Positive Liberty

We then planned to pass the rest of our day in a succession of museums, sidewalk cafés, and elegant boutiques: It was shaping up just like a vacation in Paris, except only for the language barrier and the crotte, neither of which was in evidence. Claudia and Mohammed were kind enough to teach me the secret symbols of the Asan heretics, making me formally a member of their little group. I would relate those signs to you here, but then they would no longer be secret. You’ll have to learn them for yourself.

“I don’t feel any different,” I remarked.

“Try to keep it that way,” replied Mohammed.

“Yes, do try to keep it that way,” said Claudia. “But now that you’re a heretic too, you should know that you’re free to speak your mind all you like. To us, at least.”

“Not like he didn’t before.”

“Yes, but now he’s a member of the group. From this point on, it’s his responsibility to think critically, to say something really challenging to us whenever it comes to his mind. Is there anything you’ve never quite had the guts to say before? We almost have a tradition, you know, that the new ones get to sound off about something that’s been bothering them.”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t think of anything just yet.”

Mohammed sighed in relief. At about that time we entered a large shopping complex; long ago it had been an authentic castle, but over the centuries it had made the rough and uneasy transition into something approaching a modern shopping mall. We stopped for lattés just inside the drawbridge. As we took our drinks and began to walk, the coffee’s aroma percolated up to my brain, I remembered that I really did have something to talk about.

“Well, okay, I suppose I do have something to say. I’ve always–”

“You know, you don’t have to if you don’t want–” said Mohammed.

“Shh!” said Claudia. “He’s trying to say something. “And you,” she said, turning to me, “be careful of what you do say.”

“Well, alright then. I think the Categorical Imperative is a whole bunch of nonsense.” If anyone was listening to our conversation, I felt certain that they would immediately tune out.

“What?” said Claudia.

“You heard me. The Categorical Imperative is bad philosophy. It’s nothing more than a clever dodge that conceals the real ethical thinking of the speaker. Worse, it fails entirely to bridge the is-ought gap.”

“Those are some serious charges,” Claudia replied. “Explain yourself.” As she spoke, she stopped to sip her latté and to examine a superbly crafted set of nunchaku.

“Well, you know Kant’s famous statement of the imperative: ‘Act only according to that maxim by which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.’ I tend to think that a categorical imperative of some kind can be found in just about any ethical system–except perhaps Randian Objectivism, which considers Kant the worst philosopher of all time.”

“Oh no,” she replied. “Even among Objectivists, I think I still see a categorical imperative. Consider the second half of Ayn Rand’s ethical credo:

I swear by my life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.

It’s egoism, sure, but it’s a principled egoism. And when it rejects all claims of unearned value, it also adopts something very much like a categorical imperative.”

“I suppose I can see that. I’m not totally convinced though.”

Claudia called the sales clerk over, and he took the nunchaku out of the case.

“Consider the Prudent Predator, too,” Claudia continued. The salesman raised his eyes ever so briefly, then returned to his work.

“Egoist philosophies of any kind–Rand’s included–always have to deal with the question of someone who pretends to be good, but who will lie, cheat, and steal if a convenient moment arises. The so-called Prudent Predator bides his time, picks the right opportunity, and strikes. Then he goes back to looking and acting just like everyone else. He winds up having the best of both worlds, reaping the benefits of honesty most of the time–and the benefits of dishonesty whenever he can. Egoism has a hard time accounting for such a creature, because with him, evil isn’t really about dark towers and fangs dripping with gore. It’s about the sly, smirking betrayal in the midst of goodness.”

“But if it’s in his own material interests, then hey, why shouldn’t he stab his neighbor in the back?” I asked.

“Precisely, and this concern has led many to reject egoism as a moral system and to adopt altruism, its direct opposite. Never mind that if anything, the practical difficulties to altruism are even greater. The fear of the Prudent Predator is just too much to handle.

“It’s hard for an egoist ethics to argue against the Prudent Predator without invoking the Imperative. But even a whiff of Kant will instantly dispel him: If the others lived by the same means that you adopt, it would make all life insufferable.” Claudia took some coins from her purse and paid for her new weapon.

“I don’t think that’s how Objectivism answers the question,” I replied. The man counted out Claudia’s change and handed it to her over the counter. “Objectivists seem to say instead that the mere act of looking for those rare occasions to break the rules actually does a lot of damage to one’s moral and psychological well-being: Even if a material profit is to be had, these situations just aren’t worth seeking out.”

Claudia noticed that the clerk had mistakenly returned more in change than she herself had offered for the item. She counted again and paid the proper price. The clerk smiled and thanked her.

“It doesn’t pay to keep two sets of morals about,” I continued. “It’s actually against your self-interest. Nor does it pay to consider switching back and forth between these sets from moment to moment. It makes you less sure of things that ought to be moral certainties–and less habituated to virtue over time.” I noticed that the sales clerk was now talking quietly with a tall, powerfully-built man. Both were shooting occasional glances in our direction.

“Exactly!” said Claudia. “And that is a Categorical Imperative. Whether Objectivism recognizes it openly or not, it certainly operates on the principle.”

“Well in any event, this doesn’t contradict what I was saying all along–Theories of ethics almost always have some form of the Imperative to them. But let’s go back, because I’ve got a problem with the Imperative itself. Kant says, ‘Act only according to that maxim by which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.’”

“What’s the problem with that?” asked Claudia.

“The part about ‘the maxim by which you act:’ It strikes me as weak somehow. I mean, what precisely is the operant principle for a given action? How do we determine what principle is at work when we act? For a given action, there may actually be many different animating principles acting in harmony–or in conflict. Which one (or ones) do we consider? And for an identical action, we may mistakenly ascribe many different motives if we’re looking at it from the outside. The motives we impute may be noble or vicious, wise or foolish, sincere or hypocritical. It all depends on whom one asks, the context of the action, the knowledge of the actor… “

I trailed off. The clerk was alone now behind the counter. He was pretending to be busy, but he kept looking in our direction.

“Can you give me an example?” Claudia asked.

“Of course,” I replied. “Consider what Kant would say about gay marriage. Based on my Google search hits, a great many people want to know what Kant would have thought about the modern-day issue of same-sex marriage. Now, the historical Kant of course had absolutely no opinion at all about gay marriage. For that matter, he probably didn’t even understand what ‘gay’ meant, since the gay identity was only just emerging then, and quite secretively at that. But at any rate, someone has been bringing up his name a lot recently in this context, and people looking for the answer that he might have given. Some of them have even made their way to Positive Liberty.”

“Maybe it’s from philosophy class, and the teacher is using gay marriage as an example of the Categorical Imperative,” she replied.

“Could be. Now, from where I sit, there are at least two different ways of applying the Categorical Imperative to same-sex marriage. One strikes me as foolish; the other is more reasonable, I think. But the mere fact that there are two explanations points to a greater problem with the imperative itself: How one infers the maxim behind an action can influence the evaluation that one makes by the Categorical Imperative.”

“Is that a problem?” Claudia asked.

“Of course it is! The Categorical Imperative looks like an objective test to a lot of people. But if the way that you make up the operant maxim can skew the outcome, then it’s not objective test at all. You end up making all your real arguments behind the scenes and using the Imperative as a cover. Let me give you my two examples, and maybe it will get a bit clearer.

“The first line of argument runs as follows: Kant would say that gay marriage is wrong, because we should always seek out the principle behind a given action–and attempt to universalize from it. If the results are unfavorable, then the action we are considering must be bad.

“Now, in this case we find that the principle behind gay marriage is that everyone must marry and be faithful to a person of the same sex. But society would never survive if everyone were in a gay marriage, so Kant must say gay marriage is wrong.”

Claudia laughed out loud.

“Don’t laugh; some people seem to take this argument quite seriously.” I produced a clipping from my pocket and read:

Start with Immanuel Kant’s “Categorical Imperative” - the morality of an action can be tested, even in the absence of belief in a supreme being, by universalizing it hypothetically - “Would it still be good if everyone did it?” In the case of gay marriage, it is clear that it fails this test; aside from promiscuity and disease, it would lead to the collapse of society in one generation as no one would be having children.

“Where did you find that,” asked Claudia, “Free Republic?”

I shrugged.

“But see, I don’t for a moment believe that the principle behind gay marriage is to force all people into a gay marriage.”

“I should hope not,” she replied. “I like men far too much.”

“It’s a false derivation of principle, and exactly the problem with the Categorical Imperative. So all of this brings me to the other maxim that we might derive from the act of gay marriage, and it’s one that I have to say I strongly prefer:

Let every couple be married who desires it, and let them spend the rest of their lives in a mutually supportive and faithful relationship, full of a deep, authentic, and abiding love.

This satisfies the Imperative quite nicely: Gay marriages and straight marriages both operate on the same principle, and this principle applies equally to all. If Immanuel Kant himself wouldn’t necessarily have supported gay marriage, well, at least we might hope to bring around the latter-day Kantians.”

“Impressive,” said Claudia. “But I thought you said the Categorical Imperative had some serious problems. It seems to me like all you’ve done is to correct a misapplication of Kant’s ideas, not to attack the philosophy itself.”

“No, I think it runs deeper than that,” I replied. “See, I support same-sex marriage because I believe that any person who desires it should seek out a mutually supportive and faithful relationship with another person, and that all of these relationships–belonging to the same category–should be treated the same way. But I could easily imagine others who might support gay marriage merely because they think that straight marriage ought to be destroyed.”

“I think you’ve been reading too many conservative blogs,” Claudia replied.

“Maybe. But if Kant’s Imperative really is valid, then it should be able to derive ethical principles from individual actions and evaluate both principle and action alike. But it does no such thing. Instead, it invites the thinker to invent the principle behind an action–and then pontificate about his invention.”

“I see your point,” said Claudia, “but I think there might still be a way to fix the Imperative.”

“Explain.”

“The principle behind an action cannot be derived merely at the whim of the observer: It must be inferred from the sum total of an individual’s actions, not just in one situation, but throughout his life.”

“That’s not what Kant said.”

“I know, but maybe he should have.”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose someone supports gay marriage. Is it reasonable to infer that he opposes straight marriage in principle? To answer that question we would have to examine his other actions as well. Does he discourage straight people from getting married? Does he try to break up the straight marriages around him? Does he say bad things about straight people and their unions?”

I winced as I recalled how many gay activists have done precisely these things. But then again, these radicals were hardly the same people who were lobbying for gay marriage. On the contrary, the rise of same-sex marriage as a political issue has done more to marginalize the radicals than any other issue I can think of.

“So,” she continued, “if someone opposes straight marriage while supporting gay marriage, then we might infer that they are acting on your first principle, which fails Kant’s test. But if someone encourages and supports straight marriage, does what he can for the straight marriages around them, and generally speaks well of the institution, then that person’s support for gay marriage might fall under your second principle instead.”

“But that still doesn’t solve the problem,” I replied. “We are still left inferring the principles behind every action. Our inferences are the place where we do all of the moral heavy lifting. In that sense, the categorical imperative affirms the consequent without ever really examining it.”

Appropriately enough, we had wandered out of the weapons shop and entered a toystore.

“Suppose,” said Claudia, “that I buy this teddy bear.”

“Alright.”

“What is the principle behind my action? And how would I generalize from it? Clearly, you would not say that I think everyone in the world must run out to this very store and buy an identical teddy bear.”

“No, of course not.” I replied.

“You would have to infer that I was acting on some more reasonable principle.”

“Yes. And I’m tempted to suggest a few, though Kant wouldn’t have liked any of them.”

“What are these?” she asked.

“A hedonic principle, perhaps. Or, if you really don’t mean to start a run on teddy bears, we might say that your principle is something like Aristotle’s golden mean: ‘Buy those consumer goods that appeal to your desires–but only to satisfaction, not to surfeit.’ Or somesuch ancient, outmoded doctrine.”

“The very thing Kant was trying to avoid,” she replied.

“Exactly. Which means the Imperative still has a serious problem.”

“Say,” she asked, “where’s Mohammed?”

Suddenly it struck us that we hadn’t seen him since shortly after we entered the store.

“We should retrace our steps,” I said. “He probably got distracted along the way.” But in the back of my mind, I was remembering the clerk and his suspicious behavior. We hurried back to the weapons shop more than a little concerned for Mohammed’s safety. He was nowhere to be found. The clerk had disappeared, too, and the door to the stockroom was locked.

“He’s got to be around here somewhere,” Claudia said. “We’ll split up and look for him. I’ll take the courtyard; you search the towers.” We went our separate ways.

I went from tower to tower; the stores had staked out rooms and galleries as their own, and moving from one to the next meant dodging customers, salespeople, and merchandise at every turn. I passed through shops selling men’s and women’s clothing, shoes, tools, food, magical potions, armor, and exotic animals, all to no avail. Mohammed was nowhere to be found.

“Looking for someone?” said a man in the pet store.

“Yeah, actually.” He looked straight into my eyes and gave me a signal that I’d learned only this morning: He was one of us. A wave of excitement passed through me as I gave the response, showing that I had understood him.

“Right this way,” he said. “I think I can help you.”

He pointed me to a narrow spiral staircase that twisted its way into the basement.

“You first,” he said, following me down. I ought never to have trusted him.

The stairway was dark, and at the bottom there was virtually no light at all. From either side of me, a pair of powerful arms grabbed me; they threw me roughly into a cage and slammed the iron bars behind me.

“You’re a traitor?” I asked, incredulous.

“Oh no, not at all,” replied my captor. I am as true an Asan heretic as you are. I am as thoroughly devoted to the cause as Mohammed himself. And I dare say I’ve got greater need of the heresy than either of you. For you see, I firmly believe everything that you do about the independence of the mind and about the need to break free from all those dogmatic systems. I’m against superstition, against petty bigotry, against ignorance, even. I’m an upstanding member of the community, but at the same time I fully support the sacredness of the individual mind.”

“So what’s the problem?” I asked. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Your philosophy is wonderful stuff, all of it. I was even rather impressed by your little speech about the Categorical Imperative. But you don’t yet know who I am, nor why I’m here, nor what my plans are, do you?”

“No,” I replied.

“Well then, I do believe an introduction is in order. I am the Prudent Predator.”

“How did you find us?”

“Well, if you so much as give us our due, we Avatars approach the power of demigods. You could say I called in a few favors.”

My mind flashed back to the equipment I’d stolen from Oberon’s palace. I was still wearing the chain mail, and it had never felt heavier.

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