Damian Moskovitz is pursuing a PhD in Clinical Science at the University of California, Berkeley, where he is conducting research on narcissism with the support of a National Science Foundation Graduate Research Fellowship. He earned his BA in Evolutionary Psychology and Philosophy from Harvard University, where he conducted research on non-human primate cognition, and has written and lectured for The Objectivist Center.
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APPENDIX
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Good evening. My name is Damian Moskovitz and the title of my talk today is "Moralism in Objectivism: Why It's Bad and How We Can Get Rid of It." I want to start by thanking a certain person for inspiring me to give this talk: Nathaniel Branden. Only after I wrote out a draft of this lecture did I look back at an article of his that I haven't read for years, "The Benefits and Hazards of the Philosophy of Ayn Rand" from the Journal of Humanistic Psychology. I had forgotten that in this essay, Branden wrote insightfully about moralism in Objectivism. His comments on moralism aren't as extensive as the comments in this talk, but without his insights I probably wouldn't have thought to explore the matter as extensively as I have.
Before I jump into the substance of my talk, let me say a few words about myself. I have studied Objectivism for about four years. Two other fields have greatly contributed to the foundation of this talk-Buddhism and psychoanalysis-which I have been studying only for the last year or two. My study of both Buddhism and psychoanalysis-in addition to Branden's article and my own experience-have led me to question the role of moralism in Objectivism and to therefore deliver this lecture.
Before I say anything about moralism, I should say a few words about the Buddhist and psychoanalytic foundation of my talk. As you may know, Rand had positive things to say about neither Buddhism nor the founder of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud. The intention of this talk is not to defend either Buddhism or psychoanalysis. I will save that endeavor for another day. Of course, there are flaws in both Buddhism and psychoanalysis, and I swallow neither of these systems whole. Both are plagued with problems, such as mysticism in the former and a dearth of rigorous science in the latter. Without getting into a defense of either Buddhism or psychoanalysis, I want to at least point out that there are more and less rational approaches to both systems. Many people identify Buddhism with detachment from and passivity towards the world. While this may be an accurate representation of how some people understand Buddhism, it is not an accurate representation of how I or millions of other Buddhists in America understand it. On the contrary, the form of Buddhism that I study and practice-Vipassana Buddhism-involves the immersion into, activity towards, and appreciation of the world. And, believe it or not, it is possible to obtain great value from Buddhism while rejecting its mystical components, such as reincarnation and a cosmic sort of karma. The same applies to psychoanalysis. Many people don't realize that psychoanalysis has matured immensely since it was originated by Sigmund Freud a century ago. For example, there is no longer an emphasis on sexual urges or unconscious drives. Moreover, the field is becoming increasingly scientific, though it has a long way to go. That said, I invite you to put aside any preconceptions you might have about either field and to listen open-mindedly to my discussion of what value they both can bring to your own life, the Objectivist movement, and your understanding of moralism.
Before I say anything about the role of moralism in Objectivism, allow me to define my terms. By moralism, I mean something very different from morality. The Oxford English Dictionary's first definition of the world moralism is, "The practice of moralizing?." Naturally, our next question is, what is meant by "moralizing?" The OED's first definition of the word moralize, in the intransitive sense, is "To indulge in moral discussion." This doesn't tell us a whole lot, but the word indulge does point us in the right direction. To indulge in moral discussion suggests that there is something gratifying and yet destructive, if done in excess, about this moral discussion-just as there is something gratifying and yet destructive, if done in excess, about indulging yourself in decadent desserts. This is approximately what I mean when I use the terms moralism and moralization. However, I'm going to go even further to make the radical claim that moralism is always destructive and that any moralism is excessive.
As a parallel, consider the relationship between rationality, rationalism, and rationalization. Rationalism and rationalization superficially resemble rationality in that they employ the language of logic, but in reality, rationalism and rationalization are mere facades that hide the emotional drive behind them. When I am accused of being rationalistic or rationalizing when I insist that I just didn't have time to go to the gym this week, I am being accused of pretending to be rational while really being driven by emotions (in this case, I was driven by laziness). The same applies to moralism and moralization. Moralism and moralization appear to be rationally justified by morality, but-I will argue-they are actually driven by underlying emotions.
So what do I mean by moralization? I mean self-righteous vituperation masquerading as a justified expression of moral judgment. (Vituperation, by the way, is "the use of violent abuse or extremely harsh criticism.") Again, by moralization I mean self-righteous vituperation masquerading as a justified expression of moral judgment. My point is this: there is an element of indignation in moralistic judgment, whether towards others or towards oneself. As I will argue later, however, this indignation or self-righteous vituperation is not necessitated by moral judgment and neither is it justified, healthy, or useful.
Now that I've defined my terms, allow me to continue to compare and contrast rationalization and moralization, this time looking at these phenomena from a psychoanalytic perspective. From a psychoanalytic perspective, rationalization and moralization are both defense mechanisms. I'm sure you've heard of this concept, defense mechanisms, originated by none other that Sigmund Freud. Other common defenses include repression, projection, denial, intellectualization, and sublimation. In fact, there are dozens of defense mechanisms. We inadvertently employ these defense mechanisms to avoid facing contents of our unconscious that we, at some level, don't want to face. For example, if I don't want to face the fact that I succumbed to a weakness of character by not going to the gym this week, I may deny the weakness and come up with what I think is a rational explanation for my behavior without realizing what I'm doing or why. Now back to the relationship between rationalization and moralization: In a foundational textbook on psychoanalysis today called Psychoanalytic Diagnosis, Dr. Nancy McWilliams writes the following:
When one is rationalizing, one unconsciously seeks cognitively acceptable grounds for one's direction; when one is moralizing, one seeks ways to feel it is one's duty to pursue that course. Rationalization converts what the person already wants into reasonable language; moralization puts it into the realm of the justified or morally obligatory?. The self-righteous quality of [moralization] makes others regard it as either amusing or vaguely unpleasant, although in certain social and political situations, leaders who exploit their constituents' wish to feel morally superior can produce mass moralization so effortlessly that the public that has been thus seduced hardly blinks (125).
In this dense passage, McWilliams makes a number of points about moralization: First, she points out that moralization makes us feel that what we are doing is right, which often means feeling that those with whom we disagree are wrong. Note the centrality of emotion in this formulation. Second, she has something to say about the social effects of moralization: On the one hand, the self-righteousness of this defense mechanism tends to either put people off or make them laugh, but not convince them of anything. In other words, if I go up to a anarcho-capitalist libertarian and say, "You are an evil evader! You should embrace Objectivism if you want to be a moral person rather than a subjectivistic whim-worshipper!", he is more likely to snicker or give me the cold shoulder than thank me for the sound advice and pick up a copy of Atlas Shrugged. On the other hand, moralism does have some power when it comes to an organization. If Leonard Peikoff were to tell me what a morally superior person I am because I work so hard to practice the Objectivist virtues, I might lap it right up and ask him how I can help him to fight the good fight.
Of course, these examples are more than mere thought experiments. While they are a bit of a caricature, they aren't far from reality. Moralism is widespread in Objectivism. In preparing this talk, I decided not to waste time chronicling numerous examples because anyone even vaguely familiar with Objectivism should have numerous examples of his own. Consider, for example, Ayn Rand's depiction of Ellsworth Toohey in The Fountainhead. Ellsworth Toohey is incontrovertibly evil in every sense of the word. There can be no doubt that he is a destroyer of life and needs to be brought to justice and defended against, but these are simply facts of reality. Ayn Rand's picture of Ellsworth Toohey is not a simple depiction of reality; it is loaded with emotion. In particular, it is loaded with moralism. There is anger implicit in almost every remark about Toohey and, in my view, not an ounce of compassion. This concords with what Rand has to say about this attitude in Atlas Shrugged: "To withhold your contempt from men's vices is an act of moral counterfeiting." Of course, this attitude applies not only to how Ayn Rand related to fictitious characters, but to people in real life as well. I need not go into details regarding her attitude towards Nathaniel Branden during and after their break. Whatever you may think of the moral status of Nathaniel Branden, there can be no doubt that Rand reacted to him with extreme moralization. Reportedly, she responded to almost anyone with whom she disagreed in this way. Unlike many academic philosophers, who welcome constructive criticism and eagerly engage in cordial debates, Rand is said to have been so dismissive of her critics that few, if any, stuck around to sort out ideas with her. Others-like Leonard Peikoff-learned to never disagree or criticize to avoid her moralistic wrath. Of course, it shouldn't surprise you that Ayn Rand's only self-described "intellectual and legal heir," Leonard Peikoff, is one of the most moralistic Objectivists you'll find anywhere. One of my favorite moralistic passages from Peikoff comes from his philosophical treatise, Objectivism: The Philosophy of Ayn Rand. In it, he writes: "A man who would throw away his life without cause, who would reject the universe on principle and embrace a zero for its own sake-such a man, according to Objectivism, would belong on the lowest rung of hell" (247-8). This is Peikoff's Objectivism, I should note, not mine. I'll come back to this quotation later to examine its implications for interpersonal relations. And given my audience, I need not recount the history of David Kelley's excommunication. For further details on that matter, I refer you to Peikoff's "Fact and Value" and Kelley's "Truth and Toleration."
Fortunately, Kelley brought to bear a level of benevolence previously unknown in Objectivism. In that sense, he departed from the tradition that Ayn Rand established and that many of her followers followed. David Kelley does a good job justifying the inclusion of benevolence in the list of major virtues on the basis of the trader principle, but absent from works like Unrugged Individualism and "Truth and Toleration" is a justification of benevolence on the basis of empathy and compassion. And often absent from even TOC Objectivists are empathy and compassion towards people they consider evil. In accordance with Kelley's approach, TOCers tend to be much less quick than their ARI counterparts to dismiss as evil those with whom they disagree, but those they do dismiss as evil they tend to moralize against just the same. Just think of the look that comes onto most Objectivists' faces or the change that happens in their tone of voice when discussing people like Immanuel Kant or Karl Marx. The discussion of such people rarely consists solely of cool, calm, level-headed rationality. Objectivists-even TOCers-tend to get worked up, angry, indignant, self-righteous, vituperative-in a word, moralistic-when discussing those whom they regard as evil.
What, you might ask, is wrong with this? Kant and Marx are evil, their ideas are a threat to life-clearly-why shouldn't we be moralistic towards such people? The answer is that there are many problems with moralism, both philosophical and psychological., and there is nothing rational to gain from it. I'll start with the philosophical. The philosophical problem with moralism is that it is incompatible with objectivity. As I said before, moralism masquerades as objectivity, but underneath it is an irrational, often unacknowledged emotional component. Your next question may be: Why is this emotional component irrational? Isn't it right to be angry at Kant? Isn't it inevitable that I be angry at Kant if I recognize that he is evil in that his ideas are a threat to life? At this point, I will advance the radical claim that there is no necessary connection between the recognition of evil and anger. Remember, moral judgment is simply the recognition of that which is for my life and that which is against my life. Moral judgment is essential to living a good life, but there is nothing inherently emotional about it. In other words, there is no necessary connection between moral judgment and emotion. Moreover, there is no necessary connection between anger and moralization. In fact, I will go even further to say that the recognition of evil is perfectly compatible with compassion, understanding, and acceptance. I'll get to compassion, understanding, and acceptance later. For now, let me start with the connection between anger and evil. And to consider the role of emotions in human cognition, we have to go back from philosophy to psychology.
Let us turn first to evolution and neuropsychology. Ayn Rand knew very little about these two fields-just as she knew very little about psychoanalysis and Buddhism-so it is not surprising that her understanding of emotions was inadequate. Where, we might ask, did anger come from? For what purpose did it evolve in humans and other animal species? To understand how anger came about, we can't look to society today as a source of evolutionary data. Evolution takes time-millions of years, in fact-and as long as an environment is changing, we are never perfectly adapted to our environment. Natural selection is always a step behind. We are not living in our EEA, the environment of evolutionary adaptiveness. We can't understand how the human species evolved by looking at the history of human civilization because civilization has been around for only a few thousand years, which is not long enough for significant evolution to occur. An example of a way in which evolution is behind civilization is our innate desire to eat lots of fat and sugar. Thousands of years ago, it was evolutionarily advantageous to desire fat and sugar as much as we do because these substances were in such short supply. It paid in survival value for cavemen to eat every ounce of fat and sugar available. Of course, nowadays excessive fat and sugar kill through diseases like diabetes and atherosclerosis. And yet it takes much self-control to stop ourselves from over-indulging in donuts and pizza. The same, I would argue, applies to anger. Anger was very adaptive in our EEA, thousands of years ago, but it does more harm than good in society today. Consider the role of anger in our closest relatives-non-human primates. I've done extensive psychological research with two species of monkeys, cotton-top tamarins and rhesus macaques, and I've seen these critters get very angry first-hand. What's interesting is the intimate connection between anger and fear. Both anger and fear are responses to threat. Consider the following example: I once did an experiment with a young cotton-top tamarin monkey who had very little experience being away from his mother. At the start of the experiment, I could see that he was trembling greatly. He exhibited what appeared to be fear, particularly of big, scary me and not having mommy to protect him. When I leaned in closer to him, however, his demeanor quickly changed from fear to anger. He stopped trembling and started screaming at me and baring his little teeth. He was sending me a clear message: get any closer and he'll rip my head off, or at least he'll try. (I should note that this guy stood about six inches tall.) You can see how quickly fear can be transformed into anger. Why might this be the case, from an evolutionary point of view? Fear motivates us to freeze and hide as a way of defending ourselves. If the aggressor starts to approach, fear motivates us to run. However, if the aggressor gets too close, running is no longer an option. The only way to stop the aggressor when escape is no longer an option is to fight, or to threaten to fight. And if the aggressor knows that we might be willing to fight to the death to defend ourselves, this aggressor may decide to pick another, less risky fight. The expression of anger is what's known in evolutionary biology as an honest signal. Actual rage cannot be faked-at least not by anyone but the most talented actor. When I saw that little monkey baring his teeth and heard him scream, I knew he wasn't bluffing, so I backed off. This is why non-human animals' aggression is an automatic expression of an automatic emotion rather than a volitional mechanism. This is why such natural, instinctive expressions are hard-wired in non-human primates and other animals. But as you can see, what underlies anger is fear-an expectation that our values will be destroyed if we don't run away or defend ourselves. This is what makes moralization a defense mechanism-it masks an emotion we don't want to admit to having. Outwardly, what is expressed is self-righteous indignation-not just anger, but justified anger. But what underlies this expression of anger is fear-fear of an apparent threat to our values. This connection between fear and anger is not merely psychological-it is neurological as well. The locus of both fear and anger is a tiny almond-shaped structure called the amygdala inside the emotional center of our brain, the limbic system. The amygdala facilitates what is known as the fight-or-flight response and can flip between anger and fear in a split-second, depending on the unconsciously evaluated costs and benefits of fighting or fleeing from an aggressor.
Given this biological analysis of anger, you may ask, What's the problem with anger and, in turn, moralization? If anger is a natural, instinctive emotion over which we have no control, why am I arguing against its expression in moralization? First of all, anger may be natural, but it is not completely instinctive in humans. As Ayn Rand rightly observed, emotions are-at least to a large extent-the products of ideas. We have control over our ideas and so, indirectly, we have control over our emotions, at least to an extent. Moreover, as the only species with self-consciousness, we have control over how we express our emotions. I'll unpack these points-that we have control over our ideas, indirectly over our emotions, and also over how we express our emotions-in a minute, but first let me note a caveat. I am not suggesting that we shouldn't experience anger, that it is possible to never experience anger, that it is bad to experience anger, or that we should repress, suppress, or deny our anger. I will repeat this point again later because it is easy to misunderstand what I am saying. The point applies equally well to sadness. No one wants to experience sadness; we all try to cause the least amount of sadness in ourselves possible, as we well should. But sadness is a natural human emotion that we all experience and it is important that we experience it fully and nonjudgmentally when it comes up. My point is simply that there are healthy ways to minimize the frequency and intensity with which we experience anger and express aggression and that there are good reasons to do this. Before I continue, though, let me note one more caveat: If you, like the monkey in my experiment, feel as though your life is in imminent danger-if, for example, you are threatened by a mugger-then everything I am about to say goes out the window. In situations like this, it is important that our amygdala kick in and signal honestly that we will fight tooth and nail to defend our lives. We don't have time to allow ourselves to empathize with our aggressor or meditate on our anger (as I will later suggest we do in other situations) and neither would we want to short circuit this life-preserving mechanism. My point is not that this mechanism is never useful-my point is that it is not useful in our society, that is, when our rights are being respected and our lives are not in danger, which is usually the case thanks to our police, judiciary, and military systems. That said, let us return to the question of why moralism is a problem.
In order to understand why it is a problem, we must understand why and that there is an alternative and why this alternative is preferable. The alternative to moralism is compassion and acceptance. Yes, even compassion for and acceptance of Immanuel Kant and Karl Marx. Before continuing, I should say a word about what I mean by acceptance. By acceptance, I certainly don't mean complacence or passivity. By accepting Adolph Hitler, I don't mean leaving him to perpetuate death and destruction and retreating to a cave to meditate. I also don't mean suggesting that Hitler is not responsible for his behavior just like everyone else. Were Hitler alive today, I would want to see him assassinated as soon as possible not because I harbor resentment but because he violates the rights of others and is a threat to life on earth. Moreover, I would judge him morally and I would judge his character morally. That is, I would recognize that he is a destroyer of life and is characterologically so. And if I were his psychotherapist, I would strongly encourage him to take responsibility for his behavior, just as psychiatrist Dr. Malfi does to mafia boss Tony Soprano in HBO's hit series, The Sopranos. But advocating taking responsibility, morally judging a person's character, and demanding justice do not entail moralization. By accepting Hitler, I mean in fact what Ayn Rand means by accepting reality. According to Rand, the essence of evil is evasion-indulging in fantasy rather than dealing with reality as it is. Rand applies this approach well to the metaphysically given but fails to apply it fully-at least in practice-to the man-made. If we spend our time fantasizing about being millionaires and think we can acquire our millions and a consequent level of happiness by stealing from others-as opposed to earning money by producing values-then we are evading, whim-worshipping, and doing ourselves more harm than good. In this case, it is metaphysically given that we must produce to gain self-esteem and to rightfully and safely acquire wealth. The same applies to the man-made, I would argue, as to the metaphysically given. When we moralize about others, we implicitly engage in fantasy that our enemies are destroyed or humiliated or that we are superior and right while they are inferior and wrong. We attempt to gain self-esteem through self-righteousness and indignation and a sense of safety by imagining the removal of the apparent threat to our values. The problem is that the benefit is short-lived. This feeling of security and superiority is evanescent. What are longer-lasting are feelings of frustration, anger, agitation, and alienation. Anger may be more pleasant than the emotion it covers, fear, but it is not nearly as pleasant as a sense of peace, satisfaction, tranquility, and connection to humanity.
Furthermore, unless you are a parent trying to indoctrinate your child or a leader of an ideological group trying to indoctrinate your followers, moralization is unlikely to help you to effect change. Recall what psychoanalyst Nancy McWilliams had to say about the effects of moralization: "The self-righteous quality of this particular transformation of impulse makes others regard it as either amusing or vaguely unpleasant." Consider the Buddhist alternative and its paradoxical implications for psychotherapy. I volunteer for a suicide prevention hotline. I speak to some of the most immoral people in our society. I speak to people who evade reality by taking drugs, abusing their spouses and children, not working and instead spending their days lying in bed fantasizing about a better, different life rather than working to create a better, different life. Many of these people disrespect others' rights and end up destroying their own lives. In other words, these are profoundly evil people, by the Objectivist definition of evil. Suppose I were to say to them what Leonard Peikoff says about people who commit suicide in Objectivism: The Philosophy of Ayn Rand: "A man who would throw away his life without cause, who would reject the universe on principle and embrace a zero for its own sake-such a man, according to Objectivism, would belong on the lowest rung of hell" (247-8). Let me repeat this, because I think it's an important point. Suppose I were to say to one of my suicidal clients, "If you kill yourself, you belong on the lowest rung of hell." This kind of comment, at best, would lead the person to hang up and, justifiably, not call back, because my comment would be anything but therapeutic. At worst, this kind of comment could lead someone who already feels quite demoralized to feel so demoralized that it could be the straw that breaks the camel's back and drive the person to suicide-instead of hanging up the phone, he could hang himself. Nathaniel Branden writes about this sort of thing in a section on moralism in "The Benefits and Hazards of the Philosophy of Ayn Rand":
Even if what people are doing is wrong, even if errors of morality are involved, even if what people are doing is irrational, you do not lead people to virtue by contempt. You do not make people better by telling them they are despicable. It just doesn't work. It doesn't work when religion tries it and it doesn't work when objectivism tries it.
I agree with Branden and would go even further-moralism is not just wrong in practice; it is wrong in principle. Peikoff might say that I'm being unfair. It wouldn't make sense for me to make this comment, he might say, if I'm trying to help the person. So suppose I keep the thought to myself. There's still a problem: The main technique used in suicide prevention is nonjudgmental empathic listening and mirroring of a person's experience (and there is empirical research to show that the most effective therapists are the most empathic). I ask you, how could I possibly listen nonjudgmentally and empathically if Peikoff's moralistic words were ringing in the back of my mind? This example makes clear how moralism is incompatible with objective morality. Let's analyze this situation from an egoistic point of view. My goal, as a suicide prevention counselor, is to prevent suicide, help clients to feel better, and help to improve clients' mental health. In this case, moralization-even if only in my mind-thwarts my ability to effect change. But are my goals even valid, from an egoistic point of view? I'm not being paid for this challenging work. Is it self-sacrificial? No-far from it. From a traditional Objectivist perspective, the most we could say is that I'm acting in accordance with the virtue of benevolence, contributing to the productivity and rationality of others, thereby creating a society in which I want to live. But this is, in fact, a very small part of why I enjoy working for the suicide prevention hotline. The primary reason I enjoy it is because I have compassion for and empathize with the people I talk to on the line, no matter how evil they might be. I can see myself in a client's shoes by virtue of the fact that we're both human beings and I vicariously enjoy helping to relieve their suffering and to help create psychological health and happiness. In this case-as in many others-my self-interest goes hand in hand with giving something of value to others.
From a Buddhist perspective, any human being can have complete empathy and compassion for any other human being, no matter how different any two humans might be. To experience empathy and compassion, we need not have any circumstantial similarity to the other person. On the suicide prevention line, I've had as much connection to a 40 year-old African American heroin addict welfare mother living in the ghetto as to upper middle class young white male college graduate. All empathy takes is a willingness to recognize one's own capacity for the full range of human emotions and to allow oneself to put oneself into another's shoes. Moreover, one can let go of moralization and anger by recognizing that no one really, deep down, wants to cause death, destruction, pain, or suffering. Everyone, at root, wants to be happy and to support life. Some of us simply don't have the knowledge or the psychological resources to do so. Branden writes about this in the section on moralism in "The Benefits and Hazards of the Philosophy of Ayn Rand." He writes:
We are all of us organisms trying to survive. We are all of us organisms trying in our own way to use our abilities and capacities to satisfy our needs. Sometimes the paths we choose are pretty terrible, and sometimes the consequences are pretty awful for ourselves and others. Until and unless we are willing to try to understand where people are coming from, what they are trying to accomplish, and what model of reality they're operating from-such that they don't see themselves as having better alternatives, we cannot assist anyone to reach the moral vision that objectivism holds as a possibility for human beings.
The following story illustrates how someone who might look like he belongs on the lowest rung of hell, at first glance, really deserves our compassion and empathy (and for this story I have my mentor, Tal Ben-Shahar, to thank, who got it in turn from his mentor, Ohad Kamin). Anyway, here's the story:
A few years ago, somewhere in Siberia, the behavior of a certain wolf baffled farmers. The wolf raided and killed numerous cattle. While wolf raids are not uncommon in that part of Russia, these attacks were different. The wolf did not eat its prey, but simply killed it, then moved on to the next victim, killed it, and so on. It seemed that this wolf had no reason to kill. It was killing for killing's sake. The wolf's behavior seemed like the embodiment of evil. After months of ravaging numerous cattle, the wolf was finally shot and killed. The farmers took it in to a veterinary surgeon for examination hoping to better understand the "nature of the beast." Upon examination, the surgeon understood the reason for the wolf's strange behavior. The wolf had a broken tooth. Siberia is extremely cold and, exposed to the low temperature, a broken tooth causes acute pain. In order to alleviate the pain, the wolf had to find something warm in which to stick its broken tooth. Flesh was an ideal solution. Therefore, the wolf would stick its teeth into the flesh of cattle and when the flesh cooled, it moved to its next victim. Wolves do not kill for the sake of killing. It was only because the wolf was hurt that it behaved [in this way]. The implications of this story are of extreme importance in understanding the nature of evil, in human beings. People are by [default] good. It is only when they are hurt, when they are injured, that they revert to immoral or evil behavior.
This story, as Tal points out, sheds light on the nature of evil. People are not evil for the sake of being evil. People destroy themselves and others when they are, at some level, hurt. It is only when we recognize this capacity in ourselves that we can empathize with this capacity in others, that we can respond to evil with compassion and acceptance rather than moralization and outrage.
One of the most famous poems by one of the most respected Buddhist scholars, Thich Nat Han, expresses the capacity for compassion and acceptance better than any poem I know. It is printed in The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh and is called "Please Call Me By My True Names." Needless to say, like many poems, it is coherent only if interpreted metaphorically, so I invite you to interpret it metaphorically rather than dismissing it as mere mysticism. Here is the poem:
Don't say that I will depart tomorrow- even today I am still arriving.Look deeply: every second I am arriving to be a bud on a Spring branch, to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings, learning to sing in my new nest, to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry, to fear and to hope. The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death of all that is alive.
I am a mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river. And I am the bird that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.
I am a frog swimming happily in the clear water of a pond. And I am the grass-snake that silently feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones, my legs as thin as bamboo sticks. And I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to Uganda.
I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat, who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea pirate. And I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving.
I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my hands. And I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to my people dying My joy is like Spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth. My pain is like a river of tears, so vast it fills the four oceans.
Please call me by my true names, so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once, so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names, so I can wake up and the door of my heart can be left open, the door of compassion. slowly in a forced-labor camp.
Notice what this poem is saying. He, the writer, is asking us, the reader, to recognize and accept the fact that he, the writer, is capable of both good and evil, joy and suffering, so that he can more easily recognize and accept his own humanity. He asks that we have compassion for him so that he may have compassion for himself and others. He even recognizes and accepts the fact that he could rape a twelve-year-old girl like a sea pirate if, like this pirate, he were so hurt-like the hurt wolf-that his heart were not capable of seeing and loving. Only with self-acceptance and compassion towards himself-which he can learn from others-will he be capable of acting morally towards himself and others.
Consider the phenomenon of homophobia. Interestingly, the term is used to refer to hatred of-in other words, moralization towards-homosexuals, while the literal etymology of the word is fear of gays and lesbians. He who coined the term homophobia apparently recognized that it is a moralistic defense mechanism that covers an underlying sense of fear. But of what might the homophobe be afraid? Interestingly, many of the most outwardly homophobic people turn out to be homosexuals who hide their homosexuality even from themselves. In other words, they fear being homosexual and the consequences thereof, and so they moralistically deny that part of themselves and accordingly moralize against other homosexuals. But why should homosexuals be afraid of this part of themselves? Because others react moralistically to homosexuality. Not only do people like Ayn Rand call homosexuality "immoral" and "disgusting"; people also physically assault homosexuals. It is therefore not surprising that many homosexuals should fear a part of themselves and react defensively to the moralization of others by following suit. The only way to break this cycle of hatred, Thich Nhat Hanh points out, is with compassion and acceptance.
How, one might ask, can one replace moralization and anger with compassion and acceptance? This is no simple matter. It is not a simple act of will. Moreover, anger is a natural emotion that will always be part of our emotional repertoire. In a moment, I will suggest some techniques for handling anger and moralistic impulses. First, though, I want to reiterate that I am by no means suggesting repression, suppression, or denial of emotions. In accordance with Thich Nhat Hanh's wise words, it is important to accept our capacity for anger and moralization, like all other emotions and behaviors. That said, here are a few healthy responses to anger and the impulse to moralize.
The first and simplest approach is to recast the situation. When someone does something that angers you or that you think is immoral, remind yourself of the story of the hurt wolf. Recognize that, at some perhaps unseen level, the person who is perpetuating evil is hurt. Perhaps this person is simply frustrated or impatient, like a person who cuts you off in traffic. Recognizing your own capacity for frustration or impatience and your own ability to cut people off in traffic when you are feeling this way can allow you to empathize with and accept the aggressive act rather than responding with commensurate road rage. It is more difficult to empathize directly with someone like Adolph Hitler, but you can at least recognize that to behave as destructively as he did, he must have been very, very mentally ill and therefore suffered a great deal.
Another way you can deal with moralization is with a simple cost-benefit analysis. The model I am about to present I learned from a personal growth seminar I was once involved with called the Landmark Forum. I am no longer involved with the company that runs these seminars, Landmark Education, because I now see clearly the destructive psychological manipulation that the company uses in its seminars. Nonetheless, I still find the model I am about to present quite valuable. It was originated by a man named Werner Erhard, who founded est, the precursor to Landmark Education. To explain moralization, Erhard uses the metaphor of racketeering. Back in the days of the Prohibition, people used saccharine storefronts such as candy stores to hide their illegal distillation and distribution of alcohol in hidden back rooms. In other words, a facade of legitimate activity hid something underlying that was illegitimate. This is the essence of racketeering or "running rackets." The same, Erhard explains, occurs with moralization. When we have a persistent complaint, whether against another person or something else in the world, we are, in a sense, running rackets. The problem with these "rackets" is that the psychological costs outweigh the benefits. When we have a persistent complaint, Erhard suggests conducting a cost-benefit analysis. You may wish to try this for yourself after this lecture. On the "payoff" side of the chart, you will likely find some of the following: being right, making others wrong, justifying yourself, invalidating others, avoiding domination, and dominating others. On the "cost" side of the chart, you will likely find some of the following: loss of or lack of love, affinity, effectiveness, tranquility, satisfaction, and vitality. Simply recognizing that the "racket" is not worth holding onto helps one to let go of it and to accept the situation or the person with compassion and tranquility. I should not that by acceptance, I don't mean passivity or complacence. You may choose to change whatever it is that you don't like, but that doesn't mean you have to complain about it. Ironically, one can change something more quickly if one doesn't waste time complaining about it and one can change another person more easily if one doesn't alienate the person by complaining about them.
A third technique for dealing with moralization is what's known in Buddhism as disidentification. Eckhart Tolle discusses this in detail in his highly-recommended book, The Power of Now. Disidentification is not the same as detachment. As I said before, I am not suggesting that you cut yourself off from your emotions. Instead, I am suggesting that you differentiate your emotions from your self. This involves taking a step back when you find yourself in the heat of passion and observing and experiencing the anger as a psychological and phenomenological experience rather than focusing on how justified you might feel. By exercising our capacity for self-reflection-which distinguishes us from other animals-we can short-circuit the otherwise automatic chain from emotion to thought or behavior. We can stop ourselves from lashing out or even thinking moralistically if we simply observe and experience the anger. This sort of self-observation and pure self-experiencing is known as mindfulness. Being mindful is like flexing our muscle of introspection, and like physical muscles, this muscle needs exercise to be strong and to work effectively. To exercise our introspective muscle is the purpose of mindfulness meditation. Contrary to some other forms of meditation, such as transcendental meditation or yogic meditations that involve focusing on a mantra or an image, mindfulness meditation is not meant to help us to detach ourselves from our minds or bodies. On the contrary, mindfulness meditation is meant to help us immerse ourselves in our experience and gain control over the otherwise uncontrollable, automatic mechanisms of the "monkey mind." It is also meant to alleviate unnecessary suffering by allowing us to let go of the resistance to reality that creates such suffering. There are numerous studies that chronicle the psychological benefits of meditation, but for the sake of this talk, I will mention only one. Dr. Jon Kabat-Zinn, author of Be Here Now and founder of the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction Clinic at the University of Massachusetts Medical School, pioneered the use of mindfulness meditation with patients suffering from chronic pain. In a matter of weeks, meditation practice led to a significant reduction in the suffering of these patients. (With other patients, it even led to measured changes in brain chemistry correlated with increased energy and enjoyment and reduced stress and anxiety.) Why? What the patients discovered with mindfulness was that the majority of their suffering originated not in the pain itself, but in their reactions to the pain. All of the automatic thoughts people have in response to chronic pain-"this pain is unbearable," "my life is worthless," "I am so ashamed," "I can't take this anymore," "my life is meaningless," "things are never going to get any better"-all of these thoughts cause more suffering than the pain itself. Through mindfulness meditation-also known as insight meditation or Vipassana meditation-people simply close their eyes and watch these thoughts float into their minds and choose not to perpetuate them. They also fully experience the pain rather than trying to resist or escape it and find that it thereby dissipates more quickly and is bearable after all.
The same applies to anger as applies to pain. Mindfulness meditation can be used as both a remedy to and a preventative against anger and moralization. Accordingly, we can benefit from meditating both on a regular basis, as I do daily, and whenever we find ourselves getting worked up. Meditating allows us to be more accepting of and in touch with our own experience and therefore more able to have compassion for ourselves and others. It also allows us to more easily disidentify with our moralistic thoughts when they begin to enter our minds, thereby preventing them from spiraling out of control. To understand the many intricacies of meditation-if you are interested-I suggest finding an insight, mindfulness, Vipassana, or Buddhist meditation class or retreat in your area, reading books like Ken McCleod's Wake Up to Your Life, or joining an email discussion group devoted to integrating Objectivism and Eastern philosophy, available from my friend Josh Zader at www.zader.com. That's Z-A-D-E-R dot com. That said, I'll give you a very brief introduction to meditation here so that you can try it on your own if you like. You start by simply sitting comfortably and closing your eyes. Focus on your breath, experiencing fully the inhalation and exhalation. Thoughts will naturally pop into your head. Once you notice that you were drifting off into thought-which may take anywhere from a few seconds to many minutes-simply notice that you were thinking without scolding yourself and come back to the breath. Once you feel comfortable focusing on the breath, start to include other aspects of your experience. This can include physical sensations such as aches and itches. Instead of trying to change what you dislike-as, for example, by scratching the itch-simply notice it, watch it, and experience it without judgment. Your experience can also include emotions. Sadness, fear, boredom, joy, love, tranquility, and anger may all come up. Without going into the stories and thoughts that are connected to these emotions, simply experience the emotions. Instead of daydreaming about what makes you joyful, simply experience the joy. And instead of getting caught up in the reasons why you are angry, simply experience the anger. This preempts the otherwise automatic jump from anger to moralization. Moreover, simply watching and experiencing the anger allows it to take its natural course and dissipate more quickly than it would otherwise. Anger will never disappear completely, no matter how much we meditate. However, negative emotions tend to decrease and positive emotions tend to increase the more we meditate, and there are numerous scientific studies that support this conclusion.
So these are my four suggestions for preempting and letting go of moralization: meditating, disidentifying with the anger, giving up your "rackets," and viewing the aggressor as a hurt wolf. Earlier in my talk, I explained why it is justified, both psychologically and philosophically, to stop moralizing. I explained what's available to you personally by replacing moralization with compassion and acceptance. Moreover, I explained how you can more effectively effect change in other people and the world by taking this approach. Before that, I explained how-from the perspectives of neurobiology, evolutionary psychology, and psychoanalysis-moralization is a generally maladaptive defense mechanism. And at the start of my talk, I explained how moralism is not only different from objective morality, but also how moralism is incompatible with objective morality.
I hope to have accomplished two main objectives with this talk. First, I hope that you will find your own experience of relating to immorality in yourself and others more pleasant, less painful, and more effective. Second, I hope that you can improve the tainted image of Objectivism so that this immensely valuable philosophy will become more palatable to the general public and so that objective morality can be used not to demoralize ourselves and others but to create and sustain value in our world. Thank you.
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For further information related to this talk, from the Web Links page, you can access the Moralism in Objectivism section. For quick access, click here.
In addition, as an Appendix to his talk, "Moralism in Objectivism," Damian Moskovitz is offering his academic paper, "The Biological Basis of Altruism." Several individuals who have studied "Moralism in Objectivism" have asked Damian questions about the biological basis of empathy. Some such people may find that this paper offers additional insight into Damian's views on this subject. For quick access, click here.