I’m sometimes curious about the resolutely political nature of modern secular thought – self-proclaimed humanists tend to see political activism as an intrinsic part of their belief system, along with a refusal to believe in the supernatural. So too, in Yavanayāna Buddhism, a skepticism toward the supernatural tends to go hand in hand with political engagement.
The same is true at most Unitarian Universalist churches. I attended a UU church for two years, but this is among the major reasons I stopped going. The UU church appealed to me because it seemed open to seekers with a wide range of values; nevertheless, there are some values that typical UUs do share, among them a commitment to political activism for social justice as a central part of a good life. That’s something I’m skeptical of, at the least. And so while I found a great community there and made some lasting friendships, I ultimately found myself far out of sync spiritually with the church’s ethos.
To me, perhaps the most curious example of the close connection between politics and non-supernaturalism is Robert Hanrott‘s now-defunct Epicurus Blog. Hanrott claimed to devote the blog to the Epicurean philosophy of “moderation, enjoyment of life, tranquillity, friendship, lack of fear,” along with Epicurus’s rejection of gods and other supernatural forms of causation. Hanrott explicitly acknowledged that “those who try to follow Epicurus and his teachings are not supposed to involve themselves in politics.” And yet the majority of the posts on his Epicurus Blog wound up being about… politics. Often he talked about how “Epicurus would approve” (or disapprove) of current political claims or programs, even though he knows Epicurus disclaimed any involvement in politics. He defended the blog’s political orientation by saying “But if the greatest objective in life is happiness, peace of mind, tranquility and freedom from fear and anxiety, then one would prefer a government that offered policies that helped it all along.” While that may technically be true, it doesn’t imply that one should care a great deal about that government and its workings. Hanrott, it seems to me, went directly against his philosophical mentor’s teachings by being concerned so heavily with politics – rather than on, say, exercises to make oneself happier, of the sort found at Gretchen Rubin’s Happiness Project. But it’s not such a great surprise that Hanrott did this; his ethos is entirely of a piece with humanists, UUs and Engaged Buddhists.
The question I ponder is: why does this happen? I lean myself toward a strong supernatural skepticism but against strong political engagement. The philosophers who are most notable for such an orientation are the classical Epicureans, which is why it startles me that the most explicitly Epicurean blog went in such a different direction. But then classical Epicureanism never got a great foothold in the first place; I don’t know of any really enduring traditions that have been neither supernatural nor political in their orientation.
Simone Weil’s La pésanteur et la grace (Gravity and Grace) offers a potential explanation, one that takes us back to the last two posts. Weil says (my translation): “Atheist materialism is necessarily revolutionary, because to orient oneself toward an absolute good down here, one must place it in the future.” As I understand it, Weil means that human beings necessarily seek some sort of perfection, some “absolute good.” If our spiritual aim is merely for the better and not the best, it is dour, washed out, unmotivating. If we no longer have a heaven, an other-worldly nirvana, or a future rebirth into perfect buddhahood to aim for, then the only absolute good available to us is a future worldly utopia, a political realm that will transcends the manifest imperfection of the political world as it is now.
Is Weil right? I don’t think I feel the kind of imperative that Weil seems to identify – I think we’re better off accepting the world’s imperfection, just trying to minimize suffering without eliminating it. But am I deluding myself? Am I going to always wind up craving some sort of unfulfilled perfection, in this world or in a world beyond?
You will probably know Richard Rorty’s Contingency, irony and solidarity. I read it some 13 years ago in its Italian translation, under the fascinating title (possibly due to the influence of A.G. Gargani) “Philosophy after Philosophy”. I liked the way Rorty deconstructed Heidegger through Derrida and so on, until he reaches the conclusion that overall perspectives (the second Philosophy of the Italian title) are just useless utopias. Instead, one can use irony in order to deconstruct them and concrete solidarity as the only possible way to enhance others’ lives. One could elaborate further and propose that political engagement is often NOT the best way to the target it itself aims at (namely, other people’s wellness). In fact, while dealing with the world’s welfare we might forget taking care of our crying niece. Or, we might be too worried about starving children in Africa to notice our neighbour’s grief… Apart from leading to omissions, active engagement can also produce bad results. A typical example is ecologist activism. I deeply share its concerns and I am grateful to it as a movement for the raise of ecological awareness it caused, but I often noted how some of its members are so busy travelling around and trying to make people understand that they should not throw away food rests together with old paper, that they themselves pollute the world through airplanes and mobile phones (and have obviously no time to care about where they throw old paper away). More explicit: communism often (think at the series of deaths and suicides in Russia after 1921) caused more suffer than one could have ever imagined –though being such a wonderful utopia.
In sum, aiming at a too high target may sometimes be good for you, but it does not mean that you are going to contribute to the target’s achievement more than the ones who aim at lower ones. You could even end up harming the very ones you are willing to help.
I agree with most of what you’re saying, Elisa. It’s a theme I noticed in Śāntideva as well: of course he’s very concerned with helping others, but he sees politics as not being much, if any, of a help. I doubt that Rorty is an ally on this score, though. My sense is that he falls victim to the exact same overemphasis on politics that is shared by other secular thinkers, perhaps even more than they do. For Rorty wrote several volumes about politics (Achieving Our Country, Philosophy and Social Hope) but precious little about ethics – no discussion of how individual people can live a good life, only about the good society and good state.
Well, I don’t think anyone can be an ‘ally’ on this score, since as soon as one would propose, e.g., “distance from politics and attention to our neighbours”, this would in turn become a political slogan or at least a humanitarian utopia. In fact, Rorty made ME reflect on the issue through his way of demistifying great thinkers, and his proposal to read more literature (and less philosophy?), since in literature individuals are at stake and are not violated by all-comprehensive ideals. To put it more radically: no ‘ally’ is conceivable apart from the friends and companions one directly get in touch to (either personally or as characters in a novel).
I’m not sure that’s the case. To say that “distance from politics” must be a political slogan or even a humanitarian utopia seems to stretch the concept of “politics” so far as to make it meaningless: everything is politics, and then in a sense nothing is politics. When Śāntideva tells us that knowledge of law and politics is fruitless, it’s not a political rallying cry; it’s an instruction that reminds us to focus on the more important matters of freedom from craving and ignorance.
My point about Rorty is that he’s part of the problem and not the solution, because he, as much as Rawls or anyone else, cares and writes about politics far more than about individuals and their ethical lives (if he even writes about the latter at all). He seems in that respect to be contradicting his own advice. But now that I think about it, he’s not alone in this matter. Martha Nussbaum’s most famous piece, the introduction to “Love’s Knowledge,” makes exactly the point you note here – that stories are philosophically valuable because they attend to particular individuals and not just abstract universals. And yet Nussbaum’s later work is itself concerned almost exclusively with the politics, to the point that she’s said “I don’t think one should do moral philosophy, I think it’s arrogant.” But this all just makes me more intrigued by the original point: why is it that we secular or non-supernaturalist Westerners seem so irresistibly drawn to politics, even people like Rorty and Nussbaum whose own claims suggest an anti-political direction?