William David Ross

First published Thu Aug 12, 2010; substantive revision Wed Mar 2, 2022

William David Ross (1877–1971) made contributions to ancientphilosophy and to moral philosophy. The focus of this entry is hiswork in the latter area. Ross’sThe Right and the Goodis one of the most important contributions to moral philosophypublished in the twentieth century. In it and other works, Rossdevelops a novel (pluralistic) deontological ethical theory rivallingKantianism and utilitarianism. The most innovative element of thistheory is the notion of aprima facie duty. AlthoughRoss’s work in moral philosophy appeared to suffer at the handsof critics in the middle and late parts of the last century, recentwork on normative and meta-ethical intuitionism has sparked a renewedinterest in and enthusiasm for his ethical outlook.

1. Ross’s Life

William David Ross was born on 15 April 1877 in Thurso, Scotland. Hespent the bulk of the first six years of his life in Travancore,India, where his father, John Ross, was the Principal of theMaharaja’s College. He received his formal education inScotland, where he attended the Royal High School in Edinburgh andEdinburgh University. In 1895, Ross graduated from the latter withfirst-class honours in classics. He then entered Balliol College,Oxford, where he obtained first-class honours in classical honourmoderations in 1898 and inliterae humaniores in 1900. He wasthen appointed lecturer at Oriel College, Oxford and at the same timehe was elected to a fellowship by examination at Merton College. In1902, he dropped the latter when he was elected tutor in philosophyand fellow at Oriel College, a position which he held until 1929.

In 1915, Ross joined the army. When World War I ended he was DeputyAssistant Secretary in the Ministry of Munitions, with the rank ofMajor. He left the army with an OBE. Following the war, he remainedfor some time in public service on a part-time basis; for his effortshe was made a KBE in 1938. From 1923 to 1928 he was the DeputyWhite’s Professor of Moral Philosophy while John AlexanderStewart was ill. When the position became vacant in 1927, Ross refusedto stand because (among other reasons) he thought his colleague H. A.Prichard a better moral philosopher (and better ‘philosophergenerally’) and he preferred ‘working on metaphysics,ancient and the most modern’ (Clark 1971, 534). Two years later,in 1929, he became Provost of Oriel College, a position he held untilhe retired in 1947. In 1927, he was elected Fellow of the BritishAcademy, and he served as its president from 1936 to 1940. During thistime, he played a role in helping foreign scholars fleeing centralEurope. In World War II he played an essential role in public service,serving on an Appeal Tribunal for Conscientious Objectors from 1940 to1941 and on the National Arbitration Tribunal from 1941 to 1952. Heserved as Vice-Chancellor of Oxford from 1941 to 1944. Following thewar, in 1947, he became President of the Union AcadémiqueInternationale, and, until 1949, the Chairman of the Royal Commissionon the Press. In his retirement Ross continued his work in philosophy.He died in Oxford on 5 May 1971.

Ross’s contributions to university administration and to publicservice were of no small importance. But it is for his work inphilosophy that he is best known. He made contributions to ancientphilosophy and to moral philosophy. In his lifetime, Ross wasconsidered a major figure in the study of Aristotle (Wiggins 2004). Hewas the General Editor of the Oxford Aristotle translation series,first with J. A. Smith and then alone; to this series he contributedtranslations of Aristotle’sMetaphysics and hisNicomachean Ethics. Ross edited a number of Aristotle’sworks in Greek for the Oxford Classical Texts series, includingRhetoric,Physics,De Anima, andPolitics, and he produced editions of theMetaphysics,Physics,Parva Naturalia,Analytics andDe Anima with long introductions anddetailed commentaries. In addition, he produced two monographs,Aristotle andPlato’s Theory of Ideas. Inmoral philosophy, Ross’s most important contributions areexpressed in his booksThe Right and the Good andFoundations of Ethics. To these he added a handful of journalarticles, a critical commentary on Immanuel Kant’sGroundwork,Kant’s Ethical Theory, and achapter on Aristotle’s ethics inAristotle.

In the introduction to the sixth edition of Ross’sAristotle, J. L. Ackrill remarks Ross ‘made his mark inpublic life and as a university teacher and administrator, and hewrote influential books on ethics. But it is as the leadingAristotelian of the first half of the century that he will be mostremembered’ (AT ix). There is certainly no denying Ross was oneof the most influential Aristotelians of the twentieth century.Although some of Ross’s translations of Aristotle now haveformidable competitors, they are still held in high regard. Hiseditions of Aristotle’s texts with commentaries continue to bean important source for scholars working in ancient philosophy. Thisshould not, however, lead to overlooking Ross’s impact on moralphilosophy. Although Ross received rather short shrift from moralphilosophers in the last century (e.g., Raphael 1981; Rawls 1971;Warnock 1960 ), his ethical outlook is now considered a seriouscontender and in recent years many of Ross’s moral andmeta-ethical doctrines have received sustained attention and (in somecases) defence (see, e.g., Audi 1996, 2004; Dancy 2004; Gaut 2002;Hurka 2004, 2014; McNaughton 1988, 1996; Parfit 2011; Phillips 2019;Shaver 2007, 2014; Stratton-Lake 2002a, 2002b, 2011a, 2011b). It isreasonable, then, to say Ross will be remembered for his work inancient philosophy and his work in moral philosophy.

2. The Data of Ethics

Ross attempts to develop an ethical framework that is faithful to andreflects the central ‘moral convictions of thoughtful andwell-educated people’ (RG 41; FE 1–5). These convictionsconstitute, for Ross, “the data of ethics just assense-perceptions are the data of a natural science” (RG 41). Atleast some of these moral convictions, Ross thinks, constituteknowledge the philosopher neither proves nor disproves (RG20–21n1, 40). An ethical theory should not, Ross contends,repudiate these convictions – these facts – in an effortto simplify or systematize our moral thinking (RG 19, 40; FE 5,83).

On the face of it, Ross is at odds with moral philosophers like HenrySidgwick who take the systematization and correction of common-sensemorality as one of the main roles of ethical theorizing (Sidgwick1907: 77). Sidgwick, for example, holds that “the philosopherseeks unity of principle, and consistency of method” (even ifthis leads to revision of common-sense thinking) (Sidgwick 1907, 6)and that the role of the moral philosopher is to ‘enunciate, infull breadth and clearness, those primary intuitions of Reason, by thescientific application of which the common moral thought of mankindmay be at once systematised and corrected’ (Sidgwick 1907,373–74).

Ross does, of course, acknowledge errors exist in our moral thinking.Indeed, it is, he says, ‘a mistake to assume that all . . .[our] convictions are true, or even that they are all consistent;still more, to assume they are all clear’ (FE 1). Like somesense perceptions in science, he says, some of our moral convictionsmay have to be discarded as illusory (RG 41). They are not discardedat the behest of a theory. Instead, they are to be rejected, Rosssays, ‘only when they are in conflict with other convictionswhich stand better the test of reflection’ (RG 41). The aim ofmoral philosophy is to compare our moral convictions with each other,‘and to study them in themselves, with a view to seeing whichbest survive such examination, and which must be rejected eitherbecause in themselves they are ill-grounded, or because theycontradict other convictions that are better grounded; and to clearup, so far as we can, ambiguities that lurk in them’ (FE 1; alsoFE 2–3, 190).

Ross suggests most errors in our moral thinking concernmediaaxiomata – or middle principles or rules – ratherthan fundamental moral principles (FE 190; RG 20–21n1). However, heseems at times to consider reflective inquiry with the potential forrevisions of a more radical nature. He suggests, for example, inquiryinto the ‘historical origin of…[our moral] beliefs andpractices’ may show ‘the most strongly felt repulsionstowards certain types of conduct are relics of a bygone system oftotems and fetishes, their connexion with which is little suspected bythose who feel them’ (RG 13). An inquiry of this kind may leadto significant revision of even aspects of moral thinking thought tobe fundamental (Singer 2005).

Moreover, Ross at times suggests he aims to reflect the views of the‘thoughtful and well-educated’ (RG 41) or, what comes tothe same thing, what ‘we’ think (RG 40; FE 102, 104, 134,172). But at other times he says he aims to reflect the views of the‘plain man’ (RG 17, 20–21n1, 28, 57; FE 186, 187,188; KT 31). If the views of the thoughtful and well-educated and theplain man are distinct, and Ross inclines (with some justification)toward the former rather than the latter, his approach to moraltheorising may be closer on the matter of reform (though not ofsystem) to Sidgwick’s (which, to be clear, emphasises what wethink on reflection and the consensus of experts (Sidgwick 1907,338–343)). This may cause Ross trouble. He faults rival moral viewsfor conflicting with what ‘plain men’ think about ethics.If he is open to substantially revising the plain person’sviews, he may weaken his case against rivals.

In any case, the novelty of Ross’s moral outlook and its fitwith what the plain person thinks will emerge only once its content isfully specified. About the data Ross seeks to clarify and honour, anumber of questions emerge. What is its precise content? How is itknown? What is its metaphysical status? Together with his fidelity toreflective moral attitudes, Ross’s answers to these questionsconstitute his unique contribution to moral philosophy.

3. Ross’s Rejection of Kant’s Deontology and Ideal Utilitarianism

Ross rejects Kantian deontology and ideal utilitarianism (his mainopponent). Ross complains that each of his rivals‘over-simplifies the moral life’ (FE 189). They fail tocapture at least some of the moral attitudes constituting theknowledge the philosopher neither proves nor disproves (RG20–21n1).

Kant over-simplifies the moral life in a number of ways. Ross thinksthe clearest case of oversimplification is Kant’s commitment toexceptionless moral principles (RG 18–19; FE 313, 134, 173; KT 24,95). Kant maintains lying is always wrong (Kant 1785, 1797). Itcannot, he says, serve as a universal law that one may lie to avoidsome difficulty or harm (either to oneself or to another). As soon aslying in such cases is such a law it is impossible to benefit bylying, for everyone will be wise to the fact people lie in such cases.Ross disagrees. In line with common sense, he thinks it is permissibleto lie in some contexts (RG 28), e.g., when the (net) benefit of lyingsignificantly outweighs the cost as would be true of a case in whichone lies to prevent a friend from being killed by a would-be murdererinquiring about one’s friend’s whereabouts (KT 31–32; forKant’s discussion of the case of the inquiring murderer, seeKant 1797). Ross holds the oversimplification results in part fromKant thinking ‘the rightness or wrongness of an individual actcan be inferred with certainty from its falling or not falling under arule capable of being universalised’ (FE 189; also KT 25).Kant’s abstract way of ethical reasoning involves neglectingfactors relevant to figuring out what we should do (KT 33–34; FE189).

Kant oversimplifies the moral life in another way. He says only themotive to do what is morally required because it is morally requiredpossessesmoral worth (Kant 1785). Ross contends othermotives have moral worth, including ‘direct devotion to anotherperson or other persons’ (KT 3). Returning favours to loved onesbecause you love them and not because you think you ought has moralvalue. It is closer to common sense to think moral life is not a‘contest between one element which alone has worth [i.e., themotive to do what is right because it is right] and a multitude ofothers which have none; the truth rather is that it is a strugglebetween a multiplicity of desires having various degrees ofworth’ (FE 206; also KT 3, 18, 93).

The ideal utilitarians Hastings Rashdall and G. E. Moore maintain anindividual acts rightly in so far as their act produces at least asmuch surplus general good as any other act they could have performedin their situation (Moore 1903, 1912; Rashdall 1907, 1913; fordetailed discussion of ideal utilitarianism, see Skelton 2011, 2013b).Ross holds ideal utilitarians guilty of distorting or oversimplifyingmoral life in a number of ways.

First, the view assumes, he says, there is a ‘general characterwhich makes right acts right’, that of maximising a plurality ofintrinsic goods (RG 16). By presupposing there is only one basic orunderived obligation ideal utilitarianism distorts our understandingof moral deliberation. For example, when deciding whether to fulfil apromise we think much more of the fact that in the past we have made apromise than of the consequences its fulfilment promotes (RG 17; Ross1931, 68). Our common-sense moral thinking includes the idea that whatwe ought to do depends in part on retrospective considerations, e.g.,that we have made a promise in the past or previously incurred adebt.

Second, the view says the only morally salient relation ‘inwhich my neighbours stand to me is that of being possiblebeneficiaries by my action’ (RG 19; OJ 125). But we stand inrelations of all kinds to other people, including that of creditor todebtor, child to parent and friend to friend, and they matter inthemselves to what we are permitted or ought to do. You ought, forinstance, to pay your debts before donating to charities even ifgiving priority to your debts fails to maximise surplus value.

Ross’s moral theory reinvigorated select doctrines defended bythe eighteenth-century moralists Joseph Butler and (it seems) RichardPrice. Ross revived the anti-utilitarian arguments in Butler’sA Dissertation of the Nature of Virtue (Butler 1736, 139–140)and in Price’sA Review of the Principal Questions inMorals (especially Price 1787, 79ff., 131–176). H. A. Prichard(Prichard 1912, 1932) and Moore (Moore 1903, 1912) were Ross’smost important contemporary influences. Ross found Prichard’sdefense of a plurality of moral obligations and of the complexity ofmoral decision making alluring. Ross rejected Moore’sutilitarianism, but he sympathised with Moore’s methodology forsoliciting intuitions about goodness and with some of his views aboutintrinsic value and moral semantics. Finally, Ross could not helpbeing influenced by Aristotle. He was in particular impressed withAristotle’s methodology and his appeal to the many and thewise.

4. Ross’s Distinctive Moral Framework: The Right and the Good

In a review ofFoundations of Ethics, C. D. Broad writesThe Right and the Good was ‘much the most importantcontribution to ethical theory made in England for a generation’(Broad 1940, 228). The best explanation of Broad’s praise is thebook clarifies and defends a novel form of deontology, according towhich there are a plurality of moral requirements and non-instrumentalgoods. No one master principle explains why the particular things webelieve are wrong/right are in fact wrong/right. Instead, there exista number of basic, defeasible moral principles resisting reduction tosome more fundamental principle. These principles are relied upon inmaking decisions about what we ought to do, though there is no sensein which we deduce what we ought to do from principles. No onenon-instrumental good/evil explains why the particular things we thinkare good/evil are in fact good/evil. Instead, there exist a number ofnon-instrumental goods which cannot be reduced to some morefundamental non-instrumental good. These goods are appealed to inmaking decisions about the goodness or badness of a state of affairsall things considered, though there is no sense in which this isdeduced from these claims. Ross’s clearheaded and forcefulexpression of this view makes his work of lasting philosophicalsignificance.

4.1 The Right

Ross subscribes to five underivative or foundational duties (Hurka2014; McNaughton 1996; Phillips 2019; Pickard-Cambridge 1932b;Stratton-Lake 2002a, 2011a; cf. Jack 1971):

A duty offidelity, that is, a duty to keep our promises(RG 21; FE 76–77; KT 21);
A duty ofreparation, that is, a duty to correct aprevious wrong we have done (RG 21; FE 76; KT 21);
A duty ofgratitude, that is, a duty to return servicesto those from whom we have in the past accepted benefits (RG 21; FE76; KT 21);
A duty ofbeneficence, that is, a duty to maximiseaggregate or general good (RG 25, 27, 30, 39; FE 67, 99, 130, 252,257, 271, 313; KT 21); and finally
A duty ofnon-maleficence, that is, a duty not to harm orinjure others (RG 21–22, 26; FE 75, 130n1, 272).

Ross’s major innovation involves characterising these asprima facie duties rather thanabsolute orexceptionless duties. The notion of aprima facieduty may not be easy to grasp. Ross himself admits ‘primafacie’ is an unfortunate phrase to use to specify what hehas in mind, for two reasons (RG 20; FE 84–85).

First, although he says there exist five basicprima facieduties, what he is referring to arenot really duties (RG 20;FE 84–85).Prima facie duties do not state our actualobligation or duty proper – the thing we ultimately ought do– in a particular situation (RG 20). Instead, each duty rests ona separate and distinct ground and specifies a consideration countingin favour of or against an act or what to set ourselves to do, morallyspeaking.^[1] AsDavid Phillips puts it, ‘[t]he characteristic of being a primafacie duty is the characteristic of having a certain degree ofobligatoriness or weight in virtue of being of a single morallysignificant kind’ (2019, 23). For example, that an act fails tofulfil a promise counts against it being right, and that an actproduces the most surplus good counts in favour of it being morallyright. Considerations of this sort have to be weighed and balancedagainst each other in deciding what we ought to do all thingsconsidered or simpliciter.

Second, using the phrase suggests the duties only appear to be dutiesthat further reflection may reveal to be illusory. This is notRoss’s view: the considerations his duties point to areobjective facts present in a situation (RG 20; FE 85). If you havewronged someone in the past, it is an objective fact of your situationthat there is a consideration in favour of you compensating them forthe harm.

There are numerous ways the idea of aprima facie duty mightbe further clarified. One way, suggested by Ross, is to think of aprima facie duty as constituting atendency to bemorally right or wrong (RG 28; FE 86). An act promoting general goodhas, for example, a tendency to be morally right and to contribute todetermining our actual obligation (Hurka 2014, 72). A second way, alsosuggested by Ross, is to think of aprima facie duty ascomprising a responsibility (FE 85). Repairing one’s past wrongsis something for which one has a responsibility, for instance, andthis contributes to determining one’s actual obligation orresponsibility. A third (controversial) way of explicating the idea isto think of aprima facie duty as constituting amoralreason for or against an act (Cowan 2017, 825; Olsen 2014, 64–65,2015: 8; Shaver 2014, 314n24; Stratton-Lake 2002a, xxxiii–xxxviii,2011a, 147–48, though cf. 2019). If my act will harm or injure anotherperson, I have a moral reason not to do it given the duty ofnon-maleficence, and this reason contributes to determining my actualobligation. A fourth (more controversial still) way of clarifying theidea of aprima facie duty is to think of it as constitutingareason (sans phrase) in favour of or against an act(Phillips 2019, 26–37; Shaver 2011, 144). Ross himself used thelanguage of reasons to explicate the idea of aprima facieduty. He says, for example, ‘the fact that a promise has beenmade itself constitutes a reason why it should be fulfilled’ (KT21). These reasons contribute to determining my actual obligation orwhat I have actual reason to do.

The idea of aprima facie duty or obligation had not beenfully clarified before Ross, either by defenders of deontologicaltheories (though see Price 1787, 152, 167, 168 and Prichard 2002,77–83) or their critics (including Moore 1903, 1912; Rashdall 1907,1913; and Sidgwick 1907). Ross’s introduction of the notion of aprima facie obligation constitutes a major advance in thedispute between utilitarians and non-utilitarians. It paved the wayfor a moderate deontology. Ross’s innovation is crucial toavoiding cases thought problematic for absolute deontology in whichobligations conflict and one is unable to avoid doing what is allthings considered wrong (FE 83–86).

Ross’s five basic principles contribute to explaining other,non-basic moral considerations. The duty not to lie has two sources.Ross thinks you ought not lie because, in line with the duty ofnon-maleficence, to ‘tell lies isprima facie to do apositive injury to another person’ (RG 55) and because, in linewith the duty of fidelity, when you enter into a conversation there isan implicit promise or understanding ‘language shall be used toconvey the real opinions of . . . speakers’ (RG 54; also 21; FE97). The obligation to obey the laws of one’s country isexplained by the obligations of gratitude, fidelity and beneficence(RG 27). If one has benefitted from the laws of one’s countryone ought to obey those out of gratitude for the benefit; if one hasremained in a country in which one knows one is expected to obey thelaws and one has relied on them for benefit, one has (at leastimplicitly) promised to obey them and should do so for that reason; ifone’s country’s laws work to promote the general good, oneought to obey them as part of promoting general good (RG 27–28).

Ross does not think the five duties are of equal initial weight. Theduty of non-maleficence is weightier than the duty to promote amaximum of aggregate good (RG 21, 22; FE 75, 130n1). He writes:‘We think the principle ‘do evil to no one’ morepressing than the principle ‘do good to every one’, exceptwhen the evil is very substantially outweighed by the good’ (FE75). It takes substantial (net) benefit to justify intentionallyharming someone. It would be wrong to harm someone to promote only amarginal (net) benefit (contra utilitarianism).

Ross suggests in addition the duties of fidelity, reparation, andgratitude are in general weightier than the duty to promote generalgood (RG 19, 30, 41–42; FE 77, 76, 90, 187). It takessubstantial (net) surplus value to justify begging off on one of theseduties (RG 34–35). Unlike the duty to promote general good, the dutiesof fidelity, reparation and gratitude rest on personal relations withothers, generating special rather than general duties (FE 76, 186). Itis important to Ross that we can stand in the obligation-generatingrelations ‘of promisee to promiser, of creditor to debtor, ofwife to husband, of child to parent, of friend to friend, of fellowcountryman to fellow countryman, and the like’ (RG 19; also 22;FE 76; OJ 124, 126). The duties core to these relationships are ingeneral weightier than the more general duty to promote the generalgood. Rival views, as noted, ignore these morally significantrelations, or the ‘highly personal character of duty’, attheir peril (RG 22). Finally, although he does not say it, his viewwould surely be the duty of non-maleficence is weightier than theduties of reparation, gratitude, and fidelity: it is (unless much isat stake) wrong to harm others in order to fulfil these duties.

Ross’s introduction of aprima facie duty makes forcomplicated moral decision making. One way to further clarify thestructure of Ross’s view is to examine what he says about whathe calls duty proper or our actual duty (RG 41). Suppose you’veagreed to meet a friend for coffee. On the way to meet your friend,you witness an accident with several victims. You have taken first-aidcourses and are able to provide the accident victims with life-savingtreatment until the paramedics arrive. If you assist the accidentvictims, you will not be able to meet your friend; if you meet yourfriend, you will not be able to help the accident victims. So, youeither break your promise or you benefit the accident victims. What isyour actual obligation in this (simple) case?

Ross thinks right acts or our actual obligations have ‘thegreatest balance ofprima facie, rightness, in those respectsin which they areprima facie right, over theirprimafacie wrongness, in those respects in which they areprimafacie wrong’ (RG 41; FE 85). In order to figure out which,of the acts open to you, has the greatest balance ofprimafacie rightness overprima facie wrongness you have tolook at all the acts open to you and determine all the ways in whichthey areprima facie right and all the ways in which they areprima facie wrong and then figure out in each case thebalance ofprima facie rightness overprima faciewrongness or vice versa (whichever the case may be). You then comparethe acts open to you in terms of their balance of overallprima facie rightness. The act with the greatest balance ofoverallprima facie rightness is the one you ought all thingsconsidered to do and what you ought all things considered to do isyour duty proper (for detailed discussion, see Hurka 2014, 69–78;Olsen 2014; Phillips 2019, 17–26).

In the simple case you look at the two acts open to you: meet yourfriend or aid the accident victims. Meeting your friend isprimafacie right because it comprises keeping your promise, butprima facie wrong because it involves failing to maximisegeneral good (in your circumstances). Helping the accident victims iswrong to the extent it involves breaking a promise, but right becauseit involves benefitting the victims. Ross says while there are nogeneral rules ‘[f]or the estimation of the comparativestringency of . . .prima facie obligations’ (RG 41),his judgement is on reflection saving the accident victims isweightier than keeping your promise (RG 18), in which case, of the twoacts, aiding the accident victims has on balance moreprimafacie rightness. Helping the accident victims is, then, allthings considered, what you ought to do and therefore it is the rightact – your actual duty – of those open to you.

It is not entirely clear what Ross thinks of the relationship betweenprima face duties and duty proper. In RG, Rosssuggests that the notion of our actual duty or duty proper is basicand that the notion of aprima facie duty could be defined interms of it. So in the simple case discussed above Ross claimed thatour actual duty was to help the accident victims and thatprimafacie duties could be defined in terms of contributing to orpotentially explaining why it is our duty proper. In this case, theidea of aprima facie duty and our actual duty are not in theend distinct (Hurka 2014, 75).

He seemed to change his mind about this in FE, where following Broad,he took the idea of aprima facie duty to be basic and heunderstood it in terms of fittingness to some aspect of a situation(FE 79–82, 84; Broad 1930, 218–220). In the simple case above, keepingyour promise to your friend is aprima facie duty as it isfitting to one aspect of the situation and benefitting the accidentvictims is anotherprima facie duty as it is fitting toanother aspect of the situation. It is not entirely clear whether inFE Ross relied on to the concept of duty proper or instead whether herelied on the idea of duty all things considered (Hurka 2014,74–75). In any case, Ross’s view in FE is that we canunderstandprima face duty independently of the notion dutyall things considered and we can define or understand the latter interms of the former.

Ross’s pluralism faces attack from two opposing camps, fromthose who think there are fewer than five basic responsibilities andfrom those who think there are more. Ross intimates his list is thebest representation of thecore commitments of common-sensemorality (RG 20; FE 190). He is sanguine we have theseresponsibilities. He says, for example, ‘the existence of anobligation arising from the making of a promise is so axiomatic thatno moral universe can be imagined in which it would not exist’(FE 77; also KT 42). He is not entirely confident there exist onlyfive basic responsibilities. His list is offered ‘withoutclaiming completeness or finality for it’ (RG 20; also 23).

Ross is not hostile to the idea we might recognise a ‘newduty’ in light of new circumstances (FE 189). However, he doessay ‘the general principles which it [i.e., intuitionism]regards as intuitively seen to be true are very few in number and verygeneral in character’ (FE 190). He seems to think most disputesabout his list would revolve around what should be added rather thanwhat should be subtracted, since the responsibilities listed above are‘authentic’ (RG 23), that is, responsibilities revealedupon sober reflection. But if new circumstances can lead to therecognition of new duties, why may they not lead to the recognitionthere are fewer basic duties than we might otherwise have supposed?This seems to be the nub of the issue between Ross and his idealutilitarian foes.

Ideal utilitarians and others are keen to argue that Ross’s viewis problematic because it is not systematic enough. InSomeProblems in Ethics, H. W. B. Joseph suggested views likeRoss’s go wrong, since ‘our obligations are not a heap ofunrelated obligations’ (Joseph 1931 92; also 67–68). Fortyyears later, Rawls registered the same complaint: without some accountof how the plurality of normative principles are to be weighed againstone another using ‘reasonable ethical criteria, the means ofrational discussion have come to an end. An intuitionist conception ofjustice [and by extension ethics] is, one might say, but half aconception’ (Rawls 1971, 41).

Ross is moved in part by this sort of worry. He initially lists whatappear to be seven responsibilities, including a responsibility ofjustice (a responsibility to bring about ‘a distribution ofhappiness between other people in proportion to merit’ (RG 26,21)) and a responsibility of self-improvement (a responsibility toimprove oneself in respect of virtue and knowledge (RG 21)). He arguesthese can be subsumed by the responsibility ‘that we shouldproduce as much good as possible’ (RG 27; also 30; FE288–89). His version of beneficence involves the promotion of asmuch as possible of the four goods of pleasure, virtue, knowledge andjustice (RG 27, 154).

But Ross does not think that further contraction is warranted:‘[l]oyalty to the facts is worth more than a symmetricalarchitectonic or a hastily reached simplicity’ (RG 23; also FE83; OJ 125). Indeed, his case against his ideal utilitarian foesMoore, Rashdall, and Joseph is strong since they adopt a form ofvalue pluralism for similar reasons. In the context ofdefending his value pluralism, Moore says we cannot assume the‘truth on any subject-matter will display such symmetry as wedesire to see . . . [t]o search for ‘unity’ or‘system’ at the expense of truth, is not, I take it, theproper business of philosophy’ (Moore 1903, 222).

Ross has a further argument against Rawls. Rawls’s theorycontains two principles of justice, lexically ordered. His firstprinciple outlining a set of basic rights takes priority over hissecond principle outlining the correct distribution of social benefitsand burdens. Rawls does not think it is ever right to violate rightsin order to produce just distributions. This gets him a theory assystematic as his classical average utilitarian rival and moresystematic than Ross’s theory. But Ross can argue Rawls achievessystem at the expense of endorsing absolutism, which many acknowledgeto have counterintuitive results. Might gaining a massive benefit forthe least well off not justify a trivial rights violation?

Ross hopes to show his view comprises the best representation ofcommon-sense morality or, as noted above, what ‘we’ think.We might wonder whether this is the case. It is relatively clear mosthedonistic utilitarians are reformers of common-sense morality (e.g.,Bentham 1789; Mill 1863, 1843; Sidgwick 1907). These philosophers maynot be moved (at the level of moral foundations) by claims their viewconflicts with common-sense morality. For their aim in part is torevise it and make moral deliberation more systematic. Ross giveshedonism short shrift because he thinks it obvious pleasure is not theonly intrinsic value (RG 17, 99; FE 65). He often argues idealutilitarianism, like hedonistic utilitarianism, can be dismissedbecause it is at odds with common-sense morality (RG 17–19, 38;FE 67ff.). Yet, it is far from clear ideal utilitarianism is reformistlike hedonistic or classical utilitarianism. The better way torepresent the dispute between ideal utilitarians and Ross is overwhich view best represents common-sense moral thinking. It iscertainly true that the main proponents of ideal utilitarianism tookthemselves to be aiming to provide the best representation ofcommon-sense morality (e.g., Rashdall 1907; Pickard-Cambridge 1932b,152; Johnson 1953).

As Ross conducts it, the main dispute between the two revolves aroundthe issue of whether ideal utilitarians can make sense of theobligation to keep one’s promises. Ross’s view is‘[t]o make a promise is not merely to adapt an ingenious devicefor promoting the general well-being; it is to put oneself in a newrelation to one person in particular, a relation which creates aspecifically newprima facie duty to him, not reducible tothe duty of promoting the general well-being of society’ (RG38). (To clarify that Ross’s target is ideal utilitarianism herewe have to substitute good for well-being as Ross does elsewhere (RG34–36). Ideal utilitarians can agree with Ross’s point asstated. It might be true that promises are not a device for promotingwell-being but false they are not a device for promoting the good,which is the point ideal utilitarians wish to make.)

Ross employs the following example to illustrate his initial case (RG34–35). Suppose by fulfilling a promise to Edward you produce100 units of (surplus) good for him, but by breaking the promise anddoing something else you have not promised to do you produce 101 unitsof (surplus) good for James. The ideal utilitarian view entails it iswrong to fulfil the promise: we must benefit James. But this is notthe verdict of common-sense morality. Ross says it takes a muchgreater disparity in value between the two to justify breaking thepromise (RG 35; FE 77, 90).

In reply, the ideal utilitarian may try to capture the common-senseverdict by noting breaking promises erodes mutual confidence andkeeping promises enhances mutual confidence (RG 38; FE 187). Thesegoods and evils tip the balance in favour of keeping the promise. Rossfrowns on this response. There will no doubt be cases, he says, whereall the benefits of breaking the promise will outweigh (though onlyvery slightly) all the costs associated with breaking it, and in thiscase the ideal utilitarian will have to admit it is obligatory tobreak the promise (RG 38). Ross thinks this is not the verdict ofcommon-sense morality.

Classical utilitarians might think in this case we should revisecommon-sense morality. If after all is said and done, it is better tobreak a promise, we should break it. They might insist that on soberreflection common sense is mistaken and promises just are devices forpromoting well-being. Ideal utilitarians seem to opt for a differentstrategy.

In an engaging set of essays, W. A. Pickard-Cambridge presses Ross onthe issue of whether ideal utilitarianism is actually as at odds withcommon-sense morality as Ross suggests (Pickard-Cambridge 1932a,1932b, 1932c). Pickard-Cambridge first argues there are strong directand indirect reasons for taking promises very seriously(Pickard-Cambridge 1932b, 153–157). He argues further idealutilitarianism accounts better for our common-sense attitudes aboutcases of the following kind:

Chuck has promised Peter he will replace a string on his violin by4:00 pm tomorrow. Just before Chuck intends to fulfil the promisePeter contracts an illness making it impossible for him ever to usehis violin. It appears Chuck is not bound to fulfil the promise. Thisis the verdict of the plain man and the verdict of the idealutilitarian, but it is not the verdict entailed by Ross’s view(Pickard-Cambridge 1932b, 158).
A rich miser pretends to be a pauper in order to get Richard toagree to pay him $100. Richard takes pity on him, and he agrees to payhim the money in six months. Richard discovers a few months laterthrough newspapers reports the miser is a fraud. Richard has no reasonto fulfil the promise. Again, this is the verdict of the plain man andthe verdict of the ideal utilitarian, but it is not the verdict thatseems entailed by Ross’s view (Pickard-Cambridge 1932b,165–166).
A poor man contacts Anne via the Internet asking her to please payhim $100.00 in six months. Anne agrees to give him the money. Threemonths later, before Anne has paid the money, the poor man wins thelottery and is rich. The ideal utilitarian says she is not bound tofulfil the promise and the plain man agrees, but this is notRoss’s verdict (Pickard-Cambridge 1932b, 166).

In response to (1), Ross argues we must insist on ‘some commonsense in the interpretation of the promise’ (FE 94; also 95,96). Both Peter and Chuck assume if by 3:00 Peter is rendered unableever to use his violin, the promise is null and void. But the idealutilitarian may say she can provide an interpretation of the promiseand that her interpretation and its explanation fit more easily withcommon-sense morality. Peter and Chuck assume what they do because nogood would otherwise come from insisting on the promise beingfulfilled.

In reply to (2), Ross says the promise ‘arose out ofconversation with the miser, which was conducted under the impliedcontract to tell each other the truth’ (FE 97). The miser lied.Therefore, the promise is null and void. The difficulty with thisreply is for it to work Ross has to assume the implied contractstipulates we are to tell each other the whole or all the truth. Buthe may not be entitled to this assumption. It is not obvious that whenI sell you something I am required to tell you all the truths aboutthe item for sale. The ideal utilitarian is in a better position toexplain why in the case of the miser the implied contract to tell thetruth requires one not lie about being a beggar. The contract isspecified this way because it is beneficial for it to be so specified:it is not in general beneficial to honour fraudulent promises.

In reply to (3), Ross contends, initially, if Anne has ‘a verydelicate sense of honour’, she ought to consider paying the poorman on account of her carelessness in agreeing unconditionally in thefirst place (FE 97). This is not plausible. There is no reason toenrich an already rich person merely because of carelessness (of thissort). Ross further argues what is promised is not that Anne pay$100.00; rather, what is promised is she pay a poor man $100.00, andsince the man in question is no longer poor, there is therefore noneed to fulfil the promise (FE 97–98). But what drives thisinterpretation of the promise? The ideal utilitarian may say thereason we interpret the promise this way is doing so is on balancebeneficial. Furthermore, the ideal utilitarian can argue that evenwithout thinking of this interpretation of the promise we stillbelieve we have no or only very weak reasons to pay, and that they canoffer the best explanation of this fact. They can also explain whythis is (as Ross notes) a somewhat difficult issue to decide: thereare utilitarian reasons on either side.

Pickard-Cambridge further argues ideal utilitarianism provides thebest explanation of the strength of a promise (1932b, 159–163).Ross agrees some promises are more binding than others. A promise tovisit a sick friend is stronger than the promise to attend the theatrewith friends (FE 100). He suggests the former is stronger because ofthe value of what is being promised (FE 100). An explicit promise ismore binding than a casual promise and more recent promise is morebinding than an older promise. Ross says this is because the manner inwhich and the time at which a promise has been made ‘intensifythe promiser’s awareness of its existence and thepromisee’s expectation of its fulfilment’ (FE 101). Theseresponses seem to play right into the hands of the ideal utilitarian:the promise is more binding when more value is at stake and when thepromisee’s expectations (and possible disappointment) aregreater, all of which are goods the ideal utilitarian claims we needto balance in deciding what we ought all things considered to do.

Ross has one final reply to Pickard-Cambridge, using the followingexample.A is dying. He entrusts his property toB,on the strength ofB’s promise to give it toC.C does not know ofA’s intentionsorB’s promise.B’s activities will notdisappointA orC, nor will his activitiesnegatively impact the general mutual confidence. SupposeDcould make better use of the property thanC. It follows onideal utilitarianismB ought to give the property toD. Ross thinks this breach of trust ‘outrageous’(FE 105).

The version of ideal utilitarianism to which Pickard-Cambridgesubscribes seems to entail B has no reason to fulfil the promise to A.This is a problem for the view. However, Ross’s own view mayimply revision in this case, too. He says ‘[w]hen we considerourselves bound…to fulfil a promise, we think of the fulfilmentof the promise as the bringing into existence of some source ofpleasure or satisfaction for the person to whom we have made thepromise’ (RG 162). This suggests the rightness of the promisedepends on it producing some pleasure or satisfaction forA.But sinceA is dead whenB fulfils the promise nopleasure or satisfaction can be brought into existence forA,implying thatB has no obligation by Ross’s lights tofulfil the promise.

Of course, Ross might drop the requirement that the fulfilment of apromise must produce pleasure for the promisee and suggest insteadonly the fulfilment of a promise be ‘bonific’ for someone(e.g., C) (RG 36; Ross 1928–29: 267–68). This seems to put him at oddswith the plain man in other cases, however. Consider a deathbedpromise with a different content, thatA be buried withC, his wife. Suppose this promise is not bonific. Ross willhave to say there is no reason to fulfil it (though perhaps he couldclaim that fulfilling the promise is bonific since it satisfiesA’s desire (Skelton 2013a)). Hence, he may have to advocaterevision to common-sense morality. Perhaps he can argue his revisionis more conservative than the revisions required by idealutilitarianism. But this is a very thin difference; it may not beenough to give Ross the edge. Given these worries and the fact thatideal utilitarianism seems quite close to the plain man orcommon-sense morality in many of the other important cases, itsentailing it is right to break the promise in the initial case abovecan hardly be considered a death blow.

The ideal utilitarian may not be satisfied with this outcome. Perhapsthe more appropriate route is not to opt for revision to common-sensemorality. For this may in the end give Ross a philosophical advantage,especially if there is hope he can find satisfactory replies toPickard-Cambridge’s objections. Instead, perhaps the betterstrategy is to capture the importance of promise keeping tocommon-sense morality by holding that keeping promises isnon-instrumentally good or at least that breaking a promise isnon-instrumentally bad (Brennan 1989; Ewing 1957, 1959; Johnson 1953,1959; Shaver 2011). The general strategy is to subsume all ofRoss’s non-utilitarian duties in this way. This is a compellingresponse. To assess it, it is important to examine his theory ofvalue.

Before discussing Ross’s theory of value, it is important tonote two other reactions to his list of duties.

Ross’s foes are not alone in recommending fewer duties than heallows. Some of Ross’s fans advocate for reducing his initiallist of duties, too. Phillips, for example, agrees Ross holds, atleast initially, there are five foundational duties (Phillips 2019,58–59). However, Phillips thinks the best account of Ross’s viewinvolves jettisoning theduty of non-maleficence (theresponsibility not to harm or injure others) (Phillips 2019,86–90).

Ross pays little attention to the duty of non-maleficence. His mainfocus is his four other duties – fidelity, reparation, gratitude, andbeneficence – which have a similar structure. Each involves promotingsome good or goods (RG 162; 1928–9: 267–68). Phillips thinks at thecore of Ross’s view is the notion of an agent-relativeintensifier. We have a general reason to promote various goods ongrounds of beneficence, and the duties of fidelity, reparation, andgratitude function tointensify reasons to provide certaingoods to certain people (Phillips 2019, 67ff). So, for example, if Ican benefit a benefactor or a total stranger to the same degree, Ihave more reason – the reason is more intense – to benefit mybenefactor because I have a responsibility of gratitude to them. Theduty of non-maleficence is not like this: it does not involvepromoting a good (Hurka 2014, 182–83; Phillips 2019, 86–87).

Phillips thinks there are good reasons to jettison the duty ofnon-maleficence. Ross suggests the duty of non-maleficence in some wayconstrains what we are permitted to do to promote general good. It isnot permissible, for example, to kill one person to prevent two otherpeople from being killed. Phillips thinks this leaves Ross susceptibleto the paradox of deontology, which says it is paradoxical to holdsomeone’s being harmed provides a considerationagainst, say, torturing, but not a considerationfavouring acting to prevent people from being harmed, say, bybeing tortured by someone else. The concern is: How can it be wrong toharm one person when by harming one person one can prevent two otherpeople from being harmed?

Phillips does not abandon non-maleficence entirely. Instead, heattempts to capture our intuitions about the distinctive badness ofharming or injuring by treating harming or injuring as a higher-levelevil, involving an unfitting attitude (willing or wanting) toward abase-level evil (harming or injuring) (Phillips 2019, 89). It isvicious to want to harm or injure someone, because harming or injuringanother person is bad. If we think of harming or injuring as ahigher-level evil we can, Phillips thinks, explain why harming isworse than failing to benefit, since ‘[n]onbeneficence does notnecessarily involve any similar unfitting attitude’ (Phillips2019, 89), though Phillip’s suggestion will not capture the ideait is wrong to harm one person in order to prevent two from beingharmed.

Phillips’s amendment may not recommend itself to Ross.Jettisoning a requirement not to harm others involves giving up asalient part of common-sense morality, involving the idea, as Rossputs it, of a duty based on people possessing ‘definite rights,or at least claims, not to be made means to the giving of pleasure toothers; and claims that ought to be respected unless the net pleasure,or good, to be gained for the community by other action is veryconsiderable’ (FE 75). Phillip’s suggestion may force usto reconsider whether interpreting the duties of promise keeping,reparation and gratitude as agent-relative intensifiers is right forRoss.

In addition, it is far from clear Phillips has established harming isa distinctive evil as compared with nonbeneficence. Phillips sayswhereas harming or injuring involves the unfitting attitude of wantingor aiming at a base bad (harm or injury), failure to benefit involvesno bad attitude and so is not as bad as harming (Phillips 2019, 89).This may not be obvious. When I fail to benefit I amindifferent to something good. This seems a wrong attitude tohave to a base good (benefits), making nonbeneficence no worse thanharming. Of course, it is possible this indifference is notnecessarily involved in nonbeneficence, in which case itwould not be as bad harming or injuring. But it is far from clear thatwhen I harm someone Inecessarily will or desire injuring orharming them, in which case harming would not be worse thannonbeneficence. I might merely be aiming or willing benefits that myharming produces (for these criticisms, see Shaver 2020, 508).

A different reaction to Ross’s lists of duties is to argue itincludes too few responsibilities. Sidgwick famously claimed egoismand utilitarianism represent coordinate but conflicting requirementsof rationality. On his view, we ought to maximise our own happinessand maximise general happiness (Sidgwick 1907, 496–509). Sidgwickthought it could not be proved to the egoist that their happiness wasnot for them all important and so the egoist could not be rationallyconverted to utilitarianism (Sidgwick 1907, 420). (Sidgwick did thinkhe could convert adherents of something like Ross’s view toutilitarianism (Sidgwick 1907, 337–361.)) In defending egoism,Sidgwick endorsed the existence of non-derivative agent-relativereasons. My good provides me with a special reason to promote myhappiness, a reason individuals other than me lack. These reasonscompete and (sometimes) conflict with the agent neutral reasonsprovided by utilitarianism.

Channeling Sidgwick, Phillips argues Ross should admit agent-relativereasons or intensifiers relating to one’s own happiness.Phillips thinks ‘[t]he fact that a pain will befall me ratherthan someone else gives me a special extra reason to be concerned withthe pain – special extra reason that other people don’t have.Facts about personal identity, that is, are agent-relativeintensifiers of hedonic reasons’ (Phillips 2019, 75). Manyphilosophers agree (e.g., Butler 1736, 137, Price 1787, 148–151,Parfit 2011, 131).

Ross does not think we have agent-relative moral reasons of this sortbecause he does not think there is amoral duty to promoteone’s own happiness. He says ‘the act of seeking pleasurefor oneself is not merely not obligatory, but has not even thespecific kind of rightness or fitness which is moral fitness. It seemsmorally entirely colourless’ (FE 277; also 272, 282, 288; RG151). We might agree it is it odd to say one has a moral duty topromote one’s own happiness (though see Shaver 2014, 213–18 fordiscussion).

The difficulty is Ross seems to be of the view we have no reasonwhatsoever to promote our own happiness (Parfit 2011, 372). He thinksthe only duties in existence are moral duties. This is hard to accept.It does seem for many one’s own happiness or one’s ownunhappiness provides one with reasons or obligations, though notnecessarily moral reasons or obligations. (Phillips can easilyaccommodate this thought since he holds the best way to understandprima facie duties is in terms of reasons rather than moralreasons or duties.)

Ross seems also to think we have no reason to avoid our own pain. Thiscomes out clearly in his characterisations of the duty ofnon-maleficence. It comprises a duty not to injure‘others’ (RG 21); the duty rests on the fact that‘if there are things that are bad in themselves we ought,prima facie, not to bring them upon others’ (RG 26). Heseems, then, to think while I have aprima facie duty not toharm others, I have no such duty not to harm myself. It seems tofollow, then, it would not be morally wrong for me to impose a verylarge pain on myself to avoid only a trivial pain for another. Itwould not be wrong, then, for me to make myself a mere ‘means tothe giving of pleasure to others’ (FE 75). This is hard toaccept even if we accept Ross’s view there exist only moralduties. It seems morally wrong to use oneself in this way. And even ifwe are convinced we lack a moral duty to prevent our own pain we arevery unlikely to be convinced we lack strong non-moral reason toprevent it. Ross may have to modify his duty of non-maleficence toaccommodate this.

These are not the only additions to Ross’s list one mightadvocate. Curiously missing from Ross’s list is aprimafacie duty of veracity. We might agree with him (paceKant) when the (net) benefits of lying are considerable we have anobligation to lie, but disagree with his claim veracity is not afoundationalprima facie duty like fidelity and gratitude.Ross does not give an argument for why there is no foundationalprima facie duty of veracity.

Ross’s thought seems to be the duty can be accounted for interms of his five, foundational duties. As noted, Ross says the dutynot to lie rests in part on the duty of non-maleficence. It is wrongto lie because it involves inflicting a positive injury on anotherperson (RG 55). This might be true in part. But one might imaginesomeone replying with a claim similar to the one Ross makes in replyto utilitarian attempts to show the duty of fidelity to promises isnot foundational, namely, that, like promise keeping, veracity is notjust a device for preventing bad outcomes. Even in cases where lyingis beneficial it still might beprima facie wrong, for whileit does not harm or injure anyone in Ross’s sense, it doesbypass another’s will in an objectionable way.

Ross also suggests lying is wrong because it involves breaking animplicit promise ‘not to tell ties which seems to be implied inthe act of entering into conversation’ (RG 21; FE 97). Again,this might capture some of what we think wrong with lying, but it maynot provide the full account of what makes it wrong. Ross says when‘we consider ourselves bound . . . to fulfil a promise, we thinkof the fulfilment of the promise as the bringing into existence ofsome source of pleasure or satisfaction for the person to whom we havemade the promise’ (RG 162). When we consider ourselves bound totell the truth we are not clearly of the view doing so will promotepleasure for the individual to whom we owe the obligation. Think hereof being asked to provide an honest assessment of a student’swork. We think we ought to tell the truth, but this is not obviouslyaccompanied by the thought doing so will bring into existence pleasurefor the student.

It is possible, of course, that we might think telling the truth isaccompanied by the thought doing so will produce some other good(e.g., knowledge or insight) in which case Ross might be right theduty to tell the truth rests on the duty to fulfil a promise. Butsomeone keen on aprima facie duty of veracity might insisteven when no good is at stake it might still beprima facieright to tell the truth. It is hard to know what Ross can say tosomeone who insists on a self-standingprima facie duty ofveracity (like Price 1787, 153).

Ross mentions one good to be promoted under the duty of beneficence isthe good of justice which for him involves ‘the bringing aboutof a distribution of happiness between other people in proportion tomerit’ or virtue (RG 26; also 21, 27, 28, 138, 153–154; FE 286).This is but one element of justice, as Ross allows. He says manyexisting injustices in his sense are due to ‘social and economicsystems which we have … taken part in and assented to’(RG 28) (including, we should imagine as Ross did not, the colonialismfrom which Ross’s own college – Oriel College –benefitted (Clarke 1971, 327)). He says this fact reinforces ourobligations of justice.

Ross may be right. But our obligations to disrupt these systems is notmerely a matter of restoring justice in Ross’s sense. It mightbe the case that we have aprima facie obligation tofacilitate fair or equitable outcomes in the distribution of wealthand income that are unrelated to restoring or preventing injustice inRoss’s case. Indeed, we might argue it is more important toachieve some fairness in the distribution of income and wealth and itwould be right to achieve it even at the expense of justice inRoss’s sense.

There are other issues of justice Ross does not touch on. For example,Ross says very little about equality in the distribution of scareresources. Some think in distributing scarce medical resources (e.g.,ICU beds) we ought to give priority to the least well off. Ross mightthink considerations of this sort are captured by the duty ofbeneficence. But many might think we should give priority to the leastwell off even if this fails to promote the best outcomes. Ross mayneed to include aprima facie duty of equity in his list toaccommodate the full inventory of issues relating to justice.

4.2 The Good

In RG, Ross argues four things are intrinsically good (RG 27, 102,134–141):

Virtue (or, ‘virtuous disposition and action, i.e. action,or disposition to act, from any one of certain motives [desires], ofwhich at all events the most notable are the desire to do one’sduty, the desire to bring into being something that is good, and thedesire to give pleasure or save pain to others’ (RG 134; also160);
Knowledge (or apprehension of fact) and (to a lesser extent) rightopinion (or correct belief about the ways things are);
Justice (or happiness apportioned to merit or virtue); and
Pleasure^[2].

Virtue, knowledge and pleasure are states of mind, while justice is arelation between states of mind (virtue and pleasure) (RG 140).^[3]

Ross does not think these values are of the same importance. He ranksthem. Virtue is ranked highest. It is ‘superior’ to allthe other goods (RG 153). It is, he says, ‘infinitely’better than knowledge (understood as a ‘bare condition of theintellect’ (RG 151)), pleasure, and (it seems) justice (RG 150,152–154). As noted, there are three virtuous desires. These, too, areranked. The desire to do one’s duty is more valuable than thedesire to promote what is good (e.g., virtue and knowledge) which ismore valuable than the desire to promote others’ pleasure (RG164–166).

Knowledge is the next best, followed by right opinion.^[4] Knowledge and right opinion are, for Ross, distinct states:‘Knowledge is apprehension of fact, and right opinion is notthat, but is simply a state of mind in which things are believed(not apprehended) to be related as they are in factrelated’ (RG 146). Knowledge is better than right opinion, fortwo reasons.

First, knowledge involves direct apprehension of facts or theinferential apprehension of one fact ‘as necessitated by otherfacts’, but right opinion is always partly grounded on‘the product of other psychical events such as wishes, hopes,fears, or the mere association of ideas’ (RG 146). Second,knowledge involves certainty which right opinion lacks (RG 30,138–139, 147). In addition, ‘knowledge of generalprinciples is intellectually more valuable than knowledge of isolatedmatters of fact’ and the more general the knowledge – themore it explains or has the potential to explain other facts –the better it is (RG 147; for discussion, see Hurka 2014,206–208).

The least valuable is pleasure (RG 152). It is unclear where exactlyto place justice in Ross’s hierarchy; he says only that it isless valuable than virtue (RG 153–154). It is not implausible tothink it should be placed between (virtuous) knowledge and pleasure,and therefore the values are ranked as follows: virtue, (virtuous)knowledge, justice and pleasure.

In FE, Ross defends a slightly different view. He appears to maintainthere are four non-instrumental values (FE 19, 73, 180, 262, 278,288–289):

virtue;
intellectual and aesthetic activities;
justice; and
(others’) pleasure.

In RG, Ross maintains all non-instrumental values are valuable in thesame way: their goodness is intrinsic to them (RG 115, 118, 132; alsoOJ 119; he returns to this position at KT 11–12;). In FE, headopts a different stance. The value of virtue and intellectualactivities is a ‘quality intrinsic to them’ (FE 278).These items are ‘fit objects of admiration’ or objects‘worthy of admiration’ (FE 282–283). By contrast,the value of justice and pleasure is not intrinsic to them; rather,their value is based on a relation involving us rightly taking aninterest or rightly finding (some kind of) satisfaction in them (FE278). The pleasure of others and justice are ‘worthy objects ofsatisfaction’ or things in which it is right to takesatisfaction or an interest (FE 275, 278, 282, 283, 288–89). Thedifference in the source of value of the things in the two categoriesappears to follow from the fact ‘while it is self-evident thatthe only ground on which a thing is worthy of admiration is that it isgood in itself, it is not self-evident that the only ground on which athing is worthy of our interest or liking is that it is good initself’ (FE 279).^[5]

This distinction between types of non-instrumental value permits Rossto explain two things he thinks true of pleasure:

Onlyinnocent pleasure is good, that is, pleasure notundeserved or taken in the misfortune of others or in lust or incruelty (RG 136–137, 151; FE 271–272).
Only the innocentpleasure of others is good and hencewhy we think we have a duty to promote it and not our own (eveninnocent) pleasure (FE 74–75, 272, 276, 279, 283, 322).^[6]

The reason only innocent pleasure is valuable is only it is an objectworthy of satisfaction. For Ross, it is not right to take satisfactionin, for instance, undeserved pleasure or pleasure in cruelty or lust.The reason only the pleasure of others is valuable is, again, only init is it right for one to take satisfaction. It is not right, thinksRoss, for one to take satisfaction in one’s own pleasure.

In section 4.1 we discussed Ross’s view we have no duty orobligation to promote our own pleasure or prevent our own pain. Herewe see one reason for this: one’s own pain is not fromone’s own point of view bad and one’s own pleasure is notfrom one’s own point of view good. These are not fit objects of(dis)satisfaction. Hence, we have no duty to prevent our own pain orpromote our own pleasure.^[7]

In RG, Ross wrestled with whether we have a duty to promote our ownpleasure, noting ‘while we clearly recognize a duty to producepleasure for others, it is by no means so clear that we recognize aduty to produce pleasure for ourselves’ (RG 24; also 25–26,151). Despite his lack of confidence, he affirmed in RG an obligationto promote our own happiness under the obligation of beneficence (RG25–26). However, as we have seen, there are traces of the view we haveno duty to promote our own pleasure / prevent our own pain even in RG,including (as noted) in how he construes the duty of non-maleficence(e.g., at RG 21, 22, 28) and in his view it is not virtuous to desireto give yourself pleasure or save yourself pain (RG 134, 168; cf. Ross1928–29, 268–69).

Ross is often unclear about the value and status of justice. Hefrequently states there are only three intrinsic goods (FE 19, 180,262, 278; KT 11–12; OJ 119, 120, 121). In early writings, heclaims justice is a duty not a value (OJ 123). In RG, he is unclear,sometimes claiming justice is a good (RG 27) and sometimes that it isaprima facie duty (RG 35). However, in FE he is relativelyclear justice is good in the same sense the pleasure of others isgood, so it seems reasonable to conclude he thinks justice is anon-instrumental good (FE 288–289). He also suggests at onepoint promise keeping is good in the same way justice and pleasure aregood (FE 289). But he more often rejects the claim that promisekeeping is good (FE 141, 142), suggesting not all objects worthy ofsatisfaction are valuable.^[8]

There are variety of ways in which to attack Ross’s theory ofvalue. As in the case of Ross’s list of duties we can askwhether his list should be expanded or contracted. But before wediscuss this it is worth to examine a some of the unique and strikingfeatures of Ross’s value theory.

Ross says a number of highly interesting things about knowledge,including about the value of knowledge (RG 148). One thing he says,for example, is knowledge is always more valuable than right opinion.He seems to think knowledge better in part because right opinionalways rests on ‘psychological causes (largelyirrational)’, e.g., wishes, hopes, and fears (RG 146). AgainstRoss, one might suggest not all right opinion – e.g., opinioncarefully formed on the basis of the best evidence – necessarilyrests on such causes (Phillips 2019, 144). Suppose having used thebest, most sophisticated polling data I believe with a credence levelof 84% that a certain politician will win a by-election and she does.My being able to have only probable opinion in this case need notresult from some intellectual vice or shortcoming.

Ross might say in reply in the case of right opinion you cannot ruleout that such causes are operating on your opinion, whereas in thecase of knowledge you can, because, on his conception of knowledge,when you know, you know you know. You have complete conviction (RG147). This might make knowledge more valuable. And, he might continue,even if you can rule out such causes in the case of right opinionright opinion is less valuable than knowledge because it is in someway always based on conjecture and merelycontingentconnections between ideas and so held with some degree ofdiffidence.

Ross also says, as we noted, some virtuous motives are better thanothers. We might question whether we really can affirm, for example,the desire to do one’s duty is always better than the desire toproduce something good (RG 164–65). The desire to do your duty becauseit is your duty seems no more valuable than the desire to promote goodbecause it is good (Hurka 2003, 213–14). Both involve similar kinds ofattitudes (loving the good and loving the right) and overcomingsimilar kinds of obstacles. It is not clear it is better to followwarranted public health measures because you desire to do what youought rather than because you desire to promote general good.

Ross’s value theory also includes two very striking claims.Perhaps the most striking claim is about the value of virtue. He says‘no amount of pleasure is equal to any amount ofvirtue’ (RG 150; italics in original). This means a world withsome, very small amount of virtue but great amounts of (surplus) painis better than a world with slightly less virtue (one more venial sinhas been committed) but great quantities of (surplus) pleasure. Thisis hard to believe. Surely, the second world is better (Price 1931,354; also Hurka 2014, 226; Phillips 2019, 120).

Ross also says in FE that one’s own (innocent) pleasure lacksnon-instrumental value from one’s own point of view. He holdsthis because, as we noted, only the (innocent) pleasure of others issomething in which it is right to take satisfaction. Ross says littleabout (innocent) pain. But his view seems to be my own (innocent) painis not something in which it is right to take dissatisfaction.

However, it does not seem like it is wrong to take dissatisfaction inone’s own pain. It seems right to take dissatisfaction inone’s wretched childhood (if one has had one) and to takedissatisfaction in the fact one’s future is likely to be painful(after, say, a terminal cancer diagnosis). It is not clear, contraRoss, we could not follow these judgements with ‘moralsafety’ (FE 288). It might be harder to think it right to takesatisfaction in one’s own pleasure. But, still, it does not seemwrong to take satisfaction in a joyous childhood (if one has had one)and to take satisfaction in the fact that one’s future appearslikely to be enjoyable (see also Shaver 2014, 312).

Furthermore, Broad rightly says we ‘certainly condemn morally aperson who acts highly imprudently, i.e. one who unreasonablydiscounts his own probably future pleasures and unpleasures incomparison with those which are immediately within his reach’(Broad 1971, 274–75; also Butler 1736, 137–138; Price 1787, 153). Oneplausible explanation of this is that one’s own pleasure (pain)is non-instrumentally good (bad).

Ross’s worry seems to be that it is odd to say it would bemorally right to take satisfaction in one’s ownpleasure andmorally right to take dissatisfaction inone’s own pain (FE 322; also 324, 282, 288; RG 151). Perhaps theright reply, then, is to say that there isreason to takesatisfaction in one’s own pleasure andreason to takedissatisfaction in one’s own pain.

In general, Ross’s value theory is too rigid. One of theattractive features of his theory ofprima facie duties isits flexibility and its lack of a rigid hierarchy amongst the duties.It is always possible for any one duty to outweigh any other. Rosswould do well to inject some of this flexibility into his valuetheory, thinking it is always possible for one value to outweigh anyother in some context. This seems a better fit with what‘we’ think on reflection.

In the last section we explored some attempts by ideal utilitarians toshow there are fewer duties than Ross allows. Some ideal utilitarianstake the opposite position with respect to his list of values. Theythink it should be expanded or (at any rate) modified. They think aplausible list would incorporate the values of keeping promises,expressing gratitude and compensating for past wrongs. The idea isthat acts of this sort have value. They think this will help captureour intuitions about the ethical importance of promise keeping,gratitude and reparation while retaining the idea it is never right todo less than the (impartial) best. Grappling with this puts us in aposition us to assess the second ideal utilitarian reply toRoss’s objections mentioned in the last section.

Recall again one of Ross’s examples to suggest idealutilitarianism cannot make sense of the obligation to keep one’spromises:

A is dying. He entrusts his property toB, on thestrength ofB’s promise to give it toC.C does not know ofA’s intentions orB’s promise.B’s activities will notdisappointA orC, nor will his activitiesnegatively impact the general mutual confidence. SupposeDcould make better use of the property thanC. It follows onideal utilitarianismB ought to give the property toD.

Ross thinks this breach of trust ‘outrageous’ (FE105).

In reply, some ideal utilitarians contend they can agree in this casethe promise ought to be kept by adding a value to Ross’s listand say (the act of) promise keeping is non-instrumentally valuable(or at least that promise breaking is evil). The most plausible formof this argument states Ross must accept promise keeping is valuablebecause he accepts knowledge and justice are valuable and there is noreal difference between these values and the value of keeping promisesor the disvalue of breaking promises (Shaver 2011, 130ff.).

The characterisation of Ross’s value theory in this sectionprovides him with a potential defence. He seems to insist on manyoccasions only states of mind or relations between states of mind havenon-instrumental value. Promise keeping, reparation, and gratitude arenot merely states of mind or relations between states of mind.Therefore, they are not non-instrumentally good.

One worry with this reply is knowledge is not merely a state of mind.It involves relations to what grounds it. In RG, Ross insistsknowledge has intrinsic value. He sometimes suggests this in FE.However, his considered seems to be that it is not knowledge butintellectual and aesthetic activities that have value (FE 19, 27, 73,180, 262, 266, 267, 270, 278, 282–283, 284, 290, 296; also OJ119, 120, 121; KT 11–12). And these, we might think, are states ofmind.

This reply might cause Ross problems. If he says knowledge is notintrinsically valuable but intellectual activities are, he cannot sayan activity of the mind is better when it issues in knowledge (FE 270;Shaver 2011, 134n34). Perhaps Ross will have to say intellectualactivities leading to knowledge are better, not because knowledge isitself good, but because of its instrumental properties, e.g.,knowledge might lead us to being most effective at promoting justiceor virtue or pleasure.A fortiori the claim it isintellectual activities that are intrinsically good explains why someinstances of knowledge are more important than others. Ross says‘different instances of this [intellectual] activity are good inproportion as they are conducted according to these principles’(FE 270; also RG 151–152), i.e., principles discovered by logic.Because, say, more philosophical or more general knowledge requiresgreater and more sophisticated use of ‘the principles discoveredby logic’ (FE 270), it is better than knowledge of the sex livesof movie stars. The value of the intellectual activities explains thevalue of the knowledge.

But what about the fact that justice is an intrinsic value? It is nota state of consciousness; it is a relation between states ofconsciousness (RG 140). If Ross is willing to accept justice as agood, why not accept (the act of) promise keeping, and so on, aregood? Ross might insist justice is different from promise keeping,reparation, and gratitude because it is compounded from states ofconsciousness and that is why it and not these other things are good.However, perhaps the better reply is to stop treating justice as avalue. He repeatedly contends it is only states of mind that havevalue (OJ 118; RG 122, 106–107, 140; FE 259, 270; KT 21), andjustice is not a state of mind. He can insist only states of mind havevalue and block the ideal utilitarian response. Ross is open tocharacterising justice as a requirement of duty rather than a value(FE 319), and he losses little by not listing it as a value. Further,it might be more acceptable and capture more of what we think aboutjustice to construe justice (in his sense and others) as a duty.^[9] Many think justice constrains what we are permitted to do topromote general good and Ross sometimes agrees (FE 71).

It is, of course, open to a critic to argue there is little reason tothink that only states of mind have value. Ross does little to defendthe view. Indeed, he might be forced to reconsider whether only statesof consciousness possess value once he is confronted with the ideathat achievement is among the things we seem to value, where thisinvolves ‘having a goal for how the world should be and thenrealizing it’ (Hurka 2014, 209). Achievement involvesinteracting with and affecting the world, including doing things likewriting a book, raising a child to adulthood and building a muscularphysique.

Ross relies quite heavily on the Moorean isolation method to defendhis value theory (Moore 1903, 93, 95–96, 187–88). You figure outwhether something is non-instrumentally valuable by considering it byitself or in isolation (KT 10, 11). His value theory came under muchless scrutiny than did his theory of right, and therefore he did notsee fit to consider monistic responses to it. This may in part bebecause there is agreement amongst his main rivals—Moore,Rashdall, Pickard-Cambridge, Ewing, and Johnson—that valuepluralism is true. This may also be because he considered the mainmonistic rival—that is, hedonism—a dead end (RG 98; FE65). But hedonism lives on (Bradley 2009; Crisp 2006; de Lazari-Radekand Singer 2014; Feldman 2004; Hewitt 2010; Mendola 2006). Therefore,Ross’s value theory may be in for a challenge neither he nor hisideal utilitarian critics anticipated.

To get a taste of what this challenge may look like consider thefollowing hedonistic reply to Ross’s argument for the ideavirtue is intrinsically valuable. Hedonists holdpace Rossthat while it is obvious virtue is instrumentally good and vice isinstrumentally bad, it is far from clear the former is intrinsicallygood and the latter is intrinsically bad (Sidgwick 1907: 400ff.). Inresponse, Ross asks us to imagine two worlds,W₁andW₂.W₁ andW₂ include the same quantity of pleasure. However,W₁ contains agents that are virtuous, who act fromor who are disposed to act from the right motives, whileW₂ contains agents who are vicious, who act fromor who are disposed to act from the wrong motives. Is notW₁ preferable toW₂? Rossthinks it is, and he says what explains this is virtue isintrinsically good (RG 134).

But the hedonist has a reply. The situation envisaged is implausible,for surelyW₁ would have more pleasure thanW₂ because typically virtuous people produce morepleasure than vicious people. Indeed, would not a world with virtuouspeople be more likely to continue to be filled with pleasure and lackthe possibility of descending into chaos than a world with viciouspeople? Is not this ultimately the reason why we desire or preferit?

In response, Ross reminds us not all pleasure springs from the actionsof virtuous people and not all pain springs from actions of vicious(RG 134). Some results from ‘the operation of naturallaws’ (RG 134). Suppose, then, there are two worlds,W₁ andW₂.W₁ contains virtuous people andW₂ contains vicious people, and the two worldscontain equal amounts of pleasure, because althoughW₁-type worlds usually contain more pleasure thanW₂-type worlds,W₁’sextra virtue-generated pleasure is offset by ‘a much greaterincidence of disease’, making the worlds equal in pleasure. Rosscontends it is still the case the virtuous world,W₁, is better thanW₂.

This is a good response. The hedonist may have a rejoinder. Would notW₁ be on the whole better (hedonisticallyspeaking) in the long run because of the virtuous people? Would notW₁ be a place where it is more likely to be thecase a cure is found or where it is more likely pain is treatedeffectively and sympathetically or where it is more likely to remainstable enough to handle the disease and illness? Ross may rely onstrategies similar to the ones he adopts against the idealutilitarian’s attempt to show she can explain the importance ofpromise keeping (RG 38). But it is clear proponents of Ross’sview of value may well have to contend with arguments of this varietygiven the recent resurgence of hedonism. They may have to contend morespecifically with hedonistic replies questioning the reliability ofthe intuitions to which Ross appeal in his attempt to argue for valuepluralism.

5. Ross’s Moral Epistemology

How do we acquire moral and axiological knowledge? Ross holds‘both in mathematics and in ethics we have certain crystal-clearintuitions from which we build up all that we can know about thenature of numbers and the nature of duty’ (FE 144). Ourknowledge of the basic moral and axiological propositions which arethe object of moral intuitions is non-inferential (OJ 121, 123; RG 29,146; FE 144, 172, 262, 320). They are non-inferentially knowablebecause they are self-evident or knowable on the basis of anunderstanding of the self-evident proposition alone (RG 20n1, 29; FE320). For example, that we have a responsibility to keep our promisesis self-evident (RG 29). It is by a process of reflection on thisproposition that we come to apprehend we have this responsibility.Ross thinks we can trust our moral apprehensions, and sinceapprehension is a matter of knowledge, and knowledge impliescertainty, he is certain we have the above responsibilities and thatcertain things are intrinsically valuable (RG 146, 29, 30; KT 42;Skelton 2007; cf. Audi 2004).

That our responsibilities are self-evident does not entail they areobvious to everyone who reflects on them. Ross says a responsibilityis self-evident ‘not in the sense that it is evident from thebeginning of our lives, or as soon as we attend to the proposition forthe first time, but in the sense that when we have reached sufficientmental maturity and have given sufficient attention to the propositionit is evident without any need of proof, or of evidence beyond itself.It is self-evident just as a mathematical axiom, or the validity of aform of inference, is evident’ (RG 29; also 12, 32; KT 42).

The analogy with mathematics is instructive, for we acquire our moralknowledge in the same way we acquire knowledge of mathematical axioms.We apprehend that 2+2 = 4 by apprehending 2+2 matches makes 4 matchesand 2+2 balls makes 4 balls, and so on. We apprehend the algorithm inthe particular cases after exposure to particular instances of itsapplication, by a process of intuitive induction (FE 170). Weapprehend it isprima facie right to keep promises byapprehending it isprima facie right to fulfill this or thatparticular promise. ‘What comes first in time is theapprehension of the self-evidentprima facie rightness of anindividual act of a particular type. From this we come by reflectionto apprehend the self-evident general principle ofprimafacie duty’ (RG 33; also FE 170).

How do we decide or form epistemic attitudes about our actualobligation in a particular circumstance? What one ought to do in aparticular case, as we noted above, is that act ‘of all thosepossible for the agent in the circumstances, [that has]…thegreatest balance ofprima facie rightness, in those respectsin which they areprima facie right, over theirprimafacie wrongness, in those respects in which they areprimafacie wrong’ (RG 41; also RG 46). To figure out which, ofthe acts open to you, has the greatest balance ofprima facierightness overprima facie wrongness you look at all the actsopen to you and determine all the ways in which they areprimafacie right and all the ways in which they areprimafacie wrong and then figure out in each case the balance ofprima facie rightness overprima facie wrongness.You then compare the acts open to you in terms of their balance ofprima facie rightness overprima facie wrongness.The act with the greatest balance of overallprima facierightness is the one you ought all things considered to do and whatyou ought all things considered to do is what you ought or it is rightto do.

What is the relationship between theprima facieresponsibilities we have and the ‘actual or absolute duty to doone particular act in particular circumstances’ (RG 28)? Ourself-evidentprima facie responsibilities are not‘principles by the immediate application of which our duty inparticular circumstances can be deduced’ (FE 84; also 169, 171;OJ 122, 127). Instead, one determines one’s actual duty orone’s duty proper, by reference to ‘all themorally significant kinds it [the act] is an instance of’ (RG20; italics in original; also FE 84, 186; OJ 126–127).One’s actual responsibility or duty ‘belongs to an act invirtue of its whole nature and of nothing less than this’ (RG28; also 33, 132).

Ross is not exactly right here, for one has to engage in a fair amountof comparison of rival acts open to one in terms of their balance ofprima facie rightness overprima facie wrongness.The idea is ourprima facie principles provide moralconsiderations or factors of direct relevance to the morality of eachof the acts open to us. We have to judge with respect to each act opento us to what extentprima facie rightness outweighsprima facie wrongness and then compare acts with each otherin terms of their balance ofprima facie rightness overprima facie wrongness and then determine which act has onbalance the greatest amount ofprima facie rightness overprima facie wrongness. The act with the greatest balance ofprima facie rightness overprima facie wrongness iswhat you ought all things considered to do and is therefore youractual obligation. The act which is one’s actual duty is the onefor which one is most responsible or to which the weightier ofone’s responsibilities attach of those acts open to one (FE 85;RG 41–42).

Unsurprisingly, Ross says ‘[t]his sense of our particular dutyin particular circumstances, preceded and informed by the fullestreflection we can bestow on the act in all its bearings, is highlyfallible, but it is the only guide we have to our [actual] duty’(RG 42). We neverknow, then, what we actually ought to do ina certain situation. Instead, we have a ‘consideredopinion’ or ‘probable opinion’ regarding what weought to do in a particular situation (RG 19, 30, 31, 33; FE 189, 190,191; OJ 122, 123, 127). In the end, the decision regarding what to dosimpliciter, to use Aristotle’s phrase, ‘rests withperception’ (RG 42; OJ 127; Aristotle1109b23, 1126b4). It isimportant to note all of the responsibilities have a valence, positiveor negative, and this valence persists even when a responsibility isoutweighed by weightier responsibilities. So if one’s break apromise one owes compensation to the person to whom one has made thepromise (RG 28).

One point of clarification. Ross says the act which is our actual dutyor obligation in our situation is the one, out of the range of actsopen to us, with the greatest balance ofprima facierightness overprima facie wrongness. It is possible, ofcourse, all acts open to us will have on balance a greater amountofprima facie wrongness overprima facie rightness.In this case, one presumes, Ross will say our actual obligation is theact, of those open to us, with the least amount ofprimafacie wrongness overprima facie rightness onbalance.

In addition, Ross seems not to have considered fully the possibilitythat two acts open to us might be tied in terms of the amount ofprima facie rightness overprime facie wrongnessthey possess. If two or more acts are tied in this respect, there isno act of those open to us having the greatest balance ofprimafacie rightness overprima facie wrongness. In such acase there will appear to be a conflict of actual obligations. Toavoid saying this, Ross will have to modify his view to say our actualobligation in our situation is the act, of those open to us, with atleast as muchprima facie rightness overprima faciewrongness as any other act open to us.

Ross’s epistemology may be attacked in a variety of differentways.

One issue arises with respect to Ross’s contrast between ourknowledge ofprima facie duties or responsibilities and ourknowledge of our actual obligation in a situation. Ross thinks we havecertainty with respect toprima facie responsibilities (RG30), but only probable opinion of our actual duty. Our lack ofknowledge of our actual duty is due in part to the difficulty ofdetermining the precise weight of aprima facie duty or itsdegree of obligatoriness (FE 188).

One may dissent from both the claim we have knowledge of or arecertain we have theprima facie responsibilities Ross says wehave and from the claim that we cannot know (in some perhaps lessersense) our actual duty.

It is hard to believe we could ever be certain we have Ross’sprima facie duties. Ross himself gives reasons for doubt. Asnoted, in RG he says in his original discussion ofprimafacie duties we have aprima facie duty of justice(pleasure apportioned to virtue) (RG 21). A duty of this sort would insome way constrain our duty of beneficence. A few pages later herevises his view and says justice is not a duty, but a good that oughtto be promoted as a part of our obligation of beneficence in whichcase it would not constrain our duty of beneficence (RG 27). But Rossis less than clear about exactly what he thinks. After it seems he hassettled on the idea justice is a good he seems to suggest he is notfully convinced saying again justice is a duty (RG 35; for the sameview, see FE 71–72). This suggests uncertainty about aprimafacie duty justice. And we may have similar uncertainties aboutthe status of other duties, including theprima facie duty offidelity to promises. We may be uncertain whether or not the duty tokeep one’s promises constrains the duty of beneficence (fordiscussion, see Phillips 2019, 186–87).

In addition, it seems in some cases we can have quite a firm view ofour actual duty. Consider a situation in which you have to acts opento you. You are walking to work to chat with a student you havepromised to meet. On the way there you see a child drowning in a pondand only you can save her. If you save her, you will not be able tomeet your student; if you carry on to meet your student, the childwill drown. So, either you break a relatively trivial promise to meeta student in your office hours or you save a drowning child. It seemsclear to many that your actual obligation in this scenario is that youbreak the promise. True, it is likely that you cannot be certain ofthis but you can be as certain of this as you can be of anyprimafacie duty (for discussion, see Hurka, 2014, 124–125; Phillips2019, 187–88; Price 1931, 344; Ross sometimes agrees; FE 191).

Another worry is there is very little agreement in intuitions orclaims to self-evidence. This suggests for some there is no fact ofthe matter as to what has value or what one is responsible for. Rossconcedes there is a lot of disagreement. His response begins by notinga lot of moral diversity rests not on ‘disagreement aboutfundamental moral principles, but partly on differences in thecircumstances of different societies, and partly on different viewswhich people hold, not on moral questions but on questions offact’ (FE 18). He thinks most of the differences concernmedia axiomata, i.e., attempts to apply general principles toparticular circumstances, which rest on different circumstances ordifferent factual beliefs (FE 18–19). About middle principles,he says intuitionists must have an open mind (FE 190).

Many differences cannot be explained away in this fashion, however (FE19). There are differences as to the ‘comparative worth ofdifferent goods’ (FE 19) and as to the stringency of theresponsibilities Ross endorses (FE 186–188). These disagreementsshould not, he thinks, undermine our confidence that there isobjective moral truth. But it is very hard to see a resolution tothese problems. He says despite changes in scientific theories thereis a sense science progresses toward the truth. The same is true inethics. There is no reason to ‘doubt that man progresses fairlysteadily towards moral truth as he does towards scientific’ (FE20). The difficulty with this response is whereas in scientificmatters there is an independent way of establishing progress, there isno such independent or seemingly independent way of establishing thisin ethics. Recent research in the social sciences on moral judgementshould not leave us confident (Greene 2008; Singer 2005).

The problems with Ross’s moral epistemology are compounded bythe fact he thinks the principles of his framework best reflect themain elements of common-sense moral thinking, and that this isnecessary to an acceptable moral theory. This threatens to make hisposition appear parochial (Hare 1971). He is aware of this worry. Hereplies by saying the number of principles intuitionism endorses issmall in number and general in content and this leaves room to rejectmuch of what is commonly taken to be right (FE 190). He also insistson the idea the list of duties (goods) he fixes on are a result ofsober reflection on what we really think where this involves appeal tothought experiments and judgements about particular cases (fordiscussion, see Stratton-Lake 2002b, 114–118). This seems like theright kind of move to make to avoid dogmatism.

However, it puts him in a rather awkward position. If it really istrue the number of principles is small and it is possible therefore toreject much of what is commonly recognized to be morally required, theposition has a more reformist edge, and to the extent it is reformistit is more rather than less like the other views Ross rejects. In thiscase, it makes it much more difficult for him to fault his rivals fornot capturing common-sense morality or what the plain many thinks. Ifhe attempts to move more toward the plain man’s view, thenalthough he can more easily raise objections to ideal utilitarianismand other views, he is much more likely to lose his critical elementand therefore less likely fend off the charge of parochialism.

6. Ross’s Moral Metaphysics

Like many in his time, Ross took pains to undermine variousdefinitions of moral terms. He draws a distinction betweennaturalistic and non-naturalistic definitions. The former are‘definitions which claim to define an ethical term without usingany other ethical term’ (FE 6). The latter are definitions whichattempt ‘to define one ethical term by the aid of another’(FE 6; cf. 42).

Ross rejects all naturalistic definitions of moral terms, including‘right’ and (intrinsic) ‘good’. In RG, heargues (following Moore 1912 and Sidgwick 1907) that the moral terms‘right’ and ‘ought’ are incapable ofdefinition: ‘right’ is an ‘irreducible notion’(RG 12). In FE, he suggests again ‘right’ is indefinable(FE 42), though he is sympathetic to the idea that ‘right’is definable in terms of ‘suitable’ (FE 52–55). Onthis view, ‘this act is right’ means ‘this act has“the greatest amount of suitability possible in thecircumstances”’ (FE 53; also 55). This is not a naturalistdefinition, since ‘suitability’ is itself a ‘uniqueand indefinable’ ethical notion (FE 146; also 159).

In RG, Ross appears to reject all naturalistic attempts to define‘good’ (RG 78ff.). He is in particular keen to impugnviews providing relational accounts of ‘good’; that is,views defining it in terms of some relation to a mental state, e.g.,desire. His view appears to be that ‘goodness is a quality whichcan no more be defined in terms of anything other than itself, thancan the quality of the sensation which we describe as being one of“seeing yellow”’ (RG 86). In FE, he seems to affirmthe view that ‘good’ is indefinable (FE 262), though againhe seems sympathetic to a non-naturalistic definition, according towhich ‘good’ is definable in terms of‘admirable’ or ‘commendable’ (FE 271, 283). Hesays this sense of ‘good’ applies only to things that areintrinsically good in the sense of being objects worthy of admiration,and (as noted above) only virtue and intellectual activity are worthyof admiration (FE 283). The notion of ‘good’ as applied tothe goods of pleasure and justice can be defined relationally. Thesegoods are not objects worthy of admiration but rather fit objects ofsatisfaction. Both notions of good are in a sense definable, but thedefinitions are non-natural: in both cases ‘good’ isdefined in terms of ‘worthiness’ or‘rightness’ (FE 279, 282).

Ross suggests a number of arguments against various (naturalistic andnon-naturalistic) definitions of moral terms. He relies in part on thefollowing kind of argument, which is directed at Moore (RG 8). If‘right’ and ‘being productive of the greatest goodin the circumstances’ mean the same thing, it is not the case itis intelligible the proposition ‘the “right act”just is “the act productive of the greatest good in thecircumstances”’ should have been denied and maintained‘with so much fervour; for we do not fight for or againstanalytic propositions’ (RG 8). It is intelligible that thesepropositions should have been denied and maintained with so muchfervour. Therefore, it is not the case that ‘right’ and‘productive of the greatest good in the circumstances’mean the same thing. This argument can be generalised to reject theusual suspects, e.g., ‘right’ means ‘approved of byme’ or ‘right’ means ‘approved of by themajority of society’, and so on. But it is not the bestargument, since we may well fight over analytic propositions,especially when they are opaque or unobvious.

Ross seems to acknowledge this sort of worry. He writes ‘thefact that we accept some definition as correct shows that the term didsomehow stand for a complex of elements; yet the fact that we are forsome time in doubt about whether the term is analysable, and if so,what the correct analysis is, shows that this complex of elements wasnot distinctly present to our mind before, or during, the search for adefinition’ (RG 92–93). In reply, he says the only way torebut the claim ‘right’ and ‘good’ aredefinable (naturalistically) is to examine ‘all the definitionsthat possess any initial plausibility’ (RG 93). To these weshould apply two tests (FE 259; RG 93). First, we should determinewhether ‘the definition applies to all things to which the termapplies, and to no others’ (FE 259; also RG 93). Second, weshould ask whether the proposed definition expresses ‘explicitlywhat we had implicitly in mind when we used the term’ (FE 259;also RG 93). Using these tools, Ross rejects (among others) theposition that ‘this act is right’ means ‘all or mostmen…react to the act with a feeling of approval’ (FE 24).We often judge an act is right even when we know we are alone inholding this view (FE 25).

These are not the only arguments on which Ross relies. Against theview ‘right’ means ‘awakes in me the emotion ofapproval’ (FE 22), he argues it is unable to explain ‘thepossibility of difference of opinion on the rightness of acts’(FE 24). On this view, if I say ‘incest is impermissible’and you say ‘incest is permissible’ we are notdisagreeing, since all I am saying is ‘incest awakes in me theemotion of disapproval’ and all you are saying is ‘incestawakes in me the emotion of approval’, two statements thatappear to be ‘perfectly compatible’ with each other (FE24). But we want to say the two statements are not compatible. Rossgives the same argument against the claim ‘X isgood’ means ‘I have a certain feeling towardX’. If I say ‘X is good’ and yousay ‘X is bad’, you are saying you have a certain(negative) feeling towardX and I am saying I have a certain(positive) feeling towardX, two statements that seem to becompatible with each other. Yet, he urges, ‘if anything isclear, it is that we do suppose ourselves to be making incompatiblestatements about the object’ (RG 83).

Ross also appears to reject various analyses of moral terms in orderto preserve a certain way of conducting moral philosophy (Shaver 2007,286, 295). He notes ‘there is a system of moral truth, asobjective as all truth must be, which, and whose implications, we areinterested in discovering’ (RG 15; also 20, 29; KT 60). Thediscovery of these truths isnot a matter of scientific(empirical) investigation. Ethical truths are not discovered by‘mere observation’ (FE 7; also 168).

Instead, they are ‘grasped by an intuitive act of humanreason’ (FE 3). ‘The use of the senses, and the physicalsciences, give us no propositions in which ‘right’ or‘obligatory’ occurs as a term’ (KT 87). There are‘two types of predicate—those that can be discovered byexperience to belong to their subjects, and those that can bediscovered by insight, and let us grant that rightness belongs to thesecond class’ (KT 81). In science,‘sense-experience…furnishes…real data’ (RG40). In ethics, ‘no such appeal is possible. We have no moredirect way of access to the facts about rightness and goodness andabout what things are right or good,than by thinking aboutthem’ (RG 40; emphasis added; also 82).

To entrench this idea he draws analogies between mathematic andlogical knowledge and ethical knowledge (RG 29, 30, 32; KT 42, 85; FE320). He is fan of synthetica priori truths in ethics (andelsewhere) (FE 35–36; also 320). Since it might be possible toarrive at ethical knowledge by means of (mere) experience if moralterms were reducible to natural terms, this provides Ross with anincentive to show no such reduction is possible. He wants in short toprotect a moral methodology prizing appeal to what ‘we’think, the thoughts of the ‘best and most enlightened’ (FE172), consensus amongst experts (OJ 119–120; FE 191) and variouskinds of thought experiments. Indeed, it has been suggested thatthrough the use of these tools it is possible to demonstrate thatthough ‘right’ is not synonymous with a natural propertyit nonetheless refers to some natural property, e.g., what has thegreatest balance of justice, beneficence, fidelity, and so on, overinjustice, non-maleficence and infidelity, and so on (Shaver 2007,289). (This may be controversial if such notions as‘justice’ are incapable of complete naturalization. Ifcomplete naturalization is not an option, then Ross may be forced toendorse a less palatable metaphysics.)

Ross holds the basic claims of morality express ‘facts which areself-evidently necessary’ (FE 320; also 262). Are theseobjective facts of a special kind? The standard suggestion is for Rossmoral facts are non-natural facts or non-natural properties(Stratton-Lake 2002a, xxi; Frankena 1963, 86–87; 1973, 103). Itis not clear he actually holds this view. He says very little aboutthe nature of moral facts except (perhaps unhelpfully) to compare themto mathematical and logical facts. He does not appear to infer fromthe failure of naturalistic definitions of moral terms that the termsrefer to distinct properties. His focus is almost entirely ondefinitions of ‘right’ and (intrinsic) ‘good’.His concern is with what ‘we have in mind’ not withproperties (FE 13, 42), though, problematically, he often refers to‘good’ as a ‘quality’ or‘characteristic’ or ‘property’ (RG 82, 87, 88,110, 122; FE 278, 279). He writes that ‘the difference betweengoodness or value and such attributes as yellowness is there whereasthe latter aredifferentiae…of their possessors, theformer is aproperty (i.e. a consequential attribute) ofthem’ (RG 121; italics in original).

It is not clear Ross intends this view to be an inference from hisarguments against naturalistic or other analyses. That he offers noexplicit argument to this effect suggests he likely did not intend theinference (cf. Stratton-Lake 2002a), and he nowhere rules out thatmoral properties are natural properties. At any rate, he does not needto make this inference to achieve the aims he has in rebutting thevarious definitions he discusses. The arguments he uses are sufficientto preserve (in his view) plausible moral semantics, moraldisagreement, and his moral methodology. This should please theadherents of this view, though it still leaves Ross with the task ofmaking sense of the nature of moral truth if it is not to beunderstood as correspondence to the moral facts.

Ross’s appeal to self-evidence and his defence of the synthetica priori may seem problematic to many, though recent defencesof these views suggest their fortunes are improving (Audi 1996, 2004;Crisp 2002; Parfit 2011; Stratton-Lake 2002a, 2002b). To defendhimself, Ross might simply eschew appeal to self-evidence andcertainty with respect to intuitions about general principles andreplace them with appeal to moral beliefs of high reliability or toconsidered convictions about moral claims (Griffin 1996; Hooker 2000;Rawls 1971). This seems to give him what he needs methodologically(for discussion, see Irwin 2009, 686–90). The appeal to consideredconvictions allows him the ability to say, for example, we knowdirectly pain is bad and it isprima facie wrong to breakyour promises; in addition, he can avoid the defects of coherencetheories of justification by holding there are at least somepropositions not justified exclusively by coherence (FE 141; Ross1931, 61–62).

This (importantly) puts him on the same level as almost all moraltheorists working today. It is less clear Ross is able to divesthimself of synthetica priori truths. But if his endorsementof synthetica priori truths is one way of securing thestandard way of doing moral philosophy, which involves appeal tothought-experiments, intuition, what we think, and so on, it is moredifficult to reject. It is more difficult to reject still if we acceptsuch claims in areas outside ethics and if we are not keen on (radicalforms of) empiricism.

7. Ross’s Contemporary Importance

Ross’s contemporary importance to moral philosophy rests on hisclarification and defence of a form of pluralistic deontologyattempting to avoid the alleged deficiencies of utilitarianism withoutembracing the alleged excesses of Kantianism. The most distinctivefeature of this view is the notion of aprima facie duty orof a consideration counting in favour of or against an act, morallyspeaking. Ross’s view serves as an important source ofinspiration for those dissatisfied with Kantianism and utilitarianism.Ross said little about issues in what we now call practical or appliedethics. He belonged to a group of moral philosophers, including Moore,Prichard and others, for whom it was not important to work out viewson contemporary issues or to use moral philosophy to change the world(though see Ross 1929; RG 56–64, for his reflections on punishment;for illuminating discussion of Ross’s view, see Moriarty 2006;Zimmerman 2011). Nevertheless, Ross’s view has seen a resurgencein ethics and applied ethics (Audi 2004; Beauchamp and Childress 2008;Phillips 2019; Stratton-Lake 2011b).

Ross also outlines a moral epistemology distinct from the coherentistreflective equilibrium that has held sway over moral philosophy forthe last fifty years. He relies on the idea that at the core of ethicsthere are certain self-evident truths which can be discovered byreflection on what we think about moral and axiological questions.Those dissatisfied with the standard model for doing moral philosophybut who at the same time find themselves attracted to the idea ethicaltheories should capture the main elements of common-sense morality dowell to consult Ross’s unique contribution to moralepistemology.

Bibliography

Primary Sources

[OJ]	“The Basis of Objective Judgements in Ethics,”International Journal of Ethics, 37(2) (1927):113–127.
[RG]	The Right and the Good, Oxford: Oxford UniversityPress, 1930.
[FE]	Foundations of Ethics, Oxford: Oxford University Press,1939.
[KT]	Kant’s Ethical Theory: A Commentary on the Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten, Oxford: Oxford UniversityPress, 1954.
[AT]	Aristotle, sixth edition, London: Routledge, 1995.

Other Papers (in ethics) by Ross

Ross, W. D., 1928, “Is There a Moral End?,”Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society: SupplementaryVolumes, 8: 91–98.
Ross, W. D., 1928–29, “The Nature of Morally GoodAction,”Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 29:251–274.
Ross, W. D., 1929, “The Ethics of Punishment,”Journal of Philosophical Studies, 4(14): 205–211.
Ross, W. D., 1931, “The Coherence Theory of Goodness,”Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society: SupplementaryVolumes, 10: 61–70.

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The author wishes to thank John Cooper, Thomas Hurka, David Phillips,and Robert Shaver for helpful written comments on previous drafts ofthis entry.

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