Review of Tyler Cowen’s Stubborn Attachments
A review of the book “Stubborn Attachments: A Vision for a Society of Free, Prosperous, and Responsible Individuals” by Tyler Cowen.
Stubborn Attachments: A Vision for a Society of Free, Prosperous, and Responsible Individuals By Tyler Cowen • Stripe Press • 2018 • 160 pages
A major influence on Jeremy Bentham was Thomas Hobbes, who viewed human motivation in terms of the pursuit of one’s own good. A biographer of Hobbes reported an occasion when he was seen giving alms to a beggar. When a clergyman asked if he would have given the money were it not for Christ’s command, Hobbes replied that it pained him to see the condition of the poor and infirm old man. Giving the beggar some relief gave him relief as well. Bentham similarly viewed pleasure and pain as humankind’s “two sovereign masters” that “govern us in all we do, in all we say, in all we think”. But this conflicted with his utilitarian principle that the right action should promote overall happiness, with each person’s happiness counting equally. It was Henry Sidgwick who recognized the full significance of this conflict. Sidgwick’s attempt at a reconciliation failed, and he concluded that “if we gave up hope of attaining a practical solution of this fundamental contradiction ... it would seem necessary to abandon the idea of rationalizing [morality] completely”.
In Stubborn Attachments: A Vision for a Society of Free, Prosperous, and Responsible Individuals, Tyler Cowen addresses this and other moral dilemmas through two principles for practical reasoning: first, we should sustainably increase prosperity, broadly understood; second, inviolable human rights, where applicable, should constrain this pursuit. He cites the East Asian economic miracles as the only episode in history where his first principle was clearly and unambiguously applied. They are to him, says Cowen, what the nineteenth-century Prussian state was for Hegel. He is not a simple utilitarian, as he does not view human well-being as always an absolute priority. Sometimes other values, such as justice, take precedence. His pluralism acknowledges that no single value can overwhelm all others in every instance, which may seem inconsistent with an attachment to rigid ideals of prosperity and liberty. The reconciliation lies, he argues, in the recognition that whatever it is that we value—human well-being, justice, truth, beauty—we are better able to achieve it with higher economic growth. If the pursuit of beauty produces some opportunities for beauty, but the pursuit of prosperity creates more opportunities for beauty, in addition to other values, then even those who prioritize beauty have reason to pursue prosperity. He also believes that time may be a moral illusion: when viewed sub specie aeternitatis, the happiness and suffering of future humans are as real as our own. He accordingly advocates for a deep concern for the distant future, and shows how his two principles present a path for resolving issues of clashing preferences through the creation of more opportunities in the long term.
In response to certain problems that seem insurmountable in the present—such as how to resolve disagreements and determine whose wishes should take precedence—Cowen invites us to focus on building a future, through all that is implied in prioritizing sustainable economic growth alongside inviolable human rights, where such conflicts would arise less frequently. I found this to be the most compelling aspect of the book, as the general approach has relevance for a wide range of ethical problems, both real and hypothetical. Take, for example, a moral dilemma in which a mother must choose which one of her two children will be killed. If we realize that once such a dilemma has materialized, there is no satisfactory choice available, and turn the attention of our ethical thinking towards the long-term future instead, we find it can only be resolved by dissolution: by working towards a world where such dilemmas do not materialize in the first place—just as this particular dilemma would not have materialized if we had taken certain actions in the past. The task, then, is to find the direction for our efforts towards building a future where we have dissolved the many dilemmas we face, and here Cowen’s two principles have great merit.
A fundamental contradiction in the book arises from the fallibility of knowledge compared to the concreteness of the actions taken. Even if we share Cowen’s views on what is right, can we be sure that the prescription he offers will help us achieve it? While dealing with the question of uncertainty about the consequences of our actions, Cowen points to the inescapability of choice and emphasizes the importance of major consequences over minor consequences. Because of what consistent economic growth enables us to do, this brings him once again towards the central thesis of the book. But consider one way in which this problem challenges that thesis. What if it is the case that certain actions we take to generate prosperity, and collective prosperity itself, create an environment where people eventually lose the kind of motivation that leads to procreation? In that case, by increasing prosperity beyond a certain point, we may be actively working towards reducing the overall good that could materialize. Worse still, in many countries, we may already be past that point, as several thinkers have observed in recent years. What we are dealing with, says Michel Houellebecq, is “a Western suicide or rather a suicide of modernity, since Asian countries are not spared ... the inevitable consequence of what we call progress (at all levels, economic, political, scientific, technological) is self-destruction”. Houellebecq cites fertility rate figures from advanced economies such as South Korea, Italy, and Singapore. Cowen himself has also noted this. “Given low fertility rates in virtually every wealthy nation,” he asked Peter Singer in a conversation the two had, “is there something self-defeating about secularism as a philosophy ... secularism plus birth control, plus a number of other features of modernity. Does that mean this whole enterprise is just self-defeating?” Religiosity is often mentioned in this conversation, but it seems to me that what is really significant are particular conditions—such as desperation and sentimentality, instability and ignorance, unquestioning adherence to duties and authorities, perhaps even a certain comfort with things elemental and rough—which are frequently associated with organic, authentic religiosity, and which have gradually become less common.
Of course, all this poses a problem only if we assume it is objectively true that the good of all individuals is of equal importance and that we ought to increase the general good. But from what basis does this follow? From the premise that individuals seek to increase their good, what follows is only that they will seek to increase their own good. Even when we want other people’s happiness, even when the impulse arises out of conscience or rational deliberation, it is our desire that finally moves us to action. And the fulfillment that we ultimately cannot help but seek to attain by responding is our fulfillment. Like Sidgwick, Cowen reconciles intuitionism with utilitarianism, but still the problem of egoism of some form remains. If people’s unwillingness to care for the distant future is viewed merely as a limitation that prevents them from doing what is right, then the only question is finding ways to motivate them. But how does one demonstrate that this is what is right? Addressing this philosophical objection, it seems to me, would require deviating even further from utilitarianism—at least with regard to its truth rather than its usefulness.
It is doubtless better to be benevolent, and there are indeed objective rights and wrongs as Cowen says, but not because of anything self-evident or irreducibly normative. Anthony Ashley Cooper, the third Earl of Shaftesbury, observed that it is “according to the private interest and good of everyone, to work towards the general good; which if a creature ceases to promote, he is actually so far wanting to himself, and ceases to promote his own happiness and welfare”. A different but related idea can be found in Bernard Mandeville’s fable of the bees and Adam Smith’s “invisible hand” metaphor. A refined synthesis of the two ideas, as presented in my Freedom and Morality, can be stated as follows: In a collection of one-hundred individuals, who may or may not agree in such things as their desires or preferences, capacity for understanding, and degree or direction of empathy, if each member acted, whether intentionally or unintentionally, in such a way as would increase the good of all the other members, then each member in that collection would have ninety-nine others acting in such a way as would increase his good.
If the circle of the collection expands, the number of acts—both active and passive—carried out for the good of any single individual in that collection would increase, since there would be more members available to act in a way that enhances his good. The question then becomes how to reach a point where the number of benevolent members is maximized. We formulate the relevant courses of action in terms of obligations and rights to ensure they are adopted more reliably. We use external sanctions to prevent deviation from them. We find their practice becomes more sustainable with material incentives, such as in an economic system where one’s prosperity depends on providing goods and services that bring value to others, or in a theological system where the selflessness of one’s actions determines one’s status when reincarnated or one’s place in the afterlife. But in all instances, whenever any prescription is followed, it is always through an individual’s judgment that it would lead to a greater extension of his good. It is the possibility of being correct or mistaken in that judgment, independent of how he feels or what he desires or prefers, that allows us to recognize the objectivity of moral truths.
To the extent that we care, and can be made to care, for those living on the other side of the earth, it is because we have a disposition that responds with disturbance when we reflect upon, or are made to feel guilty about, the real or hypothetical suffering of others. Or because we think performing altruistic actions for them will strengthen our status and legacy, or give our life the deeper, expansive fulfillment that is only obtained when one is not preoccupied with one’s own interests, as Joseph Butler pointed out. Or because we recognize that even if a few of them attain excellence, their achievements would enrich us. Or because we realize their prosperity will create opportunities for us or will at least prevent them from having to seek refuge among us, and so forth. Likewise, we only care, and can be made to care, for future generations if this is tied to us in some way, such as our desire to continue our lineage, which makes us want a prosperous and sustainable future, or a sentimental attachment to humans, civilization, or nature, or an instinct for reciprocation, or the fact that caring for the distant future cultivates certain habits and desires that benefit us in the present.
It may turn out that forgoing some basic assumptions of utilitarianism is what brings us closer to the science that David Hume hoped to derive when he attempted to introduce “the experimental method of reasoning into moral subjects”. In such a framework, we might even find that certain problems associated with ethical theories like utilitarianism—such as Derek Parfit’s repugnant conclusion, which Cowen discusses in an appendix—come to be viewed in the same way that the problems associated with Aristotelian substantial forms were viewed under the mechanical philosophy of the Scientific Revolution.
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