Category: Ethics and Moral Philosophy

The difference between preference and hedonic utilitarianism, and why hedonism prevails

The difference between preference and hedonic utilitarianism

Utilitarianism is the view that an act is morally good insofar as it maximizes utility. The best act in any given context is that act which maximizes utility, the worst act is that which minimizes utility, and each other act can be ranked somewhere between best and worst. The preference and hedonic variants of utilitarianism disagree on the nature of utility. Preference utilitarians think utility is sum total preference satisfaction (minus sum total preference frustration); hedonic utilitarians think utility is sum total pleasure (minus the sum total suffering). The disagreement regards the source of goodness and badness in the world: whether they are intrinsic to the satisfaction/frustration of agent goals, or whether they are intrinsic to certain experiential states. It is an axiological dispute.

At first glance it is odd to ask what differentiates preference from hedonic utilitarianism because it is obvious: one cares about preferences, the other about pleasures and sufferings. All we need to do to show the difference between these views is consider a case where satisfying somebody’s preference, all else equal, yields less pleasure than not satisfying somebody’s preference. Suppose somebody prefers vanilla icecream over chocolate even though the latter provides them more gustatory pleasure. In that case, hedonic utilitarianism would counsel choosing the chocolate and preference utilitarianism would counsel choosing the vanilla – the two frameworks straightforwardly differ.

The hedonic utilitarian, at this juncture, will point out that the agent choosing ice cream should (and would) come to the conclusion that they prefer chocolate to vanilla ice cream, were they better informed. Given the intrinsic goodness of pleasure, says the hedonic utilitarian, an agent who tried both chocolate and vanilla ice cream and found the former more pleasurable would (and should) prefer chocolate to vanilla ice cream. As such, the hedonist continues, the thought experiment as initially formulated is malformed – there is no case where a rational agent would prefer a less to a more pleasurable experience, all else equal.

From actual to ideal preference utilitarianism

To further motivate the preference utilitarian to accept this hedonic conclusion, the hedonist will point out that surely the preference utilitarian does not accept actual preference utilitarianism. Actual preference utilitarianism is the view that utility is sum total actual preference satisfaction. By actual preferences I mean the preferences which agents actually have. Suppose an agent has the mistaken belief that the glass of clear poison in front of them is a glass of water, and forms the preference to drink the liquid in the glass. Actual preference utilitarianism would counsel that, all else equal, the world would be better off if the agent satisfied their preference to drink the liquid – the agent should drink the liquid. But clearly this is false, because if the agent satisfied their preference they would experience severe pain and die.

The preference utilitarian should instead adopt ideal preference utilitarianism. Ideal preference utilitarianism is the view that utility is sum total ideal preference satisfaction. The nature of ideal preferences is contentious, but a workable definition is that they are preferences agents would have if they were rational and had deliberated about all the relevant facts. The goal is to avoid endorsing cases like drinking poison on the basis of mistaken beliefs.

Taxonomizing hedonic and preference utilitarianism

It is at this juncture that hedonic and preference utilitarianism seem to blend together. Because the hedonist thinks pleasure just is intrinsically good (and suffering just is intrinsically bad), the hedonist will argue that an agent with ideal preferences (i.e., an ideal agent) will just form preferences for actions which maximize pleasure and minimize suffering. Agents will do this, the hedonist claims, because experiences of pleasure just are the basis for goodness and experiences of suffering just are the basis for badness, so it is no surprise that an ideal agent will prefer to maximize net pleasure experiences. For the hedonist, there is no other ultimate basis for making a rational decision based on all the facts. At this juncture the preference utilitarian has three options:

  1. Deny that ideal agents should (or do) form preferences based on pleasure-maximization and pain-minimization.
  2. Accept that ideal agents should (or do) form preferences based on pleasure-maximization and pain-minimization, but claim that intrinsic goodness derives from the satisfaction of those preferences rather than the experiential quality of pleasure- and pain-states.
  3. Same as 2, but accept that intrinsic goodness derives from the experiential quality of pleasure- and pain-states.

3 just is hedonic utilitarianism, so the interesting options are 1 and 2.

Option 1 can be further broken down depending on whether the proposed alternative basis for preference-formation involves experiential qualities. The preference utilitarian might disagree with the hedonist because they think there are other experiential qualities which are intrinsically good and bad apart from pleasure and suffering, and that ideal agents should form preferences on the basis of the intrinsic normative qualities of those experiences. Call this 1a. I think the hedonic utilitarian will be quite satisfied if the preference utilitarian takes option 1a. The disagreement between the hedonic utilitarian and the 1a preference utilitarian, if there even is a disagreement, is whether there are experiential states with intrinsic value apart from states of pleasure and pain. Really, this is no longer a disagreement between a preference and hedonic utilitarian – it is an internecine dispute between two hedonic utilitarians who disagree on which experiential states are intrinsically valuable.

The other variant for Option 1 — call it 1b — is that the alternative basis for preference-formation does not involve experiential qualities. This is a real dispute, because a hedonist must think that normative value ultimately derives from experiential qualities. In this sense 1b agrees with 2 that intrinsic good does not derive from any experiential quality.

The new taxonomy is in terms of experiential versus non-experiential bases for intrinsic value or ideal preference formation. Hedonic utilitarians (1a and 3 above) argue only experiential states are intrinsically valuable, and that ideal preferences are formed on the basis of those experiential states. Non-hedonic utilitarians (1b and 2 above) argue experiential states are not intrinsically valuable, and ideal preferences are formed on the basis of something else (or, alternatively, the satisfaction of ideal preference is good even if that satisfaction is not accompanied by any positive experiential states whatsoever).

Motivating hedonic over non-hedonic utilitarianism: the case of P-zombies

Here the hedonist, I think, has the decisive argument. Consider first the case of P-zombies, which are entities identical in all respects to humans except lacking any experiences. They look and behave just like people, but are “dark inside.” P-zombies, just like humans, have preferences – they set goals (e.g. winning the writing competition) and prefer that those goals be satisfied (e.g. they form a plan and invest effort into writing a winning entry). The argument I have in mind asks us to consider whether there is any value in P-zombies satisfying their preferences (and the conclusion I will suggest is no, there is not). Getting to this argument first requires some conceptual machinery.

Distinguishing psychological and phenomenal mental states

The reason p-zombies can have preferences is because preference is, at least in part, a psychological rather than a phenomenal state. David Chalmers usefully distinguishes between psychological and phenomenal states of mind. A state of mind is psychological insofar as it plays the right causal role in explaining behavior. A paradigm psychological state is learning – for an organism to learn something just is “for it to adapt its behavioral capacities appropriately in response to certain kinds of environmental stimulation.” (Chalmers, The Conscious Mind pg. 11). A state of mind is phenomenal insofar as there is a certain way it feels. A paradigm phenomenal state is seeing red or smelling a rose.

The case of pain and nociception can be useful in disambiguating these two different concepts of mentality. Strictly speaking, pain is a phenomenal state: it is the unpleasant experience often accompanying tissue damage. Nociception is a psychological state: it is the neural process of encoding and processing noxious stimuli (like tissue damage). While pain and nociception often present together, and are both subsumed under the colloquial concept of “pain,” they can come apart empirically and are distinct conceptually. (See Loeser and Treede, “The Kyoto protocol of IASP Basic Pain Terminology,” Pain 137 (2008) 473-477). For clarity, I will use “pain” to refer to the colloquial mental concept of pain (which conflates or combines its functional and phenomenal properties), “phenomenal pain” to refer to the unpleasant experience of pain, and “nociception” to refer to pain as a psychological state.

The reason pain is bad, argues the hedonist, is because it feels bad. Pain is only bad insofar as it is phenomenal pain. Actually, pain is quite good (instrumentally) insofar as it is a psychological state: it causes and trains our body to avoid harmful stimuli. A world where people were only ever in the psychological state of pain, and never had any experience of phenomenal pain, would be better than our world where the two are mostly coupled: people would avoid harmful stimuli just as well as they do now, except their avoidance would not be accompanied by any bad feelings.

The moral value of satisfying P-zombie preferences

What is so good about satisfying preferences? The hedonist will argue that, if anything is good about satisfying preferences, it is the positive experience – pleasure – which accompanies preference-satisfaction (and the avoidance of the negative experience – suffering – which accompanies preference-frustration). The preference utilitarian, unless they are happy to accept 3 above and become hedonic utilitarians, must deny that the goodness of preference satisfaction stems from any experiential quality of preference satisfaction.

The distinction between phenomenal and psychological mental states introduced in the previous section is helpful in understanding this dispute between the hedonic and preference utilitarian. The hedonic utilitarian thinks that preference-satisfaction is valuable insofar as it is a phenomenal state. The preference utilitarian thinks that preference-satisfaction is valuable insofar as it is a psychological state. So, for the hedonic utilitarian, there is no moral value in P-zombies satisfying their preferences; for the preference utilitarian, there is moral value in P-zombies satisfying their preferences.

Which view is correct? At this point, we may have reached intuitional bedrock. As for myself, I have the strong intuition that preference-satisfaction is good because it feels good, and preference-frustration is bad because it feels bad. This is analogous to my strong intuition that pain is bad insofar as it is a phenomenal state (i.e., insofar as it feels bad), intrinsically morally neutral insofar as it is a psychological state (i.e., insofar as it re-orients an organism’s behavior and cognitive state to avoid the pain-causing stimulus), and instrumentally morally good insofar as its psychological properties might help an organism avoid future phenomenal pain states.

More generally, it seems to me that psychological states have no intrinsic moral value whatsoever. When a living person is unconscious – not experiencing anything, as in a dreamless sleep or under total anesthesia – there are a number of psychological states that person is in. They still have memories, beliefs, and dispositions insofar as those are cognitive features of their brain-states. But there is nothing intrinsically valuable about those unconscious memories, beliefs, and dispositions. By analogy, consider a basic handheld calculator. A calculator also has memory and can perform certain cognitive operations. But, assuming for the sake of argument that the calculator has no phenomenal states – it does not experience anything – it does not seem there is any intrinsic moral value in the calculator’s performing various operations on the numbers stored in its memory. A P-zombie is just a much more complicated version of the handheld calculator, and it is unclear why added functional complications would generate intrinsic moral value.

If, after reading this, the preference utilitarian still insists that a P-zombie has identical intrinsic value to its experiencing counterpart, I still have two more moves. First, I would ask them to consider whether they would accept the following deal: they can either receive a hundred dollars and become a P-zombie (losing all future phenomenal states they might otherwise experience), or pay a hundred dollars to avoid becoming a P-zombie. In the former case, they will surely be able to satisfy at least one more preference than in the latter case – they will effectively have two hundred more dollars to work with! Under preference utilitarianism, the former case should strictly dominate the latter case. And yet, I get the feeling they would be willing to pay more – a lot more – to avoid becoming a P-zombie, and for good hedonic reasons.

The second move is to consider the case of the Unlucky Competition Winner.

The Unlucky Competition Winner – why psychological preference-satisfaction doesn’t matter

Imagine G has entered a writing competition with the goal of winning. They prefer to win the competition, and work very hard to write a good story. They submit the story on the deadline before the competition closes, and the judges have a week to return their verdict. On the last day of judging, the judges decide G has won the competition. They publish their results online at Time 1. Straightforwardly, G’s preference has been satisfied at Time 1 because G’s preference was to win the competition, and G has won the competition.

At Time 1, G does not yet know they have won the competition, because they have not yet checked the competition results. Suppose at Time 3, G checks the competition results and discovers they have won. They are elated that their hard work has paid off, and feel great about their achievement.

Now suppose instead that G is unlucky, and dies at Time 2 before checking the competition results. Call this the Unlucky Case. Here is the question: is G’s life better because their preference has been satisfied? It seems the preference utilitarian must say: yes! But this seems very strange indeed. Because consider the case where G has not won the competition, and similarly dies at Time 2 before learning about the results. Call this the Unluckier Case (it’s even unluckier to lose the competition and have died). This case is identical, from G’s perspective, to the previous case. G has lived exactly the same life in the Unlucky Case and the Unluckier Case. And yet the preference utilitarian must say G’s life has gone better in the Unlucky Case than in the Unluckier Case, even though – from G’s perspective – there is absolutely no experiential difference between the two cases. How can somebody’s life have gone better for them as a result of something they never experience?

Recall that we are talking about intrinsic value here. From one perspective, G’s life has gone better in the Unlucky Case – namely, from the perspective of those who learn about G’s accomplishment and think better of G’s literary talent posthumously. But what we are concerned with is G’s perspective, because we are concerned with what makes a life intrinsically more valuable to the person living it: preference-satisfaction or pleasure.

The hedonist has a ready answer to the Unlucky Case and the Unluckier Case. They deny that G’s life is better just because their preference has been satisfied at Time 1, since at Time 1 G has not yet learned they have won the contest. Therefore, they can reject the unintuitive conclusion that two experientially equivalent lives can have different intrinsic values.

The preference utilitarian might say that G’s preference is satisfied only when G learns that G’s preference is satisfied. This is false. G’s preference is to win the contest, not to learn that they have won the contest. If G learns they have won the contest, but later founds out this was an erroneous announcement, they will not think their preference has been satisfied.

The preference utilitarian might revise their theory to say that what is really intrinsically valuable is not satisfying one’s preference, but learning that one has satisfied a preference. At the very least, this is much less plausible than their original theory, and they would have to offer good reasons for why learning about one’s preferences being satisfied is intrinsically valuable. These reasons could not involve any phenomenal state of pleasure accompanying learning that information, because then their theory would just amount to hedonic utilitarianism.

Conclusion

Hedonic and preference utilitarianism disagree on the ultimate source of the good. Chalmers’ distinction between phenomenal (experiential) and psychological (cognitive-functional-causal) mental states helps clarify their dispute. Hedonists think the ultimate source of the good is in positive phenomenal states, or pleasure. Preference utilitarians think the ultimate source of the good is in psychological states – specifically in states of preference-satisfaction. I have argued that preference utilitarians are committed to the moral value of experienceless P-zombies. They are also committed to the view that two lives can be experientially identical (as between the Unlucky Case and the Unluckier Case), but one can be intrinsically more valuable than the other. Because these conclusions are implausible, hedonic utilitarianism is more plausible than preference utilitarianism.

Euthyphro, moral relativism, and dialogue as the space of reasons

socrates flamingo.png

Socrates, Euthyphro, and other Athenians in the forum

Socrates asks Euthyphro whether something is pious because it is loved by the gods, or on the contrary whether something is loved by the gods because it is pious. We may replace “pious” with whatever we’d like – the term appears at least a little foreign to modern ears – and the question may be asked of justice, morality, of anything else of value under the sun. Is something valuable because the gods deem it so, or do the gods deem something valuable because there is some further reason which justifies their deeming? If the former, then value becomes brute and inexplicable: Socrates has forced Euthyphro to admit that the gods are irrational in their valuation, for there is no further reason explaining why it is they deem a thing to be of value. It simply is so. If the latter, then value is intelligible, and the gods perhaps rational – but, consequently, unnecessary to ground or determine value. For what is valuable is valuable on the basis of independent reasons: the gods do not determine what is valuable, but may rationally love what is valuable on the basis of its value. To put the dilemma in a sentence: in asking for the justificatory grounds of a religious prohibition or valuation, either the justification is an appeal to the unjustified will of the gods, or there is some independent basis for the justification – in which case appealing to the gods is extraneous. Either horn of the dilemma leads us to the conclusion that neither piety, nor morality, nor value, nor what-have-you, can be justified via appeal to divine will.

A similar dilemma emerges when we consider some formulations of moral relativism. Suppose one believes what Fred Feldman calls conceptual relativism: ‘that sentences of the form “act a is morally right” are either meaningless or else short for sentences of the form “act a is morally right in society S.”‘ Conceptual relativism relativizes the criterion for moral rightness to a society: what is right in one society may not be right in another. We tease out the Euthyphro dilemma by asking: on what basis would a society S justify that a particular act a is morally right or wrong in that society? Is action a morally right because society S deems it to be morally right; or does society S deem action a morally right because it is morally right? If the former, we end up at the unpalatable conclusion that there is no basis for society S deeming that any given act is morally right or wrong – it is a brute determination for which reasons cannot be provided. If the latter, then it turns out the moral rightness of an act is not relative to the judgments of a society but rather depends on the independent moral value of the act in question (which can in principle be justified). Conceptual relativism, though it seems to offer a criterion for determining whether an act is morally right or wrong, in fact can do nothing of the sort.

What similarity allows us, in both cases, to apply the dilemma? The dialogic nature of Euthyphro is instructive. To be in dialogue means to enter a space of mutual reasons. What is asserted must in principle be defensible – in other words, one can’t expect their interlocutor(s) to accept their claims at face value (though conversation most often proceeds smoothly through shared premise). One asserting X, in other words, cannot respond to the other who asks “why X?” by appealing to one’s bare assertion of X. Or, to put it another way, insofar as one fails to respond to a demand of producing the reasons underlying their assertions, one exits dialogue. One rather finds themselves in a wholly different space. Ostension, perhaps – a pointing at the bare brute fact of the matter (“…of course the ship is sinking,” to the incredulous crewmate, “would you just take a look at that hole?!”). Or rhetoric, insofar as one enacts a compliance of thought via deceit (and the relationship between rhetoric and dialogue, as Plato knew, is quite complex, quite deadly). To phrase it bluntly: the space of dialogue is the space of reason, and this cannot be doubted.

With this understanding we can frame Socrates’ question another way: do the gods occupy a space of reasons? Can we engage them in dialogue, even if only indirectly? How will they respond, asked on what basis they love what is just, what is moral? (Zeus: with a lightning bolt). And the dilemma, then, is this: either the gods dialogue, or they do not.

If they do, there is reason for what they do which undergirds what they value – reason in principle accessible to humanity. The gods in this case can disobey the moral law, as time and time again in the Greek mythos they do, for it is distinct from their whims and wishes. And so the gods can be no source for value, morality, or what have you. They drop out of the picture; their desires bear no more weight than yours or mine in our evaluation of the truth.

If the gods do not dialogue, however, then they definitionally and brutely act in accord with the moral law. In this case there is no further reason justifying whether their action is consistent with the moral law – what is moral, is moral simply because it is loved by the gods. To ask the gods, then, why it is they love what is moral, is to ask a question impossible to rationally answer. The implication, of course, is that morality is fundamentally irrational. All that is good and right fades to inscrutability and obscure; all that is holy is profaned.

What a mission, then, Plato (via Socrates) lays out for philosophy: to establish a dialogue with the gods.

Adorno on Kantian autonomy, or: how can one freely be bound to law?

kite-1386220_1920

Alas, kites can be neither free nor autonomous.

What Kant grapples with in his moral philosophy, Adorno argues, is the tension between freedom and necessity as it pertains to human action. At the most obvious level the tension presents itself as the impossibility of moral human action in a world governed by causal laws. Insofar as we are empirical beings constrained by the doctrine of cause and effect, we cannot be held accountable for our actions, for we have no more agency in conducting ourselves than the billiard ball bouncing off the pool cue. The iron necessity of causality in this case subjugates us to the dictates of nature. We do not choose natural law, and yet we must abide by it. Hence we are heteronomous – literally, governed by the laws of another – and so unfree.

At this juncture one may very well conclude that genuine freedom involves action according to no rule, which springs from some unnatural font of spontaneity (e.g. an immaterial soul). Indeterminism fails to provide a substantive grounding for free action, however, for the same reasons that nature’s determinism does. Just imagine somebody who acted according to no principles whatsoever – whose action sprung mysteriously from some unknown source. Their choice in deciding to do X over Y would be unintelligible, more like the accidental outcome of a die roll than of the sort of deliberation characteristic of decisionmaking. So the way out from determinism to freedom can’t just involve the negation of determinism.

Instead, Kant’s answer is that moral choice must involve the right sort of determination: determination by reason. To act morally is to act in accordance with reason, and to act in accordance with reason means obeying strictly its laws. What differentiates these laws from those of nature is that the laws of reason are self-imposed – they are autonomous, auto-nomos, self-law. Adorno points out the tension in this approach: to secure freedom, Kant must establish a necessity in the moral sphere akin to the causal necessity present in the empirical sphere. Adorno puts it like this:

“…reason generally makes its appearance with the claim of deductive necessity, with the claim that everything it implies follows in accordance with the propositions of logic. And this element of necessity already presupposes an affinity… with the causality that is supposed to hold sway in the realm of empirical phenomena… the whole of Kant’s moral philosophy is tied to the concept of autonomy which is regarded as the realm where freedom and necessity meet. What this means is that the moral laws are indeed the laws of freedom – because as a rational being I give them to myself without making myself dependent on any external factor. At the same time, however, they have the character of laws because rational action and rational deduction cannot be understood except as acting and thinking in conformity with laws and rules.” (Problems of Moral Philosophy, Lecture 8, pg.80)

A problem immediately arises: in what sense can we act autonomously in accord with reason, if we are empirical beings who inhabit the determined world of nature? Adorno claims that “here Kant falls into a trap of his own making” in articulating a solution to this problem (81). Kant argues variously in the Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals and the Critique of Practical Reason that “as empirical beings we experience the obligation to perform certain actions, or to leave them undone” (Adorno 81). Proceeding from the fact of this experience, Kant asks as to the conditions for its possibility: what makes possible the experience of conscience, of the sense that one should and should not engage in certain actions? Such transcendental critique comes unsurprisingly as part and parcel with the rest of the Kantian system, but in this case Adorno points out its potentially damning implications:

“…if [Kant] desires to exclude every empirical element from his foundation of moral philosophy – and that is his aim – he cannot then appeal to the empirical existence of the so-called moral compulsion in man himself because this compulsion is itself an empirical fact… in short, the unity of moral obligation and reason that Kant insists on is not altogether unproblematic if we reflect a little more deeply on this obligation; indeed it becomes highly dubious.” (Lecture 8, pg 82)

The quite obvious Kantian response in this case involves an injunction against mistaking the empirical conditions by which we come to know a phenomenon for some essential feature of that phenomenon. In other words, such a criticism mistakes the process by which we contingently come to experience our moral duty for the characteristic qualities of that moral duty itself. It is a similar mistake to one who takes the truths of mathematics to be contingent upon empirical observations about the world, just because one has learned them through such observations.

But in this case such a response does not save Kant, because it introduces a rupture within the human being which is the subject of morality, splitting asunder the experience of morality from its essential nature. There are three possible ways we can conceive the relationship between the empirical experience of moral duty  (conscience) and the “formal, abstract shape of the moral law” for which that experience serves as evidence.

First option: Conscience is coextensive with the moral law. This is a highly repugnant conclusion. To accept this is, in essence, to deny that there is any thing as a moral law in the first place. For it identifies the empirical constraints on moral thought (the psychological experience of moral duty) with the moral duty itself. One might imagine this position as involving an acceptance that “whatever one feels is moral, is moral; whatever one feels is immoral, is immoral.” An unacceptable conclusion, in short.

Second option: Conscience is totally separate from the moral law (though it grounds the moral law). This is a more palatable conclusion – presumably the one Kant took himself to be endorsing, in the last instance – but one which Adorno argues cannot be the case. For suppose it were true: that there was no substantive relationship between conscience and the moral law. Or, to put it more precisely, that there was no relationship between the motivational import provided by conscience and the demands lain upon it by the moral law. In this case, any case of moral behavior would be a merely accidental one of the sort Kant routinely decries in the Groundwork, e.g. of the shopkeeper who treats customers fairly not because it is moral, but because it brings them the greatest profit. Except in this the explanation for all moral behavior would be that, e.g. the shopkeeper treats customers fairly only because of some empirical-psychological motivation stemming from their conscience, and not because the moral law commands them to do so. In this case the pure abstract formality of the moral law might be preserved, but at the expense of its possible enactment.

Third option: Conscience is related somehow to the moral law. This is the only option which remains, but that “somehow” is a problem which – Adorno argues – we cannot solve using only the tools given to us by Kant’s system.

Adorno concludes his exceedingly fascinating eighth lecture with a concise statement of Kant’s, distinguishing the determinism of nature from that of the moral law:

“‘Reason therefore’, he continues, ‘provides laws which are imperatives, that is, objective laws of freedom which tell us what ought to happen – although perhaps it never does happen,’ – you see here [Kant’s] indifference towards effects – ‘therein differing from laws of nature, which relate only to that which happens. These laws [of reason] are therefore to be entitled practical laws.'” (Lecture 8, pg. 88)