topics: |  philosophy | law | ethics | justice | social

Analogies from the Uttarakhand disaster, 2013

I was reminded of the first chapter of the book while bicycling in Uttarakhand in 2012, right after disaster struck with unprecedented rainfall in the himalayas. Thousands of people perished at kedarnath and at hemkund sahib. Hundreds of thousands were stranded in remote villages and tourist destinations, often without food or shelter for weeks.

In these circumstances, news started arriving of shopkeepers at Guptkashi charging Rs. 250 for a paratha, saying "this is the price, take it if you wish". Others were quoted offering exorbitant prices for transporation and other services.

Sitting in Karnaprayag and reading these news in the local papers, I was reminded of the arguments around price gouging in Sandel.

In essence, Sandel looks at price gouging as involving three issues that underpin the entire edifice of "Justice":

1. maximize welfare: maximum good to the greatest number of people.  this is often
	equated with economic prosperity but it also includes other
	non-ecomonic aspects of social well-being.

	discusses various aspects of the utilitarianism, which gives us the
	phrase "greatest happiness for the greatest number", and constitutes
	the most influential account of how and why we should maximize
	welfare.  it is closely related to arguments for a free market, since
	it provides incentives for people to work hard supplying the goods
	that other people want."

2. respect freedom: a respect for individual freedom.  In economics, this
	aligns with the free market view by letting everyone exercise their
	choice in terms of what value they are willing to assign to what
	service.

3. promote virtue: this argument is hard to define - it is the anger one
	feels on hearing such stories. but as an argument, many political
	philosophers (and lay people) find it discomfitting:

		To ask whether a policy will speed economic recovery or spur
		economic growth does not involve judging people's
		preferences. It assumes that everyone prefers more income
		rather than less, and it doesn’t pass judgment on how they
		spend their money. Similarly, to ask whether, under
		conditions of duress, people are actually free to choose
		doesn’t require evaluating their choices. The question is
		whether, or to what extent, people are free rather than
		coerced.

		The virtue argument, by contrast, rests on a judgment that
		greed is a vice that the state should discourage. But who is
		to judge what is virtue and what is vice? Don’t citizens of
		pluralist societies disagree about such things? And isn’t it
		dangerous to impose judgments about virtue through law? In
		the face of these worries, many people hold that government
		should be neutral on matters of virtue and vice; it should
		not try to cultivate good attitudes or discourage bad ones.

The "virtue" argument - related to morality - is perhaps the most important
point made this book.  It is the virtue argument that leads to the the
visceral anger one feels when one reads such stories about gouging in such
desperate times.

These three points are elaborated through a of fascinating examples
that manages to hold interest despite the dense philosophical issues. 

Excerpts

Price Gouging

In 2005, after Hurricane Charley hit Florida, hotel rooms that normally go
for $40 were charging $160, gas stations were selling $2 bags of ice for ten
dollars.

People were outraged.  "After Storm Come the Vultures," read a headline
in USA Today.  Public anger against price gouging ran high.

However, economist Thomas Sowell, a free market economist, wrote in the Tampa
Tribune, calling "price gouging"

	"an emotionally powerful but economically meaningless expression that
	most economists pay no attention to, because it seems too confused to
	bother with."  Writing in the Tampa Tribune, Sowell sought to explain
	how ‘price gouging’ may actually help.  Charges of price gouging
	arise "when prices are significantly higher than what people have
	been used to," Sowell wrote. But "the price levels that you happen to
	be used to" are not morally sacrosanct. They are no more "special or
	‘fair’ than other prices" that market conditions — including those
	prompted by a hurricane — may bring about.

	Higher prices for ice, bottled water, roof repairs, generators, and
	motel rooms have the advantage, Sowell argued, of limiting the use of
	such things by consumers and increasing incentives for suppliers in
	far-off places to provide the goods and services most needed in the
	hurricane's aftermath. If ice fetches ten dollars a bag when
	Floridians are facing power outages in the August heat, ice
	manufacturers will find it worth their while to produce and ship more
	of it. There is nothing unjust about these prices, Sowell explained;
	they simply reflect the value that buyers and sellers choose to place
	on the things they exchange.

These arguments clearly refer to the economic situation of scarce
supply (roads are closed) and a lot of cash chasing these sparse goods.

Responding to such arguments, Florida attorney general Charlie Crist was not
convinced.  "It is astounding to me, the level of greed that someone must
have in their soul to be willing to take advantage of someone suffering in
the wake of a hurricane."  More pointedly, he rejected the free-market
argument saying that these situations do not reflect a truly free exchange:

	This is not the normal free market situation where willing buyers
	freely elect to enter into the marketplace and meet willing sellers,
	where a price is agreed upon based on supply and demand. In an
	emergency, buyers under duress have no freedom. Their purchases of
	necessities like safe lodging are forced.

While Crist's latter argument refines the concept of freedom, his "greed"
remark is clearly an invocation to the moral virtue.

When we probe our reactions to price gouging, we find ourselves pulled in two
directions: We are outraged when people get things they don’t deserve; greed
that preys on human misery, we think, should be punished, not rewarded. And
yet we worry when judgments about virtue find their way into law.


--Plato's cave and Morality==

Moral reflection consists in seeking a fit between the judgments we make and
the principles we affirm... but how do we know that our actions are anything
more than a self-consistent skein of prejudice?  The answer is that moral
reflection is not a solitary pursuit but a public endeavor. It requires an
interlocutor—a friend, a neighbor, a comrade, a fellow citizen.

In Plato's Republic, Socrates compares ordinary citizens to a group of
prisoners confined in a cave.  All they ever see is the play of shadows on
the wall, a reflection of objects they can never apprehend.  Only the
philosopher, in this account, is able to ascend from the cave to the bright
light of day, where he sees things as they really are. Socrates suggests
that, having glimpsed the sun, only the philosopher is fit to rule the cave
dwellers, if he can somehow be coaxed back into the darkness where they
live.

Plato's point is that to grasp the meaning of justice and the nature of the
good life, we must rise above the prejudices and routines of everyday
life. He is right, I think, but only in part. The claims of the cave must
be given their due. If moral reflection is dialectical — if it moves back
and forth between the judgments we make in concrete situations and the
principles that inform those judgments — it needs opinions and convictions,
however partial and untutored, as ground and grist. A philosophy untouched
by the shadows on the wall can only yield a sterile utopia.

But if moral reflection must be social then it is also political - and it
cannot be disembodied from the tumult of everyday life. 

2. The greatest happiness principle / Utilitarianism

In 1884, four English sailors were in a small lifeboat after their ship sank.
They had two cans of preserved turnips and no fresh water. Thomas Dudley was
the captain, Edwin Stephens was the first mate, and Edmund Brooks was a
sailor, and Richard Parker, age seventeen was the cabin boy.

Parker had fallen sick after drinking seawater.

	On the nineteenth day of their ordeal, Dudley, the captain, suggested
	drawing lots to determine who would die so that the others might
	live.  But Brooks refused, and no lots were drawn.

	The next day came, and still no ship was in sight. Dudley told Brooks
	to avert his gaze and motioned to Stephens that Parker had to be
	killed. Dudley offered a prayer, told the boy his time had come, and
	then killed him with a penknife, stabbing him in the jugular
	vein. Brooks emerged from his conscientious objection to share in the
	gruesome bounty. For four days, the three men fed on the body and
	blood of the cabin boy.

Upon their return to England, they were arrested and tried. Brooks turned
state's witness. Dudley and Stephens went to trial. They freely confessed
that they had killed and eaten Parker. They claimed they had done so out of
necessity.

Suppose you were the judge. How would you rule?

[ REF: Queen v. Dudley and Stephens, 14 Queens Bench Division 273, 9 December
     1884. Quotes from newspaper account in "The Story of the Mignonette,"
     The Illustrated London News, September 20, 1884.

A. W. Brian Simpson, Cannibalism and the Common Law (Chicago: University of
     Chicago Press, 1984).]

[The final judgment is not given in Sandel.  There were a number of
precedents, where similar cannibalism at sea [usually decided by drawing
lots] had been condoned on the grounds of necessity. In this case, the
lengthy judgment analyzed these cases, and argued that
that necessity cannot be a defence for murder, and Dudley and Stephens were
sentenced to death, with a recommendation for mercy.
The sentence was later commuted to six months’ imprisonment]

[A textbook of criminal law argues that following the destruction of the World
Trade Center in New York
	it now appears to be recognized that it would be lawful to shoot down
	the plane, killing all the innocent passengers and crew if this were
	the only way to prevent a much greater impending disaster", and this
	on the basis of necessity as a defence.
		from artile by Pavlína Hojecká ]

Jeremy Bentham's Utilitarianism

Jeremy Bentham (1748–1832) left no doubt where he stood on this question. He
heaped scorn on the idea of natural rights, calling them "nonsense upon
stilts." The philosophy he launched has had an influential career. In fact,
it exerts a powerful hold on the thinking of policy-makers, economists,
business executives, and ordinary citizens to this day.

Bentham, an English moral philosopher and legal reformer, founded the
doctrine of utilitarianism. Its main idea is simply stated and intuitively
appealing: The highest principle of morality is to maximize happiness, the
overall balance of pleasure over pain. According to Bentham, the right thing
to do is whatever will maximize utility. By "utility," he means whatever
produces pleasure or happiness, and whatever prevents pain or suffering.

Bentham arrives at his principle by the following line of reasoning: We are
all governed by the feelings of pain and pleasure. They are our "sovereign
masters." They govern us in everything we do and also determine what we ought
to do. The standard of right and wrong is "fastened to their throne."

We all like pleasure and dislike pain. The utilitarian philosophy recognizes
this fact, and makes it the basis of moral and political life. Maximizing
utility is a principle not only for individuals but also for legislators. In
deciding what laws or policies to enact, a government should do whatever will
maximize the happiness of the community as a whole. What, after all, is a
community? According to Bentham, it is "a fictitious body," composed of the
sum of the individuals who comprise it. Citizens and legislators should
therefore ask themselves this question: If we add up all of the benefits of
this policy, and subtract all the costs, will it produce more happiness than
the alternative?

Bentham thought his utility principle offered a science of morality that
could serve as the basis of political reform. He proposed a number of
projects designed to make penal policy more efficient and humane.

[One] of Bentham's schemes was a plan to improve "pauper management" by
establishing a self-financing workhouse for the poor.  Bentham observed,
first of all, that encountering beggars on the streets reduces the
happiness of passersby, in two ways. For tenderhearted souls, the sight of
a beggar produces the pain of sympathy; for hardhearted folk, it generates
the pain of disgust.

Either way, encountering beggars reduces the utility of the general
public. So Bentham proposed removing beggars from the streets and confining
them in a workhouse. Some may think this unfair to the beggars. But Bentham
does not neglect their utility. He acknowledges that some beggars would be
happier begging than working in a poorhouse. But he notes that for every
happy and prosperous beggar, there are many miserable ones. He concludes that
the sum of the pains suffered by the public is greater than whatever
unhappiness is felt by beggars hauled off to the workhouse.

Objection 1: Individual Rights

The most glaring weakness of utilitarianism, many argue, is that it fails to
respect individual rights. By caring only about the sum of satisfactions, it
can run roughshod over individual people. For the utilitarian, individuals
matter, but only in the sense that each person's preferences should be
counted along with everyone else's. But this means that the utilitarian
logic, if consistently applied, could sanction ways of treating persons that
violate what we think of as fundamental norms of decency and respect.  For
example, consider these cases:


a. Throwing Christians to lions :

In ancient Rome, they threw Christians to the lions in the Coliseum for the
amusement of the crowd.  Imagine how the utilitarian calculus would go: Yes,
the Christian suffers excruciating pain as the lion mauls and devours
him. But think of the collective ecstasy of the cheering spectators packing
the Coliseum. If enough Romans derive enough pleasure from the violent
spectacle, are there any grounds on which a utilitarian can condemn it?

b. Is torture ever justified?

Imagine that you are the head of the local CIA branch. You capture a
terrorist suspect who you believe has information about a nuclear device
set to go off in Manhattan later the same day. In fact, you have reason to
suspect that he planted the bomb himself. As the clock ticks down, he
refuses to admit to being a terrorist or to divulge the bomb's
location. Would it be right to torture him until he tells you where the
bomb is and how to disarm it?

The argument for doing so begins with a utilitarian calculation. Torture
inflicts pain on the suspect, greatly reducing his happiness or utility. But
thousands of innocent lives will be lost if the bomb explodes. So you might
argue, on utilitarian grounds, that it's morally justified to inflict intense
pain on one person if doing so will prevent death and suffering on a massive
scale. Former Vice President Richard Cheney's argument that the use of harsh
interrogation techniques against suspected Al-Qaeda terrorists helped avert
another terrorist attack on the United States rests on this utilitarian
logic.

Objection 2: A Common Currency of Value

Utilitarianism claims to offer a science of morality, based on measuring,
aggregating, and calculating happiness. It weighs preferences without judging
them. Everyone's preferences count equally. This nonjudgmental spirit is the
source of much of its appeal. And its promise to make moral choice a science
informs much contemporary economic reasoning. But in order to aggregate
preferences, it is necessary to measure them on a single scale. Bentham's
idea of utility offers one such common currency.

But is it possible to translate all moral goods into a single currency of
value without losing something in the translation? The second objection to
utilitarianism doubts that it is. According to this objection, all values
can’t be captured by a common currency of value.

To explore this objection, consider the way utilitarian logic is applied in
cost-benefit analysis, a form of decision-making that is widely used by
governments and corporations. Cost-benefit analysis tries to bring
rationality and rigor to complex social choices by translating all costs and
benefits into monetary terms — and then comparing them.

The benefits of lung cancer

Philip Morris, the tobacco company, does big business in the Czech Republic,
where cigarette smoking remains popular and socially acceptable. Worried
about the rising health care costs of smoking, the Czech government recently
considered raising taxes on cigarettes. In hopes of fending off the tax
increase, Philip Morris commissioned a cost-benefit analysis of the effects
of smoking on the Czech national budget. The study found that the government
actually gains more money than it loses from smoking. The reason: although
smokers impose higher medical costs on the budget while they are alive, they
die early, and so save the government considerable sums in health care,
pensions, and housing for the elderly. According to the study, once the
"positive effects" of smoking are taken into account — including cigarette tax
revenues and savings due to the premature deaths of smokers — the net gain to
the treasury is $147 million per year.

The cost-benefit analysis proved to be a public relations disaster for Philip
Morris. "Tobacco companies used to deny that cigarettes killed people," one
commentator wrote. "Now they brag about it." An anti-smoking group ran
newspaper ads showing the foot of a cadaver in a morgue with a $1,227 price
tag attached to the toe, representing the savings to the Czech government of
each smoking-related death. Faced with public outrage and ridicule, the chief
executive of Philip Morris apologized, saying the study showed "a complete
and unacceptable disregard of basic human values."

Some would say the Philip Morris smoking study illustrates the moral folly of
cost-benefit analysis and the utilitarian way of thinking that underlies
it. Viewing lung cancer deaths as a boon for the bottom line does display a
callous disregard for human life. Any morally defensible policy toward
smoking would have to consider not only the fiscal effects but also the
consequences for public health and human wellbeing.

But a utilitarian would not dispute the relevance of these broader
consequences — the pain and suffering, the grieving families, the loss of
life. Bentham invented the concept of utility precisely to capture, on a
single scale, the disparate range of things we care about, including the
value of human life. For a Benthamite, the smoking study does not embarrass
utilitarian principles but simply misapplies them. A fuller cost-benefit
analysis would add to the moral calculus an amount representing the cost of
dying early for the smoker and his family, and would weigh these against the
savings the smoker's early death would provide the government.

Exploding gas tanks

During the 1970s, the Ford Pinto was one of the best-selling subcompact cars
in the United States.  Unfortunately, its fuel tank was prone to explode when
another car collided with it from the rear. More than five hundred people
died when their Pintos burst into flames, and many more suffered severe burn
injuries. When one of the burn victims sued Ford Motor Company for the faulty
design, it emerged that Ford engineers had been aware of the danger posed by
the gas tank. But company executives had conducted a cost-benefit analysis
and determined that the benefits of fixing it (in lives saved and injuries
prevented) were not worth the eleven dollars per car it would have cost to
equip each car with a device that would have made the gas tank safer.

To calculate the benefits to be gained by a safer gas tank, Ford estimated
that 180 deaths and 180 burn injuries would result if no changes were
made. It then placed a monetary value on each life lost and injury
suffered — $200,000 per life, and $67,000 per injury. It added to these amounts
the number and value of the Pintos likely to go up in flames, and calculated
that the overall benefit of the safety improvement would be $49.5
million. But the cost of adding an $11 device to 12.5 million vehicles would
be $137.5 million. So the company concluded that the cost of fixing the fuel
tank was not worth the benefits of a safer car.

Upon learning of the study, the jury was outraged. It awarded the plaintiff
$2.5 million in compensatory damages and $125 million in punitive damages (an
amount later reduced to $3.5 million).13 Perhaps the jurors considered it
wrong for a corporation to assign a monetary value to human life, or perhaps
they thought that $200,000 was egregiously low. Ford had not come up with
that figure on its own, but had taken it from a U.S. government agency. In
the early 1970s, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration had
calculated the cost of a traffic fatality. Counting future productivity
losses, medical costs, funeral costs, and the victim's pain and suffering,
the agency arrived at $200,000 per fatality.

Pain for pay

In the 1930s, Edward Thorndike, a social psychologist, tried to prove what
utilitarianism assumes: namely, that it is possible to translate our
seemingly disparate desires and aversions into a common currency of pleasure
and pain. He conducted a survey of young recipients of government relief,
asking them how much they would have to be paid to suffer various
experiences. For example: "How much would you have to be paid to have one
upper front tooth pulled out?" Or "to have the little toe of one foot cut
off?" Or "to eat a live earthworm six inches long?" Or "to choke a stray cat
to death with your bare hands?" Or "to live all the rest of your life on a
farm in Kansas, ten miles from any town?"16 Which of these items do you think
commanded the highest price, and which the least? Here is the price list his
survey produced (in 1937 dollars):

	Tooth $4,500
	Toe $57,000
	Worm $100,000
	Cat $10,000
	Kansas $300,000

Thorndike thought his findings lent support to the idea that all goods can be
measured and compared on a single scale. "Any want or satisfaction which
exists at all, exists in some amount and is therefore measurable," he wrote.

But the preposterous character of Thorndike's price list suggests the
absurdity of such comparisons.

Can we really conclude that the respondents considered the prospect of life
on a farm in Kansas to be three times as disagreeable as eating an earthworm,
or do these experiences differ in ways that don’t admit meaningful
comparison? Thorndike conceded that up to one-third of the respondents stated
that no sum would induce them to suffer some of these experiences, suggesting
that they considered them "immeasurably repugnant."

St. Anne's girls

There may be no knock-down argument for or against the claim that all moral
goods can be translated without loss into a single measure of value. But here
is a further case that calls the claim into question: In the 1970s, when I
was a graduate student at Oxford, there were separate colleges for men and
women. The women's colleges had parietal rules against male guests staying
overnight in women's rooms. These rules were rarely enforced and easily
violated, or so I was told. Most college officials no longer saw it as their
role to enforce traditional notions of sexual morality. Pressure grew to
relax these rules, which became a subject of debate at St. Anne's College,
one of the all-women colleges.

Some older women on the faculty were traditionalists. They opposed allowing
male guests, on conventional moral grounds; it was immoral, they thought, for
unmarried young women to spend the night with men. But times had changed, and
the traditionalists were embarrassed to give the real grounds for their
objection. So they translated their arguments into utilitarian terms. "If men
stay overnight," they argued, "the costs to the college will increase." How,
you might wonder? "Well, they’ll want to take baths, and that will use more
hot water." Furthermore, they argued, "we will have to replace the mattresses
more often."

The reformers met the traditionalists’ arguments by adopting the following
compromise: Each woman could have a maximum of three overnight guests each
week, provided each guest paid fifty pence per night to defray the costs to
the college. The next day, the headline in the Guardian read, "St. Anne's
Girls, Fifty Pence a Night." The language of virtue had not translated very
well into the language of utility. Soon thereafter, the parietal rules were
waived altogether, and so was the fee.

John Stuart Mill

We have considered two objections to Bentham's "greatest happiness"
principle — that it does not give adequate weight to human dignity and
individual rights, and that it wrongly reduces everything of moral
importance to a single scale of pleasure and pain. How compelling are these
objections?

John Stuart Mill (1806–1873) believed they could be answered. A generation
after Bentham, he tried to save utilitarianism by recasting it as a more
humane, less calculating doctrine. Mill was the son of James Mill, a friend
and disciple of Bentham. James Mill home-schooled his son, and the young Mill
became a child prodigy. He studied Greek at the age of three and Latin at
eight. At age eleven, he wrote a history of Roman law. When he was twenty, he
suffered a nervous breakdown, which left him depressed for several
years. Shortly thereafter he met Harriet Taylor. She was a married woman at
the time, with two children, but she and Mill became close friends. When her
husband died twenty years later, she and Mill married. Mill credited Taylor
as his greatest intellectual companion and collaborator as he set about
revising Bentham's doctrine.

The case for liberty

Mill's writings can be read as a strenuous attempt to reconcile individual
rights with the utilitarian philosophy he inherited from his father and
adopted from Bentham. His book On Liberty (1859) is the classic defense of
individual freedom in the English-speaking world. Its central principle is
that people should be free to do whatever they want, provided they do no harm
to others. Government may not interfere with individual liberty in order to
protect a person from himself, or to impose the majority's beliefs about how
best to live. The only actions for which a person is accountable to society,
Mill argues, are those that affect others. As long as I am not harming anyone
else, my "independence is, of right, absolute. Over himself, over his own
body and mind, the individual is sovereign."

This unyielding account of individual rights would seem to require something
stronger than utility as its justification. For consider: Suppose a large
majority despises a small religion and wants it banned. Isn’t it possible,
even likely, that banning the religion will produce the greatest happiness
for the greatest number? True, the banned minority would suffer unhappiness
and frustration. But if the majority is big enough and passionate enough in
its hatred of the heretics, its collective happiness could well outweigh
their suffering. If that scenario is possible, then it appears that utility
is a shaky, unreliable foundation for religious liberty. Mill's principle of
liberty would seem to need a sturdier moral basis than Bentham's principle of
utility.

Mill disagrees. He insists that the case for individual liberty rests
entirely on utilitarian considerations: "It is proper to state that I forego
any advantage which could be derived to my argument from the idea of abstract
right, as a thing independent of utility. I regard utility as the ultimate
appeal on all ethical questions; but it must be utility in the largest sense,
grounded on the permanent interests of man as a progressive being."

Mill thinks we should maximize utility, not case by case, but in the long
run. And over time, he argues, respecting individual liberty will lead to the
greatest human happiness. Allowing the majority to silence dissenters or
censor free-thinkers might maximize utility today, but it will make society
worse off — less happy — in the long run.

Why should we assume that upholding individual liberty and the right to
dissent will promote the welfare of society in the long run? Mill offers
several reasons: The dissenting view may turn out to be true, or partially
true, and so offer a corrective to prevailing opinion. And even if it is not,
subjecting prevailing opinion to a vigorous contest of ideas will prevent it
from hardening into dogma and prejudice.  Finally, a society that forces its
members to embrace custom and convention is likely to fall into a stultifying
conformity, depriving itself of the energy and vitality that prompt social
improvement.

Mill's robust celebration of individuality is the most distinctive
contribution of On Liberty. But it is also a kind of heresy. Since it appeals
to moral ideals beyond utility — ideals of character and human flourishing — it
is not really an elaboration of Bentham's principle but a renunciation of it,
despite Mill's claim to the contrary.

Higher pleasures

Mill's response to the second objection to utilitarianism — that it reduces all
values to a single scale — also turns out to lean on moral ideals independent
of utility. In Utilitarianism (1861), a long essay Mill wrote shortly after
On Liberty, he tries to show that utilitarians can distinguish higher
pleasures from lower ones.

For Bentham, pleasure is pleasure and pain is pain. The only basis for
judging one experience better or worse than another is the intensity and
duration of the pleasure or pain it produces. The so-called higher pleasures
or nobler virtues are simply those that produce stronger, longer
pleasure. Bentham recognizes no qualitative distinction among pleasures.

Unlike Bentham, Mill believes it is possible to distinguish between higher
and lower pleasures — to assess the quality, not just the quantity or
intensity, of our desires. And he thinks he can make this distinction without
relying on any moral ideas other than utility itself.

Mill begins by pledging allegiance to the utilitarian creed: "Actions are
right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness; wrong as they tend to
produce the reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure and the
absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain and the privation of pleasure." He also
affirms the "theory of life on which this theory of morality is
grounded — namely, that pleasure and freedom from pain are the only things
desirable as ends; and that all desirable things . . . are desirable either
for pleasure inherent in themselves or as means to the promotion of pleasure
and the prevention of pain."

Despite insisting that pleasure and pain are all that matter, Mill
acknowledges that "some kinds of pleasure are more desirable and more
valuable than others." How can we know which pleasures are qualitatively
higher? Mill proposes a simple test: "Of two pleasures, if there be one to
which all or almost all who have experience of both give a decided
preference, irrespective of any feeling of moral obligation to prefer it,
that is the more desirable pleasure."

But as a way of arriving at qualitative distinctions among pleasures, his
test seems open to an obvious objection: Isn’t it often the case that we
prefer lower pleasures to higher ones? Don’t we sometimes prefer lying on the
sofa watching sitcoms to reading Plato or going to the opera? And isn’t it
possible to prefer these undemanding experiences without considering them to
be particularly worthwhile?

Jeremy Bentham's body "auto icon"

Shortly before he died, Bentham asked himself a question consistent with his
philosophy: Of what use could a dead man be to the living? One use, he
concluded, would be to make one's corpse available for the study of
anatomy. In the case of great philosophers, however, better yet to preserve
one's physical presence in order to inspire future generations of thinkers.30
Bentham put himself in this second category.

In fact, modesty was not one of Bentham's obvious character traits. Not only
did he provide strict instructions for his body's preservation and display,
he also suggested that his friends and disciples meet every year "for the
purpose of commemorating the founder of the greatest happiness system of
morals and legislation," and that when they did, they should bring Bentham
out for the occasion.31 His admirers have obliged. Bentham's "auto icon," as
he dubbed it, was on hand for the founding of the International Bentham
Society in the 1980s. And the stuffed Bentham is reportedly wheeled in for
meetings of the governing council of the college, whose minutes record him as
"present but not voting."

Despite Bentham's careful planning, the embalming of his head went badly, so
he now keeps his vigil with a wax head in place of the real one. His actual
head, now kept in a cellar, was displayed for a time on a plate between his
feet. But students stole the head and ransomed it back to the college for a
charitable donation.33

Even in death, Jeremy Bentham promotes the greatest good for the greatest
number.

* Bentham Project, University College London,
  [www.ucl.ac.uk/Bentham-Project/info/jb.htm]

10 Role of Religion in Politics

In 1960, JF Kennedy was running for President of the United States. 
Kennedy was a Catholic, and no Catholic had ever been elected president.
At one point he gave a speech to a gathering of Protestant ministers, 
where he said :

	I believe in a president whose religious views are his own private
	affair... “Whatever issue may come before me as president—on birth
	control, divorce, censorship, gambling or any other subject—I will
	make my decision . . . in accordance with what my conscience tells me
	to be the national interest, and without regard to outside religious
	pressures or dictates.

Thus, Kennedy seemed to be saying that religion was a private affair and
had no role in public spaces.   The speech is generally regarded as
successful and Kennedy became the first Catholic president. 

Obama on religion in public life

However, in 2006, when Barack Obama was running for senator in Illinois, a
religiously-minded opponent accused him of not being a good Christian,
saying that since he supported gay and abortion rights Jesus Christ would
not have voted for him.  His supporters asked him to ignore the attack
since he was leading strongly, but two years later, his conscience led him
to respond on a separate occasion.

	Secularists are wrong when they ask believers to leave their religion
	at the door before entering into the public square. Frederick
	Douglass, Abraham Lincoln, William Jennings Bryan, Dorothy Day,
	Martin Luther King — indeed, the majority of great reformers in
	American history —  were not only motivated by faith, but repeatedly
	used religious language to argue for their cause. So to say that men
	and women should not inject their "personal morality" into public
	policy debates is a practical absurdity. Our law is by definition a
	codification of morality, much of it grounded in the Judeo-Christian
	tradition.

	Each day, it seems, thousands of Americans are going about their
	daily rounds — dropping off the kids at school, driving to the office,
	flying to a business meeting, shopping at the mall, trying to stay on
	their diets — and they’re coming to realize that something is
	missing. They are deciding that their work, their possessions, their
	diversions, their sheer busyness, is not enough. They want a sense of
	purpose, a narrative arc to their lives. . . . If we truly hope to
	speak to people where they’re at — to communicate our hopes and values
	in a way that's relevant to their own — then as progressives, we cannot
	abandon the field of religious discourse.
			- Obama, 2006 speech on Religion in Public Spaces

[Sandel uses this divergence of views to discuss the issue of neutrality
should one be neutral in economic matters (Conservatives, free market) - or
should we be neutral in matters of private concern such as abortion or
homosexual intimacy.  

Regarding religion, Rawls had in 1971 taken a liberalist, religion-neutral
position.   But later, he diluted this somewhat, though his position remained
close to Kennedy's.  

Obama however, touches a deep chord in his reference to the everyday
yearnings of the average American.

Cites the thoughtful and nuanced opinion written by J. Margaret Marshall: 

	Many people hold deep-seated religious, moral, and ethical
	convictions that marriage should be limited to the union of one man
	and one woman, and that homosexual conduct is immoral. ... Our
	obligation is to define the liberty of all, not to mandate our own
	moral code.  [The liberty of] choosing whether and whom to marry
	would be hollow [if the laws could] foreclose an individual from
	freely choosing the person with whom to share an exclusive
	commitment.

But autonomy and freedom of choice are insufficient jutification, says
Sandel, because then there would be no grounds for limiting marriage to two
persons; consensual polygamous partnerships would also qualify.

This again highlights what is a recurring theme in the book - where do we
draw the line - between freedom and social good, between incentives and
gouging, between good for a large mass of people vs that of someone you can
see... 

Related topics - from Oxford Companion to Philosophy

			 ed. Ted Honderich (1995):

Agent-relative moralities

Typical agent-relative moral principles forbid us from committing one
murder even if by not doing so we permit five to occur, and allow us to
spend income on our friends rather than famine relief. Such principles
characteristically either require or permit different individuals to
pursue distinct ultimate aims. They may require that agents not perform a
prohibited act themselves even if their doing so would reduce the
performance of such acts. They may also permit each agent to devote
attention to their own particular concerns in a manner disproportionate
to their value considered from an impartial perspective.

Much of contemporary moral philosophy is concerned with the content,
justification, and interrelationship of agent-relative
principles. Although such principles are central to ordinary moral
thought, they appear difficult to reconcile with at least one widely held
moral theory — consequentialism — since it standardly claims that each
agent should pursue the common aim of promoting the best outcome
considered from an impartial perspective.  A.D.W.

Benevolence

To be benevolent is to be possessed by a desire for the good of others and a
willingness to forward that good actively. Since the good of others takes
many different forms it requires a range of different responses. Benevolence,
therefore, may take the form of compassion, mercy, kindness, or generosity.
While benevolence is quite properly understood as a general attitude of
goodwill towards others and as the specific forms such goodwill might take,
the term has also come to be used more recently in a much narrower sense, to
refer to acts of charity.

An act of charity occurs when some benefit is freely bestowed by one
individual with a surplus on another who is in need. This narrowing of
the meaning of benevolence means what was initially a term used to
describe an uncontroversially desirable attitude to others has come to be
used, perhaps, to put a good face on the largess of the better-off to the
worse-off. It thereby introduces doubts about the moral value of
benevolence.

There are, however, other conceptions of benevolence which evade these
criticisms. *Utilitarianism, for example, may be described as a theory of
universal benevolence, which refuses any necessary connection between
feeling and right action. Neverthless, its highly stipulative definition
of benevolence is challenged by the Humean recommendation that we ought
to assess and be critical of our moral relationships from the point of
view of sentiment. A second possible contrast between justice and
benevolence consists in the assertion that, because it is by definition
concerned with what is strictly due to others, justice marks the
boundaries of what we are morally obliged to do, while benevolence
consists in morally desirable, but in the final analysis optional,
actions. However, this view merely reflects the largely unargued
assertion that justice is of overriding moral importance.

To conceive of justice and benevolence as independent and mutually
exclusive in this way may be mistaken: the two notions seem rather to be
logically correlative and, therefore, they cannot be explicated
independently of each other. And if they are logically correlative,
i.e. related not only at the level of certain particular conceptions of
each, but in all and any full and coherent conceptions of either, then
fully to understand a conception, or to achieve a proper conception, of
either justice or benevolence requires making explicit the conception of
the other that it implies and from which it partly derives.  P.W.

Consequentialism

A term now used for the view that all actions are right or wrong in
virtue of the value of their consequences. Non-consequentialism,
therefore, is the view that some actions are right or wrong in virtue of
something other than the value of their consequences (for example, in
virtue of the kind of act they are).

The term was coined by Elizabeth Anscombe in her article 'Modern Moral
Philosophy', but her use differed from the now current one. For her,
consequentialism is the view that consequences have some moral weight in
any act, non-consequentialism the view that some acts are right or wrong
whatever the consequences. For instance, murder, one might say, is
absolutely prohibited; it is wrong no matter what good might come
(whereas nonconsequentialists, on the now current view, merely hold, say,
that murder is wrong independently of its consequences, though if a
sufficient amount of good would come it might not be prohibited).
Utilitarianism is the best-known form of consequentialism.

One source of interest in consequentialism is that it may manage to
retain what is attractive in utilitarianism while being stricter in the
behaviour it allows. But some moral philosophers think that any form of
consequentialism allows too much.  For instance, many, perhaps most,
moral philosophers nowadays hold that murder is wrong independently of
the good that might come. They would say that one murder could not be
justified merely on the utilitarian ground that two lives would thereby
be saved. But nor would it be justified, they would add, on the
non-utilitarian consequentialist ground that two other murders would
thereby be prevented.

The objection is this: there are certain values that, according to deep,
widespread moral belief, should be respected by individuals in their own
individual behaviour and not (as consequentialists of all sorts say)
promoted in behaviour generally. Consequentialists reply: One cannot
decide between moral views merely by appeal to widespread, even deep,
moral beliefs; our beliefs are often mistaken; moral philosophy must, to
some extent, criticize and revise those beliefs; though utilitarianism
may revise them too radically, there are other forms of consequentialism
that revise them to the right extent.

There seems to be a bad fit between the idea of general promotion of the
good and these moral goods that were added to the generalization that I
traced earlier. If that is so, then it would be better in defining
consequentialism to generalize less, for instance by not including these
moral goods but restricting the value-theory instead to the goods of an
individual life. This more limited generalization would still allow the
term 'consequentialism' to mark a genus and 'utilitarianism' only one of
its species. For there are many derivations of the moral right from
individual good besides utilitarian ones. The right could be what
maximizes the good, or achieves a satisfactory level of good, or
distributes a good equally except when inequalities are to the advantage
of the worst-off, or brings everyone up to some minimum level of good
above which obligations cease, and so on.

There are two characteristic features of all of these positions: they
assess consequences in terms of individual goods, and they derive right
through a function interpreting a vague basic moral requirement of equal
respect. That function introduces certain elements of justice into the
derivation: for example, counting everybody for one, nobody for more than
one; or allowing inequalities if they make the worst-off better off than
they would otherwise be; or maintaining a minimum acceptable level of
welfare. But these conceptions of justice enter into the process of
derivation and not into the list of goods. Agents are directed to
distribute according to one of these standards, not to promote the
universal observance of the standard.

If, in this way, we shrink the class of goods used to define
consequentialism, we shall get, to my mind, a more interesting
distinction between consequentialism and nonconsequentialism.  It is not
that no taxonomy of moral positions should allow any position to be
dubious, but that there is an advantage in having all positions plausible enough to be interesting.  J.P.G.