Dr. Seuss and Philosophy
Page 16
We can glean two important points about cultural relativism from this example. First, this practice, like so many others that people engage in, doesn’t seem to matter. It doesn’t matter on what side you butter your bread. Buttering bread is trivial, so there is no good reason not to tolerate it. It doesn’t inhibit the ability of the practitioners to function well, nor does it harm anyone else. The Zooks seem perfectly happy eating bread butter side down, and the Yooks do well with theirs buttered topside. The cause of conflict in this story is one group trying to force the other to change their cultural practice, and for no other reason than that they think theirs is best. Secondly, often trouble and strife, even war can result from an intolerance of other’s beliefs and practices. So respect and acceptance may be the best order of the day. This message permeates many of Seuss’s stories. Yet there seems to be a limit to our tolerance. Should we tolerate Sour Kangaroo’s desire to boil the Whos, or the Sneetches discriminatory social structure? Should we sit back and watch, refusing to judge the Once-ler as he destroys the environment or Yertle as he oppresses the turtles in his pond?
Cultural relativists rely on the claim that cultures are separate, self-justifying sources of valid ethical claims. But in the age of globalization there is no such thing as an isolated culture. We are interconnected, for better or worse. The Sneetches, denizens of Nool, and Yertle’s subjects don’t live in a vacuum. As one scholar notes, “Morally, as well as physically, there is only one world, and we all have to live in it.”1 Part of our job as reasoning, judging creatures is to make do in this one world as best as we can. So to refuse to judge is to become complicit in evils that are directly and profoundly linked to each of us. If we are motivated by respect, or tolerance out of respect, then we must make evaluations and judgments about cultural practices that seem to disregard the concerns or interests of those people we are trying to respect through our tolerance. Some things shouldn’t be tolerated. But then some things should be. It’s hard to know the difference. But just because it’s hard doesn’t mean we give up, it means we keep trying.
Yet some take the problems of cultural relativism to demonstrate not the need for a universal ethical system but a broader understanding of relativism, one that pertains to each individual’s moral judgments, not just cultural practices. This view is sometimes termed normative relativism.
Normative relativism says that a person’s beliefs are justified only in relation to a self-imposed framework, making ethics something akin to a matter of taste. No two people can be measured by the same principle due to the fact that each individual is different, and the rules that each adopts are specific only to them. Central to understanding normative relativism is that no single person has an incorrect view about ethical reasoning, there are only different views. Values are a matter of personal opinion or individual perspective. We hear this view given expression when someone says, “Well that may be true for you, but . . .” The idea that it is merely “true for you” implies that we each have our own view and each ought to be respected as much as every other because all views are equally “true.” This is the reaction many get when they judge a friend’s action to be faulty. For example, you confront your friend the Once-ler about his unethical business practices and he claims, “Well, you can agree with that Lorax fellow if you like, but I’d prefer to make Thneeds and money. We’re each allowed our own opinion.” To an extent he is right; we are all allowed our own opinion. But that doesn’t mean all opinions are equally supportable. After all, some people hold the opinion that Sneetches without stars are second-class citizens. This belief is not only unsupportable insofar as a measurement of moral worth will equally apply to starless and starred Sneetches but also it harms starless Sneetches in a demonstrable way. Opinions have impacts, and we can’t turn a blind eye to the effects of ignorance and moral bankruptcy.
Consider Horton the elephant. Horton both hatches an egg abandoned by a slothful, derelict parent and protects the Whos from the shortsightedness of Sour Kangaroo, the Wickershams, and all the other animals in the jungle of Nool. In each case Horton had to maintain an ethical ideal. In the case of the egg it was fidelity, being faithful “one-hundred percent” (Hatches). With respect to the Whos it was respect, the belief that “A person’s a person. No matter how small” (Horton). These are values that Horton demands others abide by as well. In fact, we as readers are disgusted by the practices of Mayzie the lazy bird and all the residents of Nool because they are violating these basic moral principles and in each case great harm would result if Horton didn’t hold firm; the egg would perish and the Whos would fall victim to Sour Kangaroo’s final solution.
If Horton had turned a blind eye, he would be as blameworthy as the others. And we should recognize that often our motivation to turn a blind eye may be more an example of our cowardice or our unwillingness to be persecuted than a principled stance for tolerance.2 Those who demand not to be judged are usually those most guilty of moral turpitude, those that couldn’t pass any type of moral test or assessment. Of course, they wouldn’t want a standard applied to them; it would shed light on their shoddy practices and profligate life. We can easily imagine Sour Kangaroo demanding not to be judged, and in disbelief inquiring who is Horton to tell her how to live her life or run the jungle. Whereas Horton wouldn’t mind so much being judged by his peers. He has nothing to fear, and nothing to be ashamed of. Tolerance is too often the easy way out of having to do the heavy lifting of ethical thinking or the hard work of ethically living. Although tolerance may be warranted in some cases, it isn’t an absolute command. And really, who should tolerate Who genocide or the plight of an abandoned child? To put it bluntly, refusing to judge is a cowardly act. Refusal to judge is not an act of neutrality but to choose for the existing evil. But if relativism is untenable, what are the alternatives?
Kant:
Respect One-Hundred Percent and No Matter How Small
German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) is considered one of the greatest moral philosophers of the modern era. At the same time, he is considered one of the most notoriously difficult. Thankfully, we don’t have to try to grapple with Kant alone; we can enlist the aid of Seuss’s paragon of Kantian morality, Horton the elephant. We’ll begin with Horton’s famous credo, “A person’s a person. No matter how small” (Horton). Here, Horton is promoting the view that all people matter. All people possess an inherent, inviolable value beyond any price or measure; all people possess dignity. Kant couldn’t have said it better.
According to Kant, the value of persons stems from their status as rational beings, a status that allows us to postulate freedom, and people are valuable as the possessors of freedom. Kant states: “Every being that cannot act otherwise than under the idea of freedom is just because of that really free in a practical respect . . . I assert that to every rational being having a will we must necessarily lend the idea of freedom also, under which alone he acts.”3 But freedom itself cannot be proven, for it cannot be experienced. Rather, it is through our awareness of our capacity to give ourselves a moral law to which we are bound in virtue of being rational that we are able to postulate our freedom. Our ability to give ourselves the moral law demonstrates our freedom, and our freedom makes our adherence to the moral law possible.4 Insofar as people are free they are the wellspring of value; that is, they are that which is valuable in itself. Everything else in the world is valued merely as a means to some further end. Kant declares, “Honeste vive (live honourably), i.e., truly honour what universally has worth. What necessarily has a worth for everyone possesses dignity, and he who possesses it has inner worth.”5 Likewise, “that which constitutes the condition under which alone something can be an end in itself has not merely a relative worth, that is, a price, but an inner worth, that is, dignity . . . an unconditional, incomparable worth; and the word respect alone provides a becoming expression for the estimate of it that a rational being must give.”6 Insofar as human beings possess dignity, they are owed respect. Respect is a
moral relation between all rational, free beings and it is a relation demanded by our status as dignified. “There rests . . . a duty regarding the respect that must be shown to every other human being.”7
In Kant’s ethics respect for oneself and others is shown via adherence to the categorical imperative. In two formulations we are shown how living rationally—that is, morally—we demonstrate both respect for ourselves and respect for others. We offend the dignity of others and shame ourselves when we fail to uphold the moral law.
Yet it can seem odd to claim that we are only free when bound by a law. Being bound by laws seems to be the opposite of freedom. Isn’t freedom doing whatever we want? Well, since we are not perfectly good wills but are tempted by our inclinations and desires, we need to be assisted to obey the moral law. The moral law, in the form of the categorical imperative, provides a rule by which we direct our activities so that we might approximate better a moral life. “All practical rules consist in an imperative which says what I ought to do. They are meant to signify that a free action, possible through myself, would necessarily occur, if reason were to have total control over my will.”8 Yet we are not purely rational, we are also full of urges, desires, and whims. Sometimes these take hold of us, and sometimes they are quite powerful. The moral law affords us guidance and makes sure that we do the right thing for the right reason and don’t get carried away by our inclinations or bodily desires.
The first formulation of the categorical imperative states: “Act as if the maxim of thy action were to become by thy will a Universal Law of Nature.”9 In other words, act only in a way consistent among all rational beings, or do not act in a way that is self-defeating. The first formulation emphasizes consistency. But why be so concerned with consistency? After all, most people’s lives are riddled with inconsistencies and contradictions. For Kant, consistency is all about rationality and freedom. As rational, we recognize that actions are only free; that is, self-imposed, if they are not the result of external forces, such as inclinations or desires. Somehow we need to check to see if our actions are free of outside influences. Well, one way to check is to see if everyone else could consistently do what I wish to do. Since all people are at root rational, then whatever applies to me must apply to them as well. If, however, I can’t will that they do exactly as I, then I must be treating myself as an exception, which is akin to relying on something other than reason, which we all share, and this other thing would be inclinations or external considerations. If I can’t universalize my maxim, then I am acting as an exception to reason, and so I am not acting freely or as a dignified being ought to. Consider The Cat in the Hat.
In The Cat in the Hat we witness the hijinks of the Cat along with Things One and Two. It seems good, harmless fun and surely a needed break in the monotony of a rainy day. And there seems to be no overt moral message or quandary in this piece, until we get to the end. The book ends with the children’s mother returning home and asking what they did all day. A question is then posed to the reader, “What would you do if your mother asked you?” (Cat). Would you lie? Mom will never find out, the cat was thorough, and your sibling isn’t going to rat you out since that would implicate her as well. The temptation to lie is strong. You can avoid a scolding from mom, and no one is harmed in the process. From the perspective of self-interest lying seems the obvious choice. But are there other factors that should be considered? Kant would ask us to consider whether our practice of lying could be universalized, and if not, what would that mean.
If you try to make lying a universal law, you can see the inconsistency. If lying were a universal law of nature, then in this circumstance mom would never ask the question in the first place; she’d know she couldn’t trust any answer. She’d know that you, just like everyone else, will lie to get out of trouble. So whether the cat had destroyed your house or not, your answer will always be the same, “We did nothing, mom.” Lying only works in a culture that presumes truth-telling to be the norm. If lying were a universally recognized practice it would no longer be effective since the precondition needed in order for a deception to work would not exist. So not only would lying not work on mom, since she wouldn’t trust any response you give her, but also she probably wouldn’t have left you alone in the first place. If you universalize lying, then lying ceases to work. The fact that you can’t universalize the practice of lying proves it is generated not out of reason, which we all share and so is a universal trait, but something peculiar to you, something exceptional about yourself. Lying only works if we treat ourselves as exceptions to the rule and so as an exception to everyone else. But the only things exceptional about us are those external factors (inclinations) that shouldn’t motivate the behavior of a dignified, free human being. Lying is an undignified practice, one that also disrespects those to whom one lies.
Let’s look at another formulation of the categorical imperative: “So act as to treat humanity, whether in thine own person or in that of any other, in every case as an end withal, never as means only.”10 Here Kant, like Horton, demands that we respect each person, no matter how small. In our actions this means treating people as valuable in themselves not as a means or a way to achieve some end or project that we want. Consider the kids in The Cat in the Hat. If they lie to their mom, they are using her. The point of the deception is to avoid punishment, to pull the wool over her eyes so their project of self-satisfaction can be achieved. In order to do so they must use her by deceiving her. She is a pawn in their attempt to secure as much happiness for themselves as they can. In effect, lying is akin to telling someone they are not worth the truth and you don’t trust what they would do with it, so you’ll withhold it from them in order to make sure you get what you want. You also disrespect them by depriving them of their ability to make fully informed choices. If the children lie to their mother, they withhold from her the knowledge she needs to make an informed and free decision, and they do this out of pure self-interest. So lying is wrong, always. Since we can’t escape our rationality and thus the demands of freedom and dignity, we are always bound by the moral law whether we like it or not. Moral rules are absolute.
The ramifications of such a theory cannot be ignored. Horton, in order to respect the lives of the Whos and to uphold his promise to Mayzie the lazy bird, sacrifices a great deal and puts himself in grave danger. Horton put his entire life on hold and even faces death in order to maintain his moral principles. Not everyone can do this, nor do many think it is necessary. As a result, it is easy to understand the downside of a Kantian ethic. The demands it places upon each of us are absolute, and many may believe it is far removed from one of the most important characteristics of being human—our satisfaction or happiness. There is a serious question that the Kantian must give a response to, and that is whether or not the hardships we may endure in upholding the moral law are worth it. This concern for well-being or happiness leads many to favor an ethical theory that focuses on consequences.
Sorry Thidwick, but the Good of the
Many Outweighs the Good of a Moose
While Kant focused on freedom and respect, the philosopher John Stuart Mill (1806–1873) focused on the consequences of our actions, specifically the amount of pleasure or happiness that they generate. Whereas Kant found the font of value to be located in each person’s dignity, Mill sought to demonstrate that happiness was the ultimate good toward which we all strive, and so it is the value against which all of our actions ought to be measured. His procedure for demonstrating this is pretty straightforward. Consider any action you are doing and ask why you are doing it. For example, if you are a Bingle Bug, ask why you want to ride on a Big-Hearted Moose’s horns. You might respond, “It’s such a long road and it’s such a hot day” (Thidwick) that riding would be easier. I can then ask why you want to travel the easiest way possible. You might respond, “I’d prefer to relax, rather than walk.” I can keep asking “Why?” all day if I choose and eventually your response will be, “because it will make me happy.” If I the
n ask why you want to be happy we can see that we’ll be at the end of my inquiry. You want to be happy because happiness is good, period. Happiness is not pain. If anyone needs to know why one is preferable to the other they need merely experience some pain, and they’ll quickly come around. Happiness is therefore the only thing good in itself, and it is the ultimate good toward which we strive. So happiness, not dignity, will be the metric against which we evaluate our actions. But notice, this means happiness is good, not just my happiness. The goal then is to generate as much net happiness in the world as possible. So if now a Tree-Spider, Zinn-a-Zu Bird, and his wife and her uncle want to ride, so be it. The more the merrier. Their happiness counts in the equation as well, and if we are trying to maximize happiness in the world, it being the ultimate good, then we should try to maximize it wherever we find it. “The creed which accepts as the foundation of morals, Utility, or the Greatest Happiness Principle, holds that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness [pleasure], wrong as they tend to promote the reverse of happiness.”11 Moral assessments thus proceed as a kind of pro/con analysis whereby for any action we look at the potential good or pleasure that it will produce, the potential harm or pain it may lead to, weigh them against each other, and should the predicted or probable good outweigh the predicted or probable bad the action is the right thing to do. This seems like common sense. We do this all the time. Should I wake up and go to class or sleep in? Should I scrimp and save or should I just go out and buy that new thing-a-ma-jigg? Should I lie to Gertrude about the attractiveness of her one droopy-droop feather or tell her my real opinion, that she looks dull and lackluster? We often come to a decision based not on respect or duty as Kant would hope but on the amount of pleasure, ours and others, that a considered action is likely to produce. Often we even make these decisions not based on producing pleasure but simply avoiding pain, as in lying to Gertrude. If she asked us what we thought of her dull behind, most of us would probably respond as did good Uncle Dake: “Your tail is just right for your kind of bird” (McFuzz). Even if we didn’t believe this to be so, even if we thought her tail was an abomination, we would lie or otherwise avoid the truth and deceive Gertrude in order to spare her feelings. Gertrude’s spared feelings count more than whatever might motivate our desire to tell her exactly what we think. In fact, if we told her the brute, honest truth, as we saw it, and caused her great pain and body image issues, her friends and ours would probably think we had acted callously or even sadistically. Our appeal to the categorical imperative and the duty to always tell the truth and thus act in a consistent and dignified manner would not spare us their harsh assessments. So Mill is onto something. But it’s not quite as simple as just finding more pros than cons for any moral problem with which we’re faced.