In a philosophical dialog written by Plato around 400 B.C., casual acquaintances Socrates and Euthyphro meet by chance on the court-house steps. Euthyphro proudly announces that he has come to accuse his own father of manslaughter. Under Greek law, such a charge is considered improper, but Euthyphro intends to press his case anyway. He is confident that very few people understand what’s right and what’s wrong as clearly as he does. Furthermore, he is certain that the gods themselves agree with him.

Socrates cannot let such claims go unchallenged. He pretends to be clueless about the whole topic, and implores Euthyphro to enlighten him. And about halfway through their conversation, Socrates asks him (Woods and Pack translation):

Is the pious loved by the gods because it’s pious, or it is pious because it is loved?

People have been discussing this question for 2,400 years. The weird thing about it is that when you think through them, neither of the choices it offers us makes a bit of sense. Let’s take a look. We’ll put the question into modern English, and look at its two halves in turn.

The two non-options

If someone tells us that, according to their religious beliefs, a certain activity – prayer, for example – is good, we can ask:

Is it good because God wants us to do it, or does God want us to do it because it’s good?

The first option – prayer is good because God likes it – implies that there are no external rules governing God’s judgement of right and wrong. If there were such rules, we would be talking about the second option, where God approves of good things because they’re good. In this, the first option, an action is good if and only if God approves.

It’s a troubling scenario. Take the rule, “Do unto others as you would be done by,” which most people regard as morally faultless. If God has perfect freedom to decide what’s right, then he could say that he does not want us to follow the Golden Rule, and that would mean that it is evil, and those who have occasionally tried to honor it would be morally obligated to desist. And if one day God said, “On the Sabbath day, I’d like to see a bit of torture and cannibalism in every living-room,” then torture and cannibalism would be right.

But if scenarios like this are possible, then God is speaking a language we can’t understand. We don’t know what it would mean to say that the Golden Rule is ‘evil’, or torture and cannibalism ‘right’. If God can have opinions like this, how can we even say with any confidence that God is good? We don’t know what the word means anymore. But, traditionally, God is the source and epitome of goodness. If we can’t be sure that he’s good, then we can’t be sure he’s God! So this first option can’t be correct.

The second option says: it’s not that praying is good because God likes it; rather, he wants us to do it because it’s good. This implies that there is a moral authority superior to, prior to, independent of God’s. What’s right and wrong was decided before God got involved. So there are rules that God has to follow, laws that he cannot break. But we’ve been told that God created the entire universe to his own specifications, and that there is nothing he can’t do. Seriously, if he’s not omnipotent, then he’s not God. So the second option is also wrong.

What’s going on here? Whichever way we answer, we reach an absurd conclusion: that the God we’ve been talking about is not the God we’ve been talking about. How does Plato’s question produce this result? – and what can we learn from the fact that it does?

The lesson

The Euthyphro’s topic is the relationship between religion and morality; about the fundamental source and justification of moral guidelines. Socrates says, in effect, “I take your word for it, Euthyphro, that God is intimately connected with what’s right and wrong. I just want to understand how that works in a little more detail. Is the action good because God wants it to be taken, or does he want it to be taken because it is good?”

Behind this question there are two assumptions about God. The catch is, they contradict each other. They cannot both be true.

To ask about what God wants (or likes, or prefers) is to assume that God prefers certain things (or events) over others. And in the background, as part of any mention of God, there is a definitional assumption that God is omnipotent. But these two assumptions are mutually exclusive, since an omnipotent being would not have desires.

For human beings, to want is the same thing as to get, if possible. If you desire something, you make it happen – if you can. But God, by definition, can do anything. So if he wants it, it happens. Period. But in that case, he doesn’t want things the way we do – not in the sense of trying to get something. An omnipotent being doesn’t try. Everything already is the way he wants it.

Someone will say: Maybe God doesn’t make all the things he wants to happen, happen. But he could – and if he doesn’t, then it’s not clear what it means to say that he wants them.

It gets worse. If everything that happens is exactly as God intends, then the question “What should I do?” has no meaning. What’s going to happen is what’s going to happen. There are no right or wrong choices, because no one ever gets to choose. But choice – “What should I do?” – is the very essence of morality. If an omnipotent being controls the universe, then our moral decision-making is an illusion, and our moral discussions are a waste of time, because there’s nothing we can decide or change.

All these strange, impotent thoughts have a single cause. The concept of omnipotence is incoherent. As soon as you say that he can do anything, you invite ridiculous questions like “Can God beat a full house with two pair?” and “Can God make a burrito so big he can’t eat it?” You have dug a pit of nonsense, and further discussion will only deepen the hole. This is why neither horn of the Euthyphro dilemma gets us anywhere; and this is what it was written to demonstrate. Propositions involving omnipotent beings are guaranteed not to make any sense.

More broadly, Plato’s ancient teaching-story serves to remind us that morality is essentially and exclusively a human concern. To introduce infinities and absolutes into moral thinking is to strip it of sense. Stories about superhuman beings cannot clarify what’s right or wrong for human beings to do, or explain why it’s right or wrong. There is no useful role, in either moral theory or moral decision-making, for theology.

Once we question the burden of utilitarianism, any attempt to justify it becomes circular.

It is true that utilitarianism has no a priori foundation; this is true of all moral systems. I share his resistance to Singer’s suggestion that we avail ourselves of “the point of view of the universe”. It’s close to obvious that the cosmic point of view is tout ça m’est égal — nothing we humans do can make much difference to the sum total of everything existing.

But this does not mean that every argument for utilitarianism is circular, only that, as Wittgenstein said, every explanation comes to an end somewhere. The idea that there could be an objective justification for any moral system is a myth. Religious apologists tell us that they have such a system; in their case, the claim is risible, but the idea of such a possibility has caught on. We need to discard it. There is no a priori basis for any ethical system; that’s not how life works. But it doesn’t have to be a priori to be convincing, practical, or beneficial.

The justification for utilitarianism is utilitarian. But this is not a circular argument. It starts with the factual observation that we are conscious beings with desires and aversions. One can imagine a universe in which this were not true, so it is not true a priori; still, for us humans on this planet it does happen to be true. Call it contingent if you wish, but in this world it is a fact. Now, the observation of this fact is easiest in the first person, but one sees routinely, indeed one cannot help seeing, that it is true for everyone else as well. I am clearly a conscious being with desires and aversions, and just as clearly I am surrounded by similarly configured beings. This means that everyone in the world divides experiences and situations into preferred and rejected; sought and avoided; enjoyed and detested. Everyone in the world can sincerely say, “From my point of view, temporarily putting aside everyone else, I prefer a world in which A, B and C happen, and not-A, not-B and not-C do not.” This means that it is at least conceivable that there exist (potentially) worlds in which everyone on Earth is happy, is satisfied, has no reason to complain.

OK, right away, several hands go up. And, yes, dozens of philosophers have devised hundreds of clever cases, designed to show either that the utilitarian proposal is incoherent, or that it would not have the positive results that are claimed for it. What if, for example, some people are only happy if their neighbors are suffering (sadists) — or when they themselves are suffering (masochists)? Such hypotheticals miss the point. Any system is going to have gray areas, edge cases and outliers. Such problems are not special to utilitarianism. Let’s stick to the basics for a bit.

What is the utilitarian principle? What does it tell us to do? It says that when deciding on a course of action, it is best to take account of your actions’ probable effects on all the sentient beings around you, and to choose those actions which will maximize (to whatever extent this is possible) the satisfaction of the preferences of those beings. Why is this the “best” thing to do? Because it maximizes utility. Do we know that maximizing utility is a good idea? Not “objectively”, but not a single person whose utility is getting maximized is likely to object! And if everyone who is affected is in favor, isn’t that pretty much all the approval one could ever need?

Here is what I take to be a second misconception. In the same piece, Blackford writes:

Utilitarianism’s burden would destroy our freedom to live our own lives, turning us, in effect, into slaves of the general utility of all others. … Utilitarianism requires us to treat ourselves and other individuals as mere instruments in the greater cause of maximising general utility, which is incompatible with having loving relationships where we care for other individuals for their own sake. … A utilitarian must suppress the dispositions to show love or loyalty, or friendship or tenderness, if ever she believes they are detracting from her goal of maximising general utility.

It seems to me that this description ignores the symmetry of the utilitarian ideal. I am no more a slave to others’ utility than I am to my own. Besides, how on Earth would maximizing general utility be incompatible with having loving relationships? There’s a heck of a lot of utility in loving relationships. Under what conditions would there be a genuine conflict between my loving someone and my being kind to others? That sounds like a very special situation, which means that the considerations mentioned earlier apply. First, there will always be puzzling cases, and second, all systems will have them, not only utilitarianism. Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet describes a world in which to help one person is inevitably to harm another. And the playwright’s explicit moral is: that world is far from optimal.

See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.
And I for winking at your discords too
Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish’d.

Arguing that utilitarianism is wrong-headed strikes me as perverse — like insisting that “aim for the best result possible” is not known with certainty to be good advice. What the heck is the alternative? Utilitarianism is not so much an argument about how things should be as it is an observation of how things are. People do suffer, and you can sometimes prevent it. And if you can, you should probably want to. That’s what it is to be good. The typical counter-proposal seems to amount to, “You can’t tell me that I have to care about other people.” Well, that’s true. You don’t have to care — but not caring hardly constitutes a coherent framework for moral action.

Roy Sablosky: NO ONE BELIEVES IN GOD (second draft, November 2009)

1. It’s not about belief
   1. That religion has to do with beliefs becomes implausible when you look at the behaviors it evokes. For example:
      1. Their “beliefs” challenged, people are often enraged, as if you had threatened not their opinions but their safety.
      2. One joins a group, not its beliefs. Self-described Catholics may differ profoundly with their church elders on important issues; they are Catholics despite their beliefs.
      3. Notoriously, church elders routinely flout the “beliefs” they most fervently espouse.
   2. Claims of belief are implausible where the tenet in question is nonsensical.
      1. Religious propositions are incoherent. (This is probably by design. A slogan is catchier if no one knows what it means.) In the sentence “Jesus loves you” for example, both the subject and the verb are impossible to characterize or observe. Such a statement is perfectly empty: it is a pseudo-proposition.
      2. Since they are without meaning, religious statements can be neither meant nor believed. Thomas Jefferson: “I suppose belief to be the assent of the mind to an intelligible proposition.” Ludwig Wittgenstein: “one cannot mean a senseless series of words.”
   3. Therefore, no one really believes in the teachings of any prophet or the existence of any god. It cannot be done. It does not happen. People who think they are doing it are mistaken.
2. Religion is made of memes plus authoritarianism
   1. Religious “beliefs” are memes. Just like germs, they are contagious; and just like germs they evolve through natural selection. The religious memes circulating now have evolved over thousands of years to be very, very good at what they do.
   2. People are naturally deferential to authority figures.
   3. Authority and memetic self-replication combine to form religion.
3. What we should do
   1. Admit no religious exceptions to any legislation. A few examples:
      1. End all tax breaks (that is: subsidies) for religious organizations and their personnel.
      2. Eliminate chaplaincy programs at all levels of government, including the armed services.
      3. Remove legislative impediments to abortion and birth control.
      4. Outlaw the teaching of antediluvian codswallop in public school.
      5. Government should ratify only civil unions, not “marriages”. Anyone willing and competent to sign such a contract should be allowed to.
   2. Revise the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. No proposal having a religious rationale or using religious terminology should become a law.

Protesters tried to close the abortion clinic of Dr. George R. Tiller; abortion rights advocates celebrated him.

In the daily-email version of the front page that I received, the subhead reads:

What thousands could not achieve in three decades of relentless protest, a gunman accomplished on May 31 when he shot Dr. George R. Tiller in the head.

I swear to God. That’s what they said. I just copied and pasted it. The first clause refers to anti-abortionism as a form of protest. Consider that fanaticism, repression, or even terrorism would have been more correct, and you get a glimpse of how misleading this piece is. The second clause turns a premeditated murder into an accomplishment, echoing the word achievement in the first clause.

In what the Times misleadingly calls a “battle, fought to the death” only one side was trying to kill people: the misleadingly named “pro-life” side. They wanter Tiller dead, and they got what they wanted. Tiller, on the other hand, was performing abortions. That’s not the same thing.

Remember that the anti-abortion “movement” wants to make abortion illegal. Not safer, or rarer, or more carefully considered. Illegal. They want to give the fetus more protections under the law than the mother has. After all, the fetus is an unborn person; the mother is just a woman.

[F]or more than 30 years the anti-abortion movement threw everything into driving Dr. Tiller out of business, certain that his defeat would deal a devastating blow to the “abortion industry” that has terminated roughly 50 million pregnancies since Roe v. Wade in 1973.

This misleading number comes straight from the anti-abortionists. The whole article is full of distortions like this.

His willingness to abort fetuses so late in pregnancies put him at the medical and moral outer limits of abortion. Yet he portrayed those arrayed against him as religious zealots engaged in a campaign whose aim was nothing less than to subjugate women.

But that is precisely what they are, and precisely what they aim for.

When an abortion provider in Florida was assassinated in 1994, Dr. Tiller spent the next few years under the protection of federal marshals. By 1997, he had been labeled “the most infamous abortionist in the United States” by James C. Dobson, founder of Focus on the Family.

Barstow quotes Dobson’s epithet as if it’s a matter of public record. For the record: the word ‘infamous’ is a moral judgement, not a fact.

Several years ago it became clear to anti-abortion leaders that they needed a new strategy to shut down Dr. Tiller.

See the language? Instead of “it became clear to anti-abortion leaders that they needed a new strategy” he could have written, for example, “the radical clerics altered their strategy”.

“God has his own way,” Mr. Gietzen [chairman of the "Kansas Coalition for Life"] replied, “but you can’t say our prayers weren’t answered.”

They prayed that someone would kill George Tiller. And God heard them! Allahu Akbar!

Yet later, Mr. Gietzen said his feelings were more complex. [He would say that, wouldn't he?] Many years ago, he explained, he had wrestled with the question of whether it would be moral to kill Dr. Tiller. [That is so kind of him!] Only after months of reading and praying, he said, did he conclude that violence could never be justified. [He kept praying for it, though.] Killing men like Dr. Tiller, he said, will only put off the day when abortion is outlawed altogether.

And then we’ll all have the benefit of a truly loving and gentle society. All of us, that is, except the women.

Here’s something the founder of all Protestantism wrote on this topic.

Even though they grow weary and wear themselves out with child-bearing, it does not matter; let them go on bearing children till they die, that is what they are there for. [Martin Luther, Works 20.84 (I haven't been able to verify this quote. It's all over the Web, but I couldn't find the original.)]

No scripture can ever justify such an attitude. The fight over abortion comes down to this. Who do we want to write our laws — theocrats, or people who have a conscience?

We can make this absolutist dichotomy more reasonable-sounding by calling it a scale instead. We can say that there is a whole gamut, a spectrum of people, or rather of people’s behavior: something like

evil > conservative > liberal > good

Evil is when people act as if hurting other people is perfectly fine. The conservative style is to behave as if it’s a good idea to hurt at least some people, at least some of the time, if you reckon you’ve got a good reason. Liberalism when you treat other people as generally precious and generally not to be harmed, except under certain circumstances and only if you are exceptionally confident of your reasons. (Of course no one can ever agree on which circumstances are appropriate, or which reasons sufficient.) And finally we have the good person, who does not hurt other people, period.

I repeat. Our scale measures behavior, not ideas or words. A good person is one who does not hurt others, not one who thinks or says that hurting others is wrong. If you can refrain from hurting other people, you can ignore the whole idea of right and wrong. Tell us you’re doing it because Jesus told you to, or because you despise people who complain; tell us that you don’t know why you’re doing it. If you’re being good, it does not matter why.

Of course, if you’re hurting people, that too is independent of any ideas you might have of what’s right or wrong. There may be ideas that can reassure you that although you’re doing something bad, it’s not as bad as people might think, because you have good reasons for it; you’d be doing something good if you could, because you’re basically a good person. Well, I’m here to remind you how seriously lame an excuse that is. The people you are hurting do not know or care why you are hurting them. Nor should they. Hurting is hurting and while you are doing it, you are wrong, because hurting is always wrong. In fact, hurting is wrong by definition. That’s what ‘hurting’ means. You can’t do it and be in the right. The upside is, you will be right as soon as you stop—at that very moment (but no sooner!).

An interesting aspect of our simplistic scale is that almost everyone tends to rate themselves a notch or two higher than they are. People who exhibit evil behavior tend to say that sometimes you have to harm other people, it can’t be helped—a conservative position. In practice, of course, they do it anytime they want to. Die-hard conservatives will tell you that it’s only OK to hurt other people under exceptional circumstances. However, their behavior implies that most circumstances qualify as exceptional. And many liberals will swear that harming people is never OK; what they seem to mean is almost never, which is a whole different thing, seems to me.

Only being good is being good. It doesn’t matter what you think in your mind. It doesn’t matter what you say. It doesn’t matter what books you read or what posters you have on your walls. Bad is never good. You can’t fake this or talk your way around it. It’s too high, you can’t get over it; you gotta come in at the door. Only good is good.

Fortunately, no one believes this.

But I must be careful here with the words behavior and belief.

By behavior I mean only those actions which someone has performed and which as a result are experienced by others. Thoughts are not behaviors because others do not know of them. Speech is in general not a behavior unless it causes a reaction. If I shout “Gak!” and people jump, that is a behavior. If I shout “God!” and people jump, this is the same behavior unless the jumping is somehow different. If, in a given setting, my advising a group to “be proud” or to “be humble” would provoke the same response in the group, then, in that context, the two sentences are identical behaviors. This is a sort of Wittgensteinian consequentialism, if you wish.

Now, as to the word belief. In discussing ethics we don’t care what you think, only how you behave. Some of your thoughts have a direct impact on your behavior, but most do not. Therefore, in discussing ethics we should limit the meaning of belief to those conceptions which you actually take to be features of the world. Your personal “cosmology” is not made up of the things that you have been told exist, or the things that you say exist, or the things that you have been told to say exist, but the things you actually reckon to exist. And in evaluating this “actual reckoning” we look to your behavior. A man who opens a door before going through probably believes (though there could be some other reason) that doors cannot in general be passed through without this preliminary step. A man’s shrinking from the cliff-edge probably derives from a sincere belief that falling over would be disastrous. He might be saying at that moment that his life is likely to be infinitely improved after he passes into the next world, but his actions demonstrate that he does not sincerely expect so.

Otherwise, why should he not jump?

This example can of course be repeated by the hundreds. People do not behave according to the beliefs they say they have; they behave according to the beliefs they actually have. Belief is what you act on. if you never act on it, you don’t believe it. Your claim to believe it is false.

There is no reason for us to be interested in anyone’s thoughts, unless those thoughts result in behaviors we care about. And even then, it’s the behaviors that matter, not the thoughts. If your “belief” in, say, the Resurrection is merely a thought in your head, it is not relevant to this discussion of ethics, because ethics is about your behavior toward others. You might say, “But my belief in the Resurrection causes me to go out and kill anyone who does not also believe in the Resurrection.” We would respond: Murder is unacceptable under any circumstances, so we do not care why you are doing it. Besides, why should we trust your explanation? You are obviously deranged.

People who talk about rewards and punishments in the afterlife typically do not act according to the cosmology they are promulgating to others. Clearly they do not actually believe in such “eternal consequences.” So, why do they keep saying such things?

We should begin by noting that such utterances are perhaps most plausibly explained as the conventionalized repetition of memorable formulas rather than reports of natural or psychological facts.

I sing an old song that ends with “life is but a dream.” This is probably not because I believe that life is a dream. It’s probably because I enjoy that song. The words are sounds that make the song go. They do not express my beliefs (nor the beliefs of the song’s lyricist). In the same way, when people say, “God created everything,” they are not actually saying what they actually believe. They are simply singing an old song.

One reason that we know that “believers” do not believe what they are saying is that such belief is impossible. I do not say inadvisable, I say impossible. It is not possible to believe that God created everything, because the proposition is incoherent. You can believe that there is a post office down the street, but you cannot believe that there is a Tuesday down the street. It makes no sense; therefore, it is not a proposition about the world. Saying such a thing can be part of someone’s behavior; believing such a thing cannot be part of anyone’s world-view. There is much more to be said on this topic, but let us move forward with the task at hand.

If religious “believers” do not necessarily believe any part of their professed cosmology, what is it that do they believe? They believe what everyone does: that clifftops are hazardous; that survival to be sought, and death avoided; pleasure to be sought, and pain avoided; that in meeting someone’s gaze you are meeting another sentient being. We all live in the same world. therefore, most claims regarding special moral conditions in special places are nonsense. It is certainly not more wrong in Saudi Arabia that it is anywhere else for women to drive cars. People there are more like likely to say it is wrong; that doesn’t make it wrong. The fundamental laws of ethics are the same everywhere, because the laws of the natural world are the same everywhere. Being a mammal carries the same set of perks and problems for all mammals everywhere. In Saudi Arabia just as everywhere else, human beings prefer comfort to distress, satiety to hunger, respect to ostracism, mobility to imprisonment. These are facts of nature and they are quite properly the foundation not only of human experience but of human cosmology. We can imagine planets where beings have different priorities, but our planet happens to work this way, and everyone knows it.

Different groups of people do not have radically different views on the structure of the world. They say radically different things, but they do not believe them.

They perhaps believe that they believe them, but in this second-order belief they are mistaken.

If you sing Row, Row, Row Your Boat five times a day for several years you might come to imagine that “life is but a dream” is an article of faith for you personally. Asked whether you believe that life is a dream, you will answer, “Absolutely.” You might add, “I feel quite strongly about this.” But this would be incorrect. You have not acquired a belief, merely memorized a sentence. You do not believe strongly that life is but a dream. If you did, we would notice it in your behavior. For example, you might be willing to step off a cliff, confident that you would wake up before you hit the ground. But no one behaves that way, because no one really believes that life is a dream, no matter how many times they’ve sung that song. Perhaps some people used to, but if so, they did not live long and they left few descendants.

We all operate according to more or less the same cosmology, and therefore we all have more or less the same ethics. Everyone knows that hurting another person is bad; that, all else being equal, any person being happy is better than that same person being miserable; that, all else being equal, freeing slaves is better than taking slaves and so on. We all agree on these things. When people talk about the core values in the Bible, it is this shared cosmology they are referring to. “The basic stuff in there is all good: don’t lie, don’t kill, don’t cheat — stuff like that,” a friend told me. Yes, that’s the basic stuff we believe, and that’s why we figure it’s “in there,” though in that particular book it’s barely mentioned. People figure it must have the best ideas in it, because it’s supposed to be the best book. But isn’t thatkind of backwards?

The laws of the universe are not different in Riyadh from the way they are in Rochester. So why do these two cities have such different rules for how to be a good citizen? Because such different men are in charge.

The people in control in different places or different times can have totally different ideas of how to stay in control. I do not say, different ideas of what’s fair. They cannot have different ideas of what’s fair. Everyone knows what’s fair. We are talking about different approaches to staying in power, totally apart from what might or might not be fair. They are not interested in fair. Fairness does not come into it.

Music is illegal in Saudi Arabia, not because the citizens there believe that music would harm them; not because the men in charge believe that music would harm anyone; but because the men in charge believe that prohibiting music helps keep them in power. The prohibition is an instrument of oppression. They speak of it moralistically and enforce it mercilessly. It’s a time-honored double whammy: first short-circuit the brain with primeval images of angry gods; then short-circuit the body with swift violence. That’ll make them toe the line all right.

Most of us believe the same things about how the world is put together, and most of us believe the same actions to be good. We are led astray by powerful men chanting powerful slogans. They don’t even believe what they’re saying, and neither do we. But we adjust our behavior to the slogans (rather than the other way around) even so. The only way out, I think, is to keep remembering the real world we really live in, the real cosmology we all share, the real morality we all know. Not that we’ve been told, but that we know: that pleasure beats pain, happiness beats misery, freedom beats slavery, and helping beats hurting every single time. Any system or society that does not recognize such obvious facts is not moral but tyrannical.

In the philosophical tradition it is called utilitarianism, but this is an awfully frumpy name for such a beautiful idea.

Judge your actions by whether you’re being kind to other people. That’s it. That’s how you tell. You should be regular, plain old, garden-variety good to people – in other words, benevolent, compassionate, friendly, gentle, helpful, loving, neighborly, peaceable, sweet, sympathetic, tender, understanding, warm. If you want to know how to behave, that’s how. It really is that simple. Ethics is no more and no less than the study of how to make acts of kindness more likely, and acts of violence, less.

The persistent philosopher might insist, “Yes, but why do we prefer tenderness to harm?” Resisting the impulse to slap this addle-pated misanthrope upside the head, we can point to an even more fundamental principle. We want people to be happy. (And yes, I mean all of them.) Therefore the task of ethics is to consider how to get them to treat each other well, because in general it is other people who have the greatest effect on each person’s happiness.

Happiness or the lack thereof is as near an absolute and eternal principle as human beings will ever find. As Janet Radcliffe Richards puts it:

I take it as morally fundamental that suffering is intrinsically bad. Some people deny this; and if they persist in this denial after clarification (they usually turn out to mean that suffering can sometimes be instrumentally good – which is a quite different matter) there may be nothing more that argument can do. And if people really don’t think it is morally important to avoid or prevent suffering, I’m not sure what you can do with them except put them on a desert island with no people or animals, so that they can’t do any harm. [Quoted in Julian Baggini and Jeremy Stangroom (2003), What philosophers think, p.27.]

Will what you are about to do make who you’re about to do it to more happy, or less? That is the whole thing. The history of ethical philosophy is the history of attempts to evade this simple criterion – to invoke exceptions, exemptions, and loopholes. But there is no reasonable excuse for making others unhappy. We can’t prevent people from being mean, but we can refuse to be fooled when they claim that actually, they’re being nice, if we would just understand them properly. In most such cases we can reply confidently, “No, what you just did was not kind. After all, it’s not actually that hard to tell the difference.”