Of the first wave of pragmatists — Peirce, James, and Dewey — Dewey spoke most explicitly about democracy, putting him at the heart of my inquiry about pragmatism and ethics in a post-truth world.
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Chapter 2 of Bacon’s introduction to pragmatism positions Dewey somewhere between and to the side of his predecessors, Peirce and James.
Peirce argued that philosophy should narrow its focus to questions that, in his view, actually made a difference in the world. And, from his position as a natural scientist, that pretty much limited those questions to the realm of science.
James, as a psychologist, was interested in how philosophy could help meet human needs. He argued that there were a lot of things well outside the realm of science that could make a difference in people’s lives — including questions that would fall in the realms of religion and metaphysics.
Dewey shared aspects of both of these positions. Like Peirce, he was interested in ways that pragmatism could help identify which questions would be worth asking. And though he was not interested, as James was, in religious or metaphysical thought, he did not believe pragmatism should narrowly serve science. Rather, he wanted to use scientific thinking — hypothesis and experimentation — as a method for solving human problems.
Following his predecessors, Dewey criticized philosophical thought. It was an improvement over the religious thought it replaced, certainly. But it still focused on the universal and eternal, on timeless truths about ultimate realities, rather than on the imperfect and contingent, on problems related to specific times and places.
Dewey also resisted what he saw as philosophy’s treatment of the relationship between society and individuality. For many philosophers, individual character is realized primarily by removing obstacles — in particular, obstacles set up by society, against which the individual needs to be protected (as in a social contract, for example, or rights that guarantee individual freedom).
That’s upside-down, according to Dewey. The individual doesn’t need to be protected from society; the individual arises out of society, and can only be fully realized with a community. Society is not to be seen as an obstacle, necessarily, but as the set of circumstances and contexts within which the individual develops.
That’s not to say that all societies encourage human growth. But that’s kind of Dewey’s point: rather than focusing on the ways to get society out of the individual’s hair, philosophy should focus on developing the conditions necessary to enable and encourage human growth.
This emphasis on the role of social life in human development is reflected in Dewey’s deep interest in democracy. Human growth requires both equal rights and the resources to take advantage of those rights. Without those resources, individuals cannot be equal, no matter what the law claims. Indeed, those without adequate resources are vulnerable to exploitation from those who are able to do so.
With this in mind, it’s not hard to see why he participated in the founding of both the NAACP and the ACLU, organizations that both seek to protect rights and develop resources necessary to allow and encourage genuine human growth.
Of course, democracy isn’t a magic bullet, either. As we ourselves see — in growing inequality, both in America and throughout the “developed” world — those with resources continuously exploit those without resources. Indeed, the exploitation is so entrenched that it’s practically on autopilot; consider, for example, how many billionaires — even those, like Gates or Buffett, who talk an empathetic game — have seen their wealth increase dramatically during the pandemic.
The question today — one that lurks behind my own, narrower inquiry about the ethics of pragmatism — is whether democracy in America can survive Trump. The answer isn’t as clear as I’d like — I’d like to say that our democracy is secure, but it has not been easy to maintain that type of optimism.
And if Trump’s willingness to say just anything — lies, half-truths, bullshit, pure fiction — extends beyond his own insipid narcissism and deeper into the heart of the GOP, then we’re in real trouble. (And if the Dems decide that the only way to fight fire is with fire, then we’re really in trouble….)
The more I study pragmatism, the more I realize it has to offer: its focus on the contingent, on timeliness, on social context; and its interest in what difference an argument or strategy or action could make in our lives. I find that — contingently — a valuable way to approach the crisis we’re facing.
How can we improve the conditions of our democracy such that we ensure both equal rights and the resources to exercise those rights?
What will work? What will make a meaningful difference?
This is one in a series of posts in which I explore the philosophical tradition of pragmatism.
Why would I do such a silly thing? I’m pursuing questions that I raised in Post-truth pragmatism: when “what works” stops working.
And if you want to see the series (however far along I am), here’s a collection of posts about this book, as well as a collection of posts in the larger series. (The two lists will be the same until I start a second book, if I ever do….)