Ethics and Insurrection

A Pragmatism for the Oppressed

Lee A. McBride III

• Editorial: Bloomsbury Academic
• Año: 2021
• ISBN:
  9781350102286
• Edición: 1
• Categoría: Philosophy
• Categoría: Ethics & Moral Philosophy

Ethics and Insurrection articulates an ethical position that takes critical pragmatism and Harrisian insurrectionist philosophy seriously. It suggests that there are values and norms that create boundaries that confine, reduce and circumscribe the actions we allow ourselves to consider. McBride argues that an insurrectionist ethos is integral in the disavowing of norms and traditions that justify or perpetuate oppression and that we must throw our faith behind something, some set of values, if we want a chance at shaping a future. This book encourages us to (re)imagine and shape futures with less subjection, less degradation. It urges us to interrogate and deconstruct those intervening background assumptions that authorize and reinforce the subordination of stigmatized groups. It implores us to pursue new conceptions of personhood and humanity, conceptions that forefront reciprocity and solidarity-conceptions that do not cast groups of human beings as inherently subhuman or naturally bereft of honor. And finally Ethics and Insurrection beseeches us to form new coalitions and bonds of trust, to engage in those forms of collective action likely to shape a better future.

1

(Moral) Philosophy in a Thoroughly Disenchanted Universe

If there is no such thing as the cosmic point of view, if the idea of absolute importance in the scheme of things is an illusion, a relic of a world not yet thoroughly disenchanted, then there is no other point of view except ours in which our activities can have or lack a significance.

—Bernard Williams, “The Human Prejudice”

I, like all (enculturated) people, approach ethics with particular commitments, biases, and background assumptions. In this chapter I aim to shed some light on my approach to ethics and the moral life. I assume that some people, especially the professional philosophers, will want to know my affiliation, to know where I stand (normatively and metaethically). To be forthright, I am resistant to the idea of slotting myself into any of the readily acknowledged ethical camps/traditions; to do so seems to limit my position to the confines of those well-rehearsed conceptual schemes. When I share the names of the people and traditions that inspire me and buttress my position, I do not wish to be interpreted as a mere disciple of said thinker or tradition. I do not wish to be judged by my (in)fidelity to this thinker or that tradition. That said, I am not wandering in the desert alone. Although my approach may be heterodox in the grand scheme of moral philosophy, I find support for my views in several sources and traditions. Foremost among them stands a decidedly critical strain of ethical naturalism.

In this chapter I voice some of my concerns about the conventional practice of moral philosophy, then, in contrast, articulate a form of pragmatic ethical naturalism, one that postulates a thoroughly disenchanted universe.¹ In the end, I briefly consider whether this position is also susceptible to ethnocentrism and provincial cultural limitations, blind to systemic oppression and pervasive asymmetries in the ascribing of dignity.

Moral Philosophy and Cultural Myopia

I have been accused of being cynical—it was implied. In any case, I do not see myself as a cynic. I have not given up on humanity. I have not succumbed to nihilism. Now, I may show contempt for accepted standards of behavior in the dominant culture. I may sneer at the brutality or the callousness exhibited toward stigmatized groups. I may disparage the plundering, the ecological degradation, the climate injustice, the wretchedness that is often inflicted on historically colonized populations. (Guilty.) But I am not a mere cynic. I mean, I think it is worth trying to shape a future that minimizes misery and subjection. I think there are better (more sustainable) ways to live on, with, and through our natural environments. I try to be a good person.

But I do have my misgivings with de rigueur moral philosophy. Moral philosophy often seems like an ornate game played by only the cleverest professional philosophers.

If normative ethics is to be helpful in the project of living well, of flourishing, of finding meaning and purpose, of leaving the world a better place, it ought to help us to be attentive, sensitive, and open to value, not cocky, overconfident, and closed to other ways of thinking and being. Many philosophers behave as if their job is to win arguments, leaving one’s opponent defeated, maimed, and breathless. (Flanagan 2017, 15)

For those who participate in these practices (with jaunty flair), the key is to devise astute, unassailable thought experiments, evoking key canonical positions, formalizing long chains of valid argumentation, and withstanding subsequent criticism from clever philosophical detractors. Moral claims are purported to mirror what is morally real or to represent universal moral objectivity; avowed fundamental moral principles are purported to serve as the condition for all derivative moral principles; metaethical stances are purported to be the only tenable moral edifices upon which to stand. In this practice, intuition pumps are harnessed and wielded. The dueling of wits abounds, the convolution/sophistication of thought experiment ramps up (Anderson 2015, 25).

Owen Flanagan is right; the standard practice of professional moral philosophy (in the Euro-American “West”) is often pretentious, myopic, and cloistered. First, “the standard philosophical picture of moral interaction and exchange is historically and ecologically unrealistic because it is transcendentally pretentious, conceiving the philosopher’s vocation as identifying what is really good or right independently of history or culture” (Flanagan 2017, 7). Moral philosophers typically seek absolutes and universally applicable truths. And, in many cases, professional moral philosophers carry out this search largely ignorant of the insights assembled by the social sciences: history, cultural anthropology, sociology, psychology, and so on. In fact, philosophy is often described as an a priori investigation, as opposed to the empirical, descriptive investigation of the natural and social sciences.² On this reading, philosophy distinguishes itself from the sciences by restricting its purview to reason alone, to clearing up semantic confusion, to analytically discerning what may and may not intelligibly be thought (Shafer-Landa u 2013, 54–5; Dummett 2010, 14; Thomson 2003, 11–12). Thus, the ebb and flow of human valuations and intuitions, the contextual articulations of normativity (as empirical matters) are rendered inconsequential or simply not philosophical.

And how could laws for the determination of our will be regarded as laws for the determination of a rational being in general and of ourselves only insofar as we are rational beings, if these laws were merely empirical and did not have their source completely a priori in pure, but practical, reason? (Kant 2011, 955)

The moral philosopher’s vocation, then, is to articulate what is good or morally fundamental in all cases, for all moral agents, paying no attention to cultural differences, the variety of intervening background assumptions, implicit bias, or tendencies toward ethnocentrism.

Indeed, the project, isolated from transnational history, cultural anthropology, social psychology, and the like, seems unrealistic and pretentious. It seems to assume that the adroit Euro-American moral philosopher can rely upon their intuitions, norms, and intervening background assumptions to discern what is good or right absolutely and universally (cf. Anderson 2015, 41; Kornblith 2015, 152).

Second, the standard picture evokes a singleton agent who assesses and judges moral situations alone, one dilemma at a time (Flanagan 2017, 7). In Cartesian fashion, one need only conceive of something clearly and distinctly to apprehend its apodictic truth. René Descartes was absolutely certain that the three angles of any triangle must equal two right angles, and that God existed in more than thought. These, for Descartes, were self-evident truths (Descartes 1993, 43–4). (Of course, non-Euclidean geometry attenuates the universality of this geometric claim.³ ) In any event, for the (crypto-)Cartesian philosopher, to reach epistemic certainty neither extrinsic nor intersubjective corroboration is necessary.⁴ In an isolated cabin in the woods, alone by the fire, Descartes was able to deduce that God exists, that God is no deceiver, and thus, because that which he (mentally) perceives clearly and distinctly is undoubtedly true, “full and certain knowledge of countless things is possible” (Descartes 1993, 47). No peer review, no corroboration, no (concurring) community of inquiry is needed (Cf. Peirce 1992, 52; Hacking 2002, 123). Ideally, then, the singleton moral philosopher has the ability (somehow) to reach across the chasm from the phenomenal realm into the noumenal realm, into “what really is.” Or, the singleton philosopher, at their most rational, personifies the ideal observer—omniscient, omnipercipient, disinterested, dispassionate, consistent, and in all other respects normal (Firth 1952). The ideal observer is abreast of all nonmoral facts, he perceives all the perspectives, he is unbiased and unemotional, and he makes inferences in a consistent manner. The ideal observer, in various guises, permeates moral philosophy. An ideal observer of this sort stands behind Rawls’s veil of ignorance, laying bare the ideal, foundational principles of justice (Bok 2017, 175). An ideal observer carries out the utilitarian calculus, perceptively and impartially assessing and quantifying the immediate and long-term pleasures and pains for all affected parties—always recognizing that intellectual pleasures bear more value than corporeal pleasures. An ideal observer perceives and concedes the force of bedrock beliefs, defeaters, and counterfactuals.

The ideal observer, as omniscient, omnipercipient, disinterested, dispassionate, consistent, and yet otherwise normal, sounds quite fanciful—“a slimmed-down surrogate of the Christian God” (Williams 2008, 145). The ideal observer is not divine, but a pseudo-supernatural Being to which we, as moral agents, should aspire. (Queer, indeed.)⁵ And, yet, it is far too common that the moral philosopher, by his singleton rational faculties, assumes the vantage point of a god, presuming to deliver universal principles and absolute moral claims. Philosophers of this ilk seem to evoke a philosophical “sixth sense.” Rachels is right; it does seem like “occult mumbo jumbo” (Rachels 1995, 2). In this sense, the singleton moral philosopher who makes absolutist and universalist claims based only on his intuitions with no concern for extrinsic corroboration is hubristic and likely blinkered from live alternatives (Anderson 2015, 25–7).

Third, philosophers tend to fret over sanitized, abstract moral problems rather than quotidian, mundane problems. Moral philosophers, especially absolutists and realists, tend to confine themselves to a priori investigations (i.e., investigations by reason alone) discerning universal principles and moral absolutes that hold either in concert with the view of the ideal observer or in a noumenal sense, in and of themselves (Firth 1952; Shafer-Landau 2013, 55). To tease out shared intuitions, to reveal the exact force of the argument, or to expose misgivings in rival positions, moral philosophers trade in highly contrived thought experiments (e.g., The Trolley Problem, The Lifeboat Case, The Ring of Gyges, The Murderer at the Door, The Experience Machine, and The Last Man Argument). The semantics of (moral) propositions are scrutinized. (And propositions, as declarative s...