Dr. Seuss and Philosophy - Jacob M. Held [88]
It was Dewey’s refusal to pay lip service to empty absolutes, so useless in practice that so often scandalized people who wanted morality to be a simple set of dictates, a chart of right and wrong actions that would get them off the hook of thinking for themselves. This does not mean Dewey thought every response to a moral problem of equal value or as being “right for the one who made the choice.” That is a position known as “relativism,” a view that goes all the way back to the Greek philosopher Protagoras (490–420 BCE). But there is a vast difference between the relativist, who says all values are arbitrary, subjective matters of taste, not capable of being criticized, and what we might call the “relationalist” or “contextualist.” A relational view of value sees it as a function of our being caught up in a world and interacting with it; we are always in a context—but a context with a history and with possibilities. The context calls for reflection and inquiry beyond any subjective response. It is true that we may have an immediate, unreflective response of liking or disliking something. Dewey tends to call such instances “prizings” or “values”; but the story doesn’t end there. If we simply respond to them, experience may teach us to stop and think next time. Such prizings may be reevaluated in the light of other values. Prizings, or immediate likes and dislikes, need to be distinguished from the process of valuation, the reflection upon the situation and its possibilities for conduct. The meaning of the initial like or dislike becomes enlarged and so puts the value into a different context: it is “reevaluated.” Thus the challenge Dewey sets up is not between “absolute” versus “relative” (i.e., subjective) values but between developing a morally thoughtful or a morally thoughtless character. The subjective relativist is content merely to undergo whatever feeling comes his or her way. The contextual relationalist seeks to develop and grow through being attentive to experience and its possibilities.
To return to our example, we may have been raised to think that being good means being obedient until the day we realize with horror what “following orders” can mean. In 1968, during the Vietnam War, a helicopter pilot, Hugh Thompson Jr., witnessed the My Lai Massacre in progress and halted it. He and his two crewmen saw American soldiers shooting unarmed civilians, many women and children. He landed his helicopter and threatened to shoot the American servicemen if they continued. They were carrying out the orders of their commander, Lieutenant Calley. Calley himself defended his actions by saying he was only “following orders.” Thompson’s courage was only officially recognized many years later, while in the meantime, in the passion of the moment and in the military’s attempt to hide such atrocities, he was castigated as disloyal and unpatriotic. In 2009, Calley finally said he was “sorry.” Following orders or obeying superiors does not necessarily ensure one is doing what is right or that one is thereby a good person. Lieutenant Calley is an extreme example of moral thoughtlessness.
If one expects ethics to be a list of simple rules to solve all the moral dilemmas of life for us, then Dewey’s approach will be disappointing indeed, for Dewey stresses that the moral life must be one of constant reflection, questioning, exploring, and endeavoring to create and follow worthwhile ideals. It is the endeavor to live thoughtfully. This is a process one does not carry out alone but in constant interaction with others. Ethical thinking is not simply the internal, private search for what the voice of conscience says. It is often carried out in discussion with friends and others so that we may have an enhanced view of the situation and ourselves. Indeed, we have the capacity for deliberating privately because as children we were gradually taught to be reflective. “We deliberate with ourselves because others have deliberated with us,” says Dewey. It