We know from the effects of morphine that it is possible to experience “pain” without it “hurting”. (I wonder if any philosopher foresaw that this is even possible?) Given that, it is quite conceivable to me that a psychopath might experience the feeling of “moral wrongness” without the motivation “I shouldn’t do this”. Maybe that isn’t what’s going on, but no process of reasoning about morality can rule it out.
Philosophers, even materialist ones, are apt to think of the mind as being some sort of logical entity, about which they can prove that certain mental behaviours are impossible. But when the brain goes funny, all of those arguments fail. Which implies that when the brain hasn’t gone funny, the arguments still don’t prove anything, because how do we know that even a normal brain doesn’t do other “absurd” things? Only by observing how it actually works, not by any process of pure reason.
Compare “akrasia”. How can you want to do a thing, have the ability, and yet not do it, all the while bemoaning the fact that you aren’t doing it? Obviously absurd, impossible, a contradiction. But the fact that people do go funny in this way is so familiar to everyone that philosophers can’t get far by arguing that it can’t happen.
I certainly agree that we can discover things about the world that make us realize that some phenomenon P that we naively thought was indivisible in fact turns out to have internal structure, such that an event can demonstrate some-but-not-all-of P.
I’m mostly of the opinion that when that sort of thing happens, the best move is to get very clear about what level of abstraction we’re talking about, what concepts apply at that level, and how we refer to those concepts. Sometimes it’s useful to talk about “cells”, but if I’m interested in how mitochondria interact with the endoplasmic reticulum the concept to which “cell” refers isn’t useful to me; I need new concepts (and it’s probably best if I don’t assign them homophonic labels).
Are people on morphine actually experiencing pain? Yes, they are. No, they aren’t. It’s mostly not a helpful question. They are experiencing some properties of pain and not others, and what we’ve discovered is that our normal experience of pain has separable internal structure.
So far, so good. And, sure, when an actor playing Oedipus screams and yells about how painful having his eyes plucked out is, he’s experiencing some of the properties of pain, and it can be interesting to consider which properties those are. But I can also jump up a level and ask whether the actor is really experiencing pain, and on balance my answer is pretty unambiguously “no.” (Though I’m prepared to make exceptions for certain actors and performances, given enough counterevidence.)
Similarly, if I experience akrasia, that tells me that motivation has internal structure, and I can experience some of its components (e.g., the belief that I want to do something) without others (e.g., the actually-doing-it). At a lower level, I can usefully consider the relationship between those components. At a higher level, I can ask whether I’m really motivated to do it. (My usual answer is “no.” I understand that judgments vary on this one.)
So, OK. I agree that moral judgment has internal structure, and it’s possible for people to experience/demonstrate some properties and not others, and in particular that it’s possible (at least in principle) to fail to demonstrate the behavior-changing properties of moral judgment while still demonstrating everything else.
But, just as in the other two cases, the question arises: if I jump up a level of abstraction and ask whether the thing demonstrated in that case is actually a moral judgment or not, what’s my answer?
I’m inclined to say it isn’t, as above.
But I grant that this is ultimately a question about what the label “moral judgment” properly attaches to, and I’m happy to use different language when that makes communication clearer. And if I want to think more carefully about cases where people go funny in this way, the question of whether it’s really a moral judgment stops being a helpful question, because the answer is “yes and no.”
We know from the effects of morphine that it is possible to experience “pain” without it “hurting”. (I wonder if any philosopher foresaw that this is even possible?) Given that, it is quite conceivable to me that a psychopath might experience the feeling of “moral wrongness” without the motivation “I shouldn’t do this”. Maybe that isn’t what’s going on, but no process of reasoning about morality can rule it out.
Philosophers, even materialist ones, are apt to think of the mind as being some sort of logical entity, about which they can prove that certain mental behaviours are impossible. But when the brain goes funny, all of those arguments fail. Which implies that when the brain hasn’t gone funny, the arguments still don’t prove anything, because how do we know that even a normal brain doesn’t do other “absurd” things? Only by observing how it actually works, not by any process of pure reason.
Compare “akrasia”. How can you want to do a thing, have the ability, and yet not do it, all the while bemoaning the fact that you aren’t doing it? Obviously absurd, impossible, a contradiction. But the fact that people do go funny in this way is so familiar to everyone that philosophers can’t get far by arguing that it can’t happen.
I certainly agree that we can discover things about the world that make us realize that some phenomenon P that we naively thought was indivisible in fact turns out to have internal structure, such that an event can demonstrate some-but-not-all-of P.
I’m mostly of the opinion that when that sort of thing happens, the best move is to get very clear about what level of abstraction we’re talking about, what concepts apply at that level, and how we refer to those concepts. Sometimes it’s useful to talk about “cells”, but if I’m interested in how mitochondria interact with the endoplasmic reticulum the concept to which “cell” refers isn’t useful to me; I need new concepts (and it’s probably best if I don’t assign them homophonic labels).
Are people on morphine actually experiencing pain? Yes, they are. No, they aren’t. It’s mostly not a helpful question. They are experiencing some properties of pain and not others, and what we’ve discovered is that our normal experience of pain has separable internal structure.
So far, so good. And, sure, when an actor playing Oedipus screams and yells about how painful having his eyes plucked out is, he’s experiencing some of the properties of pain, and it can be interesting to consider which properties those are. But I can also jump up a level and ask whether the actor is really experiencing pain, and on balance my answer is pretty unambiguously “no.” (Though I’m prepared to make exceptions for certain actors and performances, given enough counterevidence.)
Similarly, if I experience akrasia, that tells me that motivation has internal structure, and I can experience some of its components (e.g., the belief that I want to do something) without others (e.g., the actually-doing-it). At a lower level, I can usefully consider the relationship between those components. At a higher level, I can ask whether I’m really motivated to do it. (My usual answer is “no.” I understand that judgments vary on this one.)
So, OK. I agree that moral judgment has internal structure, and it’s possible for people to experience/demonstrate some properties and not others, and in particular that it’s possible (at least in principle) to fail to demonstrate the behavior-changing properties of moral judgment while still demonstrating everything else.
But, just as in the other two cases, the question arises: if I jump up a level of abstraction and ask whether the thing demonstrated in that case is actually a moral judgment or not, what’s my answer?
I’m inclined to say it isn’t, as above.
But I grant that this is ultimately a question about what the label “moral judgment” properly attaches to, and I’m happy to use different language when that makes communication clearer. And if I want to think more carefully about cases where people go funny in this way, the question of whether it’s really a moral judgment stops being a helpful question, because the answer is “yes and no.”