The wrongs, harms, and ineffectiveness of torture: A moral evaluation from empirical neuroscience

Torture is banned by numerous international and regional treaties.¹ The United Nations' Convention against Torture (United Nations, 1984) defines torture as “any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining […] information or a confession, punishing him […], or intimidating or coercing him […], when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity” (ibid.: Article 1). Nonetheless, torture continues to flourish across the globe.² Following 9/11 and the subsequent War on Terror, philosophers and policy makers of Western states seriously debated whether there are exceptional circumstances in which torture is morally permissible or even required.

The most prominent arguments in favor of the permissibility of torture rest on an appeal to some form of utilitarianism combined with the belief that interrogational torture works.³ In contrast, those arguing for the wrongness of torture typically appeal to the notion of human dignity. In this paper, I make the case that empirical insights from neuroscience and beyond are relevant to this debate as they inform both utilitarian and deontological arguments on torture. Drawing on empirical data, I first show that torture is demonstrably ineffective and there are alternative methods better suited to obtain information. Then I argue that the profound neurological damages caused by torture indeed amount to a disregard for autonomy. Moreover, I explore what psychological and neurological mechanisms underlying the practice of torture. I conclude by canvassing reasons for thinking that torture is likely to persist and argue that this sheds light on human nature and on the nature of states.

In contrast to those who argue that torture is sometimes permissible on consequentialist grounds, those who make the case that such methods are categorically forbidden typically take a deontological approach. For the deontologist, torture is wrong in principle, regardless of its consequences. In international law, the right not to be tortured is grounded in human dignity. As the United Nations' Universal Declaration of Human Rights (United Nations, 1948) states, “all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights” (Article 1). The Declaration proclaims that human dignity is “inherent” to “all members of the human family” and that the rights that derive from it are “inalienable” (ibid.: Preamble). Although no account of the grounds of human dignity is provided, borrowing a term from John Rawls, we can say there is an international overlapping consensus on the value of dignity as described in the Declaration.

Most debates concerning the moral (im)permissibility of torture focus on the victim, overlooking the impact on the torturer. This analytical gap is worth filling. As it is the torturer who commits the morally contentious act, studying the underlying mechanisms and motivations helps us better understand and evaluate the act of torture. In a broader context, neuroscience and psychology can also inform our understanding of what the practice of torture means for our conception of human nature, and how its use can lead to what we might call a “torture culture”. In order to capture the transformative effects of torture on the perpetrator, we must first understand how someone can become capable of committing such an act. What does it take for a person to disregard someone's dignity and infringe the central value upon which our political life is based?

As I have argued here, interrogational torture does not work, and severely harms both the victim and perpetrator, and we are in the process of developing ethical alternatives. Given this, it is reasonable to ask why torture continues to be used.

The answer to this puzzle is complex. For one thing, governments face institutional challenges that prevent them from learning. As Rejali elaborates, the informality of how torture is taught, the lack of professional torturers, the rivalry among interrogators, and the decentralized structure of counter-insurgency warfare which has typically engaged in torture in the past, are all reasons why knowledge about torture can hardly be accumulated (Rejali, 2007: 520–21). Moreover, the data that has been recorded is rarely made available to the public and therefore cannot be analyzed (ibid.: 521–23).

Furthermore, neither human beings nor states necessarily act rationally. This fact is captured by Nayef Al-Rodhan's theory of Emotional Amoral Egoism (Al-Rodhan, 2021), a recently defended theory of human nature grounded in neuroscientific and psychological research.²² A central element of this account is the emphasis on the role that emotionality plays in decision-making and cognition (ibid.: 63–64).²³ Although theories on human nature primarily relate to individual actors, they may also shed light on the behavior of states, whose institutions are staffed and shaped by individual people. Consequently, human characteristics like emotionality are reflected, to a greater or lesser extent, on a national level.²⁴ The Global War on Terror is evidence of this. In addition to constituting a physical attack, 9/11 was also a metaphysical attack on the idea of America and the West (Al-Rodhan, 2015). This assault left these states and their citizens vulnerable and emotional, and officials found themselves in a state of urgency, driven by a sense of responsibility to defend the national interest. This combination of emotionality and a desire for action led to an excessive backlash, which resulted in the torture of suspected terrorists. Recognizing the influence of human nature on governance helps us see that one of the reasons why states use torture lies in the fact that they do not act rationally, but emotionally.

Another potential explanation for the continuing use of torture is that the authorities authorizing such acts fail to be truthful regarding their intentions. Luban (2005) identifies five aims of torture (1429–36). The only aim that could plausibly be accepted in dignity-based political systems is intelligence gathering from uncooperative captives, as in the Ticking Bomb Scenario, because this kind of torture is not obviously motivated by cruelty. The other four reasons Luban describes are: prolonging the pleasure that comes from victory over others, terrorizing people to force submission, punishment, or to extract confessions (ibid.: 1432–35). Given that people are likely to judge torture for any of these more obviously cruel reasons as impermissible, authority figures motivated by other motives than obtaining relevant information have good reason to conceal their true intentions and falsely claim that torture is ordered for the greater good.

Finally, it must be kept in mind that those who are in a position to order torture do not typically carry it out themselves. As we have seen, the torturers who suffer the psychological and neurological consequences of their actions often act under coercive circumstances at the very bottom of a hierarchy chain. The decision-makers are people in power like lawyers, politicians, or even presidents. Empirical studies suggest that being powerful fosters certain characteristics that could contribute to a decision to torture. People who feel powerful are less likely to consider other people's perspectives (Galinsky et al., 2006: experiments 1, 2A, and 2B), have problems deciphering other's emotions (ibid.: experiment 3), and feel less distress and less compassion when they hear about other's suffering (Van Kleef et al., 2008). On a neurological level, the lack of perspective-taking and empathy could be partly explained by the observation that people who feel powerful show reduced mirroring (Hogeveen et al., 2014). Studies show that the more power a person experiences, the less the mirror neurons are firing, even if the powerful individual makes a conscious effort to produce a mirror response (Naish & Obhi, 2015).

Any approach that seeks to eradicate torture must take institutional structures, the nature of humans and states, possible ulterior motives, and the distorting effects of power on the judgment of decision-makers into account. The still ongoing reappraisal of the War on Terror shows that a dignity-centered public discourse can bring about positive change. When the United States Senate Select Committee on Intelligence (2014) published its report on the CIA's detention and interrogation program, it paved the way toward an evidence-based policy discussion. The report clearly stated to have found that “enhanced interrogation techniques” failed to produce any relevant intelligence or to convince the detainees to cooperate (ibid.: xi). To continue their program, the CIA misrepresented the effectiveness of their actions, downplayed the brutality of it, and tried to prevent any scrutiny and oversight from other institutions (ibid.: xi-xviii). The pictures of Abu Ghraib and the uncovering of the CIA's unjustifiable actions influenced the opinion of the public and public officials. When former President Donald Trump during his election campaign in 2016 announced that he wanted to bring these interrogation techniques back—including waterboarding, which was banned in 2009—the director of the CIA publicly opposed him, stating he would resist such an order (Engel & Windrem, 2016). Yet this resistance is not guaranteed to last, and torture continues to be reported all over the world. The hope that continued public discourse guided by empirical evidence will change things for the better remains.

This paper set out to demonstrate that insights from empirical sciences, especially from neuroscience, are relevant to the philosophical discussion of torture. Initially turning my attention to the focus of much of the philosophical literature, I argued that in appealing to the Ticking Bomb Scenario, consequentialist arguments in favor of torture's permissibility are built on the false assumption that torture leads to veridical information. Neuroscientific and psychological evidence suggests that, in many cases, this assumption is false. I then argued that it is mistaken to respond to this objection by ruling out the relevance of empirical considerations. Turning to deontological approaches to torture, I argued that the psychological consequences and their neurological manifestations support the claim that torture violates autonomy and human dignity, and thus lend credence to the argument that torture should be considered categorically and distinctly wrong. I then attempted to reconcile the systematic use of torture with our conception of ourselves as empathic beings able to live according to our moral standards. I argued that empirical evidence can be marshaled to explain how dehumanization and coercive structures gradually distort people's moral compasses and create the conditions under which a torture culture can flourish. Finally, I argued that institutional shortcomings in knowledge management, the role of emotions in decision-making, hidden motives of authorities, and the numbing effects of power give us good reason to think that torture, at least in the medium term, is likely to persist.

What lessons can we take from the preceding discussion? The first is the value of interdisciplinary studies, illustrated both by how philosophical questions inspire scientific research and scientific findings in turn inform philosophical debates. The second is that the empirically grounded insights concerning the futility of torture must be clearly communicated to intellectuals, concerned citizens, and especially policy makers. As well as leading to societies that more successfully live up to their citizens' moral standards, this may also result in fewer transcultural schisms, more effective national and global security, and a more peaceful and sustainable global order.