May 2014

Irrational Apathy: Do We Descend into Irrationality When it Comes to Ethics?

May 11, 2014

(First published for the Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason and Science)

In science, apathy might well be the key to irrationality.

No matter the brilliance of the idea, if we do not explain it then it’s worthless. No matter the manner of the explanation, if it can’t be demonstrated then it is pointless. And no matter the desirability of the idea, if it can’t be replicated, or conditions possible for its disproval, then it‘s nonsense. No matter the brilliance of the idea, if we do not explain it then it’s worthless. No matter the manner of the explanation, if it can’t be demonstrated then it is pointless. And no matter the desirability of the idea, if it can’t be replicated, or conditions possible for its disproval, then it‘s nonsense.

It’s reasonable therefore to suggest that an apathetic method is at polar opposites with decent, rational thought, as it asks us to stop short of good practice. So wouldn’t it also be irrational to allow apathy to cloud our judgements in morality? This conclusion relies on two assumptions which first need to be supported.

Firstly, we need to be able to assume that ethics is in some way rational or objective. Without delving too far into meta-ethics, or the subject of mine or anyone else’s theories of moral science, we can assume a system of ethics which is agreeable and philosophically sound. This would consist of explaining our rough current system, which we already use, in a way which is satisfying to a rational explanation. We can do this fairly easy by saying: ‘We have a set of basic moral values, which develop and evolve in context with one another, but which are extended rationally over time’. In other words, there are values we hold greater than others, but there are some with which we would always follow and others which are open to change through rational extension of the more basic and important moral values. For the purposes of this article we need go no further than this, as I’m not trying to prove or disprove any particular piece of practical ethics, I’m simply setting out a roughly agreeable description of how we rationalise moral decisions.

The second assumption is that apathy in ethics is the same as apathy in scientific method. To justify this assumption, I must make clear that we aren’t talking about apathy in morality as a whole – apathy could be defined as simply ‘not acting’ in some circumstances, and thus might often be a good moral idea (again, this is not something to delve into here). Rather I am referencing apathy in the method in the same way as I am referencing apathy in wider scientific method. This could have very direct comparisons, such as not examining the consequences of a theory or a decision thoroughly (thus being similar to doing likewise in physical science). It also, however, has a less obvious comparison, which is best explained with reference to that science which gives us non-socially acceptable answers.

Probably the most popular example of a socially frowned-upon scientific discovery is Darwin, so I will unashamedly jump on the bandwagon for ease of getting my point across. Darwin demonstrated clear trepidation upon his discoveries about natural selection. The wrong thing to do, from a scientific basis, would have been to ignore his results or hide them from wider scientific observation. Doing so stunts out understanding and ability to progress: it defeats the object of science to hide away those things that challenge the status quo of how and what we think.

We have the same issue in morality. People tend to be easily led in moral values in the same way that they are easily led by religious values: not always, but in general people share the major moral values of the people who raised them or were raised alongside them. Whilst increasing secularisation has led to a less terrifying environment in which to do science, we have yet to do away with the same ‘traditional norms’ within morality. The respect we accord to scientists theorising about quantum mechanics, for example, is not quite accorded in the same way to those who theorise about the increasing moral need for alternatives to fossil fuels, or the strong ethical case for not consuming animal products.

Thus as the affection for apathy has decreased within science, for the great benefit of us all, it has yet to do the same in ethics.

This brings us back to the point in the title: is this apathy in morality not exactly as irrational as when it comes to pass within science? The case is certainly compelling.

When we look at the two examples I stated earlier, it is perhaps easier to analyse. The growing need for alternatives to fossil fuels is certainly a moral issue; physical science does not hold the value that we need electricity or rocket ships. Science is there to help us progress understanding by using these things, but is neutral on whether we want to focus efforts with these kinds of areas. It’s morality (or moral science) that tells us we need these things in order to progress or live better lives. The comparison is whether our unwillingness to accept the need for renewable energy is a similar comfortable apathy to the unwillingness to accept evolutionary theory.

Given the seemingly strong scientific backing for alternatives to fossil fuels, it is perhaps the other examples – animal products – that most tests our resonance with apathy. To support ethical veganism in the modern world is to draw ridicule very much on a par with the drawings of Darwin as a monkey. Most ironic, perhaps, is the excuse that many people give: ‘what difference would it make if only I stopped eating these things?’ That’s an excuse on behalf of apathy, and were it the opinion of people in earlier generations, we might still be living in mud huts or drowning accused witches.

As I’d earlier stated, this piece isn’t intended to be an advocacy of renewable energy or ethical veganism. It is, however, written by someone who is compelled to agree that apathy in ethics is as irrational as the apathy that greeted some of the greatest scientific accomplishments in history. So long as we agree that moral progress and scientific progress are inextricably intertwined, then that’s a difficult point to disagree with. It might be a simple and relatively agreeable point, but our agreement with it logically removes the vast majority of our excuses when it comes to the environment or eating animal products (whether it be mundane comments regarding taste or convenience, or even the appeal to those living in Antarctica or surviving plane crashes).

Faith Stretches Further Than Religion.

May 8, 2014

(First published for the Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason and Science)

Throughout my time writing on ethics, I have always made one value very clear: there are issues in politics which it is possible to be right and wrong about. It is easy, in an environment such as this, to note examples such as the presently occupied homophobic positions of many US politicians. Most rationally inclined people will see the moral problems with disregarding the rights of the LGBT community, and thus note that it is wrong to deny people a right to marry (whatever we may think of the institution of marriage).

My opinion that it is possible to be wrong in politics goes deeper than this though, and is best highlighted by the UK system. We currently have a right of centre party forming the majority of our government, who have spent the last 4 years cutting the funding for a variety of public services based on the reasoning that they need to do so in order to cut the ‘deficit’. This idea goes almost unchallenged – politicians argue about it, but very few people are getting upset about the fact that so many services are being cut so drastically. Yet even healthcare experts are now noting that this is undermining even the most cherished of our institutions.

The reason for this lack of opposition is that the Conservative’s reasoning sounds fairly solid. ‘Deficit’ is now a globally understood term, and politicians in many countries are happily using it as a buzz word for putting in place a series of spending cuts which wouldn’t otherwise go unchallenged. This, in turn, is down to the work that politicians have done in persuading people that the deficit of public spending and borrowing is so severe that we need to start cutting spending immediately. They have been especially effective in using terminology which compares it with credit card debt: the sooner we lessen our borrowing, the sooner we can pay off our debt and be back in positive terms.

The fault with this reasoning is that it’s wholly ineffectual at doing anything but pushing a right-wing agenda: there are two rational sides to this argument, one of which is not being heard. Nobel-Prize winning economist Paul Krugman is in my opinion the best proponent of the opposite view to the Conservatives’. It is unarguable that the government is in debt, he simply takes issue with the idea that spending cuts is the only, or even the best, way out of them. The conservatives are taking it as common sense that we must cut public spending to reduce the deficit, but to steal a famous rationalist phrase, if economics was common sense then we wouldn’t need economists.

Krugman argues that as the economies collapsed, and are still collapsed throughout the world, we have returned to requiring depression era economics. This doesn’t require spending cuts, but rather history shows us that the way out was through counter-intuitive increased spending. The reason for this is simple: government debt is not like a credit card debt, and companies cannot be stimulated into significantly investing into the economy by reducing debt. This is what he refers to as the ‘confidence fairy’: a logical fallacy that politicians often use to argue their case for spending cuts. Instead, by increasing/continuing high levels of spending, you might initially increase a deficit but you also stimulate more economic growth by employing more people and thus allowing more spending in the wider economy. Economic growth means that the deficit is naturally reduced, as it reduces in value due to the difference inflation – perhaps also spending can be reduced gradually to normal levels, if it was initially increased, once the economy is stable enough to handle it. This is why economics isn’t common sense: we are all used to dealing with personal finances, and personal finances have absolutely no relevance to public finances, in which one must consider all kinds of other effects.

Krugman’s case is very persuasive, as it appears to peck away at that familiar ‘common sense’ and by doing so produces a gaping hole for a logical explanation which his historical research provides. But at the same time, economics isn’t an exact science, so we are free to side with where we see most evidence being evident. Such an example does at least tell us that politics, with its almost wholesale reliance on the credit card analogy, is wrong by refusing to debate any further than at ‘common sense’ level.

In the UK such a discovery of rational opposition leads us to even further analysis. The conservatives are a right of centre party, and are classically built on the foundations of a will to reduce public services. Indeed, it was the Conservatives that already privatised many of the institutions which the UK no longer has public control. If we want to see the motivation for ignoring the rational debate on debt and deficit, look no further than a rigid desire to find any reasons that support public spending cuts – a belief for which the party have total faith and support in.

We might bemoan the faith-based thinking that stops people from challenging their personal prejudices or religious beliefs, but this faith-based culture spreads far wider than this. In the political systems of every country in the western world is an inbuilt battle of ‘left vs. right’ or ‘central vs. extremist’ but yet never explicitly ‘evidence based vs. opinion based’. That is by far the biggest political problem in the western world. We now have evidence to judge, or at least to enable us to rationally debate, most political issues which we face, yet decisions are largely still made based on a case of dogmatic perspective – no-one is accountable to facts or reason unless someone else’s opinion happens upon it.

Politics is a subject on which it is almost always possible to be right or wrong – we now have the ability to find out who is most likely to be right, at least. Yet it continues to exist in a cocoon of tradition and opinion, which halts the onset of any improved, evidence-based decision making.

Anti-theism: Reason or Bigotry?

May 7, 2014

(First published for the Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason and Science)

‘Islamophobia’ is a word that divides opinion like few others. Proponents of multi-culturalism see it as a description of xenophobic tendencies, whilst many nationalists unwaveringly fulfil this definition with bigoted opinions of non-native cultures. Those in favour of multi-culturalism often label anti-religion arguments as being those of ‘Islamophobes’.

This leads to all kinds of interesting questions: is it right to say that anti-theism is ‘Islamophobic’? Is anti-theism, more generally, opposed to multi-culturalism? And ethically speaking, how can we separate more bigoted fascist opinions from anti-theism? It’s these kinds of areas that I would to briefly look at.

What is ‘Islamophobia’?

Islamophobia is a fairly unique word in the modern world. As a rationalist, I spend some time arguing against the doctrine of faith present in all religions, yet I have never been accused of being ‘Christianophobic’ or ‘Judaiophobic’ like I have ‘Islamophobic’. This in itself says something about the focus: people are much more comfortable with criticisms of ‘native’ religions than perceived ‘foreign’ religions, or perhaps much more wary about prejudice toward Muslims in the aftermath of the last decade of ever increasing Islamic terrorism. I can certainly sympathise with this; after all, I do not agree with the spiritual views of Islam, but I certainly don’t think that believing in nonsense should subject you to prejudice, in general.

Ignoring the roots of its almost unique cultural existence, ‘Islamophobia’ could be described more thoroughly as ‘a fear, prejudice or hatred of Islam or Muslims’.

Is anti-theism ‘Islamophobic’?

I will simplify things by defining ‘anti-theism’ as referencing a movement opposed to the rational and ethical problems with religion. From this base there are two feasible answers.

Firstly, yes, anti-theism is ‘Islamophobic’ in the sense that it fears the effect that unquestioning Islamic belief would have in society. Anti-theism comes from a base of reason and critical thinking – believing both are necessary to progress society as a moral and technical matter. To dissolve these positive mental characteristic in favour of unquestioning faith in beliefs, which science at worst is unsure about and at best disproves, is not a good move.

A more thorough answer, though, would be a resounding ‘no’. Anti-theism is not Islamophobic any more than democracy is ‘fascist-phobic’. Anti-theism promotes reason as an antidote to religion: it is the opposite of religion, so could not sensibly be in fear of it. Those who promote anti-theism might fear the effect of widespread Islamic belief, but they do not fear or hate Muslims out of anti-theism, and neither do they single out Islam above other religions. If faith is the real problem – which anti-theism states to be true – then Islamophobia does not seem like an accurate word to describe it. To single out anti-theism as Islamophobic would be to purposefully ignore that it is, to the same extent, phobic of other religious beliefs. Given the culturally sensitive definition of Islamophobia, it seems ill suited to charging anti-theism.

Is anti-theism opposed to multi-culturalism?

It is very easy to get sucked into the belief that if one disagrees with religion, then one must also disagree with the culture that sustains it: thus it is attractive to link anti-theism with opposition to multi-culturalism. I happen to think this connection is logically flawed, and here’s why.

Multi-culturalism makes no reference to religion, it simply refers to a community that contains more than one culture. This leads to diversity, which is an extremely valuable commodity in any society. What multi-culturalists often confuse is that a mixture of cultures, and even a mixture of different beliefs, is a different thing to a mixture of fatally opposing beliefs. If churches or mosques were themselves simply meeting places, locations for communal events, there would be no moral issue with them. Similarly, if children were baptised into diverse communities, or held rugs with which to sit on in communal events rather than pray on, then it is easy to see how the cultures of many religions would not be at all harmful.

It is that specific part of religion – the actual spiritual beliefs, and valuing of faith as a reasonable way to make decisions in the real world – that causes the problems. The culture might be used as a way to keep people indoctrinated, but in a far off time much of these cultural events might also be used as diverse, communal events instead. Anti-theism is not opposed to multi-culturalism as a general matter, and an informed anti-theist should be very aware of the social, political and economic benefits that diversity brings to any society.

The confusion comes with those cultural events that are purely useful for religious purposes. Prayer, The Eucharist, religious sermons, etc. Anti-theism opposes the harm these do in allowing people to believe ridiculous things, in the same way that proponents of democracy might dismiss the cultural hero worship of dictators. It is not a marker of opposing multi-culturalism. Anti-theism believes in reason, but reason does not dictate that everyone must value the same cultural environment.

Seperating anti-theism from fascism

When we speak about the bigotry of fascism, we often see it residing in nationalist covers. The UK is a great example, with the most anti-Islam party being the British National Party – a group which is no stranger to debates on racism and xenophobia more generally.

There really are no similarities between anti-theism and parties like the BNP. The BNP have no good reason to oppose Islam – indeed they are very much in favour of Christianity, they simply dislike the idea of any immigration, or of anyone living in the country who wasn’t born here. These are incredibly irrational opinions, based on discontinuous line drawing around what constitutes a ‘British’ person, or as to what ‘belong’ means. This just seems like a really weak philosophy borne out of a fear of difference – the same fear of difference that underpins much prejudice.

Anti-theism instead grows from reason. Reason would oppose almost every policy the BNP puts forward, including those anti-Islam policies, as they are based on unsound reasoning. In fact reason underpins science, which in turn is built on the valuing of method: it doesn’t matter what your conclusions are, if you can’t prove it with a sound method then you’ve not provided good science. Anti-theism disagrees with Islam due to what Islam actually comprises of – not due to the country where it came from – and as a result it holds none of the same beliefs that nationalist groups do.

The task on everyone is to understand and argue this massive difference. It is very easy to get caught up in the emotion of a culturally sensitive word like ‘Islamophobia’, but let’s not confuse reason with bigotry. Nationalists and anti-theism might seem to share a distaste for Islam, but even that is of a very different flavour. Rationalists must not be seduced by the occasionally appealing conclusions of nationalism, just as proponents of multi-culturalism mustn’t fail to recognise when the similarities they think they spot are actually on either side of the grandest intellectual canyon.