Political philosophy, almost by its
very nature, demands public engagement. There is something contradictory about
a person who espouses a certain conception of social justice, or a vision of a
good society, but is indifferent as to whether these are realised.[1]
And for political philosophers to realise such goals, they will almost
certainly need to engage non-philosophers. While it is more plausible for moral
philosophy to be a solipsistic activity – I might only want to discover what is
morally right so that I can put it into practice, and be indifferent as
to the morality of your behaviour – it is still likely that moral philosophers
will want to use their insight to influence non-philosophers.
Ingrid Robeyns and Jacob Williamson
discuss the difficulties of such public engagement in a couple of recent
blogposts. In so doing they rehearse many of the issues raised by Jonathan
Wolff in his book Ethics and Public Policy, which recounts his
experiences representing philosophy on various government advisory committees.[2]
The central problem is this:
philosophers are regularly called upon to provide an ‘ethical perspective’’ on
certain issues. But usually there is no settled wisdom, no accepted consensus
that the philosopher can impart. They thus have two options. Either they can
present their own view as though it were fact, which would seem to be an abuse
of their position representing their discipline as a whole. Or they can present
an overview of the different positions and arguments around the issue. But without
providing any guidance on how to choose between the competing perspectives, the
philosopher is liable to confuse more than they help.
The essential problem, as both
Robeyns and Williamson recognise, is working out what exactly philosophers are
good for. In a modern democratic society, philosophers are reluctant to
proclaim themselves philosopher-kings with special access to moral truth. Even
if they did, they probably wouldn’t be taken seriously. On the other hand, what
is the point of consulting a philosopher if they are going to tell you that
your opinion is as valid as theirs?
The answer they both alight on, and
I think this is quite a standard response, is to say that the role of
philosophers is to help others work out what they think – to be ‘philosopher-guides’
rather than philosopher-kings’. Presumably this involves things like pointing
out inconsistencies, asking probing questions, and demonstrating challenging alternatives.
Philosophy, this view would seem to imply, is something that anyone can do,
coaxed on by skilled philosophers. The difference between philosophers and the
general public, on this view, is just a matter of training and experience.
I don’t think there’s anything
fundamentally wrong with this drawing of the role of philosophers, but I think
that Robeyns and Williamson make it sound simpler than it really is. I think
the major difficulty with their view is that they underestimate how much better
philosophers are at philosophy than the general public (Which, if I am right,
is a good thing for professional philosophy, but problematic for democracy). I
don’t need to take a stand on whether this is because people who are
‘naturally’ better at philosophy are likely to become philosophers, or because
becoming good at philosophy is not a quick and straightforward process, and
requires a lot of training and practice. Either will do for my argument.
If philosophers enjoy a significant
advantage over the laity in addressing the sort of questions they are consulted
on, this presents two possible difficulties for the Robeyns/Williamson view.
The first is that the philosopher-guide will find it hard to maintain the
neutrality their role requires. I think a lot of people who have studied
philosophy will relate to the experience of having an argument presented so
convincingly that it seems impossible to argue against, even though it is
really controversial. Given that this is what philosophers do this for a
living, isn’t it possible that philosophers will bewitch their audiences
without even intending to? After all, it is very difficult to present views you
strongly agree and disagree with as if they were the same.
Just as worrying as the possibility
that those who seek philosophers’ views will pay too much attention to their
substantive positions is the danger that they will give them too little
credence. Philosophy would be embarrassingly easy if dilettantes with only a
few days’ consideration of an issue could form positions as plausible as
professionals devoting their careers to it. If, as I presume, it is not, why
should we pretend that the half-baked ideas of non-philosophers should carry as
much weight as those of real philosophers? Why should philosophers continue to
refine views that they will never have time to properly clean up (without
turning their subjects into philosophers), when they have fully-formed ones to
offer?
[1] Although
Adam Swift makes the valid point that at least one function of the political
philosopher is ‘epistemological’: improving understanding of morality and
justice, which does not require the philosopher to change the world.
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