Volume 11.1

 THESIS_xii

A Philosophical Review

Volume 11 • Number 1

March, 2004

                                     

Inside this Issue:                                                                                        

Matthew Silliman

ETHICS AND ANIMALS

An Exchange                                                                                                                                                       

                                                                               

Sherilyn Saporito

THE RESEARCH QUESTION                                                                                        

Shane Babcock

THE LADDER OF DILEMMA IMMEDIACY                                      

Jody Browning

ART AS BALANCE                                                                                                                                    

Shane Babcock

INHERENT VALUE

Species versus Characteristics                                                                                                 

Monica Henry and Sarah Russell

PHILOSOPHY OR BEAUTY?                                                                                              

[Editor’s note:  The following is an exchange between MCLA honors students (from the fall, 2003 seminar on Ethics and Animals) and Mathew Silliman, who presented to the class ideas from his book-in-progress Value Added.  Many thanks to Professor Silliman for his time and thoughtfulness.]

Ethics and Animals

An Exchange

Matthew  Silliman

The Ethics and Animals seminar has asked how we can know about the mental lives of animals, such that we may properly 

specify their moral standing. This is a fair question.  Some thinkers have treated the question itself as dispositive of the 

proposition that animals have moral standing at all, though I suspect such a move commits a fallacy of appeal to ignorance, 

and we should not take it seriously.  It might be useful to treat the question as a version of the so-called problem of other 

minds, for the ways we come to understand the mental lives of other people (not completely, perhaps, but sufficiently for 

many purposes) are closely related to the ways we can grasp (with reasonable probability) the existence, nature, and degrees

of non-human animal consciousness.

Of course, we cannot interrogate animals about their feelings and thoughts in all the same ways we do each other, so we 

must make reasonable inferences based on observation and analogy.  Nonhuman animals obviously have animal bodies like 

our own, and their responses to given stimuli are often relevantly similar to ours.  Allowing for physiological and individual 

variation (of course, some organisms are much more similar to us than others), an inference to the best explanation 

unclouded by presumptive human exceptionalism strongly suggests animal minds:  at least some animals probably feel such 

morally relevant sentiments as pleasure and pain, need and comfort, fear and sympathy, and engage in rudimentary

inferences about their lives.  Anyone who has lived for any length of time with a cat or dog and is inclined to deny this is 

likely to be in the grip of a reductive theory such as behaviorism, a failed research program that once thought[!] it could 

explain away all thought as mere operant conditioning.  Behaviorism failed in part because it denied the reality and 

importance of consciousness at every level, implausibly ignoring minds altogether.

Granting the cogency of our everyday inferences about other minds, however, it is still reasonable to ask about the details.   

Since some forms of life (e.g. plants, insects) almost certainly lack mental lives in the relevant sense (absent the neurological 

and social complexity probably requisite for conscious, individuated awareness and concern), moral philosophy will need 

convincing criteria for identifying a boundary zone between sentient and non-sentient, as well as one between sentient and 

sapient.  Reductively humanist moral theory draws only one line, and that one far too harshly and dogmatically (amounting 

to a culpable ‘speciesism’ on the analogy with racism), given our good grounds for ascribing minds of various sorts to many 

other animals.  It thus behooves us to sketch our lines tentatively, and seek to err on the side of inclusion where there is 

reasonable doubt, pending better neurological and behavioral data.  For obvious reasons some of the lines are likely to fall 

between species, but this result is not ‘speciesist’ in any invidious sense, for it only – and fallibilistically – seeks an accurate 

descriptive basis for distinguishing morally meaningful types.

The class raises another question about so-called lifeboat cases.  Specifically, the question was:  “Do extrinsic and/or 

relational values play any role in deciding moral dilemmas outside of lifeboat scenarios?”  The question implies a distinction 

between moral dilemmas in general, and lifeboat scenarios as a particularly harrowing type of moral dilemma.  One way we 

might parse this distinction is in terms of directness or immediacy; lifeboat dilemmas would be those in which the decision 

involves imminent harm to some morally considerable beings, where one or more must die (or otherwise suffer egregious 

harm) to preserve the others from a similar fate.   It seems evident, as the question implies, that in such cases it is appropriate 

to bring in considerations as having moral weight that in more normal times we would rightly class as extrinsic or merely 

prudential.  It is in such cases, paradigmatically, that the distinctions between types of moral status for which I have argued 

give us substantive guidance toward the least awful outcome:  if desperate circumstances force us to choose between a 

moral agent and a moral patient (say an adult human and a dog), we may, indeed probably we must, prefer the human.

But granting that, what about less direct or immediate conflicts, what we might call everyday dilemmas?  How should I weigh,

for example, the duty to protect myself and my family from possible hanta virus infection, while respecting my resident mouse

population’s need for shelter and food?  Both sets of needs in this instance seem quite basic, morally cogent, and genuinely 

at odds with one another, though the conflict is considerably less dramatic than a lifeboat, and it may even be possible to 

ignore it for awhile.  I am inclined to argue that what I have called secondary moral considerations are indeed applicable here;

my duty to my family’s health probably should trump the mice’s needs, though in keeping with the low-moral-intensity nature

of the conflict I should certainly try quite hard to find a non-fatal method to exclude them, and relocate them safely if possible.

If I have properly understood the question, then, my reply is in the affirmative.  Indeed, I might argue that the point is 

analytic – perhaps what makes something a genuine moral dilemma in the first place is that first principles leave it unsettled, 

demanding that we resort to considerations that are not so pure and simple.

           Matthew Silliman teaches philosophy at MCLA 

~~~

The Research Question

Sherilyn Saporito

I assume moral theory recognizes the moral duties we owe to some creatures and forgives us for the unavoidable deaths of others.  Dr. Silliman rejects as speciesist the line drawn by traditional moral theory.  Perhaps, as Silliman writes, this line ought to be lower on the scale of morally relevant capacities.  Re-drawing the line would make it morally wrong, in the case of many animals, for us to eat, hunt, or intentionally cause them pain for any reason; and it would give us some moral clearance for all those creatures who fall below the line. 

But what about using animals in research?  This question challenges most moral theories, and, so far, Silliman has not addressed this topic.  He might consider it a lifeboat situation -- as either them or us -- but I suspect that he feels differently about this topic.  As Silliman writes: moral dilemmas demand, “that we resort to considerations that are not so pure and simple.”  Following Silliman’s theory, it seems a new line would be required for vivisection, creating some middle ground between abolitionists and vivisectors. This time, the line is not drawn through animal species, but through the urgency and necessity for research.  Of course, the urgency of a situation is relative, so we would have to define carefully the proper use of animals in research.  This new line would not stop the research that might save human lives, it would only hinder some aspects of it; and maybe, by forcing the scientists not to rely solely on animals, they could come up with alternative research methods that would eliminate the need for animal use altogether.

Sherilyn Saporito is a student at MCLA 

~~~

The Ladder of Dilemma Immediacy

Shane Babcock

Dr. Silliman uses the example of mice threatening to spread the hanta virus infection within a human home. He suggests that such a dilemma does not call for immediate action because the conflict is considerably less dramatic then a lifeboat one.  He also says that one’s duties to one’s family override one’s duty to the immediate interests of the mice.  Key, though, is his point that due to the “low-moral-intensity nature” of the conflict, if we were to remove the mice we ought to relocate them safely.  By doing so one is still respecting them for their baseline value.  So part of what they are owed is an attempt to respect their liberty to live their mice-lives freely.

Here we are weighing the safety of our family against the immediate needs of mice. Respecting the liberty to live freely and safely is a prima facie duty (PFD) that we owe to all beings regardless of our relations to certain beings.  A truly relational conflict only occurs when one has to choose between one’s PFD’s to respect the basic interests of any two beings, such as the case where two beings are trapped in a burning house and only one can be saved.  Since in Silliman’s example one is only weighing one’s PFD’s to one’s family against the mice’s specific, immediate interest in using the resources of the threatened human home -- and not against any PFD’s one owes them – this is not a true lifeboat situation.

Now, unlike Silliman’s example, the case of AE is even more complicated.  In this case we relocate innocent animals to testing facilities -- thereby restricting their lives -- in order to use them as objects of science.  We are directly weighing PFD’s to humans and animals, yet the dilemma is not nearly as direct as a lifeboat one.  Testing on animals is not equivalent to saving the lives of patients, because first the vaccines will have to be used on human beings without absolute certainty that the vaccines will have overcome important disanalogies between species and actually work.  Illogically, in this the least direct dilemma of the three, instead of at least affording the animals the baseline respect they receive in Silliman’s example -- which is more direct and immediate -- we treat it like the most direct dilemma of the three: a lifeboat scenario.

Shane Babcock is a student at MCLA

~~~

Art As Balance

Jody Browning

I define art as a balance of importance between the artist’s intention, the production, and the reflections of the audience.  Art is the satisfaction of an experience, and the artist must intentionally produce an experience to satisfy the audience.  The intention of the artist’s production is equally important to provide a pleasurable experience.  For the viewer to have a satisfactory experience  “an art object must be produced by an artist in anticipation of the satisfaction her audience will receive” (T. Wartenburg, Philosophy of Art, p. 137).  The artist must produce an experience where the audience can draw meaning from past experiences and bring them to the artwork to produce immediate satisfaction.  This also brings an aesthetic quality to life.

The value of art is shown through the physical qualities and through the way in which a person can  experience it:  “art must be artistic and aesthetic” (Wartenburg, p. 137).  Both artistic and aesthetic values must have an objective and a subjective side.  A piece of art must be defined as an object and defined for the self or for the viewer.  This makes the artwork and the opinions of the audience equally important; without the artwork, the opinions of the audience would be arbitrary.  This also speaks to the artist’s intention, because without the intention to create something artistic, there would not be any aesthetic qualities to the artwork.

In every experience there is the organization dynamic, “inception, development, and fulfillment” (Wartenburg, p. 148).  All three aspects of an experience need to be accounted for to truly satisfy a person’s experience.  When experiencing an emotion for example, first a person must realize the emotion, then the emotion is developed into a feeling, and then the person either projects the emotion to others or he or she hides the emotion, whichever fulfills the person at that moment.  This is also true with art, first the artist must have an intention, then the artist develops this intention into an idea to create the piece, then the finished piece projects an experience as the audience reflects on it.

If everything is an experience, how then do we distinguish experiences from art?  Simple experiences, everyday occurrences, distinguish themselves from art when the creator has a desire to create an object which invokes the satisfaction of the audience and the creator.  The stress of immediate enjoyment that is placed on the artwork as well as the artist is what distinguishes art from all other experiences.

Jody Browning  is a student at MCLA 

~~~

Inherent Value

Species versus Characteristics

Shane Babcock

In Carl Cohen’s argument against Regan’s argument for animal rights (Cohen and Regan, The Animals Rights Debate, p.248-249), his primary claim is that Regan equivocates on the meaning of the term “inherent value.” He says that all animals only have inherent value in the sense that they are each unique and irreplaceable beings (Sense 2) (p. 54). He also claims that a being can only have rights if it has the type of inherent value entailed by the possession of personhood in the Kantian sense (Sense 1). Cohen’s counterargument fails.

First, Regan does not actually equivocate on his use of the term “inherent value” because he never uses it in Sense 1. Regan discusses Kant but then notes the problem of attributing inherent value (Sense 1) to children. He says, “My response to this challenge involves abandoning the Kantian idea of personhood as a criterion of inherent value and replacing it…” (p. 200). For Regan, the only thing that establishes inherent value is being a subject-of-a-life. Regan never says that Kantian personhood gives humans any more inherent value. Therefore, Cohen fails in his counter-argument against Regan. Cohen’s defense of his position against Regan then stands and falls with his prior arguments (in the first half of the book) for the view that the concept of rights only applies to humans.

In that case, Cohen appears to be wrong. Regan brought up the problem of children. Cohen has to argue on a speciesist line by saying that because children are part of the human moral community, they have inherent value in Sense 1. Even this has its problems. Are children deserving of our equal moral respect because Kantian personhood is inherently valuable and they will potentially acquire it, or because they themselves are inherently valuable insofar that they are biologically of the same species as other humans? Cohen says that inherent value (Sense 1) is bound up in moral agency (p. 249); therefore, Kantian personhood is what is inherently valuable. Kantian personhood, though, is only an acquired characteristic of human beings. Either children have rights because they have an inherent value that all humans –regardless of their development- possess insofar that they are human, or rights are only attained when they acquire a characteristic that entails rights because it itself is inherently valuable: that being Kantian personhood. Being human does not equal being a person. Biologically, being a human only gives one inherent value in Sense 2. Cohen equivocates on the inherent value of being human in general and the inherent value he assigns to the developed characteristic of Kantian personhood humans may attain. If inherent value in Sense 1 only lies in the characteristic of personhood, then it does not lie in the nature of human beings as a species in general. Therefore, his speciesist argument fails as well.

Shane Babcock is  a student at MCLA 

~~~

Philosophy or Beauty?

Monica Henry and Sarah Russell

Socrates was famous both for his physical unattractiveness and for his beautiful mind, features which seem quite unrelated.  We will argue, to the contrary, that his outward appearance may actually have contributed to his intellectual development and his desire to make a difference in the way others thought.

By all surviving evidence, Athenian culture valued and admired beauty very highly.  Participants in Athenian society judged each person by how closely they approximated ideal standards of physical beauty, and perhaps secondarily what was in their head and heart.  Society often judged people on their wealth, appearance, and their talents in the arts, war, and athletics before weighing subtler features of merit and character (1).  Socrates, whose best features were his mind and his courage, was at something of a disadvantage because those were things not immediately apparent to an onlooker. 

Had Socrates been as attractive as Alkibiades or Pericles, he would presumably have been less approachable by ordinary people, and at the same time gotten more attention (though not necessarily of a healthy sort). This would likely have accustomed him to being showered with the attentions of important people.  It is hard to imagine Socratic intellectual or personal humility developing in anyone spoiled in this way.  Such people are seldom accepting of ‘unimportant’ people approaching them with questions, and inspire strong feelings of admiration that can quickly turn to jealousy.  Like anyone with too much unearned attention, a beautiful Socrates would have gotten used to people always wanting things from him, and would have rightly distrusted of the motives of strangers who approached him.  His resources for conversation and insight would thus have been significantly limited.  He would certainly have been less effective in his important work of questioning the world around him and bringing others to the realization that the only true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing for certain.

Plato himself illustrates this problem in the dialogue Meno, in which the title character is a prime example of someone endowed with good looks and affected by the excessive attention he receives from them, a fact upon which Socrates teasingly comments (2).  Meno’s selfish and spoiled attitude, and his preference for colorful rather than accurate explanations, is a product of exactly the kind of attention and privilege that might well have afflicted Socrates had he been beautiful.  Absent a motive to discover an internal self-esteem, it seems unlikely  Socrates would  have fared better than Meno.  The Socrates Plato portrays has tremendous respect for people who realize that they are uninformed, whereas we can easily imagine a beautiful Socrates blissfully unaware of his ignorance.  With no motive to question, or to try to know himself, the beautiful Socrates might have denied the world the discipline of philosophy. 

But perhaps this is unfair.  Anyone who knows about Socrates would say that appearance should matter very little, especially to someone with as strong a character as his.  It was in Socrates’ nature to want to be around other people and to learn from them. He was always out and about seeking the intellectual company of others, and his inner voice (his daimon) informed his decisions and drove him to pursue the truth at all costs. These things seem not to be creations of his feelings about himself in relation to others based on appearance; he was born who he was.   Such an argument gives away too much to predestination, however.  Of course a person is born with a distinctive, basic personality, but those initial traits are subject to the molding and altering of the social environment in which the individual grows.  Socrates’ daimon warned him when he was about to make a mistake, but it never told him directly what to do.  His mind sharpened only because he was forced to find something in himself that was not overshadowed by the beauty his culture desired, and in the process he learned a new way to think about himself and to treat others.  Thanks in part to a lack of outer beauty, he turned out to be a very beautiful person.

Monica Henry and Sarah Russell are students at MCLA