Tag: Rationality

Truth and Goodness and Rationality: Interview with Anselm Mueller

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We’re pleased to share this interview with Anselm Winfriend Mueller, our 2017-18 visiting scholar, who is a visiting professor this quarter at the Department of Philosophy at the University of Chicago. He spoke with Johann Gudmundsson, a doctoral student at the Universität Leipzig currently on a research stay at the University of Chicago, where he’s working on his dissertation on moral judgment and practical goodness.      

Johann Gudmundsson: For many years, you’ve been pursuing the thought that to act well is to act from practical reason. How are truth and goodness related to rationality? Do you think that there is a deep affinity between goodness and truth?

Anselm Winfried Mueller:  Can we reasonably ask whether what you ultimately aim at in acting, rather than just whatever happens to attract you, is really good? – I think we can. At least, we take it for granted that in principle the question has an answer. For, in a year’s time, you may think you were wrong to aim at what you aimed at (much as you may come to think false what you believed to be true a year before). Such a thought makes sense only if there is a standard of goodness by which to evaluate purposes objectively (much as beliefs are evaluated objectively by the standard of truth). So ascriptions of goodness will themselves be true or false.

What is the place of rationality in this context? – To manifest knowledge, a statement has, as a rule, to be based on adequate reasons. Theoretical rationality is to this extent the way we reach truth. But a statement can be true without manifesting knowledge. By contrast, the goodness that we achieve in acting well depends unrestrictedly on what reasons we respond, and don’t respond, to. To act justly, for instance, is: to be motivated by others’ rights; to act courageously is: not to be turned away from important pursuits by the threat of danger etc.

JG: In the mid-20th century, questions relating to ethical language were in vogue, and reflection on moral discourse and meaning was held to be crucial. For example, a central question was whether ethical statements, qua speech act, should be understood as full-blown assertions or not. Those questions have faded from spotlight in recent years. How do you estimate the significance of language for ethical thought?

AWM: Quite generally, the way we talk about things supplies significant hints at their correct understanding. This is so with talk about actions and their moral qualities as much as it is with talk about causes, numbers, social institutions, or whatever.

Now, in order to improve our grasp of the relevant concepts, attention has to be directed at the interaction between the ways we talk and the ways we act. What philosophy needs to get clear about is the different roles that different uses of words play in the wider context of human social life. So philosophers have rightly become critical of arguments based simply on “what we (don’t) say”.

But, as far as I can see, present day analytical philosophy suffers more from the opposite error: its practitioners are often insensitive or indifferent to the problematic character of formulations required or admitted by their theories, when by taking notice of it they might have discovered, e.g., that the phenomena they were hoping to cover by a unifying account were in fact more disparate than this account allowed.

JG: It seems that there are two kinds of good that pertain to human beings. On the one hand, there’s individual well-being or happiness. On the other hand, there’s moral perfection. Would you be happy to draw this distinction? If yes, how do you think individual happiness and moral perfection are related?

AWM: I can’t say that I would be happy to draw that distinction. Shouldn’t one feel honored to belong to a species noble enough to find their happiness guaranteed by adherence to reason realized in a life of virtue, as the Stoics taught?

Unfortunately, this doctrine is a sort of philosophical self-deception. It is indeed true, I think, that a person cannot be happy without attempting to lead a virtuous life. And also, that human happiness cannot but consist in the satisfying use of reason. But we just have to acknowledge that serious suffering tends to prevent the virtuous person from being happy.

Moreover, although the practice of virtue is typically a source of happiness, there are other things as well, such as family life or the successful pursuit of a worthwhile project, that may well be constitutive of the (limited) happiness a man is able to attain. I agree that it won’t make you happy to pursue such a project by evil means. But this does not mean that ethical virtue is the feature of your pursuit that secures your happiness.

So honesty requires us to answer your first question by acknowledging the distinction between happiness and moral perfection. The second question may be one of those that it is the task of philosophy to raise and keep alive although it cannot answer them. As Kant observed, we just cannot discard the idea that there “must” be a way in which the pursuit of virtue issues in happiness. This, too, honesty requires us to recognize. I suspect it is even part of virtue itself to think, with Socrates: It cannot, ultimately, be to my disadvantage to pursue it.

JG: You probably would agree that the aim of philosophical activity is to get clear on certain fundamental notions. The aim of practical philosophy then would be to clarify notions such as intention, reason, goodness and rationality. Do you think that practical philosophy can also be of practical guidance by providing answers to substantial moral questions? Or can such answers only be reached beyond philosophy, for example in public discourse, individual conscience or religious traditions?

AWM: It would be pleasant for practical philosophers to think of themselves as benefiting humanity by giving the kind of guidance you mention. But I think their ambitions have to be more modest.

I am not a skeptic about the possibility of showing that human life is in need of moral norms. But, first, such demonstrations remain theoretical: they explain moral requirements, and they give you reason to believe that doing this and avoiding that serves human flourishing; but they do not thereby already give you reason to do this and avoid that. And, second, nobody – philosopher or not – will adopt a moral norm such as: not to cheat, or: to take responsibility for one’s children, or: to refrain from cruelty, because of a philosophical demonstration; for one’s conviction of the need to comply with such norms will almost certainly be more certain than one’s confidence in any philosophical argument for them.

Nevertheless, philosophers need not despair of their public utility. On the one hand, people who already listen to the voice of virtue are in a position, and will be ready, also to learn, for their practice, from theoretical reflexion on what you call substantial moral questions – on how to carry on in view of considerations that may have escaped them. On the other hand, and possibly even more importantly, good philosophy is needed to refute the brand of bad philosophy that claims to show that morality is an illusion, or that what it enjoins is “authenticity” in the pursuit of your likings, or the like – the kind of claim that is sensational or shocking enough to make it into the media and is hailed by those already tempted to deceive themselves, or compromise, where moral requirements challenge their questionable inclinations.

I am not myself enough of a columnist to take on the task of facing popular versions of misguided philosophical claims. The job that your question well describes as clarifying “notions such as intention, reason, goodness and rationality” is (I hope!) more congenial to my temperament and talent. So I cheerfully resign myself to peaceful exchange with those enviable colleagues who engage in both “philosophizing for philosophers” and “philosophizing for the world”.

 

Johann Gudmundsson got his Magister Artium degree in Philosophy and German studies from the Universität Leipzig after having studied there and at the University of Iceland in Reykjavik. He then worked as a research assistant at the Universität Leipzig and as a coordinator of a project funded by the National Academy of Sciences Leopoldina on institutional and quality problems of the German doctorate, and now a doctoral student at the Universität Leipzig currently on a research stay at the University of Chicago, where he’s working on his dissertation on moral judgment and practical goodness.      

The Anxiety of Loss and the Anxiety of Meaning: Part Two

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This is a two part series. Part One, “Anxiety and Loss”, posted yesterday.

Part Two: Rationality and the Anxiety of Meaning

 

While one formal characteristic of human life—that of desires and ends—prompts the anxiety of loss, we can see now how the other, rationality, renders us vulnerable to the anxiety of meaning. Rationality involves reflection on our ends that in turn can bring about the anxiety of meaning. In reflecting on them we may either approve or disapprove of them. We may, for example, take our ends to be valuable and thus delight in the bliss of pursuing conscious valuable life. But we may also fall into despair in realizing that ends we held valuable and labored to secure are in fact of no value. Thus, one may realize that a project one was committed to (e.g., promoting communism or nation-building), is, in fact, misguided and valueless; such realization can be devastating. However, such realizations do not in themselves constitute the anxiety of meaning. Rather than residing in the realization that one end or another has no value, the anxiety of meaning consists in recognizing that such realization is always a possibility; that just as I realize now that my enormous efforts to become a Sudoku champion were in vain because I see no value in being a Sudoku champion, similarly, it is always possible that I may realize that my other ends are of no value. Even worse, realizing we cannot ground values in reasons, leads us to recognize that value and worth cannot be secured and fortified; that it is always possible to lose sight of that which once seemed of worth to us. For, after all, rational justifications are finite, and if we are asked to provide them in support of the value we see in our ends, they will eventually give out and we are left without rational grounds to hold these ends valuable. Our very capacity to rationally reflect on the value of our ends, then, leads to the realization that our values are never fully grounded and secure.

 

If the story of Job symbolizes loss, Ecclesiastes epitomizes meaninglessness. When King Solomon lamented “vanity of vanities; all is vanity” he was a man with as much confidence, achievement and possession as one can hope for. Hence, clearly, he laments not the loss of that which he loves and values but rather the absence of worth and value; the waning and depletion of value from the world. In the absence of value, King Solomon asks “(w)hat profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?” This question expresses the anxiety over whether what we toil for might be without worth at all, and therefore pointless.

 

So far we have seen that the anxieties of loss and meaning are bound up with our rational being; they are not mere accidents, but they are also not essential. They are, for lack of a better term, un-essential or un-rational aspects of human life; connected to our rationality through rationality’s negation—and hence internally linked to rationality and its intrinsic shortcomings. [1] With an understanding of the shared un-rational nature of these anxieties, we can now see how they relate deeply to one other: each anxiety both excludes the other and promises redemption from the other. A person agonizingly anxious of loss may envy her stoic friend who sees less value in his ends and consequently suffers less from the prospects of their loss. And vice versa, he who depressively conceives of no meaning in life may wish for his friend’s deep immersion in her values. Each sees hope in the condition of the other; the one wishes to value more, the other to value less, and we can imagine one oscillating between the two poles of anxiety in a wish to find the middle way between them. This is the doctrine of the mean in relation to the form of our practical life.

 

Accordingly, it appears, the human lot is at best to find the mean between these poles, or at least to oscillate gently between them. We may think about finding the right balance between the two anxieties as a virtue—a mean between two vices. But what assures us that we will not lose our grip of the mean and slip back to one of the extremes? Even in maintaining balance, we are vulnerable to the anxiety that nothing secures this balanced state; that it is forever subject to changes beyond our control. A famous Chasidic proverb by Rabi Nachman of Breslav goes “the whole world in its entirety is a very narrow bridge.” If a man spends his life on a narrow bridge, leading nowhere (it is the entire world, after all), it appears that there is no better thing for him to do than to maintain balance and forever live in fear of falling down to the abyss of either of the anxieties. Is this truly the best we can hope for? Is there no way to transcend this precariousness human condition?

 

The rest of Rabi Nachman’s proverb may suggest that there is another way. Here is the full proverb:

The whole world in its entirety is a very narrow bridge.

And the most important thing is not to be afraid at all.

The transcendence offered by Rabi Nachman is one in which there is a sharp awareness of the inescapable human condition, but at the same time, an insistence that we must not live in fear. The promise resides not in running away from the human condition but in a cleared-eyed recognition of it. But once we recognize it, how can we avoid being afraid?

 

I shall conclude with an answer suggested by Job and King Solomon. Job, right after having lost almost all his loved ones and earthly possessions, says: “Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” Coping with loss, and the possibility of loss, comes with an awareness that all of it comes from God and is thanks to God. This awareness allows one to see a point in the loss since it is not a mere outcome of human fragility but a part of God’s intention. It is by virtue of realizing this that one can overcome, or at least live with, the anxiety of loss: the loss is one part of God’s plan and hence, though it may torment us, it is a constituent of the good. As long as we trust in God, we are not afraid. King Solomon’s lamentations end with the words “Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole of man.” In other words, we can feel safe that the world and our ends are valuable if we trust in God. It is through the fear of God that we are freed of our anxiety of meaning. The ends given by God’s commandments are of value we cannot doubt as long as we have faith. In faith, the world cannot be bereft of value and meaning. Through faith, Rabi Nachman’s imperative is fulfilled. One can stand in the world, which is nothing but narrow bridge, with confidence, and without fear of being engulfed by the two essential human anxieties.

 

[1] I am here referring, unfortunately quite crudely, to an idea developed by professor Irad Kimhi. I hope to make more justice to his thoughts in future posts.

 

Amichai Amit is PhD student in philosophy at the University of Chicago. His research concerns the foundations of ethics and normativity. He also has strong interests in the history of philosophy (ancient and German idealism) and existentialism. He previously received an MA in Philosophy from Tel-Aviv University.

Rationality & Virtue: Interview with Anselm Mueller

 

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Anselm Mueller delivering a public lecture “What Do We Live For?” on April 11, 2016.

Rory O’Connell, PhD student at the University of Chicago interviewed our visiting scholar  Anselm Winfried Mueller in June 2016.

 

Rory O’Connell: When did you first become interested in the topic of virtue? 

 

Anselm Mueller: I am not quite sure, because it must have happened about half a century ago. My PhD thesis, on Wittgenstein’s Tractatus, betrays quite different interests. When I came to Oxford in 1965 to do more research in philosophy and was made to write brief essays for supervision sessions, I picked up, for this purpose, all sorts of topics that were in the air at the time – a time when philosophy was flourishing in Oxford. I remember that the philosophy lecture list announced more than 100 classes for any one term, many of them offered by big names. My interests still related to theoretical philosophy. But I did go to a lecture on “Virtues and Vices” that Philippa Foot then gave. Being new to the place, I was not aware that what she was doing in that lecture – e.g. approaching ethical questions via examining the ascription of goodness to components of plant and animal life – was not at all typical of Oxford moral philosophy, which at the time was dominated by Richard M. Hare’s Utilitarian Prescritivism. However, when I studied the lecture list, I myself could not help feeling that the topic of virtue was somehow soft and marginal if not out-dated! Why on earth did I nevertheless attend that lecture?

My first supervisor in Oxford was Anthony Kenny, himself an expert on Aristotle’s Ethics and his account of virtue. It must have been the wise and kind advice given by Tony that made me choose Philippa’s lecture. Later on I was supervised by Elizabeth Anscombe. Among the many topics that I discussed with her was that of practical reasoning, which her book Intention had brought to the attention of philosophers and which I suppose drew me into the philosophy of action and later ethics. It was through Elizabeth also that I got to know her friend Philippa well. Over the years we had many conversations about questions of moral philosophy, esp. in 1998-99, when I was on sabbatical leave at Corpus Christi College, and Philippa was in the course of writing her wonderful book Natural Goodness. Without the influence of these three brilliant philosophers as teachers and friends I would probably not have found virtue such an intriguing and fertile subject matter.

 

RO: So there was a degree of luck in it! What are your own research interests in relation to virtue now?

 

AM: You do not need to do “Virtue Ethics” in order to be interested in the notion of virtue. In the moral philosophy of Kant, for instance, the ideas of autonomy and law are central; nevertheless he published a voluminous treatise half of which he brings under the title “Doctrine of Virtue”. And neither Philippa Foot nor Elizabeth Anscombe (whose famous paper “Modern Moral Philosophy” tells her colleagues to replace the study of “moral obligation” by that of virtue) wanted to be classified as Virtue Ethicists. They treated the notions of human nature and practical rationality as central to ethics.

In the Aristotelian tradition, the virtues of character are viewed as reliable dispositions to act well in the various domains of human life. This may give rise to the investigation of questions such as: what kind of constitution makes the virtues reliable, how they may come to be formed (and lost), whether they leave room for freedom and individual ideals, whether there is a continuum of moral qualities between virtue and vice and whether virtue allows for weakness of will; or: to what extent an objectivist understanding of morality can accommodate cultural and historical variation in the specification of the virtues; or: what is the source of the distinction between different virtues, what a life of virtue looks like in regard to physical needs, to relationships, to one’s roles in society, to the cohesion and welfare of a political community; or: how it relates to one’s well-being, self-interest, pleasures, goals and, ultimately, happiness.

I have tried to take up these questions in a book I published in 1998 under the title Was taugt die Tugend? Elemente einer Ethik des guten Lebens. But already in that book, and later in some articles written in English, my chief interest was in the sort of rationality that the virtues seem to incorporate and confer on ways of acting well. This topic is itself one that branches out in a number of directions. But it is, I think, fundamental to a correct understanding of what a virtue is. And you have to get reasonably clear about it in order profitably to tackle those other questions.

 

RO: If you were forced to summarize, what would you say the importance of rationality to virtue was?

AM: To get clear about this, we must first of all distinguish two uses of the word “reason”. More particularly, we may ask on the one hand: “Why is it that human beings ought to practise virtues such as justice or courage?” and on the other, questions like: “Why ought you (as justice happens to require here and now) to give 200 dollars to NN”? In answer to the first question we have to mention a reason that explains the fact that the practice of those virtues is good for a community of human beings, whether these are aware of that fact and its explanation or not; perhaps we will show that they cannot get on well, or at all, without them: that the virtues are “rational” in the sense of functional. An answer to the second question, by contrast, will tell us what leads you to act as you do when you act as you ought to. Here, the reason is a consideration that prompts you to give someone 200 dollars. And this consideration is not the functionality of justice but rather, e.g., your having borrowed 200 dollars from them. In giving them the money, you are then not acting justly unless you do it because you borrowed 200 dollars from them. The rationality of virtue here amounts to this: Acting justly does not consist in giving the money, but rather in letting yourself be guided by a kind of reason that is characteristic of justice.

What, however, about the question “Why act justly”? It seems to sit somehow between the two questions just considered. On the one hand, it is not answered by the particular reason that you may have here and now, in accordance with justice, to give someone 200 dollars or, say, to treat two people alike. Nor, on the other, will our reasons for acting justly typically be the same as the reasons why justice is functional or necessary for a human community. Well, in general, our reasons for acting justly will be rather indeterminate, mixed and inarticulate. You may have a vague idea that you have to follow your conscience, or that you want to be this kind of person rather than that, or that by acting justly you will qualify for an eternal reward – or whatever. (And, by the way, some kinds of such “background motivation” would actually call your justice into question; e.g. if your “just” conduct is a matter of satisfying others’ expectations, or of appearing to be just.)

So there are these ways in which the idea of virtue raises questions of rationality. But there are others. Thus, it can be virtuous – or vicious – to treat a certain sort of situation as a reason not to act in a certain sort of way. (Honesty requires you to treat the falsehood of a claim as a reason not to make it.) Again, it can be virtuous – or vicious – not to treat a situation as a reason to respond in a certain manner. (Courage requires you not to treat a small risk as a reason to abandon an important aim.) Nor is it only ways of acting whose virtuous or vicious character is determined by what I call a “motivational pattern”. An emotion, too, can be morally good or bad: on account of the kind of behaviour or thought the emotion’s subject inclines towards in response to relevant situations. (Think of, say, compassion on the one hand, envy on the other.)

We can also ask whether virtue or vice are at work wherever we can speak of reasons for this or that sort of conduct; whether the implementation of the virtues in varying circumstances requires a kind of deliberation that is qualified specifically to cope with ethical challenges … – and other questions concerning practical reason. Further, various issues raised by an Ethics concerned with the virtues seem not to relate to their rationality at all: How are the virtues identified, and counted? How are they formed? Can they be lost? Do not many virtues primarily serve other people rather than the virtuous agents themselves? If so, how can great philosophers claim that acting well is constitutive of happiness? And so on. On inspection, however, almost none of these questions can be adequately answered unless we first gain a clear understanding of the ways in which the notion of a virtue involves the notion of practical rationality.

 

Anselm Mueller is Professor Emeritus, University of Trier, and a Visiting Professor with the project “Virtue, Happiness, and the Meaning of Life”. A student of Elizabeth Anscombe and Anthony Kenny at Oxford in the early sixties, Professor Müller has taught philosophy at Oxford University, Australian National University, University of Trier, University of Luxemborg, and Keimyung University. He has written many books and articles in the following areas: ethics, rationality, action theory, philosophy of mind, and the history of philosophy.

Rory O’Connell is a PhD candidate in philosophy at The University of Chicago. He works on practical reason and the philosophy of action.