Richard Y Chappell tackles a subtle but vital question in moral philosophy: can we care deeply about individuals while still feeling compelled to make the world better when the stakes are highest? His answer is a resounding yes, and his defense of "stakes-sensitivity" challenges the idea that we must choose between personal connection and global optimization.
The Personal Character of Duty
Chappell begins by addressing a tension often felt by those trying to do good: the fear that maximizing overall well-being requires treating people as abstract numbers rather than concrete individuals. He cites the Stakes-Sensitivity Principle (SSP), which suggests that when the consequences are massive, we should aim for the near-best outcome. "When the axiological stakes are very high, there are no serious side-constraints, and the personal prerogatives are comparatively minor, one ought to choose a near-best option," Chappell writes, quoting Greaves and MacAskill.
This is a modest claim, yet it faces resistance from philosophers like Charlotte Unruh, who argue that beneficence has inherent limits. Chappell pushes back, arguing that this view misunderstands what it means to care about people. He leans on the work of David Wiggins, who suggests that beneficence is not about "simply increasing the net quantity of intrinsic good in the world." Instead, Chappell argues, "the utilitarian's fundamental reasons... are not about 'promoting value'—that's just a kind of summary criterion—but rather concern promoting the interests of concrete individuals."
This distinction is crucial. It reframes the debate from cold calculation to a deeper form of empathy. By caring equally about each person, we naturally arrive at decisions that maximize value, but the motivation remains rooted in human welfare, not abstract math. Critics might argue that this psychological distinction is too fine to matter in practice, but Chappell insists it changes how we view our moral obligations.
Caring equally about each separate individual, and making rational tradeoffs, will naturally result in your preferring and choosing the outcome that can be characterized as "maximizing value." But that's quite different (and psychologically distinguishable) from merely caring about "the net quantity of intrinsic good."
The Indecency of Inaction
The argument takes a sharper turn when Chappell considers costless opportunities to do good. He imagines a scenario where a person is drowning and a button can save them. If an agent chooses not to press the button because it doesn't align with their personal hobby, Chappell calls this "incredibly lax." He asks, "Would it really be decent for our moral agent to lift their finger without pressing the button, and justify themselves by saying, 'Well, it's not as though this would advance the cause of music, which is what I'm personally committed to promoting.'"
The answer, he suggests, is no. While we may have personal commitments, they do not grant us "latitude to gratuitously let others die." Chappell extends this to high-stakes scenarios, such as averting a genocide. In such cases, the stakes are so high that personal prerogatives must yield. "If we next suppose that the life-saving button does not just save one life, but rather averts an entire genocide... then it would once again be clearly indecent to refrain from picking the vastly better option."
This is where the principle of stakes-sensitivity shines. It acknowledges that while we have room for personal choice in small matters, the moral weight of our decisions shifts dramatically as the potential harm or benefit grows. A counterargument worth considering is whether this creates a slippery slope where personal projects are constantly sacrificed to every emerging crisis. Chappell anticipates this, noting that prerogatives are not eliminated, but they become sensitive to the scale of the situation.
Beyond the Minimum of Duty
Finally, Chappell challenges the obsession with defining the absolute minimum of what is required. He argues that focusing solely on "duty" is a "normative error" that limits our moral ambition. "I think a good person engaging in moral deliberation will set their sights higher than just the absolute minimum that they can get away with," he writes. This is particularly relevant for long-termism, where the goal is to secure the best possible future.
He critiques the idea that saving resources for the future is just "one of many ways in which we can discharge our imperfect duty." Instead, he posits that a virtuous person is driven by a desire to make a "morally near-best decision." "A virtuous person has greater moral ambition and scrupulosity... They are concerned to make a morally near-best decision in high-stakes contexts," Chappell asserts. This reframes long-termism not as a rigid rule, but as an expression of moral excellence.
A virtuous person has greater moral ambition and scrupulosity... They are concerned to make a morally near-best decision in high-stakes contexts, e.g. regarding how to direct their philanthropic resources, and this is a very good and fitting concern to have!
Bottom Line
Chappell's defense of stakes-sensitivity is a compelling reminder that doing the most good doesn't require abandoning our humanity; it requires applying our care more rigorously when the consequences are greatest. The argument's strength lies in its ability to reconcile personal concern with global optimization, but its biggest vulnerability is the practical difficulty of determining exactly when the stakes are high enough to override personal commitments. Readers should watch for how this framework is applied to real-world policy decisions, where the line between "near-best" and "acceptable" is often blurred by political and economic constraints.