The Moral Landscape

It used to be a given that religion was the source of all important knowledge. Both the "how" of the universe—what it is like, and how it works—and the "why"—why it exists at all, and why human life has a place in it—were to be answered by referring to religious stories and authorities. With the rise of modernity questions of the first sort were removed from religion's purview: we think of them now as scientific questions, to be answered by empirical investigation. But many defenders of religion cling to the idea that, while science is the proper venue for "how" questions, we must still turn to religion to find answers to questions of meaning and purpose, of the value of human life, and of moral behavior.


But why should this be? In part, as Sam Harris notes in his new book, The Moral Landscape: How Science Can Determine Human Values, it is because secular liberals have tended to accept a form of moral skepticism or relativism, according to which there are no moral truths at all other than those that can be asserted within a particular cultural context. The idea of an objective moral truth, then, is something that secularists have largely abandoned to believers. And the idea that science, in particular, might have something to say about questions of morality is one that few contemporaries are willing to take seriously. People who go searching for answers to questions of value often simply assume both that science will not help them and that religion is the only alternative.


Harris, whose two bestselling defenses of atheism and secularism (The End of Faith and Letter to a Christian Nation) have established his membership in the Dawkins-Dennett-Hitchens pantheon of "new atheists," thinks this is a deep and profoundly consequential mistake. A proper understanding of morality, he argues, will reveal that it falls well within the area of inquiry that is governed by science. For moral questions are questions about well-being, and questions about well-being are, in essence, empirical questions about what makes humans and other conscious organisms flourish and thrive. "Questions about values—about meaning, morality, and life's larger purpose—are really questions about the well-being of conscious creatures," he announces on page one. "Values, therefore, translate into facts that can be scientifically understood."


Why think that moral questions must reduce to questions regarding the well-being of conscious creatures? Well, Harris responds, what else could they possibly be about? How could anything that does not in any way affect the conscious experiences of some living entity matter, morally speaking, at all? To hold that such a thing could matter would, in his view, amount to an illogical superstition. But it is equally mistaken, he suggests, to insist that questions of well-being cannot be addressed by empirical research methods. There are, he says, discernible and indeed undeniable differences between an extremely good human life and an extremely miserable one; and there is no good reason for refusing to view those differences as both real and, in the relevant sense, objective. 


Harris is, then, a moral realist: someone who thinks that there are moral facts and, thus, objectively right answers to moral questions. He also takes the link between morality and well-being to imply a kind of consequentialism—though precisely what kind of consequentialism is not entirely clear. At times he seems to use "consequentialism" simply to imply that the consequences of an action, in terms of conscious creatures' well-being, are what determine that action's moral rightness or wrongness. This is a quite modest view that is compatible with all sorts of accounts of how such well-being matters. (For instance, the claim that I should always maximize my own self-interest, and not be concerned with anyone else's well-being, is in this sense a consequentialist view.) But at other times he goes much further, seeming to suggest that he has somehow established that the consequences must matter in a certain way: well-being in the universe at large (and thus not simply my own well-being, or that of myself and those I care about) must be maximized—even where doing so involves violating the basic rights of some particular person, or sacrificing the few for the sake of the many.


Consider, for instance, the following passage (consigned, as is most of the meatier argument in The Moral Landscape, to an endnote) in which Harris considers the problem posed for consequentialists by Robert Nozick's so-called "utility monster":

Nozick . . . asks if it would be ethical for our species to be sacrificed for the unimaginably vast happiness of some superbeings. Provided that we take the time to really imagine the details (which is not easy), I think the answer is clearly "yes." There seems no reason to suppose that we must occupy the highest peak on the moral landscape.

That the answer to Nozick's question is yes—let alone that it is "clearly" yes—seems to me doubtful; and the assumption that it reduces to the question of whether humans must be, morally speaking, the worthiest creatures in existence, is both simplistic and implausible. Moreover, Harris entirely ignores another of Nozick's thought experiments, which casts doubt on the very idea that the quality of our conscious experiences is all that matters to our well-being. This is the famous Experience Machine, a virtual reality device that creates a highly realistic simulation of life—indeed, indistinguishable from reality—and asks us to consider whether one would give up life in the actual, physical world in exchange for a life of greater pleasure, excitement, and fulfillment, which, as it happened, would take place entirely in one's own mind.


The fact that most people would say no, Nozick writes, shows that we value something aside from the quality of our conscious experiences. And this, if true, poses a significant challenge to Harris's view. So one must ask: has Harris not heard of the Experience Machine, or did he just not consider it important? In a remarkable footnote that is worth quoting at length, he attempts to justify his decision not to engage with the rich literature that analytic philosophers have produced surrounding issues of moral realism, skepticism, and consequentialism:

Many of my critics fault me for not engaging more directly with the academic literature on moral philosophy. There are two reasons why I haven't done this: First, while I have read a fair amount of this literature, I did not arrive at my position on the relationship between human values and the rest of human knowledge by reading the work of moral philosophers; I came to it by considering the logical implications of our making continued progress in the sciences of the mind. Second, I am convinced that every appearance of terms like "metaethics," "deontology," "noncognitivism," "antirealism," "emotivism," etc., directly increases the amount of boredom in the universe. My goal . . . in writing this book is to start a conversation that a wider audience can engage with and find helpful. Few things would make this goal harder to achieve than for me to speak and write like an academic philosopher. Of course, some discussion of philosophy will be unavoidable, but my approach is to generally make an end run around many of the views and conceptual distinctions that make academic discussions of human values so inaccessible. While this is guaranteed to annoy a few people, the professional philosophers I've consulted seem to understand and support what I am doing.

One cannot help but wonder just which professional philosophers gave Harris their blessing. (Are we to assume, as Harris seems to imply, that there are few if any philosophers among the "many" critics who faulted him for ignoring philosophy?) Imagine a philosopher who approached a group of scientists and said, "I'd like to write a book about evolution, but because I have arrived at my own views on evolution independently of the scientific literature, and because I want to reach as many people as possible, I would prefer to avoid engaging directly with the work of biologists in this area." Would they be likely to endorse such an approach?


It would be one thing to try to write intelligently about moral skepticism while avoiding the  language of academic philosophy—or at least, the unnecessarily finicky aspects of it—with the hope of reaching a general audience. But to try to avoid not only the terminology, but large portions of the subject matter itself—the "views and conceptual distinctions that make academic discussions of human values so inaccessible"—is to commit oneself to providing an incomplete and highly distorted account of the subject. This is unfortunate, given that Harris has a number of sensible and pertinent points to contribute to the debate. Moral skepticism is all too frequently advanced by people who have no idea what the arguments for it are, as if it were simply an obvious fact, accepted by all reasonable persons, that values cannot possibly aspire to the objectivity of fact, and that any evaluation must, at the end of the day, reduce to an expression of some indefensible preference or prejudice. Statements like "morality is just a matter of subjective opinion" are often uttered as if they required no defense—even when it is easy to demonstrate that the skeptics themselves live and behave in ways that appear deeply incompatible with their alleged skepticism.


The Moral Landscape has some good, reasonable, and at times persuasive things to say to such people. But as it turns out, it has little to say to those people who actually do know what the arguments are, and it will not help others become much better informed. Harris might be right that the best way to reach a "wider audience" is to sidestep difficult philosophical issues. But just how helpful to that wider audience can a book be that hides from the complexities of its subject, and misrepresents what it alleges to discuss by making genuinely difficult questions look straightforward and simple?

by lukelea on ‎10-21-2010 08:16 AM

Concerning the issue of sacrificing one person's happiness (whether voluntarily or involuntarily) for the happiness of others, we need  to consider the (non-theistic) possibility that the death experience might turn out to be so beautiful and/or pleasurable that it would compensate for any loss or misery incurred by the sacrifice.*


Of course there is no way of knowing whether this is true or not.   I would imagine it is tied up with the biological issue of whether pleasure and pain are independent or correlative phenomenon.  In other words might there some kind of symmetry between them, some kind of conservation law, so that the sum total of pleasure just counterbalances the sum total of pain over a lifetime?


I will not speculate on possible neurological mechanisms  or the question of whether there might conceivably be empirical evidence in support of such a hypothesis.  My point is that this is an imaginable possibility.  In fact, it is the sort of possibility that has inspired millions of people in the past to voluntarily sacrifice their lives for the sake of a greater good.  I good example would be Christian soldiers during the American Civil War.


In fact I would go so far as to say that the idea of a beautiful death is morally equivalent to the idea of heavenly rewards, for which the traditional Hebraic conception of a just God is an anthropomorphic metaphor.


My name by the way is Luke Lea.  I am an old man and would appreciate credit for this idea if it should be taken up by moral atheists such as Mr. Harris in the future.   You can reach me at luke dot lea at Google dot mail.


*Dostoevsky somewhere says it is possible to have experiences so intense that a single instant can counterbalance an entire lifetime of ordinary experience.   I once had such an experience in my youth (after falling off a cliff), which is the source of the hypothesis.




by TraLaLol on ‎10-21-2010 08:24 AM

Aw, Troy and his buddies are upset they weren't invited to the party. When he says Harris 'ignores' philosophy, he is putting it lightly.  Harris -and most famously Stephen Hawking- have stated that philosophy is dead.  While that is not something I can get behind 100%, I think it applies in this realm, not because they aren't writing about these things.  Kamm and Scanlon have both written books regarding morality and/or secularism in the past few years in response to (or perhaps to ride the wave of) the rise of New Atheism.   To say that Haris 'will not help others become much better informed' is ironic beyond words because the books from the philosophers aren't helping much either.  They are only writing to their peers and writing within their own constructs. 


Harris isn't bulding a new science or philosophy from the ground up.  He is suggesting that science could -and should- have something to say about morality.   This simple fact speaks volumes to what little philosophy has done to move the discussion in the past. In fact, all of the things Troy doesn't like about this book have nothing to do with the content or its point.  Like every other philosphy major I've ever met, he's concerned about the 'framework' and the details.  Well, keep worrying about those things.  Pick apart Ross' anti-consequentialist model of moral order and how it relates to blah blah blah.  Meanwhile, Harris and others will be attempting to make the conversation matter.

by lukelea on ‎10-21-2010 10:01 AM


Allow me to amend my  comment above:  
Instead of writing that the idea of a beautiful death is equivalent "to the Hebraic conception of God" I should have written that is equivalent to "the Christian conception of God." The Hebraic conception prior to the final destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans and the rise of rabbinic Judaism did not emphasize an afterlife.   Anyway I think even atheists might agree that this particular conception was a handy anthropomorphic metaphor to convey an otherwise abstract idea to a popular audience.


by Al_Debaran on ‎10-21-2010 12:48 PM

For Harris, the lion in the path of an "objective" morality is not some pretentious Analytical philosopher with an impenetrable technical vocabulary. It is a philosopher named Friedrich Nietzsche, a very non-technical and lucid stylist, indeed.


What excuses does Harris offer for not engaging Nietzsche's devastating indictment of morality's universalist and objective pretensions, I wonder? Perhaps the fact that Nietzsche would wipe the floor with him, or  with any advocate of moral realism, has something to do with Harris' reluctance?

by SimondeMountfort on ‎10-22-2010 06:04 PM

This was a remarkably generous article considering how confused are the ideas of the author. The best part of Sam Harris' contribution to moral philosophy is that he demonstrates in such a wide variety of ways the inadequecy and arrogance of trying to use scientific results and methods as a replacement for thought. This is what Harris has done: try to find a moral standpoint that encompasses his experience of science. This is why his philosophy has to be superficial and incomplete: having placed too much faith in science (where that faith doesn't belong) he cannot get serious about moral philosophy without placing his scientific values at risk.

by kalison on ‎10-25-2010 02:58 AM

It is diffucult to see how the concept of "wellbeing" can translate to a simple, objective , science based measure ( at least at the present time ). For example, studies which seek to measure human happiness seem to reveal the deeply paradoxical nature of happiness. For example recently, several well conducted studies reveal that parents experience lower levels of happiness on an objective, daily basis, than non-parents. Yet this result contradicts most parents feelings that parenthood has been one of the most rewarding experiences of their lives. Perhaps, rather than religion misleading people about the nature of well being, it is rather that religion has drawn on deep rooted human intuitions, that are based on science in a way, but perhaps in a way that cannot be quantified. As an atheist, I can see that The Ten Commandements ( leaving aside important objections, such as their failure to condem slavery ) are basically a practical code to allow people to live together in a community with the minimum of friction.

by wilthiswork on ‎11-15-2010 01:39 PM



An argument can be all messed up and matter a great deal to people, and an argument can be sound, valid, and insightful while being dismissed. So how much a conversation matters doesn't, by itself, tell us much.


Once the dust settles, it may turn out that a moderated version of Harris' thesis emerges (as you state it, that "Harris isn't bulding a new science or philosophy from the ground up.  He is suggesting that science could -and should- have something to say about morality.")


But we shouldn't forget that Harris wants to say much more than that. His TED talk went much further than saying that science should have "something to say" about morality, he said science can answer moral questions and BTW, the subtitle to the new book is, How Science can Determine Human Values. Did you see that? *DETERMINE*. Having merely "something" to say about morality would be fine, and wouldn't be that original, I might add, (extremists may deny science a place at the table, but we already have a consensus around relying on science for *instrumental* guidance).  


Science can help us determine courses of action, but it's extremely counterintuitive to say that science can discover or determine human values or answer moral questions. And Harris' examples of what he means aren't merely examples of answering moral questions, they're examples of helping  us figure out what to do based on what's true. But the value is the background concern or motive or appraisal of the world. If we discover insects don't feel pain (or that tables do) then we can change our actions, but the value is minimizing harm, which science didn't tell us. 



April 16: ""Blue pottery vases and bowls for flowers are most attractive, and certain blue books...will repeat and emphasize color."

Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch is the winner of the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. James Parker calls this Dickensian coming-of-age novel "an enveloping…

Books, CDs, DVDs to know about now
The Good Inn

Frank Black, frontman for the Pixies, has written a transgressive historical fiction with shades of Thomas Pynchon (focused as it is on the history of explosives and cinematic pornography), all set in a hallucinatory Edwardian Europe.

Dispute Over a Very Italian Piglet

Amara Lakhous delivers a mystery novel with its finger on the hot-button issues of today's Europe.  Immigration and multicultural conflicts erupt in the Italian city of Turin, as journalist Enzo Laganà looks to restore peace to his native burg.

Papers in the Wind

In this insightful novel by Eduardo Sacheri, a young girl left destitute by the death of her soccer-playing father is uplifted by the bold schemes of her uncle, his pals, and one newbie player to the professional leagues.