Dialectic Journal Spring 2021 Edition by Dialectic Journal

The Undergraduate Journal of Philosophy at The University of York

Graphics and Design

Editor

Hannah Curtis

Mihaela Sotirova

Contributors

Reviewers and Copy Editors Thomasina Cass

Harry McDonald Sarah Quinn

Alix Scorer

Jack Hoggett

Hannah Curtis

Kai Milanovich

Eleanor Jane Paisley

Edward Potts

Ethan Dayan

Jonathan May

Chiara Bassini Maria Valenstain

Interviewee

Alice Letts

Dr Hannah Carnegy-Arbuthnott

Maria Turek William Coutts Mia Gane Sarah Quinn Maisie Hill Chau Tonnu

Contents Editor’s preface

1. William James: Religious Experience and Its Application to The Modern-Day Harry McDonald 2. Does the order that we find in nature give us good reason to believe in a divine existence? Sarah Quinn

3. A Defence of Voluntary Active Euthanasia Jack Hoggett

4. Are all Stereotypes Morally Objectionable? Kai Milanovich

5. Is alienation a necessary feature of capitalist economies? Edward Potts

6. Making philosophy personal: Nietzsche and ad hominem arguments Jonathan May

7. Editorial interview with Dr Hannah Carnegy-Arbuthnott on property rights and self-ownership

" Imagination paints a charming view of the future, conveniently adapted to the demands of our current emotion." - John Armstrong1

Once again, we have compiled papers from all fields of philosophy for the Spring edition of Dialectic, giving the authors complete freedom to choose the subject of their papers. The topics in this publication range from Nietzsche’s ad hominem arguments to a discussion of whether voluntary euthanasia is acceptable. In the first paper, Harry McDonald looks at William James’ idea that a religious experience is an entirely individualistic feeling that can motivate a new form of mindedness in relation to religion and argues that his theory is still useful in modern day.

Sarah Quinn reflects on the Argument from Design, which states that the order we find in nature is so complex and precise that it serves as proof for a divine existence that has designed it to be so. Ultimately, Sarah concludes that it is insufficient in giving us reason to believe in such a divine existence.

In the third essay, Jack Hoggett tackles slippery slope arguments against Voluntary Active Euthanasia, presenting some considerations that challenge them and diminish their plausibility.

In the fourth paper, Kai Milanovich questions whether all stereotypes are morally objectionable by evaluating the active view of stereotypes and comparing it to the responsive view in an attempt to present a more comprehensive picture that captures the complexity of stereotypes.

Armstrong, J. (2003). Conditions of Love: The Philosophy of Intimacy. W. W. Norton Company.

In the fifth essay, Edward Potts examines alienation and its connection to capitalist economies, with a particular focus on the institution of private property. In the end, Edward concludes that it is not a necessary feature of capitalist economies, given that it is also a feature of other social structures. Jonathan May discusses Nietzsche’s tendency to personally attack the philosophers he criticises and the way this has affected how we perceive him as a philosopher. The author explores the possibility that Nietzsche’s ad hominem arguments might be a central part of his analysis and understanding of certain arguments and thus should be taken seriously.

Mihaela Sotirova Editor

William James: Religious Experience and Its Application to The Modern-Day Harry McDonald is a third-year undergraduate student studying philosophy at the University of York harrisoncharlesmcdonald@yahoo.co.uk

Introduction It is within William James’, The Varieties of Religious Experience that his theory of what constitutes a religious experience comes to light. In brief, James develops his idea that a religious experience is an entirely individualistic feeling, able to provoke and motivate a new form of healthy mindedness in relation to religion. Within this essay, it will be argued that James’ theory of religious experience is still useful in the modern day, despite the criticism it has faced. The paper will begin in §1 by explaining precisely what James’ conception of a religious experience is from his book The Varieties of Religious Experience (hereafter ‘The Varieties’) giving attention to the relevant discussions in his early lectures. §2 Will then explain the first way in which James’ theory is useful in the modern day, noted by Taylor who suggests this individualistic form of religion has persisted through time, and is still very much alive today. However, in §3 possible inconsistencies by Rorty will be drawn upon, that raise issues regarding key definitions James endorses. Yet, §4 gives evidence to outweigh these concerns, as a real modern-day example of James’ theory being used is offered: the application of religious experience to Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). There is evidence for James’ theory to have a lasting benefit for people in the present day and this essay will argue this gives grounds to accept and continue to endorse his teachings. 1. The Conception of “Religious Experience” As a psychologist, James believed he could interpret a person’s religious feelings in a way that philosophers could not, which would in turn provide a unique perspective on religious experience. Crucially, James’ stance on what is meant 8

by religious experience is left vague for several reasons. Books on philosophy of religion begin with precise definitions of what religious essence is. The concern here is that they all seem to differ in what they claim the essence to be. James suggests this is enough to suppose there is no one essence – it is instead collective (James 1928: 26). To this end, being specific about religious experience would land James in a certain camp, thus generating a one-sided discussion. Talk of religious sentiment suffers this fate, as many psychologists and philosophers pin this down to a specific definition: ‘Such different ways of conceiving it ought of themselves to arouse doubt as to whether it possibly can be one specific thing […]’ (James 1928: 27). In attempting to be specific, we lose sight of what the thing may really be, and so James avoids this by keeping his stance on religious experience vague. A further consideration should be acknowledged. Religious experience may happen to anyone, of any religion. If James confined his definition of religious experience to the presence of God, for example, he has already ruled out many religions with more than one God. The fact that religious experience can happen to anyone is a great part of his theories appeal – anyone may use his teachings to help themselves in life. The first lecture in The Varieties sets out the aim: to investigate religious experiences through a psychological enquiry. This enquiry will be exclusively about the most notable and accomplished people of religious life to begin with, rather than the masses. This is because for James, ordinary religious followers have their religions already made for them and they give no original thought or support for advancing it – they only imitate (James 1928: 6). This contrasts with religious geniuses who unlike the masses, set new ways and types of experiencing religion, being innovative for their time. Importantly, James notes that, ‘religious leaders have been subject to abnormal psychical visitations.’ (James 1928: 6), going on to say that these types of people have all at some point experienced melancholy and a loss of meaning in life. The psychological issues religious geniuses experience is what eventually leads them to being religiously innovative. For James, the best example of such a person is George Fox, founder of the Quaker religion. His mind was unsound, as James deemed him a psychopath, but he nevertheless stood with religious authority and influence (James 1928: 7). Extreme examples such as this are necessary because James argues that this is how geniuses are made – only those with such psychological temperament 9

combined with high intellect can produce new forms of religion (James 1928: 2223). Following this, lecture three presents a broader view of what a religious experience consists of. James posits the idea of an unseen order: the idea that there is some overarching hidden perception, not seen through our normal senses. This hidden reality can appear before us in hallucinations (James 1928: 58-59). James recounts various case studies of people having experiences such as these, all claiming they felt a kind of presence near them. He coins such experiences as mystical (James 1928: 69). In turn, such overwhelming experiences affect a person’s beliefs, as they realize the existence of a God through these supernatural forces. To illustrate, a comparison is drawn to a lover without their partner – although their other half are not with them, they still feel their presence (James 1928: 72). Finally, perhaps the most important distinction regarding James’ conception of religious experience is between the once-born and the twice-born (James 1928: 80). The once-born are considered healthy-minded. Their trust in God gives sufficient reason for believing life is objectively good. Lives of the once-born are optimistic and free of worry, because they have believed in God from birth which consequently removed the struggles of belief and meaning so many people fall into (James 1928: 82). This is a stark contrast to the twice-born, sick souls. They cannot avoid the fact that evil exists in the world, nor can they turn a blind eye in the same way the healthy-minded can. Notably, those with this temperament have often but not always suffered a kind of failure in their lives, triggering this sense of pessimism and loss of meaning in life. Alcoholism or the death of a loved one are just some examples. James declares these moments pivotal for the twice-born (James 1928: 138). This is combined with a multitude of things to drive such a person over their misery-threshold that finally results in a sick soul. Melancholy is at the very heart of this, as it twists the individual’s perception of the world into only seeing it as evil. This form of neuroticism mentioned in the first lecture regarding religious geniuses becomes relevant here, as it can now be explained further in that those like George Fox are twice-born: “the man must die to an unreal life before he can be born into the real life” (James 1928: 165). Going through such a thing and 10

surviving acts as a form of deliverance – this kind of religious experience provides the deepest meaning and provides the foundations for the creation of new religion. This conversion may also come in the form of self-surrender, a surrender to religion. An effective summarization of what James’ religious experience consists of can be as follows: It is an experience that cannot be described, only felt. The individual does not control when this occurs, but the conditions of the sick soul must be met. The consequence of such an experience, after severe melancholy and dissatisfaction with life, is a new outlook – one that drives the individual towards religious authority and innovation. They are born again, as if God is the salvation to their suffering. In this way, religious experience according to James is highly individualistic, which in the next section will be argued is still prominent in the modern-day. 2. Impact on The Modern-Day With this in mind, the first way in which James’ conception of religious experience and The Varieties are still useful today can be assured from Charles Taylor. Taylor provides an investigation into what The Varieties can tell us about the place of religion today, drawing similarities between modern religious practise and James’ religious experience (Taylor 2003: vii). Importantly, the key reason James’ view is endorsed in modern times is because of a cultural change around the 1960s, shifting more towards expressive individualism. As consumerism began to grow, families became more nuclear and concentrated on themselves. Staying away from larger communities further reinforced individualism, as people would work on their own happiness more than others (Taylor 2002: 80-81). Consequently, more people recognized the importance of living your own life and developing your own identity as opposed to living for the state or large communities. Being part of large religious groups without thought for your own preference began to change, as more people developed their own choices and ideas – endorsing expressivism. This can then be reflected into religion similar to that of James’, which speaks of taking control and engaging with religion your own way: ‘The religious life or practice that I become part of not only must be my choice, but must speak to me; it must make sense in terms of my spiritual development 11

as I understand this.’ (Taylor 2002: 94). What this suggests is the connection to a larger community such as a church or state no longer seems necessary – again something James conveys. As such, people’s beliefs have shifted to become more varied. Instead of simply believing in Christian orthodoxy, people now believe in a force, or personal connection with something unseen (Taylor 2002: 106-107). Again, this is referencing to that mentioned in lecture three of The Varieties explained above. It seems then that characteristics of James’ ways to have religious experiences are evident in the modern-day. However, it is important to note that individualistic expressivism is not the only way people now endorse religion. Committing oneself to large church communities and imitating what is already there is still very common. The guiding point here is that James’ approach to religion is still used in the modern-day, not that it has replaced all other methods. Taylor emphasizes that what James describes as religious experiences are still very much crucial to religion today, as they are the gateway to establishing an individual’s spiritual life (Taylor 2002: 116). The fact that this is still just as important now as it was during James’ time, highlights how useful his work remains to be. 3. Inconsistencies in The Varieties Yet despite how convincing these arguments for usefulness may seem, they will be of little use if James’ writing shows fundamental inconsistencies. Rorty argues just this, suggesting James has confused his definition of ‘experience’. Problems with this definition arise when asking questions such as: are the causes for religious experience irrelevant to their value for humans, or do they have a kind of supernatural cause that gives us reason to believe in a higher power? Can we ever know where these experiences originate from? (Rorty & Proudfoot 2004: 87). The first lectures mentioned earlier suggest that there is some supernatural force in the world, as proven by James’ case studies from the likes of George Fox. Therefore, in one sense these religious experiences do give us reason to believe in a higher power. However, this is one of two answers James seems to provide. In later passages he does not allude to a higher power. Instead, he implies that these supernatural experiences are only an alternate form of our subconscious self, used to aid us in overcoming our despair (translating to depression in the 12

modern-day) (Rorty & Proudfoot 2004: 87). For example, when discussing mysticism James explains that our thoughts are not God’s knowledge, but simply constructed by ourselves to be like God’s knowledge. Moreover, he goes on to say our feelings have no content but what the five senses supply, suggesting again these experiences do not constitute the existence of God. Instead, they are created to help one out of their own despair. There is no reference to supernatural forces appearing before us, but instead we create what we think are supernatural causes. When discussing the sick soul, James claims that the purely naturalistic look on life (i.e., the belief that the world only functions on natural laws of nature, not supernatural laws) leads to despair and loss of meaning in life. However, there are many naturalists who do not have these kinds of feelings such as Marx, Nietzsche and Dewey (Rorty & Proudfoot 2004: 91). It seems James dismisses these philosophers, deeming them bound to feel despair because they deny the supernatural. The reason these inconsistencies are problematic is because when adopting James’ teachings in the modern-day, it brings into question how reliable James’ teachings really are, and whether or not The Varieties gives a realistic view people can benefit from. If James is confusing notions such as experience, and ignoring the possibility that naturalists are not necessarily determined to have a sick soul, how can it be assured that his teachings are accurate? If naturalism doesn’t always lead to despair, there is less chance of people having these kinds of religious experiences because they won’t lose meaning in life. Moreover, attempting to understand what James means by ‘experience’ becomes more difficult if the definition is ambiguous as Rorty suggests, which may lead to incorrect interpretations of James’ teachings, leading to negative applications. 4. Proof of Positive Modern-Day Application: Alcoholics Anonymous The criticisms discussed from Rorty are deeply worrying. It seems that if we cannot ensure James’ explanation of religious experience is applicable to the modern-day, it will not be deemed useful. However, there is one way in which it will be argued that James’ teachings in The Varieties have been useful in the modern-day: his contribution and influence in AA. The beginnings of AA commonly used Christian teachings to aid and rehabilitate alcoholics, meaning their organization could not branch out in the hopes of becoming global. After 13

the co-founder Bill Wilson read The Varieties, their teachings evolved to accompany every kind of religion, focusing more specifically on the individual. Their specific focus was on the sick soul, which encourages a form of selfsurrender to convert to a better life (Walle 1992: 95-96). Alcoholics are at their misery thresholds as mentioned earlier, which therefore allows for religious experience. This was crucial for AA in helping alcoholics turn their lives around with numerous success stories such as Smith, who after understanding James’ selfsurrender turned his life around. ‘Inheriting an intellectual legacy from 19 th century psychologist William James, AA focused upon one specific phenomena: the ‘sick-souled’ person experiencing catastrophic loss and finding relief in a rapid/dramatic self-surrender.’ (Walle 1992: 97). The idea of total collapse, as well as understanding the despair he would continue to face if things did not change, would then send his alcoholism into remission (Walle 1992: 96). Importantly, this is by no means a universal fix for alcoholism, as Walle stresses. Yet, it can be a fix for many individuals, and much like James’ religious experience, this cannot apply to everyone either. It is strongly argued here that the success of AA through the use of James’ religious experience regarding the sick soul, proves Rorty’s inconsistencies to be less threatening than they first appear. If the inconsistencies mentioned earlier were truly fatal, it would be difficult to believe the AA would have had as much positive success with endorsing James’ theories as they did. This provides strong evidence along with Taylor’s, that The Varieties and James’ conception of a religious experience is still useful in the modern-day and does not lead to a negative application. Conclusion To conclude, according to James a religious experience can be achieved when one is at their lowest, and it offers a way into a religious life. These experiences can be psychical, causing a belief in God. Rorty pointed out what at first seemed like worrying inconsistences with regards to James’ key definitions. Although, it seems these arguments are not substantial enough to affect James’ impact on the modern-day, exemplified by both Taylor and Walle. For this reason and those provided from individualistic culture and AA, this paper argues that James’

conception of a religious experience remains useful and applicable to the modernday.

Bibliography James, W. & Bradley, M. (2012). The Varieties of Religious Experience. 1st edn. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Proudfoot, W. & Rorty, R. (Eds.). (2004). William James And A Science of Religions: Re-Experiencing The Varieties Of Religious Experience. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. Taylor, C. (2004). Varieties of Religion Today. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Walle, A. (1992). William James' Legacy to Alcoholics Anonymous. In Journal of Addictive Diseases. 11(3): 91-99.

Does the order that we find in nature give us good reason to believe in a divine existence? Sarah Quinn is a second-year undergraduate philosophy student at the University of York - sq648@york.ac.uk The term ‘a divine existence’ refers to a God. Christians believe in a God that is a provident, perfect, and benevolent being, in addition to many other characteristics. One a posteriori argument for the existence of a Christian God is the Argument from Design. The argument’s first premise is that the universe has order, beauty, and arrangement of parts. Its second premise is that all of this makes the universe so complex and precise that it could not be this way by chance. Therefore, there must be an intelligent designer, God, who designed and created it. I will argue that the order that we find in nature does not give us good reason to believe in any kind of divine existence, particularly the Christian idea of God. I will argue this by looking at and evaluating arguments from David Hume (1748) and Richard Swinburne (1968) about the Argument from Design. I will argue that Swinburne’s view is wrong by using arguments put forward by Hume and Doore (1980). I will conclude that the order that we find in nature does not give us good reason to believe in a divine existence. Hume argues that the order we find in nature does not give us good reason to believe in a divine existence. He notes that the Argument from Design is the ‘chief or sole argument for a divine existence’ (Hume 1748: 98). If the argument can be shown to be weak, it stands that there is no good reason to believe in a divine existence. Hume (1748: 99-100) starts his argument by highlighting that the Argument from Design argues from the complexity of the universe, and categorises it as an effect, to a God, who is the cause of the universe. Hume claims that when drawing an argument from effects to causes, the cause must be proportionate to the effect. Therefore, the most that we can conclude about any cause is that it is sufficient to produce the effect. We would have no good reason to believe more than what is observable, such as by adding characteristics or qualities onto a cause, or by inferring that there are other effects of the cause. This means that we could only use the Argument from Design to have reason to believe in a divine existence that is sufficient to design and create the universe. We cannot 16

use it to argue for the existence of a Christian God, with characteristics such as being perfect or benevolent. Arguments for those qualities in a divine existence are not founded in reason, so they would be mere speculation. Then, Hume (1748: 101) extends his argument further. He points out that there are things in the universe and in nature that are not perfect, such as evil and suffering, that make our world imperfect. Therefore, the order that we find in nature can at most give us reason to believe in an imperfect God. This directly opposes Christian beliefs about God. Finally, Hume (1748: 100-102) notes that some people may try to argue from the effect that evil and suffering exist in the world, to the cause of God, to the effect that the universe is not actually imperfect but is necessary for this world to be the best possible world. This would be a way for Christians to argue for the characteristics they believe God has. Hume argues that this type of argument is also flawed. Once again, it is a causal inference that contains mere speculation about more than what is observable. We do not have good reason to believe it because we have no empirical evidence that God is benevolent or perfect and therefore created the best world possible. We do not know this a priori either. Not only would that line of reasoning be adding unobservable qualities onto the cause, but it would also be adding unobservable qualities onto the effect. On the other hand, Swinburne (1968) argues that the order that we find in nature does give us good reason to believe in a divine existence. In a direct counter to Hume, Swinburne (1968: 205-207) argues that in science, when we are looking for explanations of observable and empirical matters, we do not only ever conclude that a cause is sufficient to produce the effect. We expect that causes have other characteristics of their own too. Science would be redundant if all that scientists did was assume that causes had no other characteristics. Therefore, it is reasonable to believe that God has characteristics other than being sufficient to produce the universe. Swinburne (1968: 201-202) claims that the only way to refute the Argument from Design would be for scientists to prove that most states of apparent disorder, when left alone for a long time, turn into states of considerable order. This would make it more probable that the universe was not designed and created by a divine existence but was a state of disorder that eventually turned into a state of considerable order, as some theories in science suggest. If scientists were to prove this, it would be a way of opposing the Argument from Design’s second premise, 17

that the universe is so complex and precise that it could not be this way by chance. However, scientists have not proved this. Nevertheless, Swinburne’s (1968) objections against Hume can be overcome. His first objection is strong. To have an explanation of something’s existence, it often is the case that the cause has more characteristics than being sufficient to produce the effect. However, the argument in question, the Argument from Design, cannot provide an answer to what those characteristics are. The argument is based on what we can infer from an observable effect, which is the order, beauty, and arrangements of parts that we find in nature. From this alone, with no observation of the cause, we have no good reason to believe in a God with any qualities other than to be able to design and create the universe. In response to Swinburne’s second objection, there are ways to refute the Argument from Design other than by using science to show that there is a more probable cause to the universe than a divine existence. In fact, the Argument from Design does not show the existence of a God, or any kind of divine existence. At best, it suggests a cause. It does not make it necessary to accept its conclusion that there is a divine existence, that is, an intelligent designer and creator of the universe. For it to be able to do this, the Argument from Design would have to include the premise: everything in the universe that is extremely complex in order and arrangement of parts, and appears intelligently designed, is caused by a divine existence. However, even if the argument were to do this, the premise is not true. This line of reasoning may have been one that Hume (1748) wanted to take but decided not to in order to keep his arguably atheistic beliefs discrete. This is suggested by what he writes about causes and effects, but not in relation to the Argument from Design or God. Hume (1748: 46) argues that causes and effects have distinct existences from each other. It is conceivable, and therefore possible, for one to occur without the other. Hume claims that this is why we cannot deduce one from the other, because they have no necessary connection. So, if we apply this to the Argument from Design, it is conceivable and therefore possible for the world to exist without a divine existence. Therefore, we cannot use the Argument from Design to deduce the existence of a God. These arguments show that Swinburne’s second objection is wrong because there are other ways to refute the Argument from Design. However, even though Swinburne’s (1968) direct objections against Hume’s (1748) arguments can be overcome, it is difficult to overcome Swinburne’s 18

modern articulation of the Argument from Design. Swinburne claims that the old version that Hume was scrutinising does not bring all types of order that we can observe in nature into account. Swinburne argues that there are two types of order that should be considered, which are ‘regularities of copresence or spatial order, and regularities of succession, or temporal order’ (Swinburne 1968: 200). This means considering not only things in nature that are in order, but also things in nature that follow order. Swinburne argues that this more holistic view of the order in nature shows that the existence of a divine existence, and more specifically a Christian God, is probable. In his articulation of the argument, Swinburne focuses on laws of nature (Swinburne 1968: 202-204). These are an example of regularities of succession. Swinburne says we have good reason to believe they were created by God. To arrive at this conclusion, Swinburne claims that there are just two ways of explaining natural phenomenon: either by a scientific explanation or by a rational choice from a free agent. Many regularities of succession, such as laws of nature, can be explained using scientific explanations. These explanations tend to use explanations of regularities that are fundamental to them. However, many of these fundamental regularities cannot be explained by science, as scientific explanations for general regularities of succession are given with reference to fundamental regularities of succession, so this would be a circular argument. It follows that the only other explanation for them must be that they were caused by the rational choice of a free agent. To support this premise, Swinburne (1968: 206) says we can observe that humans (free agents) can produce regularities of succession. Therefore, it is probable that the regularities of succession in nature were created by the rational choices of a free agent that is similar to humans, and that is God. By following and accepting Swinburne’s line of reasoning, which overcomes the issue that the previous Argument from Design had (that it was not necessary to accept that the order in nature must have been caused by a divine existence and not by another cause), it seems that we must accept Swinburne’s conclusion. In defence of Hume’s line of reasoning, that the order that we find in nature does not give us good reason to believe in a divine existence, Doore (1980) argues against Swinburne. Firstly, Doore uses Swinburne’s own way of reasoning to show how the reasoning in his argument is flawed. Doore (1980: 150) says that if the only two ways of explaining natural phenomenon are either by a scientific explanation or by a rational choice from a free agent, then we must conclude that 19

there are fundamental regularities produced by agents which can only be explained by scientific explanations, and not a rational agent, such as God. After all, we cannot use general regularities of succession to explain fundamental regularities of succession. Doore argues that this flaw in the reasoning of Swinburne’s argument means we should accept that there are some phenomena that we do not have explanations for. Doore’s argument is similar to Hume’s (1748) line of reasoning, that we cannot reason from effect to cause, and that the order in the universe does not give us good reason to believe in a divine existence or any other specific type of cause. The argument implies that we should accept that we have no reason or explanation for the order that we find in nature. Doore (1980: 153-155) goes on to say that if the Argument from Design could be used in any way to show the existence of a divine existence, it would not be of a Christian God that Swinburne argues for. Instead, it could be used to give us good reason to believe in an ‘infinite causal series of mind-producing minds’ (Doore 1980: 155). He arrives at this polytheistic conclusion by arguing that Swinburne postulates that the first cause of the universe (God) must be uncaused. However, we have no experience of such a thing. It is also not necessary for there to be a first cause that is uncaused. So, we should use the empirical observations that we have to reach the most unmysterious conclusion possible: there is an infinite causal chain of minds that cause other minds. Or, we should not argue that the universe was created by a divine existence. Either way, the outcome is not favourable for Christian’s, such as Swinburne, who were using the Argument from Design to argue for a Christian God. If this is our choice of conclusions that can be drawn from the strongest form of the Argument from Design, then we should favour that the universe was not created or designed by a divine existence. Hume (1748: 105) would argue that Swinburne’s (1968) argument was flawed because it does not regard the fact that God is unique by hypothesis - the idea of God is only known through his effects. Therefore, we should not argue from rational free agents such as humans, to a God that is similar to humans. We do not have a posteriori evidence of this, nor do we know this a priori. We have no past experiences of constant conjunctions of God being similar to us and designing and creating the universe. The move is tempting because we can often argue from effects to causes about human creations, such as houses. Hume (1748: 104) says that when we see a halfconstructed house, we can infer that a person is in the process of building it. We know that if we were to return to it after some time, the house would be built 20

because we have many experiences of this being the case. But we cannot argue in the same way from nature to a divine existence, or more specifically, from humans to God. Likewise, we cannot know that there is an infinite causal chain of minds that cause other minds (Doore 1980), because we have no experience of them. Therefore, if we cannot use reason to argue from humans to God, or to an infinite causal chain of minds that cause other minds, it is most logical to conclude that we have no good reason to believe that the order that we find in nature means that there is a divine existence, of any kind. We should accept that we cannot use the Argument from Design to have good reason to believe in what the cause of the universe or the order in nature is. In conclusion, the order that we find in nature does not give us good reason to believe in a divine existence. Swinburne (1968) does present strong objections against some of Hume’s (1748) points. However, Swinburne's objections do not undermine the fact that there are weaknesses to the Argument from Design. Swinburne’s own articulation of the Argument from Design is challenging to argue against if you accept all his premises. However, arguments from Doore (1980) and Hume show that we do not have good reason to accept all his premises or his line of reasoning. Therefore, since the Argument from Design is the ‘chief or sole argument for a divine existence’ (Hume 1748: 98), we do not have any good reason to believe in a divine existence.

Bibliography

Doore, G. (1980). The Argument From Design: Some Better Reasons for Agreeing with Hume. In Religious Studies. 16 (2): 145-161. [Online] Available at: doi:10.1017/S0034412500012130 [Accessed 9th January 2021] Hume, D. (2007). An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding. New York: Oxford University Press, 1748. Swinburne, R. G. (1968). The Argument From Design. In Philosophy. 43 (165): 199-212. [Online] Available at: doi:10.1017/S0031819100009189 [Accessed 9 th January 2021]

A Defence of Voluntary Active Euthanasia Jack Hoggett is a first year MA philosophy student at the University of York - jh2454@york.ac.uk 1: Introduction The most popular arguments against Voluntary Active Euthanasia (VAE) – in and outside philosophy – are slippery slope arguments. These arguments claim that the legislation of VAE will lead to the legislation of Non-Voluntary Active Euthanasia (NVAE). I shall first tackle the logical slippery slope (LSS), rendering it absurd and irrelevant to the discussion of VAE. What is worrying and less tractable is the empirical slippery slope (ESS). I shall make many considerations that challenge its weight and diminish its plausibility. I also consider some empirical data from countries that have legalised VAE; from this, I conclude that the ESS most likely does not exist. 1.1: Types of Euthanasia ‘Euthanasia’ is derived from the ancient Greek ‘εὐθανασία’, meaning ‘good death’. This separates itself from other types of death, such as murder (Holland 2017: 74). Euthanasia is the purposeful hastening of a patient’s death for the benefit of the patient (ibid.). Euthanasia is either voluntary, non-voluntary, or involuntary. Euthanasia is voluntary when it is consented to or requested by the patient (ibid.). Euthanasia is non-voluntary if it is performed on a patient who is incompetent (ibid.). (Incompetent patients are those such as permanently vegetative patients, patients who have irreversibly lost the capacity for consciousness and patients with severe cases of Alzheimer’s and Dementia.) Euthanasia is involuntary when it is performed against the patients will (ibid.). Furthermore, euthanasia is either active or passive. Euthanasia is active when a doctor does x, where x is the primary cause of the patient’s death, such as a lethal injection (Holland 2017: 75). Passive euthanasia is when a decision is made to allow the patient to die (ibid.). This is better understood as ‘letting nature take its course’; for instance, treatment is withdrawn (ibid.). However, these actions are not considered to be the cause of death; hence ‘passive’.

2: Slippery Slope Arguments In most cases, slippery slopes intend to show that even though some practice p is permissible per se, the allowance, or legislation of p, leads to some impermissible practice q (Daskal 2018: 25). Therefore, the arguments go, one should not permit the legislation of p. A slippery slope argument is either logical or empirical; I shall note what this difference means in due course. There are three main ways in which one may resist such arguments. First, one may argue against the slipperiness of the slope. That is, it is either unlikely that one will slip down the slope, or one may be able to retain some friction by inculcating some restrictions or constraints on practice p. Second, one may object to the slippery slope by arguing that q is in actual fact permissible; it does not matter whether we do slip. Third, one may reject the slope; by legislating p we will not slip down the slope because it does not exist. It is this third approach that I will consider. 2.1: A Logical Slippery Slope The logical slippery slope (LSS) is as follows: there is some element in an argument, principle, practice or position that is similar or identical to another argument, principle, practice or position (Daskal 2018: 26). Therefore, one is logically committed to the other argument, principle, practice or position (ibid.). The LSS takes the form ‘given x, to be consistent, y’. The charge of a logical commitment should not be taken lightly. If such an argument is valid and sound, then one cannot justify that the latter practice is wrong – or in our discussion, that NVAE is impermissible or should not be legislated. The central element of John Keown and David Jones’s LSS is as follows. A necessary condition of VAE is the doctor’s judgement that the patient is better off dead (Keown 2002: 77). The patient requests to be euthanised, and then the doctor either accepts or declines the patient’s request. The doctor accepts or declines the request based on their judgement as to whether or not the patient is better off dead. To be consistent, says the objector, one has to allow that when there is an inability to make a request (incompetent patients), the doctor’s role becomes sufficient to euthanise. This is because the doctor can make the correct judgement that the patent is better off dead. Hallvard Lillehammer and Stephen Smith state that the doctor’s judgement remains a necessary, not sufficient, condition for VAE (Daskal 2018: 27). Steven 23

Daskal states that Keown sufficiently deals with this: if a doctor can make the correct judgement that the patient is better off dead, then a doctor can make the correct judgement that an incompetent patient is better off dead (Keown 2002: 77). Similarly, Jones suggests that when patients cannot make a request (i.e., incompetent patients), it is neither against the benefit of the patient, nor against autonomy to act on their behalf (Jones 2011: 399-400). In which case, it seems the doctor’s judgement is sufficient in the cases of incompetent patients. (I return to this in §3.). Daskal strengthens this claim by stating that, if a lack of autonomous request prohibits NVAE, then a lack of autonomous request will prohibit any standard medical treatment for incompetent patients (or even temporarily unconscious patients); a doctor could not, say, bandage a wound or provide nutrition for incompetent patients or temporarily unconscious patients (Daskal 2018: 28-29). (I return to this in §3.1.) 2.2: An Empirical Slippery Slope An empirical slippery slope (ESS) concerns human psychology. By legislating VAE we will inevitably see or perceive NVAE as permissible (Daskal 2018: 2526). Think of soldiers becoming indifferent to shooting people on the field. Similarly, doctors and society will become indifferent to killing patients via VAE and will inevitably see nothing wrong with NVAE. There is no sense in objecting that a patient would not be euthanised without a review done by an institution, because the institution’s perception of right and wrong will shift since they are human as well (I return to this in §3.1). 3: Against the Logical Slippery Slope I do not think that Keown or Jones are right about the LSS. On my view, VAE is permissible insofar as there is a correct judgement that the patient is better off dead, and it is voluntary. That is to say, the judgement (if it is correct) and the voluntariness of the patient are necessary and jointly sufficient conditions for permissible VAE. Therefore, even though death could be a benefit for incompetent patients, it may be against their will. We cannot understand NVAE as permissible in virtue of a practice that puts so much emphasis on voluntariness. Even if the doctor is right that the patient is better off dead, we cannot conclude it would be appropriate to euthanise, just because we take some other practice that is permissible partially because it is voluntary. So much for Keown and Jones’ objection.

Furthermore, there is a reduction ad absurdum against the LSS. Death could be a benefit for a competent patient that does not want to be euthanised. In which case, given the LSS, I am logically committed to thinking NVAE is permissible because death may be a benefit for incompetent patients. However, this must lead to the absurd conclusion that involuntary euthanasia is permissible because death may be a benefit for a competent patient who does not want to be euthanised. This is absurd. It cannot be suggested that a practice that is permissible in virtue of its voluntariness – and a correct judgement – leads to the logical commitment to a practice that contradicts voluntariness. For an advocate of the LSS to avoid this reduction ad absurdum, one has to object that VAE cannot lead to involuntary euthanasia because it is contrary to the patient’s consent. However, this is fatal for the LSS since NVAE is also contrary to voluntariness! 3.1: Against the Empirical Slippery Slope The ESS relies on people’s perceptive capacities. People’s ability to perceive things as good or bad is a very Aristotelian notion. We find in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (EN) – to put it crudely – being virtuous is about having a certain character, such that one perceives situations in a certain light, appropriately appreciating salient features of situations and appropriately reacting to situations in terms of feeling, judging and acting in accordance with a conception of how one should live (EN: I.12-III, McDowell 2002c: §§1-3,5-6). Perception, in this sense, is to truly grasp what has happened/is happening. For instance, because our ‘emotions embody appraisals or evaluations of things in the world’ (Nussbaum 2008: 92), to feel anger of a certain amount, or even hatred towards the murderer of a loved one, is to correctly or appropriately perceive the world. If one felt indifferent towards the murder of a loved one, then it is obvious that one has not understood what has happened to them; they lack the perceptual capacity to perceive the world. Similarly, one lacks the perceptual ability to perceive or evaluate the world if one becomes furiously angry at trivial things, such as someone merely forgetting one’s name. If one feels pleasure towards harming others, then ipso facto, they are not good because they cannot perceive what is wrong with their action and thereby fail to perceive the world as it is. So, when one acts, feels pleasure and pain, or emotionally responds ‘as [one] ought, when [one] ought, and as long as [one] ought, [one] is praised’ (EN:1125b: §31). The virtuous person acts and reacts appropriately to each situation individually (or at least, can be relied on to do so). Thus comes another Aristotelian thesis: ethics is not codifiable (EN: V.10, McDowell 2002c: §4). That is, virtuous 25

behaviour cannot be understood in terms of rules or universals – at best, they work in general, which entails that they are false1 (EN: I.3, McDowell 2002c: §4). Given some appropriate circumstance, it is appropriate to kill, steal or lie (in which case, among everything else, these cannot serve as moral universals or rules), and if one is virtuous, one will recognise which situations those are.

On this understanding of ethics2, consider the example of the soldier. The soldier goes through a perceptual shift whereby they feel indifferent towards shooting people on the field. However, the solider is not then caused to perceive shooting anyone as permissible. Similarly, although the doctor, society or institution may go through a perceptual shift such that they perceive VAE as permissible 3, they do not then perceive NVAE as permissible. Similarly, we may perceive it as permissible for a starving family to steal food; this does not then cause us to go through a perceptual shift, whereby we perceive any instance of theft as permissible. Ex hypothesi, we could not perceive NVAE as permissible in virtue of perceiving VAE as permissible. This is most stark given the thesis of uncodifiability; we assess each situation individually. Ethics is too broad, rich and complex to have a set of guiding principles; it is about the appropriate response, at the appropriate time, for the appropriate reason (EN: 1125b31). Therefore, on this view, we assess NVAE and VAE respectively, thus eliminating the ESS (and the LSS). In fact, given this thesis, I cannot say that NVAE is impermissible, or that VAE is permissible, if one takes those to state rules or universal claims – i.e., that VAE is unconditionally permissible and NVAE unconditionally impermissible. There are cases where VAE is inappropriate and NVAE is appropriate. So, when I claim that VAE is permissible, I am claiming that it ought to be legal. For we should not unconditionally prohibit practices if there are circumstances under which they are permissible. So, the claim that I am actually making is that VAE is permissible

And so, one cannot be virtuous or good by following or grasping these. I have given an ignoramus account of Aristotelian ethics. For the purposes of this essay, I cannot give a better explanation. For a better understanding of Aristotelian ethics, see, for instance, McDowell 2002a-c. 3 And one hopes that situations in which VAE is not permissible are recognised – which is entirely compatible with this view. It is not the case by arguing – in this way – that VAE is permissible, that it is always permissible – ipso facto that ethics is not codifiable. 2

in some situations and NVAE is permissible in some situations4. This makes no claim as to which cases it would in fact be permissible to euthanise. So, given the uncodifiablity thesis, VAE is sometimes permissible – and such and such are the general ways in which we perceive it as permissible. That poses no problem for the aim of this essay. The point still stands, we assess VAE and NVAE respectively. One may worry that given the thesis of uncodifibility, anything whatever must be permissible in some circumstance. However, on Aristotle’s view, some things ‘already imply badness’ (EN: 1107a9-10), such as shamelessness, racism, misogyny and sadism.

What may seem troubling now, is that I cannot say that voluntariness and the doctor’s correct judgement are necessary and jointly sufficient for the permissibility of VAE. This, however, misconstrues the conditions as conditions that eo ipso tell one where and when, what the good action is. These conditions, however, simply express: (i) for VAE to be VAE, it must be voluntary, that is a truism; (ii) for it to be a case that there are circumstances where VAE is permissible, it is because it is a fact that the ‘patient is better off dead’5; (iii) taken together, we get the claim that if a competent patient is in fact better off dead, and they want to be euthanised, then it is permissible. (The condition that the doctor makes a correct judgement is mere expediency. Being a doctor does not entail knowing what the good thing is to do qua doctor. Indeed, it is dubious that the doctor is the appropriate authority on this. Whether or not doctors are the appropriate authority makes for another essay; if it turns out that they are not, it should be clear that it does not diminish the argument in this essay. That being said, I do think in some cases it would be appropriate that a doctor is involved; at least, insofar as a doctor may confirm that a patient has an illness and what that may mean for the patient.) Furthermore, non-voluntary passive euthanasia (NVPS) is widely practised. However, the same ESS argument could be constructed to show that it leads to NVAE. Yet, there is no slope. If there were, we would have slipped down it

This is similar, but importantly different from the second way in which we may tackle slippery slopes, as I outlined in §2. Here the point is that my Aristotelian leanings allow that there are circumstances under which NVAE is permissible. However, I am still arguing that the slope does not exist. 5 Which may, in actual fact, simply come down to some reason(s) other than a diagnosis – so long as the circumstances are right, this would be appropriate.

already. The explanation as to why there is no slope is the same explanation I have just given. We have not slipped down this slope because we consider cases of NVPE and NVAE respectively. Therefore, if we perceive some case of NVPE as permissible, we will neither be psychologically led, nor logically led, to think of some impermissible case of NVAE as permissible. It should now be clear how this responds to Daskal’s objection in §2.1. He thought, if autonomous consent is a necessary condition to euthanise, then it would prohibit standard medical treatment if it lacked autonomous consent, such as resuscitating a young and otherwise healthy person who has not filled out a DNR form. Given the claim about Aristotelian perception and uncodifiability, what goes for VAE only applies to cases where VAE is in question. It could be said that it is moot whether or not there is an ESS. Therefore, let us assess data from countries that have legislated VAE. 4: Invalid Data Data from Belgium and the Netherlands (2007) does not support that there is an ESS. There is no data of NVAE before the legalisation of VAE. Even if there were, as John Griffiths notes, we cannot infer a causal link on the basis of more cases; for coinciding increases of two things does not imply a causal link (Lewis 2007: 199). On the other hand, Penny Lewis states that we cannot say anything determinative or suggestive because we lack the data before the legalisation of VAE (Lewis 2007: 199-200). I do not think Lewis is entirely right, as we can say something at least; the cases of NVAE have stayed stable since the legalisation of VAE (ibid.). This indicates that there is no slippery slope (ibid.). Data from the Netherlands and Belgium (2013) also supports that there is no ESS from VAE to NVAE. However, some claim that it suggests that there is a slope from permissible types of VAE to impermissible types. For instance, one New Yorker article (2015) claimed ‘a depressed woman… was chatting and laughing on the way to her euthanasia appointment’ (Lerner et al. 2015: 1641). First, if she was suffering and wanted to die, then no wonder her spirits were lifted; her family or friends were probably trying to give her the best end to her life. Second, this shows a great naivety about depression; depressed people do chat and laugh. This article also asserted that ‘Belgians had been euthanised for conditions such as autism, anorexia, and chronic fatigue syndrome’ (my emphasis, Lerner et al. 2015: 1640). However, there is no evidence that it was for these reasons. The claim is made more dubious by the fact that it contradicts the legal parameters 28

that the doctors work within. Most notably, doctors cannot euthanise the patient unless the patient is ‘without prospect of improvement’ (Snijewind et al. 2015: 1636). This is not applicable to people with anorexia and patients with chronic fatigue syndrome - even if it is unlikely, they could improve. Another restriction is that the patient must be ‘better off dead’ (ibid.); this includes a report as to why. A doctor could not justify that a person with autism is better off dead in virtue of having autism. If a patient with autism has been euthanised, then it would be because of some other factor(s). It does not follow from the fact that people with autism have been euthanised that they have been euthanised because they have autism. Besides, this does not show that there is a slope from VAE to NVAE – if it showed any slope, it would be a slope between permissible VAE and impermissible VAE. As I have suggested, from this data there is no evidence that there is a slope from permissible to impermissible types of VAE. Most crucially, in order to suggest that there is an ESS from VAE to NVAE, we must do research to see whether or not there is an unusual increase of support for NVAE. This is because the ESS is about people’s attitudes towards impermissible things. If support for NVAE has not changed, then there cannot be a slippery slope. To that avail, there is no evidence or empirical data that suggests this. Therefore, the data that I have assessed here – and any other of similar nature – is otiose.

5: Conclusion I have shown that there is no LSS from VAE to NVAE. Most importantly, I have shown that there is no evidence of an ESS through data and philosophical justification. I have done this by advocating for an Aristotelian understanding of ethics, which shows we could not have a perceptual shift towards NVAE in virtue of legislating VAE. I have also presented the reader with two groups of data that do not suggest there is a slippery slope. I thus feel justified in concluding our best explanation is that there is no LSS or ESS from VAE to NVAE.

Bibliography

Aristotle. (1995). The Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by Ross, D. In; The Complete Works of Aristotle. Bollingen Series LXXI 2. Princeton University Press. 29

Daskal, S. (2018). ‘Support for Voluntary Euthanasia with No Logical Slippery Slope to Non-Voluntary Euthanasia’. In Kennedy Institute of Ethics Journal. 28 (1). 23-48. Holland, S. (2017). ‘Killing Verses Letting Die’. In Bioethics: A Philosophical Introduction. (2nd Edn.). Cambridge: Polity: 73–94. Jones, D. (2011). ‘Is There a Logical Slippery Slope from Voluntary to Nonvoluntary Euthanasia?’ In Kennedy Institute of Ethics Journal. 21 (4): 379– 404. Keown, J. (2002). Euthanasia, Ethics and Public Policy: An Argument Against Legalisation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lerner, B. H. & Caplan, A. L. (2015). JAMA Internal Medicine. October 2015. 175 (10): 1640-1641. McDowell, J. (2002a). ‘The Role of Eudaimonia in Aristotle’s Ethics’. In Mind, Value, and Reality. Harvard University Press: 3-22. McDowell, J. (2002b). ‘Some Issues in Aristotle’s Moral Psychology’. In Mind, Value, and Reality. Harvard University Press: 23-49. McDowell, J. (2002c). ‘Virtue and Reason’. In Mind, Value, and Reality. Harvard University Press: 50-73. Nussbaum, M. (2008). Who is the Happy Warrior? Philosophy Poses Question to Psychology. The Journal of Legal Studies. 37 (S2). The University of Chicago Press for The University of Chicago Law School. Snijdewind, M. C., Willems, D. L., Deliens, L., Onwuteaka-Philipsen, B. D. & Chambaere, K. (2015). ‘A Study of the First Year of the End-of-Life Clinic for Physician-Assisted Dying in the Netherlands’. In JAMA Internal Medicine October 2015. 175 (10): 1633-1639.

Are all Stereotypes Morally Objectionable? Kai Milanovich is a fourth-year undergraduate student studying philosophy and music at the University of Missouri-Kansas City - kai.milanovich@gmail.com When discussing the moral qualities of stereotypes, it is common to adopt the view that stereotypes are a sort of action. Whether habits or beliefs, speech acts or acknowledgements of cultural association, it is common to say that a stereotype is a thing which one ‘does’. I call this the active view of stereotypes. The active view starts with the assumption that, because a stereotype is some form of action, agents have some control over how that action is done. This view focuses on the user of the stereotype, what I call the stereotyper – a stereotypee, on the other hand, is one who is subject to a stereotype, however understood.6 By adopting the active view of stereotypes, the moral conversation favours the agency of the stereotyper – because normative inquiry fixates on the “act” and its actor, it fails to fully account for the agency of the recipients of stereotypes. To work towards a more complete picture of the complexity of stereotypes, I propose what I call the responsive view of stereotypes. The responsive view assumes that since one cannot control the production or distribution of stereotypes, they should instead focus on responsive possibilities – on how to respond to the stereotypes of others. This article shows how the active view does not provide a complete picture of the moral landscape of stereotypes; when normative inquiry only considers the active view, it disregards the stereotypee’s agency to respond to stereotypes. Furthermore, insofar as responsive agency contributes to individuality, the active view fails to treat individuals as individuals. Of course, some theorists have partially adopted the responsive view. Stereotype threat, for instance, describes the way in which moral agents can internalise stereotypes in ways that harm their self-image (Spencer et al. 1999). Adding on to this view, other theorists have noted that while stereotypes can be

Note that these definitions are not mutually exclusive. By stereotyping oneself, for instance, one is taking on both roles.

psychologically harmful, they can also be epistemically degrading, in that they impact epistemic agency (Goguen 2016). Other theorists, in their moral accounts of stereotypes, make little space for a full-fledged responsive account. Lawrence Blum, for example, argues that all stereotypes are morally objectionable because they disrespect individuality and mask the internal diversity of groups (Blum 2004)., In response to Blum, Erin Beeghly argues that only some forms of stereotypes are morally problematic, but others are permissible (Beeghly 2015). All of these works attend to the harms of stereotypees; however, each focuses its attention on the stereotyper before the stereotypee. This is a reasonable step since moral evaluation aims to inform the actions of actors, but in reality, it only accounts for the agency of the stereotyper – the stereotypee is erased. That is, most accounts do not sufficiently address the agency of the stereotypee at all. By including a stereotypee’s account of agency within our moral understanding, one generates a richer view of these complex social phenomena, which not only inform nuanced stereotyper action but also provide a site for stereotypee resistance and protection. To elaborate on this claim, I will examine two prominent views about the moral qualities of stereotypes. These views, while spelt out by particular theorists, speak to widely held views about the moral nature of stereotypes. First, I demonstrate how Blum’s view – that all stereotypes are wrong – misunderstands the productive role that stereotypes can have for individuality. Second, against Beeghly’s view that only some stereotypes are wrong, I argue that the responsive view of stereotypes shows how it is morally permissible for some stereotypes to be used as primary reasons for action. Overall, a responsive account of stereotypes bolsters and complicates the active view of stereotypes by providing an account of each agent’s individuality; the result is that stereotypees gain the agency in theory which they have always had in practice. I. Harm of All Stereotypes Both Blum and Beeghly argue that stereotypes are morally problematic because they disrespect the individuality of moral agents. This broadly Kantian view is spelt out differently by each theorist, but the gist is that both of them suppose that respecting the individuality of others is central to respecting them as moral agents. Here, however, Blum takes a harder view by arguing that all 32

stereotypes are wrong (Blum 2004: 288). Stereotypes, in his view, are associations between a trait and a social group. These are not often reliable associations, nor, he argues, do they contain some “kernel of truth.” Rather, they are always misleading because of the complex social and epistemic factors involved (Blum 2004: 260). A trait-group association simply cannot endorse individuality. In outlining the particular harms involved, he writes that all stereotyping “involves a masking of individual members of the stereotyped groups, a masking of the internal diversity within the stereotyped group, and an intensified moral distancing from the stereotyped group” (Blum 2004: 288). Stereotypes are misleading of the identity of both individuals and groups, and through the clear demarcation of ‘us’ and ‘them’, there is a moral distancing instilled in all stereotypes. Since all stereotypes have these features, all stereotypes are rendered harmful. Blum’s view is constructed with the active view of stereotypes – it does not allow stereotypee response to be significant to the usage of a stereotype. Consider Blum’s view taken to its extreme: if it is true that all stereotypes are harmful, then it is morally desirable to try to limit the production and acknowledgement of all stereotypes. But since a stereotype can be produced or acknowledged by mere social interaction, these interactions themselves become suspect. Limiting such interactions – especially those likely to generate stereotypical images – falls into the very moral distancing which Blum seeks to avoid. On the other hand, if one considers the details exposed by the responsive view, then social interaction is not problematic, but rather a site of agency. The responsive view assumes that stereotypees cannot control the stereotypes which are applied to them, so instead they must develop strategies to navigate a world with those stereotypes. Through internally deciding how to respond, stereotypees assert significant qualities of their individuality through the particularities of their responses. Put more plainly, if stereotypees cannot stop other agents from using stereotypes, then they will focus on their responses instead. Their response constitutes their agency – a significant part of their individuality – and defines them in light of the stereotype. Blum’s view does not render legible the ways in which agency is produced through stereotypes; instead, it claims that stereotypes always limit individuality. The responsive view shows that this is not the case.

This is not an original view. Take, for instance, Gershun Avilez’s account of “queer contingency.” Queer contingency is the “possibility of freedom” combined with the constant “risk of injury” that queer people of colour face in daily social interactions (Avilez 2019: 50). The idea here is that, because of prominent racism and heteronormativity, social interactions for queer people of colour are densely shaded with uncertainty. In a world of strangers, it is not possible to have knowledge of potential dangers in novel social situations. Since not everybody wears their ideologies on their sleeves, it is vital for minorities to ‘read the room’ and decide how to act to ensure their safety. Queer contingency names a tension within how to present oneself: on the one hand, one wants to present their self-understanding to the world, but on the other, one wants to remain safe. Deciding when to present or not constitutes a personal riskmanagement strategy which relies upon a strong understanding of stereotypes. Additionally, this is not dissimilar to W. E. B. Du Bois’ idea of ‘doubleconsciousness’. He describes it as the “sense of always looking at oneself through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity” (Du Bois 1903). What is significant from Du Bois point, however, is that by understanding oneself through a variety of social lenses, stereotypees gain access to vital knowledge about their social ontology. Such knowledge informs how they will deal with the risk within uncertain and unpredictable situations. In addition to presenting epistemic strain, doubleconsciousness also produces epistemic advantage insofar as it enables one to have a dual view of their social selves. These points – about speculative risk management and epistemic advantage – counter Blum’s view that all stereotypes are always morally problematic. Since both queer contingency and doubleconsciousness rely on the usage of stereotypes, and it is unlike that they should be deemed morally impermissible, it is thus unlikely that all stereotypes are objectionable. II. More than Individuality? Beeghly’s view makes more space for these nuances by doing away with the absolute modifier. Beeghly argues for a “descriptive view” of stereotypes, where all stereotypes are to be described through four independent, but not exclusive, categories. Moral deliberation then proceeds from these categories: 34

two of which represent morally problematic kinds of stereotypes, while the other two do not (Beeghly 2015: 684). Significantly, Beeghly advocates that moral deliberation starts with a neutral view of stereotypes and proceeds to examine moral qualities next. Thus, Beeghly disagrees with Blum: not all stereotypes are actually morally problematic. Specifically, within her categorisation of stereotypes, Beeghly argues that one can psychologically acknowledge a stereotype without causing harm. For example, classic literature might deploy stereotypes that readers acknowledge, but this is not a moral fault. Beeghly disagrees with Blum by acknowledging that stereotypes can be used to justify action (Beeghly 2015: 681). However, she is careful here: stereotypes cannot be the primary reason for an act, they can only be supporting reasons. On her view, only stereotypes which “judge a person primarily on stereotypes” constitute moral harm (Beeghly 2015: 684). That is, one can use stereotypes as supporting reasons for actions, but they cannot be the driving force of one’s actions. Beeghly’s view might stand up to the critique of Blum’s view, depending on how she could categorise particular situations (ex. is queer contingency a primary judgement?), but while it accounts for this agency, it is still situated within an active view of stereotypes. Recall that, to the moral stereotyper, stereotypes are problematic because they produce potentially misleading beliefs about the individuality of other agents. The moral instruction is then that moral agents ought to be cautious of stereotype usage. The origin of this instruction, however, rests on the active view of stereotypes given that it focuses on stereotype management. The responsive view, however, gives other insights on the harms of stereotypes and the moral uptake. The stereotypee does not assume that they can control the production or distribution of stereotypes, so they instead focus on what can be done with those stereotypes – they can align with them or reject them. Stereotypees can subvert stereotypes, or mix them, or emphasise them for some end. All of these options, however, indicate that stereotypees have a particular relationship to a stereotype. Indeed, all agents who are aware of stereotypes within their social milieu will have some relationship to that stereotype. Those who frequently face stereotypes are aware of the ways in which particular stereotypes are mapped onto their social ontology, and these individuals then coordinate their actions around what those stereotypes mean to them as well as to others. This is the double-consciousness again. Imagine a 35

lesbian going into a bar. In a room full of strangers, she knows how to leverage the cultural images of her society to communicate her sexuality through clothing, language, facial expression, and the bearing of her body, etc. There is an element of queer contingency here: she can play it up – to be seen as the stereotype – or play it down – if she feels unsafe. But significantly, she is using a stereotype of ‘what lesbians look like’ as a primary reason for action. By pairing the presentation of the stereotype with the intention of aligning to it, the reasons for acting were primarily informed by the stereotype. Thus, if one denounces the use of stereotypes as primary reasons, then they subsequently deny her the ability to respond to the stereotype in self-affirming ways. One might unintentionally present themselves ‘as a lesbian’, and this might be considered a disrespect to their individuality, but my central point here is to show that the moral qualities of stereotypes are more complicated than the active view depicts. Since stereotypes can play such a positive role in the process of self-identification, and since agents intentionally use stereotypes as a means to establish and communicate their individuality, it is wrong to say that the primary use of stereotypes disrespects individuality in all cases. III. The Shifted Focus I have argued that the active view does not provide an adequate account of the moral qualities of stereotypes. By examining the moral qualities of stereotypes from the perspective of those using stereotypes, the questions have been centred around how to control stereotype usage. However, if one steps away from the active view and adopts the responsive view for a moment, the kinds of questions around stereotypes change. Rather than generating questions around controlling stereotypes, the focus is more on the particular relationship between the individual and a stereotype. That is, the responsive view encourages an individual approach to the moral evaluation of stereotypes. Rather than asking moral agents to prophylactically demonise stereotypes, the responsive view encourages people to shift their attention to the stereotypee and consider the relationship they have with the stereotype at hand. The responsive view both complicates and strengthens the active view. It complicates it by showing that there are few clear-cut categorisations to the moral qualities of stereotypes. Rather than establishing what is or is not permissible, it 36

asks agents to engage in dialogue to deliberate over the case at hand. Additionally, the responsive view strengthens the active view by making the stereotypee’s individuality more legible to a moral inquiry. The active view does a poor job of giving a voice to stereotypees, but the responsive view accounts for this deficiency. By acknowledging that all agents have some control over the stereotypes that they are involved in, one not only gives these individuals more agency in forming their own social ontology, but they also produce a richer, more complex view of the social power of stereotypes. Rather than merely being good or bad, true or false, stereotypes can become subversive and ironic; whimsical and contentious; provocative and insightful. With a nuanced view of the relationships between stereotypes and moral agents, one is able to depict a more representative understanding of stereotypes.

Bibliography:

Avilez, G. (2019). ‘Uncertain Freedom’. In The Black Scholar. 49(2): 50–64. doi: 10.1080/00064246.2019.1581978. Beeghly, E. (2015). ‘What is a Stereotype? What is Stereotyping?’. In Hypatia. 30(4): 675–691. doi: 10.1111/hypa.12170. Blum, L. (2004). ‘Stereotypes And Stereotyping: A Moral Analysis’. In Philosophical Papers. 33(3): 251–289. doi: 10.1080/05568640409485143. Du Bois, W. E. B. (William E. B. D.). (1903). The Souls of Black Folk. [Online] Available at: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/408 [Accessed: 15 March 2021]. Goguen, S. (2016). ‘Stereotype Threat, Epistemic Injustice, and Rationality’. In Implicit Bias and Philosophy. Eds. M. Brownstein & J. Saul. Oxford University Press: 216–237. Spencer, S., Steele, C. & Quinn, D. (1999). ‘Stereotype Threat and Women’s Math Performance’. In Journal of Experimental Social Psychology. 35(1): 4–28. doi: 10.1006/jesp.1998.1373.

Is alienation a necessary feature of capitalist economies? Edward Potts is a third year BA student at Newcastle Universityedwardpotts@protonmail.com While Marx criticises capitalist economies for being wasteful and exploitative, the notion that these economies are alienating is the most significant aspect of his thought. To articulate what alienation is, we must therefore discuss capitalism and in particular, its legal form: private property. This will be our point of departure, after which we will consider alienation and its four characteristics, namely, alienation from the product; from the productive activity; from speciesbeing; and from other human beings. I will then ask whether alienation is necessary to capitalist economies, to which I will respond negatively, suggesting that alienation is also a feature of other social structures, such as feudalism.7 By (briefly) drawing on feudalism, it will be shown that, while alienation is a feature of feudal economies, the sphere of alienation in capitalist economies is greater (by virtue of the liberty capitalism affords). Since alienation is ultimately a critique concerning self-determination, the kind of social structure that Marx believes will not inhibit self-determination is important to take into account. However, asking whether that social structure would function successfully is not the purpose of this essay – its consideration simply helps to further describe the alienation that capitalism (and to some extent feudalism) instantiates. The institution of private property is the legal form of the socio-economic arrangement defined as capitalism. Private property is the idea that individuals can hold exclusive rights to property – such as materials and land – which, in

I realise that some of the empirical claims I make about feudal economies might be contentious, but these would have to wait for a longer piece of work. I think that theoretically, feudalism supplies us with a good opposition.

virtue of the legal predicate of that property’s ownership, can be exchanged, purchased, and inherited as those individuals see fit. For Marx, private property is the ideological or superstructural expression of capitalism, in that the superstructure, the base of which being the socio-economic arrangement of society, denotes the value systems and institutional structures of that society. From the socio-economic arrangement ‘arises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness’ (Marx 1986a: 187). An ideology belongs to the superstructure; it is the selfunderstanding of a socio-economic class, the consciousness we have of ourselves. Self-understanding is progressive when the individual controls their own activity, operating self-determinately. The regressive form of self-understanding occurs when that activity is determined by others or by the system itself – such is the case with respect to capitalist economies. For Marx, private property circumscribes our capacity for self-governance; in other words, capitalism is alienating because its base (the material relations between the classes) and superstructure (the value systems and institutions we think are indissoluble) impede the subject from realising its own essence and thus from acting freely in the world. To act freely is to self-govern, to decide upon our own ends, and should those ends be determined by an entity independent of ourselves, we are not free, but alienated. Marx advocates the abolition of private property (Marx & Engels 2004: 22). If we conceive the world as something that can belong to people, that is in the interest of the capitalist system itself and not the classes of the society. There are three main classes in capitalism: the wage-labourers, the capitalists and the landowners. The capitalists and the landowners can be regarded as synonymous, as they both maintain exclusive rights to assets – capital and land respectively – and are therefore able to exchange those assets for other privately owned goods. Contrastingly, the wage-labourers or workers are those who do not own any private property, only their labour power (which is exchanged for subsistence). In light of this, we can distinguish between two main economic groups within capitalist economies: ‘the property owners and the propertyless workers’ (Marx 1986b: 36). In other words, those who own the means of production or ‘material conditions of labour’ – the physical and non-human elements used for production, such as factories, land, machinery and tools – and those who do not (Marx 1977: 39

548). Thus, the capitalist mode of production, or the economic roles and the social relations between the occupants of those roles, is characterised in terms of private ownership of the means of production (Marx 1986a: 187). The means of production, in combination with the labour, results in the product (Evans 2004: 63). Stated otherwise, the labourer creates the product by acting on the necessary materials and resources, whose proprietor is not the labourer but the capitalist. In a system of private property, labour does not create ownership because the labourer must use goods belonging to others in order to produce. Therefore, the labourer sells their labouring capacities, not their product, to the owner of the means of production (Marx 2013: 113). Alienation describes the relation of the labourer to the product of the labouring activity and to that activity itself (Norman 2003: 750). Marx defines the product as the activity of the labourer materialised: it is ‘labour which has been embodied in an object, which has become material: it is the objectification of labour’ (Marx 1986b: 37). Yet in capitalism, the goal of production is not the product itself but the raising of capital. To own the product, the labourer requires money, and the labourer obtains money by selling labour-power. The materialised labour is appropriated by the capitalist and sold for a profit, and is therefore taken from the labourer and posited as not the labourer's own (i.e. to be repurchased) (Rose 2009: 93). The labourer does not recognise themselves in what they produce, and is thus ‘related to the product of his labour as to an alien object’ (Marx 1986b: 37). The labourer alienates the product of their activity because that activity itself is alienated (Petrović 1963: 421). The second characteristic of alienation is therefore one in which the labourer relates ‘to his own activity as an alien activity not belonging to him’ (Marx 1986b: 40). This is precisely because the conditions under which that activity will be exercised is determined by those for whom the labourer works (Chrisman 2002: 193). Thus, the labourer does not produce by his own design or will, rather, the labourer's ends are chosen for them and, in that way, the labourer's ‘activity is not his spontaneous activity. It belongs to another; it is the loss of his self’ (Marx 1986b: 40). Marx understands practical activity as something distinctively human – it is our species-being (Sayers 2011: 81). So, it is not the case that activity can be separated from the human and there is something else that remains, because, in its essence, the human is activity and is labour. Thus, from the alienation of 40

activity, Marx deduces a third dimension, namely, alienation from ‘speciesbeing’ (Marx 1986b: 42). Through activity, we realise our essence (that is what it means to be free) but under a system of private property, self-realisation is inhibited because our activity is understood as a commodity to be sold in order to raise capital. Marx understands the labourer to be ‘the most wretched of commodities’ (Marx 1986b: 35), because the more the labourer produces, the cheaper the commodity and, thereby, the labourer's own activity becomes. Ultimately, the more the labourer produces, the further the labourer perpetuates the means of their own subjugation. The labourer understands themselves as a commodity, as possessing labour rather than being, in the labourer's essence, a labouring thing. That is a regressive ideology, a false self-understanding. As the labourer alienates the product of their activity, the activity itself and the labourer's species-essence, so the labourer alienates themselves from other humans. This is the fourth aspect of alienation, the alienation ‘of man from man’ (Marx 1986b: 42). Marx’s account of this is brief and somewhat cursory, but he intends to articulate the dissolution of communal bonds under capitalism. Marx captures this when claiming that ‘each man views the other in accordance with the standard and the relationship in which finds himself as a worker’ (Marx 1986b: 43). Private ownership encourages labourers to compete with one another, to advance beyond their fellow labourers and those in society more generally. Moreover, as the capitalists are motivated by profit and, in light of this, in competition with other capitalists, so too is their self-understanding corrupted and regressive. The capitalists are not free and self-determining, but equally as alienated as the labourers. We can see that alienation is fourfold, for Marx. There is alienation from the product; from the productive activity; from species-being; and from other human beings. Until now we have considered alienation only in terms of capitalism, but alienation is not something necessary to capitalist economies (in the sense that other economic structures involve alienation). For instance, individuals in the feudal system would have been alienated, it is just the case that the sphere of alienation in a system like feudalism is smaller than it is in capitalism.

The feudalist’s product is, for the most part, to satisfy their own natural needs (San 1979: 809). Feudalists were only alienated when compelled to spend their free time producing for others. Feudalists would have to tithe 10% of their produce or income to the Church in order to provide for the priest and to help maintain the church building (Bloch 2004: 252). Further, when leaders go to war, the labour-power and taxation of the feudalists would be utilised (which, like the practice of tithing, they might consent to for ideological or religious reasons). That is where the alienation features, for had the feudalists controlled the means of production – i.e. the land – perhaps they would not have formed these religions, built and sustained these churches or fought in battles (which served the interests of the aristocracy). Capitalism, in a certain sense, has the potential to be a significant advantage over feudalism, for it liberates us from our natural drives and, thereby, leaves a space in which we can determine ourselves and choose the activities we partake of. However, by opening up a greater sphere of liberty, capitalism also opens up a greater sphere of alienation. That is because capitalism creates new scarcities in the form of social needs. We believe that our free time is ours to spend on what we choose, but the system itself determines what has value. In capitalism, surplus time is invested in the exchange of social prestige and symbolic capital, and not the development of individual capacities. The means of production determine and produce the activity of our surplus time, and since they are geared towards increasing capital, what we might understand as worthwhile is pushed into the periphery. The question that arises, therefore, is whether every social structure is going to involve some form of alienation and inhibit the possibility for selfrealisation. Marx’s response to this would be to say, not the social structure whose governance is cooperative and participatory (Marx 1986c: 70). For Marx, we should work collectively to supply a state of abundance and, when all our basic needs are met, to decide as a group what matters or has value – where our surplus labour should be directed (Elster 1986: 46). For freedom is something that can be realised only in and through the group or community (Brenkert 1979: 126). The true understanding of freedom, in other words, is freedom in a social context.

That is why Marx envisions ‘a community of free individuals [as one in which those individuals are] carrying on their work with the means of production in common, in which the labour-power of all the different individuals is consciously applied as the combined labour-power of the community’ (Marx 1986c: 70). We can understand the kind of social structure Marx would advocate as antithetical to capitalism, in that it does not serve as an impediment to the selfrealisation and development of humans. Under capitalism, the sphere of alienation is great. As we have seen in capitalism, we find ourselves alienated from a world that was there as the basis of our self-determination, as it is given a predicate of ownership and is thus something to be exchanged and bought back. That means working for someone else, directing our own activity following their injunctions. The conditions of capitalism oblige that we do what somebody else tells us, and that means the product of our activity cannot be recognised as our own. We are thus alienated from our species-being, precisely because we cannot choose what our activities are. Further, we are alienated from others because selfdetermination involves a social element and in capitalism, we cannot cooperate since we perceive ourselves to be in competition with one another. Capitalism, whose legal expression is private property, contrasts with feudalism to show that alienation is not a necessary feature of capitalist economies. Yet the sphere of alienation in capitalist economies is greater than it is in feudalism. That is because capitalism provides liberties that the feudal system could not, but the mirror of this is a larger degree of alienation. Articulating how social structures, in particular those involving the institution of private property, are alienating, also involved exploring what self-governed activity is, and how it can be possible. To that end, we saw that true freedom resides in a collective context, as determining oneself in a meaningful society.

Bibliography

Bloch, M. (2004). Feudal Society: Volume I. Trans. L.A. Manyon. London: Routledge Publishing. 43

Brenkert, G. (1979). ‘Freedom and Private Property in Marx’. In Philosophy & Public Affairs. 8 (2): 122–147. Christman, J. (2002). Social and Political Philosophy: A Contemporary Introduction. London: Routledge Publishing. Elster, J. (1986). An Introduction to Karl Marx. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Evans, M. (1975). Karl Marx. New York: Routledge Publishing. Marx, K. & Engels, F. (2004). The Communist Manifesto. Trans. Moore, S. London: Penguin Books. Marx, K. (1977). ‘Results of the Immediate Process of Production’. In Karl Marx: Selected Writings. Ed. & trans. D. McLellen. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 547–561. –––––––– (1986a). ‘Preface to A Critique of Political Economy’. In Karl Marx: A Reader. Ed. J. Elster. Trans. D. McLellen. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press: 187–188. –––––––– (1986b). ‘From The Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844’. In Karl Marx: A Reader. Trans. McLellen, D. Ed. Elster, J. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press: 35–47. –––––––– (1986c). ‘From Capital I’. In Karl Marx: A Reader. Ed. J. Elster. Trans. S. Moore & E. Aveling. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press: 62–78. –––––––– (2013). Capital I. Trans. S. Moore & E. Aveling. Ware: Wordsworth Editions Limited. Norman, R. (2003). ‘Marx’. In The Blackwell Companion to Philosophy. Eds. N. Bunnin & E. P. Tsui-James. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing: 750–758. Petrović, G. (1963). ‘Marx’s Theory of Alienation’. In Philosophy and Phenomenological Research. 23 (3): 419–426. Rose, D. (2009). Free Will and Continental Philosophy. London: Continuum International Publishing Group. San, R. (1979). ‘Review: Economics of Feudalism’. In Economics and Political Weekly. 14 (18): 809–812.

Sayers, S. (2011). ‘Alienation as a Critical Concept. In Marx and Alienation: Essays on Hegelian Themes. Ed. S. Sayers. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macamillan: 78–101.

Making philosophy personal: Nietzsche and ad hominem arguments Jonathan May is a student at KCL- jonathanrjmay@gmail.com List of Abbreviations: Works by Friedrich Nietzsche are cited by the following abbreviations and by volume and/or section number.

[A] [BGE]

The Antichrist Beyond Good and Evil

[D]

Daybreak

[GM]

On the Genealogy of Morals

[GS]

The Gay Science

[HH]

Human all too Human

[TI]

Twilight of the Idols

[UM]

Untimely Meditations

[WP]

The Will to Power

[Z]

Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Works by Immanuel Kant are cited by the following abbreviations with the Akademie references:

[CPR]

Critique of Pure Reason, 1781/1787

[G]

Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals, 1785 46

Introduction: Nietzsche’s awkward habit Nietzsche makes philosophy personal. He often refers to himself in his arguments and always writes in a voice with character. Even more strikingly, he rarely restricts himself to solely criticising the arguments of other philosophers: he relishes attacking the philosophers themselves too. He calls Socrates ‘plebs’ and ‘ugly’ (TI I. §3) and refers mockingly to ‘Old Kant’ (GS 355; BGE 5. §11; 188), calling him an ‘idiot’, a ‘fatal spider’ (A 11), and the ‘most deformed conceptual cripple there has even been’ (TI VIII. §7). Needless to say, philosophers do not usually resort to name-calling. The hyperbolic and highly personal style of these comments – which is typical of Nietzsche – can (and does) lead many to conclude that Nietzsche is not a serious philosopher and never truly engaged in any kind of philosophical enterprise.8 Typically, one or the other of only two options are taken on this point: this aspect of Nietzsche’s writings is either used as evidence that he is not suitable for the serious study of philosophy, or it is brushed off as a stylistic periphery — a fun Nietzscheanism that should not distract us from what he has to say.9 In this essay, I present a third option which makes the case that these kinds of ad hominem arguments deserve serious attention in their own right as expressing some of Nietzsche’s core meta-philosophical challenges regarding the source and nature of philosophical arguments. The ‘fallacy’ of ad hominem arguments Philosophy centres itself around the exchange and sober analysis of rationally constructed ideas. Traditionally, it is a core aspect of philosophical training to learn to draw out and develop such rational ideas from the otherwise tangled bundle of emotional convictions, likes and dislikes, desires and fears,

For rejections of Nietzsche based on his ad hominem arguments see (Solomon 2003: 26-35). For a discussion of Nietzsche’s style and his relationship with the conventional philosophy see (Nehamas 1985: 13-18). 9 The first option is evident in that Nietzsche has a highly controversial place in the standard cannon of AngloAmerican philosophy; for the second option, see some examples of bypassing these kinds of features in order to unpack a more systematic philosophy from Nietzsche in (Clark 1990; Reginster 2006; Bailey 2013; Katsafanas 2013).

general moods, and the biases of individual experiences.10 This is, of course, a necessary feature of the discipline, and is — at least in some form — required for the effective analysis of ideas and concepts that philosophy relies on. By criticising the author of an idea rather than the idea itself, ad hominem arguments either ignore, overlook, or conflate the results of this separation. They situate the theory back into the context of the individual, effectively throwing it right back into the tangled bundle from which it came. It is in this sense that these arguments commit a fallacy by failing to acknowledge — or simply missing the point of – the very nature of the philosophical process itself. A robust philosophical argument constructed in a disciplined and careful manner should, by the very nature of its formulation, bear little or no meaningful connection to its creator and therefore deserves the merit of being studied accordingly. Criticising the author instead of the idea is, on this view, a kind of ‘cheap shot’ and a shallow effort of misdirection from the quality of an idea itself — such behaviour is commonplace in the fields of politics and petty arguments but should not occur in mature philosophical discussion. Viewed in this sense, Nietzsche’s personal attacks on other philosophers seem not only childish, but also reveal a lack of philosophical rigour. Unable to effectively criticise the ideas of his opponents, Nietzsche simply resorts to these petty disparagements. The response to either cut Nietzsche out of serious philosophical study or to brush off his comments as irrelevant are, in this light, easily understood. Nietzsche and the fallacy of pure reason However, there is something of crucial significance in Nietzsche’s wilfulness in getting personal. Although ad hominem arguments appear to miss the separation between a well-constructed idea and the individual that carefully — and impersonally — constructed it, it is exactly Nietzsche’s point that such a separation is not possible. Nietzsche consistently urges that any notions of ‘pure’ or extracted reason are illusory: ‘[even] the most industrious and most

A good example of this if what Korsgaard calls “reflective distance”: our capacity to step outside of ourselves to assess things in a rational, neutral perspective whether we have reasons to act (Korsgaard 1996: 113; 2009: 126; 2011: 75).

scrupulously conscientious analysis and self-examination of the intellect … cannot avoid seeing itself in its own perspectives, and only in these’ (GS 374). Hence, he warns ‘let us be wary of the tentacles of such contradictory notions as “pure reason”’ (GM III. §12), and through Zarathustra exclaims ‘With all things one thing is impossible – rationality!’ (Z III. §5).11 Nietzsche claims that it is the mark of either foolishness or dishonesty to present one’s ideas as being detached from oneself and based only on reason. In this context he calls such philosophers ‘no better than cunning pleaders for their prejudices, which they baptize “truths”’ (BGE 5).12 This means that, within Nietzsche’s philosophy, the relationship between an idea and the person expressing it does matter. The notion of character is much broader in Nietzsche’s philosophy and is, therefore, of core philosophical relevance. Though Solomon has lead work on this space, he brings the argument into the direction of how we might broadly outline a Nietzschean approach to virtue ethics (Solomon 2003: 19-42). The intention of this essay is instead to unpack and explore the meta-philosophical content of Nietzsche’s name-calling. The first step is to make explicit a point that has been hovering in the background throughout: Nietzsche is concerned with the source of philosophical ideas. At face value, this is a simple point but one that runs deep into the foundation of Nietzsche’s entire approach to philosophy. To understand this in its full depth we can turn to someone Nietzsche finds especially guilty of disguising personal beliefs with the mask of impersonal ‘rationality’: Kant. Perception and creation: Nietzsche’s Kantian inheritance Frustrated by endless disputes and a lack of tangible progress in philosophy, Kant asserts that by attempting to understand the world as it exists independently of us, philosophers had been approaching things in a fundamentally mistaken way. All of our insights into the world are, he claims, shaped by our own minds, and we are only familiar with the way things exist as we perceive them: ‘[w]e can … speak of space, extended beings, and so on, only

11 12

For further comments against reason see (BGE 6, 20, 186), (GS 2, 348), (TI III). See also (GS 335, 348), (BGE, 1, 4, 22, 23, 40, 43, 211).

from the human standpoint’ (CPR A26/B42). Kant argues that philosophy must bracket off and dismiss any discussion of the nature of things as they exist independently of our cognition of them – which Kant calls the ‘thing in itself’ or the ‘noumena’ – and instead focus only on the way in which things appears to us – the ‘appearances’ or ‘phenomena’. In Kant’s view, we cannot know or experience what things may be like external to our knowledge and experience of those things: no object can be experienced other than from the standpoint of the subject experiencing it. As unlikely as it may seem given the nature of his philosophy, Nietzsche was without doubt heavily influenced by Kant’s philosophy.13 Indeed, as outlined above, Kant’s approach holds clear parallels to Nietzsche’s view that ‘[t]here is only a perspectival seeing, only a perspectival “knowing”’ (GM III. §12). Nietzsche, not unlike Kant, expresses the inescapability of the human perspective. Using the analogy of sight to illustrate this, he argues that in the same way that what we see is necessarily seen by our eyes, what we experience and think is unavoidably experienced and thought by our individual consciousness. In the same way that it is impossible to separate sight from the eye that sees, it is, in this view, impossible to separate the content of thought from the person that is thinking: ‘[w]e see all things by means of our human head, and cannot chop it off’ (HH 9). For Nietzsche, as with Kant, it is impossible to step outside or beyond this human way of seeing things: ‘[w]e cannot look around our own corner’ (GS 374). A crucial aspect of this idea for both thinkers is that the human subject imposes onto the world the meaning that it recognises in it. Here Kant asserts: ‘if I were to take away the thinking subject, the whole corporeal world would have to disappear, as this is nothing but the appearance in the sensibility of our subject’ (CPR A383; cf. CPR A370); Nietzsche, similarly but more emphatically, writes: ‘[h]owever great the greed of my desire for knowledge may be, I still cannot take

Nietzsche began serious philosophical study with Schopenhauer and Lange (Brobjer 2003: 33-5; 2008: 28-9), (Bailey 2013: 135-6), (Sommer 2019: 43-4), and this gave his thought a strong Kantian influence. For an emphasis on the Kantian aspects of Schopenhauer’s influence see (Hollingdale 1999: 65-70), (Janaway 2013), (Wicks 2019: 81); for an emphasis on Nietzsche’s knowledge of Kant through Lange see (Salaquarda 1978), (Stack 1983: 195-223; 1987: 8-21; 1991: 30-47). Note that the multiple influences on Nietzsche assure us that what we see as being ‘Kantian’ in Nietzsche is not merely ‘Schopenhauerian’ (Hill 2005: 16 cf.: 7-10).

anything out of things that did not belong to me before’ (GS 242; cf. GS 57; HH 11; BGE 24, 34). The view that human minds necessarily impose onto things the forms of understanding that is recognised in them is clearly shared between the two philosophers. This view has extreme significance for the nature of philosophical arguments – indeed Kant explicitly meant for it to do so. If it is the case that all our understanding of the world emanates from us, then all philosophical arguments must also originate from us alone. This is a crucial point as it leaves no room to claim the role of passive observer in philosophical matters: the source of the idea must come from the subject alone with no relation to the object. The source of ideas If philosophical arguments come solely from their creators and not at all from the world that they attempt to describe, where exactly do they come from? Kant’s solution to this, of course, is to refer to the faculty of reason. Here he provides explicit constraints, parameters and a degree of universality to the manner in which we can construct philosophical arguments (CPR A42/B59). His view can be summarised as below: i) ii) iii)

We impose, rather than recognise, the features of the world that we identify. Our philosophical arguments therefore originate in us, rather than from any way the world in itself is. It is our shared faculty of reason that dictates, structures and generates these arguments.

As we have already seen, Nietzsche does not accept (iii) and thoroughly rejects any notion of a shared faculty of reason. However, he does support both (i) and (ii). Here, we can finally see the situation in all its weight: Nietzsche supports the very impactful Kantian thesis that all ideas, understanding, and arguments originate solely from people but rejects Kant’s use of reason for the explanation of them. Therefore, in Nietzsche’s view, we need to accept that all of our views and arguments come solely from us and yet we have no single, shared faculty to refer to in order to account for their development. Philosophical views 51

cannot be merely discovered or inspired from the way the world is, and neither can they be explained or justified with reference to a special understanding of rationality. We can now fully understand Nietzsche’s complaint that philosophies are often portrayed as if they sprung up from ‘some miraculous origin’ (HH 1), or that philosophers pretend as if they have magically ‘discovered’ their views, rather than created them (BGE 5). Lacking the faculty of reason to explain and enshrine the existence of philosophical ideas, Nietzsche essentially presents the alternative argument: i) ii) iii)

We impose, rather than recognise, the features of the world that we identify. Our philosophical arguments therefore originate in us, rather than from any way the world in itself is. Only reference to the individual character of the creator of a philosophical argument can explain the basis on which it is formed.

Framed this way, Nietzsche replaces Kant’s focus on the faculty of reason with a focus on individual character. The character of a philosopher is therefore of fundamental significance in philosophical exchanges: it is only with reference to someone’s character that the existence and nature of their philosophical arguments can be accounted for. So, we can successfully comprehend and analyse a person’s philosophical perspective only if we have an understanding of their character. To conclude, Nietzsche’s highly unconventional focus on the people behind arguments can be understood within a framework that is itself not so unconventional. In the same way, and for the same reasons, that Kant dedicated extensive philosophical analysis on the nature and structure of reason, Nietzsche demands that we analyse an individual’s character, nature and structure. Nietzsche draws attention to an individual’s character as holding the key to understanding the existence and nature of the argument that it developed from. The topic of character is not, therefore, simply irrelevant or fair game in philosophical exchanges: it is of paramount and unique importance. Ignoring Nietzsche’s decision to make philosophy personal is to miss the core of his philosophical approach, and accounting for it in the analysis of his work promises 52

to shed further light on his views regarding the scope and limit of philosophical arguments.

Bibliography Bailey, T. (2013). ‘Nietzsche the Kantian?’. In The Oxford Handbook of Nietzsche, Ed. John Richardson and Ken Games, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brobjer, T. H. (2003). ‘Nietzsche as a German Philosopher: His Reading of The Classical German Philosophers’. In Nietzsche and the German Tradition. Ed. Nicholas Martin, Oxford: Peter Lang. Hollingdale, R. J. (1965). Nietzsche: The Man and His Philosophy, Revised Edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Janaway, C. (2013). ‘Schopenhauer as Nietzsche’s Educator’. In Nietzsche and the German Tradition. Ed. Nicholas Martin. Oxford: Peter Lang. Kant, I. (1999). Critique of Pure Reason. Edns.1 & 2 (1781&1787). Trans. Paul Guyer and Allen Wood, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Katsafanas, P. (2013). Agency and the Foundations of Ethics: Nietzschean Constitutivism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Korsgaard, C. (1996). Sources of Normativity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. –––––––– (2009). Self-Constitution: Agency, Identity, and Integrity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. –––––––– (2011). ‘Self-Constitution and Irony’. In A Case for Irony. Jonathan Lear, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. Nehamas, A. (1985). Nietzsche: Life as Literature. London: Harvard University Press. 54

Nietzsche, F. (1973). Beyond Good and Evil. Trans. R. J. Hollingdale, London: Penguin Group. –––––––– (1997). Daybreak. Trans. R. J. Hollingdale, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. –––––––– (1994). Human all too Human. Trans. Marion Faber and Stephen Lehmann, London: Penguin Group. –––––––– (2013). On the Genealogy of Morals. Trans. Michael A. Scarpitti, London: Penguin Group. –––––––– (1968). The Antichrist. Trans. R. J. Hollingdale, London: Penguin Group. –––––––– (1974). The Gay Science. Trans. Walter Kaufmann, New York: Vintage Books. –––––––– (2017). The Will to Power. Trans. Kevin Hill and Michael A. Scarpitti, London: Penguin Group. –––––––– (1961). Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Trans. R. J. Hollingdale, London: Penguin Group. –––––––– (1968). Twilight of the Idols. Trans. R. J. Hollingdale, London: Penguin Group. –––––––– (1997). Untimely Meditations. Trans. R.J. Hollingdale, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Salaquarda, J. (1978). 'Nietzsche and Lange'. In Nietzsche-Studien.: 236-260. Solomon, R. (2003). Living With Nietzsche: What the Great ‘Immoralist’ Has to Teach Us. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Sommer, A. U. (2019). ‘What Nietzsche Did and Did Not Read’, The New Cambridge Companion to Nietzsche, Ed. Tom Stern, trans. Raymond Geuss. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wicks, R. (2019). ‘Schopenhauer: Nietzsche’s Antithesis and Source of Inspiration’, The New Cambridge Companion to Nietzsche. Ed. Tom Stern. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Interview with Dr Hannah CarnegyArbuthnott Dr. Hannah Carnegy-Arbuthnott is a lecturer in the Department of Philosophy at the University of York, working on political and moral philosophy with a focus on theories of property and self-ownership. Her work has been published in the European Journal of Philosophy and the Journal of Applied Philosophy. Before that, Dr. Carnegy-Arbuthnott held postdoctoral fellowships at the Centre de recherche en éthique (Centre for Ethical Research) in Montreal and at Stanford’s Center for Ethics in Society. She completed her MPhil and PhD at University College London. Her BA was a joint honours degree in philosophy and German from Somerville College, Oxford. 1. Could you outline some of your main philosophical ideas by briefly discussing any theories or arguments that you have put forward? Most of my work revolves around the concept of self-ownership and property rights. It considers the sorts of philosophical arguments we can give for justifying different forms of property rights or enforcing different systems of property rights in society. It also looks at how property rights connect with the kinds of rights we have over ourselves. The easiest way of explaining this is to start with the puzzle that motivates a lot of my thinking and work around this topic. On the one hand, it seems like many people think of property rights and the rights we have over ourselves as completely different. However, on the other hand, there are many instances in which we do talk and think in ways that correspond with some kind of idea of self-ownership. Therefore, it seems to me that the kinds of rights we have over ourselves are similar in form to the rights that we get to have over objects and private property. So, it's true of both your body and of the things that you own that no one else gets to use or interfere with them without your consent, but you can also give permission to others to use your things or to interact with your body in various ways. You can also alienate items of property, as well as various parts of yourself. What I mean by alienate is that you might sell or donate things that you own, and you might sell or donate parts of your body as 57

well. For example, you can sell some of your hair or you can donate your blood in the same way you can sell your car or give someone your pen. Because there are similarities there, and particularly similarities in the form of the rights that we have over all of these different things, I think that gives us reason to think of all of these rights as coming under the general umbrella of ownership rights of some form. But then again, we don't want to say that to own something means the same thing in all cases either, because if we think that way, then there are important points of moral difference between various things that we are going to miss or not be able to explain. For example, if someone sneaks up on you on the street and cuts off some of your hair, we would treat that legally (and morally) as assault, not just as a kind of theft; especially if you consider that the value of your hair on the market might not be a lot of money, so if we did treat it as theft, it would be quite a low-level petty theft. However, that seems to not really grasp the significance of that sort of intrusion as a kind of assault on the person. Also, we might have a good reason not to allow commercial markets to sell human kidneys, even if we allow people to donate a kidney for free. So, even though there are similarities here that warrant us thinking and talking in terms of ownership rights as a general umbrella, it's still important to keep in mind those important differences. There are some things such that, when we interfere with them, it's a much more serious interference than just simply stealing someone's pen. So broadly, my approach is to say that we do need some kind of general theory about the grounding or the justification of ownership rights. However, we need one that can explain the similarities and the connections between all of these different things that we can have ownership over, as well as the differences between them. And that is what I develop in much of my work; to try and provide that sort of explanation that can illuminate the connections as well as the differences between these different kinds of ownership. 2. Considerations regarding self-ownership are an incredibly relevant part of ethics, as well as moral and political philosophy. What encouraged you to pursue these particular branches of philosophy? I think I was always interested in moral and political philosophy because it seemed to me that they deal most directly with some of the most fundamental and important questions in life. For example, how should we treat other people? How should we organise society in a way that we're treating each other well? What makes for a good life? All of these questions seem to be directly relevant 58

to thinking about even the basics of how we go about our day-to-day lives well. Although, the more I think about it and the more philosophy I do, I think that, actually, every branch of philosophy grapples with questions that are just as fundamental to real life. Often people distinguish this kind of ‘abstract armchair philosophising’ from real life, but I think that all branches of philosophy are relevant to important questions regarding how we go about our lives as humans. However, I had a particular interest in the political and moral branches of philosophy, and because of this, when I came to do my research master’s at University College London, I took many seminars that were in that sort of vain. In terms of getting interested in debates around self-ownership and property rights, one of the seminars that I took and found particularly interesting, and then ended up wanting to write an MPhil thesis on, was a seminar series called ‘the regulation of intimacy’, which was grappling with questions about uses of the body. It focused on the ways in which we regulate different uses of the body in society and, in particular, when we are thinking about markets in bodily services, why some services like sex work or commercial surrogacy seem to raise either more or different ethical questions than other kinds of services that we also do with our bodies, such as being a masseuse. I was particularly interested in these questions that also come from feminist philosophy about why there seems to be such a moral debate around sex work; does it just come from stigma? Are there good reasons to have particular concerns around this compared to other bodily services? At the time, I thought about the wide literature on self-ownership and what it means to own yourself, and how that connects to property, markets and the economy. So, I thought that this would be a good avenue to go down to try and tease out some of the reasoning around these difficult, intriguing and messy topics. And then, of course, the whole literature on self-ownership and property rights comes with its own set of difficulties and puzzles, which I then got even more interested in. That is when I started digging more deeply into that particular body of literature, and that's what I ended up focusing more on for my PhD thesis and my research beyond that as well. 3. Has there been someone who has inspired you or influenced your thinking in a significant way? I suppose that there are many people that have influenced me in different ways. So first and foremost, my supervisor for my MPhil and my PhD thesis, whom I’ve since become friends with and who’s also a mentor to me, which is Véronique Munoz-Dardé at UCL. She's a professor of philosophy, and she does 59

some political and moral philosophy as well. In terms of someone who's probably had the closest personal influence on my work, being a supervisor and mentor, I’d say Véronique has had the biggest influence on my development as a scholar. And then, if I think about intellectual influences on my work, most of it does sit in the vein of liberal political philosophy, so this might be unsurprising, but John Rawls’ political philosophy and the moral philosophy of T.M. Scanlon have also been quite an influence. I wouldn't necessarily say that I'm straightforwardly or directly Rawlsian or Scanlonian but, if my work were to fit in a strand of moral and political philosophy, it would be a contractualist one, as opposed to a consequentialist or deontological approach. So, those are perhaps the intellectual influences on my work. And then there are people I just find really enjoyable to read as philosophers, and whose work I find is always incredibly rich and thought-provoking. So, I'd say Amia Srinivasan, who is currently a professor at Oxford, is certainly one of those philosophers. The work of Judith Jarvis Thomson has been a big influence as well; again, grappling with what it means to think about trespasses on the body within a kind of self-ownership type framework. Those are some of the different influences who have inspired me and my thinking, as well as my approach to philosophy. 4. How have your ideas and your mindset evolved through the course of your career in philosophy and teaching? I think just about my trajectory of doing philosophy, I suppose. If I think back to my time as an undergraduate, by the end of it I felt like I had a decent grasp of at least the aspects of philosophy that I had learnt and that I could understand them pretty well. But when you move on to master’s study and graduate study, you realise that things are a lot more complex and deeper and that there are always different approaches to each theory to be considered. However, the nature, especially when you're writing a PhD, is that you have to carve out a particular niche for yourself where you're going to make some sort of novel contribution and really refine your thinking about something that you can contribute to the literature. And part of that involves really selling it as an idea that you're fairly confident in and that you can defend. So, you get to a point where you've gone through that mode of learning to where you feel like you understand, and then learning more so you can become more aware of the things that you don't understand whilst still feeling fairly confident in the niche that you've carved out for yourself. 60

And I think that this kind of trajectory just carries on throughout one's career, especially in philosophy, because there are always new perspectives and new arguments on the table. Therefore, I think it is inevitable (and it's a good sign) when you're confronted with new examples or different perspectives that cause you to rethink the arguments that you've presented in previous work. One of the most important things that I find with philosophy is to be open to being led by the arguments as you find them and not getting too stuck with trying to put something forward because it would be a new and interesting thing to say on the topic, and then trying to construct an argument for that. That can sometimes be a slightly disorientating or daunting process- realising that maybe you don't now agree with some of the work that you've previously published or written, and you need to find out exactly why you disagree and figure out a new perspective. It can definitely feel like you’re ripping up all of the work that you've done before, but actually, it's the really exciting thing about philosophy. It's what opens up new avenues of research and new spheres of creativity. It ensures that the work is constantly dynamic and evolving in a way that also has a kind of integrity because it’s constantly being open to question. So, overall, it’s just about being more open and accepting of a certain amount of constant flux and revision of even my own arguments and stances on certain topics in philosophy. 5. Discussions within moral and political philosophy could often influence and seep into the real-life conversations we have about social and political issues. What advice would you give to students who are passionate about engaging with the topics of property, self-ownership and boundary rights? The advice I would give is probably quite general advice that could apply to anyone. I guess, given that these topics do connect and have to engage inevitably with real-life conversations about social and political life, my advice would always be to start with the particular puzzles that really interest you or grip you to begin with. Don't start thinking that if you're interested in a topic, you need to construct a systematic theory that's going to explain everything. Just start with really simple things that are intriguing or require explanation, or that pull your intuitions in different directions and you’re not quite sure what to make of them. And that could be from confronting things in day-to-day life, whether it's about observing how things are set up politically to regulate certain things or whether it’s encountering sets of norms that seem to evoke an interesting puzzle or difficulty. For example, when people say things like ‘my body, my choice’, what's the emphasis on that and on the body being mine? Is 61

that some kind of ownership, or is that actually getting at some different concept? Once you've hit on a really interesting puzzle, which could be from real life or from reading someone's philosophical work and thinking that something’s left to be explained or that it's not quite right, that's the point at which you can start thinking philosophically about how to solve the puzzle or explain why things are perhaps more complicated (or simpler) than they might at first seem. One of the extra challenges with all of this is, I think, to also find a way of connecting what we do in philosophy, in terms of the arguments that we construct and the theories that we draw on to try to explain some of these social and political phenomena, to the daily conversations we may have with our friends, who might have no prior knowledge of any of these philosophical theories. How do we translate our theories to talking about these things in a way that people can not only readily understand but actually be interested in? And that's something I still haven't found easy recipes for, and it’s also one of the constant things about evolving as a philosopher. It's not only evolving ones academic writing, but also thinking of ways to communicate the importance of the ideas that philosophers are often talking about in quite convoluted ways to members of the general public, your friends and your family in a way that can get them interested and excited, and see the value of the philosophical perspectives as well. Additionally, for anyone who is interested in further study beyond an undergraduate degree, the philosophy department at the University of York is launching a new MA next year in Legal and Political Philosophy. More details on that here: https://www.york.ac.uk/study/postgraduate-taught/courses/mapolitical-legal-philosophy/. There are also new MAs in analytic theology and on the philosophy of AI. These are some options that can be pursued in terms of further study.