I begin with some cautionary remarks. I believe there are certain risks in treating torture as a topic in moral philosophy. Thinking that we can enlighten and improve public discourse, we may end by sowing confusion and corruption. The risks are not confined to professional philosophers alone, but are shared by all of us who try to think rigorously and systematically about the “rights and wrongs” of torture.
One danger is that by posing the question, “Should we torture in this or that situation?” we become desensitized to the idea of using torture. Each time we pose the question anew, each time it is applied to a new situation not considered before, torture becomes psychologically less unthinkable, the taboo against it progressively eroded. Herein lies one possible source of moral corruption.
A second danger is the desensitization that can arise from discussing torture in an abstract way. To sort through the complex theoretical issues, philosophers must think about torture in general. By dint of discussing torture in general, they may forget what they are talking about. This is desensitization: we talk about torture in a way that distances ourselves from its reality. We stop trying to imagine torture, and forget how hard it is to imagine. We forget to heed Jacobo Timerman’s challenge: “In the long months of confinement, I often thought about how to convey the pain that a tortured person undergoes. And always I concluded that it was impossible. It is a pain without points of reference, without revelatory symbols or clues to serve as indicators.”
Desensitization of this kind may lead us into misleading or obscuring characterizations of torture. I believe, for example, that we misrepresent reality when we try to rank the badness of torture and death. Who is equipped to make this judgment? We know that many people have feared torture more than death, that many torture victims have committed or attempted suicide, and that torturers, aware that their victims may attempt suicide, often take considerable precautions to prevent them from doing so. [David] Sussman’s comparison of torture to a “living death” is one that torture victims have drawn themselves.
A third danger is that abstraction itself causes false ideas about the use of torture. Philosophers construct examples that clear away the messiness of the real world. Their defense is that doing so is necessary to distill the relevant moral principles, and that empirical complexity can be brought back into consideration when moral agents apply the principles to real-life cases. The problem is that real-life complexities often are not brought back into consideration. People confuse the abstract example with the real world. Hence the catastrophic fall-out from discussion of the ticking bomb torture scenario. Philosophers who recur to their traditional modes of analysis can contribute to the problem.
A fourth danger is that, because many philosophers who address torture know little about the topic, they are vulnerable to common misconceptions. The misconceptions enter their discussions and are thereby re-circulated. This is another way that philosophical discussion can spread false ideas about torture.
A fifth danger is that philosophical reasoning about torture may be distorted by the volatile emotions of fear and anger. Philosophers can be especially blind to this danger, because the cool and detached tone they cultivate easily disguises the influence of these emotions.
A sixth danger, connected to the previous ones, is the exaggerated confidence philosophers may place in the contributions of their craft. Philosophers notice a difficult moral dilemma—the ticking bomb torture scenario—and may feel called upon to solve it. But it may be that their contribution is of little value, or even harmful, because the dilemma distracts us from far more relevant questions and reinforces false myths. Philosophers compound the difficulty if they set aside certain questions relevant to their inquiry—for example, Is the ticking bomb scenario realistic?—on the grounds that these are questions for other disciplines to address.
These are not unconquerable dangers, but they need to be taken seriously. Philosophers should think carefully before addressing the morality of torture. They should beware of corrupting our moral feelings and beliefs. For these reasons, I enter into the following discussion with some hesitation.
(Jamie Mayerfeld, “In Defense of the Absolute Prohibition of Torture,” Public Affairs Quarterly 22 [April 2008]: 109-28, at 112-3 [italics in original; endnotes omitted])
Note from KBJ: What Mayerfeld means is that those who disagree with him about torture should stifle themselves. No self-respecting philosopher would (or should) do such a thing, and it is scandalous to advocate it. If Mayerfeld gets to make a case for an absolute prohibition of torture, then others get to (1) criticize his arguments, (2) make a case for a defeasible (i.e., nonabsolute) prohibition of torture, and (3) make a case for torture (either in particular types of case, such as those involving ticking bombs, or in particular cases). I have seen many essays in which the author defends an absolute prohibition of torture. These essays need to be rebutted. Even if a particular philosopher agrees with Mayerfeld that there should be an absolute prohibition of torture, he or she has every right to play devil's advocate and publish an essay to the contrary.
Note 2 from KBJ: Let's extend Mayerfeld's reasoning. If "Philosophers should think carefully before addressing the morality of torture," shouldn't they think carefully before addressing the morality of abortion? One of the most celebrated essays in philosophy is Judith Jarvis Thomson's "A Defense of Abortion" (1971). Does arguing for abortion not "desensitize" philosophers to its horrors?
Note 3 from KBJ: Mayerfeld writes: "Each time we pose the question anew, each time it is applied to a new situation not considered before, torture becomes psychologically less unthinkable, the taboo against it progressively eroded." If we don't discuss torture, how are we to determine whether the "taboo against it" is justified? Is it Mayerfeld's view that taboos are self-justifying? The whole point of philosophy is to question things. Nothing, not even the most deeply entrenched or widely held belief, is out of the question. (By the way, if there is a "taboo" against torture, then what is the point of writing an essay defending the taboo?)
Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D. 