Eric Wiland

Is there anything peculiarly bad about accepting moral testimony? According to pessimists, trusting moral testimony is an inadequate substitute for working out your moral views on your own. Enlightenment requires thinking for oneself, at least where morality is concerned. Optimists, by contrast, aim to show that trusting moral testimony isn’t bad largely by arguing that it’s no worse than trusting testimony generally. Essentially, they play defense. However, this chapter goes on the offensive. It explores two reasons for thinking that trusting another person’s moral testimony is especially _good_. The first is an extended application of some of the lessons from recent discussions about epistemic injustice. The second, borrowing some cryptic epistemological thoughts from the young Marx, is that trusting another’s moral testimony is necessary for perfecting ourselves. It concludes that it can be _better_ to accept moral testimony than to arrive at the same moral view on your own.

There is a tension between two common views: (1) morality is objective, and (2) it is in some way bad to defer to or trust testimony from a moral expert. This chapter explicates the tension, discusses how others have attempted to resolve it, and argues that these attempts fall short. Finally, this chapter explains how Rossian deontology reveals that the tension is only apparent. Most accounts of moral expertise mistakenly presuppose a moral epistemology with only one stage. But Ross’s moral epistemology has at least two stages, and seeing the structure of his theory reveals both when and when not to defer to moral experts. It usually won’t be clear to people who initially disagree about some moral issue whether their disagreement is rooted in part over whether some consideration is a reason, or whether it’s entirely about how good the mutually acknowledged reasons are. Uncertainty about which disjunct is true hinders trust, but not in a way that threatens moral objectivity.

Some theories of welfare hold that whether you are living well depends upon whether you think you are. But then the very phenomenon we want to understand gets deployed in its putative explanation. Views like this face the worry that their accounts are problematically circular. This should inspire us to identify a more moderate view that avoids such problems. For instance, it might seem that what a subject thinks about the quality of their own life merely adds some small amount of welfare to their life. Yet this view faces a similar problem—a subject cannot rationally believe that they are doing well on the basis of what would putatively make such a belief true. I propose a solution: although it is indeed to some extent good for you to believe that you are living well, believing this irrationally is bad for you, such that on the whole wishful thinking about the quality of your life is often not self-fulfilling.

What is the relation between what is good for you and how well you are doing? It is common and natural to think that the latter asymmetrically depends upon the former. I call this the molecular model of well-being, which holds that how well you are doing depends directly upon the presence of independently specifiable welfare goods in your life. Just about every contemporary theory of well-being embodies the form specified by the molecular model. Here I articulate and defend an alternative way to think about well-being, a way based upon the notion of approximation. According to the approximation model of well-being, how well you are doing directly instead depends upon how closely you resemble an ideal way to live. One person is doing better than another just in case the life of the first more closely approximates the ideal life. To make this case I briefly sketch a substantive theory of well-being that employs it: what I take to be Aristotle’s view of well-being, which works as a proof of concept. We see that the approximation model of well-being can explain some patterns of value better than the molecular model can.

What is group well-being? There is, as of yet, shockingly little philosophical literature explicitly aiming to answer this question. This essay sketches some of the logical space of possible answers, and nudges us to seriously consider certain overlooked options. There are several importantly different ways the well-being of a collective or a group could be related to the well-being of the individuals who constitute it: 1) eliminativism, 2) functionalism, 3) partialism, or 4) the independent view. If the relation between individual and collective well-being is either functional or partial, then we face a further question: What is the direction of constitutive dependence? Does the well-being of a group depend upon the well-being of the well-being of the individuals who compose it, or does the well-being of an individual depend upon the well-being of the groups to which they belong? Or both? These questions raise some puzzles that I begin to resolve. I conclude that there might be a wide variety of ways the well-being of a collective obtains, only some of which are related to the well-being of the individuals who are its members. In the end, I hope to vindicate the thought that an injury to one is an injury to all.

We often rely on others for guidance about what to do. But wouldn't it be better to rely instead on only your own solo judgment? Deferring to others about moral matters, after all, can seem to conflict what Enlightenment demands. In Guided by Voices, however, Eric Wiland argues that there is nothing especially bad about relying on others in forming your moral views. You may rely on others for forming your moral views, just as you can your views about anything else. You can accept moral testimony without loss. Furthermore, there are several distinctive social goods attainable by being guided by what others say. Thus, it can be better to be guided by moral testimony than by your own moral lights. Wiland also argues that relying on others for moral advice has one advantage over relying on others for moral testimony. For when you trust your adviser's advice, you both thereby form a joint agent that can achieve autonomy, moral understanding, and morally worthy action. Sometimes taking another's advice is your only way to act well. Arguing against the presumption that moral reasoning is ideally done alone, Guided by Voices is the first book to significantly address both moral testimony and advice.

Bernard Williams argued that philosophers should pay more attention to the role thick ethical concepts play in our moral thinking, and, separately, that all reasons for action depend in the first place upon the agent's pre-exisitng motives. Here I argue that these two views are in tension. Much like the standard examples of thick ethical concepts, the concept REASONABLE is likewise thick, and the features of the world that guide its correct use have much less to do with the agent's pre-existing motives than internalism about reasons for action maintains.

It seems that we can know moral truths. We are also rather reluctant to defer to moral testimony. But it’s not obvious how moral cognitivism is compatible with pessimism about moral testimony. If moral truths are knowable, shouldn’t it be possible for others to know moral truths you don’t know, so that it is wise for you to defer to what they say? Or, alternatively, if it’s always reasonable to refuse to defer to the wisest among us, doesn’t this show that morality is not genuinely cognitive? There is a tension in our commonsense moral epistemology. In this chapter I (a) explicate this tension, (b) criticize how others have attempted to resolve it, and finally (c) explain how Rossian deontology helps us see that the tension is only apparent: morality is indeed knowable, despite the fact that it is usually wise to refuse to defer to moral testimony.

Here I consider the two most venerated arguments about the existence of God: the Ontological Argument and the Argument from Evil. The Ontological Argument purports to show that God’s nature guarantees that God exists. The Argument from Evil purports to show that God’s nature, combined with some plausible facts about the way the world is, guarantees (or is very compelling grounds for thinking) that God does not exist. Obviously, both arguments cannot be sound. But I argue here that they are both unsound for the very same reason.

People do things for various reasons. Are these motivating reasons psychological? I argue here that such reasons are typically not purely psychological. Yet there is an important psychological element or aspect of these reasons. I proceed by first reviewing some arguments for and against psychologism about (motivating) reasons. Next, I do the same for the view that reasons are typically non-psychological facts. I then explore some additional alternatives: a) disjunctivist views, b) the appositional account, and finally c) naïve action theory, which I favour. Naïve action theory transcends and preserves the best features of both standard psychologism and standard anti-psychologism.

There are many alleged problems with trusting another person’s moral testimony, perhaps the most prominent of which is that it fails to deliver moral understanding. Without moral understanding, one cannot do the right thing for the right reason, and so acting on trusted moral testimony lacks moral worth. This chapter, however, argues that moral advice differs from moral testimony, differs from it in a way that enables a defender of moral advice to parry this worry about moral worth. The basic idea is that an advisor and an advisee can together constitute a joint agent, and that this joint agent’s action can indeed have moral worth. So while the advisee himself might not do the right thing for the right reason (this because all alone he lacks the right reason), and while the advisor herself might not do the right thing for the right reason (this because all alone she does not do the right thing), they together do the right for the right reason.

No citizen should be denied the right to vote due solely to her age. We can see this by showing that all objections to it fail. It might be objected that it is not unjust to so deprive children because children as a group are unintelligent or irrational, have their interests already represented by the parents, or are justly deprived of many other rights, among other reasons. But all these objections fail because there is no evidence to support it, even if true, this would not justify disenfranchisement, or, most prominently argued here, they deprive individuals of political rights based upon their membership in a group. The voting age should be abolished.

Is there anything peculiarly bad about accepting moral testimony? According to pessimists, trusting moral testimony is an inadequate substitute for working out your moral views on your own. Enlightenment requires thinking for oneself, at least where morality is concerned. Optimists, by contrast, aim to show that trusting moral testimony isn’t bad largely by arguing that it’s no worse than trusting testimony generally. Essentially, they play defense. However, this chapter goes on the offensive. It explores two reasons for thinking that trusting another person’s moral testimony is especially good. The first is an extended application of some of the lessons from recent discussions about epistemic injustice. The second, borrowing some cryptic epistemological thoughts from the young Marx, is that trusting another’s moral testimony is necessary for perfecting ourselves. It concludes that it can be better to accept moral testimony than to arrive at the same moral view on your own.

A nagging problem for the consequentialist is the fact that a person who chooses the action-option that seems to her to maximize good consequences all toooften does not produce consequences as good as she would have produced had she thought about her decision in some other fashion. In response, indirect consequentialists typically recommend that one take advantage of whatever benefits the employment of a nonconsequentialist decision procedure may provide. But I argue here that the consequentialist cannot straightforwardly appropriate the decision procedures of those averse to consequentialism. I show that indirect consequentialists treat decision procedures the very same way direct consequentialists treat actions, and thus all of the reasons why direct consequentialists fail to act as well as they can likewise plague the indirect consequentialists’ attempts to decide as well as they can. So despite the wishes of the indirect theorists, consequentialism turns out to be self-defeating after all.

Deliberation, whether by design or by default, is often portrayed by philosophers as monological; the contemporary philosopher's agent operates in the same milieu as the Cartesian doubter. But here philosophy is out of step with practice: when a person is in a quandary about what to do, he often turns not inward but outward, consulting others for advice. Sometimes he can completely evaluate the soundness of that advice on his own, but often he trusts the advice proffered, this in part because he recognizes that his advisor is in a better position to figure out what to do than he himself is. ;What would indicate that someone is a person whose advice merits this kind of trust? I argue that often an advisee treats the experiences of the advisor as credentials for offering sound advice. The types of life-experiences that shape one's views are various, including not only the experience of performing virtuous actions , but also experiences of hardship, suffering, as well as actions whose propriety is ambiguous. When the advisee defers to the judgment of the advisor, he thereby implicitly recognizes the cognitivity of her life-experiences. ;Furthermore, thinking about our life-experiences makes possible an interesting defense of the objectivity of morality. Arguments against the objectivity of morality often rest upon the existence of widespread moral disagreement, the thought being that if morality were objective, we would see significant convergence in practical views. But if our life-experiences inform our practical views, then we may argue that a significant portion of moral disagreement can be chalked up to differences in the kinds and qualities of experiences that different people have undergone. Many of the remaining differences may be attributed to the ways in which the lack of face-to-face experiences with those whom our actions affect makes it easier for us to set aside our deeply held practical views. So the prospects for reconciling the existence of widespread moral disagreement with the objectivity of morality are bright. Reflecting on the grounds for trusting advice brings into view resources for defending the objectivity of morality that we otherwise might easily overlook.

I. Thanks largely to Joshua Knobe, philosophers now frequently empirically investigate the folk psychological concept of intentional action. Knobe (2003, 2004a, 2004b) argues that application of this concept is often surprisingly sensitive to one’s moral views. In particular, it seems that people are much more willing to regard a bit of behavior as intentional, if they think that the action in question is bad or wrong. There is much controversy about both the design and the interpretation of the experiments Knobe has conducted. One concern is that common use of the word ‘intentionally’ seems to be sensitive to matters other than the concept of intentional action. Perhaps the use of the word ‘intentionally’ is also governed by pragmatic thoughts about blameworthiness—if you think N.N. is to be blamed for ф-ing, then you are more likely to say that N.N. is ф-ing intentionally, apart from whether you really judge that the ф-ing was intentional (Adams and Steadman 2004a). One way to neutralize these concerns is to gauge whether people regard an action as intentional, not by asking them whether they would apply the word ‘intentional’ or its cognates to the action in question, but by seeing whether they treat the action as susceptible to reason explanations. After all, if some act of ф-ing is susceptible to a reason explanation, then the act of ф-ing is intentional. Knobe infers that we can see whether a psychological subject regards some act as intentional by seeing whether the subject is willing to say that the bit of behavior can function appropriately in a reasons explanation.

Analogies are the stuff out of which normative moral philosophy is made. Certainly one of the most famous analogies constructed by a philosopher in order to argue for a specific controversial moral conclusion is the one involving Judith Thomson's unconscious violinist. Reflection upon this analogy is meant to show us that abortion is generally not immoral even if the prenatal have the same moral status as the postnatal. This was and still is a controversial conclusion, and yet the analogy does seem to reveal in a very vivid way what makes abortion a reasonable response to a terrible situation. But Thomson's example has frequently been attacked on all sides for not being truly analogous to abortion. Here I develop a brand new analogy that sheds light on the issue with which Thomson was concerned, while at the same time avoiding most of the more serious objections made to her analogy