Clifford’s 1877 “The Ethics of Belief” is an attempt to define an ethical philosophy of epistemology. I recommend it as a building block in the construction of a personal moral philosophy. To follow his essay as a life philosophy would be difficult, but the virtues it describes are worth acquiring.

The essay is not a sophisticated work by modern standards. The dangers it describes seem to modern ears hyperbolic, and its demand for skepticism is overly strict. There is a deep hypocrisy in its frequent claims about society, as they themselves lack evidence. Although the essay is a deeply flawed work, both in its ethics and epistemology, I think it remains valuable as an inoculation against complacent epistemologies. Its true value is as an aspirational text for those who truly wish to act in good faith.

Ethical belief establishment

Clifford’s claims are simple: Belief informs action, and an ill-founded belief will do worse than a well-founded one. Thus, morally correct action requires evidence and justification for beliefs. Or in his words:

To sum up:—

We may believe what goes beyond our experience, only when it is inferred from that experience by the assumption that what we do not know is like what we know.

We may believe the statement of another person, when there is reasonable ground for supposing that he knows the matter of which he speaks, and that he is speaking the truth so far as he knows it.

It is wrong in all cases to believe on insufficient evidence; and where it is presumption to doubt and to investigate, there it is worse than presumption to believe.

A member of the esteemed Metaphysical Society, Clifford intended the essay as a rebuke of religious belief amid a period known as the Victorian Crisis of Faith¹. The Society included both agnostic and religious members, and “The Ethics of Belief” is a jab at the latter. Clifford’s pugnacious tone perhaps reflects a certain animosity to religious ideas.

The essay espouses a strict philosophy, one in which every belief needs careful examination. Clifford anticipates the reaction such strictness may provoke:

“But,” says one, “I am a busy man; I have no time for the long course of study which would be necessary to make me in any degree a competent judge of certain questions, or even able to understand the nature of the arguments.”

Then he should have no time to believe.

Clifford is sympathetic to the difficulty of evaluating diverse fields in detail (a problem that has worsened since Clifford’s time), and he offers the option to trust experts. This reduces the problem of evaluating a belief to evaluating the authority. The epistemology is perhaps lacking here; the essay offers no guidance on how once should actually realise this process.

Clifford also describes processes in which probabilistic reasoning allow for less stringency:

Moreover there are many cases in which it is our duty to act upon probabilities, although the evidence is not such as to justify present belief; because it is precisely by such action, and by observation of its fruits, that evidence is got which may justify future belief.

Contradictions lurk; the parable of the shipowner that begins the essay includes such a weighing of probabilities. Modern Bayesianism as an epistemological tool postdates the essay, and the shipowner’s decision process is naturally fallacious, but Clifford does not explicitly work out why.

Implementation

Clifford offers at best mere sketches of possible defenses of his philosophy, rather than a thorough justification of his assertions. This doesn’t necessarily strip the essay of all value. “The Ethics of Belief” contains provocative language intended to galvanise reactions. As Timothy Madigan points out, there is value in Clifford’s example as a role model for rationalist virtues.

I think the simplest argument in support of Clifford is that seldom do costs of grounding knowledge in evidence outweigh the benefits. Far more common are those who, myself included, err too often in the direction of insufficient justification. Regardless of the specific goals of one’s moral framework, having higher accuracy information is typically useful, so seeking out that accuracy is in itself a common instrumental goal.

Decision theory perhaps offers more concrete techniques for calculating actions based on probabilities, and even in trying to estimate the value of evidence on a belief. Toy examples, like questions about whether Pluto has at a particular moment in time an even or odd number of atoms, illustrate the idea that there are inconsequential beliefs. Clifford might say that one has “no time to believe” anything one way or another to answer that question, but I think this is best thought of as a heuristic representing the decision-theoretic idea that such information has an expected value far below its cost.

Recontextualising Clifford’s essay into decision theory language gives us an insight into why he clamored for strict justifications. For an important question, like whether to ground one’s epistemic or ethical beliefs in a particular religion, there is a high cost associated with an incorrect answer. Thus, the cost of ascertaining an answer to a high certainty is worth paying.

Perhaps those who wish to learn how to believe ethically will find Clifford hyperbolic and unhelpful. To those who need reminding why to exert the needed effort, read Clifford and feel inspired by his charge.