A difficulty with moral experiments
We covered the notions of moral observations in the thesis. The notion of moral hypotheses also seems clear, in that we can formulate a hypothesis after observing our moral judgements in enough situations. But how are we meant to construct a moral experiment for the sake of confirming or disconfirming that hypothesis?
In physics, a turning point in the creation of a paradigm for electricity was the invention of the Leyden Jar. It was inspired by a specific competing theory of electricity, as a liquid. This led people to imagine bottling that liquid, which turned out to be accomplishable by partially filling a glass vial with water and inserting a thick conducting wire capable of storing a substantial amount of charge. One end of this wire protruded through the cork that sealed the opening of the vial. The Leyden jar was charged by bringing this exposed end of the conducting wire into contact with a friction device that generated static electricity. This was considered a strong support for the hypothesis that electricity was a fluid because this hypothesis explained how the device could store electricity, by "condensing" the fluid within the wire and water.
The basic anatomy of a physics experiment is very compelling as a means of testing hypotheses. The general idea is that we start out with our hypothesis, and then we say, "if this hypothesis is true, then we would expect the following result to occur from the following altered conditions." Our experiment then proceeds by altering some set of conditions--in this case, inventing a special kind of jar--that tests that hypothesis. If electricity were a fluid, then we would expect to be able to condense it and bottle it in a jar. Using a Leyden jar, this turned out to be completely possible.
The thing to note is that for the physics experiment to be compelling, it involved our actually bringing about a new set of physical circumstances. As such, we had no reason before the fact to think that this set of circumstances would have resulted in a storage device for electricity. But it was consistent with the hypothesis that was being employed, and that the device worked proved to be a stunning confirmation of that hypothesis. At least part of what makes this a startling process is the fact that it actually changes the world in a small way in confirming a hypothesis. The invention of the first significant storage device for electricity is just such a startling change.
What would be the equivalent of a moral experiment? It is intuitive enough to think that we make our moral observations simply by observing our own moral judgements in a variety of situations, real or imagined, and then over time, we form a hypothesis that seems to explain them. One powerful hypothesis has been that the moral thing is accomplished when it conduces to the greatest happiness of the greatest number of people. But what would involve the equivalent of an experiment to actually test that moral hypothesis? How, for example, would we go about conducting a moral experiment to test the hypothesis of the principle of utility?
There are two ways I can think of off the top of my head of attempting to follow this analogy with physics. The first way, rather prosaically, is that we would simply invent more thought experiments. This time, instead of just allowing our raw moral intuitions to dictate what our reactions were going to be, we might simply impose moral judgements onto various hypothetical situations, new or old, from our newly formed moral theory. Testing our hypothesis, under this account, would simply involve seeing how well those new judgements sat with our intuitions.
There is at least one difficulty with this approach, especially if our work is done in a solitary manner. Considering hypothetical situations, especially when those hypotheticals get increasingly farfetched, might make someone likely to agree with almost anything. Human intuition is hardly cast in stone. It is malleable enough that people who are particularly struck by the elegance of a certain moral hypothesis might well end up striving so officiously to force every judgement they can find to fit that hypothesis that they become quite blind to its obvious shortcomings. Most utilitarian theorists seem to be in this way blind to such principles as dignity or virtue because their hypothesis does not allow for them. The effect is worsened when it is just one person arguing with himself hypothetically about the relative merits of a specific moral hypothesis. Robert Nozick managed to convince himself of one of the most controversial theories of individual rights in recent years in such a manner. Perhaps he really was struck by the theory's moral plausibility. But frighteningly, he might simply have been seduced by its elasticity, simplicity and elegance and simply sought the most farfetched hypotheticals he could in order to make it easier for him to justify the general application of the theory. This seems to me to be the major motive that people have for adopting utilitarianism at all: It has a simplicity, elegance and profound elasticity that enables them to ignore all the moral intuitions that it cannot explain.
It is worth elaborating on this final point of elasticity--enough so that it will require an entire other section to do it!
In physics, a turning point in the creation of a paradigm for electricity was the invention of the Leyden Jar. It was inspired by a specific competing theory of electricity, as a liquid. This led people to imagine bottling that liquid, which turned out to be accomplishable by partially filling a glass vial with water and inserting a thick conducting wire capable of storing a substantial amount of charge. One end of this wire protruded through the cork that sealed the opening of the vial. The Leyden jar was charged by bringing this exposed end of the conducting wire into contact with a friction device that generated static electricity. This was considered a strong support for the hypothesis that electricity was a fluid because this hypothesis explained how the device could store electricity, by "condensing" the fluid within the wire and water.
The basic anatomy of a physics experiment is very compelling as a means of testing hypotheses. The general idea is that we start out with our hypothesis, and then we say, "if this hypothesis is true, then we would expect the following result to occur from the following altered conditions." Our experiment then proceeds by altering some set of conditions--in this case, inventing a special kind of jar--that tests that hypothesis. If electricity were a fluid, then we would expect to be able to condense it and bottle it in a jar. Using a Leyden jar, this turned out to be completely possible.
The thing to note is that for the physics experiment to be compelling, it involved our actually bringing about a new set of physical circumstances. As such, we had no reason before the fact to think that this set of circumstances would have resulted in a storage device for electricity. But it was consistent with the hypothesis that was being employed, and that the device worked proved to be a stunning confirmation of that hypothesis. At least part of what makes this a startling process is the fact that it actually changes the world in a small way in confirming a hypothesis. The invention of the first significant storage device for electricity is just such a startling change.
What would be the equivalent of a moral experiment? It is intuitive enough to think that we make our moral observations simply by observing our own moral judgements in a variety of situations, real or imagined, and then over time, we form a hypothesis that seems to explain them. One powerful hypothesis has been that the moral thing is accomplished when it conduces to the greatest happiness of the greatest number of people. But what would involve the equivalent of an experiment to actually test that moral hypothesis? How, for example, would we go about conducting a moral experiment to test the hypothesis of the principle of utility?
There are two ways I can think of off the top of my head of attempting to follow this analogy with physics. The first way, rather prosaically, is that we would simply invent more thought experiments. This time, instead of just allowing our raw moral intuitions to dictate what our reactions were going to be, we might simply impose moral judgements onto various hypothetical situations, new or old, from our newly formed moral theory. Testing our hypothesis, under this account, would simply involve seeing how well those new judgements sat with our intuitions.
There is at least one difficulty with this approach, especially if our work is done in a solitary manner. Considering hypothetical situations, especially when those hypotheticals get increasingly farfetched, might make someone likely to agree with almost anything. Human intuition is hardly cast in stone. It is malleable enough that people who are particularly struck by the elegance of a certain moral hypothesis might well end up striving so officiously to force every judgement they can find to fit that hypothesis that they become quite blind to its obvious shortcomings. Most utilitarian theorists seem to be in this way blind to such principles as dignity or virtue because their hypothesis does not allow for them. The effect is worsened when it is just one person arguing with himself hypothetically about the relative merits of a specific moral hypothesis. Robert Nozick managed to convince himself of one of the most controversial theories of individual rights in recent years in such a manner. Perhaps he really was struck by the theory's moral plausibility. But frighteningly, he might simply have been seduced by its elasticity, simplicity and elegance and simply sought the most farfetched hypotheticals he could in order to make it easier for him to justify the general application of the theory. This seems to me to be the major motive that people have for adopting utilitarianism at all: It has a simplicity, elegance and profound elasticity that enables them to ignore all the moral intuitions that it cannot explain.
It is worth elaborating on this final point of elasticity--enough so that it will require an entire other section to do it!