Amiable Enemies
There are a lot of people and groups out there whose agendas I oppose, sometimes bitterly. I'm less opinionated than some, and a heck of a lot less opinionated than most of the people who go into my particular line of work: I don't have strong feelings on cap-and-trade, for instance. I just sort of shrug diffidently when asked what I think about whether big or small government, as such, is preferable - the question just isn't as interesting to me as others. And, like Randall Munroe, some days I just can't bring myself to get upset about copyright law. In a political science department, where the TAs routinely argue day in and day about the specifics of policy towards Iran, I often feel apathetic.
But still, there are things I really care about; things I'm willing to fight about. With most, I've had to discover that I care about them. Coming from a middle class life, there were few problems that I could really say were immediately and pressingly relevant for my own well-being. Most causes were at least one level of abstraction away from my daily life. Some of them, the most flatly ideological "what-kind-of-society-should-we-be-making?" stuff, were several levels away. Lots of middle class people get really into that - most of the really extreme extremists in history weren't poor and desperate; they were comfortable and a little bored - but my temperament, for whatever reason, isn't like that. It's a choice for me, almost conscious effort, to care about things.
And not unreasonably: It's such a huge undertaking to make even a little difference about anything at all that I've always felt like I had to choose my issues very carefully, because I thought, and still sort of think, that it's a deeply vain affectation of the chattering classes to have a well-developed opinion about some issue you don't plan to do anything about. Most of us will not spend our lives on activism. We'll be doing jobs that keep the world going 'round some other way, and maybe donating money or volunteering a little on a small list of things we care strongly about. There isn't room for much more in most human lives. Outside of that very limited sphere of activism, what good is knowing what you stand for? What good does a strong opinion actually do, other than provide intellectual stimulation and occasional spirited conversation? If it's a general sort of keeping-your-mind-sharp thing, that's fine, but that alone doesn't justify being (intelligently) opinionated as anything but a direct personal virtue, about on par with going to the gym regularly and eating a balanced diet.
There are downsides to this line of thought. It encourages quietism, for one thing. It is absolutely a reflection of my comfort, wealth and social-capital that I have the luxury of not caring very hard about certain things. If neither of us devotes much of our limited effort and resources towards alleviating poverty, but you have a strong moral stance on it while I do not, which of us is really the less mature one? I don't know. You could also accuse me of not sharpening my intellectual faculties by avoiding so many of these questions, but there I'd say you're off the mark: I invest plenty of energy in sharpening my mind, just not often on what other people think the big questions of the day are, and even less often on the sorts of questions that require you to have a yes or no, for or against, This or That Should Be Done type of answer. Aside from all my other complaints against the practice, declaring yourself to be on this or that side, or that something is good or not, gets very boring very fast. I think colinmarhall posted something to this effect a while back.
But there seems to be a pleasant side-effect to my way of thinking. Because opinions don't come to me easily - because I have to wrestle to develop them, rather than have them come to me by the reflexive moral instincts most people seem to have - I'm less likely than most people to write off my opponents as evil or, worse, illegitimate.
I draw a very sharp distinction between a legitimate enemy and an illegitimate one, and I'm very, very, very cautious against even accidentally painting an enemy as illegitimate except in pretty extreme circumstances. You can be my enemy, even my bitter enemy. I can be completely dedicated to utterly defeating you and every aspect of your agenda, but I would not cast you as an enemy of humanity who is making an argument that Should Not Be. It takes more empathy than I have to really grok the anti-gay crowd and how they see the world, and I've already devoted time and money to beating them back, but I would not say that they, as a phenomenon, are wrong. Only that their stances, underlying philosophy, worldview and agenda are wrong.
The distinction can get subtle, but it's important. It's so easy to say that you are fighting against someone who's evil or stupid. It's even easier to think that, because you're fighting (metaphorically) to the death, you are fighting against something that shouldn't ever have been in the world, an agenda that should not be pushed by a group that should not be. It's easy to say that someone isn't just wrong but illegitimate, that it's not ok for them to even make their argument. But it's disfiguring. Making someone into the enemy of humanity, rather than just your enemy, makes them, well, inhuman. And the effects of dehumanizing your enemies are, you know, bad. Especially in what claims to be a democracy.
This post has a part 2, which will be written in a day or two, and will go under a friends-lock, because it contains some comments about teaching, and I don't want that public.
But still, there are things I really care about; things I'm willing to fight about. With most, I've had to discover that I care about them. Coming from a middle class life, there were few problems that I could really say were immediately and pressingly relevant for my own well-being. Most causes were at least one level of abstraction away from my daily life. Some of them, the most flatly ideological "what-kind-of-society-should-we-be-making?" stuff, were several levels away. Lots of middle class people get really into that - most of the really extreme extremists in history weren't poor and desperate; they were comfortable and a little bored - but my temperament, for whatever reason, isn't like that. It's a choice for me, almost conscious effort, to care about things.
And not unreasonably: It's such a huge undertaking to make even a little difference about anything at all that I've always felt like I had to choose my issues very carefully, because I thought, and still sort of think, that it's a deeply vain affectation of the chattering classes to have a well-developed opinion about some issue you don't plan to do anything about. Most of us will not spend our lives on activism. We'll be doing jobs that keep the world going 'round some other way, and maybe donating money or volunteering a little on a small list of things we care strongly about. There isn't room for much more in most human lives. Outside of that very limited sphere of activism, what good is knowing what you stand for? What good does a strong opinion actually do, other than provide intellectual stimulation and occasional spirited conversation? If it's a general sort of keeping-your-mind-sharp thing, that's fine, but that alone doesn't justify being (intelligently) opinionated as anything but a direct personal virtue, about on par with going to the gym regularly and eating a balanced diet.
There are downsides to this line of thought. It encourages quietism, for one thing. It is absolutely a reflection of my comfort, wealth and social-capital that I have the luxury of not caring very hard about certain things. If neither of us devotes much of our limited effort and resources towards alleviating poverty, but you have a strong moral stance on it while I do not, which of us is really the less mature one? I don't know. You could also accuse me of not sharpening my intellectual faculties by avoiding so many of these questions, but there I'd say you're off the mark: I invest plenty of energy in sharpening my mind, just not often on what other people think the big questions of the day are, and even less often on the sorts of questions that require you to have a yes or no, for or against, This or That Should Be Done type of answer. Aside from all my other complaints against the practice, declaring yourself to be on this or that side, or that something is good or not, gets very boring very fast. I think colinmarhall posted something to this effect a while back.
But there seems to be a pleasant side-effect to my way of thinking. Because opinions don't come to me easily - because I have to wrestle to develop them, rather than have them come to me by the reflexive moral instincts most people seem to have - I'm less likely than most people to write off my opponents as evil or, worse, illegitimate.
I draw a very sharp distinction between a legitimate enemy and an illegitimate one, and I'm very, very, very cautious against even accidentally painting an enemy as illegitimate except in pretty extreme circumstances. You can be my enemy, even my bitter enemy. I can be completely dedicated to utterly defeating you and every aspect of your agenda, but I would not cast you as an enemy of humanity who is making an argument that Should Not Be. It takes more empathy than I have to really grok the anti-gay crowd and how they see the world, and I've already devoted time and money to beating them back, but I would not say that they, as a phenomenon, are wrong. Only that their stances, underlying philosophy, worldview and agenda are wrong.
The distinction can get subtle, but it's important. It's so easy to say that you are fighting against someone who's evil or stupid. It's even easier to think that, because you're fighting (metaphorically) to the death, you are fighting against something that shouldn't ever have been in the world, an agenda that should not be pushed by a group that should not be. It's easy to say that someone isn't just wrong but illegitimate, that it's not ok for them to even make their argument. But it's disfiguring. Making someone into the enemy of humanity, rather than just your enemy, makes them, well, inhuman. And the effects of dehumanizing your enemies are, you know, bad. Especially in what claims to be a democracy.
This post has a part 2, which will be written in a day or two, and will go under a friends-lock, because it contains some comments about teaching, and I don't want that public.