Caring Beings and the Immanence of Value: An Inquiry into the Foundations of Interpersonal Morality Richard Oxenberg Introduction Few philosophical tasks can be accounted more important than the attempt to clarify the meaning of the word 'good.' Indeed, without such clarification it is impossible to distinguish the important from the unimportant, as all claims to importance must appeal to some criteria of value, and all criteria of value must appeal to some notion of good. To gain insight into the meaning of this word, then, is a precondition to the ability to make any value-claim whatsoever. Aristotle begins his Nicomachean Ethics with the statement: "The good has been welldefined as that at which all things aim." This statement suggests that one might pursue the good simply by pursuing one's aims and desires. Such might suffice as a definition were it not that demands of interpersonal morality often require the sacrifice or deferral of one's own desires for the sake of others. Such considerations suggest that the meaning of good must be divorced from reference to strictly personal aims and desires. But from the moment we effect this divorce we begin swimming in ethical vapor. Perhaps the good, then, is what God desires, or what is 'orderly,' or what is 'rational,' or what is best for the society at large, etc. Or perhaps, given that all these answers have an air of arbitrariness about them, we must accept that the very word 'good' has merely conventional or functional meaning, and any search for its 'true' meaning is misguided. 2 All this confusion, I believe, stems from what I will call the ethical paradox; i.e., the paradox that ethical life, as conventionally understood, often demands the sacrifice, or compromise, of what seems one's own good for the sake of others. Apart from this paradox Aristotle's definition might be relatively unproblematic. In the following I would like to do three things. First, I would like to defend a version of Aristotle's definition as providing true insight into the meaning of the term good. Second, I would like to show how interpersonal morality can indeed be derived from this understanding of the good. And finally, I would like to briefly consider the implications of this for ethical theory. I. Desire and the Good The very idea of good involves the idea of an imperative, a should. To speak of a good that should not be realized is oxymoronic. This lends credence to Aristotle's definition of the good as "that at which all things aim." In Aristotelian metaphysics, of course, all things are believed to have aims; that is, the universe is envisioned as fundamentally teleological. In our mechanistically minded age, the notion that things in general have natural aims is largely disputed. It is easy to see how this fact itself must engender a certain amount of ethical confusion. If we define good as "that at which all things aim," then the transition from a teleological to a mechanistic conception of the universe cannot but lead to doubt as to the very meaning and relevance of the term good. Perhaps the very idea of good is simply a relic of an archaic metaphysic. And yet such a suggestion is contradicted by common experience. All value distinctions must employ an implicit appeal to some notion of good; even if it is only 'the 3 good for me.' If one chooses to go right as opposed to left, eat this meal as opposed to that, advance one view as opposed to another, one expresses a preference, and preference itself implies some idea of good. This strongly suggests that the idea of good is not tied to a particular metaphysical system, but has its basis, rather, in some more primitive human experience. And indeed, a bit of reflection suggests that Aristotle's metaphysically laden definition of good as "that at which all things aim" is but an extrapolation and generalization of a far more basic notion of good as 'that at which I aim'; i.e., that which satisfies my needs and desires. A full genealogical treatment of the idea of good is beyond the scope of this paper. It might be helpful, however, to make a few preliminary observations. The claim that the word good has the primitive meaning of 'that which satisfies desire' gains prima facia support from the frequency with which we use it to mean just this. When I am hungry food is good. When I am thirsty drink is good, etc. Of course, this gives the idea of good a decidedly private and subjective signification. Whence, then, does it derive its objective sense? It is possible to see this as a function of the sociality of language itself. From the moment 'good' becomes a word it transcends the private sphere and acquires the universal scope native to language as such, despite the indeterminacy of that to which it now points. We now find this universalized idea institutionalized in cultural and religious forms, and formalized in abstract metaphysical systems. As such, it becomes instrumental in providing a conceptual foundation for societal value-formation; i.e., ethics. Indeterminate though it be, this metaphysicalized idea of good has practical value for any society as a solution to the ethical paradox. To the extent that private good is seen as subsisting under transcendent good, the transcendent good can be raised as an ethical 4 standard over and against the private, demanding sacrifice in its name. Sanctions, of one sort or another, can now be imposed or merely threatened, to correlate the interests of the private with the interests of the transcendent, rendering conformity to the transcendent personally compelling. Of course, this situation is highly subject to abuse. The very indeterminacy of the 'transcendent good' allows it to be invoked in support of any value-claim whatsoever. Hence one atrocity after another can be committed "in the name of God." Nor is it possible to render reasoned criticism against such abuse, for the indeterminacy and transcendency of the good shield it from critical scrutiny. This, in turn, leads to a reaction against metaphysical thinking itself. And precisely to the extent that the good has been rendered metaphysical, its signification is obscured with the breakdown of metaphysical thinking. Thus, we enter into a crisis of ethical definition. Nietzsche's famous 'Death of God' passage in The Gay Science remains among the most striking expressions of this crisis. Dostoevsky's famous line, "If God doesn't exist all is permissible" is a more concise statement of the same. Having grounded ethical principles in the transcendent for so long, skepticism concerning the transcendent yields ethical confusion. Where, now, is the ground of value to be located? To answer this question, I believe, we must return to the primitive signification of good as the 'satisfaction of desire,' and carefully examine its implications. The first thing I wish to do is replace the word 'desire' with a word less associated with sensual pursuits. Of course, human beings have sensual desires, but we have many others 5 as well. The mother's desire for the well-being of her child is as much a real desire as the glutton's desire for his next meal. In order to convey this broader concept of desire I will use the word caring. Insofar as there is a matter about which one cares, that matter may be said to have a good and a bad associated with it. The word caring recommends itself for two reasons. First, in common language, anything about which we say we care is something with respect to which we have some desire or other. Second, I use the term with a nod to Heidegger, who employs the term Care to designate the concernful dynamic of human temporality, which he regards as basic to human existence itself, and which I find expressive of the value-laden character of human life. It is with respect to the phenomenon of caring, then, that we find, primitively, something like a good and a bad, and good and bad may each be defined, respectively, as that toward which caring tends and that from which caring avers. It is apparent that this definition makes the good relative to a given instance of caring. But such relativism must be seen as radically distinct from the conventionalism often associated with it. Although the good is good only relative to some instance of caring, caring itself, at least at its most primitive, is not rooted in social convention. Even the smallest infant shows signs of desire, i.e., caring, prior to and independent of any societal influence. Caring is an ontological fact, not a conventional artifact. It is my view that the ontological reality of caring lies at the basis of the very concept of value. Of course, we do not find free-floating instances of caring seeking their individual satisfaction disconnected from all else. Rather we find caring beings in which individual desires and impulses are related to one another in complex ways. And although requisites of exposition have made it necessary for us to focus, first, upon the individual instance of 6 caring or desire in order to reveal the meaning of the word good at its most primitive, we must now raise our sights to recognize that it is the satisfaction of the caring being as a whole to which the words good and bad must ultimately refer. Let us designate this overall state of satisfaction 'well-being' and define a 'caring being' as a being with an impetus to well-being. For any caring being its well-being is its good and its ill-being is its bad. We can further say that it is only with respect to caring beings, i.e., beings with an impetus to well-being, that the terms good and bad have relevance. Rocks, insofar as they are not caring beings, do not have a good or a bad relative to them. It is important to get clear about the uniqueness of caring's relativity vis-à-vis other things we speak of as having relative value. Generally, when we say that something has relative value we mean that its value is relative to something other than itself. For instance, paper money is only valuable relative to a given society's willingness to honor it. Should this change, the value of the paper changes as well. The paper money, thus, has no intrinsic value. But the situation is quite different with caring. Although a caring being's value is relative in a sense, it is relative to itself. A caring being is a value to itself. Thus, we cannot alter caring's value by altering something else in the world. Even if the entire universe were emptied of all but one caring being – still the value of that caring being would remain. For its value is to itself and hence in itself. Thus, we may speak of caring as having intrinsic value and even, in a sense, absolute value. Such value, we might say, to use the language of the U.S. Declaration of Independence, is "inalienable." A caring being cannot be deprived of its value, for its value is inherent to the kind of being it is. 7 It can be shown, further, that all valuing must arise from the self-valuing of caring beings. At the start of the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle discusses the need for a telos of value to which any value-claim must ultimately be referred. For instance, a cup is valuable only because it serves to contain drink. Drink is valuable only because it serves to quench thirst, etc. But ultimately, any value claim must be referred to something that is valuable in itself, without reference to something else, otherwise the chain of reference would continue indefinitely with nothing ever cited from which value is originally conferred. But what sort of thing could be valuable in itself? Kant famously cites 'rational nature' as an 'end in itself,' but it does not seem to me Kant ever states clearly what makes something an 'end in itself.' It is possible, however, to answer this question with clarity. Only that which is valuable to itself can be valuable in itself. This is clear from the following considerations: For anything to have value it must have value to someone who values it. A world devoid of anyone who values would also be a world devoid of anything of value. If we say that X is of value, then, it must be that X is valuable either to itself or to something else. Anything of value only to something else is obviously not of value in itself; it is merely a means to another end. Only that which is valuable to itself then, that which holds itself as valuable, can be valuable in itself. Hence, only that which is valuable to itself can be an 'end in itself,' a telos of value. And this is just what we mean by caring. I have defined a caring being as a 'being with an impetus to well-being,' but this definition is just an attempt to express, in an accessible manner, the essential feature of self-valuing pertaining to every caring being. Every 8 caring being is a ground of value insofar as it values itself. To put it another way: To value oneself is the necessary and sufficient condition for being of intrinsic value. Further, only caring can be a ground of value. Not only does caring ground value, but it should be clear that nothing else can ground value. Anything that does not value itself can only be valuable by reference to something else that does, and hence cannot itself be a ground of value. Thus, the phenomenon of caring must be seen as the ground of all value, and the well-being of caring beings as that toward which all authentic valuing must tend. It is the work of the virtue ethicist to examine the nature of, and the way to, human well-being. It is often supposed by virtue ethicists that once virtue is achieved interpersonal morality will follow as a natural consequence. The most celebrated expression of this is the Socratic dictum that 'to know the good is to do the good.' The idea here is that a certain regard for others is necessary for the well-being of the moral agent, and, since all caring beings seek well-being, the truly enlightened agent will always, therefore, behave morally. This may or may not be true, but I contend that regardless of its truth, it does not provide the proper rationale for interpersonal morality. The rationale for interpersonal morality cannot be predicated upon the self-interest of the agent. A simple example will suffice to show this. There is a moral dilemma I was introduced to as a child that will serve us nicely here: Imagine that a device has been rigged up through which you can deliver a disabling injury to some being on Alpha-Centauri by pushing a button. Suppose, also, that if you push this button you will be given a significant sum of money. Suppose, further, that the universe is 9 so configured that nothing you do to this other being will ever impact upon you, either physically or 'spiritually.' Is it wrong to push the button? The whole purpose of this example, of course, is to exclude from consideration any appeal to the self-interest of the agent. Common morality tells us that it is still wrong to push the button, but the virtue ethicist, restricted to the appeal to enlightened self-interest, cannot tell us why. Indeed, here we confront the ethical paradox we noted above: If we are right in locating the seat of value in the impetus to well-being, then in the name of what value can it be maintained that one should put aside any part of one's own wellbeing for the sake of others? Whence comes the imperative for interpersonal morality? II. The Ethical Paradox I want to be quick to clarify the above question. I do not now ask it in the genealogical but in the normative sense. We are not interested in how, developmentally or historically, the human being comes to acquire an interpersonal morality, but in identifying the value that underwrites the imperative to interpersonal morality. At this point it would be appropriate to review some of the classic answers to this question in the history of philosophy. Limitations of space, of course, make it impossible for me to do so fully or even adequately, but it will be helpful to make a few comments nonetheless. Kantian rationalism tackles the problem head-on in its insistence that interpersonal morality be divorced from any appeal to the agent's will to happiness, and be, rather, grounded in the agent's rational will. The problems with Kantian rationalism, in my view, 10 are twofold. First, rational consistency, taken in itself, is an arbitrary standard of value. Why should rational consistency be regarded as a more appropriate standard for behavior than, say, impulsive spontaneity? Second, to the extent that Kant attempts to ground the value of rational consistency in the value of the unity of the self, or the autonomy of the will, he ultimately reduces that value to the well-being of the person whose autonomy or unity is at stake. Thus, in spite of Kant's attempt to divorce his morality from the value of the agent's well-being, he ultimately appeals to it. The Humean strategy of identifying a benevolent impulse in human nature as the ground of interpersonal morality famously commits the naturalist fallacy. To the extent that morality is predicated upon sentiments of the agent, when those sentiments are lacking so is the imperative for moral rectitude. Further, the appeal to benevolent sentiment is, ultimately, an appeal to the well-being of the agent, whose benevolent sentiments are, presumably, satisfied/expressed through moral action. Utilitarianism makes a leap from the happiness of the individual to the happiness of the 'greatest number,' but the justification for this leap is never clearly articulated. It is clear why the happiness of the individual is of value to the individual, but it is unclear why the individual should concern herself with the 'greatest number.' Any attempt to justify this principle on the grounds that the individual has a stake in the good of society at large, is ultimately an appeal to the individual's self-interest. Traditional Judeo-Christian deontology ('Divine command theory'), in which the imperative to interpersonal morality is derived from the dictates of God, commits what may be called the 'Euthyphro fallacy.' Put simply, it begs the question as to what is good about God's dictates. What grants them their authority or legitimacy? 11 Ironically, the ethicist who, in my view, comes closest to identifying the true locus of value for interpersonal morality is one who never intended to do any such thing: Friedrich Nietzsche. It is only Nietzsche, as far as I know, who locates the demand to respect the value of the other in the impetus to well-being of the other. In his Genealogy of Morals, Nietzsche posits that interpersonal morality arises from the self-affirmation (the 'will to power') of the weak, who develop moral principles for the sake of inducing the strong to treat them with respect. The promulgation of these principles, says Nietzsche, gives the weak some leverage over the strong. The question, of course, is how can an imperative issuing from the nature of the moral patient (in this case, the weak) translate into an imperative for the moral agent. Nietzsche famously answers that it cannot, and this answer is the basis of his 'immoralism.' I wish to advance a different answer. But before doing so let us consider more carefully the legitimacy of the moral patient's demand to be treated with respect. The moral patient, we say, insofar as he or she is a caring being, makes an inherent demand to be treated with respect. Or to express this more precisely, the impetus to well-being that constitutes the patient's caring entails such a demand. The demand is inherent in the nature of caring itself. Caring is already a demand for respect of that about which it cares. In other words, the impetus to well-being entails the demand that well-being be advanced and not thwarted; to say this is simply to expand upon what we mean by the term 'impetus.' In order to evaluate whether or not such a demand is legitimate, i.e., deserving of respect, we would seem to need some criterion of legitimacy other than the impetus to well-being itself, by which to judge it. But here we encounter a problem. Any criterion of legitimacy must appeal to some value-claim. But, as we have already noted, any value12 claim must be grounded in the caring of some caring being. Hence, there can be no criterion of legitimacy, other than caring itself, by which caring's legitimacy can be judged, for caring is the basis of all value criteria. A simple thought experiment can make this even clearer: Imagine a universe in which there are no caring beings; i.e., no beings with an impetus to well-being. On what basis could we now say of anything in this universe that it is 'better' or 'worse' than anything else? Better or worse for whom? Without the good of some caring being to appeal to, it is impossible to distinguish one state of affairs from another with regard to value. This, again, indicates that the very notion of value is grounded in, and inseparable from, the reality of caring. This being the case, how are we to evaluate caring itself? In other words, what criterion of value can we use with which to determine the value of a caring being? Insofar as caring is itself the source of all valuing, it cannot be evaluated by anything other than itself. So, we must interrogate caring with respect to itself about its own value. And we find, when we do, that it is of the very nature of caring to insist upon itself; to, so to speak, assert its own value. Hence caring's value is absolute with respect to itself. This is what we mean when we say that a caring being is of intrinsic value. Its value is inherent in its own self-valuing. It is the ground of its own value. But why should one caring being respect the intrinsic value of another? Or, to express this question in the terms we used above, how does the imperative for respect issuing from the caring of the moral patient translate into an imperative for the moral agent? The answer to this question is simpler than it may seem. As we have said, caring has value in itself. Thus, it is a violation of something of value to violate caring. This violation has the status of a fact, invariable with respect to opinion. In other words, in 13 noting caring's intrinsic value we have already said why it is bad to violate it, to the extent that we mean by bad the destruction of what has value. We now turn to the question of why it is wrong to violate it; i.e., why another caring being should avoid engendering such bad. But in saying it is bad we have, in effect, already said why it is wrong; to the extent that we concede that it is wrong to intentionally and avoidably engender bad. But what compels us to concede this? To make this clear, we must ask the moral agent to reflect upon herself. Given that all value is grounded in the self-valuing of caring, there is no basis upon which one caring being could claim priority over another with respect to value; since there is no independent criterion of value by which the one could be assessed above the other. Each is a value to itself. The moral agent must recognize, then, that her demand to be treated with respect and the patient's demand to be treated with respect have precisely the same status. Recognizing this, she cannot deny the legitimacy of the patient's demand without, in principle, denying the legitimacy of her own. But she cannot deny the legitimacy of her own demand without implicitly acknowledging the right of anyone and everyone to abuse her in any way they like. And to allow such a thing would be in contravention of her very nature as a caring being; i.e., as a being with an impetus to well-being. Her very being demands respect whether she likes it or not. Given this, she is impelled by her own nature's demand for respect to acknowledge the legitimacy of all other caring beings' demands for respect as well – since they rest upon the same basis. In other words, one discovers in one's own demand to be treated with respect the universal demand of any caring being to be treated with respect. One cannot deny the 14 latter without denying the former. And one cannot deny the former without standing in opposition to oneself. Thus, one is impelled, by one's own nature, to acknowledge the universal right of all caring beings to be treated with respect. Or, to express it in yet other words: in affirming that one's own caring deserves respect, an affirmation one is driven to by the very nature of one's caring, one implicitly affirms that caring as such deserves respect, and thus, that the caring of others deserves respect as well. One could only escape the logic of this by claiming that there is something about one's own caring that makes it more valuable than the caring of others. But given that all value-claims must themselves be grounded in caring, no such claim can ever be justified. It is important to point out that the logic articulated above merely serves to point out an ontological truth that one might see, and many do see, without the aid of such logic. The truth is simply this: that caring beings are intrinsically deserving of respect by reason of their very caring. This, then, leads directly to the principle of universal regard expressed in the Golden Rule and its variants: that one must recognize in the other the same intrinsic value one finds in oneself. This principle, thus, long associated with the transcendent value-claims of Judeo-Christian deontology, may be grounded just as surely, indeed more surely, in the immanence of value apparent to considered reflection. With this we answer all moral relativisms and nihilisms. Given the intrinsic value of caring beings all is not permissible, whether God exists or not. 1 15 III. Implications and Conclusion What I have attempted to do above is provide what I would consider the necessary core for any ethical theory. I do not see it as replacing other classical theories so much as supplying their proper ground. Indeed, when this ground is clearly seen, the mutual compatibility of many theories that seemed incompatible becomes clear as well. Kantian rationalism retains its significance both as an articulation of the principle of universalization without which interpersonal morality would be impossible, and as a strong statement concerning the dignity, i.e., intrinsic value, of the human being. I do not, for the most part, argue with Kant's results, but with how he arrives at them. Kant correctly intuits that the moral imperative cannot be predicated upon the self-interest of the moral agent, but then incorrectly infers from this that, therefore, it cannot be predicated upon anyone's self-interest. But, in fact, it is predicated on the self-interest of the moral patient. In casting about for something to base the moral imperative on, Kant lights upon the 'rational will,' having noticed, apparently, that reason is required for universalized thinking, and free will for moral responsibility, and that, therefore, a rational, autonomous, will is necessary for the application of moral principles. In this, again, I concur. Insofar as animals do not reason, and cannot universalize, they cannot be full-fledged moral agents. But Kant is wrong in supposing reason to be morality's basis rather than merely its instrument. Thus, he supposes that only rational beings are moral patients. But insofar as animals are still caring beings they count as moral patients as well, regardless of their having or not having a rational nature.2 It is not reason that makes a being an 'end in itself,' but caring; i.e., the impetus to well-being. 16 Humean sentimentalism, and virtue ethics in general, still have an important role to play in directing us toward the human good. I believe it is true that human beings have natural benevolent sentiments that ought to be cultivated, both for their own sakes and the sake of others. But such sentiments do not ground the demands of interpersonal morality, they merely suggest that human nature, or some part of it, is in natural accord with these demands. The utilitarian dictate to seek 'the greatest good for the greatest number' provides a valuable rule of thumb for adjudicating interpersonal conflicts. But this rule of thumb, again, is not the basis of morality, it is merely a means for protecting, as well as possible in a complex world, what truly lies at the basis: the intrinsic value of individual caring beings. Finally, theism is by no means rendered ethically irrelevant by this theory. The possibility remains that the universe is so configured that the good of one person must be had at the expense of the good of others; a circumstance that would make interpersonal morality untenable. Such would be an essentially tragic universe in which we would have to deaden our moral impulses in order to pursue our own well-being. Nietzsche's metaphysic of power often seems to suggest just this, thereby justifying his immoralism. Theism posits that the reverse is the case; that reality is ultimately a coordinated whole with respect to value, such that the ultimate well-being of one person requires his/her concern and respect for the ultimate well-being of others. This is somewhat crudely expressed in theistic allusions to reward and punishment (heaven and hell), but more subtly expressed in the notion that compassion and love, and the interpersonal relationships made possible by them, are central to human well-being itself. 17 But compassion is truly realized only when the compassionate person is focused on the good of the other, rather than on the rewards that may be granted the compassionate. And so, this theory provides an important corrective to theistic deontology, which often seems to conflate the value of compassion with the value of its reward, or, more troublesome still, with the purported value of blind obedience to divine dictate. In sum, this paper is meant to express a very basic and simple truth: that it is wrong to hurt others, and that the reason it's wrong to hurt them, is because it hurts them. For some reason not entirely clear to me, this simple but very important truth has not been articulated very well in the history of philosophical ethics. My hope is that this paper will, in some small measure, help to correct this. 18 Notes 1 It is possible, admittedly, to willfully deny one's own demand for respect and thereby, ostensibly, deny one's responsibility to respect others. In so doing, I would say, one defines oneself 'outside of the circle of moral concern.' There are many things in nature outside of the circle of moral concern – such as tornados and viruses – which are a potential menace but make no moral claim for themselves. One would now have classed oneself among these. The prudent response of society to such things is to destroy them. To the extent that we destroy what is harmful to caring beings and makes no moral claim for itself, we benefit those who do make a moral claim and harm nothing of moral significance. If we took the moral nihilist at her word, then, we would have full sanction to destroy her. The moment she protested she would, in effect, be demanding that she not be taken at her word. Of course, I am not advocating that we destroy moral nihilists. My point is that, when push comes to shove, no one can sincerely deny his or her demand for respect, for it is inherent to caring itself. From this fact, moral responsibility follows, whether one is willing to acknowledge it or not. 2 Does this mean that animals are to be regarded as having the same worth as human beings? What about insects (who also manifest caring to some degree)? These questions lead us into some difficult metaphysical and ethical territory. The general rule is: every caring being must be respected in its caring. Where there is no well-formed self, however, there is no self demanding respect. Of course, in the higher animals we may conclude that 19 there is indeed a self demanding respect, and then we would be morally obliged to show it. As for the lower animals, we do not owe their caring the same kind of regard we owe to human caring because they do not have the same quality of caring as human beings. Still, they can experience pain and suffering, and we certainly have a moral responsibility not to unduly cause it. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Further Reflections (The notes below are not tied to specific places in the text, but are expansions of themes touched on throughout the body of the essay.) 1. Caring's 'Absolute' Value As we have said, the 'relativity' of caring's value does not render it variable according to the view of the observer, insofar as caring's value is relative to itself. For this reason, the fact that some moral agent may not be willing to honor the value of some moral patient cannot in any way detract from that moral patient's true value. Indeed, even if everyone in the universe were to refuse to honor the value of some one caring being, this would not alter the fact that this being has value. True, its value is 'relative' in a sense, but relative to itself, and, hence, also, in a sense, absolute. Thus, it is an absolute 'bad' to harm a caring being, insofar as we mean by 'bad' the destruction of what has value. This badness is a fact. It is not variable according to opinion. Recognition of this allows us to bridge the so-called 'fact-value' divide. 20 2. The Meaning of 'Right' and 'Wrong' It may be objected that in defining 'wrong' as 'the intentional and avoidable doing of what results in bad,' I have confused the meaning of 'wrong' with a proposed content. 'Wrong' has the meaning of 'that which should not be done.' But this meaning of 'wrong' does not denote any particular content; it does not say what should not be done. In stipulating that doing 'bad' is 'wrong,' have I not merely asserted what I need to demonstrate? Suppose someone should concede the badness of bad, in the sense defined in the essay, but deny the wrongness of doing (or engendering) bad? What would such a person be denying? They would be denying the universal applicability of the imperative to avoid bad. In other words, although caring entails the imperative that its own bad be avoided, this imperative does not, in itself, refer to others. Might not someone argue that the imperative to avoid bad that arises from caring is relevant only to the one whose caring it is, and does not make reference to anyone else? My answer is as follows: The imperative to avoid bad is not, strictly, relative to the person whose bad it is, but to the phenomenon of caring as such. Wherever there is caring there is the imperative to avoid harming that caring. This imperative, further, though issued from the moral patient, does not address itself only to the moral patient, but to the world at large. The moral patient wishes to avoid harm from wherever it may come. The moral agent, then, is addressed by this demand and must respond to it. The question the moral agent must consider is whether or not the value underlying the patient's demand for respect is a worthy one. But this value is the value of caring itself; i.e., of self-valuing. The moral agent, in demanding respect for herself, already acknowledges this value to be 21 a worthy one, and cannot deny its worth without standing in opposition to her own selfvaluing. Thus, the moral agent must concede the worthiness of the patient's demand for respect, and grant that it is 'wrong' to do 'bad.' But suppose a Raskolnikov, or a Nietzsche, or a Hitler should assert that, because of some special status that they have vis-à-vis others, they can affirm their own self-valuing while denying that of others, avoiding inconsistency by appeal to their 'special status.' At this point we must ask them to articulate the basis of their claim to special status. Whatever they answer must entail some value claim. But all value claims arise from caring, and must appeal to caring for their legitimacy. Hence, no value claim can override the basic claim that caring itself be respected – for if it did it would override its own basis and thereby undermine itself. Thus, Raskolnikov may have 'special status' vis-à-vis his intelligence or vis-à-vis his artistic talent or vis-à-vis his athletic skill, but he cannot have special status vis-à-vis his fundamental right to be respected in his caring, for this right is a function of caring's intrinsic self-valuing and, as such, is universal to all caring beings. This leads to the egalitarian principles long associated with politico-ethical liberalism. It is just in this sense that "all men are created equal." This has interesting implications with respect to the question of God's value (see notes 3 and 5 below). 22 3. God as Bestower of Value Have I not deprived God of God's divine function as bestower of value? In deriving the value of caring beings from themselves rather than from God, have I not displaced God as the font of value? I have not, because I do not derive the value of caring beings from their will but from their being. And finite beings are not the source of their own being. Thus, they are not the source of their own (albeit, intrinsic) value. In other words, caring beings are of intrinsic value whether they like it or not – their value is not self-created but is a function of their being. Thus, like their being, their value is ontologically grounded in something beyond themselves. In this sense, their will owes a responsibility to their being. They are obliged to treat themselves with respect. Still, this intrinsic value, once created, is 'inalienable.' It cannot be removed without annihilation of the being whose value it is. It cannot be changed by decree, not even God's. Thus, as Judaism has long affirmed, even God, to the extent that God is envisioned as a moral agent, has a moral responsibility to respect the intrinsic value of caring beings. With this we can answer the claim of Dostoevsky's Ivan Karamazov that 'If God doesn't exist all things are permissible.' This claim is based upon what may be called 'theistic deontology'; i.e., the doctrine that value derives from God's commands. Our analysis shows that this is not true. God's commands reveal value but do not create it. Finite value derives from God's creative act of engendering the finite world. Infinite value is of God's being itself. God's will (so we suppose) is in accord with the infinite goodness of God's being, which is what gives God's will moral authority. But these are 23 metaphysical statements that are not essential to the affirmation of value. One can discover value in creaturely being whether or not one discovers God there. Given the intrinsic value of caring beings, all is not permissible, whether God exists or not. 4. The Incarnation and the Principle of Immanence Both Jesus and Hillel cite the Golden Rule as 'summing up' the essential teachings of Jewish scripture, so often taken as promoting a transcendent, authoritarian ethic. Jesus' claim to 'fulfill' and not 'destroy' the law is relevant here. The doctrine of immanence does not abolish but consummates the doctrine of transcendence. Value, originating in God, is, nevertheless, not monopolized by God. Through creation God's value is disseminated to all creatures. Indeed, we may see in this the true significance of the 'incarnational' doctrine of Christianity. Transcendent value is rendered immanent through creation: God's value is 'incarnated' in human beings. When this is fully recognized, this principle of immanent value becomes a touchstone with which we can evaluate all transcendent value-claims. In this manner we secure ourselves from the danger of value-claims accorded a false sanctity through appeal to an indeterminate transcendency. We thus reclaim the meaning of 'good' from indeterminacy and can establish criteria with which to evaluate claims to 'goodness'; criteria which may not neglect the good of the 'least of these'; i.e., of any caring being. 24 5. God's Supreme Value If all caring beings are equally valuable, what does this do to the notion that God's value is 'supreme'? Does our theory not undercut the idea of God's supremacy? It does not, but it does force us to understand this supremacy in a deeper way. To the extent that God is envisioned as just one ego among others, any claim to supremacy on God's part would be despotic. Many who object to theism object to it for this very reason, and validly so. There can be no 'supreme' ego. But there remains a profound sense in which God's value can indeed be supreme. God is supreme insofar as God is the supreme telos, not only of God, but of all else as well. God is supreme insofar as communion with God constitutes our consummate well-being. God's supremacy is justified not by reference to God's own self-valuing but by reference to ours. God is supreme for us. But doesn't this subordinate God's value to our own? Doesn't it give God the status of a 'servant'? At this point we might remind ourselves of Jesus' statement, "If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and servant of all" (Mk. 9:34). Supremacy of value derives from service not from 'special ego status.' The same idea is expressed definitively in John1 4:8: "God is love" and in the gloss on this in John1 4:10: "This is love: not that we loved God but that he loved us..." A major theme of the New Testament is that the honor customarily proffered the mighty, out of fear and envy, is more appropriately rendered to those who serve, out of gratitude and respect. Thus, God's Kingship is 'not of this world,' for it is a Kingship of service, not of being served. The image of Jesus on the Cross – of the God who suffers 25 for our sake – is Christianity's most striking expression of this: "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son..." (Jn. 3:16). To balk at the indignity of this is to respond as Peter did when Jesus stooped to wash his disciples' feet. " 'No,' said Peter, 'you shall never wash my feet.' Jesus answered, 'Unless I wash you, you have no part with me' " (Jn. 13:8). The lesson? "You call me Teacher and Lord and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Teacher and Lord, have washed your feet you also should wash one another's feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you" (Jn. 13-15). In other words, the greatest is the servant of all. Peter's failure to see the rightness of this is a barrier to his own beatitude. This, of course, is not to say that God is not to be revered. But God is to be revered for God's goodness. God's supremacy of value is not a function of might but of love. Indeed, God's might acquires value only through God's love. And we become godlike not by imitating this might but this love. That this message has been obscured by the despotic and masochistic tendencies of many who have delivered it cannot be doubted, and this obfuscation infects even the gospels themselves. But that this is the authentic message of Jesus is beyond doubt. Its authenticity is assured by its being in no one's exclusive, but everyone's inclusive, interest. In this way, it is a message reflecting the intrinsic value of caring itself,. 26 6. Between Christ and Ubermensch A moment's reflection on the Golden Rule makes it clear that a completely selfless being could never apply it. If we love our neighbors as ourselves but have no love for ourselves our neighbors aren't going to fare too well either. One cannot program the Golden Rule into a computer and expect a moral outcome. Only a self-caring being can be an other-caring being. It is because of this that the model of Christ as a completely self-sacrificing being can become yet another excuse for human despotism and masochism. The demand to follow Christ in total self-denial can lead to cruelty toward self and other. The Nietzschean critique of Christianity rests in this. But true love is a circle. It flows to the other and back. Christianity at its most profound and beautiful expresses this idea through the circle of the Trinity. God is a dynamic circle of love. Through participation in this circle everyone is filled, not emptied. The oppressive demand for total self-sacrifice meets its response in the stultifying insistence on total self-regard: Nietzsche's Ubermensch. The loneliness of total selfregard is as pathetic as the pointlessness of total self-denial. Zarathustra's loneliness is among the most striking aspects of Nietzsche's mock-prophetic work. Zarathustra's need for others and contempt for others never gets resolved. Again, we are stunned by the wisdom of the Golden Rule. The Golden Rule does not ask us to deny our own value but to recognize the reflection of our own value in the other. Where total self-regard neglects the value of the other and total self-sacrifice neglects the 27 value of the self, the Golden Rule affirms the value of all. It is the value-affirming rule. The Golden Rule, understood properly, decrees: Work for universal happiness. 7. The Meaning of the Word 'Good' and the 'Fact-Value' Divide At its barest, the word good may be defined as 'an expression of approval.' As such it seems to be independent of any particular content. Approval can be produced (presumably) through a mere act of will, and can ostensibly be associated with any state of affairs whatsoever; i.e., anything at all can be called good. This is what leads to the notion that there is a fact-value divide. Facts have ontological status but values are somehow quasi-real and subject to the will; they have no firm ontological standing. This is the argument of the relativists and nihilists who believe that the word good has no native content. Anything might be called good, hence nothing is good as such. But reflection proves this view false. The word good, at very least, entails the idea of approval. Further, the very possibility of approval implies the existence of valuing beings. To approve of something is to make a value judgment with respect to it. And a value judgment can only be made in a world in which there is some such phenomenon as valuing. Further, valuing is only possible for a caring being, i.e., a being who values itself, since, as we have shown, all value must be grounded in self-value. The very existence of the word good, then, implies the existence of self-valuing, i.e. caring, beings. And the existence of caring beings entails the imputus to well-being, which leads to the demand for respect from others, which leads to the Golden Rule, which is itself the basis of all further moral principles. 28 Thus, the very existence of the word good entails the whole of morality. There is no fact-value divide. Why, then, is it possible to call anything at all good? For the same reason it is possible to call something white blue or to call something true false; i.e., it is possible to be in error. We can approach this same question in another way. The word good appears to have two aspects to it. On the one hand, good refers to 'that which conduces to well-being.' On the other, good is 'that which is approved of.' Clearly there is a primitive relation between these two meanings. Everyone naturally approves of that which is conducive to their own well-being. Conceptually, however, it is possible to distinguish these two aspects of the meaning of good and divorce them from one another. Indeed, the 'ethical paradox' seems to require this divorce; for ethical treatment of others demands that we recognize as good (and hence approve of) things that are not necessarily conducive to our own well-being. And once this divorce is made (as I've indicated in the body of the essay) it is subject to abuse. Anything can now be called good, i.e., recommended for approval, regardless of its actual benefit to anyone. This is what allows an Ockham, for instance, to declare God's will good by definition; i.e., to be approved of regardless of whether it serves any desirable end. Thomism, rightly, rejects such a notion: For Aquinas, God is good, indeed the seat of goodness, because God is the desirable end itself. In God the two meanings of good are once again fully reconciled. Ockham's view is a recipe for despotic authoritarianism. Having divorced the idea of good from well-being, authoritarianism can decree anything as good and, hence, to be 29 approved of and done, with no justification whatsoever. Again and again such despotic claims lead to anarchic reactions and then to despotic reactions to these. The problem arises from the artificial divorce effected between that part of the idea of good pertaining to approval and that part pertaining to well-being. 8. The heart of the matter The very nature of language forces us to express the moral relation in highly abstract terms which cloud its true significance and can give it the sense of something purely formal. Nothing could be further from the truth, however. What is called for by the Golden Rule is an openness to the other which, when present, provides its own sufficient 'moral argument.' Martin Buber's I and Thou is perhaps the best expression of this. Nevertheless, such openness has an underlying rationale that is articulable – it is not mere arbitrary sentiment. True moral consciousness lives in openness to the intrinsic value of self and other, and recognizes the demand to respect this intrinsic value to be selfvalidating; i.e., in no need of further justification. One need not be a logician to see moral truth, and many a logician will miss it – as the history of philosophical ethics shows. Indeed, logic alone could never see this truth, as it is revealed only in one's sensitivity to one's own self-valuing and the self-valuing of others. 9. Between Nihilism and Authoritarianism Moral nihilism and moral authoritarianism are two sides of the same coin; indeed each is a reaction to the threat of the other, and both are responses to the general inability to 30 articulate the seat of value. Nihilism opposes authoritarianism in defense of a freedom whose value it is afraid to affirm for fear such affirmation will be used to undermine freedom. Authoritarianism opposes nihilism in fear of moral chaos, but in the name of an absolute it is not able to justify. Nihilism is afraid of the despotism of authority. Authoritarianism is afraid of the chaos of nihilism. The truth shall set them free. To the nihilists we say: No, there is, in fact, an absolute seat of value. To the authoritarians we say: No, this absolute seat of value does not stand over and above everyone, but is immanent in every person. What is left, of course, is the task of adjudicating interpersonal conflict. This must be done according to principles of fairness, as developed by ethicists such as Rawls, Hare, Habermas, etc. Again, our theory in no way replaces the ideas developed by such ethicists, it merely identifies their ground. 10. The Moral 'Ought' Whence derives the moral 'ought'? The 'ought', of course, is a demand, and every demand speaks with a certain force. The force behind the moral 'ought' is the truth of value. It is almost impossible to understand this without overcoming the modern notion of an essential fact/value divide. Hume is famous for saying that you cannot get an 'ought' from an 'is,' but he really should have said that you cannot get an 'ought' from an 'is' that doesn't have an 'ought' already inherent within it. The fact that the human world is, and has always been, full of 'oughts' testifies to the flaw in Hume's thinking: if you cannot get an 'ought' from an 'is' then where have all these 'oughts' come from? 31 That one 'ought' not to offend against that which has intrinsic value is a fact we all know from the reaction of our own nature to offense; that is, our own caring nature makes a demand to the world that it not be violated, and responds with pain when it is. This demand for respect is a fact inherent to caring itself. That one 'ought' not to offend against the intrinsic value of another is the simplest extrapolation from this. We can put it in the form of a syllogism: Major Premise: My caring is such that it ought not to be violated. Minor Premise: The caring of others is of the same sort as mine. Conclusion: Therefore, the caring of others ought not to be violated. We know the major premise to be true through self-reflection. We know the minor premise to be true to the extent that we are not solipsists. Hence, we know the conclusion to be true. This, of course, says nothing as to what will motivate us to respect the other. But it is possible to be motivated by a recognition of the sheer rightness of something. In this, we find ourselves converging upon Kant. And yet, as soon as we converge we diverge; for whereas Kant sees this 'rightness' as rooted in rationality, we see it as rooted in the nature of caring. 11. Justice, Mercy, and the Golden Rule It is significant to note that the 'eye for eye' rule of retributive justice is actually just the inverse of the Golden Rule. The Golden Rule says: Do to others as you would have others do to you. Retributive justice says: Have done to you as you would do to others. To 32 the extent that one lives by the Golden Rule one would invite, rather than fear, the application of retributive justice. To the extent that one fears the application of retributive justice one does so because one has violated the Golden Rule. Properly considered, then, the Golden Rule and the rule of just retribution point to one another, and both point to the intrinsic value of caring beings. The rule of just retribution induces one to reflect upon the wrongness of violating another by having one consider one's own response to being violated in the same way. It wakes one up, thus, to the 'wrong' of doing 'bad.' In this way, the rule of just retribution provides the Golden Rule with teeth. Having violated the other, one is now in no position to protest against being violated in turn. The rule of retribution warns: To refuse to respect others is to subject oneself, by one's own rule, to disrespect from others. The proportionality between crime and punishment is all important here, for retributive justice should make one see into the hurt one has oneself caused through one's own immoral action. But when proportionality is lost, as in the Augustinian doctrine of original sin and eternal punishment, the meaning of justice is lost as well. The Augustinian doctrine, taken literally, provides an eternal punishment for an 'original sin' that is a single act of disobedience on the part of our first parents. Not only doesn't the punishment fit the crime, but one is left entirely in the dark as to what the significance of the crime is, or who the victim of the crime is. Thus, one isn't even given the opportunity to sympathize with the victim, and thereby truly atone in one's heart, which is where the fear of retribution should lead. The meaning of justice is lost, and atonement is reduced to appeasement. 33 Augustine's is an authoritarian ethic, quite at odds with the Golden Rule and the most sublime of Jesus' teachings. Augustine gives us God on the model of the Roman Emperor, far more concerned with the maintenance of order through intimidation than with the inculcation of goodness. In such an ethic, obedience is all important, for it secures the power of the Monarch, and right and wrong are identified with the pleasure and displeasure of whomever sits upon the throne. What one finds in Jesus' actual teachings, however, is an attempt to convert the prevailing religious authoritarianism to an immanentism, through associating the God of the former with the values of the latter. Perhaps the most striking instance of this is the 'sheep and goats' parable of Matthew 25. Here we have the Supreme Monarch in all his imperial glory and terror, separating out the 'loyal' from the 'disloyal,' but not on the basis of service to him, but on the basis of service to the weakest and most vulnerable in society: "For," says the great Monarch, "to the extent that you have done this for the least of these you have done it for me." In other words, the service customarily proffered the mighty is to be rendered to the needy, not simply because this is what the mighty command, but, much more significantly, because the needy embody the worthiness ordinarily attributed to the mighty: the Supreme Value is immanent in the neediest. Jesus is teaching that the reverence customarily granted the powerful ought rightly to be granted the vulnerable. Goodness lies in love of others, not in obeisance to power. What Jesus is attempting, in other words, is a radical shift of religious paradigm, from a worship of power to a worship of goodness. But Augustine (and, as a result, much of Christianity after him) doesn't quite get it. 34 Mercy as well must be seen in the light of the Golden Rule. Just as one would like to receive mercy from others when one has strayed, so one should be merciful. Jesus' statements concerning mercy, "Judge not lest you be judged" and "forgive and you will be forgiven," may all be seen as specific applications of the moral logic of the Golden Rule. The reciprocity expressed in these formulas is not a matter of tit-for-tat, but a call to reflection on the harm done through judgmentalism and the good of reconciliation. The rationale for mercy, i.e., amelioration of the punishment prescribed by strict retributive justice, is that although the transgressor has violated caring she has not, in fact, ceased to be a caring being whose good must continue to be considered. Thus, the moral judge must treat the transgressor with more regard than the transgressor has treated her victim. This provides the moral ground for such teachings as 'turn the other cheek' and 'love thine enemy' and 'forgive unto seventy times seven times', etc. Even after the transgressor has transgressed, she remains a matter of moral concern.