Aristotle vs. Rawls and the Meaning of Fairness, Part I
January 31, 2013
Tapping a Blast Furnace, Graham Sunderland, 1941-42
by Massimo Pigliucci
A really fascinating and, as we shall see in a moment, somewhat nasty dispute has exploded in the philosophical public sphere, and I think it’s going to be interesting to see why – both sides have a very good point. In general, as is clear from much of my writing in recent years, I think philosophy is most relevant when it engages in public debate concerning things people actually care about, and this is certainly one such instance.
To set the scene, we are going to talk about apparently irreconcilable views of morality: Aristotle-style virtue ethics and John Rawls-style contractarianism. On one side of the debate is Stephen Asma (Columbia College, Chicago), author of Against Fairness; on the other side we have Marilyn Piety (Drexel University), author of Ways of Knowing: Kierkegaard’s Pluralist Epistemology (which has nothing to do with the topic at hand, however).
I will proceed in three phases. First, I will summarize Asma’s provocative thesis, as it was laid out in a recent Stone article in the New York Times. Then I will consider Piety’s response, published in Counterpunch (she was actually responding to a slightly different article by Asma, in the Chronicle of Higher Education, but the NYT version is about the same). Finally, in the next post, I’ll explain why I think both authors are (largely) correct, except for the fact that their respective approaches to morality have different and complementary domains.
Asma begins by noticing that a concept close to “universal love” (i.e., caring for everyone on the planet) is an ideal that is common to a number of religious traditions, from Christianity to Buddhism, as well as of several ethical systems, including utilitarianism. He claims that the idea is also at the center of modern political liberalism, but that it is based on a fundamental misunderstanding. Empathy, which is necessary to genuinely care about someone, is an emotion, and it exists in a definitely finite supply to most human beings. Since even Kant admitted that “ought” implies “can,” if it turns out that it is simply not possible for members of Homo sapiens to constantly expand their circle of empathic concern, then it makes no sense to build ethical systems based on just such a requirement.
Asma then takes on two of the major exponents of the “expanding circle of ethical concern” way of thinking: Jeremy Rifkin and Peter Singer. I will limit my comments to what Asma has to say about Singer, the reader can check out the bit about Rifkin in the original article.
Famously, Singer has been arguing that the human ability to reflect on things, and on ethics in particular, has made it possible for us to transcend our instinctive tribalism, continuously expanding our circle of concern throughout history: immediate family and limited in-group > city or local community > nation-state > all humans > other species on the planet (most people living in the 21st century are somewhere between the last three stages, depending on how reflective they are about the welfare of their fellow humans and of other biological creatures).
Singer bases this idea on logic: as I reflect on my concerns and those of other people, I begin to see (i.e., rationally appreciate) that although my own and my family’s needs seem special, in reality they have no unique claims against similar concerns typical of any other human being. The same then applies to thinking about my nation-state vs others (take that, American exceptionalism!), and eventually even to consideration of our species vs others (especially those characterized by brains complex enough to experience pain and suffering).
The problem, Asma contends, is not just that this sort of caring for everyone equally is humanly impossible (though that would be enough, see Kant above), it’s that it’s not actually moral. For Asma it is not true that everyone is entitled to my concern equally. As he puts it: “In the utilitarian calculus, needs always trump enjoyments. If I am to be utterly impartial to all human beings, then I should reduce my own family’s life to a subsistence level, just above the poverty line, and distribute the surplus wealth to needy strangers.” While, to his credit (for consistency) that’s not too far from what Singer does in practice, a moment’s reflection will show that Asma has a point.
For instance, I have been in the process of saving money for my daughter’s college for close to 16 years now . If I were a utilitarian (which I definitely ain’t!), shouldn’t I instead identify the most needy people in the world and give much or all of that money to them? Surely the total happiness/pain balance would be improved that way. But I won’t do that, and I don’t think my choice is immoral. On the contrary, it is based on the morally binding special relation I have with my daughter. I brought her into this world, and she relies on me to help her as much as possible to get her life in good shape, which surely includes as decent an education as I can afford for her.
Asma applies the same argument to our local community, i.e. to the people we actually interact with throughout our lives: “tribe members donate organs to you, bring soup when you’re sick, watch your kids in an emergency, open professional doors for you, rearrange their schedules and lives for you, protect you, and fight for you — and you return all this hard work. Our tribes of kith and kin are ‘affective communities’ and this unique emotional connection with our favorites entails great generosity and selfless loyalty.”
Shifting to a more overtly virtue ethical framework, Asma adds that concentrating our care in small circles is also morally good because it fosters the development of good character traits, including generosity, loyalty, and gratitude. He is with Cicero, who said “society and human fellowship will be best served if we confer the most kindness on those with whom we are most closely associated.” Presumably, the idea is that if we all carry out our local ethical duty, the circle will indeed expand, but not because every single individual will come to care for every other single individual; rather, there are going to be a large number of partially overlapping local circles.
Asma thinks there is not just philosophical reason, but good empirical evidence to back up his (really, Aristotle’s) approach. Surveys are quite clear, for instance, that a major component of eudaimonia (a good, fulfilling life) is the extent and solidity of one’s social networks of friends (no, not those on Facebook). As Epicurus put it: “Of all the things which wisdom provides to make us entirely happy, much the greatest is the possession of friendship.”
The most unfortunate thing about Asma’s article — as we shall see in a moment — is that he uses a vocabulary that too easily lends itself to misunderstanding and outright dismissal. For instance, he keeps characterizing his ideas in terms of “favoritism,” and even “nepotism.” It’s clear from the context what he means by these terms, but someone unsympathetic with his views will have an immediate entry point to tear the whole thing to shreds. Which is exactly what Piety does in her response, and with some disturbing gusto.
She begins in a way that not even the most egregious of the New Atheists would be able to match: “It’s rare when a person does something that is at once so idiotic and so heinous that it brings discredit upon his entire profession. I fear philosopher Stephen T. Asma has done this. … I’ve bragged for years to friends and relatives that the philosophy curriculum at the graduate level is so rigorous that it weeds out the kinds of morons who all too often are able to make it through other Ph.D. programs. … I stand corrected! Stephen T. Asma’s article … is the worst piece of incoherent and morally reprehensible tripe I think I’ve ever read in my life.” Ouch. Clearly, Piety feels strongly about fairness and Asma’s critique of it. But does she have any good counter-arguments? Sort of.
She takes Asma to task for misusing terms like “favoritism,” bringing up the definition of that word according to the Oxford, which includes the word “undue” (as in “undue preference”). However, that’s hardly convincing. Philosophers (and other academics) re-define words all the time, and it is a pillar of philosophical debate (which good Ph.D. programs do teach…) that one ought (morally) to interpret one’s opponent’s arguments as charitably as possible, or one risks fighting straw men. (There is also a difference between a strong attack on someone’s writing — a feature of professional philosophy I do enjoy — and straightforward insult, which is a no-no in any academic circle, and should be so in everyday life too.)
Piety persists in her more than derisive tone before getting to her counter-arguments: “The piece, as Kierkegaard would say, is something both to laugh at and to weep over in that it’s such an inept piece of argumentation that it’s hilarious while at the same time being profoundly morally offensive. … [Asma positions] himself as a sort of imbecilic David over and against the Goliath of the philosopher John Rawls whose theory of justice as fairness is much admired by philosophers.” Well, I don’t know what Kierkegaard would have said, but calling someone an imbecile hardly advances rational discourse.
Midway through her rant, Piety finally begins to provide some substantive reason to her readers to discard Asma’s imbecility. Her first move is to accuse her opponent of committing the naturalistic fallacy, because he points out that a tendency to care for our immediate circle (“favoritism”) is natural for human beings. Indeed, she chastises Asma for making such an elementary mistake, since as a professional philosopher he ought to know better.
Except that, again, this is a highly uncharitable reading of Asma. Yes, he does point out that “biased” care is natural, but he also goes on to provide what he thinks (justly or not remains to be seen) is a moral argument in defense of his position (the one about members of the in-group being bound to each other by a special — because personal — loyalty, communal dependence, and so on, as well as the one based on the idea that caring for people in your community develops virtues).
Piety has a better point when she moves on to reject Asma’s example of the feminist movement as an example of “tribalism” (which he uses in a positive connotation, not as an insult). Piety is correct that the feminists Asma names, Rosa Parks and Susan B. Anthony, do not fall into that category, since they were asking for equal treatment of women within the context of a profoundly unequal society, not for special consideration. Even so, Piety’s dismissal of Asma’s example here is a bit too quick, as there are in fact significant currents within the many faceted feminist movement that do claim special insights and special consideration for women. Moreover, a major feminist approach to ethics, the so-called ethics of care idea, explicitly criticizes the concept of universal moral standards embedded in the dominant deontological and utilitarian approaches to ethics.
Piety also takes Asma to task for relating an anecdote about his son and, again, getting the big picture fundamentally, even viciously, wrong (this is in Asma’s Chronicle article, not in the NYT piece). The story has to do with Asma’s initial pride at his son coming home with a ribbon for having won a footrace at school. Pride that quickly dissipated once Asma realized that everyone had won the race (i.e., everyone was given ribbons, regardless of actual placement). Asma takes this to be one example among many of a pernicious overemphasis on egalitarianism, specifically of the idea of equality of outcomes as distinct to the much more defensible equality of opportunity. Piety responds that children are in no danger of growing up under the illusion that they will always be winners, so that there is no harm, and indeed there may even be some good, shielding them just a little longer.
There is a subtle but interesting difference in the take of the two writers on this anecdote. Asma makes the (moral) point that it isn’t good for one’s character to cheapen an “award” by giving it to everyone. Aristotle would have said that that is contra to the very purpose or nature of an award. Piety, instead, makes the (empirical) claim that awarding everyone either doesn’t matter or may even be good for the children. She thereby invokes an evidence-based standard (without actually providing the evidence) and completely skirts the virtue ethical point (which is not inherently empirical). I’m with Asma on this one. Indeed, I find it an interesting contradiction of American society that it is permeated with a strong ethos of competition (unlike, by and large, European societies, or Japan’s), and yet Americans of late have become so obsessed with protecting their children  that they engage in the sort of ridiculous “everyone’s a winner” behavior that draws sarcastic smiles from the rest of the world.
Piety, finally, concludes her assault with dire thoughts about the apocalypse. Mentioning Chomsky, who said that — despite major setbacks — we have been making moral progress, as evidenced for instance by the fact that nobody mounts public defenses of slavery anymore, she counters: “if we’ve regressed to the point that it is now socially acceptable to publish moral defenses of favoritism, and attacks on fairness, can defenses of slavery be far behind?”
I don’t think Asma’s position is entirely sound (despite my strong sympathies for virtue ethics), and I do feel the pull of Rawls’ positions on justice as fairness. But no, I don’t think that questioning Rawls amounts to the beginning of a slippery slope that will end in the re-institution of slavery. Indeed, I suspect that there is a reasonable way to reconcile the two very different positions we have sketched so far in an intellectually, and morally, satisfying way.
Aristotle vs Rawls and the Meaning of Fairness, Part II
Green Tree Form: Interior of Woods, Graham Sunderland, 1940
Last time we took a look at a somewhat nasty debate between Stephen Asma and Marilyn Piety about the moral defensibility of a general (i.e., universal) doctrine of fairness. Asma, adopting what is essentially a virtue ethical standpoint, claims that it is not just impossible in practice, but undesirable in (moral) theory to have equal concern for all human beings. Piety, defending Rawls’ contractarian concept of justice as fairness, thinks that Asma’s positions are not only philosophically indefensible, but downright repugnant. So, as someone who has written favorably about both virtue ethics and Rawls, what am I supposed to take from this?
Let’s begin by reviewing what I find so attractive about these two seemingly incompatible approaches to ethics, and then consider in what sense, I believe, they can actually be thought of as complementary (though probably both Rawls and Aristotle would object to that. What the hell, they’re both dead anyway).
Virtue ethics first. As I explained before, the idea is to figure out how to live a eudaimonic life, i.e. the sort of life one can look back at near the end and feel justly satisfied by. For Aristotle, this was a moral life, not one characterized by the pursuit of money, fame and material possessions (though all of these are actually good, in moderation). An essential component of the eudaimonic life is the cultivation of the virtues, which include things like courage, temperance, truthfulness, friendliness, and so forth.
For Aristotle, as for Asma, this was a combination of appreciating human nature (how things are) and trying one’s best with what that nature entails (how things ought to be). The ancient Greeks, therefore, would have been somewhat befuddled by Piety’s dismissal of Asma on the grounds that he confuses is and ought. The point isn’t to simplistically say “X comes natural to humans, therefore X is good” (that truly would be an egregious example of the naturalistic fallacy). Rather, the project is to start with what comes naturally and to build on it: to curtail the nasty stuff and to nurture the good things, engaging in a sort of gardening of the human character.
Virtue ethics is intrinsically non-egalitarian, which is the thing of course that highly disturbed Piety in her response to Asma. Quite aside from the Greeks’ idea that it is morally necessary to pursue excellence (but why not, really?), there is also an emphasis on taking care of one’s family and friends above others. That is because the strength of those relationships are crucial to the eudaimonic life, and because characteristics like loyalty (which is asymmetric by definition, since one cannot be loyal to everyone) are moral virtues.
How does all of this square with Rawls-style egalitarianism? At first glance, not well at all. Rawls derived his theory of justice from his famous thought experiment of the veil of ignorance. Ask yourself what sort of society you would build if you could start from scratch. However, before you begin, also imagine that you don’t know anything about what sort of person you will end up being in that society. You don’t know whether you’ll be a man or a woman, rich or poor, smart or dumb, attractive or ugly, and so on. What you do know is basic information about general human desires (safety, shelter, food) and some relevant scientific and economic facts (there are no such things as unlimited space and resources, can’t just print money to solve problems).
Rawls’ bet is that under those conditions the rational thing to do would be to build a society that is as fair as possible, with the lowest possible degree of inequality among its members. This, incidentally, is not a new argument in favor of communism, as Rawls does admit the likely necessity of some degree of inequality. He, however, thinks that a departure from equality ought (morally) to be justified. For instance, it is acceptable for, say, doctors to make more money than people working in most other professions, for the reasons that a) doctors are highly valuable to society and b) it takes a large initial investment of time and resources to actually become a doctor.
You may or may not think Rawls’ society is actually just, but it turns out that the Rawlsian scenario, just like the eudaimonic one, has some significant factual evidence to back it up (oh no! more blurring of the line between is and ought!!). As I detailed in Answers for Aristotle, for instance, international surveys of both self-reported life satisfaction and objective (i.e., third person) measures of happiness agree that the more a country approaches the Rawlsian ideal, the better off its citizens both feel and actually are. You guessed it, the top of the list is occupied by European countries, particularly Scandinavian ones.
So people, it turns out, are happier when they behave according to virtue ethics (e.g., strong family and friendship bonds) and when they live in countries that have adopted a Rawls-style social contract (less inequality, more access to common resources). It also turns out that one can make philosophical arguments in favor of either virtue ethics or contractarianism. But how can we reconcile the two? Surely Aristotle’s Athens was nothing like Sweden! Interestingly, though, a major characteristic of life in many European countries is that people do practice and value family ties and friendships, despite living in an otherwise Rawlsian environment.
And that observation is a major clue to how I think the two perspectives can be reconciled. You see, an even more sharp distinction between Ancient Greek ethics and the modern version is that Aristotle and co. were actually trying to answer a different question from what preoccupies modern day utilitarians, deontologists and the like. We are concerned with what is the right thing to do. That, to us moderns, is what morality is all about. But this would have been puzzling to the ancient Greeks. They thought that the point of moral philosophy was to answer the question of what sort of life one ought to live. The two are related, given certain assumptions, but they are certainly not the same.
We can then begin to see, perhaps, why Aristotle and Rawls may not be so antithetic after all. If they are actually answering two different questions, maybe there is a philosophically sound way of combining the two. I think there is, and it has to do with the difference between a personal ethics that applies locally and a societal ethics that applies globally.
In the Republic, Plato famously made the argument that if one wishes to know what a good State looks like one has to ask what a good person is like. But this was a mistake (which, in fact, resulted in some fascinating but bizarre ideas about philosopher kings and all that stuff). There is no necessary connection between the answer to what makes for a eudaimonic life and the answer to what makes for a just society. The point of view is necessarily different: in the first case we are talking about an individual human being who cannot (in practice), nor probably should (according to virtue ethics) treat everyone the same way. In the second case, however, we are taking the standpoint of the laws regulating a community at large. Of course those laws ought to be fair and treat everyone equally.
So yes, I think I am entitled to eat my virtue ethical cake and to want a Rawls-like state as well. To go back to an example I sketched in the previous post, there is no contradiction for me to want society (in the sense of the laws that regulate our affairs) to treat my daughter fairly, the way all other human beings ought to be treated, and at the same time giving her my preference, concentating my resources (time, affection, money) on her instead of spreading them across society. Heck, I feel so good about this Aristotle-Rawls compromise that I’m going to give it a special name: virtue contractarianism. And now let the debate broaden…
Pieces originally published at Rationally Speaking |
 Because I live in the United States, where college is a fracking incredibly expensive luxury. My father, in Italy, paid a few hundred dollars a year for my pretty darn good education. But that’s another story.
 Except when it comes to mass shootings, of course, but that’s also another story.