A blog from the Centre for Research Ethics & Bioethics (CRB)

Tag: philosophy (Page 18 of 20)

Save humanity from the human

We must enhance the human; or else humanity will come to an end. Thus dramatically one could summarize the bioethicist Julian Savulescu’s TEDx-talk in Barcelona in July.

The talk lasts fifteen minutes; you can watch and listen to it yourself: The Need for Moral Enhancement.

The idea is that we urgently need medicine and technology to enhance our moral skills; otherwise we will not be able to handle the global threats that we ourselves created: climate change, nuclear weapons, terrorism, starvation, escalating violence.

Globalization, in short, created a world with dimensions to which our hunter-gatherer morality isn’t adapted. Only a moral pill can save us now.

Listening to the talk, I’m struck by how archaic it sounds, despite references to modern medicine and technology. Thus fire-and-brimstone preachers always made people feel the proximity of the end of the world. Thus fire-and-brimstone preachers always made people feel that the cause of the despicable state of the world is their own moral failure. Thus preachers always forced a new awakening:

  • “You’re on the wrong path; I can show you the way!”

The difference is the use of what could be termed the modern rhetoric of empirical justification, in which all claims must be supported by evidence… that is to say, by PowerPoint slides. The rhetoric seems to direct the use of evidence, however, for evidence pointing in undesired directions isn’t cited.

Neither does Savulescu explore alternative ways of thinking. Has globalization really produced a world so big that we cannot handle it? Couldn’t one just as well claim that globalization created a world so miserably tiny and manageable that one might grieve for the death of all that is great?

In the talk, the most archaic form of moralizing is provided with a modernized rhetorical façade, in order to persuade us that only conversion to a biomedically perfected morality can save us now. It is slightly paradoxical.

No wonder the audience looks dejected.

Pär Segerdahl

The temptation of rhetoric - the ethics blog

Characterizing reality

Reality is on the move, and so are we. Therefore, we are continuously challenged to characterize it, and us, anew. What is it like today? What have we become?

I believe that Nietzsche made such a renewed characterization of reality, or of what we became in the nineteenth century, when he said: God is dead.

How does such a characterization work? Is it a statement of fact? Did Nietzsche go out into the backyard and found God lying dead on the ground, as one can discover a dead bird? Hardly, Nietzsche’s characterization of reality can be contested in a way that the death of a bird cannot.

Is it an ideological position, then, one that Nietzsche invented out of the blue and tried to impose on reality? Hardly, for it is connected with numerous factual features of nineteenth-century life, such as the steam-engine, newspapers, industry, exploration expeditions, science, democracy… I’m not enough of a historian to enumerate them all.

Taking the issue to our own times: Can you imagine a Bach writing music for the glory of God alone… living in a suburban row house area, with the car parked outside, just after shopping in the mall? It is difficult to imagine such a Bach, and Nietzsche’s statement could be said to characterize that difficulty.

If we accept Nietzsche’s statement as a striking characterization of the difficulty of imagining a modern suburban Bach, it appears almost factual. It is what reality is like; what we have become. And yet, someone could contest the characterization, and that reality, and see it as a degenerated frame of mind to resist.

So what do statements of Nietzsche’s kind do? Do they describe reality or do they merely express individual perspectives?

I find the task of characterizing our characterizations of reality as one of the most challenging philosophical problems. Its urgency is obvious in bioethics, which deals with realities that certainly are on the move. New biomedical practices continuously challenge our characterizations of embryos, of stem cells, of health and disease, of research participation…

As I indicated on The Ethics Blog last week, research participation is “on the move,” due to developments in biobanking. It no longer solely means participation in specific studies. It will more and more mean also contributing to biobank infrastructures that are constructed to support future, not yet specified studies.

Is that a fact or a position? I think we need a more nuanced characterization of our continuously renewed characterizations of reality!

Pär Segerdahl

We like real-life ethics : www.ethicsblog.crb.uu.se

Jumping over our own shadow

There are things that an educated human is supposed to know about the world. Like that the Earth is spherical and that it revolves around the sun.

But there are things we are supposed to know also about ourselves. Most prominently, we are supposed to know that we are animals, one of the primate species.

The question I’m pondering is this:

  • Can we have knowledge about ourselves in the same way that we have knowledge about the world?

I have noticed a tendency among those who straightforwardly answer this question in the affirmative. They marvel at the fact that evolution produced a species that understands the evolutionary process that produced that species.

It is as if the world finally bit its own human tail and thereby became closed as a natural world and nothing but that natural world.

And since the bite was achieved by the science that the human species produced, the closure of the world as nothing but a natural world is celebrated also as the closure of science. Science finally knows itself as a product of the world it knows.

Science is the world’s self-knowledge.

I’ve been reading Martin Heidegger, who has a different kind of answer to the question under discussion. His answer is: yes and no, depending who “we” are; for there are two ways of being human.

In one way, human beings are among the living beings that inhabit the world, and they can be scientifically studied as such. Heidegger would hardly reject biological knowledge about life and about human beings as one of the animal species on Earth.

But does biology also reveal a more profound fact, namely, that the world is nothing but a natural world so that all the things we are supposed to know about the world must be reinterpreted as the world’s self-knowledge? – Reinterpreted by whom? By the world? Can the world think? Can it rethink science as its own self-knowledge?

“No one can jump over his own shadow,” Heidegger wrote (in a slightly different context). But that is the weird feat that is celebrated when the world finally is supposed to understand itself.

Heidegger reminds that we are not just one of the living beings on Earth. We are also the beings for whom there is world; for whom there is Earth and sky; and for whom there is science accumulating knowledge about the world. Talking about this nearest way of being human, he emphasizes not closures but openings.

The nearest human is the opening up of a world (with living beings that can be studied scientifically).

The alleged completion of the history of the universe through the world’s self-knowledge is not produced by evolution, or by the science that a product of evolution produced. It is produced by people who forget the simplest and nearest way of being human, and who thus are led to such old-fashioned metaphysical absurdities as “the world’s self-knowledge.”

– And yet, Heidegger’s “nearest” human being can hardly be purified as unaffected by the world, or by what is known about human beings as part of the world.

Heidegger identifies a vital problem, but I believe that the relation between the two ways of being human is messier than in Heidegger’s elegant philosophical poetry.

I do not quite recognize the connections with the world, and with the animals, in Heidegger’s attempt to uncover the authentic way of being human in the age of science.

Who dares a renewed attack on these messy relationships?

Pär Segerdahl

The Ethics Blog - Thinking about thinking

Standing up speaking, sitting down thinking

Intellectual life overflows with regulated forms of discourse about all kinds of urgent matters. Sometimes they are called schools of thought; sometimes theories; sometimes ideologies or positions.

Philosophy could be viewed as the originator of the most prestigious and fundamental discourses about life, like

  • idealism
  • materialism
  • pragmatism
  • existentialism
  • structuralism
  • post-structuralism.

Although this to some extent is historically correct, such a view of philosophy stands in stark contrast to Socrates’ difficulties with speaking and acting publically. His inner voice, his daemon, caused him to hesitate and instead examine himself and his relation to such forms of discourse.

I can imagine Socrates suddenly pausing, torturing himself with questions like

  • why do I want to speak in this way?
  • couldn’t one say the opposite as well?
  • what led me to hold this view?
  • is this merely something I’ve learned to repeat, as a lesson learnt by heart?
  • am I wise, or do I only pretend I am?

My aim here is to draw attention to philosophy as engagement with the latter, self-examining questions. The importance of being sensitive to such questions derives from the fact that intellectual life resembles a marketplace for the former kinds of regulated discourse. Competing schools fight for dominance and accuse each other for neglecting the most decisive aspect of whatever is under discussion.

I want to highlight the importance of somtimes attacking oneself instead; the significance of asking if one is (perhaps) unjust, exaggerating… unwise.

Pursuing the latter questions, we as it were parenthesize our normal obedience to the rules of discourse and examine the extent to which we honestly can abide by them.

– But wouldn’t such questioning of oneself presuppose a discourse of pure self-examination within which the truth finally can be grounded – a discourse that, if it existed, immediately would achieve absolute dominance on the intellectual market?

The marketplace of ideas is attractive. It is the place where we can stand up, speak publically and influence the direction of the world (and achieve reputation). Not surprisingly, philosophers found it difficult to avoid presenting their self-examinations, especially if they found them successful, as being if not truth itself, then at least the right path to truth: as the the discourse that almost guarantees honesty!

To me, these temptations and pitfalls make it all the more important to emphasize the latter list of actually rather simple questions, by which any person can be haunted. Discourse that never is interrupted by pangs of intellectual conscience and consequent self-examinations soon runs amok.

Sometimes, one must sit down and think. Thinking in this sense is not a (silent) form of discourse. But we always compare it with one, and thus we constantly misunderstand philosophy as if it were the purest and most prestigious form of discourse.

Pär Segerdahl

The Ethics Blog - Thinking about thinking

The debate about after-birth abortion continues

Last year the Journal of Medical Ethics published an article by two philosophers claiming that the same arguments that support abortion also support abortion of newborns.

The article provoked strong reactions and I too felt I had to comment on the article here on The Ethics Blog.

What’s so provocative? I’m not so sure it is the conclusion that if we allow abortion we also should allow abortion of newborns. The two philosophers actually never concluded with any practical recommendations. They only wanted to theoretically explore the logic in the arguments for abortion.

And maybe this is what’s so provocative, or rather tragi-comical: the spirit in which one approaches questions of life and death as an entrepreneur might use the annual report to consider his reasons for terminating a project that can become a burden for the company.

Recently, the same journal reissued the article; this time with two editorials and a number of comments by ethicists (here).

The reissuing of the article reaffirms the attitude that the burning hot questions of life and death should be discussed as a rational entrepreneur manages his firm.

Should we allow infanticide? We’ll have to postpone decision until we’ve received the annual report from the neuroscientists on neonates’ capacity for thought.

Pär Segerdahl

We follow debates : The Ethics Blog

Morality as a problem

Friedrich Nietzsche made this enigmatic remark about moral philosophy:

  • “In all ‘science of morals’ so far one thing was lacking, strange as it may sound: the problem of morality itself; what was lacking was any suspicion that there was something problematic here.”

What did Nietzsche mean? He seems to have been thinking of a very human tendency, namely, that of assuming that we already know what morality demands, at least roughly. The tendency, then, is to treat morality as given. Every sane person knows it intuitively!

The task of moral philosophy, identified on the basis of this tendency, becomes the following: dig deep enough to find the ultimate foundation of morality; or, fly high enough to catch sight of the ultimate moral principles.

How could Nietzsche view this daring work of digging and flying as being naïve to morality as a problem? People generally don’t ask these ultimate questions about morality. They don’t venture uncertain digging and flying expeditions. Asking the ultimate questions about morality seems anything but naïve.

Although daring on the assumption that morality is given, these ethical expeditions come too late, Nietzsche suggests. If we had been digging and flying a little bit earlier in the research process, we would have discovered that morality isn’t given:

  • “Just because our moral philosophers… were poorly informed and not even very curious about different peoples, times, and past ages – they never laid eyes on the real problems of morality; for these emerge only when we compare many moralities.”

We don’t live in a lukewarm condition of moral unity and certainty. There are different forms of moral sensitivity and we occasionally experience crises of uncertainty. We change our firmest certainties and even view each other’s (and our own earlier) certainties as absurd.

You may think what you like about Nietzsche’s own moral tendency, but he helps us identify morality as a philosophical problem in a more comprehensive way than if we defined the problem on the basis of the human tendency of moral introversion described above.

Morality has two faces. It consists not only of familiar certainties apparently in need of foundations. It consists also of uncertainty, change, and diversity. Certainty turns into uncertainty; and uncertainty into certainty. There is a dynamics here that we fail to see when we give in to the temptation to assume that morality already is given as a set of intuitive certainties.

I want to change Nietzsche’s notion of the task on one point. “Comparing many moralities” may not be the most useful ethical expedition if it is not combined with other investigations, since it may overemphasize facts that make all expressions of moral certainty seem idle; as a deceitful facade that we ought to get rid of once and for all.

The work we need to do rather is describing the two faces of morality simultaneously: achieving an overview of the movements back and forth between certainty and uncertainty.

Morality is stability and certainty and it is change and uncertainty.

Pär Segerdahl

We like challenging questions - the ethics blog

Fruitful uncertainty

We tend to imagine the minds of great thinkers and scientists as fountains of knowledge, intelligence and certainty. That is what their brilliant works make us believe. The products are perfect; therefore, the minds that produced them must have been perfect.

Well, the opposite may also be true. Brilliant works can stem from an ability to endure ignorance, lack of clear-sightedness, and uncertainty – because such shortcomings motivate serious counter-attacks and hard work. Striving to overcome uncertainty and shortcomings can result in the most brilliant works.

These so-called “great minds” may have been people who loved their uncertainty because it alerted them to what requires more attention: “Here is a difficulty I must take more seriously!” But that is a moral quality rather than an intellectual one!  I just read some fascinating quotations from Linnaeus in Giorgio Agamben’s book, The Open, making me sense that moral quality in Linnaeus.

It must have been confusing for Linnaeus that he couldn’t find a given characteristic that clearly separates humans from apes. Still, he seemed to enjoy this uncertainty about our humanness and even teased those who couldn’t accept it by suggesting that the only difference he could find was a ridiculous dental detail without systematic significance:

  • “… just as the shoemaker sticks to his last, I must remain in my workshop and consider man and his body as a naturalist, who hardly knows a single distinguishing mark which separates man from the apes, save for the fact that the latter have an empty space between their canines and their other teeth.”

Linnaeus’ ability to stay with this uncertainty is further reflected in the name he gave our species: he didn’t add a given identifying characteristic to the generic name Homo.

I always believed that sapiens was meant as a given characteristic, just as Aristotle saw rationality as the distinguishing mark of the human. Agamben points out, however, that Linnaeus used the philosophical imperative nosce te ipsum, know yourself. The name Homo sapiens doesn’t appear until in the tenth edition of Systema naturae, and probably retains the sense of an imperative rather than a given characteristic.

In the absence of a given distinguishing mark, being human was for Linnaeus a task, Agamben suggests. The breathtaking name that Linnaeus originally gave our species, then, was:

  • Homo-know-yourself!

Only someone who is at home in uncertainty and is able to think in it would dare to “classify” our species as an imperative.

Although I’m sure that Descartes had the same moral character and derived nourishment from his own doubts, he was confident about what separates him as a human from the animals. He had mind, reason, while the animals were automata.

Linnaeus couldn’t share Descartes’ confidence and teasingly wrote:

  • “Surely, Descartes never saw an ape” (Cartesius certe non vidit simios.)

Don’t be ashamed of your uncertainty but value it as an asset!

Pär Segerdahl

The Ethics Blog - Thinking about thinking

Human and animal: where is the frontline?

Yesterday I read Lars Hertzberg’s thoughtful blog, Language is things we do. His latest post drew my attention to a militant humanist, Raymond Tallis (who resembles another militant humanist, Roger Scruton).

Tallis published Aping Mankind: Neuromania, Darwinitis and the Misrepresentation of Humanity. He summarizes his book in this presentation on YouTube.

Tallis gesticulates violently. As if he were a Knight of the Human Kingdom, he defends humanity against an invasion of foreign neuroscientific and biological terms. Such bio-barbarian discourses reduce us to the same level of organic life as that of the brutes, living far away from civilization, in the rainforest and on the savannah.

Tallis promises to restore our former glory. Courageously, he states what every sane person must admit: WE are not like THEM.

Tallis is right that there is an intellectual invasion of biological discourses, led by generals like Richard Dawkins and Daniel Dennett. There is a need to defend one. – But how? Who would I be defending? Who am I, as a human? And where do I find the front line?

The notions of human life that Tallis defends are the ordinary ones belonging to everyday language. I have the impression, though, that Tallis fails to see the material practices involved in language use. Instead, he abstracts and reifies these notions as if they denoted a sublime and self-contained sphere: a uniquely human subjectivity; one that hopefully will be explained in the future, when the proper civilized terms of human intentionality are discovered. – We just have not found them yet.

Only a future genius of human subjectivity can reveal the truth about consciousness. Peace in the Human Kingdom will be restored, after the wars of modernity and bio-barbarism.

Here are two examples of how Tallis reifies the human world as a nature-transcendent sphere:

  • “We have stepped out of our organic body.”
  • “The human world transcends the organism Homo sapiens as it was delivered by Darwinian evolution hundreds of thousands of years ago.”

Once upon a time we were just animals. Then we discovered how to make a human world out of mere animal lives. – Is this a fairy tale?

Let us leave this fantasy and return to the forms of language use that Tallis abstracts and reifies. A striking fact immediately appears: Tallis is happy to use bio-barbarian discourse to describe animal lives, as if such terms literally applied to animals. He uncritically accepts that animal eating can be reduced to “exhibiting feeding behavior,” while humans are said to “dine together.”

The fact, then, is that Tallis does not see any need to pay closer attention to the lives of animals, or to defend animals against the bio-barbarism that he fights as a Knight of the Human Kingdom.

This may make you think that Tallis at least succeeds to restore human glory; that he fails only on the animal front (being, after all, a humanist). But he fails to pay attention also to what is human. Since he abstracts and reifies the notions of human life, his dualistic vision combines bio-barbarian jargon about animals with phantasmagoric reifications of what is human.

The front line is in language. It arises in a failure to speak attentively.

When talking about animals is taken as seriously as talking about humans, we foster forms of sensitivity to hum-animal relations that are crushed in Raymond Tallis’ militant combination of bio-barbarian discourses for animals with fantasy-like elevations of a “uniquely human world.”

The human/animal dichotomy does not reflect how the human world transcends the animal organism. It reflects how humanism fails to speak responsibly.

Pär Segerdahl

Minding our language - the Ethics Blog

Moral tipping points

Yesterday, I read a thought-provoking article about biosecurity. It suggested novel ways of thinking about infectious diseases. According to traditional thinking, infectious diseases strike us from outside. Therefore, we protect us from such external threats by building more effective borders. We secure pure healthy spaces and protect these spaces from impure, diseased ones.

The alternative thinking is less geometrically oriented and does not make a sharp distinction between “pure” and “diseased” spaces. Here is an illustration. If I understood the article right, a certain microbe, Campylobacter, is typically present in the microbial flora of farmed chickens. This bacterium does not become a health threat until there is a balance shift in the chickens’ intense relations with their farm circumstances.

Campylobacter “infection” in chickens, then, does not necessarily occur from outside, since the microbe always is present, but through balance shifts at what the authors called “tipping points.”

I was struck by the notion of tipping points. They remind me of processes of moral change:

It is well-known, to most of us at least, that our moral perceptions sometimes undergo dramatic change. Consider the following example, discussed in our CRB seminar series earlier this autumn: sex disambiguation surgery on newborns, when their sex cannot be unequivocally determined by a doctor.

Our present social circumstances are such that being boy or girl, being man or woman is profoundly significant. Being neither, or both, is being in trouble. Legally, for example, you must be male or female, and that’s only one aspect of the demand.

If we live in happy balance with these circumstances, sex disambiguation surgery might strike us as a blessing. Through surgery, the child is “helped” towards becoming unambiguously boy or girl. This is of such importance that “correction surgery” can be allowed even on newborns that haven’t yet developed their way of being in the world. Early surgery might even be preferable.

If, in the other hand, there is a balance shift; if we open ourselves to the possibility that present circumstances can be troublesome and changed – must we legally be male or female? – a tipping point may occur where the helpful correction of a bodily deformation can start to look like… genital mutilation performed to adapt newborns to our culture’s heterosexual norms and dualistic beliefs.

The new ideas may appear foreign to the old ones, as if they came from outside: what have we been reading lately? But they need not be as foreign as they appear and they need not enter our thinking “from outside.” Moral thinking is in dynamic relationships with our circumstances: if these relationships shift, so may our moral perceptions.

At moral tipping points what previously was perceived as “helping” may suddenly look like “mutilating.” What previously was “reality” may turn into “culture” and further into “norms and beliefs.” Changes at moral tipping points can be dramatic, which fools us into thinking that the new ideas necessarily entered our territory from another moral space. But they emerged right here, in our exchanges with our own circumstances.

Why is this important?  I think it suggests paths beyond the age-old relativism-versus-absolutism controversy.

We habitually view opposed moralities as distinct; simply distinct. You have one view on the matter; I have another. When I heard about tipping points, it struck me that opposed moral views often are dynamically connected: one view becomes the other at the tipping point.

Thinking in terms of tipping points can negotiate some sort of peace between standpoints that otherwise are exaggerated as if they belonged to opposed metaphysics.

Someone who speaks of male and female as realities is not necessarily in the grips of the metaphysics of substance, as Judith Butler supposes, but may speak from the point of view of being in untroubled balance with present circumstances.

Someone who speaks of male and female as produced by norms is not necessarily in the grips of relativistic anti-metaphysical doctrines, as realist philosophers would suppose, but may speak at a tipping point where the balance with present circumstances shifted and became troubled.

My proposed tipping point negotiation of peace between apparently foreign moral views and stances does not make the opposition less real; it only avoids certain intellectualist exaggerations and purifications of it.

Moral language functions differently when the circumstances are untroubled compared to when they are troubled. Moral thinking is in dynamic relationships with the world (and with how we inhabit it).

Pär Segerdahl

The Ethics Blog - Thinking about thinking

Logical laws and ethical principles: appendices to human reasoning

We tend to view logical laws and ethical principles as foundational: as more basic than ordinary discourse, and “making possible” logical and ethical reasoning. They set us on the right intellectual path, so to speak, on the most fundamental level.

I want to suggest another possibility: logical laws and ethical principles are derived from ordinary discourse. They constitute a schematic, ideal  image of what it means to make truth claims, or ethical claims, in our language. They don’t make the claims and forms of reasoning possible, however, but reflect their familiar presence in daily discourse.

Consider the logical law of non-contradiction, which states that a proposition and its negation cannot both be true simultaneously. Does this law implicitly set us on the path of non-contradictory talk, from morning to night? Or does it have another function?

Here is an alternative way of thinking about this “law of thought”:

The impression that others contradict themselves is not uncommon. When this occurs, we become uncertain what they actually say. We ask for clarifications until the sense of contradiction disappears. Not until it disappears do we recognize that something is being said.

The law of non-contradiction reflects this general feature of language. As such a reflection, however, it is derived from language and doesn’t function as a foundation of human truth-telling.

I want to make a similar proposal for ethical principles. Ethical principles – for example, of beneficence or respect for persons – reflect how people already view certain aspects of life as morally important and use them as reasons.

Ethical principles don’t “make” these aspects of life moral reasons. They just highlight, in semi-bureaucratic language, the fact that they are such reasons for people.

Consider this way of reasoning, which is perfectly in order as it stands:

  • (A) “I helped you; therefore you should help me.”

This moral reasoning is familiar to all of us. Its presence could be acknowledged in form of an ethical principle, P; a Principle of Reciprocity (“Sacrifices require services in return” etc.).

According to the view I want to leave behind, the fact that I helped you doesn’t constitute a reason until it is linked to the ethical principle P:

  • (B) “I helped you; according to Principle P, you therefore should help me.”

Ethicists typically reason the latter way, (B). That is alright too, as long as we are aware of its derived nature and don’t believe that (B) uncovers the hidden form of (A).

Ethical principles summarize, in semi-legislative language, how humans already reason morally. They function as appendices to moral reasoning; not as its backbone.

Why do we need to be aware of the derived nature of ethical principles? Because when we genuinely don’t know how to reason morally – when there are no convincing arguments of kind (A) – it is tempting to use the principles to extrapolate moral arguments of kind (B)… appendices to claims that no one makes.

Viewing ethical principles as foundational, we’re almost forced to turn to them for guidance when we are in genuine moral uncertainty. But perhaps we should rather turn to the real-life features that are at stake. Perhaps we should focus our attention on them, try to understand them better, engage with them… and wait for them to become moral reasons for us in ways we might not be able to anticipate.

As a result of this open-ended process of attentive and patient moral thinking, ethicists may discover a need for new ethical principles to reflect how forms of moral reasoning change in the process, because new aspects of life became moral reasons for us when we attended to them.

Consider as an example the ethical problem whether incidental findings about individual participants in biobank research should be returned to them. At this very moment, ethicists are working hard to help biobankers solve this genuinely difficult problem. They do it by exploring how our present canon of ethical principles might apply to the case.

Is that not a little bit like consulting a phrase book when you discover that you have nothing to say?

Pär Segerdahl

We challenge habits of thought : the Ethics Blog

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