Dialectical Humility About Race
On generalizations, uncomfortable conversations, and open-mindedness
America is in a bad way. Politically. Socially. Religiously. Generationally. Economically. Racially. And, yes, dialectically.
In short, we are poor at having honest, intelligent discussions with each other, particularly when it comes to race. Is there any hope that we can neutralize our corrosive tendencies and come together in spirit and tone? Hard to say, though one thing would help: dialectical humility. By “dialectical humility,” I mean, first, a greater awareness of our assumptions, and second, a greater acknowledgment of this fact. Instead of saying, “I know,” we would more often say, “I believe, but accept there are other valid perspectives.”
Basically, dialectical humility is a recognition that reasonable people can and do disagree. It is an awareness that certain positions are controversial and should be treated with open-mindedness and skepticism rather than hubris and polemical zeal.
To that end, as a concerned citizen, father, writer, philosophy professor, and someone who would like to have more fruitful conversations about race, I’d like to highlight nine claims that should inspire dialectical humility, yet often do not.
Claim 1: Generalizing about race should be encouraged.
On the surface, this sounds like a dubious proposition. Who really thinks it’s a good idea to generalize based on skin color? Yet, certain academicians, institutions, and a good many everyday people seem eager to lump individuals together in just this way.
Consider, for example, the following passage found in Robin Diangelo’s White Fragility:
“For many white people, the mere title of this book will cause resistance because I am breaking a cardinal rule of individualism — I am generalizing. I am proceeding as if I can know anything about someone just because the person is white.”
Or consider The Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture’s chart (now taken down) that enumerates the “Aspects and Assumptions of Whiteness in the United States” in 14 different categories. Or consider the many generalizations that people of color have experienced for decades in the media, movies, advertisements, books, academia, etc. A good many of these generalizations are so common (and offensive) that I’m hesitant to even name them. You probably know the ones.
With that said, generalizations do have their place. Illuminating poverty statistics that correlate to race is important for educational purposes. So, too, are studies that show pernicious stereotypes held by certain groups of people. However, while true generalizations about race can be useful, let’s be clear about one thing. Individuals are unique. Barack Obama and Cornell West have different political ideals. Cheech Marin and George Lopez do not have the same brand of comedy. Jerry Falwell Jr. and Sam Harris disagree about the significance of religious belief. And on and on. When we are eager to generalize about black, white, brown, and other, both our individuality and our common humanity (across all races) can get lost. Not to mention the possibility of overgeneralizing and stereotyping.
Regardless, let’s at least take note of one basic truth — intelligent, morally upstanding people can and do disagree about Claim 1.
Claim 2: White people get defensive when you generalize about them.
This is a version of the white fragility thesis. Here again, we can look to Robin Diangelo’s bestselling book as a source: “But I understand that my generalizations may cause defensiveness about the white people for whom I’m generalizing, given how cherished the idea of individualism is in our culture.”
Or: “In fact, when we try to talk openly and honestly about race, white fragility quickly emerges as we are so often met with silence, defensiveness, argumentation, certitude and other forms of pushback.”
A few observations. In its most pointed sense, Diangelo uses a particular sociological/educational narrative on systemic racism to generate the white fragility thesis. This is important for two reasons. First, sociology and education are not hard sciences, which is telling here, because there is no hard data to directly support white fragility. Second, in accordance with Diangelo’s narrative, terms like “racism” and “white supremacy” are explained in a way that makes it impossible for a white person to not participate in both, thus rendering any credible denial of racism as a symptom of racism itself.
As such, even on a charitable reading of White Fragility, it’s unclear whether white people on the whole are defensive or rather if Diangelo herself inspires defensiveness through her dialectical methods. Moreover, even if Claim 2 was true, can we really say with any confidence that other races do not get defensive when confronted with generalizations about themselves? Seriously. Unless the generalizations are complementary or said in good humor, who really likes to be told that they are just like all the other people with the same skin color? At any rate, insofar as our goal is to have healthy dialogue that is informed by accurate information and good evidence, let’s recognize that it’s fair and natural for individuals to dispute the veracity and/or significance of Claim 2.
Claim 3: It’s a good idea to call people defensive (or fragile, or a snowflake, etc.).
Consider what it feels like to be called defensive in another context, as in, you are having a discussion with your partner, and he/she says, “Honey, you’re being defensive.” Even if true, is this really a good move, practically speaking?
The word that is often used in personal relationships to describe such a declaration is “patronizing.” Also, even if there is wisdom in calling out defensiveness, how confident should we be that we can properly identify it? Of course, I might know when I am being defensive. But how sure can you be?
Notice that there must be some sort of third person criteria for determining when another person is being defensive. What qualifies? For example, does passionately responding to generalizations that one finds false, questionable, misleading or the like mean that a person is defensive? If so, see Claim 4. Yet, before you do, let’s recognize that, if we want to mutually come together to solve a genuine problem, calling someone defensive, fragile or the like is a questionable dialectical maneuver.
Claim 4: Being defensive is bad.
Suppose you are responding to an antivaxxer about not taking the forthcoming COVID-19 vaccine. Your eyes light up in incredulity. You’re disturbed by the prospect of this other person not considering the well-being of the whole. You shake your head in disbelief. You throw your arms up in the air.
Or, consider a historical example. A woman in the Middle Ages responds with her best powers of persuasion to accusations that she is a witch. Same thing. There’s passion. There’s concern. There’s profound worry for her own well-being. Did either of these people act defensively? Maybe so, though let’s notice that those same types of reactions might be present in someone who is responding to generalizations about his/her race. In other words, even if we can agree on a third-person criteria for determining defensiveness, it’s unclear that satisfying the criteria is bad in all situations. Sure, there are times when being defensive is problematic (parents are all too familiar with these outbursts in children), but often defensiveness arises out of personal investment, or because one feels attacked, or unheard, or ridiculed, or worse. Regardless, for the purpose of honest engagement, where self-expression is encouraged and implicit censorship is put in its proper place, exercising care in our perspectives on Claim 4 seems prudent.
Claim 5: Groups have binding authority over socially relevant terms, acts, slogans, or rituals.
This one is trickier, though let’s take Colin Kaepernick’s kneeling for the national anthem. Kaepernick stated his purpose for kneeling. The purpose was to shine a light on police brutality, highlight racism. He redefined the national anthem ritual and gave it unique meaning. However, despite the obvious good intentions associated with this practice, kneeling inspired controversy. Why?
Because not everyone views the national anthem as pliable in this way. For some, the act of kneeling conflicts with certain deeply held values (e.g., patriotism, religious devotion). For others, it’s simply a personal matter best left to the individual. Are said people wrong for not practicing or endorsing the modified national anthem ritual?
Perhaps…but suppose that the same people who support Kaepernick’s decision to kneel likewise condemn others for using the language of “All Lives Matter” instead of “Black Lives Matter.” Is changing the meaning of a ritual or slogan fine in the former situation and not the latter? Does one group of people have final authority? Or maybe it’s better to simply agree to disagree?
The point: intelligent, well-meaning people might clash on these issues. That is, they might not see eye to eye about which terms, acts, rituals, and slogans are changeable and which are not.
The same goes for “racism” itself. If “racism” was defined in such a way that makes it impossible for one group of people to not be racist, hey, that’s a slippery definitional move that’s bound to cause controversy. Not to mention the very real possibility that the new definition commits the definist fallacy.
Regardless, insofar as we want to respect our differences while still providing opportunities for self-reflection and moral growth, Claim 5 should probably be endorsed with caution, noting both context and intention.
Claim 6: Judging individual racism (or non-racism) is a simple matter of observation.
Richard Spencer runs The National Policy Institute. Mel Gibson used antisemitic slurs when pulled over by the police. Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained contains the n-word around 110 times. Angelina Jolie adopted three children of color. What’s the theme here? The theme is that we often look at signs to determine individual racism, prejudice or a lack of.
Signs can be in the form of statements, behaviors, works of art, etc. The thought is that these signs either strongly suggest, suggest, don’t suggest, suggest the opposite, or are unclear when it comes to making the final call. In the strongly-suggest category (for which near certainty is possible) are people who declare that they are racists in a direct way, e.g., the David Dukes of the world. In the suggest-the-opposite category are people who behave in ways that contradict our picture of the racist, e.g., members of the NAACP or partners in interracial relationships. However, our world is full of ambiguity.
Life often happens in the gray. Individuals push boundaries, challenge perceptions and make controversial decisions for a variety of reasons. Humor is one. Artistic expression is another. Scholarship is a third. The quest for truth is a fourth. And let’s not forget that ignorance can masquerade as racism at times. For example, consider the person who claims that one group of people is more violent than another. Said person might cite certain crime statistics and correlate these crime statistics to skin color without considering cultural and economic factors. That’s failing to look at the matter holistically. That’s misleading. That’s ignorant. However, that’s not necessarily racist. As such, rushing to judgment about the mind of another person in this manner is probably best done with a degree of restraint. Academic and artistic freedom require it. Careers depend on it. The principle of charity asks for it.
Claim 7: Appealing to the origin of belief instead of argument is perfectly fine.
Not if you are taking a basic philosophy class. In fact, in its most broad sense, to criticize an argument based on an appeal to the origin of belief is called the genetic fallacy. Of course, politicians are famous for such attacks, and our president sets a notable example (recall how often Trump issues personal insults).
But let’s examine how this works in other contexts. Consider, for example, a financially disadvantaged person who gives an argument for universal health care. The argument runs as follows: “Health care is a basic human right, not a privilege. Thus, everyone should have access to affordable health care.” The critic responds: “Of course you are for universal health care. You are poor. You are jobless. You have five kids.”
Note that the critic didn’t respond to the argument. Instead, he/she appealed to the arguer’s situation (or origin of belief), which is to side-step and divert, rather than directly engage. Or consider a potential critique of this very article: “Written by a privileged white male. Therefore, its message is wrong or can be disregarded.”
Believe what you want, of course, but let’s note two critical points. First, privileged individuals (of various genders, nationalities, political persuasions, socioeconomic statuses, intelligence levels, skin colors, and the like) can produce good arguments. Second, unprivileged individuals (again, of all stripes) can produce bad arguments. As such, arguments do not stand and fall on the basis of features about the person. Instead, arguments stand and fall on the basis of whether or not they are logical and have true premises.
With that said, if we want to truly learn from one another and grapple with notions of evidence, justification, truth, falsity, clarity, logic, rigor, and the like, let’s at least acknowledge that the practice of criticizing or praising an argument based merely on the origin of belief (instead of what the person actually said) is questionable.
Claim 8: White privilege is the only type of privilege worth illuminating.
A few points are worth noting here. As with calling people defensive (even when they are), there’s a practical issue to consider. Namely, calling entire groups of people privileged runs the risk of rubbing individuals the wrong way and getting the wrong result. For example, consider telling the white farmer in North Dakota who has failing crops, kids he cannot support, no money, no health insurance and no teeth that he is privileged because of his pale skin pigmentation. Or consider telling the white woman who was abused by her parents, suffers clinical depression and is suicidal the same thing.
The point: there are many unfavorable, or just plain bad, circumstances that afflict people prior to or sometime after birth, and to ignore these circumstances in favor of talking about skin color (or omnipresent systemic racism) won’t register as true to many.
In 1943, the existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre called these circumstances that we “thrown into” and have no real control over our “facticity.” Examples: intellectual or physical disabilities, poverty, gender, bad parents, geographical location, and on and on.
This is not to say that white privilege isn’t real or even that it is not the most important type of privilege worth discussing in America. Rather, the question is one of focus and exclusivity — that is, how we should contextualize and openly discuss perspectives on white privilege (noting individual differences) in light of the many ways in which people enter the world with other advantages of mind, body, geography, culture, upbringing, education and the like? The answer is not obvious.
Claim 9: Intentions don’t matter.
Another striking generalization that’s echoed in a variety of contexts (just google the sentence). Again, consider taking an introductory philosophy class, an ethics class, say. It’s true that you’ll encounter a theory that affirms this very point — intentions don’t matter; rather consequences do. It’s called utilitarianism.
However, you’ll also encounter a different theory that asserts the opposite — namely, that consequences don’t matter; rather duties, rights and/or intentions do. That’s deontology.
Both are respectable theories that philosophers have struggled to reconcile for hundreds of years. Both theories seem to capture the nature of moral obligation in certain instances. For example, if there are times when you believe honesty and truth telling override hurting others’ feelings, you’re likely acknowledging the importance of intentions.
Likewise, if you accidentally harm someone through no fault of your own (in a car accident, say), same thing — your intentions explain why you are not legally and morally culpable. Of course, there are occasions (many occasions indeed!) when consequences probably should override intentions. In this way, ignorance is often no excuse for harming others. However, going whole hog with utilitarianism is subject to well-known problems, perhaps the most forceful of which is that basic human rights can fall by the wayside if we are thinking in pure consequentialist terms (why not sacrifice a few for the purposes of the many?).
At any rate, the assertion that intentions don’t matter (legally, morally, socially, psychologically) is controversial and should be recognized as such. If a person were taking ethics at the local community college, understanding this point could very well be the difference between a passing and failing grade.
Final Thoughts
Although I have strong opinions on a number of different topics in this essay, I’m not here to argue for them. Indeed, I hope that my personal opinions largely register as unclear or irrelevant. Instead, I’m trying to promote an awareness of certain claims that are commonly discussed as if they are facts but are not.
Further, I’d like to think that a greater recognition of these claims will help promote free and authentic discourse on the part of all members of society. To my mind, the real enemy here is dogmatism, of being too sure in our prescriptions. Of course, a critic might disagree with any number of things I’ve said or suggested. Perhaps I’ve privileged logic over raw expression, for example. Or maybe I’ve assumed a particular stance on truth over power. Or perhaps I’ve overemphasized particularity over generality. Or maybe I’m just plain mistaken about the status of these claims. Fair enough. Those are interesting potential criticisms to discuss.
Though, let’s be clear about one thing. The truth of these criticisms would not be inconsistent with the spirit of this article, which is grounded in recognizing our assumptions, being open to disagreement, not dictating what is the case, seeing that we are talking philosophy, psychology, sociology, education…not math, not hard science.
In short: Yes, I could be wrong.
