Dialogue on the Meaning of “Oppression”

Tallahassee Civil Rights protests

Tallahassee Civil Rights protests (Photo credit: Village Square)

It always feels weird to be a white, cis-gendered, middle class male talking about the meaning of social oppression. I tend to end up on the good side of that social phenomenon, so anything that I say about it risks sounding self-righteous or distracting from the concerns most central to social justice: the needs of the least well-off and the perspectives of the most socially and politically marginalized. Understanding that my expression can draw attention away from the nuanced engagement of those needs and perspectives, I have held off on publishing this transcript for some time, until I could formulate a good understanding of how it would fit into the broader context of social change. I ultimately hope that my brief reflections will interest social justice advocates reflecting on the a conceptual framework of social oppression, as well as to those more distant from the movement who might lack some or part of the theoretical background needed to understand how micro-aggressions (and overt discriminatory actions and remarks) depend and build upon a culture of perceived superiority. I certainly do not and can not articulate complete or faultless answers to these questions, but as the role of the philosopher (and, by extension, of this philosophy blog), is to contribute something to our understanding, I take it to be within the bounds of decency to share my reflections, however imperfect they may be. If you think that I am wrong, right, or incomplete, I would love to hear in the comments what you think about the theory of oppression.

Aside from the above, I feel that only two further comments are required. First, this conversation is taken almost completely unedited from a texting exchange with a friend of mine, so the style, though philosophical, is also somewhat abbreviated. If any ideas seem as though they need explanation, leave a comment about it!

Second, there is one part in the conversation where my interlocutor responds with disbelief to an example (as will you, in all likelihood). I ask that, after expressing any appropriate shock, you stop to consider it in light of its theoretical implication, namely, that oppression has its roots not in inherent personal characteristics, but in the historical differentiation and power structures built around those characteristics, and the following comment, in which I draw out that distinction and acknowledge that those historical relationships can become engrained in the meaning of certain gestures irrespective of the express intent of the speaker.

Enjoy!

(In the context of a discussion on social justice…)

J: Woah I just found a cool quote… :
“Let me never fall into the vulgar mistake of dreaming that I am persecuted whenever I am contradicted.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Me: Doesn’t count: it was written by a white guy. 😛

J: Dammit, you’re technically right…

Me: …[W]e can nuance it and say that “persecuted” is different than “oppressed”, most plausibly by being very deliberate and concentrated.

J: So there are some sentiments people can express. And they are oppressed, even persecuted, when they’re contradicted.

Me: But both oppression and persecution carry differ from contradiction because to contradict requires that one engage the speaker’s argument or opinion. It seems that a key piece of both persecution and oppression is that speaker’s positions are disregarded because of some identifying characteristic of the speaker, without even considering that position on its own merits. To contradict can only be to oppress if one is contradicting because of the identity of the speaker. (Of course, ignoring, demeaning, or mitigating a point can also be oppressive if done based on the speaker’s identity).

J: What if I say
“Trans*men are men”
Or “women deserve equal respect”
Or “rape jokes aren’t funny”.
Could contradiction be oppressive to some groups regardless of my identity?

Me: That depends on whether a belief can be oppressive or whether that belief requires particular manifestations to be oppressive. Since oppression is conceived as a relationship between elements of society, I am tempted to accept the latter, that oppression is the conscious or unconscious manifestation of beliefs that dismiss opinions based on the identity of the speaker and not on their substance. Hence, holding an opinion contradictory to any of your propositions is not in itself oppressive, though if it causes me to deny the opinions of other people on face, without behaving towards them with respect for their rational agency, which demands substantive engagement, then I have oppressed them by denying implicitly that they possess equal dignity as humans. It may of course be immoral without any manifestation, but it seems to only become oppressive when it confronts you with my contempt for your dignity. Hence black people calling each other “N*****” is not oppressive because, the label applying to both speakers, it cannot elevate one above the other. Nor would the label be oppressive if used in a private conversation between two white men, though it would become so if it came to breed in them contempt for black people, even were that contempt subtle and subconscious.

J: I’m inclined to agree with your analysis, up until you say two white men can use the n-word. That word is steeped in such oppressive history, that someone without the cultural context to reclaim it can’t use it without implicitly perpetuating the oppressive culture that coined the term.

Me: It’s the implicit manifestation of derision, not the mere existence of the word itself [that makes it oppressive]. Consider, for instance, if two non-native English speakers in an isolated, non-Western society learned the language through an old book and thought that “N******” was just the English word for “black person.” You could hardly say that they were expressing or even implicitly perpetuating racism by using the word between them, since they lack the cultural context that imbues the word with degrading connotations.

J: Okay, yeah your second example is better. I assumed when you said “two white men” that you meant two men that understood the context of the word.

Me: I did [mean that]. I think the manifestation condition still holds, but there are background conditions that make manifestation nigh inevitable. [No doubt there exists a cultural background that makes the use of “N*****” between white men inherently degrading and hence oppressive, but nonetheless it is that background, not the mere arrangement of letters or sounds, or the denoted meaning of the term, that breeds contempt for the described class.]

Social Justice and Systems of Oppression

Is Swat Oppressive and Exclusionary?

Swarthmore College

Swarthmore College (Photo credit: musical photo man)

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged anything, mostly because I’ve focused my writing energy at debate and classwork. Things are starting to settle down a bit, and I have more time to let my mind wander to subjects that might be worth publishing. Here’s an opinion piece on the way Swarthmore College’s social justice culture can go a bit wrong, in my book. While it is responsive to particular events on campus – namely, the outcry over the College’s offer of an honorary degree to former World Bank president Robert Zoellick, Swarthmore c/o ’75 – it speaks more broadly to the attitudes and strategies that we adopt when we try to create meaningful and lasting social change. Social activism as praxis is an important part of philosophy, so I think that a discussion of applied social theory is both appropriate and timely for this blog.

More coming soon, I hope.

-Griffin

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Swarthmore’s frequent social justice campaigns – pro-divestment, pro-childcare, anti-fraternity, anti-Zoellick, and so on – make us a hotspot for controversy and, yes, and decidedly leftist socio-political culture. I appreciate that culture. I approach it as someone sympathetic to the cause. Yet I am strangely dissatisfied with the way that Swarthmore’s social justice movements manifest within our campus discourse.

I want to be clear: I am not criticizing those who, frustrated and in private conversation, lash out at oppressive social groups or structures, nor am I criticizing those who engage in a spirited debate about contentious issues. I do want to speak to those who go to online comments sections and anonymously post hateful insults; to the people who find an inoffensive Internet post merely questioning the most extreme version of an argument, and repost it on Facebook with a comment attacking the questioner’s intelligence or humanity; and particularly to the people who would defend such attacks on the ground that they come from a position that is underprivileged and oppose a status quo position that wields institutional power.

Our opposition to institutional oppression does not entitle us to be mean-spirited towards those who disagree. Remember that many people expressing doubts are not consciously oppressing anyone. They – we – often cannot fully appreciate the harmfulness of oppressive structures until we are confronted with their effects. Dissenters are not guilty of some gross offense merely because the conditions of their birth have hitherto blinded them to their positions of privilege. Their moral culpability in oppressive structures is limited to their response upon discovering them. Social justice advocates owe it to their targets to treat them with the same empathy we demand for the oppressed. On a practical level, opponents’ initial recalcitrance against criticisms can often be overcome by appeals to empathy, but it will only be entrenched and embittered by personal derision and belittlement.

But let us suppose that social activists are entitled to publicly insult their opponents, so long as they do so in opposition to institutional power. Then we still have a major problem: at Swarthmore, we liberals are the ones with localized cultural and institutional power behind us. So if our concern is the suppression of minority views and the oppression of their ability to speak and act freely, then we need to do some serious self-reflection and question whether Swarthmore is a place where conservatives (or even people who would be considered mere moderates in broader society) can feel welcome. If not, then we’re failing at our mission of social justice because we’ve merely replicated oppressive power dynamics along non-conventional lines.

Presumably a social justice advocate dislikes oppressive structures as such. While the size, scope, or duration of those structures may make them more or less pernicious – e.g., misogyny is more common and more broadly entrenched than Swarthmore’s anti-conservatism – that is insufficient justification for supporting a newer, smaller, or narrower oppressive structure. Consider: a dictatorship that denies some people their political rights is not good merely because it prevents the rise of some potential dictatorship that would deny everyone their political rights. Even though it is the lesser of two evils, we would still say that we should support, as far as possible, a government that grants everyone basic rights protections. Likewise, even if Swarthmore’s anti-conservatism helps to crowd out a more pernicious set of oppressive norms, we should still insist that our rival system be as good as we can possibly make it. Insofar as the culture we inculcate is a product of our individual decisions, each of us is in a position not just to demand, but also to help create a more open and welcoming environment.

We don’t have to adopt conservative views to have a civil discourse with conservative students, and we don’t have to give up the cause of social justice to stop launching ad hominem attacks against those who disagree with us. Engagement is important – whether we will it or not, conventional oppressors are not going away. It’s better to convert than to alienate them, not only because that wins more allies, but also because radical alienation from one another is exactly what we are trying to avoid. While we should be carefully attuned to the vestiges of long-standing oppressive regimes, we ought not lose sight of the importance of being decent, civil human beings – towards everyone. I think that’s an attitude that even the most ardent social justice advocate could support.

Equivocating “Speech”: Political Advertising, Mass Media, and Human Excellence

Free speech doesn't mean careless talk^ - NARA...

A WWII-era poster warning citizens not to discuss ship, troop, or supply movements. Its text is strangely apropos in distinguishing between real political speech and careless chatter. (Photo credit: NARA – 535383)

What follows is an abridged compilation of my recent series, “Money in Politics.” The essay is forthcoming in a Swarthmore College student publication entitled Left of Liberal.

Equivocating “Speech”: Political Advertising, Mass Media, and Human Excellence

Since the Supreme Court’s 2010 ruling in Citizens United v. FEC, the United States government has treated anonymous monetary contributions to political organizations as constitutionally protected free speech. Much has been made of the practical implications of Citizens United, especially regarding its alleged support of plutocracy. While I am generally sympathetic to such criticisms, I aim to evaluate a different premise of the Citizens United ruling: that independent expenditures are a form of constitutionally protected speech; simplistically, that money equals speech.

In fairness, the Court does not adhere to this premise directly. It cites the majority opinion from another case, Buckley v. Valeo:  “A restriction on the amount of money a person or group can spend on political communication during a campaign necessarily reduces the quantity of expression by restricting the number of issues discussed, the depth of their exploration, and the size of the audience reached…. The electorate’s increasing dependence on television, radio, and other mass media for news and information has made these expensive modes of communication indispensable instruments of effective political speech.” In other words, money is not speech per se, but because we live in a society that has commoditized major segments of public fora, we should protect persons’ ability to purchase space in such fora.

Its naturalism fallacy notwithstanding, the Court ignores substantial reasons to distinguish between monetary expenditures (a market transaction) and political speech (a political interaction). The very interests that the Court cites in establishing the historically contingent relation of money to speech – i.e., it’s ability to create broad, deep, and inclusive discussion of issues of public importance – are precisely those interests that no market transaction can achieve. Forcing speakers to buy entrance into public forums fundamentally subverts the political process.

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Monetary outlays do not have any speech content unless accompanied by some other communication. A Super PAC can spend a small fortune espousing the benefits of a healthy breakfast or just air hours of white space, if it so desires. Buying up ad space (the monetary expenditure part) is distinct from imbedding content within those advertisements (the political speech part). Even boycotts and other forms of “economic speech” only gain their political content from the message accompanying the decision to purchase or not to purchase a certain product. Otherwise, that decision is relegated to the entirely private, economic realm of personal preference, where it lacks the essential publicity of political action.

The Court thus relies solely on the belief that large monetary outlays are a necessary condition for exercising constitutionally protected free speech rights. They rely on the bizarre logic that, because our primary media happen to be controlled by corporations who use dollars as a unit of access, we as political actors must follow suit. This simply is not the case. The Greek agora and the Roman forum were political venues precisely because any citizen within them had equal power to engage in persuasive discussion with any other citizen present. All citizens had free access to the venue.

Radio, by contrast, has a finite number of usable frequencies, and television has a finite number of channels with substantial viewership. These media forms are far scarcer – and therefore far more expensive for the author – than, say print media was at the time of the American Revolution. Moreover, the relatively small market in these media means that increased demand during presidential elections rapidly increases the price of ad space. The structure of telecommunications limits the number of political ads that can be aired, so that large ad buys partially offset their added content by crowding out other, less wealthy advertisers.

Both radio and television also allow only for one-way communication, from the advertiser to the content subscriber. Broadcast advertisements therefore treat the viewer or listener as a mere receptacle for persuasion, and not herself as a persuasive, human voice. In conversation, the immediate proximity of the speaker to her listener is essential to speech – one must both attempt to persuade and be open to persuasion to engage in political discourse. This mutual discourse helps prevent the propagation of false or sensationalist rhetoric by exposing speakers to constant evaluation and rebuttal. The Court does away with the multilateralism of politics when it concerns itself with “the size of the audience reached” and not with the size of mutually engaged citizenry. The Court removes a further check on absurdity when it legalizes anonymous contributions, whereby the “speaker” need never expose him-, her-, or itself to any public scrutiny whatever.

Finally, it does not take a pessimistic view of society to believe that hyperbole and misinformation can skew electoral outcomes. Regardless of how much a candidate’s policies benefit me – e.g., by guaranteeing affordable healthcare – I am unlikely to support him if I cannot trust his character – for example, because I believe that he is a radical Islamic militant bent on global domination. We check shallowness from the permanent opposition by holding out the promise that it may one day inherit the reins of government, with all the responsibility that entails. When it comes time to rule, the opposition must have a workable plan, or else it will fail as a government and be booted out of office in the next election.

When apolitical actors like corporations and unions (neither of which can hold government office) become politicized, this check ceases to function, as attacks on the ruling coalition need no longer be grounded in reliable alternatives to achieve the actors’ legislative goals. Baseless attacks, do, however, serve to ingratiate the candidate or party that they aid, allowing these sometimes-libelous organizations additional access to candidates, and perhaps winning candidates’ support for narrow policy goals, like lower corporate taxes or protectionist labor laws.

The First Amendment protects against a tyrannical government by guaranteeing the relatively equal ability of citizens to create and disseminate content critical of government practices and elected officials. It operates on the theory, expressed by Madison in The Federalist No. 10, that many, relatively equal factions will balance one another to prevent oligarchy. Equalizing economic conditions within politics promotes a meritocracy of ideas better than a system that equates economic success with political profundity. This meritocratic system ensures the ultimate stability of democratic states. At a moral level, it recognizes citizens’ individual worth. At a practical level, it provides an institutional outlet for citizen’s frustrations, thus alleviating the risk of violent revolution.

While a political sphere entirely separated from the economic sphere may, in fact, retain some inequality – e.g., in speakers’ background knowledge or rhetorical skills – these skills are at least relatively amenable to self-improvement and relevant to political processes. In contrast stands wealth accumulated by the selling of products or services, which entails no such persuasive prowess, but, indeed, quite the opposite: profits, the surplus wealth of business, arise from the brute force of desire compelling economic activity. In no event should the public welfare be conflated with this private satisfaction of desire, as public legislation deals necessarily with emergent societal needs that lack microeconomic analogues. Neither should matters of public welfare necessarily be subject to the wills of the economically successful, as the selflessness of authentic public service transcends the personal enrichment inherent in capitalistic enterprise.

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The essence of human action is the spontaneous creation of something entirely new – a tool, a product, or an idea. Food, drink, and the ingredients therein are consumed almost immediately following their creation. They lack any permanence whatsoever except as an eternally recurring component of the natural cycles of life. This type of consumption comprises a biological imperative, which a human can forestall only by causing his or her own death. The unending cycle of life enslaves all biological creatures, and in our need to satisfy it we are no different from any other living thing. The market economy and the division of labor mean that few of us actually produce the goods we consume for sustenance, yet subsistence labor remains: we still must work for money to trade for the basic needs of life, and labor for which the laborer gains only the means to provide for his or her own continued existence remains in principle the same component of the cycle of life, only that a sophisticated system of trade has been introduced to regulate this cycle.

If subsistence labor was all that humans could accomplish, we would be indistinguishable in function from the simplest living substance imaginable, because such labor is itself only the state of having life. Thus labor, taken by itself, is a purely natural and not at all moral, thoughtful, or self-reflective.

An entirely laboring species would interact entirely with nature in its raw form. We are far more used to engaging with the enduring products of work – the chair in which you are sitting, the buildings in which you live and work, the screen on which you are reading this post. All of these more permanent tools and edifices arise from a surplus of labor capacity beyond that needed to satisfy the basic needs of life. From this surplus work arise objects meant for use, rather than for consumption. That these products last beyond the life of their creator distinguishes them from mere consumable goods and creates the enduring, man-made world with which are most familiar.

Durable creations are thus also the chief defining feature of human activity and, indeed, of human excellence. The ability to transcend natural imperatives implies and affirms a hierarchy of action in which the most fully human (I pointedly do not say “best,” “most moral,” etc.) of behaviors is to divorce oneself entirely from subsistence labor and create only lasting products and ideas. The capitalist system – as do all economic systems – provides a framework for the production and distribution of durable goods, but durable ideas can arise only within a political, not an economic, forum.

Human excellence materializes through politics when an action is endowed permanence by memory, that is, when it is found worthy of remembrance. Only this intergenerational transmission can bestow upon intangible goods, like stories, theories, or deeds, the same permanence that exists in the creation of lasting material goods like chairs and computers.

Unlike material goods, however, ideas can last as long as the species. A wooden chair will eventually decay, but the ideas of Socrates can endure indefinitely in the minds of each successive generation. Even were the chair built of solid titanium, guaranteed to last for all of civilization, still the idea, taken for granted by us, that this oddly shaped metal construction is meant to be sat upon must endure if the chair is to endure. If the idea is not passed on, then even this presumably permanent structure becomes only so much raw material. Intangible goods – stories, theories, and ideas – thus contain the ultimate seeds of permanence and therefore of true human excellence. That such intangibles require a public forum to thrive underscores the fundamental importance to humanity of a healthy political realm.

The central role granted to money and monetary expenditures threatens human excellence in the political realm because commoditization can exist only where goods are treated as substitutable. Both the strong formulation that “money is speech” and weaker formulation that “monetary expenditures are necessary for political speech” imply the commoditization of the forum, and therefore the substitutability of the speech therein. I highly doubt, for instance, that HGTV cares whether they are airing a Romney ad, an Obama ad, an anti-smoking ad, a pro-gay marriage ad, or an ad demanding more prisons, so long as they receive the same amount of money for each one. The “pay to play” mentality, inherent in markets, hinders the introduction of new material to the discourse and limits speakers based on apolitical, economic characteristics.

Because the market limits space in the forum, individuals who have not been economically successful are also denied the ability to become politically successfully. They are doubly robbed of the capacity for human excellence because failure within the market structures that allow for the shadow excellence of producing durable goods implies exclusion from the political forum in which alone can one achieve the greater excellence of producing durable thoughts.

The commoditization of the political forum surrenders the political realm to a handful of wealthy individuals, creating a de facto plutocracy within an otherwise democratic forum. Against this stands the general American assumption that casting a ballot is the ultimate form of democratic expression, and so exclusion from speaking publicly in no way entails the surrender of governmental power. A ballot, however, can in no way be speech in that it is both anonymous, therefore not human excellence, and a prescribed choice, therefore not creative or spontaneous. The dialectic that shapes politics and policy is constituted by the creation of ideas that frame our modes of understanding the world. Surrendering that dialectic to market forces is not identical with surrendering partisan control of the White House, but it is identical with surrendering control of the expectations and priorities by which policy is judged.

We interact far more with man-made objects than with the raw, natural world, and so we are conditioned to understand and interact with the man-made world. As any millennial trying to teach a grandparent how to use computers will attest, we also become conditioned to the particular objects that dominate our world growing up. We are similarly conditioned to think in a manner consistent with the dominant modes of thought to which we are exposed. When we are exposed to the thoughts and thought processes of only a few perspectives, we are conditioned to think in relation to those standards. Thus, an oligopoly of political speech entails an oligopoly of thought.

Speech is not a good for purchased, but an activity in which to engage. A narrow perspective, an enforced dialectic, an economically dominated public forum, and corporate control of access to political notoriety undermine political liberty, human excellence, and our collective future.

A Case for “Big Government”

“Whereof we cannot speak, we must pass over in silence.” – Ludwig Wittgenstein

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In a previous post, I alluded to political action being a public act of persuasion. This is so first because the hallmarks of humanity are rationality and spontaneity, and second because only in a public space can rationality be conditioned or spontaneity acknowledged and recorded. I hold with Hannah Arendt that acts taken in a void are essentially meaningless – it is the interaction of one’s creative will with others that gives it substance. Moreover, politics must be uniquely interpersonal in that it takes humans as its primary object, whereas labor and work are concerned with natural resources and physical capital, respectively.

One consequence of viewing politics as persuasion is that only that which can be communicated can be political. Communicability, in turn, is simply the ability of one person to make himself or herself understood to another person, which is dependent upon a shared language through which we exchange ideas. Thus, a shared language defines the outermost bounds of the political realm that can exist within any given society.

This ability of social activity to create space for politics enables human excellence, but can just as readily restrict the potential for action. We can exclude communicable ideas from politics by declaring them private opinions. For example, religion in the United States (at least in the case of Christian denominations, less so with Islam since its re-politicization after 9/11) is now broadly considered a private issue, not fit for public critique and certainly not a matter on which others will publicly attempt to change your mind. Calls in the wake of the Aurora shootings that “Now is not the time to talk about gun control” similarly remove subjects from persuasive (ergo political) discourse and therefore from the potential for excellent human engagement. If one person decides not to buy a gun for the sake of principle, it will have little or no impact on other people and certainly will not garner public remembrance. Were the same person to organize a successful movement to reinstate America’s assault rifle ban, then he would create a permanent and public legal record of political achievement. Thus, while there may exist some moral or even practical case for a particular subject being excluded from political discourse, we must weigh all such cases against the lost capacity for human excellence in the field.

A large number of topics available to political discourse draws people into political activity, courtesy of the well-documented tendency to care more about issues directly relevant to one’s own experiences. When someone feels that the prevailing public discourse excludes the topics most important to him, it stands to reason that he will be less likely to participate in that discourse. For example, if I am an ardent believer in transparent school boards, but nobody else thinks the issue is important, then I cannot easily engage in political activity to attempt to enact my agenda. At best, the opportunity cost of creating a dialogue where none exists could dissuade me from pursuing political excellence in the area of administrative accountability. My beliefs about transparency are, albeit innocently, marginalized and therefore privatized: can believe that, but I should not attempt to persuade anyone else to join me in acting on it. Thus can social priorities limit political activity even without intent.

The ultimate triumph of the social over the political occurs when there ceases to be a plurality of persuasive voices. Tyranny achieves this singularity via propaganda and centralized control. The most extreme plausible example of this is George Orwell’s Newspeak, which goes beyond simply excluding topics from discussion but actually makes it impossible to discuss complex ideas by removing the vocabulary needed for their communication. However, radical liberty can also eradicate politics by emancipating people from persuasive activity and employing government purely as a mechanism for supporting the private sphere.

It may be argued that market transactions, being based on individual choices, can constitute a form of speech. However, merely economic forums, like markets, or social forums, like the Church of Scientology, cannot replace politics. Money is not speech, and economics is not persuasion, because economics is fundamentally the science of necessities, and it follows necessarily causal laws. Markets do not allow for creativity or persuasion, only accounting. Likewise, purely social forums, those that are self-selected and cannot enforce law, lack the elements that drive political activity, namely, divergent opinions and an incentive to guide the institution’s use of force by influencing its agenda. The lack of heretics within the Church of Scientology is precisely the evidence that it is an apolitical institution.

Deciding what to purchase or what groups to join can, of course, be connected to political action, as in boycotts, but only insofar as it conveys a recognizable and persuasive message. A boycott sends a recognizable message only when publicized alongside the reasons for the boycott; publishing reasons, of course, is political speech. The boycott itself adds no substance to the speech, it merely adds pathos by conveying the actors’ willingness to sacrifice economic benefits for the sake of moral sentiment. This, in turn, presupposes the primacy of economic, apolitical interests in our decision-making process, and so is itself an apolitical, or even anti-political gesture.

Unlike markets or social clubs, democratic government is an institution based entirely on persuading others to act together towards some common purpose. Such persuasive activity is the paramount human behavior. Therefore it is through democratic institutions that we express our humanity. The hastened emancipation of personal choices from public debate limits the accessibility and relevance of this forum and therefore marginalizes truly human activity. To best enable human excellence, we must expand, not contract, the scope of topics assailable in the public sphere.

We can start by recognizing that nearly all of our choices impact other people, therefore nearly all of our choices are worth considering in an unselfish manner. This does not mean that we must abandon our principles to the whims of the majority; indeed, defending one’s convictions politically is itself an excellent act. Nor do I believe that “big government” means lots of red tape, high taxes, and expansive welfare, but rather that any given regulation, tax law, and welfare program be subject to reasoned and public discourse that shapes the prerogative of the relevant authority.

Finally, recall that politics depends not upon the government, but upon persuasive speech. If one acts through persuasive speech to limit or remove government involvement in one area or another, that is itself a political act. One must merely be prepared to defend that limitation ad infinitum in further political discourse. The problem of small government arises from the categorical rejection of discussing government action in one area or another, in the deliberate exclusion of whole subjects from public debate. Insofar as broad governmental prerogative brings these questions back into the fold, we might consider a potentially expansive state as a worthwhile opportunity to fulfill our unique human potential.

Maybe government is really just about the same size as its citizens.

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(Photo courtesy of political-humor.org)

Human Needs, pt. 3 – Morality

In Part 2: Outputs, I dissected the Understanding according to Kantian epistemology and briefly discussed the moral significance of Values in determining our subjective understanding of the world. In this Part 3: Morality, I conclude the mini-series on human needs by analyzing the relevance of this subjective understanding to human agency and ethical decisions.

Values fall into two (and sometimes both) categories: intrinsic values, which we pursue for their own sake, and extrinsic values, which we pursue for the sake of obtaining some intrinsic value. It follows that extrinsic values depend upon our objectives. Consider, to use a well-worn example, a carpenter in the home renovation business. His trusty handsaw has never let him down, and now, as he cuts joists for a new wall, is no exception. Now, there could be any number of intrinsic values at play, but let us say that the carpenter takes great satisfaction in finishing a high-quality project. The saw has extrinsic value in that it helps him to complete the renovation. Now consider the same carpenter with the same trusty saw finishes the wall, gets a slab of granite and prepares to install it as countertops. Unfortunately, the slab doesn’t have the hole cut in it for the sink. Suddenly that saw seems pretty useless for helping achieve the intrinsic good of finishing the job, and, as such, it now lacks extrinsic value. The saw’s relevance to the carpenter is entirely contingent upon its usefulness towards some intrinsic value.

Ethics is the study of human decisions – it categorizes actions as right or wrong. As the relevance or irrelevance of facts to our understanding is determined wholly by our underlying value systems, ethics can therefore be conceived as the study of our guiding values. Determining right from wrong categorizes conceptions where human behaviors serve as the object of cognition; therefore ethical judgment is the intrinsic valuation of so-called “right” behavior and the imbuing of decisions with extrinsic values pursuant to their accordance with and promotion of intrinsically valuable “right behaviors.”

The essential questions of moral philosophy are “What has intrinsic value?” and, closely related, “What should be the relationship between intrinsic goods and one’s choices?” To answer these questions cohesively and consistently, we create general moral theories that we hope can be applied to any situation we encounter. We obviously do not always implement our moral theories (from which arise ethical codes) particularly well in practice, but they nonetheless lend some logical structure to our otherwise erratic behavior. This is precisely the process of second-order reflection that allows for our concepts of moral culpability and responsibility, and which distinguishes us morally from amoral objects and beings.

Moral theorizing is an essential characteristic of the Understanding – a moral theory is itself a filter that creates conceptions of right and wrong against which experience is compared in our cognitive processes. A theory takes as its objects merely the categories of “do” and “do not” that are themselves conceptions; a moral theory takes as its objects the categories “do” and “do not,” which disjunctively describe human decisions. Theories can therefore be constructed a priori, without regard to sensory information, which allows for a priori moralities such as Kant’s Categorical Imperative and Rawls’ Veil of Ignorance.

As Kant pointed out in his Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals, investigation a priori can discover only the form, and not the substance, of moral considerations. To make moral choices, we need empirical knowledge of the world which provides the context and impetus for our actions. If, for example, I wish to deny access to alcohol to individuals under the age of 21 years, I resort to empirical intuitions both to define the maxim and to justify it. “Deny,” “access,” “alcohol,” “individuals,” and “years” all reference a posteriori observations necessary to formulate the prohibition. If I justify denying alcohol to minors by reference to the physiological effects of alcohol, the development of the body and mind,  etc., then I am again referencing empirical observations. For the argument to be sound, I must empirically verify that allowing minors to access alcohol actually does violate some ethical principle, e.g., that it actually does have harmful physiological effects on juveniles. If I just assume these effects and do not consider evidence to the contrary, then I have not actually applied moral my moral theory at all, but have rather appended to it a categorical ban on an empirical phenomenon. Declining to reference empirical evidence is therefore an abdication of moral choice altogether, in other words, an abdication of that which makes one distinctly human.

Morality  ceases to be a morality when it fails to admit the empirical evidence necessary to inform judgment. Racism is one such amorality. Racism can be formulated as the qualification of “I will treat humans with respect” with racial characteristics, most (in)famously, as “I will treat only caucasian humans with respect.” Racism must then introduce reasons for racial discrimination that are relevant within a generally accepted moral theory. Racism is immoral insofar as its justifications are not morally relevant, but it is amoral insofar as it fails to consider empirical evidence contradicting its justifications. We might hold a moral theory in which people are wrong to so disengage from their moral faculties, but we can declare without reference to morality that such disengagement is inhuman. My point is not that racists are not people, or that they are not worthy of respect as such, but rather that, when one makes a decision not to act respectfully towards a person on the basis of his or her race, engaging in an act of doublethink by selectively ignoring evidence the objective falsehood of one’s justifications – in that moment – one is not acting as a moral agent, but merely as a human animal.

The debate over determinism notwithstanding, people have autonomous wills. They can take control of their understanding by deconstructing the origins of their prejudice and considering whether those prejudices are acceptable under a moral theory. I contend that people ought to so engage because it is moral action as such. The first command of any moral theory is to behave in accordance with it; therefore, it can never be morally right to abdicate willful action. Intellectual honesty is thus not itself a moral virtue, but the virtue by which morality functions. Critical thinking is not so much a tool to determine right choices as it is the mechanism by which choice is possible.

For the moral creature, for people fully embracing their humanity, it is always a blessing to be proven wrong.

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(Photo courtesy of mazag.tumblr.com)

Why Conservatives Are (Partially) Right About “Marriage Equality”

We are all biased by the particular experiences of our lives, experiences that shape our social roles, our self-perceptions, and our political agendas. Educated and socialized within a preexisting human context, we are at best only partly in control of our underlying beliefs. It should thus come as no surprise that I, studying at a notoriously leftist college preaching above all equality of condition, and taking for granted equality before the law, should favor the legal recognition of same-sex marriages.

We are not, however, automatons, and our perceptions of one another are as limited as our perceptions of truth. Presuming others’ motives risks fundamentally misjudging their characters. To collapse pro- and anti-marriage equality advocates into the broader categories of “liberal” and “conservative” is to devalue the subtlety of human thought and action. While we cannot all express it, we do in fact share a common humanity, a common perspective, insofar as our modes of experiencing and shaping the world remain much the same across space and generations. I therefore urge against this bifurcation, this belief in inherent difference based on political categories, which, in truth, reflect only a fundamental tension evident in all of our lives.

The push for “marriage equality” is misnamed, for true and universal equality of marriage rights would require the abolition of all institutions that govern marriages, both social and legal. Efforts to legalize same-sex marriage generally do not recognize the legitimation of polygamy or of repeated divorce. Rather, they denounce these practices as aberrations, which disgrace and de-sanctify marriage, in an attempt to justify the inclusion of same-sex marriage within the existing legal and social institutions of marriage. Their mission is not to destroy the “sanctity of marriage” as such, but rather to revise popular and legal conceptions of “sanctity” such that it no longer excludes same-sex couples but continues to exclude other forms of relationships. In other words, the movement towards legitimating same-sex marriage is not an effort to emancipate socio-legal institutions from intimate relationships, but rather an effort to emancipate marriage from sexual orientation.

Such emancipation challenges the institutional norms that provide reference points by which we constitute and through which we express our identities. The relation of a powerful institution to a particular behavior or characteristic provides such a reference point, as, for example, the denial of same-sex marriage both draws on and reinforces the naturalization of the nuclear, heterosexual family. Thus, members of nuclear families are described as such in part due to the powerful influence of the heterosexual marriage norm, and also can point to this norm to legitimize their particular familial structure and to firmly ground their social identities. As these reference points are eroded, either by elimination or by evolution, so too must social identities shift and change. The expansion of marriage rights is thus more than the extension of certain social privileges to a previously excluded group; it is also a direct challenge to the entrenched self-perceptions of an entire section of society raised with and judged by the standards of heterosexual marriage norms.

All emancipation of choice from institutional judgment similarly challenges traditional identity constructs, and the legitimate conservative fear is that the ultimate emancipation of institutions from all personal choices will eliminate all universal reference points for social identity, splintering society into only so many atomistic individuals with little or no sense of membership in, or responsibility to, a larger community. Common values and beliefs constitute the public space through which we relate to one another; social institutions are the permanent fabric against which our individual accomplishments are stenciled out. Without these permanent structures, the achievements of any one individual are as mortal as their creator, and each successive generation must start from scratch with the menial labor needed for mere survival. With a public space, we can transmit progress – in science, capital, or thought – across time and space. As the technological interconnectedness of humankind increasingly globalizes both our highest and our lowest potentialities, such communal bonds appear increasingly necessary at least to preserve our existence as a species, and at best to attain a higher plane of existence and a better life for each individual.

The mistake of modern conservatives has been their reactionary and populist rhetoric, playing on fears of the absolute destruction of traditional social roles without appreciating the limits and humility of the actual threat. What we today call “liberals” in America are timid relative to their name: they do not seek to liberate anyone from socio-legal institutions, but rather to include in, and therefore subordinate to those institutions, ever larger elements of humanity. At the theoretical conclusion of modern liberalism is the ultimate subordination of all humans to an ideal institution of humanity, the ultimate reference point being the ultimate vision of what a human is and ought be. The conservative can rightly object that this universalism in turn subordinates the human spirit and, totalizing in its vision, is antithetical to the very freedom and equality it seeks to promote. But instead of engaging emancipation on this ground, instead of reasserting the predominant importance of social institutions, modern conservatives turn to the state to defend traditional social roles by means of its monopoly on the use of force, all while imposing a counter vision of the ideal human, especially that of the religious conservative, as one inherently worthy of institutionalized respect. That is, modern conservatism seeks to use political and legal means to enforce societal expectations. This contradicts their populist-libertarian message. There is therefore no self-consistent conservative ideology in the American political mainstream. Instead, we have conflict between liberals (ironically) seeking gradually to delimit institutional power and conservatives (ironically) seeking its expansion, the former totalizing humans as such, the latter totalizing humans as they are seen to exist in the here and now.

At the end of the liberal ideology, however, there exists still room for pluralistic identities. For when the state is delimited, and its use of force confined merely to preventing systemic and societal violence, such questions of identity cease to be political in nature and instead become social, and, in turn, the lines between the two become blurred. The state ceases to be a totalitarian force in waiting and increasingly becomes an impartial referee between social forces, setting the terms of the debate, but having nothing to do with the content. This I find preferable to the enforcement, potentially violent, of a single vision of humanity, and therefore I advise that the emancipation of the law from social identities continue apace, as in the extension of same-sex marriage rights. To be self-consistent, and, indeed, to avoid the ultimate conclusion of a totalitarian regime, conservative movements ought shift their attentions from the legal to the social sphere, arguing not for the state to insert itself into the private affairs of citizens, but convincing citizens that they ought care and identify by a particular set of socially valuable, traditional norms. This apolitical, social conservatism would, true to its name, preach incrementalism, not institutional coercion; caution, not fear. In this way can conservatism engage modern issues at the core, not merely on their surface, and avoid its internal contradiction in ends.

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(Photo courtesy of thinkprogress.org)

Human Needs Pt. 2 – Outputs

In Human Needs, Part 1, I tried to illustrate the manner in which needs are converted into prejudices – or, to choose a more neutral term, filters – that tell us which information is important to us, and which we can safely ignore. I argued that we need such filters because we are unable to process wholly the deluge of sensory information that we continuously receive. In Part 2, I will add some formal structure by analyzing how human needs, often subconsciously, output the basic structure of the understanding, as well as how this output can have some harmful moral implications. In a future post, I will conclude this mini-series by more fully developing an adjunct moral theory.

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First, I’m going to do about 200 pages of Kant in a nutshell, because I ❤ Kant. He was a smart dude. Kant says that everybody has senses and the ability to think (genius!), but what makes Kant really cool is how precisely he tells us what that means.

First of all, our senses don’t paint a perfect picture of the world around us. There are some biases built into the way the human mind functions – Kant identifies them as time and space. To prove that time and space are a component of thought, not objects that we observe via sense, he proposes a simple thought experiment: Imagine only a dodgeball. Now imagine that the ball is gone. You get empty space. Now imagine that the space is gone. Kant says that this is impossible, because we don’t observe space; rather, space is a way that our minds impose order on the objects of our senses. Similarly with time: Kant says that to imagine phenomena without time is impossible, or, worse, nonsensical. A dodgeball flying at you is something that occupies space (it sure does) and time (i.e., the space that the ball occupies changes). Eventually, it occupies the same space as your face (OW!), and you’re probably done observing it for now. But time and space are constituent elements of observation, so to think of them like a dodgeball, as something that we observe, would be completely circular.

Here, your sensory experience of the dodgeball (hearing it whistle through the air, watching it in seeming slow-motion as it approaches your face) is the matter of the observation (Kant calls them “intuitions”), and space and time provide its form. Together, the matter and form create a representation, which is what you actually cognize when you live out the scenario. Representations, though, aren’t the be all, end all of the understanding – they have to be sorted. When you run this thought experiment, you don’t actually see a dodgeball coming towards you, so you’re not actually experiencing the event and no representation is formed. Instead, you have to fall back on a conception of a dodgeball, an idea of what a dodgeball is. Conceptions are really just sorting a bunch of different representations into one broader, more inclusive representation, so that all instances of spherical, rubbery, bouncy objects can be understood collectively as instances of the category “dodgeball.” With the conception in hand, we don’t have to take each event in total isolation; we can now group all of these different experiences, regardless of the ball’s size, weight, color, or texture, into one big idea. It is the conception that makes basic speech possible because, while I can’t experience your unfortunate gym class for you, I can hear the word “dodgeball,” sort it into the appropriate conception in my understanding, and relate it back to my own experiences.

There is one more piece to the understanding: judgment. Judging is to conceiving what conceptions are to representations. Judgments take conceptions and sort them into groups. This is a kind of hierarchical relationship that can be exemplified thus: my conception of a “dodgeball” is one instance of an even broader conception of “sports balls” generally, a category that includes baseballs, soccer balls, basketballs, bowling balls, etc. You can think of judgments as enabling higher-order language and communication, because they let us relate thoughts in hierarchical taxonomies, just like I’ve done here.

That’s it! Kant goes into excruciating detail about how all of these pieces work together (there are twelve alleged relationships between representations or conceptions, the derivation of which comprises arguably the 30 most convoluted pages in the history of philosophy), but we have essentially all the pieces of the understanding. For Kant, the understanding is nothing more or less than the ability to spontaneously judge. Thinking is that uniquely human ability to abstract only the relevant information and sort it into conceptual categories. It is the judgment that sorts information into the categories “relevant” and “irrelevant” that carries moral weight.

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Kant’s goal with his Critique of Pure Reason was to explain how and within what limits reason functions. In Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals he hints at the importance of inclinations – passions, needs, desires – in guiding human action. As far as I’m aware, he did not engage in a systematic study of how inclinations help to shape subjective reality. I contend that this influence derives from values, which determine the conceptions and judgments that we make.

“Values” is often used these days to connote a specific set of Judeo-Christian virtues – help the poor, be humble before the Lord, always vote to criminalize abortion and same-sex marriage, and so on. Other times, it is employed more generically to substitute for “good morals.” I mean the term even more broadly: literally, on what do we place importance? These can be actions, objects, artifacts, stories – anything! – so long as we consider them to be important or worthwhile.

We ascribe two different kinds of value, intrinsic and extrinsic. Intrinsic valuables are important in and of themselves, while extrinsic valuables have worth because they help us to attain intrinsic goods. An intrinsic good might be one’s life, and a farmer might find extrinsic value in a plough through its ability to improve the harvest and sustain life. Even subconsciously, we are always comparing information to our values to determine its relevance to us. The farmer may care, for example, if his plow works best when held a certain way, as remembering and applying this knowledge helps him to better sustain his own life. The farmer might care less whether the handle is made from oak or mahogany. The aesthetics of the woods may have intrinsic value to him, but neither type of wood has any more extrinsic value than the other as regards its ability to plow the soil. The farmer might then forget, or at least not concern himself with, the type of wood in his plow-handle.

Just like the farmer, we regularly include and exclude details from our considerations all the time. If you meet me and value beauty, my looks may be worth forgetting. If you meet Stephen Hawking and value intellect, you will likely notice and remember many more details of Dr. Hawking’s conversation then you would features of my face. This type of innate inclusion and exclusion of facts bears great moral weight because it means that we can be socialized into morally unacceptable biases – most of the ‘isms, for instance – in some cases without even noticing it. Discrimination and systematic oppression might not always be conscious decisions, or even the aggregate of many less malicious conscious decisions, but rather a subtle consequence of the inconsistent determination of relevance. This imposes a moral duty to deconstruct our own biases and ascertain their particular morality, a theme I will explore further in the concluding Part 3.

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Part 3: Morality coming soon

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(Photo courtesy of yourbest100.com)

Human Needs Pt. 1 – Filters

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness” – Mark Twain

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The most mundane daily activities skate by unnoticed, but they may help us to analyze our own understanding.

Consider rolling out of bed at 6 am, cursing your alarm, and hobbling to the shower. When you turn on the tap, you doubtless don’t think about the maze of pipes running through your home, the vast supply chain between a fresh water source and your water heater, or the economics of drought and conservation. What you care about is your shower, and what it means for your day – your appearance, your smell, your feeling clean and energetic. If you run out of hot water, your likely reaction is to jump out of the cold shower, not to recite the laws of thermodynamics.

Now consider an outsider, without knowledge of showers or their purpose, who stumbles upon this contraption with no understanding of its human uses. This outsider might tear out the wall, examine the plumbing, discover the flow of water, and fiddle with various controls. It might chart, catalogue, and deconstruct the entire water supply system, and gain a perfect knowledge of how it functions; but this observer would have no understanding at all of why the system exists, what its purpose is. To the uninformed observer, the entire setup is arbitrary and meaningless, a complicated web of parts that simply is.

Our needs, therefore, both dictate what we view to be relevant and provide contextual understanding for that information. They act as mental filters, sometimes conscious, sometimes not. And they carry profound consequence.

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“Prejudice” has become a dirty word in America, connoting bigotry, often racial. But “prejudice” definitively describes just that process whereby we “pre-judge” which information is relevant to our needs. Without any pre-judgment, when all information is relevant, we are asked to confront the totality of the world at every instant, to sort and re-sort it and our understanding with every passing moment and every observation. Without prejudice in this broad sense, it is insufficient to find that the shower water is cold – one must simultaneously observe all causes and effects, the pipes, the knobs, their sensory appearance, their logical connections, their physical properties. Without some prejudice, the world just stops making sense.

In segregated America (and, sadly, in many communities both inside and outside of the United States today), race was one such piece of relevant information: it suited the needs of white Americans to maintain what they saw as a favorable status quo, and it suited the needs of activists like MLK and Malcolm X to organize resistance against racial discrimination.

Prejudice is thus broadly necessary to engage the world, but also can entrench injustice. Nobody (or at least nobody sane) would argue that it is morally good to perpetuate systemic injustice against a segment of society. However, when we consider human needs in the first-person only – “What are my goals?” – we often create prejudices that support injustice by prioritizing facts according to selfish ends. Racist policies are an extreme example, but ambitious people constantly undercut general human welfare by considering only themselves – a criminal robs a gas station; a businessman buys congressional favors; a student hides the library book the whole class needs to study. Money, prestige, and grades are the goals, and information not pertinent to attaining those goals is irrelevant to decision-making. Only by considering human needs generally – “What ought be the goals of humanity?” – can we liberate ourselves from harmful selfishness and incorporate a sense of justice into the innate psychology of understanding.

Subjugation of others for personal gain is an unfortunate theme of history up to and including the present. It is a process of understanding that gives order to the world according to a narrow perspective. Human psychology demands such order. We can therefore simultaneously achieve order and justice only by broadening our perspective. If we make the effort to consider human needs in the plural, then we can engage in a constructive and enriching conversation about what really matters in our daily affairs.

That conversation will be difficult. It will require that we move beyond the “me”-centrism of unadulterated capitalism, that we actively seek out knowledge of and empathy for other people, and that we set aside driving ambition in favor of the general good. We are seldom reminded today that the U.S. Constitution was written just as much to “promote the general welfare” as to “secure the blessings of liberty.”

No amount of reflection or travel can eliminate prejudice, but it can inform us as to the right prejudices, the right values, and the right filters for pursuing legitimate human needs.

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Part 2: Outputs, coming soon.

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(Photo courtesy of cmgww.com)