1. What's wrong with using tolerance as an ethical principle, and then not having to go through the process of moral reasoning?
2. What's the point of having principles that justify the law, when the law already exists and has binding force?
3. How do I know which aesthetic principles to use in a given situation, or in general?

1. What's wrong with using tolerance as an ethical principle, and then not having to go through the process of moral reasoning?

No one can deny the beauty of tolerance, nor the pinched and unfree quality of life in intolerant societies. But even beautiful virtues have their limits, and making tolerance our single dominant virtue will leave us without answers to important questions. Everyone acknowledges that tolerating actions has its limits: We don't sit back condoning crime just because someone else chooses to value it. Instead, you might say, we permit whatever does not hurt someone else. Why this distinction? Where do we get the ethical principle that hurting other people is wrong, but nothing else is? Well, no one wants to be hurt. But plenty of people also don't want to see what offends or annoys them; how do you keep the principle of not hurting without adopting the principle of not offending? Theorists on all sides have proposed answers to that question. The point is that toleration needs defending, that it does not reveal its truth to all onlookers. And even as a social virtue, tolerance does not settle all matters. If intolerance means simply calling someone's actions wrong (as opposed to arresting or striking the person), why shouldn't that act of moral judgment be tolerated as well? How can toleration justify its own standing as an ethical principle, as long as intolerance doesn't hurt anyone? Then the greater problem. We tend to think of ethics as a way of judging other people's actions. And no wonder, when most public discussions of morality condemn sexual practices, music, medical decisions, and so on. But in fact we also rely on ethical reasoning to make decisions about what we should do. And here toleration is vacuous: It can't help you make a decision when you're genuinely perplexed about what you ought to do. Consider these questions:

Should I visit my friend's terminally ill mother?

Should I commit adultery, just this once, when no one will know about it?

Should I keep this envelope full of money that I found in a phone booth?

When someone you know tries to reach answers to these questions, you may decide to accept whatever conclusion that person comes to: In this respect tolerance gives an answer, if not always a good answer. When the questions are your own, toleration leads you nowhere. At most you may reassure yourself that whatever you decide is right; but when you're in an ethical quandary that answer will not satisfy you.

2. What's the point of having principles that justify the law, when the law already exists and has binding force?

Since laws already exist, it may seem beside the point to find theories that justify them. We still have to obey unjustified laws; why waste time talking?

Here we should note an important difference between moral and legal frameworks: Moral frameworks agree with one another to a much greater degree when we get to specific cases.

Sometimes duty theory and utilitarianism, for instance, conflict dramatically. Utilitarians see no consequences to breaking a secret promise, while duty theorists refuse to allow it. But all these frameworks are sophisticated enough, in their completed versions, to agree with most of our existing intuitions about right and wrong. After all, we don't go to a moral theory for surprising results, but for an explanation of what we already believe.

Principles of legal justification, on the other hand, point to very different conceptions of society, and so yield very different answers to particular cases. Should we require drivers to wear seat belts? Paternalism says yes, the harm principle says no, and moralism says nothing. Should cocaine have the legal status of alcohol? The harm principle may say yes; moralism and paternalism give an unequivocal no.

Speaking roughly, we might say that legal moralism envisions a society that reinforces moral principles; that the harm principle wants society to keep us from hurting each other, but otherwise to leave us alone; that legal paternalism is working toward a society that takes care of its citizens; and that the offense principle adds to other considerations the dream of a society in which no one has to suffer offense. Leaving aside this last case, we find ourselves with three distinct visions of what government should do and be.

Two things follow. First, we use these legal principles in deciding whether to vote for a proposed law (or whether to vote for a candidate who wants to pass that law). As the different principles lead to quite different conclusions, it matters which one we adopt.

Second, each of these principles--insofar as it implies a view of what society should be--is embedded within a picture of what makes government legitimate, what purposes a government ought to serve. Every responsible citizen should participate in public life: voting, of course, but also joining in open debate, serving on juries, writing to elected officials, and so on. And participating responsibly means acting on the basis of political principles. So thinking about what justifies a given law is part of a larger process of taking part in the public life of one's society.

3. How do I know which aesthetic principles to use in a given situation, or in general?

A serious answer to this question could only begin with a course on aesthetics. Especially since the eighteenth century, but also for thousands of years before that, philosophers have debated the meaning of art and the right criteria for evaluating it. But before taking that plunge, you may use two methods for choosing among aesthetic principles that you can then apply to particular works.

We have already encountered a reason for the first method: Aesthetic principles sometimes conflict with one another. The social and ethical effects of a work of art either matter to an aesthetic judgment or do not. We can't adopt all these principles. So as a first step you should identify those principles that cannot be held simultaneously, and choose among them. Does aesthetic judgment come down to an experience that no one can reason about? Then don't use any of the other principles.

You have now narrowed down your list of aesthetic principles, but probably not by much. The second step (assuming, again, that you want to put off the commitment of a course on aesthetics, or an armload of books) begins with those works of art that you can use as definite test cases. Compile a list of those objects whose value as works of art you consider undeniable. (No one's perfect, and someday you may quickly deny what you now deem undeniable; but this is a place to start.) Ask which aesthetic principles best fit the value of those works. If you find your list packed with art you find emotionally stirring, you probably have an allegiance to (5). If you gravitate toward works that seem to teach something deep, then (1) has worked as one of your guiding ideas. You are reasoning backwards from your most solid aesthetic commitments to principles that you can then apply in less certain cases.

Of course, there is more to aesthetic judgment than adhering consciously to ideas that have been guiding you vaguely. But at least this way of clarifying your own assumptions will keep you from falling into immediate and blatant inconsistency. You won't get caught praising a movie for its intrinsic significant form, when all the other movies you've called great owe their merit to their social conscience.