Recognition

Cillian McBride

• Publisher: Polity
• Year: 2014
• Print ISBN: 9780745648484, 9780745648477
• eBook ISBN: 9780745670867
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Politics & International Relations
• Subtopic: Politics
• Index: Politics & International Relations

A tension between the desire to be respected as an equal and the desire to distinguish oneself as a unique person lies at the heart of the modern social order. Everyone cares about recognition: no one wants to be treated with disrespect, insulted, humiliated, or simply ignored. This basic motivation drives the 'politics of recognition' which we see in those struggles for inclusion and equality in relation to gender, ethnicity, race and sexuality and which seek to affirm the public value of these particular identities.

In this compelling new book Cillian McBride argues that the notion of recognition is not merely confined to these struggles, but has a long history, from ancient ethical ideals centred on the achievement of honour and glory, to Enlightenment ideals of human dignity and equality. He explores the politics of cultural rights and recognition, the conflict between dignity and esteem, the role of shame and stigma in systems of social control and punishment, the prospects for a just society in which everyone receives the recognition they deserve, and the way in which we come to be independent, self-determining persons through negotiating the networks of social recognition we inhabit.

Recognition will be essential reading for students in philosophy and political theory, and any general readers interested in trying to understand and evaluate the role of recognition in the modern world.

1

The Politics of Recognition

For many Anglo-American political theorists, the ‘politics of recognition’ is virtually synonymous with multiculturalism and Charles Taylor's essay on the ‘politics of recognition’ is perhaps the most influential account of this politics. It is striking that even those who set their faces against the ‘politics of recognition’ nonetheless appear to accept Taylor's view of the nature of recognition and the sort of claims involved, while rejecting his conclusions (Fraser 2003a). As Taylor sees it, the common thread connecting a range of political struggles since the 1970s, particularly those of feminism, anti-racism, and the struggles of ethnic minorities and indigenous peoples – ‘subaltern’ groups of various sorts – is the demand for ‘recognition’ (Taylor 1994: 25). The emergence of the ‘politics of recognition’ appears to mark a break with the sort of class politics which dominated much of the twentieth century. Instead of demands for higher wages, the defence of the welfare state, and the regulation or nationalization of industry, the politics of recognition reflects a different set of concerns: with cultural diversity and the complexities of ‘identity’ – social, political, and personal. Feminism, which had engaged in a long struggle to work out the relationship between class and gender, provided one major strand in this politics, igniting the ‘identity politics’ of the 1980s which then flowered into a broader set of debates about the intersection of class, race, gender, ethnicity, and sexuality (Hekman 1999).

Following a rather different trajectory, the debate between ‘liberals and communitarians’, centring on a confrontation between ‘atomist’ and ‘situated’ accounts of the self, deeply influenced emerging debates about the place of ethnic diversity in ‘multicultural’ societies (Mulhall and Swift 1996; Kymlicka 1989). Where the ‘liberal/communitarian’ debate had a rather abstract character to it, ‘multiculturalism’ effectively brought these ideas to bear on questions about ethnicity and cultural assimilation at a time when the fall of communism had reignited interest in ethnic and national differences. The politics of recognition assumes that we live in a world of diverse social and personal identities – a world of diversity which is not going to be eliminated by any ‘inexorable’ process of modernization and homogenization, or by some act of revolutionary emancipation. If cultural diversity is a permanent feature of the human condition, then we need to rethink our responses to this diversity, and, it is argued, re-evaluate the way we think about the pursuit of equality and the model of progressive politics inherited from the Enlightenment.

Two models of the self: Choice and dialogue

Taylor's argument has several strands. Firstly, he is concerned to reject ‘atomist’ understandings of the self and to replace them with an understanding of the self as an ‘intersubjective’ or ‘dialogical’ construction (Taylor 1985). Secondly, he offers an interpretation of the ‘politics of recognition’ as a new current within egalitarian politics (he does not simply contrast ‘equality’ and ‘difference’) in tension with the traditional politics of ‘universal respect’. Thirdly, he advances an argument for ‘recognizing’ cultural diversity and the desire of cultural groups to preserve their particular language and cultural identity.

The atomist vision of the self is a familiar one: the self is self-contained and self-interested, and social relations are to be explained in terms of the way that they advance the interests of those involved in them. On this view, which receives its canonical statement in Hobbes' Leviathan, we are all competitive, self-interested individuals who only enter into society and accept its demands to the extent that it serves our particular interests. It is a model by now familiar from the economists' ideal of the ‘rational actor’, and the pro-market agenda of neo-liberal politics (Taylor 1985; Sen 2009). It is also a model that is somewhat at odds with our ordinary understanding of ourselves and our relationships: are these really to be understood as contractual relations? Do I only recognize my obligations to friends and family because I stand to gain something from them? Am I irrational if I stand by commitments that may entail burdens for me? Doesn't Hobbes get the relationship between individual and society back to front, and isn't it more accurate to see the individual as a product of society instead of seeing society as the product of self-interested agreement (Hegel 1991: 276)?

David Hume, doubtful about some aspects of this model of the rational actor, argued that we also have a capacity for ‘sympathy’ which tempers our egoism and renders us sensitive to the fate of others – a social and emotional bond that takes us beyond the narrow circle of our self-interest (Hume 1978: 370–1). Hume admits, however, that our sympathies are often limited: they are most vividly engaged by those closest to us, and weaken the more they radiate outwards. Hume's model suggests that the boundaries of our selves are more porous and extended than Hobbes supposes, otherwise we would not respond to the sufferings of others as we do. Hume's language may tempt us to regard this purely as a quirk of our emotional make-up, but arguably the phenomenon of ‘sympathy’ points to an underlying ‘social’ self, a self that is not simply capable of attachment to others, but one whose boundaries are to some extent permeable and capable of being extended beyond the individual to embrace not only family, friends, and fellow nationals, but also cultures and traditions (including intellectual and artistic traditions such as philosophy or modernism). In contrast to the atomist, or ‘monological’, self, which is conceived as self-contained and independent of others, the social self is one which is dependent on complex networks of relationships with other people and social institutions such that attacks on these can be experienced as attacks on oneself.

It has become customary to think of these sorts of relationships as peculiar to ethnic groups, and Taylor's particular interpretation of the politics of recognition has contributed greatly to this association, but it is clear that we can also feel ourselves directly implicated in the fate of the institutions and intellectual traditions with which we identify, or in which we recognize ourselves. Consider the doctor or nurse committed to working in the National Health Service, for whom it represents an ideal of public service and social equality. Attacks on this institution may go much deeper than the practical effects of budget cuts, and can also be experienced as an attack on the values around which one has built not only a career, but also one's life and sense of self. This goes some way towards explaining the passions which proposals to reform the NHS typically inspire. It is more than just a job for those concerned. The same may also be true of those committed to a particular sort of intellectual project or artistic movement. Our reactions of pride, shame, or resentment to the fates of the groups and institutions to which we are committed can be explained by the porous, blurred, nature of the self.

What is involved here is something more than the idea that we are socialized into particular beliefs, roles, and character types by the wider society. Taylor presents us with a contrast between an atomist or ‘monological’ self and a ‘dialogical self’ which suggests something more complex: namely that we cannot form a sense of ourselves in isolation from others because the process of discovering and interpreting oneself is one which requires us to enter into dialogue with others (Taylor 1994: 32; Hegel 1977: 111). Why must we enter into dialogue with others? Why can't we come to know ourselves simply be looking within our own hearts through a process of introspection? If the self is socially extended, then it not only has multiple layers – parent, partner, academic, angler, Irishman – but each of these layers also entails its own complex relations of recognition. I may recognize myself in each of these descriptions, and I also hope to be recognized as such by others.

We often talk about identifying with others or as a member of a social group, but this can tempt us to think that this is a voluntary process such that I can withdraw this identification and shed this identity if I please (some identities are more like that, others less so: I can withdraw from membership of a club more easily than I can shed my nationality). The language of recognition seems truer to our experience, to the extent that it makes the self more a matter of ‘discovery’ than of choice: I come to recognize myself in particular roles and relations (or perhaps I never fully recognize myself in these relations). Equally, I may recognize myself in a role, and take it as central to my understanding of myself, of my very being, but find that no one else recognizes me in this way: they see me as someone else entirely. If the terms in which I recognize myself and those in which others recognize me come apart, then I may face real practical difficulties. My expectations of others will be at odds with their expectations of me and in this clash of expectations our social relations may come to grief. This seems to get to the heart of the idea of the ‘dialogical’ or ‘recognitive’ self: the reason we work out our sense of ourselves in dialogue with others is because we must respond to the ways others recognize us, whether we come to judge these ultimately as ‘misrecognitions’ or not. The dialogical self discovers itself in networks of social recognition, rather than simply choosing to don or doff social identities.

Taylor argues that the ‘monological’ conception of the self as self-contained, independent, and capable of simply choosing and discarding commitments and identities at will, entails a deep misunderstanding of the nature of selfhood (Taylor 1985). But more than that, it also poses practical, moral, and political difficulties, for if we subscribe to this view we will fail to understand the claims of so-called ‘identity’ groups, and must also fail to understand the real harms that our misguided responses can visit upon others:

The thesis is that our identity is partly shaped by recognition or its absence, often by the misrecognition of others, and so a person or group of people can suffer real damage, real distortion, if the people or society around them mirror back to them a confining or demeaning or contemptible picture of themselves. Non recognition can inflict harm, can be a form of oppression, imprisoning someone in a false, distorted, and reduced mode of being. (Taylor 1994: 25)

On this view, then, the harms we are capable of visiting on others extend beyond those entailed by physical assaults and damage to economic interests, to include harms to one's self, and one's interest in maintaining a certain view of oneself, which includes securing social recognition for that view. The damage done by racism, sexism, and xenophobia, then, is not limited to the immediate effects of discrimination or bullying, but can also take more subtle forms, as Taylor's emphasis on ‘confining’, ‘false’, ‘distorted’, and ‘reduced’ modes of being suggests. This suggests that apparently supportive, but potentially paternalist, modes of social recognition, those that sympathize with victims, can also exacerbate these problems by imprisoning people in their victimhood and robbing them of their sense of agency. The goal of a freer, more equal society must, then, entail an interrogation of cultural norms as much as of formal institutions and economic relations.

Feudalism, dignity, and authenticity

Taylor's, plausible, claim is that we can make sense of contemporary political movements, feminism, anti-racism, anti-colonialism, and multiculturalism as struggles over recognition; struggles rooted, that is, in the social nature of our selves, which renders us peculiarly vulnerable to others. He also offers an historical account of the emergence of the characteristically modern concern with equal, universal, recognition, the idea that everyone is entitled to equal dignity, or respect. This idea did not spring out of nowhere: there are versions of the idea of moral equality to be found in Stoic and Christian morality, but it is only with the Enlightenment that it began to transform the social and political order. The pre-modern world assumed that the social order reflected, or should reflect, an underlying hierarchy. Inequalities of legal and social status, as well as those of wealth and influence, were taken to reflect the natural order of things. This order began to crumble in the eighteenth century as the idea that everyone was entitled to recognition of their moral equality ignited struggles over the social and political expression of this underlying moral equality.

We can understand progressive, left-wing, politics since that time as motivated by a concern to ensure that social institutions essentially embody a new, egalitarian, recognition order. While there is still controversy over the degree to which this requires the redistribution of wealth, there is now little disagreement on the importance of fundamental legal and political equalities. This is not to say that these inequalities have been abolished, only that it is now very difficult to garner support in public for arguments that explicitly reject the idea that all human beings are, in some sense, equal. Even those who are keen to deny equal rights to immigrants, women, sexual minorities, and others, rarely present themselves as enemies of fundamental equality and, no doubt, often do not even see themselves as such. Their arguments typically purport to show that the sorts of unfavourable treatment they propose are not (mysteriously) inconsistent with moral equality. While modern societies reflect the basic assumption that everyone is entitled to be recognized as, in some sense, of equal worth, there is still plenty of room for disagreement as to what this assumption should mean in practical terms. The victory of the ideal of universal respect, however, is reflected in the way that these debates are conducted in terms of the interpretation of equality and not in terms of the maintenance of a natural hierarchy.

In pre-modern societies, Taylor points out, the sort of recognition one may enjoy is determined directly by the social status hierarchy (1994: 26–7). Feudal societies are clearly ordered by rank, from the aristocracy, on down to the peasantry. Of course, within each order a host of finer distinctions, for example that between masters, journeymen, and apprentices, or cardinals, bishops, and priests, can be made. The social hierarchy is backed by law such that each stratum enjoys its own particular set of rights and duties. There is no equality before the law and very limited social mobility. One's social position is one's fate and social honour or prestige is distributed according to one's station. By contrast, the modern world is a meritocracy in which one's fate is essentially in one's own hands, a world in which hard work and talent can gain the recognition they deserve. Whether or not this story turns out to be entirely accurate, it is clear that something like it is central to our official understanding of our modern world and the contrast with the feudal order that preceded it.

Taylor suggests that there are two currents at work here in the process of transition from feudal hierarchy to modern equality: there is the ideal of ‘equal dignity’ or ‘universal respect’, a moral ideal that drives modern struggles for social and political reform; and another ideal, which he calls the ideal of ‘authenticity’, which is concerned rather to secure recognition for one's individual properties (Taylor 1994: 27–8). This ideal can already be discerned in Rousseau's writings, but flowers in the Romantic era, where the unique, the particular, and the idiosyncratic are prized above the universal and the uniform. Where the ideal of universal respect demands respect for our equal moral status, the ideal of authenticity demands recognition of our individuality, our uniqueness.

This uniqueness can, paradoxically, be shared with others to the extent that I am distinguished from others by my belonging to particular groups. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the differences between nations, racial groups, and ‘civilizations’, each with their own allegedly unique and readily identifiable characteristics, predominates. By the late twentieth century, however, other organizing categories – gender, sexuality, minority cultural identities – emerge to complicate this picture, and, to some extent, displace these earlier categorizations. While this may threaten to dissolve the individual into a variety of social groups, in fact, the way that we typically find ourselves lying at the intersection of multiple social identities serves to pick us out as individuals: we are never simply identical with those around us, for while we may share a nationality, for example, we may differ in terms of gender, sexuality, class, religion, and political outlook.

Taylor argues that while the ideal of universal respect undermined the feudal order's notion of unequal ‘preferential esteem’, the contemporary ‘politics of recognition’ is motivated by a tension between universal respect and authenticity (1994: 35). Although it is often presented simply as a conflict between ‘difference’ and ‘equality’, Taylor presents the politics of recognition as posing a challenge within egalitarian politics, and therefore as a struggle over the meaning of equality itself. It is a struggle to work out ‘what a politics of equal recognition has meant and could mean’ (Taylor 1994: 37).

Is universal respect oppressive?

The politics of universal respect promised that everyone would be placed on an equal footing: that everyone would count and that no one would count for more than anyone else. Ideally, on this view, one's gender, ethnicity, or sexuality are irrelevant to one's moral status: what matters is one's common humanity. While this style of politics is admirably inclusive on account of its commitment to embedding moral equality in concrete social institutions, it has, unfortunately, also encouraged us to think of those particularizing features which distinguish us from the rest of humanity as having no moral significance. It is not hard to see why this should be so: in the feudal status order those characteristics which distinguished one rank of society from another, the clergy from the merchants, and the peasants from the lords, were invested with enormous mo...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Key Concepts series
• Title page
• Copyright page
• Dedication
• Acknowledgements
• Introduction
• 1: The Politics of Recognition
• 2: Respect
• 3: Esteem and Social Distinction
• 4: Justice and Recognition
• 5: The Struggle for Recognition
• References
• Index