How philosophers can help companies resolve their ‘Why Should’ questions

In the previous entry I outlined 3 different and unique skills a philosopher develops. They were as follows:

  1. Philosophers are trained to focus on the ‘why should’ question.
  2. Philosophers are trained in conceptual analysis and development of conceptual frameworks.
  3. Philosophers are highly sensitive to methodology, intuitions, and arguments.

I spent a little time giving a broad stroke explanation of what those points amounted to, why they were useful for a business. In this entry, I’m going to flesh out the 1st of these points. The sections of this entry are as follows:

A) What is the why-should question and why does it matter?
B) Why are philosophers so concerned with why should questions?
C) Why are philosophers uniquely trained to deal with why should questions?
D) How does all this help businesses and startups?

The take away from this article is this:

The purpose, mission, values, culture and code of startups and businesses is now a necessary feature for them to exist and survive. These sorts of problems are why-should problems, and philosophers are uniquely qualified to help companies resolve them.

A) What is the why-should question and why does it matter?

Why-should questions are central to human reasoning. We do it all the time, yet, for some reason, when we sit down and try to think seriously about it, we become confused about what the question is actually asking. That, and people generally confuse themselves when attempting to answer the why-should question. 

This confusion is no more obvious than when considering problems in ethics, the field of inquiry which investigates what action, given some scenario, is the right action. Let us consider a classic problem, the trolley problem:

trolley problem
The Trolley Problem.

A bystander is watching a tram-trolley hurtle uncontrollably towards 5 innocent people stuck on the tracks and unable to leave. If the tram-trolley hits them, all 5 will die. Next to the bystander is a lever that, if switched, will divert the train onto a different track, thus saving the 5. But, on this alternative track is 1 innocent person, who is also stuck on the alternative track and unable to leave. If the bystander pulls the lever, they will have saved the 5 from death, but caused the death of the 1.

Consider the following questions:

  • What would the bystander do?
  • What will the bystander do?
  • What could the bystander do?
  • What should the bystander do?

The ‘would’ question asks us to consider how the bystander might act given an idealised version of that bystander. The ‘will’ question asks to think about what is actually going to occur, regardless of our idealisation of the bystander. The difference between the would and will question seems to amount to a difference between hypothetical and reality The ‘could’ question asks us to enumerate all possible actions which are available to the bystander. Notice the could question will contain not just the answer to the will and would question, but also the will not and would not questions. 

But the should question is very different from any of these questions. What the bystander should do stands completely apart from what they would or will do. And the should question has an interesting relationship with the could question: given all possible options the the bystander has, which of those options should they, ought they, must they, take?

In others words: when we ask what should be the case we are asking, what is the correct answer?

B) Why are philosophers so concerned about why-should questions?

Why are philosophers so deeply concerned about why-should questions? Our concern lies in the observation that human beings are creatures which need to conform to rationality. That is, humans are compelled to respond to Reason. What we believe, value, how we act, behave, etc., must be grounded in good reasons. 

For example, you believe what you do because you think you have good reasons for believing so. You value what you do because you believe you have good reasons for valuing so. And you act how you do because you believe you have good reasons for that action. When our beliefs, actions, or values, are challenged, or we meet with others who differ from us in what they believe, act, or value, we appeal to reasons to justify our position and to criticise the other. And when others give us reason for why our positions might be mistaken, we recognise those reasons as reasons and attempt to explain why those arguments fail.

Answers to why-should questions are reasons – they are the types of reasons that justify our beliefs, actions, values, etc. And there are obviously good reasons and bad reasons. Some reasons are so bad we sometimes do not consider them reasons at all. But answering why-should questions means tangling up oneself in taking seriously reasons for or against something and finding the correct ones. 

C) Why are philosophers uniquely trained to deal with why-should questions?

Philosophers spend more time than any other profession thinking about reasons and arguments. So, we spend the most time reflecting upon why-should questions. They inspect every reason from every angle and consider outcomes, upshots, justifications, intuitions, and arguments in an exhaustive and systematic attempt to resolve why-should questions.

To understand this, let’s reconsider the trolley problem. What should the bystander do? You might be of the opinion they pull the lever. But why should they pull the lever? You might respond that since 5 is greater than 1, and pain and death is bad. If so, then less pain death is better than more. So, 1 dying is better than 5 dying. That’s a reason for why one should pull the lever. One might respond though, that putting someone in direct danger, because of your own actions, is a violation of their rights. So while letting 5 die is bad, actively causing the death of another – and knowing you are doing so – is murder, and killing 1 is worse than letting 5 die.

Much ink has been spilt on this problem, so I’ll leave it at that. But note we have reason for doing either – but why should we consider one a good reason over another?  Philosophers don’t just stop at providing a reason – we provide reasons for our reasons – and we consistently look for the best reasons.

D) How does all of this help a businesses and startups?

How does such an obsession with resolving why-should questions help businesses? Startups and businesses have, for one reason or another, begun to need higher order reasons for their existence. Once upon a time it could be the case that a company could exist – even thrive – without considering deeper questions. People need shoes, so you make them. You make good shoes and people will buy them. But our marketplace has become more complex, and to compete in the oversaturated global marketplace, businesses have needed to provide a mission, a value, a philosophy, to reach out and grasp, and retain, the attention of an audience. 

That is, businesses and startups need to provide answers to why they should exist and why you should care about them.

Just think about the most successful businesses and startups. Why did they succeed? In part, it’s because they sold something people wanted. That want might have been out of necessity, desire, or induced beliefs (i.e., manipulation). But, given competitors, why did people choose these companies? From what I have observed from podcasts, articles, and blogs, the answer is the message, the purpose, and the values, that company stands for (or purported to stand for). When we think about the most successful, we know what they stand for, and who they stand for – ‘Just Do It’, ‘Think Different’, ‘Spread Ideas’, ‘Because You’re Worth It’, etc. 

When people see the reason or explanation for why a company should exist, people find that if they share those values, they take that shared value as reason for choosing one company over another. 

Most importantly, you should note these sorts of questions – given the nature of their inquiry – are not just essential for a business/startups existence and survival, but are the exact sorts of problems philosophers engage with (albeit, in a different domain).

The purpose, mission, values, culture and code of startups and businesses is now a necessary feature for them to exist and survive. These sorts of problems are why-should problems, and philosophers are uniquely qualified to help companies resolve them.

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What is ‘free’ speech anyway?

Free speech advocates – or perhaps more accurately, free speech warriors (FSWs) – view themselves as championing and defending our individual right to freedom of speech. Generally, it seems most FSWs see this battle as a small, but necessary, fight in a much larger culture war against social justice warriors (SJWs) who, according to FSWs, are ‘post-modern cultural marxists’ (whatever that means) attempting to co-opt language to ultimately change our culture (whoever “our” is). So although saying we should not use (or perhaps ban) racial slurs or derogatory comments seems intuitive enough, FSWs claim it is a slow and slippery sloped path (logical fallacy pun intended) to a world in which our language is completely control by the government or the intelligentsia (whoever they are). The slogan often associated with FSWs is: “I might not agree with what you say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it”.

There is a lot to unpack there and, to be frank, I am bereft to enter into this at all. That said however, all I want to do in this entry is consider what it is we mean when we invoke “free speech”. It’s unclear to me precisely what ‘freedom’ or ’speech’ refer to, or if FSWs even understand how perhaps their own interpretation of ‘free speech’ might be problematic or inconsistent with other views they might hold. That aside, I want to quickly explore two interpretation of ‘free speech’ which are both problematic for different reasons.

The most naive interpretation of free speech I can think of would be as follows: 

Naive Interpretation: exercising ‘free speech’ would be to express ones opinions in any way (i.e., ‘speech’) without receiving any criticism (whether legitimate or not) or incurring any punishment (whether social exclusion, de-platforming, or government intervention) (i.e., ‘free’). 

I don’t think many would defend the naive interpretation because it is self-defeating. Not allowing for (i.e., banning of) criticism would be by itself a restriction of free speech. Second, if it is an expression of ones opinions in any way, then physical violence or destruction of property could be one of those ways. Since, all other things being equal, even the most staunchest of FSWs think such violence is unjustifiable (“I may agree with your message, but not your methods”) then we can restrict the ways people express themselves. Third, FSWs advocate for free speech precisely because it allows views and opinions to be criticised and put under public scrutiny – for doing so allows bad idea to die and good ones to flourish. I think these reasons are enough to rule out the naive interpretation of free speech.

Perhaps a more plausible interpretation can be given as follows:

Plausible Interpretation: exercising ‘free speech’ would be to express ones opinion in any non-violent way without receiving irrational criticism, or incurring any punishment (whether social exclusion, de-platforming, government intervention).

So, ‘speech’ here would be construed as an expression through a medium, whether verbally, written prose, or artistically (through art, music, poetry, etc.). We could allow for criticism, as longs the criticism was ‘rational’ which roughly means that the criticism is not based upon pure emotions or likes/dislikes. But this more plausible interpretation seems problematic too. We often think that incurring some sort of repercussion to be acceptable, and that these punishments are used in an attempt to curtail certain types of speech, while compelling others. The examples are numerous:

1. If someone were to cry out “fire!” in a crowded cinema,   when in fact there was no fire, we would expect that person to be punished for causing social trouble and panic. We might even expect that person to be punished by the government or law enforcement of some kind. 

2. If Jimmy keeps crying out “wolf!” when there is in fact no wolf, it seems a society might, and would be within their rights to, ostracise Jimmy as punishment (no government intervention required).

3. If someone enters into our home or place of business and says things (or does non-violent things) we disagree with or find disrespectful, intuitively we are within our rights to remove them (sometimes by force) from our premises. 

4. Manners and respect are mechanisms of compelling speech. Demanding to be called by a title (Mr., Mrs., Ma’am, Sir, Dr., etc.,) or using ‘appropriate’ language (please, thank you, etc.,) and punishing those who refuse to use them is an attempt at forcing speech use upon another. 

5. We demand that a person stop spreading fallacious and detrimental rumours about us, and we can invoke the law to intervene on our behalf.

These five examples show cases in which punishment can be induced by way of law enforcement, social groups, individuals, and a case in which speech can be compelled. These cases are cases in which we are intuitively fine with, yet are incompatible with the plausible interpretation, I take it that there is some serious problems here for those who wish to hold onto this view.

Perhaps another way to approach the problem is by thinking about how we conceive or understand ‘free’ in the first place. Think about the discussion surrounding free will, and whether we have it. Half the trouble is defining what we mean by ‘free’ in this context too. But nobody would think that to have a free will meant doing whatever it is that you want; just because I want to fly but cannot does not mean I am not free. “Free”, in this context, does not mean “unrestricted”. That is, you can be restricted (e.g., by the laws of nature), and still be ‘free’. 

Perhaps in the same way “free speech” does not mean “unrestricted speech”, but rather setting appropriate boundaries about what can be said, and allowing a space in which people can explore. 

Problems with Hedonism: II

In the previous post I suggested that Hedonism, as a theory of welfare, was not a sure thing as it fails to predict our intuitions on a number of thought-experiment cases. Most notably, Hedonism appeared to fail because it was overly narrow in scope as to what constitutes what is ‘good for’ an individual. Due to happiness being the sole constituent of well-being, it appeared Hedonists are forced to admit that a life in a matrix-like machine, or that of a slave or obedient housewife, or degrading/deplorable life is a good life, so long as that person is ‘happy’. But saying such lives are good lives to live seems wrong, and Hedonism is (arguably) not equipped to agree.

Before getting into proposals as to why Hedonism fails, and the defences Hedonists hoist up against such attacks, I want to sketch out a more technical reason we might reject Hedonism as a theory of well-being.

Hedonism is often conceived as being a subjective mental-state theory of welfare. That is, ‘happiness’ or ‘pleasure’ or ‘enjoyment’ or whatever we wish to call it, is something (a) only the individual themselves can decide they have, or experience, it (hence, subjective), and (b) that it happens exclusively ‘in the head’ (hence, mental-state).

The problem starts with a perennial problem since Hedonism’s inception: what is pleasure? After all, pleasure is caused by numerous things and activities, and the pleasure experienced during these events is substantively different from others. For example, the pleasure of exercise, and the pleasure of eating, the pleasure of making love, or the pleasure of writing about philosophy, are obviously different in their content and the experience that accompanies it. Nor does it appear that there is any identifiable, essential condition that all these (and more) experiences share. But if pleasure is neither a single identifiable kind or single constituent, of mental-state, then what is it for a mental-state to be pleasurable?

A common reply is that a mental-state is pleasurable if it is desired. That is, to say a mental-state is pleasurable is to say it is preferred over other possible mental-states. While this is not the only analysis of pleasure/happiness/enjoyment, it is certainly common particularly amongst folk persons. After all, there are a collection of folk wisdom that we generally agree to be true that seem to point in this direction: ‘different strokes for different folks,’ ‘one person’s trash is another’s treasure,’ etc. People often chalk up differences in pleasure as differences in preferences: whatever works for you, as long as you prefer it (i.e., makes you happy) is all that matters.

So we might summarize the folk hypothesis of pleasure as a kind of preference mental-statism: an individual is well-off insofar as they have the various mental states that they desire.

But here in lies the problem, as happiness/pleasure is no longer doing the theoretical work. Rather, it is desires and preferences – and the satisfaction of those – that is doing all the theoretical work required of a theory. What is the point of even invoking the concept of pleasure at all, when we could just talk about people’s preference and desires? The answer, it seems, is no point at all!

But further problems arise for endorsing pleasure as a kind of mental-state preference. First off, if preferences are doing all the work, then it is not entirely clear why these preferences have to be about just mental-states; people have preferences that sit outside of just their mental-states – they prefer certain states-of-affairs to obtain in world. Such a position would be rejecting the ‘subjectivism’ that hedonists so heavily cling to.

However let us put that issue aside for another post, and just consider what happens if we can pull apart pleasure and preference, and if we can, what results.

While the hypothesis is that pleasure just is a kind of a preference for a particular mental-state, it seems conceptually possible that people prefer things other than pleasure, including the lack thereof, or even the mitigation of pleasure. Here, I am not talking about masochism – deriving (sexual) pleasure from physical or emotional pain (e.g., humiliation etc.) – as those who are masochists do so because they derive pleasure from their pain. I am talking about a person who forgoes pleasure because they prefer something else, e.g., the ascetic. Those who choose or prefer to live to a ‘higher calling’ that immediately goes against their pleasure is not only a conceptual possibility, but a reality.

How are preference mental-statists to understand this? If preference is doing the work, then we must be forced to admit that pleasure is not a part of the good life. But, if we resist this path, then our only option is to say that preferences do not matter. At least, preferences unrestricted. We might say that happiness is good for a person regardless of whether they desire it or not, or that pleasure is something you ought to prefer/desire.

But this is not a good place for a Hedonist to be. If they choose the former route, then not only does preference mental-statism fail as a theory of pleasure, but the hedonist has all but abandoned pleasure as the sole prudential good. However, if they choose the later they abandon preference mental-statism, which was their theory of pleasure in the first place. Further still, both later positions result in a rejection of subjectivism, as they seem to suggest that pleasure/happiness is objectively good for a person whether they want it or not.

None of these positions should look appealing to a Hedonist, as each of them will cause her to reject her conception of Hedonism.

In the next post, I’ll consider a common reply folk Hedonists have to the thought experiments from ‘Problems with Hedonism I’, which is that those people (e.g., the slave, housewife etc.) are not really or truly happy.

 

Problems with Hedonism: I

In the previous entry I detailed the idea that happiness is what makes for a good life and gave various reasons to support such a view. In this entry were going to question whether happiness really is the necessary and sufficient condition of a good life.

Most (but certainly not all) people accept happiness as being necessary for well-being; however many question whether it is solely sufficient. There appear to be many counter-examples in the literature that are considered defeaters of Hedonism (at least in its simplest form).

Probably the most famous of these counter-examples is Nozick’s experience machine, as found in Anarchy, State and Utopia. Here, Nozick describes the following scenario:

“Suppose there were an experience machine that would give you any experience you desired. Superduper neuropsychologists could stimulate your brain so that you would think and feel you were writing a great novel, or making a friend, or reading an interesting book. All the time you would be floating in a tank, with electrodes attached to your brain. Should you plug into this machine for life, preprogramming your life’s experiences?”

– Nozick, Anarchy, State and Utopia (1974), p.42.

Nozick draws the conclusion that we do not just want experiences, but also want to do certain things and be a certain kind of person. In other words, we do not just care about our internal experiences; we care about how the world actually is and what we actually do in it.

But perhaps you are comfortable with getting in the machine. You might reason that some people do value things simply for the experience of them, and if you can cut out the middle-man, then why not simply jump to the experiences? If a person chooses of his or her own volition to get into the machine because doing so will result in happiness, then what exactly is the problem?[1]

A similar counter-example can be found in Nagel and Kagan’s work:

“Imagine a man who dies contented, thinking he has achieved everything he wanted in life: his wife and family love him, he is a respected member of the community, and he has founded a successful business. Or so he thinks. I reality, however, he has been completely deceived: his wife cheated on him, his daughter and son were only nice to him so that they would be able to borrow the car, the other members of the community only pretended to respect him for the sake of the charitable contributions he sometimes made, and his business partner has been embezzling funds from the company which will soon go bankrupt.”

– Kagan, Me and My Life (1994), p. 311.

(Original example from Nagel, Death (1970), p. 76.

It is hard to imagine why we would think the life of the deceived husband was a good life merely because he was happy. It appears as though it is not just a matter of being happy, but also that certain relevant states-of-affairs must obtain. We might however ask why states-of-affairs matter. The natural answer for most people is that the deceived husband wasn’t experiencing true happiness but, rather, false happiness. We’re happy for reasons and if those reasons are true then our happiness is real, and if those reasons turn out to be false then our happiness is fake.[2]

But even if we granted such an argument, it isn’t clear it helps Hedonism avoid these issues. For example, we tend to be happy because of reasons such as satisfying goals or preferences. If we don’t satisfy these preferences or achieve these goals we generally aren’t happy. So, a general lesson we might draw is to not have preferences or goals that are difficult to achieve or satisfy. If that is the case, perhaps we should aim low:

Giving up on your dreams and settling does not seem like a good life, even though your adjusted preferences might result in happiness. In fact, giving up the life you want to settle for what you have seems somewhat tragic.

slaves2
If happiness is all that matters, then what’s the problem?

But adjusting the bar does not have to be a conscious effort, for some of us might have the bar placed considerably low already. We can imagine a slave who is told that he is nothing but dirt and lives only to serve his master. Serving the master is the sole function of a slave. What if this slave accepts this, and working hard for his master results in his happiness? It seems that, if happiness is all that matters, and if one is happy about things as they are then this is true happiness. Surely the life of a slave is not a good life.

Or suppose women in a particular society are second-class citizens told only to be subservient to their husbands; if a woman is happy with such a life; is her life a good one?

The natural response is to suggest that these people do not have full information or that somehow the lack of autonomy results in ‘false’ happiness (whatever that means). But what if someone is fully autonomous and free?

[…] Porky is a bestialist’s beastialist. He uses his inherited wealth to construct a stately porcine pleasure dome, including heated mud rooms and cool misting stations. He spends the bulk of his life engaging in hideous acts of bestiality with his collection of prize hogs. He has them oiled and waxed daily by a retinue of expert servants. To increase his pleasure he spares no expense and overlooks no details. He had the front teeth removed from all of his pigs to enhance the tenderness of their warm mouths. His days are spent getting what he wants and liking what he gets from his harem of sows.

– Smuts, A Life Worth Living (2013), p. 15

(Feldman, Confrontations with the Reaper (2004), p. 40; original example Moore Principia Ethica, p.95)

This particular entry has focused on counter-examples believed to undermine Hedonism. In the next entry, we’ll look at some more technical philosophical arguments that seem to undermine Hedonism.

——

[1] This suggestion however trades on the requirement that choices be of a person’s own volition. This means that a good life actually has two necessary requirements: A) that a person is happy, and B) that their happiness results from choices they have made free from influence. Hedonism does not accept B), as for Hedonists happiness is the only thing that matters, and the suggestion made here is that two things matter, namely happiness and freedom. I will discuss this finer point in another entry.

[2] But even then it is hard to understand what is meant by ‘real/true’ or ‘fake/false’ happiness. We shall explore this issue in a future entry.

Grief and its role in the Value of Death

Throughout much of human history across creeds and cultures death has been considered, for lack of a better term, bad. Whether death itself is bad, relationally bad, or extrinsically bad, there nevertheless seems to be something negative or undesirable about it. Intuitively, I take death to be bad in some sense and I presume the majority of people both past and present (and future) to share this intuition. And the aforementioned would explain why so much of human thought has been fascinated with death: what it is, why it is important, and what lies on the other side (if there is one).

misty mort 3Further still, for those that do not believe in an afterlife, an explanation for those that do accept a life after death would be that those people view death as bad and are attempting to mitigate the evil they see in death, or at the very least make death not as scary or not as bad as it otherwise would be. If people did not think death was bad, then it seems hard to explain why one would need to postulate a life-after-death.

But if my tutorial classes are anything to go by, it appears my presumption that people presently take death to be bad is wrong: according to just over half my students death is not ceteris paribus bad, but to ask such an idea is nonsensical. That is, death is not bad (nor good), but simply sits outside the purview of value judgment. For the other half the goodness or badness of death depends on circumstances. Nobody took death to be bad (or good), and nobody was undecided. What perhaps was more interesting was that nobody could understand what the problem exactly is; why ask questions about death? The problem of death for my students was poorly motivated.

I found this to be striking. I hope I am not alone in that. Sure, I might be wrong and my students might be right, but this is hardly obvious and there seems to be good reasons to support the view that death is bad or that we as a majority treat it as a bad thing.

Now, it is important to note the difference between death being bad for the person who has died and death being bad for the people it has left behind. Most, if not all, students believed death is bad for those left behind rather than for the one who had actually died. I am not entirely sure how death can be bad for people who have not died, especially when these same students thought that death was value-neutral, but nevertheless this was their position. Putting that perplexing contradiction aside, students generally thought the evidence of why death is bad for those affected by another dying was grief: we grieve for those who have died because we have lost something. In particular, we grieve because we have lost a relationship with the deceased. Death is bad because it denies the living of something and we grieve for that loss.

Now while I did not agree with my students for the majority of our discussions on the topic of death, I at least understood how they could hold or have come to such positions. But this particular one – that we grieve because we lose a relationship – struck me as incredibly bizarre. I thought we grieved because we feel bad for the person who has died, not that I have lost something. It grieves us that such badness has befallen a person we care about; we take it that something bad – perhaps the greatest of evil – has happened to the person.

In simple terms: when I grieve it is not because I feel for myself, it is because I feel bad for the other.

If we did not think death was bad (or evil) why would we grieve? Grief seems to me to be extremely good evidence to support the widespread intuition that not only is death bad but that death is bad for the individual to whom it befalls (even if such intuitions are mistaken, this is good motivation for the problem of why is death bad in the first place). However, once again, my students did not agree: they thought that when we grieve we grieve over the loss of our relationship with the departed, rather than the departed themselves. I other words, I grieve for what I have lost, rather than what the departed have lost.

the-punished-son-by-greuze
The Punished Son – Jean Baptiste Greuze, 1778

I honestly do not know what to make of such a suggestion, other than it strikes me as supremely selfish. But let me make it clear: I am not doubting that we feel anguish at something we have lost, nor do I doubt that our relationship plays an important part about whom we do, or do not, grieve over. But it is certainly not how I experience grief over a lost one, and I do not think my students suggestion makes sense of much of the linguistic data expressed by those in the throes of grief. For it seems clear to me that our personal loss is not the focal point of our thoughts in grief, nor does it take a primary position in it.

A family who has lost their mother will grieve because the mother has lost something, namely their life, and all the goods that life allows us to experience. I should make it explicitly clear that while I agree with my students that when we grieve to grieve over our loss, ‘I have lost my mother,’ but it seems this does not take precedence over the feeling of anguish over the losses suffered for someone we care about. Death is bad for those left behind, but it is additionally bad for the person who has died.

But in light of this my students deny this: when they grieve, they say, they have grieved over their own personal loss, not thinking (or caring) about the dead themselves.

I still do not know what to make of this. Perhaps I have failed to properly explain the point, or maybe my students are solely concerned about themselves and see others as only having value inasmuch as they add to their own personal enjoyment? Or maybe they are being completely honest. Maybe they simply miss the point? Or maybe I am crazy and have a completely warped sense of grief and its role that it plays in death.