Dear Nell,
The real problem is deeper than the individual’s unwillingness to volunteer time cleaning public restrooms; it’s the individual’s need (willingness?) to dirty them in the first place. Graffiti, vandalism, talking in movies–no one does these things when observed, so why do them when unobserved? Why do things you don’t need to do that you’d be ashamed for your mother, co-worker, or spouse to know you’d done?
Why such silly examples? Because it seems to follow that if you can’t control yourself while alone in a restroom, how can you expect to control yourself vis-à-vis worse transgressions? The more you do the right thing when confronted with the predominantly small challenges of everyday life, the more natural it becomes. You might even go so far as to say the happier (and the “happier” in the Aristotelian sense) you’ll be. Certainly, the happier and “happier” the nation would be.
Of course, most who pee on toilet seats would have no trouble not committing murder, but what about running stop signs or, say, whacking an annoying, preverbal toddler? Good character requires good metaphysical abs, just as poor character is all about inertia and atrophy. So, to pick up your point about Blackburn’s admitted defeat in devising an ethical scheme that consoles and provides direction as we trudge through either the banality or the horror of our lives, I’m a little more forgiving. Even a little more hopeful. I’m too scared not to be.
All governments, especially the larger the entity governed, can come up with are proscriptions and punishments. They can’t legislate character (well, theocracies can), only punishments for certain, agreed-upon failures of character, e.g., intervening to stop the atrocities in Kosovo but not in Rwanda. Only individuals can sustain an ethical system and eliminate those who don’t fit the mold from public life. (But how does Carter figure in America’s supposed thirst for moral leadership?)
Remember The Last Temptation of Christ, the infamous Scorsese movie that so many Christians denounced? It rang so true and was so deeply moving that Jesus (who did after all ask to have “this cup pass from him” and did ask why he had been forsaken) would fantasize about taking the easy way out. But he didn’t. He stayed on the cross. The point was that you don’t have to be perfect to do the right thing or even look good doing it or expect much in return. You can stumble, you can bloody your knees, you can puke and whine as long as you stay the course. You simply have to do the right thing because you will be someone that you do not want to be if you do not. It was only then, after having been raised a fundamentalist southern Baptist, that I truly understood the significance of sending the Messiah in human form. Deities don’t suffer. They can’t be nailed to crosses. They can’t bleed. Only people do, and only people can soldier on because the alternative is a life without meaning or honor. Imagine if Jesus had escaped from the soldiers who came for him. What would the rest of his life have been like knowing what he’d done? You needn’t be a Christian (I’m not) to appreciate the example because it’s pretty much the only kind of exaltation–doing the right thing without expectation of reward or even acknowledgement–to which humans can aspire. You might get more (see The Greatest Generation) but you can’t expect it (see the Vietnam vet circa 1970). Nor should you because then you’re doing the right thing for the wrong reason. Our lives have the meaning we give them. After all, the person on a death march is there regardless of what ethical systems have to say about how he should behave. Only the marcher can decide what governs his behavior; he can be the guy stealing others’ food, or he can be the guy giving his to someone weaker. Only the individual can decide which of those guys he is, but Blackburn can help him think that through.
Nell, I think that simply has to be enough because that’s all that can be counted upon. Virtue simply must be its own reward. I share your frustration, as does Blackburn, at humanity’s inability to get its shit together.
Blackburn, for all his modest aims and frustrating lack of answers, does us a service simply taking us through his many exercises in clear thinking. It was a refreshing reminder that we are rational creatures, that rationality needn’t result in cold dispassion (I loved his discussion of evolutionary philosophy and mother-love), and that there are ways to try to grapple with this crazy, mixed-up world of ours. Every so often, we should all be forced to drop our -isms (e.g., femi-, conservat-, social-, agnostic-) and be forced to logically think through a concept we usually fall back on dogma to handle for us. Needn’t change your mind as long as you can admit that you’re not thinking clearly. Which brings us back to end where we started, with the philosophy slams of a new millennium.
Maybe I’ll see you at one, and we can resume this discussion over an overpriced microbrew.
Philosophically,
Debra
