R. M. Hare (1919-2002) on Exceptions
A more serious example is provided by the question, whether it is ever legitimate to use torture in police interrogations. A police officer might determine as a matter of principle never to use it; and I should approve of his doing so. This is not, however, because I think it logically impossible that situations should arise in which, by a form of moral reasoning such as I can now accept (similar to that outlined later in this book), I could satisfy myself that torture ought to be used. It is in fact very easy to imagine such situations: suppose, for example, that a sadistic bacteriologist has produced and broadcast an infectious bacillus which will cause a substantial part of the world’s population to die of a painful disease; and that he alone knows the cure for the disease. I should certainly not condemn the police if they tortured him to make him reveal it. But when I say that I approve of a police officer accepting it as a matter of principle not to use torture, I do not mean to deny that fantastic cases could be thought up in which it would be legitimate; what I mean is that, although a completely watertight set of moral principles covering all logically possible circumstances (if there could be such a thing, which is unlikely) would include a clause to allow an exception in such cases, it is unlikely to be possible in practice for a police officer (however intelligent and sensitive) to do the moral thinking which would be necessary to distinguish such cases from others, superficially similar, in which the principle forbidding torture ought to be adhered to; and it would be dangerous for him to try, because in the sort of circumstances in which torture is sometimes advocated and practised it is extremely difficult to think clearly and to consider all sides of the case. Moreover, in cases which actually occur—as contrasted with those which are logically possible—I hold, having seen the sort of things that happen, that the ill effects on society of this insidious evil are always such as far to counterbalance any good that might come of it, even if the most important consideration, the suffering of the victim, be left out of account. I have, therefore, no hesitation at all in saying that police officers, however desperate the circumstances, ought to make it a matter of principle never even to contemplate such methods.
The sort of consideration of hypothetical and fantastic cases which I have implicitly condemned is to be distinguished from that quite different use of hypothetical cases in moral reasoning which we shall later see to be both necessary and useful. . . . It is always legitimate, in order to apply to moral argument the requirement of universalizability, to imagine hypothetical cases which really are, apart from the fact that the roles of the people concerned are reversed, precisely similar in the relevant respects to the actual case being considered; and this may properly be done, however fantastic the assumptions that have to be made, in matters which do not affect the moral issue, in order to make the hypothetical case seem possible. This perhaps holds even for people faced with urgent practical problems, provided that they have time to think at all; and most of us should, when we have time to think, think more about such matters. Indeed, there is nothing to prevent moral philosophers in their studies considering cases which fall outside even this limit—which, that is to say, are in their morally relevant particulars quite dissimilar from cases which are likely actually to occur. It may not be so useful to do this, as to consider cases in which the morally relevant features of actual cases are reproduced; but it may all the same be instructive. But for people in situations which expose them to a particular moral danger, it may sometimes be best to put altogether out of their minds the possibility of exceptions to a principle. It is a very difficult matter to decide just when it is right to make something ‘a matter of principle’ in this way—it depends so much on the circumstances and on the psychology of particular people. But we cannot say that it is never right.
We clearly do sometimes use the word ‘principle’ in this sense, though it should be equally clear that this is not the way in which I have been using it. Burke, strangely to our ears, uses the word ‘prejudice’ ironically in a favourable sense for the same kind of thing: ‘Prejudice is of ready application in the emergency; it previously engages the mind in a steady course of wisdom and virtue, and does not leave the man hesitating in the moment of decision, sceptical, puzzled and unresolved. Prejudice renders a man’s virtue his habit, and not a series of unconnected acts. Through just prejudice, his duty becomes a part of his nature.’ All but a few philosophers would commend a man for making some of his decisions in the way Burke advocates; but few of us (and probably not Burke) would think it right for all decisions to be made in this way.
(R. M. Hare, Freedom and Reason [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963], 43-5 [italics in original; footnote omitted; ellipsis added])