Volume 3 • Number 3                    April 1996
 

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

• ON SARTREAN ETHICS •
A Reply to Linsenbard

• WELFARE RIGHTS AND WRONGS •

• THE UNCOMMON SENSE OF METAPHYSICS •
A Reply to Vreeland
 

Diana Fox

Jason Macauley's inquiry into the relationship between anthropological claims for cultural relativity and absolute truth (Thesis XII, Volume 3.2) reflects a thoughtful but misguided understanding of the nature of the anthropological project.  His truism that a statement cannot be both true and false overlooks the hermeneutic context within which anthropologists ask questions about social reality.

Macauley posits a statement which he takes to be both of utmost ethnological concern and representative of the anthropological perspective, and proceeds to dispute its coherence: culture X believes infanticide is wrong; culture Y believes it is not wrong; therefore, morality is relative to each culture.  Since X and Y cannot both hold true beliefs, anthropological reasoning is inherently flawed.  If anthropologists generally made such claims, Macauley would be correct in insisting that the reasoning of anthropologists is grossly impaired.  But the statement is itself defective, posed in a manner contrary to anthropological inquiry.  Understanding why requires 1) an appreciation of the methodological underpinnings of cultural relativism as it is employed in anthropological field research; and 2) an understanding of how this methodological relativism is a prerequisite for generating cross-cultural moral judgments.  Moreover, these two preconditions shape both the anthropological approach to truth claims and ethnological insights into the relationship between belief and practice.

Cultural relativity, in the sense that anthropologists employ the concept, refers a) to a method of suspending one's own judgment in evaluating cultural beliefs and practices prior to investigating the insider's point of view, and b) to a recognition that cultural knowledge reflects cultural constraints and possibilities.  Objectivity itself shifts in relation to existing knowledge and methods for constructing knowledge.  How are these features of cultural relativism crucial for exploring the limitations of Macauley's argument?

The first question anthropologists would bring to his example is whether the practices of infanticide in culture X and in culture Y are, in fact, comparable.  Are they the same event?  Does the act of killing, divorced from its evolution, meaning, and process permit us to evaluate the act in the same way, and therefore to claim that cultures X and Y present opposing views of the same thing?  An example may be useful in illustrating the complexity of establishing morally equivalent situations, and the problematicity involved in divorcing beliefs from the very real actions and social-structural arrangements they engender.

Westerners regard the practice of female circumcision with abhorrence and disgust.  In short, it is morally reprehensible, simply wrong.  The Masai, a pastoral society in southern Kenya, on the other hand, believe just the opposite.  Cultural relativity suggests that an evaluation of the Masai belief cannot occur without attending to the weave of social effects produced by the belief: in context, it permits a woman to marry and therefore to subsist, to obtain care in her old age, and to acquire the most significant form of social standing available to her.  The moral quandary is indeed complex because a woman's very survival is tied to an operation that may threaten her survival.  This fact calls into question the usefulness (and even morality) of establishing cross-cultural moral inconsistencies out of the context of the concrete action produced by beliefs, whether true or false.

Anthropologists are more interested in understanding the manifestations of perceived truths than in establishing absolute moral claims or identifying internal inconsistencies. Cultural anthropology is, predominantly, an interpretive endeavor.  As such, the aims of cultural anthropologists are not to evaluate objectively the truth status of cultural beliefs, but instead to understand the socially and historically situated conditions of their production, their very real impact on practices, and the influence, in turn, of these practices on beliefs.  It is to the complexity of this dialectical relationship, between beliefs (however false they may be) and their measurable impacts on the world, that anthropologists direct their attention to examine how culture is socially constituted (a product of present and past activity), and socially constitutive.

When anthropologists claim that "different cultures have adopted different moral systems and beliefs," as Macauley rightly states, it does not follow that "therefore, morality must be relative to the culture that adopts that morality."  There is no hidden premise that "the beliefs of a culture are true beliefs."  This is a wildly misplaced assumption.  Like philosophy, anthropology asks the important question: given that there do exist multiple conceptions of right and wrong, is it indeed possible to arrive at a universal moral code, and by what process?  Perhaps it is, but then, of course, comes the challenge, not without moral concern, of implementation in context.

Diana Fox teaches anthropology at North Adams State College

Eric Moore

According to Gail Evelyn Linsenbard (Thesis XII, 3.2), a Sartrean moral perspective entails (at least) four propositions.
 
(1) When doing ethics, we ought to be mindful of our social and economic positions, for this can influence our reflections.
(2) Only human action and commitment can make our world better or worse.
(3) New values can be created, but only against a background of values that have already been made.
(4) We ought to align ourselves with the oppressed, and work to eliminate class division and oppression.

I will consider each of these propositions on its own, and then I will consider a problem that applies to all of them together.  The problem that applies to all of the propositions is the most important of all.  It is this:  I can see no argument that connects these conclusions to the ideas that are discussed in the main body of the article.  I do not know what it is about a specifically Sartrean perspective that justifies (1-4).  I will return to this point, but first I want to make some minor points about the individual propositions.

Of these propositions, (3) is the most controversial and, so far as I can tell, functions more like a premise for (4) than as a conclusion on its own.  But (3) certainly needs justification.  What is radical about it is the notion that we create value, rather than discover it.  This raises the spectre of relativity.  If I create value opposed to yours, there seems to be no way to adjudicate between them.  Relativists cannot censure the values of those who disagree with them, even if they find those views despicable.  They must admit that different people can create different, but equal, values.  Thus, (3) needs to be defended, not just asserted.

On the other hand, it seems to me that (1) is not very controversial, and certainly is not unique to Sartre's morality.  Both consequentialist and deontic ethics require this kind of sensitivity.  For instance, utilitarian considerations will take into account social position if it has any effect on utility (and in many cases it does).  In fact, even egoists would take into account their social positions if this affected what they wanted to achieve.

Similarly, (4) does not seem unique to a Sartrean position; and if the kind of alignment required is akin to being sympathetic with the oppressed, then (4) doesn't seem too controversial.  Of course, how we go about eliminating class division and oppression is a matter of great debate, but I think few moral theorists would contest that we ought to eliminate them.

Lastly, (2) seems to me overstated.  I would guess that many are aware that Sartre was an atheist.  His atheism seems to be an essential part of his philosophy.  Nevertheless, given human history, this is a rather radical view to take, and needs justification.  More importantly, even if one agrees with Sartre's atheism, I think that (2) is too strong.  If there are other moral beings besides humans, such as primates, or whales, or intelligent life from some other planet, then (2) is strictly false.  Or consider what would happen if our world was struck by a large meteorite.  The world would be much worse.  In fact, life as we know it could come to an end.  Yet this event is beyond human control (at least for now).  Thus, I think that even those who reject supernatural forces may not believe that human action is all that can make the world better or worse.

Finally, as I stated above, I find no argument in the body of the article that establishes the conclusions in the last paragraph.  Of course, my inability to see the argument doesn't show that there is no such argument to be found.  According to Linsenbard, the Sartrean perspective reveals "...that our own privileged existence is based on the oppression and poverty of others."  If this is true, then it does seem reasonable to believe that we owe those whom we oppress some restitution.  However, it is not clear that it is true that our existence is based upon the oppression of others.  This point seems somewhat an overstatement; it needs further clarification and justification.

Furthermore, it is even less clear what it is about the Sartrean perspective that reveals this (alleged) fact.  How does the Sartrean perspective show us that we are oppressors?  This question is not answered by such Sartrean points as "our bond with the oppressed and poor exists not in any general moral principle, but in the very structure of repressive or oppressive acts," and "the Other...steals my freedom from me."  In fact, these statements themselves are provocative and in need of further explanation and justification.  Thus, I did not find that Linsenbard's article helped me to understand why the Sartrean perspective entails that we should help the oppressed.

Eric Moore teaches philosophy at North Adams State College

Diane Stefane

In James Sterba's argument that the United States Constitution should be amended to include the right to welfare, he claims that a right to welfare is not best proven by the right to life theory.  This, he insists, does not go far enough.  It gives the right only to minimum subsistence, which is not sufficient.  People have a right to more than subsistence level; there is the quality of life to be considered.  Operating under the right to life theory, Sterba dislikes the fact that entitlements over life sustaining minimums are not a right, but are granted only as the donors are willing to grant them because they see them as reasonable.  This is charity.  Sterba seeks a constitutional amendment to ensure entitlement rights to the poor.

The first problem with Sterba's theory is that he does not provide criteria for determining what the rights of the poor are to be.  He offers only a vague statement that the poor's rights extend beyond life sustenance to that which would prevent them from being physically or mentally debilitated."  In the absence of more specific guidelines, he is not able to establish the point at which moral rights and charitable entitlements can be distinguished from one another.  However, a second and more basic problem exists.

Sterba argues from the "Ability Interpretation of Liberty" to show why libertarians must grant the right of the poor (P) to take excess wealth (luxury) from the rich (R); in other words, a right to welfare.  He claims that liberty is constrained if one fails to do something to allow another person to do what would be within his or her ability to do given more favorable circumstances.  If R fails to acknowledge P's right to his excess resources, then P is deprived of a right to compete with R on an equal basis.  P therefore cannot achieve what he or she would have achieved given equal resources.  R has constrained P's liberty to achieve his or her full potential.  The libertarian acknowledges others' right to liberty, and the obligation not to constrain other people's liberty.  Therefore, Sterba concludes, a reasonable libertarian must recognize as a libertarian principle the right of P to appropriate resources from R --  the right to welfare.

In applying this argument, Sterba begs a critical question.  He assumes that P's failure to achieve is directly caused by a lack of wealth.  Syllogistically, he states that

(1) R constrains P's liberty if he or she fails to act in a manner that allows P to achieve his or her full potential.
(2) P would achieve his or her full potential if he or she had a share of R's wealth.
(3) Thus, P's right to welfare is a libertarian principle.

Sterba has not convinced me that P has a constitutional right to welfare on the above basis.  He assumes a causal relationship which he has not established.

Sterba's argument is sound only if there is a direct causal relationship between wealth and the ability to achieve one's full potential.    He discounts such factors as motivation and ability.  He does not consider the possibility of a poor individual who achieves success, or for a wealthy one who loses his or her inherited wealth due to lack of ability.  P may or may not achieve on a higher level if he or she receives a portion of R's wealth.  P might use the additional wealth to rise to greater achievement.  P might gamble the money away.  P might already be performing at his or her full potential, and the additional wealth, however he or she chooses to use it, might have no effect whatever on his or her level of achievement.  Until Sterba can validate his unstated premise claiming the direct causal relationship between wealth and achieving one's full potential, he cannot claim the right to welfare as a libertarian principle.

Diane Stefane is a student at North Adams State College

Matt Silliman

I want to begin by acknowledging that I share Peter Vreeland’s preference for some version of fallibilistic realism as the most plausible account of the world we inhabit, and our capacity to know something about that world.  However, I cannot agree with his argument for it by means of “common sense,”1 or the simple consistency of our daily actions with our choice of theories.

In the first place, a glance at intellectual history shows that any number of ideas can be (and still are) widely held as indisputably obvious, without making much sense from a larger perspective.  A paradigmatic case of this is the alleged flatness of the earth, a view once widely held as commonsensical and now widely ridiculed as obviously false.  What is suggestive about this example is that, despite almost universal assent for the theory of the sphericity of the world (though not one person in a thousand can actually give an account of how we know the world is spherical), for most practical purposes we behave as though it were flat.  Surface navigation, most daily activities, even casual astronomy are simpler on the pretheoretical assumption that the surface of the earth is essentially a disk.

Thus, in the second place, there is no reason to expect that the best explanation for any phenomenon will necessarily fit our prereflective intuitions about it (though such intuitions can sometimes serve to underscore an otherwise convincing argument for a theory).   This is the case not only with chemistry and physics (the latter famous for the counterintuitivity of its conclusions), but also with literature and metaphysics.   Some theologians have argued, for example, that faith in God is a matter of choosing to behave as though there were such a being (presumably because of the salutary effect this behavioral choice has on yourself and the world around you), absent any evidence or other good reason to believe in one.2

Vreeland’s argument for realism from common sense seems to reflect, therefore, an anti-theoretical bias which, if widely adopted, would prevent us from holding all sorts of plausible views consonant with current common sense.  I find this inconsistency unacceptable.
    
1) Developing the Medieval Scholastic notion of sensus communis, Locke most famously employed the notion of common sense in philosophical argument, in ways which even today deeply influence our thinking.  As I argue elsewhere:  “The sorts of incoherencies that Locke gets himself into tend to be our own characteristic incoherencies, and what seems common sense to Locke is an acute reflection of what is common to us even, or especially, if it is not exactly sense,” (unpublished manuscript entitled “Domestic Abuse:  Locke’s Liberal (mis)Treatment of Family”).

2) Pascal's wager seems to turn on this sort of motivation for faith (though we might question whether a belief chosen so calculatingly constitutes genuine faith), as do Kant’s “transcendental ideas of reason:” God, Freedom, and Immortality.  Plato employs a similar argument when his character Socrates says of the tales of knowledge and reward in the afterlife:  “No sensible man would insist that these things are as I have described them, but I think it is fitting for a man to risk the belief -- for the risk is a noble one -- that this, or something like this, is true about our souls and their dwelling places . . . and a man should repeat this to himself as if it were an incantation, which is why I have been prolonging my tale,” (Phaedo, 114D)

Matt Silliman teaches philosophy at North Adams State College