Roger Scruton demolishes Peter Singer, perhaps the most
famous philosopher in the world and a passionate founder of the
modern animal rights movement
Book Reviews
Roger Scruton
Monday 22nd January 2001
The Book:
Peter Singer Fourth Estate, 400pp, £15
ISBN 1841155500
The stimulus for this book was the public reaction in America to Peter Singer's appointment as DeCamp Professor of Bioethics at Princeton University. The scandal provoked by appointing a known advocate of euthanasia to this sensitive chair reached well beyond the academic world. And, as is frequently the case, those most vehement in condemning Singer were often those least informed about his views. So Singer and his publisher decided to provide, in a handy format, the relevant extracts - and to market them as the expression of an "ethical life".
Singer's most famous book, Animal Liberation, was published in 1975, in the aftermath of the liberation movements of the 1960s. Its purpose was to draw attention to the oppression suffered by other species, and to call for their "liberation" from the human yoke. The title of Singer's book conceals a philosophical thesis for which he never argues: namely that the freedom of animals is the same kind of thing as human freedom, and that they, like us, are moral subjects who are fulfilled only when free. The book contains little or no argument, but much exhortation, backed up by harrowing accounts of the dreadful things that people do to animals. It had the good effect of drawing attention to unacceptable and avoidable suffering - and, in particular, to the evils of industrialised farming. But it had the bad effect of convincing people that a philosopher had at last solved the moral question posed by animals when, in fact, he had scarcely addressed it.
Singer believes that it is difficult to justify any course apart from strict vegetarianism. Whatever reasons there are against killing people should also prompt us not to kill animals, because "mere difference of species is surely not a morally significant difference". The sentence shows a vice of thinking that is also a vice of style. The "mere" and the "surely" smooth away the very thing at issue - namely, the relevant distinctions between me and my dog - and so shift the burden of proof unnoticeably from the one who attacks common morality to the one who lives by it.
The same vice can be discerned in the term "speciesism", used by Singer to parallel "racism" and "sexism". Anybody who has had to choose between saving a child or a cat from drowning, between feeding his small surplus to his starving neighbour or his starving rabbits, between nursing a dying friend or leaving him out for the vultures, will know that Singer's view is nonsense. But he may not be able to find an articulate reason why, any more than he can find proof that 2+2=4. Singer suggests that moral philosophers would be pointless if they did not lead us to revise our moral views. But he gives no grounds for thinking that we have any data, apart from those views, for the moral philosopher to reflect upon.
Imagine the philosopher of mathematics whose superficially plausible premises lead to the conclusion that 2 + 2 actually makes five, or the philosopher of science who concludes, on a priori grounds, that there must be nine planets (as Hegel did). Singer's moral philosophy is similar. Starting from a crudely sketched utilitarianism, according to which the right course of action is discovered by summing the interests of all who might be affected by it, he advances with rapid strides to his paradoxical conclusions - that we ought not to keep animals for food, that it may be justifiable to kill useless humans and that our primary duties are not to our friends and families, but to the people of Borrioboola-Gha (Singer is an advocate of Mrs Jellyby's "telescopic philanthropy"). Instead of seeing this as a refutation of his premise, Singer complacently rejoices in the paradox.
The only argument for the utilitarian premise that I can discern in Singer's writings is this: when making a moral decision, I must give no special weight to my own interests. Moral judgements are not "counsels of prudence", to use Kant's idiom, but principled conclusions about what ought to be done. Hence, I must set aside my interests and look impartially on the problem, as though it were not I, but another, who chooses. That is true, and common sense endorses it. But it does not follow, as Singer thinks, that I must therefore consider the interests of everyone (including the animals). Abstracting from my interest does not mean consulting yours. It is the duty of a judge to set aside his own interests in order to do justice. But this does not mean that he arrives at the just solution by considering the interests of anybody else, still less the interests of everyone - otherwise, he would never arrive at a judgement.
And here lies what is most objectionable about Singer's moral philosophy. If the right moral judgement is arrived at only by consulting all the interests that might be affected by my decision, then not only can I never really know whether I am acting rightly or wrongly, but I also have a permanent and irrebuttable excuse for whatever I do. If I give my money to Oxfam in order to help people in the developing world, then this is justified, because some of the money, I believe, will get through to someone who will benefit. But equally, if I don't give a penny to Oxfam and actively campaign against its work, on the grounds that the money will merely encourage the political systems that maintain people in poverty, then this too excuses me. One or the other of those views may be false (possibly both are). But how can I know? And how can I know in time to make the decision? The self-satisfied smile that is worn by Singer's prose reflects that he has chased from his philosophy every moral absolute, and therefore every ground for allocating blame. But blame is what morality is about.
This is not to say that Singer is wrong in all his conclusions. Some kinds of industrial farming are criminal. We ought to hesitate before endlessly prolonging human life. We ought not to assume that our luxuries are more important than a stranger's needs. There is something inconsistent in defending abortion on demand and condemning infanticide. But these are cases in which self-interest and morality conflict: not surprisingly, therefore, they are rife with casuistical excuse.
Besides, even if similarities are important, so too are distinctions. There is a real distinction between the fate of chickens on a broiler farm in Thailand and that of the free-range pigs on my own farm - pigs that would not exist were it not for our intention to eat them. There is a real distinction between the child towards whom you have a duty of care, because you produced her, and the child whom you do not know and who is not bound to you by any moral relation. And so on. But these distinctions point to the subtlety and efficaciousness of our moral thinking. If Singer were right, then morality would be beyond the reach of ordinary people, and therefore of no use to us. Its real function in human affairs - of enabling rational beings to live together by negotiation - depends upon its absolute character: on moral judgement bringing calculation to a stop.
For Singer, however,
morality is a vast speculation, an unreal computation of costs
and benefits, extended over unknowable domains. His defence of
the "moral expert" is really an apology for armchair moralising
and self-appointed sainthood. It has been said of him, as he
indelicately reminds us in the preface, that he is "the most
influential living philosopher", and this is perhaps true. But
the influence has been purchased at the cost of the philosophy.
After all, there was a sense in which Mao was the most
influential living poet, and Hitler the most influential living
painter.
Roger Scruton is a philosopher.
This article first appeared in the New Statesman.