Showing posts with label Dominick Dodgson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dominick Dodgson. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

The Ethics of Information

by Dominick Dodgson

Currently, there are tens of thousands of human rights violations taking place throughout the world. At the same time, there are over 1.5 million non-profit organizations registered in the United States alone, most raising money for a good cause. I don’t need to know about all of them or their individual missions and concerns. Nor do I need to be involved with the vast majority of them. In fact, if I’m honest, I just don’t really care about most of them.

As finite humans, there is a limit to just how much we are able to care. And because of that, I question many of my friends’ ethical mandates to constantly “be informed.” We can cherry pick the issues we choose to engage until we appear to have a well-rounded portfolio of activist concerns, but we can never be fully informed on every issue that confronts peace and well-being. We can only ever “be informed” about the narrowest of slivers or the cause du jour.

But woe to us, if we are not! I voiced this concern once, wondering why someone’s moral standing was dependant on how much news media they ingested, and my concern was met with rabid rebuttals. “How can we,” they asked, “if we aren’t aware of the world’s atrocities, be sure to avoid them in our own community?” We can’t be sure. But history has shown that awareness of horrors is no vaccine to prevent their recurrence.

So I voice the concern again. I question the mandate to consume news as an ethical duty; the need to know all of the bad things happening around the world. And I certainly question the name-calling and shaming that implicitly happens when we assume that being informed equals a higher level of ethical living, something I have experienced with my more “progressive” and “liberal” friends.

In full disclosure, this conversation is personal for me. My wife doesn’t watch the news. She makes it a point NOT to be on the Internet to find out what’s happening in the world. She doesn’t even have a Facebook account for crying out loud. “What!?” you might be saying, “No Facebook? No Jon Stewart or Colbert? But what about the children?! Surely we must do something to protect the children!” But in spite of all her lack of information, my wife is one of the most caring and ethical people I know. She is concerned about our community and we strive to be actively involved in making it a better place. Somehow she missed the memo that said it was her duty to know what’s happening in the world. And yet, she seems to be doing quite alright, morally speaking.

So, with that in mind, here are my more concrete concerns with an overemphasis on being informed:

1. The very word “Informed,” like most words, is a slippery term wherein a person’s definition typically says more about the person than the term. How much information does a person need to consume before they pass the threshold from “uninformed” to “informed”? Do you know about the anti-gay agenda in Uganda? Okay, here’s your “informed” certificate. Oh wait, you don’t know about the religious violence in the Central African Republic? I’m going to need that certificate back. And who is in charge of those certificates anyway? What makes them the “informed” authority?

Based on the amount of information we now have access to I would hazard a guess to say almost every 5th grader in America is more “informed” about current events in the world than almost every person born before the invention of the printing press. And somehow I don’t think that means every 5th grader in America is less prone to unethical behavior than every person born before the invention of the printing press.

Which leads me to point number two:

2. An overemphasis on being informed can lead to equating the ethical life with simply knowing what is happening, which seems dangerous. Because of the rise of “Causes” on Facebook and the ability to flaunt our enlightened opinions online, it seems many people genuinely think that the greatest test of our ethic is measured by (a) how “disgusted” we are at people who do bad things and (b) how dramatically we can talk about our disgust publicly. The more we know about bad things going on in the world, the more we can verbally condemn them, ergo, the more ethical we must be. Sounds like flawed calculus to me.

Finally:

3. Knowing about more injustices than we can possibly do anything about is depressing. It seems cruel to keep shoving more information about problems in our world into heads that can only care so much. We already know more about the world’s ills than we could possibly integrate into our immediate lives, so to keep heaping it on just seems to increase our anxiety and fear; it inspires a feeling of helplessness. Dr. Mark Warr, a sociologist from the University of Texas, says it this way: “People are bombarded with information about crime from the media, which makes them believe the world is a much more dangerous place than it really is. This creates a climate of fear that can negatively affect the way we live, the way we go to work, the times we shop and the precautions we take for our families and children.”

So, if the way to a more ethical culture is found only through the crucible of fear, then by all means, keep the articles and graphic images flowing. But I’m inclined to think a better society comes through love, not fear, what with Paul’s “perfect love casts out fear” and all.

Now, in order to pre-empt those among us who like to swing pendulums from black to white, I am not advocating anti-intellectualism or non-engagement of the issues we face. I am not advocating an ignorant love of feel-good clichés and puppies. I’m not suggesting we bury our heads in the sand. I am simply calling for nuance.

If you feel the need to keep up with all the problems in our world in order to be a part of the solution, I commend your effort. But I ask you not to claim that only such a posture is morally high ground. Perhaps not all of us feel that need. Perhaps there are other ways to be part of the solution and we need to make room for those ways. 

Dominick Dodgson is a professor of philosophy & ethics who consumes pop-culture and pretends it's "research." You can follow him on Twitter @dedodgson and read more posts at www.dominickdodgson.com. 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. If you'd like to support what we do, you can donate via the button on the right of the screen.

Image Credits:
Image #1 via Will Lion 
Image #2 via Jeff Maurone 
Image #3 via Sharon Pruitt 
  
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Thursday, January 23, 2014

Facial Hair & Christian Resentment

by Dominick Dodgson 

We were a group of seventh-graders on the bus, making our way to the first basketball game of the season. “I think facial hair is gross; it’s so itchy,” I said with a look of disgust.  “I will never grow a beard.” The discussion was around my friend’s illustrious beard that had grown in over the summer. When you’re 12, you don’t really think about the science of puberty. As far as we were concerned, our friend was a master face-gardener, having access to some magical pubescent Miracle-Gro and making sure to water it daily.

I remember how vehemently I reacted to the idea of having a beard. I made a spectacle, cursing facial hair and swearing off it forever. I was better off without it, so there.

The reality was I couldn’t grow a beard.

But deep down, I wanted one. So bad. Yet, rather than admit that I longed for a beard but didn’t have the machismo (or what I later found out to be “hormones”) to get one, it was much easier and better for my ego to pretend I didn’t want it at all.

This phenomenon is what the philosopher Nietzsche called ressentiment (French for “resentment”) and his observation of its prevalence among Christians was one of the main reasons he couldn’t stand them. (For a contemporary example of others being a little upset by this phenomenon among Christians, see the 2004 movie Saved!). Essentially, Nietzsche says, we all want power. But if we are too weak to get it, we pretend we don’t want it at all, in fact, we pretend we want the opposite, both to stick it to the powerful and to save our own egos.

And I have to agree with Nietzsche. We do this a lot and not just with regard to facial hair.

My favorite example is the bumper sticker: “My real treasure is in heaven,” which you’ll most often see stuck to the back of an old jalopy. What does this bumper sticker mean? Forget your BMW, I don’t even want it because my treasure is better than yours, but it’s, er, not quite here yet. BUT JUST YOU WAIT!

When I taught ethics at a Christian university, I would use this example and then ask: “How many of you, if you had that sticker on your car, would turn down a BMW if someone offered it to you, no strings attached?”

Having asked hundreds of students, not one has ever raised a hand. Hmmm.

What happened to real treasure being in heaven? Well, it is, until we get a good job and we don’t need it to be. What happened to suffering being part of what it means to be a Christian? Well, it is, until we can avoid it. What happened to the blessing of being poor?  Well it is, until we’re not, and then of course Jesus didn’t mean that literally. What happened to a church leader’s proclamation “we’re proud to be a small church because it means we are faithful?”  Well that’s true, until you grow, then you’re proud because your growth means you are faithful.

Nietzsche’s point is that Christians don’t seem to take Jesus very seriously, using Jesus’ virtues simply as a placeholder until they gain access to what they really want: money and power. That is to say, he calls out hypocrisy because he sees hypocrisy all around. His call to authenticity and honesty asks us to take a hard look inward, to see if we are simply using Jesus’ virtues as a palliative on the path to our vices.

While many would consider Nietzsche an enemy of Christianity, I call him a prophet. Like the biblical prophets, when it comes to his concept of ressentiment, he holds up a mirror to our hypocrisy and calls us to repentance.

He asks us to admit our desire for beards. And I believe it’s in that place of raw honesty that God begins to work. 

Dominick Dodgson is a professor of philosophy & ethics who consumes pop-culture and pretends it's "research." You can follow him on Twitter @dedodgson and read more posts at www.dominickdodgson.com. 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. If you'd like to support what we do, you can donate via the button on the right of the screen.
  
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