It is remarkable that we have to-day a number of philosophers who call themselves subjectivists in moral philosophy. For, although the name "subjectivist" is by no means new, philosophers have reserved it hitherto for their opponents, and usually for imaginary opponents at that. Perhaps the chief cause of the change which has taken place in recent years is the discovery of a distinction between descriptive and emotive meaning. In the past the only form of subjectivism considered by writers on moral philosophy was the suggestion that moral sentences such as "You ought to do that" were statements about the speaker's own attitude; and it was easy to refute this by pointing out that we discuss questions of morals in a way which would be unintelligent, and even unintelligible, if moral judgments were only reports of introspection. But those who now call themselves subjectivists maintain that the peculiarity of moral words is their expressive and evocative power. According to their analysis, a speaker who uses one of these words in an indicative sentence may be stating nothing at all, but is undoubtedly trying to influence others (and perhaps also himself) to adopt a certain attitude. This, they say, explains how there can be genuine disagreement about questions of morals and why discussion may produce results. If A tries to evoke one attitude in his hearers and B tries to evoke an incompatible attitude, their utterances are opposed, not indeed like contradictory statements, but rather like the efforts of men engaged in a tug-of-war. Language is not merely a vehicle for conveying information, but also an instrument for inducing approval or disapproval which will presently manifest itself in action; and if moral philosophy is to be distinguished from preaching, it must be the attempt to understand in detail how language serves this second purpose.
To some philosophers this recent development seems very dangerous. They think that no subjectivist can take moral distinctions seriously, and that if subjectivism spread beyond the study and the lecture room it would lead to moral anarchy and political tyranny. There are even some critics of subjectivism who profess to believe that it is the source of totalitarianism. This last charge seems to me absurdly unfair: Hegel's ugly child should not be laid on the doorsteps of other philosophers. Nor am I much impressed by fears about what might happen if the doctrine were widely accepted. No doubt some people who did not understand it properly would say, like Punch at the end of the puppet show, "The Devil is dead: we may all do as we like." But is the danger really any greater than that to be feared from general acceptance of the doctrine of self-realization or of St. Augustine's maxim "Dilige Deum et fac quod vis"? I do not see why anyone should cease to hate cruelty and to admire charity merely because he had read the writings of Mr. Russell or Mr. Stevenson. On the contrary, some tough-minded people who have hitherto felt rather embarrassed by references to morality may find that such reading liberates the preacher within them. Something of this sort happened last century to many who read Bentham's work, and the social results were in my opinion almost wholly good, although hedonistic utilitarianism is not a satisfactory theory of morals. There is at least this much truth in the emotive theory, namely, that the practical effect of the use of moral words depends largely on manner and tone of voice. If a philosopher says that "right" means merely so-and-so, his "merely" may have more effect than his definition. But if it seems to his hearers that, while abstaining from cant, he approves and disapproves heartily as they do themselves, they may swallow the most outrageous definitions of moral words and be none the worse for it, except intellectually.
(William Kneale, "Objectivity in Morals," Philosophy 25 [April 1950]: 149-66, at 149-50 [italics in original])
Note from KBJ: Kneale says he's not "much impressed by fears about what might happen if the doctrine [of emotivism] were widely accepted." This implies that he would be impressed if it were dangerous, as some critics charge. I'm disappointed in Kneale. What he should have said is that the dangerousness of a doctrine is irrelevant to its truth, and that the sole concern of philosophers (as well as scientists) is truth. There can be (1) dangerous but true doctrines, (2) dangerous and false doctrines, (3) safe and true doctrines, and (4) safe but false doctrines. There may be moral reasons for the suppression of certain doctrines (or for the prohibition of certain inquiries), but these moral reasons are not part of philosophy or science. Just as physicians should, as part of their role, strive conscientiously to keep their patients alive, philosophers and scientists should, as part of their roles, strive conscientiously to ascertain the truth about how things are. If there are moral bounds on these activities, and there may well be, they are external to medicine, philosophy, and science, not internal to them. To those who criticize emotivism for its "dangerousness," I ask: "Which of your doctrines are dangerous?" Atheism is arguably dangerous; does that make theism true, or even more likely to be true? Can't atheism be both dangerous and true? Marxism is arguably dangerous. Freudianism is arguably dangerous. Darwinism is arguably dangerous. Nietzscheanism is arguably dangerous. Utilitarianism is arguably dangerous. Eliminative materialism is arguably dangerous. It should never cross the mind of a philosopher or a scientist that the doctrines he or she articulates or espouses are dangerous. The only question is whether they are true.
