not. I don't see why, in principle, we can't undertake to answer these questions in the same way that other investigators do. Here, as elsewhere, we start by gathering as much data as we can. We compare the present situation with many other instances in which I have formed beliefs. We entertain counterfactuals about very similar situations and extrapolate from available evidence. My friend has told me many things in the past; how often have I believed him? Did subject matter make a difference? Perhaps I have found him less than trustworthy on certain issues, and tend to take his opinions there with a grain of salt, but always defer to him on his area of expertise. We can then ask about what I would do were I placed in certain relevantly similar situations.142 In many cases we will have sufficient information to make an informed prediction, and we can use such a prediction as itself part of the basis for discriminating among candidate belief-forming processes. In general, for any potentially relevant factor (e.g. the source of testimonial beliefs, their subject matter, the believer's state during belief acquisition, etc.), we hold as many variables as possible fixed, and seek to ascertain the relevance of the one that isn't, in ways that are perfectly familiar from

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Compare Zagzebski 1996 : 308–11 for similar remarks about how to deal with the generality problem.


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many other sorts of causal enquiries. The methods here are not perfectly precise. But that doesn't cripple the archaeologist's effort to reconstruct the causes of a population's disappearance. It doesn't prevent the insurance investigator from issuing a report on the causes of a fire. It doesn't force the coroner to suspend judgement on the cause of death. In many such cases the ensuing reports are credible and justified, though their precision and accuracy do not exceed that associated with selecting a belief-forming process. As a general matter, there are agreed-upon ways of identifying causally relevant processes, and we are well advised to rely on them when trying to determine which belief-forming processes are and are not causally efficacious.

Is Reliability Necessary for Positive Epistemic Status? There are cases where reliability does not seem necessary for positive epistemic status. That threatens the moral reliabilism that incorporates this as one of its central tenets. The hardest case in this context is that of the agent whose beliefs are all caused by the machinations of an evil demon. If we compare your identical beliefs with those of such an agent, many would say that their epistemic status is identical. By hypothesis, their content and inferential relations are identical. From ‘the inside’, you and your counterpart are experiencing the very same things. But only your beliefs, we are assuming, are reliably formed. Yet it seems to many that your beliefs, and those of your counterpart, are equally justified. Since your counterpart's beliefs are justified despite their extreme unreliability, reliability is unnecessary for justification. The reliabilist could go in either of two ways at this point. Let us first consider the path of greatest resistance, according to which reliabilists deny that your counterpart's beliefs are justified. Such beliefs are formed via unreliable processes; therefore they are unjustified. Yet she believes everything that you believe. Her outlook and your own are identical. But that, according to reliabilism, is not the end of the story. If we restrict the notion of evidence to those sorts of considerations that are available upon reflection to an agent, then the reliabilist rejects the claim that positive epistemic status depends primarily upon the evidential relations among beliefs and experiences.143

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Some externalists might want to reject this restriction, perhaps out of a desire to accept the claim that the justification of a belief depends upon the evidence for it. If they opt for this, then they must, of course, deny that something counts as evidence only if it is available upon reflection. They might say, for instance, that evidence is whatever it is that is indicative of truth (even if such evidence fails to appear in or be implied by the contents of an agent's beliefs). This has the benefit of providing an immediate answer to the perennial question of what link there might be between evidence and truth. Internalists, naturally, will claim that such a link has been too easily forged, and will insist on understanding evidence in the way I have suggested in the text. I think that the internalist understanding of evidence is the standard one, and so I will rely on it in what follows. But that reliance still leaves all of the interesting philosophical questions open.

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These relations are identical for you and your counterpart. But they do not determine the degree of justification one has for one's beliefs. This reply is itself just a report of externalist convictions. But the argument it responds to also relies, uncritically, on an internalist intuition that is unargued for. Why is justification a matter to be settled entirely by reference to evidential relations? Internalists do have an answer. Here we can focus on conditions for the appraisal of epistemic agents. We certainly wouldn't blame the unfortunate agent for her false beliefs. There is no possibility of her being more assiduous, intrepid, or thorough in her investigations. She misses truth through no correctable fault of her own. Yet if reliabilism is true, then we must judge her beliefs unwarranted. Such beliefs have failed to meet the standard of epistemic propriety. This indicates a fault. And faulty conduct merits censure. But that leaves us with a kind of strict liability, as implausible a basis for apportioning epistemic blame as it is for moral blame. Since that is so, we must reject the reliabilism that entails this implausible result. The basic line of reply for the reliabilist will consist of two claims: (i) the relevant standards of assessment may be correct even if agents, given their present situations and make-up, are unable to meet them; and (ii) failing to satisfy a standard of assessment does not entail that blame is in order. After all, we might produce an adequate excuse for some below-par behaviour; being uncontrollably manipulated by an evil demon is about as good as they come. Even if there are rare instances where the excuse fails to completely exonerate, the present case is not one of them. Of course we don't blame your counterpart for the false beliefs that the evil demon has implanted in her. But here we have behaviour that excusably fails to comport with a standard of assessment. Precisely because she has a valid excuse, your counterpart is no more worthy of blame than you or I in typical situations. Contrast this with cases in which justifications are offered. If acceptable, these call for redrawing the standards to allow behaviour previously thought unacceptable. A good justification reveals compliance, where we had earlier supposed violation. Nothing the internalist has said requires the reliabilist to see the evil demon case in this way. Instead, we might rely on externalist arguments offered in previous chapters to substantiate the claim that appropriate standards of behaviour need not be redrafted to accommodate an


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agent's blindspots or infirmities. These latter considerations may mitigate or eliminate any blame attached to violation of the relevant standards, but they do not call for alteration of the standards themselves. Your counterpart's beliefs are below par; they lack any connection with the truth and have been unreliably formed. But the agent needn't be faulted for finding herself in such a situation. These are separate questions, and the reliabilist insists that we keep it that way. Reliabilists needn't abandon their conviction that the agent, even in the evil demon scenario, is unwarranted in her beliefs. This may strike some as too costly a price to pay for toeing the reliabilist line. For those who insist on protecting the intuition that the manipulated believer is epistemically justified, there is another, more conciliatory route for the reliabilist to pursue. On this alternative solution, one made available by William Alston's conception of reliability, the reliabilist may credit the deceived counterpart with justified belief. According to Alston, a process is reliable if it ‘would yield a high proportion of truths over a wide range of situations of the sort we typically encounter’ (1995: 10, his emphasis). Given this conception, and given the background claim that the Cartesian scenario is atypical, the deceived counterpart is forming her beliefs reliably—at least, as reliably as you and I. On the assumption that we are not the subjects of systematic deception, and are more or less reliable in forming our beliefs, our deceived counterpart would be able to satisfy reliabilism's sufficient condition of epistemic justification. So rather than stand as a potential counter-example to reliabilism, the evil demon example and the intuition that drives it can tally with reliabilism's strictures. I don't want to take a stand on the merits of Alston's suggestion. Any complete development of reliabilism (moral or not) will have to do so. But we can sidestep this important issue here, both because my aim is more modest, and because we have a satisfying solution to our present problem, regardless of whether we embrace Alston's conception of reliability. The evil demon case seems to show that reliability is unnecessary for positive epistemic status. If reliability is determined by reference to truth-conduciveness across situations the agent has actually encountered, then we must withhold warrant from such an agent's beliefs. But then the reliabilist can handle the internalist criticisms designed to display the problems with such a view. Alternatively, we might avail ourselves of Alston's conception of reliability, and grant that even such an agent exemplifies largely reliable belief-forming processes. Either way, the strongest case is not strong enough to show that reliability is unnecessary for epistemic warrant or justification.

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Is Reliability Sufcient for Positive Epistemic Status? There are cases where reliability does not seem sufficient to confer positive epistemic status. If true, this would undermine another of reliabilism's central tenets. We need to consider the most challenging of these scenarios if we are to acquit the reliabilist of the relevant charge. The first kind of case introduces an agent's countervailing evidence as a basis for defeating the justification of reliably formed beliefs. William Alston offers the following scenario: suppose a person employs reliable processes but has a strong, unwarranted belief either that such processes are unreliable, or that the beliefs they have produced are false. Then presumably the ensuing beliefs are unjustified, even though produced by reliable methods.144 Therefore reliable belief formation is not a sufficient condition of epistemic justification. A hard-line reliabilist may insist here that the ensuing beliefs are justified, even though the person thinks them unjustified. People may err in assessing the epistemic status of their beliefs or belief-forming mechanisms. We usually do this by thinking ourselves justified when we are not; but it may happen that we are epistemically justified even though we suppose we are not.145 Paul Moser offers a related (but more general) criticism to the effect that a belief formed by a reliable process will nevertheless be unjustified if it is improbable relative to the evidence for it. (Moser 1989: 202. See also Lehrer 1990: 163–5.) What Moser has in mind is the case in which one's other beliefs conspire to undermine confidence in a reliably produced belief. Here there are at least three options. (1) One may stick to externalism and just deny the intuitive appeal of Moser's criticism. (2) If these other, apparently defeating, beliefs are unjustified, then the response to Alston should be sufficient to meet Moser's point. (3) If these apparently defeating beliefs are justified, then they are justified either by a reliabilist or non-reliabilist criterion. If by a criterion other than reliabilism, then the criticism begs the question. If by reliabilist criteria, then things get very interesting. In such a case, what we are faced with is the prospect of contradictory beliefs each emerging from reliable processes. Here the reliabilist should advocate use of a remedial reliable process to adjudicate cases of conflict. If

144

See Alston 1985 . Alston is here discussing an example of Goldman's (1979 ). Bonjour (1985 : 38 ff.) draws examples designed to make the same point as that made by Alston.

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Compare Fogelin 1995 : 42–8, who argues that Bonjour's examples (see the previous note) are convincing, but readily accommodated by an externalism that sees justified belief as arising from reliable processes, so long as the agent ‘does not believe that he lacks the knowledge-giving powers in question’ (48). (Fogelin does not ultimately endorse reliabilism.) Those suspicious of the hard-line response to Alston are encouraged to adopt Fogelin's; the resulting view will yield a weaker form of externalism but still one that is recognizably reliabilist. I discuss the weaker version below.


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there are no such processes, then we are faced with a problem similar to that regarding interpersonal conflict: the agent will have warrant for beliefs not all of which can be true, and no method of ensuring the truth of any one. The reliabilist may just have to swallow hard here. But the reliabilist may also be able to make a plausible case for the existence of such remedial adjudicatory processes, thereby solving the problem. I have been sketching the hardest line a reliabilist might take in the face of counter-examples. This commits the reliabilist to a thoroughgoing externalism, and to the claim that reliability is sufficient as well as necessary for all-thingsconsidered justified verdictive belief. But reliabilists about empirical justification have usually allowed for the possibility of defeaters that cancel or override the justification that would otherwise emerge from a reliably formed belief. Such a move would condition epistemic justification on the content of certain of one's other beliefs; specifically, by allowing beliefs that do or should undermine an agent's confidence in her views to undermine their epistemic justification. But this needn't impugn the integrity of reliabilism, or spell its collapse into a version of its internalist competitors. For even if we take this line, it does not refute the view that reliability is sufficient to confer defeasible epistemic justification. There is still a good deal of work to be done in developing a theory of epistemic defeaters, and undermining beliefs probably represent only one sort of plausible candidate. Suppose we deal with Alston's and Moser's criticisms by allowing that a reliably formed belief is not, in the end, fully epistemically justified, if one's other beliefs (ought to) sap our confidence in the belief under scrutiny. Coherentists might note this concession and claim that this makes all-things-considered epistemic justification a matter of the inferential or evidential relations that beliefs bear to one another. That might be the first in a two-or three-step move to assert imperial rights over the reliabilist programme. But I think we can sustain an important distinction between reliabilism and coherentism, even if we adopt the moderate line that I prefer. Here we need to distinguish between accounts of positive epistemic justification and accounts of epistemic defeaters. Unlike coherentism, any form of reliabilism will claim that positive epistemic support can be generated just by having been produced by a reliable belief-forming process. Certainly when focusing on verdictive moral beliefs, we are looking first for an account that can supply positive but defeasible epistemic justification, since we must allow that verdictive moral beliefs are sometimes, indeed often, only defeasibly justified. So even if we accept undermining beliefs as defeaters, the reliabilist programme is not impugned. All this shows is that theorists in each camp

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need to do a great deal more work in developing a theory of epistemic defeaters. There is no reason to think that such a theory must be incompatible with the articulation of a reliabilist moral epistemology. At this point we need to consider further examples, other than those that introduce defeater beliefs, designed to cast doubt on the claim that being the product of a reliable process is sufficient for enjoying positive epistemic status. Consider ‘The Case of the Absurd Reasoner’, an example provided by John Greco: Having little understanding of biology, but fascinated with deterministic explanations of behavior, Charles reasons as follows. If he witnesses two people ordering the same fruit drink on the same day, he concludes on that basis that they are genetically related. As it turns out, his whimsical reasoning process is perfectly reliable, since everyone is genetically related. (Greco 2000: 175) Or consider Norman, whose clairvoyant powers reliably prompt him to correct beliefs, though he hasn't a clue about their source, or any views about the reliability of clairvoyance. (This is taken from Bonjour 1985: 41.) We can easily multiply examples like these, in which a reliable process fairly clearly does not confer positive epistemic status on the belief it has produced. What to do? We can follow a suggestion offered by Goldman (1992: 157 ff.), and endorsed recently in general outline by a number of other philosophers (Alston 1991: ch. 4; Sosa 1991; Kvanvig 1992; Plantinga 1993b; Zagzebski 1996; Greco 2000). Goldman thinks that the way we actually go about making epistemic assessments is by reference to a set of intellectual virtues. If a belief-forming process exemplifies one or more virtues, and no vices, then we consider the emerging belief to be justified. If the process exemplifies vices, it is unjustified. If it exemplifies neither virtues nor vices, then it is neither justified nor unjustified. Goldman shows how we can defuse the force of Bonjour's example by applying this scheme—those who think that clairvoyance embodies neither vice nor virtue will see Norman's belief as non-justified. Those who think it embodies a vice will see it as unjustified. Goldman himself is neutral. Either diagnosis explains why Norman's beliefs, though reliably formed, lack positive epistemic status. It seems to me that we can say very much the same thing when it comes to Charles's case. At the heart of any such reply is the notion of an intellectual virtue. Such virtues are those cognitive dispositions that are stable and reliable across a broad range of doxastic settings. Any fully developed virtue theory will, of course, require much more than this by way of supplementation: we must


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defend a list of virtues and also take a stand on how, precisely, such virtues are to figure in the epistemic evaluation of beliefs. Here there is room for much variation; I want to remain largely neutral on these two issues, though I will say a bit about the second, below. The process reliabilist version of the virtues approach determines a belief's epistemic status by reference to whether the belief-forming process that generated it instantiates the intellectual virtues. Specifically, those processes that exemplify stable and reliable belief-forming dispositions of agents are those that are crucial to fixing the nature or degree of justification for a given belief. So not just any reliable process will do. Still, reliable processes are necessary, and certain of them sufficient, to confer epistemic justification. This is basically the suggestion that Greco himself (2000: 177) offers as a way of addressing the counter-example involving Charles's case. I think that this alteration to the standard process reliabilist line is a good one, and can go far in addressing the implausibilities that arise from various counter-examples. Basing an epistemic evaluation on dispositions, as opposed to isolated, whimsical, or fortuitous process instantiations, removes much of the sting of the above examples. It also retains a central role for beliefforming processes in the epistemic evaluation of beliefs. As it stands, the emerging view is really a genus or family of theories awaiting more specific development. Rather than provide such development, I want to close this section with a couple of observations. First, this alteration does not affect reliabilism's other central tenet—that process reliability is necessary for positive epistemic status. Nor does it affect the responses given to the other objections I have considered in this section. The alteration amounts to a restriction in the sort of belief-forming processes whose reliability is sufficient for conferring epistemic justification. As such, the amended version remains squarely within the process reliabilist tradition. Second, prospects for this amended version of reliabilism depend very importantly on the outcome of substantive investigations in virtue epistemology. Specifically, we must defend a particular conception of how the epistemic status of a belief depends on the virtues of the process that generated it. This in turn is largely, though not exclusively, a matter of addressing two issues. First, we must decide on the merits of the tripartite schema of evaluation that Goldman claims is latent in our actual practice of rendering epistemic assessments. Are beliefs justified if the processes that generate them exemplify virtues and no vices? Unjustified if they exemplify any intellectual vices at all? Nonjustified just if they exemplify neither virtues nor vices?

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With a reply in hand, we must confront a related challenge, familiar from discussions in virtue ethics. It is a frequent criticism of virtue ethics that it makes the moral status of an action crucially depend on the virtues or vices that motivated it. But many think that actions can be immoral, for instance, even though prompted by virtue. If that were so, then the virtue exemplified by the action's motivations would be insufficient to dictate its moral status. The parity of moral and epistemic considerations that I have been pressing would lead to the conclusion that virtue is similarly ineffectual in determining the epistemic status of beliefs. We must either be able to answer such a challenge directly, or show, I think surprisingly, that there is some relevant disanalogy between the reply we give in ethics and the one we give in epistemology. Addressing these issues in a satisfactory way is a large undertaking, and I will not try my hand at it here, apart from indicating a general direction that seems promising. I think that the tripartite schema that Goldman introduces is correct with respect both to justified and to non-justified beliefs (consideration of which I leave for another time), and incorrect when it comes to unjustified beliefs. As I see it, it is plausible to claim that if a belief is formed by processes that exemplify only virtues, and no vices, then it is justified. But I would resist seeing vicious dispositions as automatic spoilers. It doesn't seem plausible to suppose that a belief is unjustified whenever it has been caused by a process that exemplifies a vice. That is because there can also be many virtuous features of a reliable process, and these may, on balance, sufficiently override the viciousness as to render the emerging belief justified. This seems sensible to me, but its defence will inevitably be a matter of controversial detail, and clearly not something that can be done summarily. If it is true that exemplifying virtues and no vices is sufficient for positive epistemic status, then we have a plausible basis for replying to examples of the sort raised by Greco and Bonjour. Consider parallel cases in the ethical domain. Counter-examples to the claim that virtuous motivation is sufficient to fix the rightness of an action typically smuggle in some vice that undermines the rightness that would otherwise obtain. Agents motivated by kindness and generosity, for instance, don't always do right, but that is because in those cases they also exemplify some vice. Perhaps they fail to properly assess or gather evidence (e.g. that their beneficiaries are malign), or so deplete their resources as to be unable to fulfil contractual or familial obligations, etc. To genuinely threaten the sufficiency of virtue to fix normative status, one would have to present a counter-example that did not rely on attendant vices to do the trick.


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I don't know whether such an example is in the offing. Here, as before, we can only point in an encouraging direction, and hope that subsequent argument can sustain it against potential counter-examples. Rather than try to vindicate this hope, we can take one further pre-emptive measure against potential criticism. We can avail ourselves of a plausible move made earlier in this discussion, and suggest that the epistemic justification conferred by virtuous, reliable beliefforming processes is defeasible. If there are any compelling counter-examples to the claim of virtue's sufficiency (in fixing normative status), they must be somehow incorporated into the applicable theory of defeaters. I don't want to speculate on the details of how this might go, but I see no reason to suppose, from the outset, that the reliabilist is barred from making a successful showing. Once we incorporate reference to the virtuous character exemplified by the reliable processes that generate belief, we are in a position to allow, as I think we should, that the epistemic value of reliability is sometimes absent (when it exemplifies no virtues), or defeated (when it is accompanied by sufficiently invidious vices). These aretaic amendments strengthen the overall position in the face of an otherwise potent objection, preserve the basics of the reliabilist position, and leave our replies to the previous objections intact. Though much remains to be done in articulating and defending the details of any emerging proposal, the major obstacles to a satisfying development of moral reliabilism appear to be surmountable.

IV Identifying Reliable Processes: Some Preliminaries Even if most of what I have said thus far is on the mark, we are still far short of knowing how to acquire moral knowledge in concrete cases. If I am right, success in this endeavour is a matter of enacting reliable processes. But which ones are reliable? How can we tell the good ones from the bad? There are reliable processes in the relevant sense only if there is truth in ethics. I hope to have shown the plausibility of such a view, and will proceed here on the assumption that it is correct. If we grant that there is moral truth, we will naturally want to know how to get it; on the present account, this is a matter of knowing which processes of moral judgement are actually reliable. Perhaps disappointingly, I won't try to identify and defend candidate processes, though I will offer a general strategy for making progress on that front. My reluctance to defend particular processes comes from two sources. First, we can make at least an initial assessment of a reliabilist programme

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without making such an enumeration, and that is all to the good, since one might easily be led to dismiss the larger project by finding fault with any particular candidate process that I would defend. Second, identifying reliable processes of moral discovery is inextricably bound up with substantive, first-order normative ethical theory, and I want to remain as neutral as I can in such matters. Consider just a couple from many possibilities: What is the relevance of motive in determining the deontic status of actions? What is the appropriate balance between considerations of care and justice, empathy and impartiality? If motives do affect the rightness of an action, then reliably detecting rightness will require reliable access to another's motives. If not, not. If a kind of felt care is essential for appreciating and fulfilling moral obligations, then reliable processes will be very different from those dictated by some (not all) Kantian theories. As was made clear in considering the Vicious Circle Argument, determining that a process is reliable first requires an ability to distinguish truth from falsehood. This is so whether the focus of our concern is memory, perception, or ethical judgement. To judge a process reliable is to judge that it usually yields truth; to make that sort of judgement, one must first have some idea of what truths there are. It is impossible to start from scratch and have hopes of identifying reliable processes for ethics, or any other area of enquiry. We can't identify reliable processes in a vacuum, without any idea of where truth in ethics lies. Now a natural protest immediately springs to mind. I claim that we can identify reliable processes only after having resolved some difficult normative issues. But how are we to resolve the issues themselves? Aren't reliable processes supposed to be the crucial tool in helping us do this work? But if we need to identify the reliable processes before solving the normative problems, then we can't very well insist that we must solve these problems before identifying the reliable processes. That's an awful sort of circularity. Let me sketch a few preliminary considerations that I believe can mitigate the problem here. (I will say more about this below.) First, we don't need to identify the reliable processes before solving normative problems. We just need to employ such processes. Good people may get the right answers without identifying the processes that got them there. A process of moral enquiry may be reliable even if we do not know what it is or that it is reliable. Further, reliabilism per se is neutral with regard to the criteria for truth. By criteria I mean the evidentiary indicators or the ‘marks’ of truth. Reliabilism can incorporate the best views on this issue, and with their aid offer an account of how we can identify truth in ethics. Once possessed of such an


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account, we can use it to assist us in identifying processes that more often than not hit the right mark. The criteria need not be identical with the conceptually necessary and sufficient conditions for a belief's epistemic justification or warrant. It may be, for instance, that coherence is an important heuristic guide or mark of truth, even if beliefs are not justified in virtue of their coherence with other beliefs. Still, the question presses: how can we know whether the processes we think are reliable really are? The answer is that we can know this if we believe that they are, they are, and we are warranted in this belief. (Add your favourite condition for dealing with problems of the sort that Gettier (1963) raises.) I think that the real worry behind questions of this sort is that reliabilism does not guarantee that the justificatory status of a belief is accessible to the believer. Thus it cannot guarantee for us an awareness of when our beliefs about the reliability of processes, or the rightness of actions, are warranted. But here reliabilists can derive some comfort from the like vulnerability of their more prominent brethren. The extent of coherence in one's belief set is an objective fact and need not be accessible to the believer. The self-evidence of a proposition needn't be transparent to an agent, nor need he be aware of whether justificationconferring inferential relations tie his foundational beliefs to all of his derivative ones. Reliabilism cannot offer the relevant guarantee, but then neither can its coherentist or foundationalist competitors. In the end it is important to recall that even in the worst-case scenario, where we are totally unable to distinguish reliable from unreliable processes of moral belief formation, our ignorance on this score will not (according to the reliabilist) undermine the warrant of beliefs that have been reliably formed. What it will do is cast a dispiriting pall over our ability to be rightly confident that we have lighted on the truth in ethics. Perhaps in the absence of justified or warranted beliefs about which processes are reliable and which not, we cannot be warranted in believing that our moral beliefs are warranted or correct. But they may be warranted or correct for all that. This point is supported by the considerations that undermined the doxastic ascent argument. The general lesson to be learned there is that one's belief p may be justified without one's having any higher-order justified beliefs which focus on p, p-type beliefs, or the general justificatory criteria for beliefs. So too, one's belief may be reliably formed, and hence warranted, even if one lacks a higher-order belief either about p, p-type beliefs, the general criteria of reliability, or the role that reliability plays in conferring warrant.

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V Identifying Reliable Processes: The Role of Exemplars With these preliminary matters behind us, we can proceed directly to a consideration of whether there is a plausible general starting point for the identification of reliable moral processes. I believe there is. That starting point lies in attention to the sensitivities of moral and immoral exemplars. Capturing the choices and deliberations of a Goebbels or Streicher may be as morally illuminating as attending to those of the Dalai Lama or Desmond Tutu. By devoting careful attention to the doings of paradigmatically immoral individuals, we may try to identify some common flaws that undermine correct moral perception and deliberation. We naturally extend the investigation so as to capture the processes of moral assessment undertaken by those we deem most ethically sensitive and insightful. (For a fine discussion of the role that exemplars can play in such contexts, see Blum 1994: chs. 4 and 6.) Of course no one is morally perfect, and no one perfectly evil. People are less than morally perfect either because they exemplify certain vices, or because they fail to possess all of the virtues, and usually for both reasons. So unless we've found someone who is probably too good to be true, we must qualify our reliance on her for purposes of identifying reliable processes of moral judgement. Ideally, we would be able to identify a person of practical wisdom who exemplified a unity of the virtues. More likely we'll have exemplars who have some but not all excellences, and we must restrict our attention to their excellences when trying to figure out how they get to the judgements they do. In short, we focus on those processes employed by exemplars qua exemplars. Now this assumes that we can begin our investigations with at least provisional confidence in our assessment of certain traits as excellences, or certain sorts of conduct as paradigmatically (im)moral. I have tried to argue for the plausibility of this sort of mild epistemic conservativism, and we might supplement those earlier arguments with the thought that there is simply no better starting point for any moral investigation. As far as I can tell, the only alternatives are to begin, like Hare (1952), with an analysis of the meaning of moral language, or, like Brandt (1979), with a candidate method (e. g. cognitive psychotherapy) that one would first employ before accepting any moral judgements about what is right or who is an exemplar. But whatever plausibility such analyses or methods may have derives in the first place from the fact that they comport with very central, deeply held beliefs about the right and the good. We believe (if we do) that Hare's or Brandt's project is a successful one only if such analyses or methods generate a battery of beliefs


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that we can recognize as morally correct. If the use of cognitive psychotherapy yielded the result that killing for pleasure is a generally acceptable practice, then that would be sufficient to cast doubt on the method, rather than the considered judgement about killing. Beginning with the thought that Goebbels acted horribly seems a far more plausible starting point than (say) the claim that we must undertake cognitive psychotherapy before venturing any moral hypotheses. One difficulty with the suggested reliance on exemplars is that in a pluralistic society, there will be persistent disagreement about their identity. I think that this somewhat overstates the case, and to the extent that it doesn't, that this is unproblematic. There is extremely broad consensus on the status of the Nazis and the ‘moral saints’ mentioned above. Admittedly, broad consensus is not the same thing as unanimity. Perhaps no evidence or argument could convince others that one's favoured candidates really are genuine role models. Convergence on the identity of the exemplars may be impossible, given different antecedent attitudes and beliefs. But persistent disagreement regarding the identity of moral exemplars doesn't show that there aren't any, just as persistent disagreement about the existence of free will, universals, or a priori knowledge doesn't show that there isn't any such thing. The version of reliabilism under consideration here has it that warrant-conferring processes are those that are engaged in by actual exemplars. We may misidentify our candidates. But that doesn't undermine a reliabilist programme; it just shows that it may sometimes be mistakenly implemented. A more serious problem threatens this proposed role for exemplars. Consider: we can know which processes are reliable if we know who is and isn't a moral exemplar. We can know whether a person is an exemplar only if we know whether her judgements are reliable. But if we knew that, then reference to the exemplars would be otiose. In other words, if we had the sort of knowledge that allows us to identify the exemplars in the first place, then exemplars would play no essential role in discovering what is right and wrong. And if we are in the dark about the nature and identity of the exemplars, then they cannot serve as any sort of useful model to assist us in the identity of reliable processes. Thus whether we know or are ignorant about the identities of the exemplars, they can't assist us in identifying reliable processes. The first thing to note in response to this difficulty is that identifying moral exemplars is not claimed to be a necessary condition of identifying reliable processes. Reliance on exemplars is one suggested way to identify such processes. There may be other ways. If there are, then even if reliance on

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exemplars fails, we may still be able to identify reliable processes, and so be in a position to know when a person's moral judgements are justified. But suppose there are no other ways to identify reliable processes, and suppose that reliance on exemplars is doomed to failure. This does not entail the failure of the reliabilist project. It may still be true that verdictive beliefs are defeasibly justified if and only if they emerge from a (virtuous and) reliable belief-forming process. It's just that we would be ignorant of which processes qualified. Thus we would lack a basis for epistemically assessing verdictive beliefs. Such beliefs would be warranted or not, but we would not be in a position to make the relevant discriminations. This would be a very disappointing result. But it might be an epistemic limitation we would have to live with. For we shouldn't make it a criterion of success for a model of moral knowledge that it ensure the possibility of knowing that one know (some moral fact). If reliabilism is correct, our moral beliefs are defeasibly justified so long as they are reliably formed, and this is so even if we don't, or can't, know that they are so formed. Thus even if the present criticism is on target, it does not undermine the general account, but instead places limits more severe than we would have liked on our ability to be confident in our moral opinions. This scenario has been drawn on the critical assumption that reliance on exemplars will be unhelpful. But that criticism is probably mistaken. To show it so, we would have to show how identifying people as exemplars does not already presuppose the sort of knowledge that they were invoked to supply. This would undermine the charge that reliance on exemplars is superfluous. We can distinguish between justifiably believing that an agent is reliable, and knowing the processes whose enactment makes him a reliable judge. We are often in a position of justifiedly believing that the edicts of some expert are correct, even if we ourselves could not have replicated the process he has undertaken to obtain the result he did. If we want to learn how to do differential equations, there is nothing suspect about first identifying someone as a good mathematician, and then patiently watching how he does it, in order to acquire knowledge of the right kinds of procedures for solving the equations. We can make the relevant identification without first knowing all that he knows, i. e. without knowing all the right answers to the relevant problems and knowing the appropriate processes for solving the mathematical problems at hand. So reference to the mathematical exemplar can be genuinely helpful, and such reference needn't presuppose our knowledge of all the things that he was invoked to explain. The important point here doesn't depend on seeing moral enquiry as precisely analogous to mathematical investigation. I could have made the


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same point using the example of an auto mechanic, or a Latin teacher. We can identify such individuals as exemplars of the relevant sort, and so can learn a great deal from them, especially about which processes generate true and false beliefs in their fields. Surely we can identify such individuals without supposing that, in order to do this, we must already know all, or most, of what they have to teach us. If that is so, then we may well be able to identify moral exemplars as a first step in identifying the content of reliable moral processes, and do so without circularity. True, we do need to have warranted confidence that our chosen exemplars are usually on target. So we cannot proceed as if we could identify exemplars without any notion of where truth in ethics lies. But reliance on exemplars does not commit us to such a view. Our confidence that Pol Pot exemplified some very grave vices, and Martin Luther King, Jr, some exemplary virtues, does not seem unfounded. It rests on certain ethical judgements that have survived extended critical scrutiny. Because there is more disagreement in ethics than there is in mathematics or grammatical investigations, we may not possess the same degree of warranted confidence in the selection of ethical exemplars. But a lesser degree of such confidence may still be good enough to get the enterprise off the ground. A final concern about the use of exemplars: we identify such individuals because their behaviour comports with our settled judgements about right and wrong, good and evil. But if we can detect whether other such judgements cohere with these initial ones, why not simply adopt coherentism and do away with the reliabilism altogether? The answer is, first, that the problem of identifying the relevant inferential relations raises the real worry of whether we can identify a coherence relation between principles or salient details and verdictive beliefs. Second, it isn't clear that identification of exemplars proceeds by way of noting the conformity of their behaviour to a checklist of our settled moral judgements. We may see certain agents as exemplars without having formulated to ourselves the various ethical judgements whose actions they typify. In interacting with an exemplar, we may be conscious of her status as an exemplar without also having a battery of ethical judgements by which we determine her status. Rather, her status as an exemplar may impress itself upon us, and so lead us to judgements of good, right, and admirability. Third, we look to exemplars in part as an antidote to simply checking for coherence among our beliefs (to the extent that we can undertake such a check, given the difficulty of identifying the relevant inferential relations). One thing exemplars can do is to surprise us, and to lead us toward belief

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revision in some cases where their conduct jars with our settled beliefs about propriety and morality. Thus a check for coherence doesn't seem a tidy substitute for reliance on exemplars. And finally, even if we recognize, as I believe we should, that coherence with our settled moral judgements indicates some prima facie justification, this needn't force us to coherentism. Reliabilists and foundationalists may readily allow the heuristic value of coherence; coherence may stand in for other relations which themselves confer or transmit warrant. When retailing the difficulties associated with accurately capturing the content of reliable processes, we need to bear in mind that the reliabilist project may be a worthy one even if we are now in the dark about the content of reliable processes. We can distinguish the plausibility of a general model of epistemic justification from any of its instances. For example, traditional foundationalism may be the correct model of justification even if philosophers have misidentified the best specific accounts of direct and mediate justification. Similarly, reliabilism may be a good model of epistemic justification even if we encounter difficulties in identifying reliable processes. So long as there are reliable processes for appreciating moral truth, justified verdictive moral belief is a live possibility, even if we remain to some degree ignorant of the relevant processes.

VI Conclusion Moral realism has always been the subject of epistemological doubts. Some of these are instances of a general moral scepticism, but others have realism as their specific target. Whatever the merits of these various criticisms, it is important to note that realists, if pushed, can always insist on a division between truth and knowability. If realism cannot muster a credible epistemic story to complement its metaphysics, this is undoubtedly regrettable, but not by itself sufficient to refute realism. That moral truths are not of our own making means that we must leave at least conceptual space for the possibility that some of them are unknowable. But that surely is a position of last resort, and it would be best were we able to gain access to at least some of these truths. I believe that we can. I believe, first, that the global moral sceptical arguments are less compelling than some have found them to be, and that, specifically, they can be found compelling only if we already assign initial credibility to those of our existing beliefs by reference to which their validity and soundness are to be assessed. These


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initial credibilities can be used to turn the sceptical arguments and reveal an opening to those who endorse the possibility of moral knowledge. Even if such a strategy proves, in the end, to be unsuccessful, it seems that moral realism is no worse off than any other positive metaethical theory in this regard. Global moral scepticism is perfectly ecumenical, an equal opportunity spoiler. If it is true that we can have no first-order moral knowledge, then, in a sense, this is a strike against all or none; such scepticism would not show realism inferior to its competitors, since they would all find themselves epistemically disabled. On the assumption that we can have moral knowledge, we will want to know how to get it. The hybrid theory I develop takes a classical, unpopular position (self-evidence) and attaches to it a novel epistemic approach (moral reliabilism). Such a theory, like any hybrid theory, must confront the danger of instability. It is also liable to inherit the vulnerabilities of both of its components, thus yielding a doubly problematic whole. I have tried to assuage these concerns, and can only hope at this point to have done enough to reveal the potential for real theoretical benefits that would come from a fully developed version of this hybrid approach. Perhaps I should say just a bit more about the reliabilist element in the package, since appeals to self-evidence are familiar and have already been subject to centuries of philosophical scrutiny. As I see it, a fully worked-out version of moral reliabilism requires that we do at least the following. A nuanced account of the processes that are genuinely reliable should be given. A specific conception of reliability must be defended. Epistemic internalism must be taken on more directly. A theory of defeaters must be developed and applied to whatever moral epistemology is ultimately accepted. And the role of exemplars in the reliabilist theory must be elaborated or, if found unhelpful after elaboration, discarded. (The reliabilist criterion of justified verdictive belief may be true even if reliance on exemplars is not a good way to satisfy it.) Daunting though this list may be, its elements seem, in principle, capable of fulfilment. And consider the payoff. Vindicating such a theory could explain how our verdictive moral beliefs can be non-inferentially justified, without implausibly insisting that they are self-evident. Relatedly, reliabilism could show how such beliefs are revisable; their revision, when necessary, must be undertaken by engaging more strenuously in the sorts of processes that usually lead to correct moral judgement. Moral reliabilism cannot guarantee unanimity among justified moral observers, but then neither can its theoretical competitors. This theory cannot ensure that agents are able to cite the justifying grounds of their verdictive beliefs, but this is an implausible

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constraint on an account of agent justification. The best form of reliabilism will probably allow for defeaters that are other beliefs, and so allow that in this sense a belief's on-balance justification may depend on one's other beliefs. But reliabilism can plausibly be distinguished from coherentism even if the best version of reliabilism is a moderate one that allows for epistemic defeaters. I have motivated an investigation into the prospects of reliabilist moral epistemology by assuming from the outset that what I called ‘the standard model’ is false. So I have assumed that ethical theory is not hierarchical, is not composed of (a set of) absolute moral principle(s), and that as a result the justification of verdictive moral beliefs cannot proceed deductively. Though moral reliabilism may be the best moral epistemology even if the standard model is true, it has seemed to me a useful strategy to frame the exposition in the context of these assumptions. Of course, I have not argued for these assumptions, and if I am wrong about them, then we may find moral epistemology a much easier field of endeavour. Our ethical duties may all derive from a single overarching principle that can be known a priori because of its self-evidence. Or the principle might be justified in virtue of the support it lends and receives from the whole complement of our other moral and non-moral beliefs. Subsidiary principles may be deduced from that one, and verdictive beliefs from them (in conjunction with specific case descriptions). That would certainly present a tidier picture, but one that, despite its economy, seems false to lived moral experience. Our experience isn't beyond correction, to be sure, and so, as I've said, the standard model may in the end be correct. But for those who find ethics a messier, more complicated affair, moral reliabilism offers a promising avenue of exploration.

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Index absolutism, ethical 268–70 accessibility, epistemic 208, 226–7, 231–3 ; and truth 227 action explanation, see internalism, about reasons adequate understanding 249–50, 258, 262, 271, 279–80 Aiken, Henry 121 akrasia 143 Alston, William 253, 282, 287–90 altruism 123, 152, 166 ; see also egoism amoralism 5, 37, 121, 145–50, 152–4, 160, 167, 169 antirationalism: ; Analogical Argument for 199–203, 209, 211–12 ; Argument against Intrinsic Reasons for 203–9, 211 ; Rational Egoist Argument for 194–9, 211 ; Reasons Internalist Argument for 193–4, 211 antirealism, global 45–6, 51, 88, 209 a posteriori knowledge 61, 63 a priori knowledge 61, 65–6, 96, 297 arbitrariness 201 ; of evaluative attitudes 29–30, 78 argument from continuity and uniformity, see Humean theory of motivation Arkonovich, Steve 128 Armstrong, D. M. 274 atheism 45 attentiveness to reasons, see reasons, attentiveness to Audi, Robert 99, 101, 248, 257–8, 260, 272, 279 autonomy 44, 63, 160, 196–7, 199 autonomy of ethics 72 Ayer, A. J. 20, 37, 154 beliefs: ; as sufficient to motivate, see motivation, anti- Humean theory of ; background 101, 257 ; basic 270, 278 ; evaluative 5, 122–3, 128–31, 133–4, 136–7, 147 ; grounding 268, 274 ; higher-order 252–3, 256, 295 ; nature of 22, 34 ; verdictive 8, 267–8, 270–5, 278–80, 289, 298, 300–2 Bealer, George 110, 252 Blum, Lawrence 296 Blackburn, Simon 20, 21, 23, 24, 29, 31, 32, 33, 37, 38, 70, 83–9, 99, 121, 127, 154, 216, 272 blame 123, 177–8, 181, 183, 187–9, 286–7 Blanshard, Brand 14 blindness, moral 214 Bonjour, Lawrence 252–3, 288, 290, 292 Boyd, Richard 60, 68–70, 110 Bradley, F. H. 14 Brandt, Richard 223–4, 296

314

INDEX

Brink, David 14, 60, 68–70, 76, 99–100, 111, 144, 161, 191, desire: ; as intrinsically normative 36, 122, 138, 140, 154, 211 ; 216, 219, 252 higher-order 139 ; nature of 34 ; role in motivation 4, browbeating, see internalism, about reasons 36, 122, 128, 138 ; satisfaction 5, 136, 168, 211 ; see also Cargile, James 17 motivation; pro-attitudes Carson, Thomas 14, 44, 46, 51 casuistic model of moral principles 269 categorical moral demands 40–1 causal: ; Argument 83–4, 104–5, 108 ; closure 81, 106–7 ; overdetermination 100, 106–7, 109, 282 ; power, independent 110–15 ; test of ontological credibility 59, 83, 99, 107 Chang, Ruth 218 circularity: ; as a criticism of expressivism 33–5, 38 Clapp, Lenny 94 Clark, Philip 125 cognitivism 13, 17, 19, 23–5, 28–38, 39–41, 84, 121, 151, 153, 155–6, 275 Cohen, Stewart 281 coherence theories 96, 98, 220, 253–4, 256, 260, 270, 273–4, 276–7, 289, 295, 300 Cohon, Rachel 180 Conee, Earl 281 conservatism: ; epistemic 296 ; moral 41 constitution 18, 75, 77, 79, 86, 88, 109, 170, 217–18 constructivism 13, 17, 23, 42–52, 223, 225–6, 231 ; objective versions of 39–41 ; subjective versions of 39 contextualism 29, 31 continuity, see Humean theory of motivation, argument from continuity and uniformity contractarianism 14, 18, 39, 156, 239 contractualism 39 conventions 14, 67, 78, 105, 154, 202 Copp, David 35, 39, 51, 68, 150 Cornell realism 60, 63 cosmological role 102 counterfactual test of causation 100 Crane, Tim 80 Cuneo, Terence 103, 278 Dancy, Jonathan 122, 134, 138–9, 147, 151, 269–70 Darwall, Stephen 51, 58, 143 Davidson, Donald 33, 110, 112, 133 defeaters: ; epistemic 263–5, 277, 289, 293, 301–2 ; motivational 130, 148;see also motivation, prima facie vs. pro tanto definitions of moral terms by nonmoral terms, see naturalistic analysis deflationary theory of truth 31, 37 demands, moral 6, 40–1, 49–50, 145, 149, 151, 166, 174, 189, 191, 212 demonstrative justification, see justification, demonstrative Dennett, Daniel 33 Descartes, René 239

INDEX

Desire–Dependence Argument 169–71, 173–4, 182, 185, 189–90 determinism 29, 106, 172, 182 direction of fit 34–5, 134–7 disagreement: ; within ethics, contrasted to that within science 6–7, 48, 215, 219 ; moral 6, 8, 23, 68, 209, 216–19, 221–2, 227, 276 actual 215, 218–21 entailing cognitive error 216–17 hypothesized 215, 217, 221–7 implying moral scepticism, see self-evidence, objections to and parity with philosophical disagreement 220, 225 ; non-moral 218 disjunctive properties 70–1, 93–4, 98 dissensus, see disagreement diversity of moral predicates 25, 34, 37 divine command theory 16, 45, 75 doxastic: ; ascent, see self-evidence, objections to ; commitments 242 ; conflict 276 Dreier, James 24, 34 Dreyfus, Hubert 252 Dreyfus, Stuart 252 Dummett, Michael 14 Dupré, John 110 Dworkin, Ronald 99 economy, theoretical, see simplicity egoism: ; ethical 194–5, 197–9, 203 ; psychological 123–4, 152 ; rational 145, 194–6, 199, 203, 210–11 eliminativism 66, 110, 114 empiricism 113 end state 135–6 epiphenomena 100, 108–9 epistemic ascent, see self-evidence, objections to epistemic justification, see justification, epistemic error, moral 26–7, 31, 37, 40, 217, 262 error theory 19–20, 30, 66, 128, 156 etiquette 3, 100, 111, 200–2 Euthyphro dilemma 42–3, 45, 47, 51 evidence-transcendence 16 evil demon 285–7 exemplars 224, 296–9, 301 experts, moral 252 explanation: ; and causal efficacy 83, 102 ; of source of moral truth 4, 5, 46 expressivism, see non-cognitivism externalism: ; epistemic 277 ; motivational judgement 145–6, 151; see also internalism; moral judgement ; about reasons 176–9, 185, 213; see also internalism, about reasons Falk, W. D. 179 Feinberg, Joel 200 Feldman, Richard 281 Firth, Roderick 14, 39, 44, 46, 51, 222–4, 227 Fodor, Jerry 110

315

Fogelin, Robert 288 Foley, Richard 278 Foole 213 Foot, Philippa 199–201, 216, 268 foundationalism 220, 260, 268, 270–1, 273–4, 276–8, 295, 300 Frankena, William 161 Frazier, Robert 112 Frege's abyss 23–4 Fuller, Lon 200 futility 149

316

INDEX

Garner, Richard 66 Geach, Peter 23–4 generality problem 280–3 Gettier, Edmund 295 Gibbard, Allan 20, 21, 24, 37, 38, 58, 99, 155 God 7, 16, 45, 78, 97, 105, 114, 220, 257 Goldman, Alvin 273–5, 278, 288, 290–2 Greco, John 278, 290–2 Griffin, James 99 Gyges 213 Hale, Bob 24 Hare, R. M. 20, 21, 121, 153, 155, 216, 296 Hart, H. L. A. 200 Harman, Gilbert 16, 25, 39, 71, 95, 99–103, 113–14, 121, 170 Harsanyi, John 95 Heller, Mark 281 Herman, Barbara 159 historical contingency, see self-evidence, objections to Hooker, Brad 269 Horgan, Terence 68 Humberstone, Lloyd 35 Hume, David 4 Humean theory of motivation 4, 5, 22, 119–27, 136–40, 147–9, 157, 160–1, 170–1, 174–5, 189–90, 193–4 ; argument from continuity and uniformity 131–4 ; argument from direction of fit 134–7 ; argument from identical beliefs 129–31 ; argument from internalism about explanation 128–9 ; argument from moral nihilism 127–8 ; see also motivation, anti-Humean theory of Hurley, Susan 216 hybrid theories 134, 159–60, 278–80, 300 ideal inquirers/judges/observers 16, 18, 39, 42–3, 45–7, 156, 221, 224–8 ; convergence among 216, 221, 223, 225, 227–8 ; disagreement among, see disagreement, moral, hypothesized ; fallibility of 16–17, 216 identity of indiscernibles, see Leibniz's law identity, property 57, 91–3, 112 identity theories 66, 74, 106, 109 immoralism 166–9, 188 inference to the best explanation 114 imagination 175, 213 impartiality 40 imperative, categorical 173, 267 indeterminacy, moral 218; see also vagueness inferential justification, see justification, inferential and noninferential innatism 159–60 instrumental reasoning 41–2, 175, 207, 218, 221, 223, 261 instrumentalism 195, 210–11 intentional action 139–40 internalism: ; about reasons 50, 145, 165, 170–1, 173, 176–82, 186–91, 193–5, 212, 227, 255–6 Action Explanation

Argument for 178–80 Avoidability Argument for 181–3 Browbeating Argument for 176–8

INDEX

Unfair Choices Argument for 183–5 varieties of 171–6 ; epistemic 301 ; existence 143 motivational 144 reasons, see moral rationalism ; judgement 142–4 hybrid 144 motivational 4, 120–1, 142–6, 151–2 reasons 143–4 ; prudential 145, 166 ; taxonomy of 142–144 ; see also externalism intrinsic plausibility, see self-evidence intrinsic value 148 intuition 7, 22, 147, 236, 243 irrationality 166–19, 183–4, 200, 221 ; as subject of normative indictment 168 irreducibility 111 Is–Ought Argument 239 Jackson, Frank 70, 91, 93–5 James, William 14 Johnson, Robert 169 Jonsen, Albert 269 judgement, moral 4, 5, 14, 17, 18, 22, 24–6, 33–6, 45, 62, 112, 119, 127, 142–3, 145–6, 148, 151–9, 161, 169, 215, 233, 281, 296, 299 ; as explanandum of causal tests 102 ; indifference to, see amoralism ; logic of, see logic of moral judgement ; and motivation, see internalism, judgement, motivational jurisdiction 201 justification: ; agent 236, 251–2, 283 ; demonstrative 96, 251–2, 283 three conceptions of 251–2; see also self-evidence, objections to ; epistemic 8, 35, 96, 113, 156, 235, 241–3, 251, 256, 267, 271, 287–93, 295, 300 ; inferential 248, 251, 263, 265–6 ; non-inferential 248, 263, 265, 268, 270–1 ; permissive vs. positive 254 ; propositional 236 Kantianism 14, 18, 39, 48, 239, 294 Keefe, Rosanna 240 Kim, Jaegwon 93–4, 106, 108–11 knowability, see epistemic accessibility knowledge: ; of moral principles 7, 17, 22, 26, 63, 248–66 ; scepticism about moral, see scepticism about moral knowledge ; of verdictive moral beliefs 267–72; see also exemplars; reliabilism Korsgaard, Christine 14, 39, 46, 49, 51, 101, 172–3, 179 Kripke, Saul 67–8 Kvanvig, Jonathan 290 lack of entailment thesis 85, 87–8 lassitude 25, 29 law 200–2 laws: ; moral 1, 2, 45–6, 97, 112 ceteris paribus 112 normativity of 112, 205 legal positivism 200 Lehrer, Keith 288 Leibniz's law 88 Lewis, David 70 limiting condition 159 Little, Margaret 269 Loeb, Don 41, 225 logic of moral judgement 24–5, 37

Lycan, William 102

317

318

INDEX

McDowell, John 122, 153–4, 175, 269, 279 McGinn, Colin 99, 233 McKeever, Sean 269 Mackie, J. L. 20, 66, 82, 120–1, 127, 191, 216 McNaughton, David 269 Malebranche, Nicolas 78 Mele, Alfred 150 Mellor, Hugh 80 Mill, John Stuart 161, 248 Miller, Richard 216 Millgram, Elijah 175, 186 Milo, Ronald 14, 15, 51 mind-independence 15 Miss Manners 201 monism, ethica l92 Moore, G. E. 56–8, 63, 65, 67, 85, 148 moral demands, see demands, moral moral facts 3–4, 8, 15, 17–20, 22, 32, 34–6, 42, 51, 55, 62, 65, 71, 74, 76–7, 79–80, 82–3, 85, 100, 103–7, 111, 114, 165, 203–6, 209–11 moral judgement, see judgement, moral moral phenomenology 32, 104, 156 moral principles, see casuistic model of moral principles; laws, moral; pro tanto model of moral principles; ultimate ethical principles moral rationalism 8, 48, 50, 145, 170, 182, 190–5, 201–2, 205–6, 209–13, 226–7 ; extrinsic vs. intrinsic versions of 203–5, 209–10 ; presumptive argument for 3, 192–4 ; see also antirationalism moral realism 2–5, 13–18, 31, 39, 42, 47–8, 51, 55, 68, 71, 82, 88, 103, 108, 111–12, 114, 119–20, 128, 141, 161, 165, 173–4, 190–2, 203, 209, 216–17, 219–20, 224, 228, 231, 233, 241, 300 moral scepticism, see scepticism, about moral knowledge Moser, Paul 288–9 motivation: ; anti-Humean theory of 121–5, 130–40, 147–9 Kantian interpretation of 122 Rossian interpretation of 122 ; conscientious 157–8, 160 ; de dicto and de re 157 ; ex nihilo 175–6 ; Humean theory of, see Humean theory of motivation ; intrinsic vs. necessary 147–8 ; moral, 4, 25, 49, 120 see also amoralism; internalism, judgement, motivational ; prima facie vs. pro tanto1 56–7 ; teleological conception of 135–6 motive of duty 157–9, 192 multiple realizability 69, 73, 90 Nagel, Thomas 122, 138, 144, 147, 179 natural law theory 200 naturalism 19, 32, 58–9, 63, 67, 71, 75, 94 naturalism, ethical 19, 52, 55, 58–9, 61–7, 70, 80, 85, 90, 105–6, 115 ; analytic 63 ; non-reductive 63–6, 69, 71, 74, 86, 97, 168 ; reductive 63, 67–9, 71–2 naturalistic analysis 57 naturalistic fallacy 57

necessary and sufficient conditions, reductive 89 necessary coextension: ; as a test of property identity 57, 71, 74, 90–3, 112 nihilism 14, 66 ; moral 14, 18, 31, 127, 156, 216,

INDEX

231; see also Humean theory of motivation, argument from moral nihilism No Adequate Evidence Argument 236 non-cognitivism 18–22, 43, 51, 55, 58, 62, 66, 79–80, 89, 101, 104, 111, 121, 155 ; criticisms of 13, 23–38, 119 Non-cognitivist Argument 13, 18, 121–2, 127, 141–3, 145, 147–9, 161 noncontradiction, law of 23, 226 nonnaturalism, ethical 4, 47, 52, 55–66, 72, 74–7, 79–80, 84–6, 89–90, 92–4, 96, 98, 106–7, 115, 268 non-reductionist: ; ethical naturalism, see naturalism, ethical and non- reductive ; philosophies of mind 73, 78, 88, 106 normative questions 15, 27–30, 37, 219 normativity 4, 15, 21, 27–8, 33–5, 37, 40, 50–1, 96, 108, 111, 196, 204–5, 210–1, 234, 258 Nowell-Smith, P. H. 121 Nozick, Robert 273 objectivity 2, 8, 19, 33, 44, 46, 99 Occam's razor 76, 84, 101 open-question argument 95 ought implies can 149, 182 Papineau, David 90, 106 Parfit, Derek 175, 219 parity between moral and epistemic considerations 278, 292 parsimony 64 particularism, 269–70 Pettit, Philip 70, 95 phenomenology of moral experience 156 physicalism 81, 220 ; non-reductive 106–7 Pierce, Charles 14, 17 Pietroski, Paul 112 Plantinga, Alvin 278, 281, 290 Plato 42–3 Platts, Mark de Bretton 122 pluralism, epistemic 224 pluralism, ethica l7, 92 Pollock, John 281 practical reason 6, 40, 50, 165–6, 179, 191 ; Hobbesian view of 167–9; see also egoism, rational ; Humean view of, 167–8; see also instrumentalism preferential treatment 198–99 Prichard, H. A. 271 principles, moral, see casuistic model of moral principles; laws, moral; pro tanto model of moral principles; ultimate ethical principles pro tanto model of moral principles 249, 269–71, 274 pro-attitudes, 29, 34–5, 137–9 ; see also desire property dualism, see property pluralism property pluralism 64, 74, 98 punishment 187–8, 248 Putnam, Hilary 14, 67, 68, 110 qualia 110–11

319

Queerness Argument 82 Quine, W. V. O. 14 Quinn, Warren 99 Railton, Peter 58, 161, 191, 223, 225 rational possibility 172, 174, 179, 182 rationalism, moral, see moral rationalism rationality: ; antirealist assumption about 169–71 ; definition of

320

INDEX

173; procedural vs. substantive 168, 173, 221–7 Rawls, John 14, 39, 46, 51, 222–3, 227 realism 48 ; moral, see moral realism ; philosophical 17, 82, 208, 228 ; psychological 282 reasons: ; application conditions of 207 ; attentiveness to 193 ; entailed by moral obligations, see moral rationalism ; ex post validation of 186 ; externalism, see externalism, about reasons ; internalism, see internalism, about reasons ; intrinsic 206–8 ; and motivation, see internalism, about reasons ; nonperspectival, see reasons, intrinsic reductionism 19, 65–8, 70, 79, 92 reflective equilibrium 60, 95–6, 223, 265 Regress Argument 234, 238–9, 245–6, 250, 254, 274 relativism 6, 16, 18, 29–33, 37, 50, 68, 95, 101, 150, 156, 226, 239 Relevant Alternatives Argument 237–9, 245, 250, 274 reliability: ; conceptions of 273 ; of belief formation 267, 273, 275, 282, 295 means of identifying 293–5 as necessary for positive epistemic status 285–7 as sufficient for positive epistemic status 287–8 reliabilism: ; causalist component of 275 ; objections to 275–93 ; process 273, 291 ; reliable predictor versions of 273 Rorty, Richard 14 Rosati, Connie 41, 225 Ross, W. D. 65, 102, 122, 147–8, 264, 279 sadists 171, 257–8, 261 Sayre-McCord, Geoffrey 253–6 Scanlon, Thomas 14, 39, 46, 51, 122, 124, 133–4, 138, 147, 167–8, 176 scepticism: ; about epistemic justification 156, 235 ; about moral knowledge (moral scepticism) 1, 7, 231–45, 259–65, 300–1 ; about moral truth, see nihilism, moral Scheffler, Samuel 202, 279 Schmitt, Frederick 274 Schueler, George 24, 138–9 science(s): ; ethics as a 3, 4, 52, 60–1, 64–5 ; special 64, 80, 220 scientific confirmation: ; as contrasted with ethical confirmation 215 ; as an ontological test 3–4, 19, 22, 99 scope of moral evaluation 202 Searle, John 90 self-creation stories 159–60 self-evidence 8, 42, 96, 158, 234, 238, 242, 246–67, 271, 279, 295, 300 ; and adequate understanding 249–50, 262 ; objections to: Agent-Relativity Argument 256–58 Argument from Demonstrative Justification 96, 250–2

INDEX

Argument from Disagreement I: 260–1 Argument from Disagreement II: 261–5, 277 Doxastic Ascent Argument 252–3, 256, 295 Epistemic Ascent Argument 253–6 Historical Contingency Argument 258–60 ; relativizing 257 self-interest 40, 50, 192, 194, 196–7, 199–200, 204, 210, 219 ; desire-satisfaction view of 194–5, 210 semantics, naturalistic 68 Shafer-Landau, Russ 112, 144, 158, 169, 216, 218, 225, 268 Shaver, Robert 199 Sidgwick, Henry 267 simplicity 21, 29, 47, 50, 76, 84, 97–8, 132, 177–8, 278 Sinnott-Armstrong, Walter 24, 94, 238 Smith, Michae l34–5, 42, 70, 124, 134–7, 139–40, 144, 157–8, 225 Smith, Peter 240 Sobel, David 35, 41, 225 Sober, Elliott 61 socialization stories 159–60 Sorenson, Roy 17 sorites paradox 17, 240 Sosa, Ernest 290 Stampe, Dennis 133 stance-independence 15, 33, 44, 49, 99, 101, 119, 161, 169, 174, 192, 212, 216, 224, 226, 234, 282 standard model of ethical theory 268, 302 Stevenson, C. L. 20, 22, 121, 154, 161, 216 Stoljar, Danie l24 strict liability 286 Sturgeon, Nicholas 60, 99–100, 111 subjective motivational set 175–8, 181, 183–4, 212 subjectivism 18, 19, 20, 41, 45, 156, 216 supernatural facts and properties 64–5, 75, 114 supervenience 73, 77–8, 82–90, 92–6, 98, 108, 115, 271 Supervenience Argument: ; First 84–9 ; Second 89–98 Swain, Marshall 274 sympathy 223 testimony 123–4, 152, 259–60, 281 ‘thick' concepts 272 Thomson, Judith Jarvis 25, 100 Thrasymachus 213 Timmons, Mark 20, 21, 29, 31, 32, 37, 38, 68, 154, 254 Toulmin, Stephen 269 truth-evaluability of moral judgements 18, 19, 20–1, 220 ultimate ethical principles 7, 268 uniformity, see Humean theory of motivation unknowability 17 Unwin, Nicholas 24 utilitarianism 90, 95, 248–9 vagueness 17 ; see also sorites paradox valuing 126 Van Roojen, Mark 24 veil of ignorance 40, 42

321

Velleman, David 41, 133, 225 verdictive beliefs, see beliefs, verdictive Vicious Circle Argument 237, 239, 242, 245, 249–50, 274, 294 virtue, intellectual 290–1 virtue theory 290 virtuous agents 158–159

322

INDEX

warrant 8, 37, 101, 110, 113, 156, 167, 177, 184, 216, 224, 235, 243, 256, 272–4, 287, 295, 297 ; see also justification, epistemic Wedgwood, Ralph 24, 90 Wellman, Carl 216 Wiggins, David 29, 122 Williams, Bernard 122, 128, 172–9, 181, 216 Williamson, Timothy 17, 240 Wright, Crispin 32, 100–3 Wong, David, 16, 39 Zagzebski, Linda 284, 290 Zangwill, Nick 89

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