Careful scrutiny applied to two pages of Peter Singer’s “Famine, Affluence, and Morality” reveals its fundamental reasoning in consequentialist logic and technological advancement, rhetorical choices through accessible language and a clever analogy, and its weak points in being overly dismissive of a perspective and making a minor contradiction.
Starting with reasoning, my annotations revealed utilitarianism’s influence on Singer’s conclusions. Drawing from the ideas that consequences define actions’ moral good and that all lives count equally, the argument is rooted in consequentialist principles dating to Bentham and Mill. Above these utilitarian stalwarts, Singer’s conclusions are more plausible for two reasons.
For one, I cannot see actions’ pain and pleasure “quantities.” In juxtaposing tangible choices (lives versus lattes), Singer modernizes and applies principles of utilitarianism to prescribe action.
Secondly, Singer’s prescriptions seem more approachable. Rather than perpetually demanding the most beneficial action, he simply asks readers to prevent suffering whenever it causes them no comparable misery—a far lower bar!
Furthermore, Singer’s integration of technological advancements makes his work more relevant. He recognizes “instant communication and swift transportation have changed the situation” to improve global crisis awareness (232). Incorporating modern technology grounds his claim not in obsolete facts, but in the conditions constituting our world. As I searched for rationale to connect with, this made his ideas feel alive. As well as making his thesis appear cognizant of his readership’s world, these references allow Singer to argue for disregarding proximity in philanthropy—a crucial pillar of his argument.
Continuing with this theme of accessibility, after finishing reading, I noticed I did not have to look up any definitions. This was Singer’s intention. His paper’s goal was to persuade as many people as possible to adopt his philosophy. Instead of alienating swaths of his audience with stuffy academic vernacular, he writes in common language to spread his message en masse.
This approachable style leads us to Singer’s rhetorical crown jewel: the drowning child analogy. The story works effectively for two reasons. First, it is understandable to laypeople, the importance of which I emphasized above. Second, its theme—alleviating suffering through minor inconvenience—applies to many situations, including well-off individuals promoting humanitarian relief. The best part is how “deceptive” it is (Singer 231). Readers do not realize how transformative its principle is until we have already agreed to it.
As well as developing appreciation for cases’ strengths, scrupulous annotations let readers discover arguments’ defects. Here, I noticed two flaws capable of engendering criticism.
First, he dismissively writes “Those who disagree need read no further,” casting aside those believing suffering and death aren’t bad (231). Obviously, this is a ridiculous opinion likely stated by a bad faith actor. Still, he refuses to explain why such awful things are indeed awful, exposing himself to allegations of curt dismissiveness of dissenters when a thoughtful paragraph would silence these contrarians.
Secondly, Singer concedes that directing aid across the globe is “almost” as effective as local donations, yet identifies “no possible justification for discriminating on geographical grounds” (232). This is contradictory. Singer acknowledges slight efficiency advantages with local causes, which, under his logic, compel donors to marginally favor such opportunities. Even in limited capacities (e.g. prioritizing Asheville hurricane relief over Sudanese famine), this creates the geographical discrimination Singer deems unjustifiable.
Putting Singer’s masterpiece under the microscope of annotation allowed me to recognize his logical roots, persuasive strategies, and rare deficiencies.
Works Cited
Singer, Peter. “Famine, Affluence, and Morality.” Philosophy and Public Affairs, vol. 1, no. 3, spring 1972, pp. 231-232.