Earlier today I did a 90-minute interview with Archie Stapleton of TKEthics. We covered a lot (he’s a fantastic interviewer – reminds me of Steven Bartlet of the Diary of a CEO podcast), and spoke briefly about moral realism in light of the possible meaningless of life. I made a brief argument that even if our lives are generally pointless (mere slivers of time wedged between a vast past and future, on a tiny pebble lost somewhere in the incomparable enormity of the known universe), our lives still mean a great deal to us individually. If there’s nothing more to our lives than the little we’re able to accomplish during the waking hours of our average 85 years, then our brief existences mean everything to me, everything to you, everything to everyone – ultimately pointless or not. And given our similar circumstances and natures – the fact that we’re living similar first-person-view existences with similar needs, drives, weaknesses, etc. – it seems we should treat one another in certain ways as a matter of honoring our shared predicament, and that our common hopes, dreads, and vulnerabilities can serve as a foundation for moral standards grounded somewhere beyond our personal wants, preferences, biases, etc. – produce an objective morality not necessarily written on celestial truth tablets, but still waiting for us to work together to articulate, refine, affirm, and live by. That seems a sort of moral realism, even if it’s not as satisfying as might be credible divine commands.
I thought afterwards while jogging that a person could reasonably respond that even if our brief lives mean everything to us currently, upon realization that they’re meaningless in the grand scheme (should a person arrive at such a conclusion), we should stop taking our lives so seriously and collectively accept their pointlessness – encourage one another to let go of the hopeless striving for meaning and accept our unwelcome truth. While this might be psychologically difficult, someone could argue it would be the appropriate response nevertheless, especially for humans who pride themselves on following reason wherever it leads (perhaps lovers of wisdom like you and me!).
However, while humans are indeed rational animals, and while I do love wisdom, we’re also feeling, emotional animals. Even the most cerebral and stoic among us are sometimes sad, happy, anxious, excited, nervous, frightened, elated, etc. Our conscious experience is always laden with some sort of emotion, even if it’s simply a calm serenity. And it’s largely our feeling experience that gives us high moral value. Rationality may generate moral responsibility, but conscious feeling seems to be what generates moral status. Perhaps unfeeling machines (certain AIs one day) could be expected to accept their pointless fates, were they to conclude that their existences weren’t terribly important (inorganic consciousness may be impossible, but imagine for the sake of argument an advanced AI might achieve some degree of dim awareness, yet not be bothered because it cannot genuinely feel). But human beings can’t help but emotionally experience the world, and this not only returns us to the understandable and appropriate desire to create and find meaning in our brief lives, but to the obligation to take seriously the interests of those around us living out their own stories in different but common ways. Thus, a type of moral realism in the face of existential doubt.
Does that argument work? I think so. But perhaps I’ll change my mind as soon as I hear back from Archie, or during my next jog. Thanks for the great interview, Archie! I’ll share it here on the blog soon.
