Introduction
In our increasingly interconnected world, it is difficult to ignore the confused and angry sparks raised by the clashing of ethical values. From the comfort of our social bubbles we wonder aloud why Nigerians perform routine female genital cutting and how the Japanese think that it is acceptable to hunt such intelligent animals as whales, conservative Christians criticize liberals for their permissive attitude toward abortion and some of us in more progressive circles question the moral standing of anyone who owns or wants to own a gun. Some respond to these controversial ethical issues by declaring “that is wrong, and it needs to be fixed,” while others take a step back and say “that is their culture and they are free to pursue it.” Neither of these approaches seem to me to be adequate as responses to what we see as moral lapses in other people groups. In this paper, I argue that Barrett Emerick’s (2016) idea of “moral solidarity” can and ought to be expanded and applied to relationships between cultures. Instead of insisting on the absolute correctness of our own position on an ethical issue or concluding that there can be no point of agreement and disengage from the issue, we ought, as individuals and as
representatives of our own cultures, to work through the perspectives of the other so that we can advocate for our position in a way that makes sense to those we want to influence and be willing to be influenced by theirs, to stand in moral solidarity with them.
Moral Solidarity
As moral and social creatures, we like to believe that the world is fundamentally just and that we are good, decent people (Emerick 5-6). When our beliefs are shown to contribute to injustice, we feel existentially threatened and resist correction. Because of this tendency, it is extremely difficult for us to convince someone else to give up deeply held beliefs about themselves and their relation to the world. Given these obstacles, it can be daunting, when we realize that a family member or friend is steeped in a sexist, racist, classist, speciesist, or ableist ideology, to address our concerns about their beliefs. We can be tempted to respond to them with
disengagement, disappointment, or contempt, to avoid causing friction by challenging their beliefs. (13). The problem with these attitudes, however, is that they communicate an assumption that the loved one’s beliefs are set in stone, that they are incapable of moral growth. Emerick argues that when we are passive about our loved ones’ beliefs and attitudes, or hold ourselves
aloof as moral superiors, we fail to fulfill our responsibility toward our loved ones.
A better alternative is to engage with our loved one’s oppressive beliefs in what he calls “moral solidarity” (13-14). Civilized oppression, Emerick explains, is most harmful when victims are left to suffer its costs in isolation. Similarly, if we abandon agents of oppression, who in a sense are victims of their own moral failure, we become complicit in their behavior and in keeping the oppressive systems in place. Not only that, but if we do not confront them with perspectives that contradict their assumptions and challenge their false beliefs, we neglect to actively care for their moral standing and fail to truly love those that we claim to love.
Investing in our loved ones’ moral lives does not mean lecturing them on how they are mistaken (Emerick 17-18). Emerick argues for standing in moral solidarity with the people we love, which involves being willing to explore questions alongside them and trusting that they are willing to think through particular questions when prompted. In our efforts to engage with them, we must reject any attitude of self-importance and demonstrate the respect that we ought to have toward anyone with whom we happen to be engaging (18-19). All humans, including those committed to promoting social justice, have limitations of awareness and perception (13). We are
not superior to the people whose beliefs we want to challenge, and are not qualified to “fix” them. As Emerick argues, “loving another involves meeting them where they are but expecting, urging, and insisting that they continue to grow and develop” (19), and those close to us have an obligation to care for us in this way as well. Moral solidarity is a way that we can express both our concerns about their morality and a respect for their humanity.
Charity and Respect
What does it look like for members of one culture to stand in moral solidarity with members of another culture? How do we deal with points of ethical conflict without holding ourselves as superior, and be respectful of tradition while caring for the well-being of its adherents? Philosopher Samuel Fleischacker (1994) suggests that, instead of asking whether we
ought to propagate our own ethical beliefs out of concern for other peoples or tolerate theirs out of respect, we should grapple with the more nuanced questions of “which views we ought to propagate universally and how, when and how we need to be tolerant, and where and how we ought to criticize our own beliefs or make room for such criticism by others” (148).
Before exploring what that means in action, Fleischacker gives us a hypothesis on how traditions relate to our moral lives. When we try to create a “universal” morality by searching for a code that all cultures can agree to, what we come up with is likely to be of little substance, while if we create it based on what we in our own culture believe to apply universally, we cannot expect it to be universally accepted (6). However, for intercultural moral discussion to make sense we must assume that the different conceptions of morality across cultures have something in common. Goods that are pointed to as “common human ends,” such as health, pleasure, and freedom are surely important commonalities, but Fleischacker thinks that those things do not explain the entirety of what humans work toward morally (56-57). He proposes that this something that all moral traditions have in common is an unknown, and unknowable, ultimate self-sufficient good (58-67). The obscurity of this ultimate good functions as a risk factor and a motivator in our moral lives. If there were no risk involved in making a moral decision, if the results of our actions were clear from the beginning, there would be no moral value in choosing
those actions and no need for any moral code to guide them (58-59). If we were to find out what the ultimate good is, moreover, we would be in a position to question why that good is valuable and whether we really want it, and it would not make sense to consider it an ultimate selfsufficient good at all (59-60). Since we have no direct access to the ultimate good, the practices and stories from our traditions, along with our personal experiences, are crucial for shaping our interests in particular goods that then lead us toward this unknown purpose. Traditions are appropriate bearers of these goods, since they endure over long periods of time and display the limitations of their perspectives that allow us to assume a good beyond limited goods. Fleischacker explains the ultimate good as “a giant jigsaw puzzle into which our various limited goods fit (or to the construction of which they aid)—and the variety of interpretations of those
limited goods represented by the variety of our ethical traditions would then correspond to the fact that people may collaborate on a jigsaw puzzle by working on different pieces” (64).
Since seeking a universal standard can take us only so far, Fleischacker argues that instead of pointing to our own idea of a “higher” universal end, we ought to examine what universal standards our culture sets and how we distinguish between universal and local standards, and then create a framework for understanding similar standards and distinctions in others (152). The approach is not only consistent with Fleischacker’s hypothesis, but also has the pragmatic advantage of helping us view ourselves as equal in the discussion with those of other cultures, and thus present ourselves in a manner more conducive to working through disagreements. If we recognize that our commitment to ethical principles, such as equality
between sexes or rights to due process, comes from our particular ethical tradition which has fundamental similarities with any other ethical tradition, we are better able to respect and attempt to understand the reasoning of the other. Successful cross-cultural discussion will depend on our ability to persuade the authorities/members of those cultures of the similarities between each culture’s ethical system. In this method of ethical discussion, we never step outside the bounds of our respective cultures and stand from a fictional objective standpoint, but rather work together to seek common principles within both cultures’ traditions.
When we make any judgements about other cultures, it is necessary to understand that judgement never emerges from some “disinterested standpoint” but is situated in and concerned with the particular, and thus is rife with limitations (Fleischacker 150-151). Judgement is learned by experience, informed by example, and arises from particular situations, speakers, and needs. If one culture wants to make an effect on the practices of another, they cannot ignore the fact that the other culture has a history of judgements about ethical issues which have accumulated to form an authoritative tradition within the community. Any judgement that aims to have influence must be executed within the context of the relevant history of judgement.
Fleischacker uses an anecdote to demonstrate how such an approach could work. In 1989, then Supreme Leader of Iran, Ayatollah Khomeini, called for the assassination of Salman Rushdie, a British citizen with a Muslim background, for his novel The Satanic Verses’ offense to Islam (Fleischacker 153). In the West, this death sentence had sparked both criticism of the blatant disregard on Khomeini’s part for the freedom of speech and the cultural insensitivity of those who wanted to impose Western cultural standards on Muslims who were simply trying to follow Islamic law. Neither of these perspectives really took Islam to be a particular conception
of the good; the first rejected it in favor of what they took to be a higher moral standard, while the second reduced it to a pointless code by only applying internal standards to Muslim behavior.
This topic was brought up in a conversation over a dinner that Fleischacker shared with several Muslim professors (153). The professors unanimously agreed that the assassination order could be justified by Islamic law, until Fleischacker defended the book to one of the most traditional of the scholars. From the discussion that ensued, Fleischacker learned that there was a way within Islamic law that Rushdie could be exonerated: if he were to be declared insane, he could not be regarded as a heretic (154). This solution was not suggested to mean that Rushdie was actually insane, but as a legal fiction that could deliver Rushdie from this situation without
invalidating the whole of Islamic law.
Questions about the morality of using this legal fiction aside, it is important to note that this solution was not brought up as a possibility in the case of Rushdie affair (Fleischacker 155). The people involved may have either been unaware of it or hastily dismissed it as irrelevant. Alternatively, it may have been left explored because the only issues they saw as needing to be discussed were the principle of free speech and the principle of cultural integrity; taking Islamic law seriously as an ethical system was not an option.
Fleischacker holds that the context of this exchange between himself and the Muslim scholar were significant factors in allowing the scholar to even begin to consider a different point of view (153). The informal setting of the conversation meant that there would have been minimal stakes to its conclusions; this suggests that the context surrounding intercultural exchanges may be just as significant a factor as its substance. He also notes that, because of his Jewish background, it was easier for him to see the parallels between his and the Muslim professor’s core values. Additionally, instead of appealing to general universalist principles in his defense of Rushdie, Fleischacker brought up the intrinsic value of the novel; changing the focus of the issue may have caused a breakthrough in the discussion.
In order for intercultural discussion between Western representatives and Muslim leaders to work in situations like this, those representatives would need to know Islamic law as
comprehensively as a Muslim cleric would (Fleischacker 156). They would also have to have thought deeply about why Western societies value freedom of expression, what its relation is to the search for truth, and what parallels this concept may have in Islam. They must sincerely respect Islamic law and have flexibility of interpretation and an open imagination. Instead of using cultural knowledge to gain and maintain the upper hand in negotiations, they must use it to
foster understanding and connection between cultures.
There are, of course, drawbacks to the proposed approach. Should the West have succeeded in convincing Muslim clerics to consider Rushdie insane, they would still have failed to protect the good seen to be threatened by Muslim leaders, the right to free speech (Fleischacker 156). Our process of translating our moral values to parallel values in the target
tradition must be accompanied by an attempt to translate the moral terms of that tradition into our own voice, so that we can be aware of what exactly we oppose and why. Another weakness to this approach is that there is no guarantee of its success in achieving change (157). In the case of Western representatives discussing Islamic law with Muslim leaders, continuation of the dialogue hangs on the representatives’ demonstrating a deep knowledge of both the sources and the contemporary discourses of the Islamic world and speaking from a genuine Muslim perspective. They cannot simply quote passages from the literature that support their point, but must defend their interpretations in dialogue; this entails that they could not know beforehand that their arguments would be convincing (157-158).
Fleischacker believes that the failure of any one such dialogue ought not to discourage us from continuing to pursue the approach in general (158). When one instance of a dialogue does succeed (and even if it doesn’t), in the process each group will have significantly deepened its appreciation of the tradition of the other; if representatives of the West had gained enough understanding of Islamic law, for example, to persuade Muslim leaders that Rushdie ought not to be subject to its laws against heresy, we would likely have gained enough of an insight into the purpose and logic of those laws to see any parallels we have among our own values and practices. Intercultural dialogues would then serve as precedents that can be referenced for future such attempts, as part of a growing text of ongoing intercultural discussion, both successful and unsuccessful, that represents a perspective of the intersection between cultures.
A degree of consensus on what constitutes human respect and degradation is an essential component to intercultural cooperation (Fleischacker 159-160). We ought, Fleischacker argues, to determine a limited standard of behavior by which to hold other cultures accountable by seeking actual, not theoretical, consensus with other cultures. In order for this to be possible, we need to learn the specifics of their traditions and how they are interpreted and practiced by their current adherents (161-162). Being willing to engage with and think through the ethical system of another culture and making the case for our position using the terms of that system enables us to show much more respect for the culture than if we were to simply take a stance of relativistic permissiveness (162). It also forces us to examine our own position thoroughly and present it in a way that demonstrates our concern for the other’s well-being, instead of demanding acceptance of our own beliefs (177).
Our efforts to show love, or charity, toward our fellow human beings compel us to pursue their well-being, as we imagine it to manifest, by applying universally what we believe to be the universal good (Fleischacker 178). But when our attempts to help our neighbors threaten what we consider one of the most important of goods, freedom, we find that we need to allow those neighbors to decide for themselves what is good, for the sake of our universal pursuit of respect. Finding a balance between charity and respect, according to Fleischacker, ought to be done not theoretically but through judgement based firmly in our respective particular perspectives, bearing in mind that both our desire to care for others and our desire to tolerate their practices are a product of our own local tradition. Judgement allows us to recognize the richness of thought behind our concrete decisions, but it also poses the risk of not knowing what to do in a situation, no clear guide having been set out in advance. This risk comes with all situated action based on values and norms, however, and abstract theories fall short of clear action-guidance just as easily (178-179). We must be willing to take the risk of asking questions and making interpretations,
examining our moral standards and learning about others’, and making moral judgements that reflect our own convictions and an understanding of the others’.
But…
Practicing moral solidarity between cultures is slightly more complicated than between individuals. For one thing, it is not often clear whose actions we are judging to be immoral and for whose sake we are opposing those actions. Individuals, not systems or nations, are the moral agents, and neither the impact of each moral agent in a community nor the extent to which the decisions of others impact each moral agent is evenly distributed. In general, those making moral or immoral decisions on the cultural scale are those in the community with the most influence, i.e. those with power in politics, religion, and the economy, while those who suffer under the immorality of the powerful are those whose actions have a smaller impact, such as women, children, the poor, the disabled, and foreigners and emigrants from less powerful communities, as well as those who arguably make no moral decisions, such as animals and the natural environment. Moral solidarity with adherents of a community would necessarily involve
discussion not just about whether a particular practice is morally permissible, but also about how to empower those whose position in their society prevent them from challenging those very decisions that keep them in that position.
Another complication is that we as individuals do not necessarily have contact with those from radically different cultures, and this makes it difficult for us to apply Fleischacker’s model of intercultural dialogue in daily life. It does not, however, prevent us from making efforts to learn more about cultures whose practices we find strange or even ethically questionable, or have an attitude of humility and willingness to change without abandoning faith in the validity of our own traditions, or express respect for other perspectives without glossing over concerns about their moral standing.
Conclusion: Moral Solidarity 2.0
To assume that our moral standards apply directly to others or to hesitate to make judgements about the affairs of others are unhelpful and irresponsible attitudes to have toward injustice in the world. Instead, we, especially those of us who understand the “ultimate good” to require us to love our neighbor and our enemy, ought to strive to live with both charity and respect for others by seeking mutual understanding and growth.
Works Cited
Emerick, Barrett. “Love and Resistance: Moral Solidarity in the Face of Perceptual Failure.” Feminist Philosophy Quarterly 2 (2), 2016, 1-21.
Tessman, Lisa. “Feminist Eudaimonism: Eudaimonism as Non-Ideal Theory.” Feminist Ethics and Social and Political Philosophy: Theorizing the Non-Ideal, Springer, 2009, pp. 47-58.
Fleischacker, Samuel. The Ethics of Culture. Cornell University Press, 1994.