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Research on Foundations of Ethics
Coercion, Guidance and Mercifulness: The Different Influences of Ethics Programs on Decision-Making.(Business
Challenging Business Ethics: New Instruments for Coping with Diversity in International Business, the 12th Annual
EBEN Conference)(European Business Ethics Network) By: Andre Nijhof; r Olaf Fissche; Jan Kees Looise. .
Journal of Business Ethics, Sep 1, 2000, Vol. 27, Issue 1-2, p33
ABSTRACT
The involvement of developing countries in international clinical trials is necessary for the development of
appropriate medicines for local populations. However, the absence of appropriate structures for ethical review
represents a barrier for certain countries. Currently there is very little information available on existing structures
dedicated to ethics in western and central Africa. This article briefly describes historical milestones in the
development of networks dedicated to capacity building in ethical review in these regions and outlines the major
conclusions of two workshops on this issue, which were held in September and October 2002 in Libreville, Gabon,
and Paris, France. The workshops were the culmination of collaboration between the African Malaria Network Trust
(AMANET) and the Pan African Bioethics Initiative (PABIN). They produced an update on ethics organizations
with regard to mission, function, activities, members, and contact people, in eight countries within the regions
discussed. As a result of the commitment of mandated delegates, a further prominent outcome followed these
workshops: the creation of national structures, where none existed before, dedicated to the ethical review of clinical
trials.
The cultural and philosophical foundations of normative medical ethics. (XIIIth International Conference on the
Social Sciences and Medicine) By: T. Patrick Hill. . Social Science & Medicine, Nov 1, 1994, Vol. 39, Issue 9,
p1149
Thirty years ago, the idea that culture and philosophy could provide a foundation for normative medical ethics was
more easily entertained than it is today when the very notion of a norm, whether culturally, philosophically or
ethically derived, is in itself a problem. In large measure this comes from our contemporary embrace of cultural and
philosophical pluralism and an increasing tendency to exchange the difficult belief in abstract and universally
applicabl norms for the more accessible notion that ethical values are cultural and relative derivatives. Despite this,
in the face of the unprecedented ethical dilemmas presented by modern medicine, we have attempted to apply
traditional ethical norms and analysis to modern medicine to establish a consensus for its right practice.
Unfortunately, the attempt has not been successful, so that wherever we turn we find that ethical problems in
medicine remain intractable and unresolved. That, in turn, has prompted a certain skepticism about the efficacy of
ethics in medicine. In order to understand why we have reached this impasse, it is essential to realize that we have
seriously underestimated the way science and technology have informed and, as a consequence, transformed the
practice of medicine. Contributing to this, our tendency to think of technology simply as a way of doing things has
blinded us to the fact that it is more fundamentally a way of thinking, knowing and valuing. If this is the case, then
science and technology as ends in themselves, not merely as means to an end, as a type of human thinking,
understanding and valuing, will, I suggest, require a normative ethic derived and constructed differently in order to
determine good science from bad science, morally speaking. And if we continue to work with an ethical analysis
using norms derived from outside the process we will have nothing more to show for our efforts than a superficial
exercise in ethics. As we take the measure of our technological power in so may arenas, including medicine, we
have come to realize that ours is a civilization face to face with its own implications. Whether in the care of
neonates, genetic engineering or organ transplantation, we realize that our capacity is such that it increases the moral
density of everything we do. So unprecedented is this state of affair that despite our best efforts, we have not been
able to provide a satisfactory assessment of the moral density of medical science as we see it practised today The
only alternative in the face of this systematic failure is, I believe, an ethic for medicine derived from the activity of
medicine itself, and understood as something medicine as a process gives shape to and needs unconditionally if it is
to be practised ethically. Key words - normative, pluralism, positivism, moral density, technology as a wa of
thinking, truth as process
The philosophical foundations of human rights.Full Text Available By: Michael Freeman. . Human Rights
Quarterly, Aug 1, 1994, Vol. 16, Issue 3, p491-514, 24p
Abstract:
Human rights are based upon philosophical foundations that may or may not justify certain laws or actions.
Because human rights workers are dealing with seemingly concrete occurrences, they have little time to grapple with
such philosophical foundations. A consensus amongst nations as to the philosophical grounds upon which human
rights are based could lead to enforceable human rights legislation, according to people such as Jack Donnelly. The
problems inherent in seeking a philosophical basis for human rights, such as cultural relativism and the rights of the
individual versus the group, are discussed.
Full Text :
COPYRIGHT Johns Hopkins University Press 1994
1. THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHICAL FOUNDATIONS
The concept of human rights raises problems that are, on the one hand, practical and urgent, and, on the other hand,
theoretical and abstract. For human rights proponents and academics whose work is oriented towards activism, the
concept connotes the prevention of political murders, "disappearances," torture, and unjust imprisonment. The
concept of human rights also raises theoretical issues about the requirements of legitimate government and the
nature of the good life. It is widely recognized that these two dimensions of human rights work exist and should, in
principle, be integrated with one another. This integration, however, can prove difficult in practice. For activists, the
pressure of rescuing fellow human-beings from actual and imminent injustice relegates theoretical questions to a low
priority. Those who look to philosophers and political theorists for assistance may be disappointed, for the
theoretical disputation is inconclusive. Thus, there is a gap between human rights activism and theory.
The gap between human rights activism and theory can be bridged by consensus. If all, or most, relevant persons
agree upon the principles and practice of human rights, activism can proceed without much concern for fundamental
theory. Jack Donnelly has attempted to build a bridge of consensus between human rights activism and theory. He
has maintained that human rights in the contemporary world are universal in the sense that they are "almost
universally accepted - at least in word, or as ideal standards." There is, in his view, not only a consensus that human
rights exist, but also an enumeration of rights in international law. He admits that he cannot defend a particular list
of rights with direct philosophical arguments, but maintains that the actual consensus makes this problem
unimportant. Donnelly maintains that we can go a long way in dealing with most of the dominant, contemporary,
theoretical, and practical controversies "before issues of philosophical anthropology intrude decisively."
Strong forms of cultural relativism raise issues of philosophical anthropology. The doctrine of human rights, for
example, rests upon a certain conception of the "human being." Some cultures may not understand the concept
"human being," or, if they do, may not attach any moral significance to it. The domain of morality may be shaped by
a system of social stratification and by the boundaries of the community. However, Donnelly claims that such views
are "almost universally rejected in the contemporary world." For example, moral distinctions between insiders and
outsiders have been "seriously eroded" by a great increase in individual mobility and by "at least [an] aspirational
commitment to the idea of a universal human moral community." There is a striking cross-cultural consensus on
many of the values that human rights activism seeks to protect. Donnelly concedes that, logically, cross-cultural
consensus does not entail any additional force for a moral rule. He responds to this difficulty, however, by
maintaining that "most people" believe that such consensus adds force to the rule, so that radical relativism,
"although logically impeccable," is "in an important sense" morally defective. If a practice is nearly universal and
generally perceived as obligatory, that practice is "required of all members of the community." Verbal acceptance of
human rights by most states is a prima facie indication that the underlying moral vision is attractive.(1)
Donnelly's approach has three weaknesses. First, Donnelly concedes that the cultural-relativist objection to universal
human rights is logically impeccable." Second, he moves from consensus to moral obligation on the communitarian
ground that the moral beliefs of large majorities are binding on dissenting minorities. This is inconsistent with the
view usually held by human rights theorists, and accepted by Donnelly, that individuals and minorities are not
necessarily obliged to conform to the values of majorities. if Donnelly were to argue that this consensus is binding
because it is a consensus for human rights, he would have to provide a reason for allowing it to override the logic of
cultural relativism. Donnelly does offer a critique of cultural relativism, but fails to show why consensus, as such,
should override its supposedly impeccable logic.
The third weakness of Donnelly's argument lies in the qualifications he appends to his claim about consensus.
Human rights are "almost" universally accepted, "at least in word," or "as ideal standards." International human
rights law is "widely" accepted as "more or less" binding. The concept of a universal human moral community is "at
least [an] aspirational commitment." A strong commitment to human rights is almost universally proclaimed "even
where practice throws that commitment into question." In response to the argument that consensus exists only on a
limited set of "basic" rights, Donnelly does not reaffirm the supposed wider consensus, but expresses his
disappointment at the extent of contemporary human rights violations. Consequently, the practical consensus on
human rights is "often very shallow-merely verbal." Rights discourse has no point except when rights are threatened
or denied.(2) Based on this view, claims for rights presuppose some failure in consensus. The consensus argument
is, therefore, both empirically and logically weak. Indeed, it is the weakness of the practical consensus that
legitimates the appeal to the theoretical consensus.
Other philosophers and political theorists deal with the problems presented by Donnelly in differing ways. James
Nickel has more forcefully stated that there are practical and theoretical problems for human rights. It is very
doubtful, he believes, that "there is sufficient agreement worldwide to support anything like the full range of rights
declared in contemporary manifestos." All moralities may seek to protect certain fundamental interests such as
personal security by prohibiting, for example, murder and rape. Not all moralities, however, condemn racial
discrimination or respect freedom of conscience.(3) Underlying the supposed consensus on which Donnelly relies,
are those "decisive" issues of philosophical anthropology. There is certainly no consensus on these decisive issues.
Human rights activists might be able to ignore the disagreement among philosophers, if the philosophical doubts
about universal human rights were not available to violators of human rights. Loren Lomasky has argued that there
may be a consensus on rights without a consensus on their theoretical foundations, and the former may be attainable
while the latter may not be. Richard Rorty has maintained that the human rights cause needs passion and courage,
not reason and theory.(4) However, rights without reasons are vulnerable to denial and abuse. The human rights
struggle is certainly motivated by passion, but it is also influenced by argument. Evading the task of finding the best
grounding for human rights, in the face of philosophical skeptics and political opponents, demonstrates a lack of
intellectual responsibility. Donnelly himself is dissatisfied with the state of human rights theory. He believes that
direct philosophical defenses of particular lists of human rights are unconvincing. Currently, there is no adequate
theory of human rights, and there is a need for greater theoretical rigor.(5)
Impediments to human rights activism may be theoretical as well as practical. One familiar obstacle for human
rights activists is the doctrine of state sovereignty. When governments are accused of human rights violations, they
typically assert that their critics are interfering in the internal affairs of the society concerned. This counterclaim
rests upon the doctrine of state sovereignty which international law adopted from political theory. The
counterclaim may not be well-founded in international law, because human rights are now widely considered a
legitimate international concern. Nonetheless, the doctrine of state sovereignty raises the practical problem of
persuading governments to improve their human rights performance. This endeavor likewise leads to a theoretical
question about doctrinal force of state sovereignty.
Other examples might be cited to demonstrate that the obstacles to human rights activism may be both theoretical
and practical. Since the end of the Cold War there has been an increased salience of ethnic and nationalist conflicts
and the question of minority rights has once again dominated the international agenda. in the face of human rights
disasters, such as the collapse of Yugoslavia, the need to protect minority rights is clear. Nonetheless, the modern
theoretical tradition of human rights remains strongly individualistic. Some theorists argue that all collective rights,
including minority rights, must be reducible to individual rights. Others argue for a distinct set of group rights. This
dispute immediately raises the theoretical question of who can have human rights. Such an analysis in turn raises
ontological questions of which relevant entities exist, what properties they have, and which properties are necessary
and sufficient conditions for having human rights.(6)
Another example of the practical and theoretical obstacles to human rights activism concerns cultural relativism.
Although governments accused of human rights violations most often resort to the legal doctrine of state sovereignty
to deny the legitimacy of external criticism, this defense is commonly bolstered by some form of cultural relativism.
Cultural relativism underlies the assertion that external agents should not interfere with the internal affairs of nationstates on grounds of sovereignty. The philosophy of cultural relativism further asserts that outsiders are not
competent to solve problems that are internal to another culture. This allegation is often raised in support of the
argument that a particular interpretation of human rights, or even the basic notion of human rights, may be alien to a
particular culture. Such a culture, continues the argument, should not be judged by standards derived from external
sources. This extreme version of cultural relativism exceeds the boundaries of international law. Human rights
activists commonly appeal to international law to refute such relativist objections. But international law is not a
decisive foundation for the determined cultural relativist. After all, the doctrine of human rights can itself be used to
challenge positive law. Faced with a moral objection to international law, the human rights advocate should
respond with a moral argument. Underlying the conflict between moral universalism and cultural relativism is the
same issue of moral ontology raised by the question of minority rights. The standard liberal argument for human
rights is based upon both individualism and universalism, while the argument for cultural relativism typically
assigns moral status to some collective entity such as "culture" or "community." The question then raised is whether
the doctrine of human rights is "Western," not only as a matter of contingent historical fact, but also in the doctrine's
individualistic, ontological implications.(7)
Therefore, practical problems may rest on theoretical difficulties, and these difficulties may be rooted in
fundamental philosophical differences. The temptation is to develop a division of labor among human rights workers
and invite philosophers to elucidate "the philosophical foundations" of human rights.(8) Some philosophers deny,
however, the possibility of there being such foundations. Rorty, for example, has argued that the quest for secure
philosophical foundations of human rights practice, found above all in the Kantian tradition, is philosophically
doomed to fail and is practically useless.9 To avoid the charge of moral imperialism, human rights advocates must
vindicate the philosophical correctness of their position. To this end, human rights advocates may seek to excavate
the foundations of their beliefs, but the philosophical foundations they long for may be chimerical.
A number of arguments can be made against the assertion that human rights advocacy rests upon secure theoretical
foundations. It may be argued, for example, that the doctrine of human rights lacks a theoretical foundation because
no doctrine can have a theoretical foundation. If a doctrine D is justified by a supposed foundation F, it is logically
possible to call for a justification of F. Such a call presents the foundationalist with a dilemma. The foundationalist
may justify F by reference to something more fundamental (MF). This justification of F creates two problems.
Firstly, the foundationalist is conceding that F was not a foundation after all. Secondly, MF is vulnerable to the same
challenge, as will be any principles used to justify MF. The foundationalist faces a path of infinite regress.
Alternatively, the foundationalist may insist that F is a foundational principle and therefore cannot be justified by
anything else. In this case, the foundationalist justifies D by reference to F, but concedes that F is not justifiable. F is
a foundation for D, but not a secure, well-justified foundation. A foundationalist theory, not based on a secure
foundation, appears dogmatic. The dilemma for the foundationalist then is whether to disappear down a road of
infinite regress or to stand firm on a dogma.
The anti-foundationalist argument may ultimately prove too much, in that it may attack the possibility of
foundations for all beliefs whatsoever. According to foundationalists, human rights doctrine is no more threatened
than the most well-founded beliefs we have. The doctrine is secure for practical purposes because we have to act on
certain beliefs. In addition, radical anti-foundationalism is a logical weapon that can be turned on itself. If no beliefs
are securely founded, anti-foundationalist beliefs themselves are not securely founded. Those whose primary
concern is with the practical problems of human rights violations can consign the radical antifoundationalists to
some suitable philosophical ivory tower where they may debate their own paradoxical doctrine.
Another variant of anti-foundationalism consists of undermining particular foundationalist arguments.
Foundationalism is sometimes said, for example, to presuppose the false metaphysical doctrine of "essentialism."
Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe, in an analysis of the concept of "oppression," reject the anthropological
assumption of "human nature" and of a unified subject with an essence knowable a priori, such that every relation of
subordination which denies this essence automatically becomes a relation of oppression. In their view, subordination
can be constructed as oppression only in terms of a "discursive formation" such as "the rights inherent to every
human being."(10) However, the construction of a particular form of subordination - such as slavery - as a violation
of human rights, raises the question of how this construction may be justified. Laclau maintains that there can be no
answer to such a question prior to belief. The political theorist must presuppose certain beliefs and values. Such
beliefs and values are contingent historical facts. Rationalism gives us "humanity" and leaves us with the secondary
task of realizing it historically. But "humanity" is "an entity to be constructed." We should, therefore, recognize that
the "universality" of our values is a precarious, pragmatic, and non-necessary construction. Laclau claims that this is
a renunciation of the rationalistic, epistemological, and ontological foundations of enlightenment values and that it
expands the democratic potentialities of that tradition and abandons its totalitarian tendencies."(11)
Laclau's answer does not, however, address the question of the justifiability of human rights. Human rights beliefs
and values may be contingent historical facts but this is true of all beliefs and values. Asserting human rights as
contingent historical facts does nothing to justify democracy or human rights. "Humanity" may be an idea to be
constructed, but this principle cannot distinguish better from worse constructions. Laclau conflates the political
precariousness to which all ideas are subject with their rational status, which would determine whether they should
be overthrown or defended. The anti-essentialist strategy for the promotion of democracy and human rights is not
even pragmatically plausible, for it leaves these doctrines bereft of convincing arguments. Faced with oppressive
governments and their cultural relativist apologists, the doctrine that human rights is a precarious historical
contingency is a gift to tyrants. Laclau's position is similar to Rorty's because both believe that there are no
theoretical foundations for human rights. According to them, our prejudices are all that we have and there is no
point in regretting that we lack what we cannot have. Both Rorty and Laclau believe that there is no reason not to
fight for our beliefs; nonetheless, in their view, there is no strong reason to do so.
There are other arguments against foundationalism. Foundational concepts may be thought to be "essentially
contested": not only are they constantly challenged, but there is furthermore no logical method for resolving
disputes conclusively.(12) Foundational concepts may be culturally "relative."(13) Foundational concepts may also
have an inherently unstable meaning. Modern human rights theory began with John Locke's claim that we have
certain natural rights because we have been made by God to last during his, not our own pleasure.(14) The United
Nations, in proclaiming its Universal Declaration of Human Rights, did not, however, refer to God, presumably
because "God" had become an essentially contested concept. Anti-foundationalism proceeds, at least in part, on the
premise of the death of God. A further project of anti-foundationalism is to disallow God-substitutes, such as
Reason, Nature, etc. The difficulty facing human rights theorists is that they have three options: 1) to favor
foundationalism and seek to derive human rights from God or a God-substitute; 2) to accept the anti-foundationalist
case and expose the concept of human rights to the vagaries of contingency; or 3) to find a third way. None of these
options promises to provide a convincing justificatory argument.
The anti-foundationalist approach to human rights does not reject the validity of the human rights doctrine, but only
the claim that its validity has a foundation deeper than the beliefs and values of human rights supporters. An entirely
different argument is the assertion that human rights doctrine is not simply "contingent" or "relative" but false. The
contrast between these two arguments is illustrated by the differing theories of Richard Rorty and Alasdair
Maclntyre. Rorty objects to attempts to provide human rights with theoretical foundations on the grounds that no
such foundations can be "absolutely" or "objectively" true. According to Rorty, "truth" is based on perspectives and
there is no super-perspective to justify one perspective over another. Thus, any supposed theoretical foundation for
human rights would be perspective-relative and therefore not "foundational" in the required sense.(15) MacIntyre, in
contrast, rejects the very concept of human rights. "The best reason for asserting ... that there are no [human] rights
is indeed of precisely the same type as the best reason which we possess for asserting that there are no witches and
the best reason which we possess for asserting that there are no unicorns: every attempt to give good reasons for
believing that there are such rights has failed."(16) MacIntyre thus differs from Rorty and Laclau, who reject the
possibility of rationalistic foundations for human rights, but nonetheless believe it is possible to give reasons for
supporting the human rights struggle. Maclntyre treats the belief in human rights as an ontological error, while Rorty
and Laclau treat it as a commitment to norms of conduct derived from contingent values.
The difference between these two approaches is discernable in MacIntyre's critique of Ronald Dworkin's defense of
fundamental rights.(17) According to MacIntyre, Dworkin concedes that the existence of human rights cannot be
demonstrated and yet insists that it does not follow from the fact that a statement cannot be demonstrated that it is
not true. MacIntyre admits that this argument is valid, but maintains that it could also be used to defend assertions
about unicorns and witches.(18) MacIntyre, however, confuses Dworkin's argument in two ways. First, Dworkin
was not discussing the "existence" of human rights but the legal rights that parties have in "hard cases."(19) Second,
Dworkin's solution to this problem could not be used to defend claims about unicorns and witches. Dworkin
suggests that the supposition that one side in a hard legal case may be right and the other wrong" is cemented into
our habits of thought at a level so deep that we cannot coherently deny that supposition."(20) This argument for
right answers in hard cases is related to his argument that individual rights "trump" collective goal.(21) Both
individual rights and collective goals are rooted in the deep levels of our habits of thought.
The target of MacIntyre's argument is natural or human rights. Therefore, it is surprising that he ignores Dworkin's
account of natural rights. The context in which Dworkin's account is presented is a discussion of Rawls' theory of
justice. Dworkin claims that the deep theory behind Rawls' device of "the original position" must be rights-based. It
must, he says, be a theory that is based on the concept of rights that are natural, in the sense that they are not the
product of legislation, convention, or hypothetical contract. Dworkin admits that the phrase "natural rights" has, for
many people, "disqualifying metaphysical associations." Such people believe that "natural rights are supposed to be
spectral attributes worn by primitive men like amulets, which they carry into civilization to ward off tyranny."(22)
This "spectral" conception resembles MacIntyre's view about what a belief in natural or human rights entails.
In opposition to this "spectral" conception of natural rights, Dworkin proposes a constructive model. The origin of
this model is beliefs about justice that we hold because they seem right, not because we have deduced or inferred
them from other beliefs. Based on this model, we may believe that slavery is unjust. When we argue about justice,
we test theories of justice against these intuitions, as Rawls' technique of "reflective equilibrium" suggests.(23)
Dworkin offers two models of this technique. The first, which he calls the "natural" model, asserts that theories of
justice describe an objective moral reality. They are not created by men or societies but are rather discovered by
them. The second, the "constructive" model, treats intuitions of justice not as clues to the existence of independent
principles, but rather as stipulated features of a general theory to be constructed. The constructive model does not
assume, as the natural model does, that principles of justice have some fixed, objective existence, so that
descriptions of these principles must be true or false. It assumes rather that we should fit the particular judgments on
which we act into a coherent program of action.(24)
The constructive model of natural rights is then not metaphysically ambitious. It requires only the hypothesis that
the best political program within the model treats the protection of certain individual choices as fundamental and not
as subordinate to any goal, duty, or combination of these. This requires an ontology no more dubious than any other
fundamental concepts would provide. To say that rights are natural is to postulate that rights are not only derived
from legislation or social custom, but are also independent grounds for judging legislation and custom. On the
constructive model, the assumption that rights are in this sense natural, is an assumption to be examined for its
power to unite and explain our political convictions.(25)
The argument of Dworkin is therefore similar to those of Rorty and Laclau. MacIntyre misses his target, and the
target he misses is a non-foundationalist defense of rights. Paradoxically, Dworkin's apparently strong defense of
fundamental rights is more threatening to the doctrine of human rights than is MacIntyre's attack. Our reasons for
believing that individuals have human rights are quite different from the reasons for believing that there are witches
or unicorns. Dworkin, however, derives his defense of rights from "our" habits of thought and political convictions
and he provides no arguments against the cultural relativist, since he is one himself.(26) Dworkin's use of the phrase
"natural rights" for his constructivist model is misleading from both a historical and an ontological point of view. It
is more precise to say that Dworkinian rights are constructed rather than natural.
The contemporary human rights doctrine poses a striking paradox. On the one hand, it consists of a well established
set of international moral and legal standards. On the other hand, human rights doctrine either is not or cannot be
theoretically founded. We have seen that it is not the hostile attack of MacIntyre, but rather the supportive theories
of Rorty, Laclau, and Dworkin that call into question the universalist claims of the doctrine. This doctrine is, from
their view, practically required but theoretically unfounded. Actions to protect human rights are actions taken on
principle, but the principles upon which they proceed lack rational foundation. Rorty and Laclau believe that this
problem is insoluble but that this should not inhibit action.
However, there are serious practical objections to the plan proposed by Rorty and Laclau. The problem of human
rights theory arises primarily from conflict between the moral, legal, and political claims of the doctrine and the
actions of governments in violation of the doctrine. Those who violate the doctrine can and often do appeal precisely
to the contingent and culturally relative character of moral beliefs. Rorty believes that human rights practice does
not require a meta-ethical theory.(27) But his own clear advocacy of human rights action presupposes the metaethical theory that we should act according to our own convictions, since we can do nothing else.(28) The problem
with anti-foundationalist arguments for human rights is that their meta-ethical theory, which approximates cultural
relativism, is the same as that of the opponents of human rights. The problem for human rights theory is that it needs
what some of its philosophical friends claim is impossible - a meta-ethical foundation which can "trump" cultural
relativism. The task for human rights theory is to inquire whether it has more solid foundations than the theories so
far considered can provide.
2. THE GROUNDS OF HUMAN RIGHTS
In arguing for human rights, Donnelly eschews philosophical foundations in favor of de facto international
consensus. Donnelly's position is similar to Laclau's because both agree that human rights beliefs and values are
historically contingent. Neither the concept of contingency nor that of consensus is theoretically or practically useful
for human rights work. Donnelly maintains, however, that the contingency of human rights is consistent with a
conception of human rights as universal moral rights.(29) His argument for this thesis merits close attention.
Donnelly does not rely only on the fact of international consensus to support the prescriptions of the human rights
doctrine. Donnelly believes that international consensus is morally valid and he defends it without the aid of the
philosophical anthropology that both he and Laclau reject. Even though he jettisons this support because he believes
it to be unreliable, he cannot quite leave it alone. Human rights, he argues, are based on a conception of human
nature, but we should first distinguish two different conceptions of human nature. According to the first conception,
human needs define the human nature that gives rise to human rights. This approach is not helpful, he suggests,
because the concept of "human needs" is almost as obscure as that of "human nature." Human needs are obscure
because science gives us a very limited set of needs. If we look beyond science, the concept of "needs" assumes a
metaphorical or moral meaning, which leads us back to philosophical disputes about human nature. To understand
the source of human rights, therefore, we must turn to philosophy.
Donnelly's argument in favor of philosophy is puzzling. Donnelly says that, in the search for the "source" of human
rights, what he calls "the pseudo-scientific dodge of needs" does not suffice. But he proposes no argument against
the relevance of scientific accounts of human needs to the construction of human rights theory except for the
unsubstantiated claim that science gives us a very limited set of needs. He gives no reasons why the set of needs
derived from science is not relevant to the concept of human rights, nor does he explain what he means by "pseudoscientific," nor why an appeal to human needs is a "dodge." Notwithstanding his reluctance to rely on philosophical
anthropology, it is to philosophy rather than to human needs that he says we must turn in our quest for the source of
human rights.
The source of human rights, Donnelly affirms, is man's moral nature. This is linked only loosely to the human nature
defined by scientifically ascertainable needs. Human rights are needed not for life but for a life of dignity, that is,
for a life worthy of a human being. Human rights arise from the inherent dignity of the human person. The human
nature that grounds human rights is "a moral posit" that is to say, "a moral account of human possibility." The
scientific account of human nature sets the bounds of human possibilities. The moral nature that grounds human
rights is a social selection from these possibilities. It specifies a level beneath which we may not permit ourselves to
fall. Human rights represent a social choice of a particular moral vision of human potentiality, which rests on a
particular substantive account of the minimum requirements of a life of dignity. Thus, human nature is a social
project as much as it is a presupposition. The human nature underlying human rights combines natural, social,
historical, and moral elements.(30)
A philosophically defensible list of human rights, therefore, must be derived from a moral account of human nature,
which in turn must be philosophically defended. Donnelly does not offer such a philosophical defense for two
reasons - which he does not clearly distinguish between, but which are significantly different. The first is that this is
a task beyond his scope. The second is that it would require solutions to the problems of philosophical anthropology,
which he apparently finds intractable. What Donnelly offers instead is an indirect justification of a list of human
rights by showing that it rests on a plausible and attractive account of human nature. He concedes that, if there were
competing and contradictory lists of human rights confronting either philosophers or politicians, his inability to
defend a particular theory of human nature might be a serious shortcoming. He believes himself fortunate to have
been rescued from this philosophical embarrassment by the international consensus on the list of human rights.
This consensus is based on a plausible and attractive theory. This argument is, however, circular. The consensus is
based on the theory. The theory is not defensible, but, to Donnelly, this is not a defect because there is a consensus.
The circularity of this argument is vicious because Donnelly himself admits that both consensus and theory are
weak.(31)
Donnelly's difficulties derive from his ambivalent attitude toward philosophical anthropology. Philosophical
anthropologies, he says, are more like axioms than theorems; they are starting points that are more assumed, or at
best indirectly defended, than they are the results of a philosophical argument. Most philosophical anthropologies do
not afford persuasive justification for human rights. Direct philosophical justifications of a particular list of human
rights are therefore not likely to be compelling. Donnelly does not support this view of philosophical anthropology
with arguments, and consequently his argument is not very plausible. He cites Kant's moral ontology as an example,
but does not say why he believes that this was not the result of philosophical argument. It is also puzzling that he
objects to some philosophical anthropologies on the grounds that they are indirectly defended, while he himself
offers an indirect justification of human rights. His solution to the problems posed by philosophical anthropology is
to claim that his account of human rights is compatible with many but not all theories of human nature.
Donnelly's theory is weakened by its inability to defend, directly and in detail, a substantive theory of human nature,
which would specify a precise and determinate source of human rights. This failure leaves his theory dangerously
abstract and even empty. His theory does not provide a comprehensive philosophical account of human rights, but
rather an analytic theory of the concept of human rights. Donnelly's argument is descriptive, not normative. It seeks
principally to describe and explain how human rights "as they are usually understood today" actually work in
contemporary social relations. This analytical theory explains how a comprehensive philosophical justification for
human rights could be accomplished, but provides little substantive guidance for carrying out such a justification.
This is a shortcoming of Donnelly's theory, but it is "almost unavoidable."(32)
Donnelly does not give a consistent account of his own project and its justification. On one hand, he says that his
theory is analytic and not normative. On the other hand, he argues that his inability to defend a particular theory of
human nature might be "a serious shortcoming" were it not for an international consensus based on a plausible and
attractive theory of human nature. At one point the absence of a theory of human nature is justified on the ground
that the project is not normative, but analytic, and here the international consensus is the object of analysis rather
than a ground of justification. At another point the consensus plays a justifying role supported by "a plausible and
attractive theory of human nature." Donnelly contradicts himself on two central points. First, he denies that his
theory is normative but is clearly trying to marshal normative considerations in its favor. Second, he claims that his
theory is compatible with many accounts of human nature but also maintains that the international consensus is
based on a particular theory of human nature.(33)
Notwithstanding his claim that he need not rely on a particular account of human nature, Donnelly is committed to
the view that the source of human rights is man's moral nature. This is linked, albeit "loosely," to what he considers
the scientific conception of human nature. This conception of moral-scientific human nature has normative
implications as indicated by the fact that Donnelly holds it to be the basis of human rights, which are needed for a
life "worthy of a human being." The ground of human rights is a conception of human nature which postulates that
dignity is inherent in the human person. This postulation is a social choice. It is a particular substantive account of
the minimum requirements of a life of dignity. Donnelly clearly relies on a particular conception of human nature,
despite his own explicit denials, but the status of this conception is less clear. Is this conception an analytical and
descriptive account of the ground of the contemporary concept of human rights? Or is it a conception that Donnelly
not only describes but also endorses as "plausible and attractive"? If the former, Donnelly does not normatively
justify the concept of human rights. If the latter, his normative theory rests on a postulation of inherent dignity that is
neither justified nor explained.
Donnelly's approach to the theory of human rights is vulnerable to the criticism that Charles Taylor has made of all
moral philosophies that descend from the radical Enlightenment. Taylor maintains that high standards need strong
sources because if the sources are unknowable, then the resultant philosophy is self-concealing and parasitic. The
philosophy is parasitic because it relies on its adversaries for its own moral force and on those previous accounts of
the good which it calls into question but cannot replace.(34) Donnelly bases his conception of human rights on the
"moral posit" of the dignity inherent in the human person, while refusing to acknowledge any particular account of
human nature. The consensus to which he appeals has no moral force unless this posit has moral force. Donnelly
tells us that the moral posit is plausible and attractive, but he does not tell us why. Without a supporting account of
human nature, Donnelly is incapable of explaining the attraction.
Donnelly believes that the concept of human rights and any list of human rights are historically specific and
contingent. Conceptions of human rights change because conceptions of human dignity, of the subjects of human
rights, and of the threats to human dignity, all change.(35) Alan Gewirth, by contrast, holds that human rights are
based not on contingent values but on necessary truths. He derives this thesis from his conception of morality.
Different moral precepts, he argues, require different and specific modes of action. All moral precepts, however,
presuppose that the intent of the persons who advance them is to guide the persons to whom they are directed to act
according to the precepts. Thus, all moral precepts deal directly or indirectly with how people ought to act. Morality
presupposes that those to whom its precepts are addressed can control their actions through their own choices. Moral
people can attempt to achieve the ends prescribed by such precepts or they can intentionally refrain from complying
with the precepts. From this it follows that action, in the sense that it is relevant to moral precepts, has two invariant,
interrelated generic features: voluntariness or freedom, and purposiveness or intentionality. Action provides the
necessary content of all morality and the generic features of action give content to action. Morality, therefore, has a
necessary content, which is to be found in action and its generic features.(36)
Action is defined, in the context of morality, as purposive and voluntary. Thus, agents necessarily regard their
purposes as good. Agents must value not only their purposes but also the generic features of action, for they regard
as good that which is necessary to successful purposive action. People act for different purposes, but the generic
requisites for successful purposive action are universal. Action is a means of attaining something the agent regards
as good. The agent regards as a necessary good the voluntariness or freedom that is a necessary feature of action, for
without this, the agent would not be able to act for any purpose or good at all.
The thesis that agents regard their freedom as a necessary good is not contradicted by the fact that some people
reject their ability to make choices by placing themselves under the control of some individual or collective
authority. Such persons remain agents so long as they control their actions and they regard this control as good
insofar as it is necessary to achieve their ends. They are agents at the point at which they give up this control and
they are potential agents so long as they can resume control of their actions. However, if they surrender control of
their actions permanently, they cease to be agents and therefore subjects of morality. Gewirth believes such cases are
pathological because, empirically, they generally occur when a person's ability to obtain the minimal necessities
required for agency is so severely threatened that the surrender of freedom is preferred. Such a threat may arise
either from adverse social conditions or from individual life histories marked by insecurity and dependence. Thus, it
remains true that agents value their freedom as a necessary good so long as the possibility of successful purposive
action remains.(37)
Agents value their generic purposiveness as a necessary good. It follows that agents regard as good those basic
conditions of their well-being that are proximate and necessary to the performance of their actions. These basic
goods comprise certain physical and psychological dispositions ranging from life and physical integrity to mental
equilibrium and a feeling of confidence. The general capabilities of action are necessary goods for all purposive
agents.(38)
Freedom and well-being are therefore necessary goods for all agents. These goods do not serve all particular
purposes, but they are necessary for a life of purposive agency. It logically follows, Gewirth maintains, that agents
believe that they have rights to these goods. Agents must claim, against all other agents, the right of noninterference
with their freedom and well-being by virtue of its being required for all their purposive actions. Such a claim to
one's rights is implicit in agency itself because to be an agent is to will certain ends. To will certain ends entails the
freedom and well-being to attempt attainment of those ends. To will such freedom and well-being is to will that
others not interfere with them. To have such a will is to claim the right to freedom and well-being against others.
The grounds to which agents appeal, in order to justify their having the rights to freedom and well-being, are not
moral because they do not refer to the most important interests of other persons. The grounds agents use to justify
their rights are prudential because there are agency needs for those who claim rights. Though prudential, the claim is
not necessarily egoistic, because the reasons for which freedom and well-being are demanded may be altruistic.
Gewirth claims, contrary to the views of Maclntyre and Donnelly, that the concept of rights is not modern. All
societies recognize the rights of some persons, though not all societies recognize that all persons have equal rights.
Even in societies in which effective rights are denied to some persons, all actual or prospective agents necessarily
make implicit claims to prudential rights to freedom and well-being. Claims to rights are trans-historical because
they are grounded in the general requirements of action. Action entails purpose. Purpose entails judgment as to the
good. Judgment as to the good entails claims of right for that which is necessary to attain the good. Therefore, rights
are necessarily, rather than contingently, connected with being human insofar as agency is characteristically human.
Prudential human rights must, however, be universalized to all agents. Each agent claims the right to freedom and
well-being by virtue of the requisites of agency. Accordingly, each agent is logically committed to recognizing that
all actual and prospective agents have these rights. Agency, the presupposition of morality, is therefore the ground
for universal moral rights.
Thus, we have now arrived at the basis of human rights. For the generic rights to freedom and well-being are moral
rights, requiring that every agent recognize the most important interests of all other prospective agents, namely, the
interests grounded in their needs for basic conditions of agency. These generic rights are also human rights, since
every human being is an actual, prospective, or potential agent. (39)
The concept of human rights is therefore grounded in the fundamental idea that human lives can and should have
value, and that they acquire value only through purposive, voluntary actions. Agents act because they believe that
their purposes are good. They may be wrong according to certain criteria external to their own judgments. They may
change their minds and conclude that they were wrong. They may be perplexed. They may despair. They may
believe themselves to be faced with a choice among evils. Nonetheless, to act is to will, and to will is to hold a
certain purpose to be good. A good life is one in which good purposes are, on the whole, successfully achieved.(40)
Gewirth objects to the argument that persons have moral rights because they have inherent dignity on the ground
that such an argument is tautological. Such "descriptions" are normative and therefore are neither more nor less
plausible than the assertion they are supposed to justify. The concept of "dignity" is abstract and its meaning
contestable. The ultimate purpose of human rights is to secure for each person a certain fundamental moral status, to
enable persons to be rational, autonomous agents, to control their own lives, to develop themselves, to pursue and
sustain effectively their purposes without being subject to domination and harm from others, and to relate to other
persons on a basis of mutual respect and cooperation. All agents value their purposes because agents are the source
of the value of their purposes, and they must themselves have value. Persons therefore have dignity by virtue of their
agency. Agency is both a metaphysical and a moral basis for human dignity.(41)
The basic objects of human rights are those goods that are necessary for the very possibility of action and successful
action. They are therefore not contingent upon one's variable choices or decisions. No person can rationally deny
either the necessary goods or the consequent human rights. Human beings have human rights by virtue of their
nature as actual or prospective agents. Whatever else may be demanded of moral rules and principles, their minimal
point is to require that persons' rights to the necessary conditions of action be protected. Without such requirements,
other provisions of a morality would lack foundations. The goods, interests, utilities, or duties with which morality
concerns itself would exclude requirements that must be presupposed by all others in the actions, institutions, or
states of character with which they deal. Normative necessity is therefore a distinctive feature of human rights.(42)
Gewirth's theory is both rational and systematic. He believes that these qualities are necessary grounds of its truth,
absent a moral dilemma or tragic choice. Human rights, it is generally agreed, may conflict with other human rights
or with other values. Dworkin asserts that rights trump collective goals, although he concedes that it is difficult to
distinguish satisfactorily between rights and goals. Donnelly, apparently following Dworkin, conceives of rights as
"ordinarily' trumping utility, social policy, and other moral and political grounds for action. Gewirth insists that a
human right may be overridden only by another human right when the object of the latter is more necessary for
action than the object of the former. A right may be overridden by the general welfare only if the latter is composed
of the rights of individuals. Gewirth's test for overriding rights is apparently stricter and clearer than those of
Dworkin and Donnelly, but it provides guidance only in very general terms as to how conflicts between rights
should be resolved.(43)
Gewirth argues that human rights can be derived from the concept of morality itself. Morality entails action. Action
entails necessary goods. Necessary goods entail claims of prudential rights. Prudential rights entail recognition of
universal human moral rights. MacIntyre disputes the move from the necessary goods of action to rights. He argues
that necessary goods differ from rights in that the latter presuppose, as the former do not, the existence of a
historically contingent and specific set of socially established rules. Rights are therefore not universal. MacIntyre
accepts Gewirth's argument that the existence of a language of rights, though a recent innovation, is not necessary
for the embodiment of the concept of rights in action. MacIntyre disagrees with Gewirth to the extent that MacIntyre
believes that the existence of particular types of social institutions or practice are necessary for the concept of rights
to be intelligible, and that such institutions and practices are not universal. Thus, under MacIntyre's theory, the
concept of rights does not depend completely on agency.(44)
At the heart of the dispute between Gewirth and MacIntyre is Gewirth's assertion that implicit claims to rights are
universal and MacIntyre's counter assertion that intelligible claims to rights are not universal. The resolution of this
issue depends on whether human rights are necessary or contingent. Donnelly agrees with MacIntyre on the question
of contingency. This leaves the moral force of the human rights concept dependent upon a dubious consensus and a
conception of human dignity, which is itself contingent and changing. Donnelly claims to have demonstrated that
the contingency of the concept of human rights is completely compatible with a conception of human rights as
universal moral rights. Donnelly therefore argues for Gewirthian universality on the basis of MacIntyrian
contingency. This argument would be rejected by Gewirth, who denies contingency, and MacIntyre, who denies
universality. Donnelly needs his contingent universality to defeat opposition to human rights on the ground of
cultural relativism(45)
Is Gewirth's theory of necessary universality defensible? MacIntyre poses several questions for Gewirth. Is the
concept of human rights universally intelligible? MacIntyre is surely correct in answering this question negatively,
because, as Donnelly points out, the required meaning of the concept of human being is not universally intelligible.
Can a concept of right be implicit in action even if it is not intelligible? Gewirth answers affirmatively, but
MacIntyre again argues correctly that human beings cannot implicitly claim rights in circumstances in which they
cannot understand the meaning of such claims. For example, whether x (e.g., necessary goods) implies y (e.g.,
claims to rights) depends on rules of implication. Such rules are MacIntyrian social practices or are the "discursive
formations" of Laclau and Mouffe and therefore socially specific and historically contingent. As a consequence,
Gewirth's claim of universal necessity fails.
Gewirth derives his conclusion that human rights are universal from two concepts which he assumes have a
universal meaning and applicability: morality and reason. Morality is the object of his analysis; reason its method.
Gewirth has a conception of morality, as a set of categorical obligations for all agents, which he claims, without
demonstration, is the "core meaning" of all human moralities. His conception of reason includes only the canons of
deductive and inductive logic. He justifies this conception on the ground that, because deduction achieves logical
necessity and induction reflects what is empirically ineluctable, they are the only sure ways of attaining a truth that
reflects the requirements of the subject matter. One may ask for justification of religious beliefs or social traditions,
and such justifications must make use of reason.(46) Gewirth admits that difficulties may be raised concerning the
justification of deduction and induction, but does not explore the implications of such difficulties for the status of
his moral theory.
It is this failure of Gewirth to which MacIntyre implicitly refers in his objection to the principle of universality.
Gewirth's conception of reason treats ontology and epistemology as if they were not problematic. Donnelly correctly
notes that the theory of human rights presupposes a moral ontology in which human persons not only exist but have
special value. Such an ontology is not universal. In its absence, the MacIntyrian problem of the intelligibility of
human rights arises. Even if this problem could be solved, the canons of deduction and induction would not yield the
same results among different people whose cultures give them different basic descriptions of the world. Induction,
according to Gewirth, is based on sense perceptions. But sense perceptions have meaning only when interpreted by a
cultural code. Thus, even if we assume that reason consists only of deduction and induction, and there is no
philosophical consensus on this, Gewirthian reason could not produce necessary moral rules.
Gewirth's theory is a monistic conception of morality and of human rights. Donnelly argues for universalism
without monism. He acknowledges that in traditional communities, individuals lack most of the rights that are
valued in liberal democracies. However, many of the interests that are protected by the institutionalization of
individual human rights may be socially protected in such communities. It is even possible that the introduction of
individual human rights into traditional communities would reduce their members' chances of achieving lives of
dignity. Donnelly is willing to consider that the traditional society, which offers community and security in place of
the autonomy and freedom provided by liberal societies, has a superior conception of human dignity. He emphasizes
lists of human rights, and especially the rights contained in the International Bill of Human Rights. These lists
presuppose a certain social form, which is not universal. For example, the right to join a trade union is not necessary
in a society in which trade unions are not required to protect important interests. In addition, the individual right to
own property may threaten the dignity and well-being of many members of societies traditionally based on
collective property rights. Donnelly's case for contingent universal human rights is based on the sociological claim
that the social form, presupposed by international human rights norms, is now virtually universal.(47) Gewirth's
case for necessary universal human rights is weakened by the possibility of a plurality of trade-offs between
freedom and well-being, none of which is logically necessary. Gewirth's theory is also weakened by the fact that it
requires a conception of human rights different from the familiar one embodied in the International Bill of Human
Rights if it is to have even a prima facie plausibility for societies organized in ways that differ significantly from the
modern industrial nation-state.
3. CONCLUSIONS: IMPLICATIONS FOR PRACTICE
Although this discussion has been very abstract, it may be helpful to recall its practical importance. Human rights
activists, in their struggle for the protection of human rights, face political difficulties that raise issues of theoretical
justification. These include claims of state sovereignty, cultural autonomy, and group rights. Such problems cannot
always be solved by an appeal to law, either because the law is silent, ambiguous, or inapplicable, or the results of
the law are morally and politically questionable. The right to self-determination is an example of a legal right which
raises more questions than it answers. In the face of such difficulties, some hope that a clarification of the
philosophical foundations' of human rights will solve the theoretical problems and thereby indicate how practical
problems ought to be solved.
Unfortunately, there are no uncontested philosophical foundations of human rights. There are, however, two basic
approaches to the questions concerning the foundations of human rights. The first approach emphasizes
contingency, construction, and relativity. Laclau and Mouffe, Rorty, Dworkin, MacIntyre, and Donnelly all adopt
some form of this approach. Although adopted by these theorists, this approach has diverse implications for human
rights theory. MacIntyre is hostile to the concept of human rights. Laclau, Rorty, and Dworkin support human rights
on the basis of a prerational commitment to liberal culture. Donnelly endorses the particular list of rights in
international texts on the grounds that they are required to protect human dignity under modern conditions. All
these theorists hold that under different conditions different lists of rights, different conceptions of human rights, or
even quite different moral concepts might properly be defended.
The second approach locates objective foundations for human rights in reason and morality. The doctrine of human
rights is objectively and universally true. This is a position supported by Gewirth. This position has its weaknesses
and it does not necessarily provide determinative answers to the questions that prompted the inquiry into
philosophical foundations. If, for example, a state restricted freedom of speech on the grounds of national security,
Gewirth might find that the rights to freedom and well-being are in conflict. His theory does not provide a way to
balance the conflict between rights to freedom and well-being. Conceivably, no theory may provide determinate
solutions to such problems, but, even if this is so, Gewirth's theory loses its supposed necessary force as we move
from abstract to concrete questions.
The contingency and constructivist approaches are alarming because human rights are reduced from universal values
to either arbitrary products of power or particular cultural developments. It is precisely this arbitrariness that
Gewirth seeks to avoid through an appeal to reason. Unfortunately, Gewirth's solution requires a universal
conception of reason, which is not available. Thus, the search for the philosophical foundations of human rights,
which was intended to solve theoretical and practical problems, paradoxically calls into question the rationality of
the concept. This result is good news for tyrants and is counter-intuitive for human rights supporters. Donnelly tries
to establish foundations for human rights upon the concept of human dignity, but he admits that the concept itself is
subject to contingency and therefore is not readily defensible. Considering the problems that theorists encounter,
what, then, is to be done?
Joseph Raz suggests that in practical terms the specific role of rights is to ground duties in the interests of others.
Assertions of rights are typically intermediate conclusions that exist between ultimate values and duties. Raz agrees
with Dworkin that a consensus on intermediate conclusions about rights is constituted by particular cultures. Raz
differs from Gewirth in holding that ultimate values are characterized by haziness and disagreement. Rights are
grounded in interests and the interests that ground rights must themselves be grounded in the problematic ultimate
values. However, Raz does not hold that ultimate values are arbitrary. To say that something is of ultimate value is
not to say that it cannot be justified; rather, it is to indicate that its value is not derived from its contribution to
something else.
The foundations for human rights can now be established through a formula. The foundations will be created by
accepting the challenge of philosophical anthropology rejected by Donnelly, by reformulating Gewirth's thesis and
by combining these with Raz's epistemology. The result will then be shaped by a moral axiom proposed by
Dworkin. Gewirth's thesis is that human beings are purposive agents and as such they require at least minimal levels
of physical and psychological well-being and freedom. Gewirth's thesis is both a descriptive anthropological axiom
and a stipulated interpretation of what it means to be human.
Well-being and freedom are also Razian ultimate values. According to Raz, well-being and freedom are not valued
for their contribution to something else but because they are constitutive of human persons. Such values are
contingent, in the sense that it is not logically necessary to hold such values. One could, without logical error, assign
no value to human life. Such values are not arbitrary, however, because they are presupposed by a wide range of
cultures. This argument garners greater force, if, following Donnelly, we limit our concerns to the contemporary
world. Values can, therefore, constitute common ground for most of those who engage in controversies over human
rights.
Finally, Dworkin provides the principle that each person has the right to equal concern and respect. This is a moral
axiom that is subject to contingency and controversy. The axiom of equality is, again considering Gewirth's theory,
not necessary. Even if all persons are agents, they are not necessarily equal agents, and they do not, as a matter of
logical necessity, have equal rights. This does not mean that Dworkin's moral axiom is arbitrary. This moral axiom
is grounded in the universal anthropological experience of vulnerability to violations of well-being and freedom.
Facts about persons do not logically entail the axiom of moral equality because facts cannot entail moral principles
and axioms are not logically derived. Facts about persons do provide, however, reasons for moral equality. The
force of this principle depends on contingent factors that are not arbitrary such as culture, empathy, and
imagination.48
There is a tension in contemporary philosophy between the concept of universal human rights and that of moral
pluralism. If, as Raz has proposed, rights are grounded in interests and interests are grounded in ultimate values
which are not rationally decidable, then rights are subject to disagreements that are not rationally decidable. Human
rights then can have foundations. The foundations for human rights cannot, however, be superior to all rival means
of reason. Rorty argues that human rights activists should rely not on reason but on their sentiments and the courage
of their convictions. Undoubtedly, nonrational human qualities, such as sympathy and imagination, are important
components of the moral psychology of human rights activism. Human rights practice, however, raises theoretical
problems both because human rights violators seek to justify their actions with reasons, and because reflective
human rights supporters may find themselves perplexed by moral dilemmas.
In the face of such challenges, it is not enough, considering Rorty, to know that we support human rights. We need
to know why we do so. As Taylor noted, high standards need strong sources. God is not universally available as a
source. Nature and reason play a role because human rights may be derived from reasoning about human nature. As
an ultimate source, nature and reason do not speak unequivocally. Human rights may be derived from shared deep
values, as Donnelly hopes, or they may be agreed upon without common deep values, as Lomasky and Raz suggest.
The deep foundations of human rights are found in the principles of equal concern and respect for human persons.
This principle is not necessary; it is contingent and constructed. This principle is also not arbitrary, because it is
based on general anthropological realities and contemporary political conditions. A theory of human rights that is
contingent and not arbitrary should not be alarming. A conception of human rights should be flexible enough to
allow space for the human creativity it seeks to defend and to address the changing conditions of the world that may
threaten its values. It is logically and empirically possible to reject the philosophical foundations of human rights.
One must make a nonrational decision either to accept or reject solidarity with humanity. There is no logical or
empirical guarantee that solidarity will be chosen. There are, nevertheless, deep reasons to desire that it will be
chosen. (1.) Jack Donnelly, Universal Human Rights In Theory And Practice 1, 23-27, 112-14 (1989). (2.) Id. at 1011, 13-14, 23-24, 42, 113. (3.) James W. Nickel, Making Sense Of Human Rights: Philosophical Reflections On The
Universal Declaration Of Human Rights 39 (1987). (4.) 7 Loren E. Lomasky, Persons, Rights And The Moral
Community 13 (1987); Richard Rorty, Contingency, Irony, And Solidarity 63, n.21 (1989); see generally Richard
Rorty, Human Rights, Rationality, and Sentimentality, in On Human Rights (Stephen Shute & Susan Hurley eds.,
1993). (5.) Donnelly, supra note 1, at 44-45. (6.) The individualist position is strongly argued by Donnelly. See
supra note 1, at 143-60. For an alternative, more collectivist view, see Ronald R. Garet, Communality and
Existence: The Rights of Groups, 56 S. Cal. L. Rev. 1001-75 (1983). (7.) Donnelly, Supra note 1, at 63-65. (8.)
United Nations Educational, Scientific, And Cultural Organization, Philosophical Foundations Of Human Rights
41-43 (1986). (9.) See generally, Rorty, Human Rights, supra note 4. (10.) Ernesto Laclau & Chantal Mouffe,
Hegemony And Socialist Strategy 153-54 (Winston Moore & Paul Commack trans., 1985). (11.) Ernesto Laclau,
New Reflections On The Revolution Of Our Time 83 (1990). (12.) W.B. Gallie, Essentially Contested Concepts, in
56 Proceedings Of The Aristotelian Society 167-98 (A.A. Kassman ed., 1956). (13.) For a discussion of cultural
relativism in relation to human rights, see Donnelly, supra note 1, at 109-24. (14.) John Locke, The Second Treatise
Of Government [paragraph] 6 (Thomas P. Peardon ed., The Liberal Arts Press, Inc., 1952) (1690). (15.) Rorty,
Contingency, supra note 4, at 27. (16.) Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study In Moral Theory 69 (1981). (17.)
Ronald Dworkin, Taking Rights Seriously 81 (1977).
(18.) MacIntyre, supra note 1 6, at 70. (19.) Dworkin, supra note 17, at 81. (20.) Id. at 290. (21.) Id. at xi-xii. (22.)
Id. at 176. (23.) John Rawls, A Theory of Justice 48-51 (1971). (24.) Dworkin, supra note 17, at 157-58. (25.) Id. at
176-77. (26.) Id. at 168. (27.) See generally Rorty, Human Rights, supra note 4. (28.) See generally, Rorty,
Contingency, supra note 4. (29.) Donnelly, supra note 1, at 1, 17, 19, 27. (30.) See id. at 16-19, 22-23. (31.) See id.
at 21, 23. (32.) See generally, id. at 21-23. (33.) Id. at 23. (34.) Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of
the Modern Identity 339, 516 (1989). (35.) Donnelly, supra note 1, at 1, 14, 17, 26-27. (36.) Alan Gewirth, Reason
and Morality 25, 26-27 (1978). (37.) Id. at 41, 52-53. (38.) Id. at 53-54, 56, 59-60. (39.) Id. at 61-64, 66, 68-69, 71,
95, 99-102; Alan Gewirth, Human Rights: Essays on Justification and Application 51-52 (1982). (40.) Gewirth,
Human Rights, Supra note 39, at 28-29. (41.) Id. at 44, 5, 27-30, 103, 1 86-87. (42.) Gewirth, Reason and Morality,
supra note 36, at 129, 135, 145, 151, 327; Gewirth, Human Rights, supra note 39, at 6, 7. (43.) Compare Donnely,
Supra note 1, at 1, 14, 17, 26-27 and Dworkin, supra note 17, at xi, 90-91 with Gewirth, Human Rights, Supra note
39, at 6, 57 and Nickel, supra note 3, at 3, 14-15, 49-50. (44.) McIntyre, supra note 16, at 64-65. (45.) Donnelly,
supra note 1, at 1. (46.) Gewirth, Reason and Morality, supra note 36, at 1, 21-23. (47.) See Donnelly, supra note 1,
at 23-25, 50, 59, 62, 77, 123. (48.) Joseph Raz, The Morality of Freedom 177, 180-81 (1986); see Dworkin, supra
note 17, at xii, 182, 198-99, 269, 272-73, 274, 367-68.
The Realists and Saint Augustine: skepticism, psychology, and moral action in international relations thought. By:
Michael Loriaux. . International Studies Quarterly, Dec 1, 1992, Vol. 36, Issue 4, p401
The political thought of Saint Augustine contributed, primarily through the writings of Reinhold Niebuhr, to the
development of political realism in the twentieth century. Augustine and the realist share a fundamental skepticism
regarding the prospects of moral and political progress. It is this skepticism that is the characteristic and even
definitional attribute of realist thought. But Augustine's realism is more radical than that of the modern. Modern
realism assumes a certain stylized psychology that allows the realist to portray world politics as an arena of strategic
interaction. Augustine's more radical skepticism doubts the possibility of rational strategic action. Yet, building on
this more radical skepticism, Augustine demonstrates the possibility and the need for moral action in a realist world.
Augustine challenges the modern realist to explore more systematically the skeptical foundations of realist thought.
Cultural Narcissism is not a generational phenomenon.(Report)Full Text Available By: Shane Gunderson. . Journal
of Social and Psychological Sciences, Jan 1, 2009, Vol. 2, Issue 1, p42
Abstract:
This article argues that similar perspectives of social nature and foundations of public life as traced by Christopher
Lasch and Jurgen Habermas reveal that narcissistic behaviour and demagoguery in poverty rhetoric have a mutually
reinforcing relationship which perpetuates a prevailing narcissistic attitude rather than a generational phenomenon.
First I discuss historian and social critic, Christopher Lasch's, views in his 1979 book, The Culture of Narcissism.
Then I will discuss Habermas' book, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere. Their views are similar
when they discuss problems created from the erosion of the patriarchal family in the old bourgeois model, problems
created from the effects of welfare liberalism in the new Social-Welfare state, and the problems created from the
effects of cultural consumption which causes unhealthy self-interest and an erosion of duty and responsibility for
individuals.
Keywords: Jurgen Habermas, Christopher Lasch, Cultural Critics, Demagoguery, Narcissism
Full Text :
COPYRIGHT 2009 Oxford Mosaic Publications Limited
This paper was presented at the:
International and Interdisciplinary Conference of Human Rights, Individualism and Globalization. Sponsored by
the Center for Spirituality, Ethics and Global Awareness Bethany College School of Arts and Sciences (April 10,
11, 12, 2008) Narcissism has been around for a long time, and although each generation may have expressed it
differently, it is a prevailing attitude. Perhaps Thomas Goodnight, a public sphere scholar, said it best, 'In 19th
Century America, the grounding of arguments made to the poor and about the poor were grounded in the private
sphere' (Goodnight p.221). At that time, the public felt that the poor should help themselves and have more selfreliance. The condition of being poor was a private matter and not a shared societal matter. He writes about the
creation of disagreements where matters of personal dispute can take on a public character. According to Goodnight,
'Help was cajoled from the rich only as a gesture of Christian charity' (Goodnight 221). Goodnight claims that
'Grounds of argument may be altered' (Goodnight 221).
Two centuries later, the public is returning to the belief that poverty is a private matter and not a public or societal
matter. Goodnight says, 'Denial of the public sphere is accompanied by celebration of personal lifestyle, producing
what one critic has called the 'me generation' and another, 'the culture of narcissism' (Goodnight 224). I argue that
there is a mutually reinforcing relationship between demagoguery in poverty rhetoric and narcissism. Studying
communication practices is a useful way to uncover prevailing expressions of human conditions, but first I need to
describe the illusion of saliency.
The Illusion of Saliency
The illusion of saliency is 'the impression conveyed by polls that something is important to the public when actually
it is not' (Ginsberg and Lowi 243). This controversy perpetuates the illusion of saliency that we must overcome this
menace of narcissistic behaviuor. I see this illusion in poverty rhetoric and investigate the origins of welfare
liberalism which caused narcissism as a denial of the public sphere to be our prevailing attitude.
First, there are the views of historian and social critic, Christopher Lasch, (1979) and Jurgen Habermas (1999). Their
views are similar when they discuss problems created from the erosion of the bourgeois patriarchal family, the
problems created from welfare liberalism in the new Social-Welfare state, and the problems created from cultural
consumption which caused unhealthy self-interest and an erosion of individual duty and responsibility. (This
paragraph is copied as it is in the abstract).
What are narcissistic behaviours and attitudes?
To understand why narcissistic behaviuor has been around since at least the 19th Century, one first has to understand
the personality type of the narcissist. The 'all people against all people' approach of competitive individualism is
closely related to narcissism. Christopher Lasch emphasises Sigmund Freud's concept of narcissism and he pays
particular attention to how narcissism is 'a defense against aggressive impulses rather than self-love' (Lasch 73).
Lasch does not equate narcissism with selfishness. He explains narcissism as a coping mechanism used for social
conditions during the late 1970s. Lasch considers society to be 'war like' which he feels produces anti-social people
who distrust others. Lasch points out that the consumer is perpetually unsatisfied, restless, anxious and bored. He
describes a preoccupation with the self that remains unsatisfied, indifferent, and empty. Lasch emphasises the
secondary characteristics of narcissism, 'pseudo self-insight, calculating seductiveness, nervous, self-deprecatory
humor' (Lasch 75). But why does he only see this self-interest phenomenon developing in the 1970s?
In my opinion, Jurgen Habermas also looks at the history of narcissism. Can we pinpoint a historical period that
launched the preoccupation with the 'self?' Lasch believed that the 'Economic man himself has given way to the
psychological man of our times' (Lasch 22). Habermas, however, may have found the starting point of self-analysis.
According to Habermas, 'The diary became a letter addressed to the sender, and the first-person narrative became a
conversation with one's self addressed to another person. He says England in 1750 is when the bourgeois strata
began 'communicating with itself, attained clarity about itself (Habermas 51). I argue here that the narcissistic
behaviuor of self reflection became increasingly important in the 1800s and remains so now.
Problems created from the erosion of the patriarchal family lead to a narcissistic prevailing attitude. Habermas tells
how the exchange relationships of bourgeoisie society caused the family to lose its role of providing education,
protection and care. He says, 'In a certain fashion even the family, this private vestige, was deprivatised by the
public guarantees of its status.'
On the other hand, the family now evolved even more into a consumer of income and leisure time, into the recipient
of publicly guaranteed compensations and support services' (Habermas 155, 156). Habermas believes that paternal
authority was dismantled and the family was released from economic and protective functions.
This erosion is similar to Lasch's idea of new paternalism. In my opinion, narcissistic behaviour as a denial of the
public sphere developed from the effects of welfare liberalism. In Lasch's 'welfare liberalism,' he absolves
individuals of moral responsibility and treats them as victims of social circumstance. He describes how a new ruling
class has elaborated new patterns of dependence (Lasch 369, 370). There is no character building or work ethic. The
old liberal model of control is replaced by leisure, hedonism, permissiveness, and entitlement. This has reorganised
how the ruling class uses symbolically mediated information.
Lasch and Habermas discuss cultural consumption which caused everyone to want to be in a higher social class
because of their exposure to manipulative publicity and mass culture. Habermas writes that 'the public sphere in the
world of letters was replaced by the pseudo-public or sham-private world of culture consumption' (Habermas 160).
He stated three reasons for the collapse of the public sphere??:
1. People were turning away from reading and writing literature
2. People were turning away from stimulating group activities involving reason and debate
3. People were moving toward personal indulgence and relaxation
Lasch's and Habermas's interpretations frame the welfare liberalism controversy. It absolves both wealthy and poor
individuals of moral responsibility and allows a retreat from the public sphere.
Last Century
In the 20th Century, the Progressives shifted poverty arguments by using propaganda. Richard Hofstadter wrote
about Progressives in his article, "The Age of Reform: From Bryan to F.D.R.", that 'We can see throughout history
that these figures have sought to persuade their audiences to some course of action through speeches.' Speakers may
also persuade people to accept the poverty issue as everybody's issue. Progressives became flattering, exaggerating,
partisan demagogues.
The foundation of Progressive thought is contained in the book, Progress and Poverty (1880) by Henry George, a
printer and journalist from California. He wrote that the 'cause of poverty lay in limited land ownership and
proposed a "single tax" to redistribute wealth' (Cull and Culbert 411). His book sold over 2 million copies. This
book, along with the book, How the Other Half Lives (1890) written by muckraker journalist, Jacob Riis, are
examples of propaganda that shifted poverty arguments into the public sphere.
Riis photographed and wrote about the poor conditions of New York slums. His book contains numerous tropes,
especially hyperbole, to of the Propaganda and Mass Persuasion: A Historical Encyclopedia 1500 to the Present,
explains, 'If propaganda is to be a useful concept, it has to be divested of its pejorative connotation' (Cull and
Culbert 411). Cull also says documentary photography played a significant role in the New Deal propaganda.
Identification can be seen in these examples because the authors are trying to get the public sphere to see things as
they do. The propaganda relies on the receiver's willingness to accept the authenticity of the source and the content
of the message. Consubstantiation through partisan appeals can be seen in the examples of Henry George and Jacob
Riis. This propaganda was not useful because it negates productive public argument because the pejorative
associations are untrue, half true or exaggerated. The public develops salient or strong opinions about morality of
certain social classes of the public. Henry George and Jacob Riis used poverty demagoguery to shape public opinion
that society should help the poor.
Their use of partisan appeals caused controversy in the public sphere and removed the controversy from the personal
and technical spheres. Their audience identified with their argument but public concern became public disgust
because the rich and poor felt guilt, hate and victimisation toward one another.
Radio has always been a powerful medium for demagogues. Huey Pierce Long, Jr. was the first politician to reach a
large national audience on radio, according to Paul Gaske who wrote about him in the book, American Orators of
the Twentieth Century Critical Stories and Sources. 'Share Our Wealth' societies was the topic of Long's radio
broadcasts. Long purchased airtime from the National Broadcasting Company in order to speak in support of his
senatorial bills with a large audience. Five days after President Roosevelt's first fireside chat, Huey Long was
provided free time by NBC and delivered the first of eleven national radio broadcasts. By looking at Long's
speeches, we can see the grounding of arguments about poverty shifting from the private sphere back to the public
sphere.
Gaske says, 'Long's speeches typically followed a particular motivational pattern of action described in Kenneth
Burke's book, Permanence and Change: a procession from guilt to victimization to redemption to salvation.' He says,
'Long's radio broadcasts typically began with the creation of guilt in his audience: guilt for being impotent and ill
equipped to deal with their own problems, guilt for being poor and denying their children basic necessities. This
guilt would then be transferred to a 'sacrificial offering'-an enemy-in the persona of the conspiratorial wealthy and
the individual ultimately responsible for decisions affecting the poor, Franklin Roosevelt. The victimisation process
would include not only the identification of the enemy but its demonic and sinister features, the extent and threat of
its power, and the justifiable and necessary retribution that must be taken against it' (Gaske 294).
These broadcasts created the illusion that narcissistic behaviours like leisure, hedonism, permissiveness, and
entitlement are a menace to society. This argument was brought into the public sphere. Long talked about the effects
of cultural consumption, unhealthy self-interest and the erosion of duty and responsibility for individuals.
Use of Language
Demagogues create saliency in public opinion as they move arguments about poverty by using figures and tropes.
Figures and tropes 'are not just ornaments applied after an argument is constructed, but that they themselves have the
argumentative function of strengthening or weakening presence, that is, the salience of an idea or topic' (Van
Eemeren et al. 207). Hyperbole is a common trope used by demagogues in controversy. Senator Hillary Rodham
Clinton uses personification when she says, 'It takes a Village to Raise a Child.' She uses demagoguery to transform
the parents' responsibility of raising a child to an inanimate object with human qualities. Sometimes demagogues use
metaphors like when Long used light/dark metaphors to drive home the sinister image of the conspiratorial wealthy.
President Clinton also used simplistic partisan appeal to create controversy about people's character flaws. His
speech is an example of demagoguery. In his Announcement Speech at the Old State House, Little Rock, Arkansas
October 3, 1991, he said:
Nearly half a century ago, I was born not far from here in Hope,
Arkansas. My mother had been widowed three months before I was
born. I was raised for four years by my grandparents, while she
went back to nursing school. They didn't have much money. I spent a
lot of time with my great-grand-parents. By any standard, they were
poor. But we didn't blame other people. We took responsibility for
ourselves and for each other because we knew we could do better. I
was raised to believe in the American dream, in family values, in
individual responsibility, and in the obligation of government to
help people who were doing the best they could.
By looking at this speech, we can see the grounding of arguments about poverty shifting from the public sphere back
to the private sphere. When Clinton depicts the 'American Dream', he uses ambiguous public assumptions about
family values and tends to accept these 'universal principles' as 'essential' to a democratic society but insists that they
be manifested in personal responsibility.
This rhetoric has created the salient illusion that narcissism is a generational phenomenon because President
Clinton's use of the 'New Covenant' theme and returning us to being 'Old Fashioned' because we have a 'new choice
based on old values.' Now, we should look at actual polling on public opinion.
Pew Center
Goodnight wrote that 'audiences seem to disappear into socially fragmented groups' (Goodnight 224). Pollsters
categorise groups of people. The Pew Research Center for the People and the Press is a nonpartisan 'fact tank' based
in Washington D.C. They provide information on the issues, attitudes and trends shaping the United States and the
world.
A 1995 survey using typology classified voters' nine values and attitudes toward government, environmentalism,
business, social welfare, social policy issues, religion, race relations, the military, and feelings of political alienation.
Morality and welfare reform had high presence in public opinion. It is my opinion that Clinton's demagoguery
brought the menace of welfare liberalism as a moral society breakdown to the forefront of our consciousness. Higher
taxes, the moral crisis, the size of government, a declining educational system, the need for welfare reform, and the
budget deficit round out the long list of reasons that make Americans unhappy with conditions in the country' (Pew
2). The Pew Research Center goes on to say, 'if anything, dealing with the moral breakdown in the country is the one
recurring theme that runs across the political spectrum' (Pew 3). While I am unable to cover all of the reports
findings, there is one public that shows how rhetoric perpetuates a prevailing attitude that narcissism is a menace.
The 'Divided Right' public is made up of three categories of people that are all against social welfare:
1. Enterprisers (13% of adult population): Affluent, well-educated, and predominantly white.
2. Moralists (16%): Middle-aged, middle-income, predominantly white, religious (more than half are Evangelicals).
3. Libertarians (8%): Highly-educated, affluent, predominately white male. This group has Republican lineage but is
uncomfortable with today's GOP, particularly its religious right.
The study also discussed another category called the 'Partisan Poor' which was the only group who thought President
Clinton was making progress in dealing with the country's problems. Clinton encouraged the 'Partisan Poor' group to
be self sufficient and their public opinion
of him is at a high level. The report said Clinton escapes blame from all the other publics because he encourages the
poor to be responsible for their selves.
The relationships between these contextualised categories of publics reveal the ways in which demagogues can
package salient issues about poverty. The salient issue that is revealed in polling public opinion is the moral
breakdown of our country that I argue is this perceived menace of the narcissistic personality that celebrates the
personal lifestyle over civic responsibility. The erosion of morality appears to be important to the public so poverty
demagoguery flourishes in both centuries teetering between the personal and public spheres. Figures and tropes
strengthen the dialogue of victimisation and shame causing controversy.
Conclusion
The origins of welfare liberalism which caused narcissism to be our prevailing attitude are historically captured in
Lasch and Habermas' cultural criticisms. Poverty demagoguery absolves individuals of moral responsibility and
treats them as victims of social circumstance. That, in turn, negates productive societal participation in a public
sphere. Narcissistic behaviour can be menacing but when arguments are made that being poor is a private matter and
not a shared societal matter (in the private sphere), poverty demagoguery moves argument in and out of private and
public spheres. Public concern becomes public disgust at unhealthy self-interest and an erosion of duty and
responsibility for individuals. Theories of distributive justice may be the antidote for our prevailing malaise known
as narcissism.
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Shane Gunderson
Florida Atlantic University
E-mail address: [email protected]