Modern Moral Conscience Tom O’Shea Forthcoming in International Journal of Philosophical Studies Abstract: This article challenges the individualism and neutrality of modern moral conscience. It looks to the history of the concept to excavate an older tradition that takes conscience to be social and morally responsive, while arguing that dominant contemporary justifications of conscience in terms of integrity are inadequate without reintroducing these social and moral traits. This prompts a rethinking of the nature and value of conscience: first, by demonstrating that a morally-responsive conscience is neither a contradiction in terms nor a political absurdity; second, by suggesting how a morally-responsive conscience can be informed by the social world without being a mere proxy for social power or moribund tradition. 1. The idea of conscience underwent a gradual hollowing out during modernity. Our now- dominant conceptions of conscience have sundered it from both social relationships and ethical truths which outrun each individual’s convictions. We have yet to properly reckon with the implications of this shift towards an egocentric and normatively neutral understanding of conscience. My aim is to excavate an older tradition without these two traits and to ask what we may have lost by leaving it behind. While this will reveal a challenge to modern moral conscience, there remain formidable obstacles to returning to earlier understandings of it. I shall outline a social and normative conception of conscience which learns the lessons of this earlier tradition while showing how it must nevertheless adapt to modern conditions. What then is conscience? Among our oldest moral concepts – recognisable as early as the Greek playwrights of the 5th century BCE – it has long been understood as the self’s awareness of the moral dimension of its conduct (Sorabji 2014, 15).1 Conscience consists in a consciousness of moral demands upon the particular individual in their own specific circumstances rather than a merely abstract knowledge of right and wrong. This consciousness has also typically been taken to underpin judgements of conscience that can motivate action and foster changes in character. In short, then, conscience is an evaluative self-awareness which aims to produce particularistic and motivating moral knowledge. That much is fairly constant in the history of conscience. However, against this backdrop, there are two very striking features of late modern depictions of conscience – what we might call their neutrality and individualism. Neutrality is in evidence in the new entry on conscience in the Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy, which tells us that conscience is ‘like an empty box that can be filled with any type of moral content’ (Giubilini 2016, §1).2 So understood, convictions of conscience do not have to be morally justified, grounded in correct beliefs and values, or otherwise function as a broadly reliable guide to ethical truths. This echoes those writers on conscience who claim that it would be ‘clearly unacceptable’ for the moral weight of a person’s conscientious convictions to depend on them being ‘thought to be valid and/or derive from a valid source’ (Wicclair 2007, 1 Commentators also find conscience prefigured in earlier writing, such as the remorseful and inward awareness of guilt of King David in Psalm 51 (Cottingham 2013: 731). 2 For an earlier influential account that likewise imposes no major restrictions on the content of conscience, see Broad 1940. 30). The rationale for this is that the whole point of liberty of conscience is to protect moral and religious commitments that others reject. Thus, it would be self-defeating to build in some test of reasonableness for what counts as a conscientious conviction. This neutrality is almost always accompanied by an individualistic approach to conscience, which takes its proper content to be solely determined by each person for themselves. The individual’s conscience can still be influenced by the social and historical context within which it was formed, but they themselves are the ultimate authority on what its binding verdicts are. Conscience is thereby taken to be several, not collective. Its claims are not largely socially determined but precisely act as a shield for the individual against social and political pressures (Childress 1979, 327). Neither neutrality nor individualism has always been a feature of how we have understood conscience. This should give us pause when we are told that it is ‘clearly unacceptable’ not to adopt them. I shall retrieve earlier conceptions of conscience which do not share these features, and then argue that their decline creates important problems for late modern appeals to conscience. In particular, the idea which I want to subject to scrutiny is the now ubiquitous claim that the main reason why conscience is valuable is because it secures our integrity. In preparation, some brief methodological remarks are called for on this combination of historical and substantive philosophical enquiry. The argument I will be advancing is in the spirit of Elizabeth Anscombe and Alasdair MacIntyre, who diagnose important historical dislocations in the way we think about moral obligation and moral reasoning respectively, which reveal problems that can occur when moral concepts outrun the intellectual frameworks in which they were developed.3 It is not the cogency of Anscombe and MacIntyre’s accounts with which I am concerned but their strategy of identifying fundamental tensions between moral ideas we have inherited and the context in which they are now understood. I am going to suggest that similar tensions afflict modern moral conscience. Naturally, the contrast between modern moral conscience and an earlier counterpart is a highly stylised simplification of a rich conceptual history. There is no single conception of moral conscience in contemporary thought or culture — let alone within modernity as a whole; nor is there only a solitary pre-modern predecessor. Our initial focus will be on one important understanding of conscience, which reached its apotheosis in the natural law tradition of Western medieval Christianity, and whose influence began to decline from the sixteenth century onwards. The shift away from this kind of thinking about conscience started in earnest in early modern philosophy and political thought, and has culminated in the individualistic and neutralist tendencies of the form of modern moral conscience that will be the target of our critique. 3 Anscombe claims we should attempt to jettison concepts such as moral obligation, moral duty, and the moral sense of ‘ought’, ‘because they are survivals, or derivatives of survivals, from an earlier conception of ethics which no longer generally survives, and are only harmful without it.’ (1958, 1). She confronts us with a disjointedness that arises when ideas developed within a law-based conception of ethics are detached from their original home. We find a similar approach in Alasdair MacIntyre’s After Virtue, which argues that the Enlightenment project of grounding moral injunctions in human nature was bound to fail once transformations in how reason was understood made a teleological conception of such human nature seem inaccessible. Thus, Enlightenment philosophers are said to have ‘inherited incoherent fragments of a once coherent scheme of thought and action and, since they did not recognize their own peculiar historical and cultural situation, they could not recognize the impossible and quixotic character of their self-appointed task’ (1981, 55). 2. Let us begin with the relationship of conscience to individuality and sociality. On most contemporary understandings of conscience, it is thought to be separable from social attitudes. The person of conscience is often depicted as singular and willing to resist a prevailing consensus in order to follow their own sense of moral rectitude. Consider the characterisation of Sir Thomas More in Robert Bolt’s play and later film A Man For All Seasons. More is here found to warn of the chaos that follows when ‘statesmen forsake their own private conscience for the sake of their public duties’, where this conscience is itself depicted in conspicuously individualistic terms: ‘what matters to me is not whether it’s true or not, but that I believe it to be true, or rather not that I believe it, but that I believe it’ (Bolt 1962, 52-3). This individualism is not consistently borne out in the history of conscience. The etymology initially seems to suggest as much. The Latin word conscientia is a compound of con (with) and scientia (knowledge), which sometimes denoted joint knowledge with others (Sevenster 1961, 85). It is a direct translation of the Greek term syneidēsis, which is similarly a compound literally meaning ‘knowledge with’. However, this is likely derived from the expression synoida emautō (I know with myself), indicating a relationship to oneself rather than others, and so appears consonant with an individualistic picture (Lewis 1967, ch. 8 and Ojakangas 2013, 70). Nevertheless, there are clues that conscience has social roots. For example, some scholars have identified a function for sociality in the deployment of conscience in Roman oratory and legal proceedings, whereby public opinion acted as the foundation of conscientia, such that acting contrary to social consensus could prompt its gnawing (Strohm 2011, 6).4 The sociality of conscience later gains greater visibility in the institutional context of the Catholic Church. Paul Strohm has noted how in the medieval Church, ‘conscience “arrives” already bearing information about right conduct and belief’, and ‘rather than shifting with the tides of situation and public opinion’, it is stocked with ‘views generally held and widely known: collective witness of saints and confessors, councils and synods, authorized commentary upon Latin scripture’ (Strohm 2011, 11-2). In other words, an appeal to a person’s conscience was simultaneously an appeal to the ethical resources of a wider institution within which this person was embedded, with its own rich history and developed moral attitudes that underpinned their conscientious judgement. Conscience, so understood, is a matter of shared ethical horizons rather than individually divergent ones. If we return to Thomas More, we find that such a social account of conscience provides a much more suitable framework for understanding his thought and action than the individualism of Bolt.5 In his Dialogue on Conscience, More accepts that conscience ought to be socially oriented, such that it must conform to the lawful verdicts of a General Council of the Catholic Church. He condemns excessive individualism elsewhere too, warning that ‘if every man may boldly frame himself a conscience with a glose of his own making’, rather than drawing upon the wisdom of earlier figures in the tradition, then this is a recipe for disobedience to God (1980, 114). The sociality of such conscience consists not only in its actual shaping by 4 Furthermore, Christine Korsgaard (1996, 110) claims it was the connotation of shared knowledge that would lead conscientia to acquire a judicial usage in describing those who knew the secrets of others and so could bear witness against them. 5 On the historical milieu in which More’s understanding of conscience was formed, see Cummings 2009. social and historical influences, but in its being rightly sensitive to the voices of others, and even in limit cases subordinate to their authority (Ojakangas 2013, 49). Highlighting a social dimension in the history of conscience in this way does not imply a denial of the more fundamental importance accorded to sustained inward self-examination. Indeed, the two often went hand in hand, such as among early Christians who adopted and transformed Hellenistic practices of self-examination and social guidance of conscience. The aim of this self-examination has been said to be ‘not to close self-awareness in upon itself, but to enable it to open up entirely to its director’, in keeping with the oft-quoted maxim that ‘he who suffers not guidance withers away like a dead leaf’ (Foucault 1981, 238). Thus, inward judgements of conscience have been compatible, in practice, with their social expression and correction by others. 3. We have seen that conscience has often been conceived as a moral self-awareness which nonetheless is and should be permeable to certain social influences. Older traditions thereby depart from the implicit individualism that marks many contemporary understandings of conscience – accommodating a greater degree of receptivity to moral sources outside the self. An even more important dimension of this receptivity becomes visible when we ask why the prick of conscience has been thought to be significant in the first place. The most common answer has not been the contemporary claim that conscience secures personal integrity or individual identity. Instead, the import of conscience was long thought to arise from it being the origin of our consciousness of moral truths – particularly morally salient law. Laws undergirding conscience have often been understood as natural laws. The early Church father John Chrysostom provides a representative account when he tells us: All men have always had the natural law that dictated from within what is good and what is evil, for when God created man, he placed in him this incorruptible judge: the judgement of conscience (Chrysostom 1857-66, 482C in Ojakangas 2013, 35).6 The claim that conscience is an ‘incorruptible judge’ would appear to justify its fundamental ethical significance. But this might nevertheless seem excessive, insofar as it appears to imply that conscience is never mistaken. Yet, surely conscience errs? 7 And if it does not, what need is there for it ever to be examined and guided by others? For many in the Christian tradition, the answer has been that conscience is unerring and fallible in different respects. To this end, the Scholastics resolved conscience into two main components: synderesis and conscientia. Our synderesis is a disposition towards or awareness of the precepts of natural law, which is inalienable and unpollutable, even in a post-lapsarian condition. Whereas conscientia is the application of such principles, which can introduce error – for example, in wrongly judging that a particular act conforms with or departs from a principle.8 Thus, in one respect, conscience was taken to be morally unfailing, whereas in another, it could lead us into error, and so may still need to be guided by wider socio-historical institutions. Despite conscience’s fallibility in some respects, its high moral standing is secured by its function as a disposition towards and awareness of the lawful precepts which we carry within us. 6 For a recent defence of moral conscience founded upon natural law, see Cottingham 2004. 7 I pass over later denials of the fallibility of conscience, which can be found in Rousseau (1911, 254) and Fichte (2005, 165). 8 See Aquinas, question 17, article 2, reply. This is a tradition oriented by St Paul’s claim that there is a law written on our hearts to which the conscience bears witness, and whose thought is further refracted through the lens of natural law (Romans 2:15). Of course, this tradition attracts its share of critics, and exhibits internal heterogeneity. Disputes existed as to whether conscience is an aspect of reason, will, or instinct; whether its consciousness of natural law is inborn or acquired; whether it can operate without the supplement of divine grace; whether acting on erroneous conscience is permissible or even obligatory; and whether natural conscience can be corrupted. Martin Luther is among those who breaks with this tradition — his growing scepticism about the unaided capacities of human beings leading him to dissociate conscience from a natural synderesis which delivers the self-evident precepts underpinning moral knowledge.9 This relationship between conscience and natural law has understandably faded even further from prominence due to the relative decline of the natural law tradition as a whole. The grounding of conscience in natural law which Luther begins to unpick comes under more explicit attack by writers like Montaigne, who tells us: ‘The laws of conscience, which we say are born of nature, are born of custom’ (1958, 83). This distinction between nature and custom is hardened into a dichotomy which sets the normative and social dimensions of conscience in opposition to one another. The debunking tendency of accounts of conscience which take its content to be determined by social mores or interpersonal power seems to be reinforced by later thinkers such as Freud (2018, 29). For instance, the Freudian conscience internalises the injunctions and prohibitions of those holding social authority (as a successor to the role originally played by the father).10 While this sceptical challenge cannot be definitively 9 The classic study of Luther on conscience remains Baylor 1977. See also Kärkkäinen 2012. 10 John Stuart Mill had earlier associated conscience and paternal authority when he claims as a child to have abdicated moral responsibility to his father, with “my conscience never speaking to me except by his voice” (1981, 613). met here, we shall see that it would be a mistake to conclude that some social formation and receptivity for conscience implies that it is no more than a socially imposed ego-ideal without a significant normative orientation. Sociality has instead been among the main ways older accounts take conscience to be calibrated to normative standards independent of the individual themselves. 4. Conscience was once thought to have social and normative foundations that are absent from many recent conceptions of it. But this does not show that these contemporary accounts of conscience are incoherent or otherwise mistaken. Ideas get repurposed, concepts develop, expressions take on new meanings: none of this is surprising. What, then, does it matter that we no longer tend to think about conscience as informed by a social tradition and rooted in an independent normative guide such as natural law? I shall argue that standard attempts to understand the importance of conscience outside of this framework face serious difficulties. The most common explanations of the value of conscience now consist in an appeal to its function in securing integrity. To take one of many examples, the bioethicist Mark Wicclair asks: Why should any moral weight be given to claims of conscience? The primary reason is to protect the agent’s moral integrity (2007, 30). 11 11 For other typical examples, consider Blustein (1993, 297): ‘It is in terms of this moral interest in personal integrity that I will understand the significance of appeals to conscience’; Sulmasy (2008, 144): ‘Conscience is a fundamental moral commitment on the part of a moral agent to moral integrity’; Maclure and Taylor (2011, 13 and 76): ‘Core beliefs and commitments, which we will also call “convictions of conscience,” include both deeply held religious and secular beliefs and are distinguished from the legitimate but less fundamental “preferences” we display as individuals. […] A person whose acts do not satisfactorily correspond to what he judges to be his