Philosophy and This Actual
World: Review |
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Courtney Campbell |
Professor and Director, Program for Ethics, Science, and the Environment |
As illustrated by the title and the argument of his book, Martin Benjamin has profound philosophical affinities with my colleague, rather than a traditional insularity from the issues of practical life that often get neglected in philosophical analysis. From the outset of Philosophy and Thus Actual World, Benjamin argues for a deep connection between ideas and life, between philosophy and this actual world. Informed by the pragmatism of William James and John Dewey, and the notion of language games of Wittgenstein, Benjamin takes aim at the Cartesian legacy in philosophy that has produced a series of misleading dichotomies about knowledge, freedom, the self, and ethics. The essential philosophical questions in the Cartesian legacy become, in Benjamin’s words, “puzzles for the individual intellect” (p. 17), an interesting pursuit for those so inclined, but about as connected to what we do in the actual world as a crossword puzzle might be. The pragmatic philosophy articulated by Benjamin seeks to show the significance of philosophy for how life is to be lived, not just by a probing few intellectuals, but with broad application and accessibility for a generally informed and educated audience.
An initial point of distinction made by Benjamin concerns the nature of the self and the nature of this actual world. In contrast to the Cartesian self as a “disembodied, lone spectator” on a world that may be an illusion, Benjamin contends that the self is “an embodied social agent” facing numerous practical choices in a world that Benjamin describes as “complex and “occasionally hazardous and hostile” (p.7). The book is certainly adept at illustrating complexity in many forms; it is less successful in indicating how this actual world is a “hazardous” or “hostile” habitat for humanity. As so much of Benjamin’s philosophical emphasis hinges on practical engagement, a fuller account of the kind of world this actual world is would be useful.
In addition to these distinctive claims about the self, Benjamin further distances himself from Cartesianism through his understanding of the mode of philosophical inquiry, which is instructively illustrated in illuminating nautical metaphors of constructing our “ship of knowledge” (p. 59) and “ship of morality” (p. 112) as well as the navigational method of “tacking” (p.23). Benjamin takes seriously our personal, subjective, and situated experience in the world, but also recognizes our capacities for transcendance to a more impersonal and disinterested perspective. The personal or agent perspective and the impersonal or spectator perspective are “interrelated” for Benjamin, and their interrelationship is manifested in our life’s voyage and “tacking” maneuvers. In Benjamin’s language, “we proceed indirectly, heading first toward one side of our eventual destination, then toward the other side, then back to the first side, and so on.” Similarly, “successful navigation in life requires knowing when and how to tack between [personal and impersonal] viewpoints” (p.23, 133); in Benjamin’s view, the philosophically preferable standpoint of “reflective agency” is located approximately mid-way between the personal, situated self and the detached, impersonal self.
It may be my lack of nautical experience, but as appealing as the tacking analogy is, I also find myself wanting some “anchor,” some “ground,” at least a point of origin for the journey. Since Benjamin eschews philosophical foundationalism for philosophical coherence, my inclination is unlikely to be satisfied by Benjamin’s concept of pragmatic reflective agency. I acquire my capacity for such reflection, in Benjamin’s view, against a “backdrop of a complex network of beliefs and knowledge claims,” acquired from various external sources as well personal experience” (p. 59; cf. p. 112). However, I take it this “backdrop” necessarily recedes as I begin my philosophical voyage, just as the geographical points of orientation recede in a nautical excursion. I will, Benjamin points out, find along the voyage that some of my knowledge is in need of repair, out-dated, or irrelevant, but I can’t rebuild a “seaborne ship from the bottom up” (p. 59). I have to revise, repair, improve, correct as I go. Still, how can I tell whether my repairs enhance my seaworthiness, or make it more likely to sink, or whether my corrections will get me to my destination, or get me lost?
The same concerns apply to my ship of morality, and on this issue I don’t think Benjamin can entirely avoid some moral anchoring. In arguing that some moral claims are indefensible, Benjamin appeals to “plausible” and “well-grounded background beliefs and theories” (p. 116) as a basis for rejection. In short, not every moral ship will float. Unfortunately, we do not get much further specificity about what constitutes a “plausible” or a “well-grounded” position, nor how helpful these background conceptions are when we are out at sea and our fore vision is preoccupied with hazardous waves.
What might help me as I flounder at sea, trying to maintain my balance or reflective agency as I experience tacking, is some sense of my “destination.” What ultimately are we after in philosophical inquiry and action? The “examined life” of Socrates? The “clear and distinct ideas” of Descartes? Platonic “Truth”? The Marxist desire to not just interpret the world, but “change it”? What Benjamin suggests repeatedly that the philosophical quest is about is drawn from Wilfrid Sellars, that is, that philosophy is “an attempt to understand how things in the broadest possible sense of the term hang together in the broadest possible sense of the term” (pp. 90, 119, 173). This means coherence between ideas and ideas as well as between ideas and actions; the “pragmatic temperament” this engenders is concerned with both what we do as well as what we understand. And as far as this aim of “hanging together” (or nautically, keeping my ship sea-worthy) not giving me much directionality, I suspect Benjamin will say that philosophy is not about the destination as about the journey, about the process of tacking while re-crafting my shift as I go. The criteria for success may not be getting somewhere personally (enlightenment, clarity, self-knowledge) or socially (justice) but keeping my reflective balance as I repair, reconstruct, correct and improve my ship.
The tri-dimension concept of the self (embodied, communal, agent) and the method of “tacking” are nicely brought together in Benjamin’s discussion of ethics and his analysis of our “ship of morality.” The moral self is embodied because the origins of ethics, including self-sacrifice and reciprocal altruism, are in Benjamin’s view, rooted in evolutionary biology; the moral self is social because the biological dispositions for other-regardingness are reinforced and extended by culture – moral education in families, churches, among peers, and the like. The moral self is an agent because we encounter the question “what should I do?” repeatedly in making concrete judgments and facing practical situations. This embodied, social agent seeks to engage in “wide reflective equilibrium” (p. 116) in which the moral self tries to ensure that particular judgments, more general rules and principles, and background beliefs and theories about the world, nature, persons, and even God “hang together,” and as necessary, tack between them
There is, in traditional philosophical terms, no foundation for ethics, no anchor for the ship of morality, and so far as my reading reveals, no specific substantive content to the rules and principles. And yet, Benjamin doesn’t believe, and indeed argues against a view of pragmatism as ethically relative or subjective. The constraints on ethics are set instead by two conditions of coherence – the “hanging together” of one’s own judgments, rules, and background beliefs or personal coherence, and interpersonal coherence, that is, as much congruence and agreement with others as can be obtained (p. 122).
There is much to be said for Benjamin’s pragmatic ethics; the method of wide reflective equilibrium is an important corrective to contemporary ethical divides between theorists and anti-theorists, or principlists and casuists, and focuses moral attention on what is common and shared, rather than what divides. Still, I wonder whether the critical edge of ethics, what Michael Walzer in his book Interpretation and Social Criticism describes as the “prophetic” and “socially critical” edge of moral philosophy, is diminished in Benjamin’s move to coherentism. Benjamin shows in the example of the evolution of brain-death standards as discussed by Prof. Wallace that the pragmatic ethic is accommodating of correction and change, although I’m not convinced pragmatism is the best explanatory narrative of this change in the understanding of death. But, beyond accommodation to new moral terrain and unanticipated situations, is the pragmatic position capable of genuine moral critique, of saying that a particular act or practice is “wrong”? It seems to me that the most Benjamin can say is something he frequently does say, that “it goes without saying” that a certain view, act or practice is morally aberrant. But stating publicly a judgment one is willing to defend that something is wrong, and remarking that what is wrong “goes without saying” are two very different moral postures, especially when our use of language is so central to Benjamin’s conception of the self as social agent.
Part of the problem Benjamin encounters here, I believe, is that, on one hand, we are to assess the viability of our ship of morality according to interpersonal coherence, and the prospects of agreement; yet, on the other hand, as Benjamin also acknowledges, we may find ourselves with very few occasions for agreement. Our background beliefs are suffused with “the fact of moral pluralism,” i.e., inherently incompatible values embedded within different world views and patterns of living (p. 125ff).. Thus, not implausibly, Benjamin suggests in our culture, such postures will be “highly individualized” (p. 129). Highly individualized postures, however, restrict the usefulness of interpersonal coherence as a check on one’s own ship of morality.
Benjamin’s philosophical acumen is best on display in his discussions of pluralism and compromise. The conceptual frameworks he provides, as well as his practical illustrations, are insightful and innovative. It runs contrary to much writing on compromise, which is often viewed as moral capitulation, as exemplified in the following illustration from an ethics text I use: A section subhead declares in bold, italic, and larger font: “Common ground is not compromise.” The explication that follows observes: “Searching for common ground is not about compromising to reach a middle position. … Participants in a common ground process are not asked to sacrifice their integrity” (See Anthony Weston, An Ethical Toolbox for the 21st Century, p. 230). In this respect, Benjamin’s arguments on integrity-preserving compromises, which draw on his earlier publications, are especially valuable.
Still, I want to raise questions about Benjamin’s position by looking at some themes that emerge in his concluding chapters on pluralism, defining death, and living a meaningful life. On Benjamin’s own account, these themes ought to “hang together” and I’m not convinced they do.
1) Benjamin follows Dewey in observing that part of the responsible pragmatist approach consists in “modifications and abandonments of intellectual inheritance” in response to new movements in technology, politics, and science (p. 150). It seems clear from this, and similar statements elsewhere, that Benjamin does not adhere to a notion of claims of cogency that transcend tradition, or are even embedded in tradition.
2) One moral tradition Benjamin is willing to substantially modify pertains to the responsibilities of physicians in end-of-life-care (p. 111). The traditional prohibition that physicians should not hasten death becomes secondary to the new priority of respecting patient autonomy when they request physician assistance in suicide (PAS). Benjamin supports PAS normatively, although he is willing to accept changes in the medical status quo that better promote patient interests as part of an integrity-preserving compromise if the laws on PAS will not be changed (pp. 142-146). Benjamin and I have a substantive disagreement on PAS, but I want to put that aside for the moment to focus on the issue of the “hanging together” of these important themes.
3) In his very compelling concluding chapter, Benjamin observes that each of us (theist or non-theist) can achieve a “meaningful life” by “outliving the self”, that is, becoming part of practices, such as medicine, teaching, parenting, citizenship, and the like. In so doing, we enter as “connecting links” into a social practice that both precedes us and will persist after us (pp. 177-178).
My concern is that the process of pragmatic modification and abandonment of the intellectual legacy and moral tradition can so efface a social practice that it can no longer be said that there is an essential continuity between the practice as it occurred in the past and the practice as anticipated to continue in the future. And, thus, the prospects for finding meaning through engagement with such a social practice are thus severely undermined, leaving us to flounder on an ocean of meaninglessness.
To be more specific, I have written elsewhere that the legalization of PAS in Oregon has culminated in a deep fragmentation in the moral identity and integrity of both medical practice and hospice care. In the embrace of PAS, certain core aspects of the intellectual legacy and moral tradition of these two social practices have been modified in conception and priority, if not abandoned all-together. Thus, I question whether there is really an ongoing social practice that contemporary physicians in these venues can become part of and through which they can find meaning. The opportunity for “outliving the self” has ceased as physicians have assisted in hastening patient’s demise. To say otherwise is to say that medicine, or any other social practice, is merely a body of knowledge and skills that are transmitted from one generation to the next, but that how those skills and knowledge are implemented is really up-for-grabs. What is lost in this account is the notion of these social practices as “vocations,” as “callings,” of “profession” in the sense of taking a vow or making a commitment to others. While I will not explore it here, I think the corporatization of higher education has resulted in the same moral conflict and drift for those who society distinguishes with the term “professor.”
I find Benjamin’s discussion of integrity preserving moral compromises for the individual very instructive and compelling. At the same time, I question whether the pragmatic project of modifying and abandoning can so compromise the historical legacy and integrity of a social practice that a meaningful life through it becomes hard to obtain. That Benjamin has brought contemporary philosophy into engagement with these practical questions of life is a significant achievement for which, despite my reservations, I find Philosophy and This Actual World highly deserving of acclaim.
Courtney S. Campbell, Ph.D., Professor and Chair, Department of Philosophy, Oregon State University, Corvallis, Oregon.