Responsibility as a non-ideal conversational practice in non-ideal social conditions: 3 mediating variables


  1. Introduction: Responsibility as a non-ideal conversational practice 

On one influential school of thought, moral responsibility is an interpersonal practice in which someone deploys the reactive attitudes of blame, resentment, approbation, forgiveness, and so on, to another person (P. F. Strawson 1963). Michael McKenna (2013) describes this practice more precisely as a conversational exchange with three paradigmatic stages: (1) a moral contribution, in which someone performs a morally-relevant action, (2) a moral address, in which someone deploys the reactive attitudes, and (3) a moral accounting, in which the addressee responds to the addressor, by, e.g., taking responsibility or denying responsibility.

I think that we can hold people responsible outside of standard conversational contexts, as I have argued elsewhere, but I think the conversational model captures a paradigmatic and very familiar mode of holding-responsible, so I will use it as a basis for the present inquiry.

There are debates about whether the reactive attitudes are purely cognitive (Smart 1961), affective (Wallace 1994), or conative (Sher 2006). These debates concern the internal contents of these states, i.e., those experienced or invoked in the addressor and addressee. One of the objections to non-affective accounts is that they are ‘too sanitized,’ and do not present a realistic picture of moral psychology: even if negative affect is not an essential feature of blame, it is a characteristic feature, experienced by normal human beings in response to perceived moral violations (McGeer 2013). Non-affective accounts are often driven by normative concerns, particularly the concern that we construct a ‘civilized’ account of blame that reduces strong emotions (ibid). Whatever the benefits of this approach, it is reasonable to worry that this conception of blame is not ecologically valid.

Moreover, eve if blame is ideally unemotional, it is undeniable that blame is typically influenced (if not constituted) by affective and automatic processes, which can distort ideal judgments of blame. Thus, it is worthwhile to consider the role of these cognitive mediators. I will propose that affective and automatic states play an integral role in blame and praise.

What is even more neglected in the literature is the fact that responsibility is not simply a set of internal agential states, but rather a complex social practice, influenced by the visible attributes, body language, and lexical preferences of the interlocutors. If the reactive attitudes are part of a conversational practice, as McKenna says, this practice has lexical contents and modes of expression chosen by, or characteristic of, the speakers. Some of these are internal contents of speech (lexical), while others are expressive features of speech (vocal intonation, body language); but all of these variables, whether ‘internal’ or ‘external,’ influence how we perceive and respond to speakers in our conversational encounters. Because we respond to one another quickly and relatively automatically in quotidian conversational exchanges, we are liable to respond to the vocal and lexical mannerisms, and visible appearance, of our conversational partners.

This is already an important departure from the idealized picture of blame as a rational and impartial judgement, but it still misses an important mediating variable: social conditions. Our lexical preferences, body language, and visible appearance are not value-neutral features of our selves, accorded equal weight in our day-to-day conversational exchanges; rather, these traits are valued more or less depending on how closely they approximate to the patriarchal, colonialist, Eurocentric, heteronormative, cisgender cultural norm. The “ideal speaker” – the speaker whose practices and attributes are most respected and valued – is a social construct rooted in a historical value system that favoured, and still favors, cisgender white males, and silences or marginalizes other groups in most contexts. (There are exceptions – for example, men are seen as less credible care-takers). To this day, the speech of historically disenfranchised groups is not given the same credit or respect as the speech of cisgender white men on average (Fricker 2007). This is the source of “mansplaining” (Sonit 2012), “whitsplaining,” and other communicative practices in which the same speech content is more valued when expressed by the “ideal speaker.” If responsibility is a conversational practice, then it is a practice informed by dominant perspectives on the value of gendered, sexed, and raced speakers.

Once we see the reactive attitudes as part of a complex social practice, embedded in and informed by conditions of social injustice, the scope of analysis expands vastly beyond mere psychological investigation. Blame and praise are subject to (not only normative and psychological, but also) anthropological, sociological, linguistic, and historical analysis. Responsibility, understood as a non-ideal conversational practice embedded in non-ideal social conditions, stands at the intersection of myriad fields of inquiry.

In this post, I will explore three (I believe) somewhat under-theorized variables that inform “our responsibility practice,” by which I mean the practice in which we express and respond to praise and blame: (1) the role of empathy, (2) the lexical preferences of speakers, and (3) the physical attributes of speakers. I will discuss these variables at the level of social groups, eliding individual differences amongst groups, for the purpose of depicting general trends, in the spirit of social anthropology or feminist sociology. Since I have discussed the role of implicit bias in blaming and praising elsewhere, I will not emphasize this variable here, except when it plays a mediating role in variables (1)-(3).

2. Caveats & clarifications

Some caveats are, of course, in order. The ‘contextualizing’ or ‘situating’ of responsibility – by assessing it as a socially embedded conversational practice – is essentially a project in social anthropology, sociology, or standpoint epistemology. This means that I will be making generalizations about how empathy and group-level communicative habits affect social groups. For example, I will be saying that empathy is disproportionally experienced and enacted by women, and patterns of empathic concern disproportionally benefit cisgender white men, somewhat indemnifying them against blame and punitive sanctions. This does not mean that every individual within each group fits the operant generalization, but these generalizations point to significant social trends – trends that tell us something about responsibility as expressed and experienced by groups in our society.

Second, I will be discussing very broad groups, and will not be giving every social group equal attention, simply due to lack of space. I also will not talk much about how converging intersections of oppression compound disadvantages (particularly, susceptibility to blame), while converging intersections of privilege ramify advantages (especially indemnity against blame and penalties). But these intersections are implied if not explicit.

Third, by “our responsibility practice” I mean to refer to a conversational practice involving the reactive attitudes, where the reactive attitudes are essentially communicative acts, conveying attitudes of “resentment, gratitude, forgiveness, anger,” love, indignation, approbation (Strawson 1963: 66), antipathy (Watson 1982), as well as trust and distrust (McGeer 2008, Helm 2014). These responses mediate our interpersonal relationships in positive and negative ways, depending on how they are enacted. While these reactions likely involve emotional contents in the typical case, I am not committed to saying that conscious affect is a necessary component. As others have argued, we can communicate resentment, distrust, anger, etc., in a dispassionate way, e.g., by unemotionally “unfriending” a contact on FaceBook (viz., Smith 2013: 32). More importantly, however, we can, and often do, communicate resentment, distrust, and hostility toward others in our overt behavior, without consciously experiencing the concomitant emotions, when the resentful/distrustful/hostile (etc.) behavioural response is provoked by unconscious cognitive processes (e.g., implicit bias), without accompanying conscious affect or belief. For example, if a physician deems an African American patient insufficiently responsible to use prescription pain-killers as directed, the physician may be communicating distrustantipathy, or hostility to the patient, without consciously feeling these emotions or holding relevant beliefs about African Americans. These “attitudes” are nonetheless conveyed in the physician’s prescriptive decisions. This interpretation of the reactive attitudes accommodates many of the criticisms of both “emotional” accounts and “sanction” accounts, and resembles Smith’s communicative approach (2013), which is a good fit for the conversational model. Conversation is, after all, an essentially communicative exchange between speakers. (I am not, however, committed to Smith’s protest account, as will become clear in section 6).

Fourth, my analysis of social variables that distort our responsibility practice extends to other, non-conversational practices of holding-responsible, such as praising someone in absentia and blaming the deceased. But for this particular project, I am focusing on the conversational account as delineated by McKenna, as this is an important locus of analysis.

 3. Empathy

It is reasonable to think that empathy plays a role in our responsibility practice. (I use the term empathy broadly to encompass a range of emotional responses to what others are feeling, including sympathy and vicarious joy and anger, following Heidi Maibom 2017).  In Watson’s influential article on the reactive attitudes (1982), he surveys possible explanations for Strawson’s most controversial excuse, viz., having had peculiarly unfortunate formative circumstances. Watson says that sympathy can play a role in softening our sense of blame toward a victim of childhood trauma, but this is not a rational basis for clemency: it is, rather, an unreflective emotional response with no normative weight. Still, he suggests that sympathy plays a role in ordinary moral cognition.

Erin Kelly (2017) similarly contends that compassion is naturally elicited in response to excusing conditions, such as childhood abuse, and this emotion mollifies ordinary feelings of blame. But Kelly believes that clemency is justified because the perception of an excuse provides rational grounds for suspending or modifying or ordinary sense of antipathy. This view sees compassion as a natural, as well as normatively significant, aspect of blame.

More recently, Jesse Prinz (2011) has argued that empathy is not necessary for moral judgment, but there is an observed correlation between empathy and moral competence, or facility with making moral judgments. Antti Kauppinen (2017) argues, similarly, that even if empathy is not necessary for moral judgment, it is typically implicated in this process. Indeed, “people who lack the ability to put themselves in the place of others and feel for them… appear to have trouble with moral insight and appreciating the grounds of pro-social moral principles, even if their rational powers are largely intact” (2017: 20). If we see the reactive attitudes as a species of moral judgment – which seems nature – then there are good empirical grounds for seeing the reactive attitudes as mediated by empathy.

Notably, empathy is not elicited directly in response to the feelings of others, without mediation by other factors. Rather, its role in moral cognition is influenced by cultural stereotypes. This is shown by research on empathy and judgments of guilt or innocence.

For example, when asked to rate the guilt of a rapist in a scenario about date rape, male subjects rated the rapist as less guilty after watching a music video with high levels of female sexual objectification, and they also exhibited less empathy to the victim-survivor (Melina & Sandra 2012). That is, there was a correlation between empathy for the victim-survivor, and blame (measured by attribution of guilt) ascribed to the rapist. The experimenters surmise that the sexual imagery elicited implicit rape myths and sex role stereotypes in the male subjects, priming them to blame the victim. Although this study shows only a correlation between empathy and judgments of guilt, it is reasonable to conjecture that empathy plays a characteristic role in such judgments, and that this relationship is characteristically mediated by salient cultural stereotypes and myths.

Similarly, researchers on racial bias find that “adults view black girls as less innocent and more adult-like than their white peers, especially in the age range of 5-14” (Epstein et al. 2017). This helps to explain why Black girls are five times more likely than white girls, and twice as likely as Black boys, to be suspended at school, three times as likely as white girls to be referred to juvenile detention, 20% more likely to be charged with a crime, 20% more likely to be detained, and so on. Black boys, too, are seen as less innocent than white boys (Goff et a;. 2014), but Black girls are still twice as vilified. This is probably because Black girls stand at the intersection of two types of bias: gender and racial. Both femininity and Blackness are stigmatized (albeit in different ways) in our culture, due to the pervasiveness of stereotypes rooted in European colonial patriarchy. There is also evidence that empathy mediates judgments of guilt and innocence in general; for example, when people are given more personal information about a victim (e.g., the victim’s name), they exhibit more empathy for the victim, and blame the victim less, while blaming the perpetrator more (Phyllis & Costa 2004). This does not capture all of the dynamics of blame, of course, but it suggests that empathy, mediated by cultural stereotypes, may play a role in the cultural vilification and collective blaming of Black girls.

 Supposing that empathy mediates our attributions of guilt and innocence in a way that, on balance, vilifies women, Black people, and (especially) Black women (when relevant stereotypes are salient), what can we infer about the characteristic role of empathy in our responsibility practice? Prima facie, the interplay between empathy and cultural stereotypes produces a system of relations that, on balance, disproportionally punishes historically disenfranchised groups, and disproportionally rewards privileged groups (i.e., cisgender white males) – at least in contexts in which implicit biases are salient. (For example, women are seen as less innocent when gender bias is primed). While individuals may be more or less susceptible to empathy-mediating cultural stereotypes, the data show that responsibility as a social practice disproportionally favors the privileged. This means that they are relatively indemnified against blame and punitive sanctions.

We can trace still more general trends by evaluating the role of empathy in broad social structures. Who bears the burden of empathizing with others in our culture? And who receives the benefits of that empathic investment in the common good? This will tell us something about social roles, and how those roles influence our blaming and praising habits.

There is evidence that white people are less empathetic to Black people than other white people. For example, research indicates that white observers show less physiological arousal in response to Black people’s pain than white people’s pain, and their lack of arousal correlates with their level of implicit racial bias (Forgiarini et al. 2011). This supports the theory that there is a “racial empathy gap” that favours white people on balance (ibid). This theory, in turn, helps to explain why Black people have less access to analgesics for a range of painful heath problems, and have trouble accessing needed prescriptions (Silverstein 2013). In another experiment, subjects reported greater empathy for a white defendant than a Black defendant in a larceny scenario, as well as making attributions that were more situational (and less characterological), and assigning more lenient punishments to the white defendant (Dovido & Reed 2002). This may be why Black people are more often subjected to police searches, police violence, drug-related arrests, mandatory minimum sentences, longer sentences, felony disenfranchisement, and so on (Quigley 2016). These practices highlight the problem of systemic racism in judicial, sentencing, and enforcement norms in the U.S. (ACLU 2014). The retributive attitudes that underlie these judicial norms are part of our broader responsibility practice. It is a reasonable conjecture, then, that the racial empathy gap distorts our responsibility practice, resulting in disproportionate blame toward Black people.

Next, who is expressing empathy in our culture, and who is caring for the vulnerable? On balance, women. Longitudinal research spanning almost 40 years shows that women demonstrate higher empathic response scores than men of the same age, and the difference increases with age (Mestre et al. 2009). Empathy is expressed in the activation of mirror neutrons, and women show more activation in the inferior frontal cortex, which involves mirror neurons, when asked to focus on their own feelings or the feelings of others, compared to men (Schult-Ruther et al. 2008). Women also demonstrate more contagious yawning, which implicates mirror neurons (Norscia et al. 2016). Is it any wonder, then, that daughters provide more care to their elder parents than sons, and invest more time and resources in caretaking (Grigoryeva 2017)? Or that women still do a majority of the domestic labour, even when they earn more than their male partner in a heterosexual relationship (Layonette & Crompton 2014)? The balance of evidence shows that women are the primary empaths, and primary caretakers, in the U.S.

Who are the beneficiaries of women’s disproportionate investment of empathy and care? Predominantly cisgender white men (CWM, for short), and other white women – but, notably, CWMs are contributing far less than their fair share to the “empathy economy.” In fact, when we consider white men’s socioeconomic status (SES), it becomes apparent that they are contributing far less than they owe, and collecting far more than they deserve, generating a massive imbalance in the distribution of empathic goods and services.

White men are the wealthiest social demographic; for every dollar earned by a CWM, white women earn 82 cents, Black men earn 73 cents, and Black women earn 67 cents (Nelson 2017, Patten 2016). This is significant because there is evidence that class bias, in addition to racial bias, plays a significant role in the justice system and other social institutions. The Sentencing Project (2013) reports that poverty exacerbates racial bias: poor black defendants received sentences on average 13% longer than other defendants. Obviously rich Americans have better healthcare and better access to medicine than poor Americans, even with the Affordable Care Act. Furthermore, one study purports to show that differential empathic responses to pain in Black and white people are due to class-bias, not racial bias per se (Trawalter et al. 2016). It is reasonable to think that empathy is mediated by class bias, resulting in a system of relations that favours the wealthy, i.e., predominantly CWMs. Thus, CWMs benefit indirectly from financial privilege.

High-SES individuals benefit more, but contribute less than other groups to the empathy economy. There is abundant evidence that wealthy people are empathically impaired. For example, the wealthy are less attuned to others’ “motivational relevance”; higher-SES people pay less attention to other people in everyday contexts, and become less attentive when primed with a human face, compared to less wealthy people (Dietze & Knowles 2016). Wealthy people report less compassion, and show less heart-rate deceleration (a common empathic response to others), in response to videos depicting suffering in others (Stellar et al. 2012); they rate low in scores of empathic accuracy, judge the emotions of others less accurately, and make less accurate inferences about emotions from images of facial movements (Kraus et al. 2016); they’re more likely to cut off other drivers at intersections and pedestrians at cross walks, even after making eye contact with the person (Piff et al. 2010); and so on. This suggests that wealthy people are not contributing fairly to the empathy economy, and they may even lack the reflective capacity to do so. (These studies measure relatively automatic, unconscious responses to social cues, which are not under the agent’s immediate reflective control). The critical point is that wealthy people – predominantly CWMs – are less empathic on average than other groups.

The resulting picture is an empathic economy (so to speak) in which women do a disproportionate amount of the empathic labour, CWMs receive a disproportionate amount of the empathic rewards, and Black people are relatively empathically disenfranchised. This “secondary” economy mirrors the financial economy in that CWMs are at the top. It also, by the same token, reinforces the financial economy, encouraging women to perform low-paying, undervalued empathic (caretaking) labour, and situating wealthy white men as the normal and nature recipients of this labour, as persons whose pain matters, who deserve better healthcare, and who are presumptively innocent and credible.

If empathy mediates our blaming attitudes and practices, as the evidence suggests, this is very troubling indeed, since these imbalances will tip the scales in favor of white men. They will result, that is, in an emotional economy that unfairly blames and sanctions Black people, while offering compassion, forgiveness, and indemnity against sanctions to CWMs.

The key implication for responsibility as a social practice is that the characteristic role of empathy in our system of social relationship is to encourage unfair and disproportionate blame toward Black people, and unfair tolerance and clemency toward CWMs, on balance. Women, meanwhile, are being (in effect) emotionally extorted, but their undervalued empathic labour, while beneficial in many context (such as when elder care is needed), reinforces this racist hierarchy, at least when racial stereotypes are salient. Women should not necessarily cease empathizing, but should carefully redirect their empathy.

Some would say that we should eliminate empathy from our moral lives, including our moral responsibility practice. Perhaps most notably, Paul Bloom, the author of “Against Empathy: The Case for Rational Compassion” (2016), argues that we should excise empathy from moral decision-making, but allows that empathy may play an important role in other aspects of social life (Robinson 2017). Whether eliminating empathy is a realistic psychological proposal, it is clear that we must, at the very least, recalibrate empathy to respond less strongly to privileged groups, and more strongly to historically disenfranchised groups, as well as encouraging men to bear more of the empathic burden. This recalibration/redistribution approach may be combined with a program of limiting the role of empathy in moral cognition, to whatever extent possible. Yet I worry that we cannot excise empathy from moral judgment without thereby excising it from social life, since the two are intimately reticulated; moral judgments are principally judgments about our relationships to other people: what we owe others, how we should treat them, etc. But the cultivation of “rational compassion” could perhaps mediate empathy in positive ways, in which case rational compassion and empathic recalibration would be complementary.

4. Communicative habits

If responsibility is indeed a conversational practice involving two or more speakers, it must involve communicative habits, such as lexical preferences and vocal register, used by the speakers involved in the exchange. This is clear enough. But these practices are not equally demographically distributed or value-neutral. On the contrary, they are unevenly distributed across demographics, and unequally valued based on their distribution patterns, and how closely they approximate to the idealized cisgender male norm. On scrutiny, these value imbalances generate inequalities in our responsibility practice.

In “Language and Woman’s Place” (1973), Robin Lakeoff argued that women have distinct (average) lexical habits, acquired through sex role socialization, and these habits are generally socially disvalued. Examples include: “weaker expletives (oh dear versus damn); trivializing adjectives (divine versus great); tag questions used to express speakers’ opinions (The way prices are rising is horrendous, isn’t it?); rising intonation in declaratives (as seen in the second part of the sequence, What’s for dinner? Roast beef?); and mitigated requests (Would you please close the door? Versus Close the door) (Tannen 1975: 10-18, cited in Kendall & Tannen 2015: 549). Later, Zimmerman and West found that men interrupt women more often than the reverse in ordinary conversations (1975, cited in Kendall & Tannen 2015: 549). Recent sociolinguistic research confirms that women’s communicative habits enhance cooperation whereas men’s enhance social dominance in general (Leaper, 1991; Mulac, Bradac, & Gibbons, 2001), and that, “on average, women use more expressive, tentative, and polite language than men…, especially in situations of conflict” (Basow & Rubenfield, 2003, cited in Merchant 2012). Furthermore, women are still interrupted more than men (Hancock & Rubin 2014), including in judicial arguments, even when controlling for seniority (Jacobi & Schweers 2017).

 Women also use distinct, acculturated vocal registers, which are also socially disvalued. These registers include creaky voice (“vocal fry”), breathy voice, whisper, and certain stylized intonations (Sicoli 2017). High instances of creaky voice have been observed amongst Chicanos as well as “upwardly mobile urban American women,” and this register is often criticized as being “annoying, irritating, or a fashion fad” (ibid., cf. Yuasa 2010, Wolk, Abdelli-Beruh & Slavin 2012). Research finds that people hold negative attitudes toward voices with vocal fry and positive attitudes to those without it (Abbey & Alison 2014). In addition, breathy voice is perceived as feminine (Borsel et al. 2009), and this perception can trigger implicit gender bias in contexts in which femininity is stigmatized, e.g., leadership positions (Hoyt & Burnett 2013) and job interviews (Latu et al. 2015).

There is also evidence that people find speakers with lower-pitched voices (i.e., predominantly male voices) more attractive, competent, and trustworthy on average (Garber 2012).

In addition to lexical and vocal patterns, speakers can express emotions in their voice. It is well known that when women express anger, they are seen as less competent, whereas when men express anger, they are seen as more competent (Brescoll & Uhlmann 2008; Brescoll & Uhlmann, 2008; Tiedens, 2001). In one study, women who expressed a dissenting opinion with anger were perceived as less convincing, whereas men who expressed the same opinion with anger were perceived as more convincing (Salerno et al. 2016).

Women are not the only group to face discrimination as a result of their acculturated vocal habits. African American Vernacular English (AAVE), spoken by many Black people, is distinguished from so-called “Standard English” (spoken primarily by white people), and is given second-class status in the popular imagination. Standard English (SE) is “valued by the general public as being more logical, more precise, and even more beautiful than other varieties,” whereas “other, nonstandard varieties are stigmatized as corrupted forms of the standard and [in most jurisdictions] kept out of the classroom” (Siegel 1999: 701). (There are some exceptions, such as the Oakland Ebonics Resolution of 1996, which mandated instruction in AAVE for native vernacular speakers; but this policy was extremely controversial and met strong resistance [CNN 1997]). Many researchers believe that preference for SE in the classroom partly explains the racial gap in average reading achievement scores (Gill 2013); AAVE speakers essentially face discrimination because their native language is not accepted as legitimate in institutional contexts, and they are forced to conform to the white vernacular standard. White children, by contrast, are not expected to do all schooling in a non-vernacular second language.

Indeed, prejudice against AAVE extends to virtually all American social institutions. Research on housing discrimination finds that applicants face discrimination even when they never meet the rental agent in person, when the applicants use AAVE or have a feminine voice on the phone; Black women were found to face the greatest discrimination (Massey & Lundy 2001). Another study finds that both Black and white managers discriminate against job applicants who use AAVE, or SE with some elements of AAVE, in phone interviews; they rated the Black applicants as being less intelligent, less ambitious, and less qualified (Henderson 2001). It is likely that Black and white managers showed similar levels of implicit racial bias (IRB) because IRB is acculturated in everyone, though white people demonstrate higher IRB on implicit association tests (Project Implicit), particularly those who live in southern and eastern states, since IRB is geographically concentrated (Mooney 2014). Bias against AAVE may also, according to linguist John Rickford, give rise to systematically racist judicial norms, as evidenced in the acquittal of George Zimmerman in the fatal shooting of Trayvon Martin (Rigogliosi 2014).

 Trans people also face discrimination on the basis of their vocal quality. Trans folks may may or may not have gender-normative voices, but in either case, they face high rates of discrimination on the basis of vocal style. If they have non-normative vocal qualities (e.g., speaking frequency, resonance, pitch, breathiness), they face characteristic transphobic discrimination, such as refusal of medical care, housing, goods and services, workplace discrimination, and high incidences of violence (Whittle et al. 2007). If they have normative feminine voices, they face the kinds of discrimination characteristically experienced by feminine women. Those with normative masculine voices are most likely to escape voice-based discrimination, but this still leaves a majority of the trans population open to unfair treatment on the basis of their communicative habits.

Because communicative habits are largely gendered, sexed, and raced in our culture, and the characteristic communicative practices of CWMs are perceived as the normative ideal in most contexts, all other social groups face relative discrimination on the basis of their characteristic speech habits. Speakers of African American Vernacular English receive lower academic scores, are perceived as less intelligent, ambitious, and qualified for jobs, and are seen as less worthy of housing, amongst other indignities; women are perceived as less attractive, competent, and trustworthy than male speakers, and are interrupted and silenced more often, indicating that their speech is less valued and less believed; trans people face discrimination in housing, healthcare, employment, and so on. These group-level inequalities suggest that we see CWMs, on balance, as more responsible than other groups across a variety of key dimensions: as renters, homeowner, medical patients, employees, students, academics, coworkers, and knowers, or communicators of valuable information (see Fricker 2007). We see this group as presumptively responsible in these respects, and are reluctant to blame, distrust, or sanction them.

Hence, our responsibility practice is tipped in favour of speakers whose lexical habits, vocal register, and diction is stereotypically cisgender, white, and male.

5. Non-verbal communication & the body

Conversation can take place on the phone or a voice chat app, but it often occurs in person. This makes room for habits of non-verbal communication and physical appearance to play a role in speaker perception.

Feminist philosophers have analyzed how women’s physical embodiment is inscribed by patriarchy, in such a way that women’s bodies, on average, are smaller than men’s, and take up less space (Beauvoir 1964); women’s gender-normative clothing, including dresses, fitted clothing, long hair, and high-heel shoes, are more constraining, and women’s normative body language is confined, tentative, and uncertain (Young 1990: 145-147). Women do not “manspread,” or extend their bodies in space, to the same extend as cisgender men. Fat women are perceived as “unruly” and “problematic,” because they do not conform to the ideal of femininity: small, delicate, and “disciplined” (Gay 2017). Weakness, childishness, and vulnerability are sexualized in women but not in men (Wade 2013).

Women who violate the norms of feminine embodiment – who take up physical space – are punished. Weight-based discrimination affects people’s employment prospects, educational experiences, romantic relationships, health care accessibility, and mental health treatment, but it disproportionally harms women (Fikkan & Rothblum 2012). For example, men report significantly less desire to work with a fat woman, but show no similar bias against working with a fat man (Jasper & Klassen 1990). Anecdotally, it appears that women who “manspread” attract more stares and glares, whereas men who do the same are seen as more attractive (Petter 2017). Women who wear high heels (Gueguen 2016) and have long hair (Mesco & Beresczkei 2013) are more sexualized by straight men.

This suggests that women who violate feminine norms of non-verbal communication and physical embodiment are perceived as being less responsible across several key domains, including; as homeowners, tenants, employees, and coworkers. They also are seen as less eligible sexual partners, meaning that they are punished or sanctioned as sexual agents. While this population may not be explicitly criticized for defying binary gender norms, they are, in effect, treated with distrust and antipathy in relevant domains.

In addition, people with gender-nonconforming mannerisms – such as men with feminine body language and bodily comportment, or women with masculine features – are liable to similar kinds of discrimination, viz., in housing, employment, and relationship opportunities. They face similar distrust and antipathy in central aspects of their lives.

6. Relational equality

I have argued that the role of empathy, lexical preferences, and physical embodiment in our responsibility practice – defined as an interrelated network of conversational exchanges – biases this practice in favour of CWMs and against other social groups, at least, in contexts in which relevant stereotypes are salient. (For example, women are disfavored in leadership roles, but not in caretaking roles, since women are perceived as “natural caretakers”). These inequalities create biased responsibility attributions across key institutional domains (medicine, the law, education), as well as our interpersonal relationships.

How can we rectify these distorting biases? Clearly, we cannot treat our responsibility practice as independent of our broader context of institutional and social interactions, since it is a constitutive part of this human “ecosystem,” and cannot, in practice, be dissociated from it, or analyzed in isolation without remainder. The biases that affect broader social systems necessarily affect responsibility as a part of that network. Attempts to isolate constitutive features of responsibility, without taking into account this broader picture, may be illuminating in their own right, but they are necessarily incomplete.

There are various proposals for how to address inequalities and biases, some of which I have discussed elsewhere, but addressing these questions is beyond the scope of the present analysis. Instead, I will make some closing statements about the relation of responsibility to equality.

While philosophers have devoted much time and attention to analyzing the nature of excusing and exempting conditions and the psychology of blame and praise, they only recently revived the idea that responsibility is for something, i.e., has a particular function in our shared social life. Functionalist proposals include that blame enhances moral agency (Vargas 2008), protests moral violations (Smith 2012), expresses certain moral values (Franklin 2012), and shields moral communities from harm (Bell 2012). These proposals are all prima facie compelling, but we might seek a unifying thread that ties them together. If I am right that inequality systematically distorts our perceptions and judgments of responsibility, then one of the central aims promoted by any moral conversationalist should be equality, or the reduction of bias. Hence, at least one of the functions of responsibility – perhaps the main function – should be to cultivate equality, in order for the practice of holding-responsible to be fair, equal, and mutually respectful. If this practice is not fair, then disenfranchised groups have no good reason to want to participate in it, and the “moral community” that Strawson envisioned is impossible. As things stand, many people are morally disenfranchised and have very little reason to trust others or expect responsibility attributions to be rational. Hence, enhancing equality is a primary goal for anyone interests in having a legitimate responsibility practice, as opposed to a weak facsimile in which blame and praise reinforce historical oppressions.

Moreover, enhancing equality helps to enhance other, higher-order goals, including: enhancing the moral agency of the group, protesting moral violations (insofar as they pertain to fairness, equality, and the dignity of persons), expressing a commitment to important moral values, and shielding the moral community from systemic injustice. So, enhancing equality enhances the aims touted by other functionalists. Indeed, this aim may be logically prior to the others, insofar as having a community in which trust and cooperation are expected and exchanged is prerequisite to realizing these other moral goals.

The importance of equality outside of financial transactions is defended by Elizabeth Anderson (2015), who promotes the value of relational equality, or equality of authority, esteem, and standing. Relational equality ensures justice on an institutional and interpersonal level. This view is distinguished from classic distributive theories of justice (e.g., Ralws), which focus narrowly on the fair distribution of financial resources, ignoring non-monetary values such as dignity and respect. These distributive theories, on scrutiny, are condescending and disrespectful to the socially disenfranchised and marginalized, who are viewed as, in effect, charity cases who need handouts from generous benefactors. Instead of seeing the vulnerable as pitiable and wretched, justice in the true sense requires that we see the least well-off as equal citizens, deserving of equal respect and standing with other citizens. This perspective on what we owe to others treats the historically disenfranchised with the dignity that they deserve as persons.

Notably, one of the social practices within the purview of relational equality is our responsibility practice, and this practice fails to treat historically disenfranchised groups with the respect that they deserve, due to the influence of hegemonic stereotypes. To achieve the ideal of relational equality, then, we need to rectify inequalities within our responsibility practice. But these two goals are co-implicated in a positive feedback loop, since achieving relational equality requires purging our responsibility practice of harmful biases, and eliminating biases from our responsibility practice requires relational equality. We must pursue these ends, then, at the same time. The thing to do is to be vigilant about cultural stereotypes and myths, and debunk them whenever possible, and as effectively as possible, as this will advance both ends simultaneously. In other words, to advance relational equality within our responsibility practice and elsewhere, we need to look beyond any individual context, to the role of cultural stereotypes in broader cultural narratives and public discourses. The project, then, is an extremely copious and interdisciplinary one, which requires cooperation and constant effort.

7. Concluding remarks



Responsibilities (moral, epistemic, practical), and why they matter (relational equality).


There are various kinds of responsibility identified in the philosophical literature. These include moral responsibility (e.g., Strawson, Wolf, Fischer), epistemic responsibility (e.g., Fricker, Medina), and responsibility as a kind of self-efficacy (e.g., Waller). It may not be obvious how these dimensions of responsibility intersect, but they are all tied to personhood, and to evaluative attitudes that respond to features of personhood and relevant background conditions. Without these capacities, an agent is lacking in some critical feature of personhood, something that rational humans value—either moral, epistemic, or practical agency; and people who lack these features without an excuse or extenuating circumstance are amenable to negative evaluative attitudes, whether moral blame, or epistemic censure, or practical criticism. People who excel in these capacities, particularly in the face of adversity, are praiseworthy, epistemically virtuous, or self-efficacious. They deserve laudatory treatment. These individuals, too, are capable of having functional relationships and achieving worthy goals, and for this reason, they are likely to enjoy more wellbeing than those who lack these valued features of personhood. These are people we want to invest in because they are reliable and responsive to facts.


These three capacities are interrelated in that they all function to bring about a positive achievement—a positive goal or outcome; and a deficit in any one facet could undermine the attainment of this goal or outcome, as well as the cultivation of the other facets. If Jeff the Jerk is antisocial, he may also be sexist, because in a patriarchal society it is easier to be selectively antisocial to vulnerable groups like women, and to harass and discriminate against those groups. If Jeff is epistemically insensitive to women’s credibility, he is not only epistemically flawed, but also morally flawed (sexist, arrogant). If Jeff is a CEO who wants to run his company effectively, but he discounts feedback from women due to epistemic insensitivity or sexism, he is going to discount valuable perspectives in corporate decision-making, undermining his own pragmatic goals as CEO (see Sandra Hardin 2015). While a person can be good but epistemically flawed, like Huck Finn (see Arpaly 2016), epistemic sensitivity makes moral sensitivity more likely and more robust. If Huck Finn had rebuked slavery (instead of thinking it was justified), he would have been more likely to act appropriately in response to all African Americans, regardless of acquaintance. He helped his friend Jim, but how would he have responded to other enslaved persons, with whom he had no prior acquaintance? Epistemic sensitivity seems to reinforce moral virtue, and vice versa. People who care about morality are more likely to care about how epistemic deficits harm oppressed groups, and how their own epistemic deficits can be remediated (e.g., by education, exposure to countersterotypical exemplars, the adoption of evidence-based policies) in an effective way. And ignorant people are likely to be unethical in how they treat stigmatized groups. Moreover, morally and epistemically irresponsible people will be poor at achieving their goals, if they discount evidence, refuse help, or distrust people, on prejudiced grounds. Clearly, those with volitional deficits will be poor at initiating and executing morally and epistemically responsible plans, as they will be weak at executing any actions at all. In this way, the ‘responsibilities’ are deeply intertwined.


The upshot is that people who are strong in one facet of responsibility are likely to be strong in all facets, and a deficit in one is likely to impair the others. This is something akin to Socrates’ ‘unity of the virtues thesis,’ but applied to dimensions of responsibility; yet it is a weaker thesis, because it only claims that each dimension makes the others more robust, or more resilient across different circumstances, not that each dimension is a necessary prerequisite for the others. One might be morally responsible in one domain without the help of epistemic or pragmatic responsibility, but in an unfamiliar situation, epistemic sensitivity to the demands of the situation, and the exertion of willpower the integration of this knowledge, will be critical.


Thus, while each aspect of responsibility can be disambiguated and individuated on the basis of its object, or the thing it tracks (moral, epistemic, or practical facts), these capacities appear to be implicated in a positive feedback loop in which each dimension positively reinforces the others.


Responsibility across all dimensions is also vulnerable to the same undermining or defeating factors. These factors can be congenital, but more often than not they are environmental, and environmental factors always mediate the expression of overt behaviour. To give an example: there is mounting evidence that adverse childhood experiences (ACEs), such as emotional, physical, and sexual abuse, intimate partner violence, and poverty, can be aversive to responsibility across all three dimensions. People high in ACEs (i) are more likely to commit violent criminal offenses like rape and assault as adults (Craparo 2017); (ii) are less capable of participating in epistemically valuable trust relationships (Ijzendoorn et al. 2011), and (iii) are more susceptible to depressive disorders (Chapman et al. 2004), alcoholism (Rothman et al. 2008), attempted suicide (Dube et al. 2001), and other behaviours that impair self-efficacy and practical achievement. These dysfunctions undermine the achievement of moral, epistemic, and pragmatic goals, and in this sense can be seen as deficits in responsibility. Identifying these factors helps us predict and diagnose responsibility-relevant dysfunctions in relevant populations. These populations are also prone to adverse health outcomes like ischemic heart disease, cancer, and chronic lung disease (Felitti 1998). There are positive correlations, in other words, between ACEs and responsibility deficits, and between ACEs and poor health outcomes.


Responsibility may be a mediating psychometric factor between childhood conditions and certain life outcomes, just as self-efficacy is a mediating psychometric factor between situational adversity and avolition on social cognition theory (Bandura 2006). Unsurprisingly, people low in responsibility due to adverse experiences tend to be less healthy, and potentially less satisfied, than people high in responsibility. But more importantly for out purposes, responsibility mediates our interpersonal interactions and influences how we respond to others—whether with kindness or antisociality, with trust or distrust, with avolition or engagement. Hence, responsible agency enables us to maintain and promote relations of equality.


Further, responsibility on a social cognition model is a biopsychosocial capacity, sensitive to situational factors. Thus, while it can be impaired by ACEs, it can also be remediated by trauma-informed interventions, such as CBT, heathy relationships, community support, affordable housing, and so on. These interventions can enhance responsibility, and thus relational competency.


But people with functional childhoods and privileged lives can also have significant responsibility deficits. For example, many privileged white people with no history of trauma are high in implicit bias, and implicit bias can motivate prejudiced behaviour. This behaviour is unethical, and it can also have adverse epistemic consequences, such as prompting the hiring of unqualified white candidates (see Bertran & Mullainathan 2013), as well as adverse pragmatic consequences, such as undermining corporate decision-making. (This is not to say that all privileged white people are high in implicit bias, but white people show higher implicit racial bias than others on the Project Implicit IAT, and benefit from racial bias as a group). Moreover, many privileged people also have explicit biases, whether due to ill will or indifference to the interests of disadvantaged groups. These biases similarly cause or constitute moral, epistemic, and pragmatic deficits, undermining the attainment of relevant goals. Unlike the role of ACEs, however, ill will and indifference are not public health concerns that call for rehabilitative efforts.


Deciding how to respond to responsibility deficits is not a straightforward matter, particularly as there are two oppositional approaches recommended by research on agency and public health. We can blame someone for a responsibility deficit, or we can offer a remediating intervention. While in principle we can do both, there are (contingent) tensions between the blaming response and the remediating response. If someone is in treatment for an addiction, it may be counterproductive to blame the person for his addictive impulses or past alcohol-induced behaviour, if blame would undermine the person’s recovery. Blame may also miss the mark if the person’s deficits are due to oppressive circumstances such as ACEs. We would not blame someone for failing an academic test because the person was barred from attending school, and by parity of reasoning, we should not blame someone for lacking responsibility due only to childhood trauma. ACEs are a particularly salient example, as children have little autonomy or volitional control, so their psychological development is largely up to circumstances. For traumatized and oppressed people, a rehabilitative approach may be more felicitous.


Privileged people who lack responsibility due to their own life choices are better candidates for blame, as they may not want to be rehabilitated, and may not respond well to rehabilitative interventions. Criticism and exclusion are perhaps the best approach to people who are willfully ignorant.


These claims are impressionist, but they highlight significant correlations. However, they still do not provide a systematic method for attributing blame and praise. I propose the following framework, which fits with my impressions: blame and praise should serve the purpose of enhancing relations of equality (see Elizabeth Anderson 2013), and thus, of undermining oppression. This provides a way of systematizing our impressions across cases. Victims of ACEs are victims of a type of oppression—traumatic experiences and/or poverty—and to blame them, instead of their oppressors, may serve to reinforce systemic injustice, particularly if this is part of a broader victim-blaming narrative. Offering rehabilitative interventions, by contrast, may enhance the recipient’s ability to participate fully in relations of equal standing, esteem, and authority with others, by enhancing the person’s responsibility. Privileged people who lack responsibility, on the contrary, have more than their fair share of status and respect, and are not obviously sensitive to rehabilitative interventions, so blame may be the more fitting response. Further, this response may serve to rebuke their role in hierarchies of oppression and alert others to their motivational deficits, contributing to an egalitarian social narrative and protecting potential victims. The role of praise and blame in these cases supports egalitarian aims.


These claims are still rather impressionistic, and require empirical support to be validated. If praise and blame, as I claim, ought to serve relational equality, we need to know more about how these attitudes affect people in light of their motivational profile, learning history, and social circumstances. Then we can draw accurate generalizations or rules of thumb about what types of response are fitting for what type of case. That said, when we hold people responsible in our daily lives, we typically do so on the basis of incomplete data. So, impressionistic attributions might be okay, and even inevitable if we are acting under time constraints. That said, even if we cannot know everything about a person’s circumstances, we should at least be mindful of the purpose our reactive attitudes are meant to serve when deciding how to express them.


On my view, our reactive attitudes should enhance relational equality, and we should keep this in mind when deciding on policies for how to express these attitudes, and policies for how to cultivate or socially engineer responsibility through remediating interventions, as well as which approach (punitive or rehabilitative or both) is preferable based on the particularities of the case.


In sum, responsibilities are valuable because they enable us to participate in relations of equality; that is, responsible people are in a position to contribute to a society of equals, one in which people respect each other’s moral and epistemic standing, and take the initiative to pursue and protect egalitarian goals. Responsible people do not unfairly oppress others, or undermine their own agential capacities by pursuing irresponsible and counterproductive agendas. Responsibility is also valuable because it can improve health outcomes, if it enables us to respond to situations and relationships in an adaptive way, but positive health outcomes are a happy byproduct of responsibility, not its telos.

Charlottesville and the responsibilities of political actors: A resistance model of responsibility

Written as an ally.

The Charlottesville white supremacy rally

trump comment charlottesville.jpg

In response to the white supremacy rally in Charlottesville yesterday, Donald Trump stated that he condemned the “hatred, bigotry, and violence on many sides” – which is just the kind of tepid and dithering statement that we’ve come to expect from the President. This is the same man who received the endorsement of former KKK leader David Duke during his campaign, and, rather than reject the endorsement outright, prevaricated and pretended ignorance, stating that he “would have to look at the group… I mean, I don’t know what group you’re talking about.” Duke participated in the Charlottesville rally, and publicly reaffirmed his support for Trump.

Later, Trump rebuked the white supremacists in a press conference, but it was 48 hours after the event, in an apparently prepared statement, written by someone else. Not 24 hours later, he re-affirmed his original claim that there was wrongdoing “on both sides.”



In contrast, the mayor of Charlottesville, Michael Signer, immediately rebuked the white supremacists to the press, and held Trump partly responsible, saying, “I’m not going to make any bones about it. I place the blame for a lot of what you’re seeing in America today right at the doorstep of the White House and the people around the President.” Later, Signer said that Trump has emboldened white supremacists to rally and commit violence in his town, pointing to “the campaign he ran” as evidence of culpability.

Signer is not the only one to assert that Trump is responsible for inflaming racism and emboldening racists to commit violent acts, increasing the level of overt racism in America. In fact, this claim seems relatively uncontroversial. (This is not to say that there is quantitatively more racism than before, but that racism is becoming more explicit and, hence, more violent). This claim has interesting implications for theories of responsibility that treat blame and praise as responsibility attributions, expressive acts, or ‘reactive attitudes’ (Strawson 1963).

In this entry, I’ll explore the ability of competing theories of responsibility to make sense of Signer’s claim that Trump is responsible for the rally in Chalottesville. I’ll suggest that a resistance model of responsibility, akin to the resistance model of epistemology, better captures how activists hold political actors and public figures responsible for wrongdoing. Blame and praise, on this model, function to promote relations of equality, which in turn allow us to hold one another responsible in a fair and proportional manner.

The alternative theories that I will consider are (what I will call) control theory, character theory, agency-enhancement theory, group agency theory, and finally, my preferred theory of resistance.

Four theories & a proposal

Very early in this blog, I distinguished between two classic theories of responsibility: one that ties responsibility attributions to control, and another that ties responsibility attributions to character. On the control view, people are only responsible for choices that are under their control, or traceable to past instances of voluntary choice, while on the character view, people are responsible for actions that express their deep-seated character traits, regardless of whether or not they have control over those traits. Many philosophers hold views that approximate to one or the other of these descriptions, which resemble the ‘accountability view’ and ‘attributability view’ as described by Watson (1996).

There is also a third prominent view, on which responsibility attributions function to enhance the target agent’s reasons-responsiveness, and are justified insofar as they serve this purpose. This view is consequentialist, whereas the previous two are typically construed as desert-based.

In contrast to these direct, face-to-face models of responsibility, in which praise and blame are addressed directly to the target agent (at least, in the paradigm case), there are group theories of responsibility, which hold individuals responsible for the collective actions of the group. One prominent example is List and Pettit’s theory of corporate agency.

I will argue that none of these theories succeeds in underwriting the claim that Trump bears responsibility, in a substantive sense, for the rally in Charlottesville. More broadly, these theories are not capable of underwriting our shared practices of holding public figures (publicly) responsible for their normatively significant choices – shared practices that we engage in regularly, and that make substantive democracy possible. I urge that we move to a resistance model of responsibility, on which praise and blame serve to foster a shared sensitivity to moral facts and, correspondingly, a shared democratic sensibility.


The control view holds agents responsible if they are capable of exercising control over their choices, past and present, and capable of foreseeing the consequences of those choices.

At the present moment, Trump cannot, by his own choices, restore the country to the lower decibel of overt racist resentment that existed prior to his inauguration, simply because racist factions have taken on a life of their own, and cannot now be reined in by any single actor. (This speaks to the general inadequacy of ‘atomistic views,’ so-called by Vargas [2013], to which I will return shortly). So, Trump can’t control the effects of his actions.

It is also unlikely that Trump could have foreseen these effects, even in coarse-grained detail, since he could not even have foreseen his election win based on prior poll results, much less the multitude of consequences that followed, down to the (very specific) rally in Charlottesville. There is also a substantive question as to his reflective capabilities, which many commentators have remarked on, and this casts doubt on his ability to project realistic future scenarios and make viable plans. If he cannot do these things, then he cannot be responsible for subjectively unpredictable eventualities like racist rallies. But even a more reflectively capable person could not have foreseen an event as specific as the Charlottesville rally, nor the incident of  domestic terrorism that took place there.

Notably, the influential control theorist J.M. Fischer (2012) has debated M. Vargas (2005) on the degree of foresight needed to be responsible for an action outcome. The two philosophers question whether a hypothetical jerk named Jeff could have foreseen his gradual descent into jerkdom, evolving from a relatively benign teenager into a hostile middle manager. Vargas argues that even medium-grained foreseeability is too much to expect of human beings, who have extremely limited epistemic capacities – which is not to mention that we are highly susceptible to cognitive biases that undermine our forecasting abilities, such as affective ignorance (see Haybron 2008), planning fallacy, and self-serving bias. These biases can lead us to misjudge how things will go for us and how we’ll adapt to different situations. Another confounding factor in predictive reasoning is the possibility of transformative experiences, which L.A. Paul describes as character-changing but difficult to anticipate and impossible to forecast in full (2015). A transformative experience could turn someone from a saint into a jerk and vice versa quite expectedly.

At the end of the day, we can’t know for sure whether someone like Jeff the jerk was capable of foreseeing his jerky future self, since we can’t see into his mind; but I think that Vargas’ argument wasn’t meant to solve this problem, so much as to call into question the utility of a metric that requires this high a degree of second-person access to another’s subjective states. We blame and praise people every day without knowing much about them – especially public figures, whose lives are a mystery besides their curated online profile.

Trump seems to be a lot like Jeff, except that he became president. Could Trump have foreseen that he would become, not only POTUS, but a POTUS who fuels explicit racism and violence against historically disenfranchised groups, eventuating in a white supremacy rally and an act of domestic terrorism in Charlottesville? It would be difficult for anyone to predict this outcome, since it depends on the sympathetic cooperation of many other people, some of whom typically operate under a low profile. Surely it doesn’t require a comprehensive sociological analysis to determine whether a public figure is responsible for collective harms, perpetuated by his supporters and committed in his name. Trump in particular seems incapable of this degree of analytical rigour, but this has not prevented people from blaming him for his negative influence on the political climate.

Trump is an interesting case study because, as president, he has such a wide sphere of influence. The paradigm case of responsibility attribution – particularly in Strawsonian accounts, but also more generally – is a dyadic interpersonal exchange between two people: A harms B and B blames A if A has the requisite capacities or traits. In the Jeff scenario, Jeff directly harms his employees, who are in a position to hold him directly accountable. (They might hold him accountable through an intermediary such as the HR department, but this is still just one remove from a direct dyadic relation). If Signer is right that Trump has emboldened white supremacists to commit harassment and violence, then he has provoked a set of negative effects indirectly, through the sympathetic choices of many intermediary agents, and he has harmed entire social groups, also indirectly via intermediaries. This marks a significant departure from the paradigm dyadic scenario. When someone’s sphere of influence is this wide, it becomes much harder to envision the likely consequences of the person’s choices in any grain of detail, since the effects of the person’s choices depend on the uptake or sympathetic response from the community, and it is difficult to anticipate this scale of collective activity.

These complications make it difficult to assess a political actor’s responsibility in terms of control.


Character theory holds an agent responsible for his* character traits or moral personality.  On this view, it doesn’t matter if Trump could have foreseen the consequences of his actions – he’s responsible for his ingrained virtues and vices.

This view might support the contention that Trump is partly to blame for the rally in Charlottesville, but only if we trace those events to Trump’s character flaws. A similar problem arises here, since Trump did not directly cause or expressly endorse the Charlottesville rally, he merely incited sympathetic actors to express bigotry according to their own values and means. But if Trump in fact emboldened them to act more overtly than they otherwise would have, there is at least a relation of counterfactual dependence  between his choices as president and the choices of sympathetic white supremacists. This counterfactual relation could, theoretically, ground a blaming response that links Trump’s character to the Charlottesville rally.

There are salient weaknesses to this analysis, however. Perhaps the main one is the indirectness of the relation between Trump and the actions of the white supremacists. Since Trump didn’t explicitly endorse the rally, he doesn’t seem to have the (robust) character traits required to be deemed responsible in characterological terms, except in the most indirect and diluted sense. Once again, it’s hard to say for sure, since most philosophical examples deal with direct causal chains between character traits and consequences, such as helping your friend out of fellow-feeling (Arpaly 2014) or forgetting your pet in the backseat of a hot car due to lack of appropriate consideration (Sher 2010). In these well-trodden examples, the agent’s character is embodied and expressed in her own physical form. It is not clear that we can hold someone attributability-responsible for character traits expressed and enacted, not through the primary agent’s embodied actions, but through a chain of actors acting in sympathy with him, or in a spirit of cooperation and rapport with him. In the multi-actor case, the causal link is extended and ramified indefinitely in social space, and can take unpredictable twists and turns, depending on the composition of the chain. It is not clear how to evaluate these cases of sympathetic action on the basis of either the choices, or the character traits, of the principal actor – the one who sets in motion the chain of action.


Manuel Vargas provides a third perspective (2013). He says that responsibility attributions are appropriate insofar as they enhance the recipient’s agency through the exercise of his rational faculties. (One cannot simply cajole or coerce the person – these manoeuvres are not constitutive of responsibility-holding per se). On this model, we should hold Trump responsible only if doing so is likely to positively influence his behaviour. Since Trump seems fairly non-responsive to criticism in general, blame is generally inappropriate. Moreover, since normal people don’t have a direct relationship with the President, we can’t influence him directly; we can only publish, tweet, blog, etc., favourable or unfavourable comments about him, which he probably won’t read and wouldn’t take seriously anyways. But then, what are doing when we express these attitudes? We might be engaging in editorializing practices or political resistance, but this doesn’t count as ‘holding responsible’ in Vargas’ sense: it is external to the ‘responsibility system’ within which we address each other as rational peers.

Strawson holds a similar view on which the reactive attitudes must be addressed directly to the primary actor – otherwise these acts are external to the ‘participatory stance’ in which we address one other as rational agents. Indirect criticisms may serve the purpose of excluding, treating, or managing the object of censure, but not of holding that person responsible. These indirect expressive practices putatively help to consolidate the moral community and banish outsiders, so they serve an important regulatory function, but it is not a function that ‘responsiblizes’ ingroup members – rather, it keeps out bad apples.

In ore specific terms, Strawson says that we should take ‘the objective attitude’ toward a non-responsive person, as a way of excluding the person from our social sphere. One can see how the is attitude would serve an effective regulatory function in intimate social circles, since ingroup members would be encouraged to cooperate and respect one other, while excluded individuals would be outcast and ‘quarantined,’ so to speak. I can expel someone from my social group and never see her again. But the objective attitude doesn’t work this way when addressed to public figures whose choices affect everyone’s lives through expansive institutional channels, whether we like it or not. The objective attitude, by definition, excludes blaming attitudes, which are reserved for peers. But excluding and isolating political actors is useless, since there is no direct interpersonal relationship linking the offended individual or social group to the offensive political actor.

This raises the question: what pragmatic function can silence and ostracism serve in a society in which political actors are untouchable, and silence has enabled generations of racial oppression and white privilege? At a vigil for the Charlottesville victims last night, a participant held up a sign saying, “white silence = violence.” Many participants also denounced Trump’s tepid response and inaction. In other words, vigil-holders blamed Trump and his cabinet, even though they were not present. Activists rejected silence as a form of complicity in racial injustice. The rationality of taking the objective stance is called into question when social exclusion is impossible, and withholding judgment amounts to complicity.

It is worth mentioning that this critique also speaks against responsibility nihilism, the view that we should do away with praise and blame altogether. Activists demand that we ‘speak justice to power’ rather than remaining silent and allowing the status quo to roll forward.

Group Agency

It might be useful to look at Trump, and other political actors, through the lens of group agency.

List and Pettit influentially describe a group agent as a collection of intentional agents who (1) intend to collectively perform a given goal, (2) intend to do their part to achieve that goal, (3) believe that others share the same group intention, and (3) each believe that the first three conditions are met. In a very loose sense, a nation state could satisfy these conditions, inasmuch as citizens are (ideally) working together toward democratic goals held in common and intend to foster those goals. Like corporations (paradigmatic group agents), nations are hierarchically structured and stratified; but in nations, this is a serious problem, since established hierarchies are colonialist and patriarchal, not desert-based, rational, or conducive to democratic ideals. As a result, nations barely quality as group agents (if at all), since socially privileged groups are actively undermining the common good and subverting the rational grounds for cooperation. This was evidenced in Charlottesville, where white supremacists rallied to preserve the unearned historical privileges to which they were never entitled – privileges that fundamentally undermine the functioning of democratic institutions and the cultivation of a shared democratic sensibility. Nonetheless, the U.S. officially (on paper) aspires to be a group agent in which all citizens are equal and committed to justice, even if the reality is a far cry from the ideal.

Trump’s cabinet might be a better candidate for group agency, since it is more coherent, coordinated, and interdependent. The pertinent question concerns how responsibility should be allocated to Trump and other members of his cabinet, seen as a group agent.

 On List and Pettit’s view, group agents can be held responsible for their actions, and members of those groups can bear different kinds of responsibility depending on their role in the group. ‘Designers’ are responsible for laying down the group’s operating procedures, ‘members’ are responsible for performing their designated role within the group, and ‘enactors’ are responsible for what they do in the group’s name. Even if particular members have no control over the actions of the group as a whole (e.g., actions taken by the administration), they bear responsibility for those actions by sheer affiliation (List & Pettit 2011, p. 164). One of the reasons for loosening the constraint of individual-level control for members of a group agent (compared to individuals) is that attributions of corporate responsibility, according to List and Pettit, serve a partly ‘responsiblizing’ function: even if “it may not be strictly appropriate to hold [the group responsible, since some of the conditions necessary for fitness for responsibility are missing… holding it responsible may actually prompt the grouping to incorporate and organize against the condemned behaviour” (p. 169). That is, we do not restrict blame to principal members of group agents (like administrators, managers, and boards of directors), since holding the entire collective responsible, even when individual-level control is lacking, incites members to enforce codes of conduct within the organization. The posited ‘responsibilizing’ function of corporate responsibility is similar to the agency-enhancing rationale of Vargas’ model, except that corporate responsibility can influence principal agents via ancillary group members, whereas responsibility in Vargas’ sense must target the principal agent directly.

If the U.S. is seen as a (barely cohesive) group agent, then every citizen is responsible for the current state of racial injustice and specific incidents like the Charlottesville rally. But this analysis doesn’t make much sense, since many citizens are engaging in active resistance, including the counter-protestors in Charlottesville. Blame should be restricted to racist groups and their sympathizers instead of blanketing the population indiscriminately.

Instead, Trump’s cabinet might be held responsible, as a group agent, for failing to intervene adequately to combat racial oppression, inciting racist demonstrations. In his role as president, Trump may be especially blameworthy for the collective choices of his cabinet, while each cabinet members is responsible for his or her contribution. These layers of responsibility (leader versus member) do not dilute or cancel our one another, but are, according to List and Pettit, compatible and non-interfering. This is justified by the responsibilizing function of corporate responsibility.

This analysis expands the scope of Trump’s responsibility, since he can be held responsible for the actions of his cabinet (including, for example, Steven Bannon, his appointed White House Chief Strategist and former Executive Chair of Breitbart News). But it does not seem to license us to hold him responsible for the Charlottesville rallies, any more so than the dyadic paradigm. The limit of Trump’s responsibility is demarcated by the limits of the coordinated groups to which he belongs on group agency theory. Even if Trump’s choices incite full-fledged group agents (like white supremacist organizations) to express and enact overt racism, he is not an inclusive member of those groups, so he cannot be held responsible for their actions in corporate-responsibilty terms. This is not to say that holding him responsible would not have a ‘responsibilizing’ effect on him as an individual, but this is outside of the scope of List and Pettit’s model, which confines the responsibilizing function of corporate responsibility attributions to group agents.

It might be worth looking at responsibility from a political perspective, taking as a starting point the role of the individual as political agent embedded in structures of oppression.

The resistance view


Epistemic responsibility plays an important role in theories of epistemic justice, which take social injustice as the starting point for theorizing about the production of knowledge. Social epistemologists also write about moral responsibility, typically as a metric different from, but connected with, epistemic responsibility. Moral reasons-responsiveness requires, but outstrips, sensitivity to epistemic factors (i.e., epidemic responsibility). In particular, epistemic responsibility requires sensitivity to a person’s epistemic qualities, and awareness of stereotypes that interfere with this sensitivity, while moral responsibility requires sensitivity to a person’s moral qualities (goodness, badness), and awareness of factors that confound moral sensitivity. But these capacities are interrelated. If we distrust someone of the basis of her demographic attributes, we are likely to perceive the person as less innocent, and to respond irrationally to her moral testimony. This undermines Strawson’s ideal of a moral community in which moral agents treat each other as rational peers, as well as the possibility of relational equality.

More straightforwardly, if we are insensitive to a person’s epistemic status due to implicit racial bias, we are, by the same token, racist, and racism is a moral failing, not just an epistemic failing. Deficits in epistemic responsibility are therefore deficits in moral responsibility. Deficits in both capacities undermine the possibility of substantive equality.

Theorists like Jose Medina (2015) are aware of these links between political, epistemic, and moral responsibility, and treat these aspects of agency as deeply interrelated and interdependent. On Medina’s view, political, epistemic, and moral agency are all implicated in the capacity for ‘democratic sensibility,’ which makes a functioning substantive (not merely procedural) democracy possible. The telos of this triad of capacities – or at least a central telos – is a shared democratize sensibility –  a suite of traits that enables people to achieve relational equality, in Elizabeth Anderson’s sense (2016). Relational equality is not just procedural democracy, but an ideal of democracy characterized by equality of standing, esteem, and authority. The triad of agential capacities overlap and intersect in democratic agents, creating the human potential for relational equality.

Epistemic and moral responsibility are capacities that enable agents to respond to epistemic and moral reasons, respectively, in a way that enhances democratic participation and relational equality. These sensitivities enable us to cooperatively pursue democratic ends.

Of course, moral responsibility serves more than these democratic ends, but democratic ends are central. It is hard to know how to act morally responsibly outside of a sphere of democratic relations in which citizens respect each other’s agency. Moreover, it is impossible to hold one another responsible in a fair and rational manner outside of relations of substantive equality. So relational equality and moral responsibility are interdependent. They interact in a positive feedback loop in which each value enhances the other.

On Medina’s view, fostering a shared democratic sensibility requires that we give people the credit they deserve – that is, that we respond sensitively to their epistemic characteristics, practising epistemic responsibility. Only this will allow us to participate in the communicative engagements that underwrite substantive democracy. But if moral responsibility is also required for substantive democracy, then we must also respond sensitively to people’s moral characteristics, cultivating moral responsibility. Medina does not address this capacity at length, but it’s not hard to see why moral responsibility is required for relational equality. In the U.S. (and elsewhere), Black children are seen as older and guiltier than white children. Personifying this bias, the President recently dismissed his son’s (possibly treasonous) meeting with Russian officials by referring to Trump Jr. as a “good kid” and a “good boy,” exemplifying the discrepancy between society’s treatment of white versus Black children. This discrepancy continues into adulthood, with African Americans being incarcerated at nearly five times the rate of white people, and at least ten times the rate in five states. These are just two examples; one could fill encyclopedias with statistics about racism in America. These examples show that our shared practice of holding one another responsible is undermined by racial injustice, which similarly undermines the potential for relations of equal standing, esteem, and authority. That is, racial bias corrupts our responsibility system and our democracy.

In this climate, no one is as morally responsible, or as democratically fit, as they should be.

Medina’s response to this problem is an “epistemology of resistance,” which aims to foster a shared democratic sensibility by focusing on dissensus rather than consensus. Historically, the principles of a just society were thought to derive from a rational process that fosters consensus –  a process epitomized in Rawls’ ‘original position.’ Medina rejects the consensus approach on grounds that it is homogenous, non-interactive, and static. This model fails to take into account the changing realities of real people, and fails to make use of the diversity of epistemic positions available in the polis, instead forcing diverse perspectives into a homogenizing formula – a kind of ‘binding arbitration’ that favours the majority and marginalizes dissenting voices. Medina prefers a ‘resistance model’ that seeks out conflict and prioritizes marginalized perspectives, treating them as untapped sources of epistemic insight. Within this model, we do not treat all knowledge claims as equal – we give more space and attention to marginalized testimony.

In developing this approach, Medina shifts the focus of epistemic theorizing from Descartes’ atomistic model (‘armchair philosophy’), to the sphere of real-life interactions, in which knowledge is the result of concrete interpersonal interactions which can be knowledge-preserving or knowledge-undermining depending on whether epidemic currency is fairly distributed. Strawson similarly situates responsibility attributions in a shared social environment – a ‘moral community’ – but he says nothing about inequalities within this sphere. What would it mean to theorize moral responsibility against a backdrop of social injusitce? What would a ‘moral responsibility of resistance’ look like?

I’m going to try to imagine that theory here.

To begin, it would take social injustice as a focal point, and would concentrate on the unequal distribution of moral currency in our society – a distribution that gives white people presumptive higher moral standing, esteem, and authority than people of color, thwarting the prospect of relational equality. Moral responsibility would be conceived, at least in part, as a sensitivity to people’s moral qualities, as well as the systemic factors that undermine our sensitivity to these qualities, such as racial injustice, sexism, homophobia, etc. Within this system, blame and praise would function to resist oppression and restore substantive equality. That is, the reactive attitudes would serve to alert people to their unchecked white privilege, insensitivity to racial injustice, and role in systems and processes that oppress disenfranchised groups. These attitudes would target those who incite racism and embolden racists to act unjustly and oppressively on their behalf.


This contextualized, historicized, and politicized notion of moral responsibility is particularly adept at holding political actors responsible for the indirect and mediating effects of their choices and actions. It allows us to blame unfit leaders for their role in tainting the public discourse with their toxic beliefs, attitudes, and values, and does not require us to diagnose their cognitive states in precise terms or undertake complex sociological prognoses. It redirects our attention from the individual’s embodied self to the person’s relation to to the group and role in fostering or poisoning relational equality and substantive democracy. It enjoins us to hold people responsible for advancing or undermining these democratic, moral, and epistemic ideals. Notably, his model of responsibility cuts across the competing model of responsibility, inasmuch as it doesn’t confine responsibility attributions to control or character or the limits of a corporate organization, though it may take these dimensions into account when formulation a specific expression of praise or blame (e.g., we might blame someone for not exercising due control). But resistance-based responsibility has a fundamentally ‘responsibilizing’ function, though it does not necessarily address the target agent directly; it can function to correct flaws in the public discourse or ‘social imaginary’ to promote relational equality.

On this view, it makes sense to hold Trump responsible for the events in Chalottesville, insofar as doing so plays a valuable remediating role in our social imaginary – specifically, it enhances relations of substantive equality, improving our prospects of becoming morally responsible as a group, and promoting substantive democracy.

Medina’s work is instructive in other ways. For one, he talks about the role of the social imaginary, or shared set of interpretive resources, in promoting or undermining shared knowledge. A flawed social imaginary, in which racism is promulgated and naturalized, undermines epistemic responsibility and the accumulation of knowledge. But what is the effect of a flawed social imaginary on moral responsibility? In brief, this state of affairs prevents us from exercising our capacity for moral responsibility in a responsible or adaptive way, i.e., a way that is sensitive to people’s moral and epistemic qualities. It prompts us to respond unfairly to people on the basis of their demographic attributes instead of their character. To foster moral responsibility, we need to correct imbalances in the responsibility system, meaning we need to combat systemic discrimination. This includes blame and praise people for their role in fostering or frustrating relations of equality.

Another interesting feature of Medina’s account is the notion of ‘chains of actors,’ which are not quite group agents, but are nonetheless ontologically and morally substantive entities (on my reading). Chains of actors are a precursor to group agents; they are often incipient or embryonic group agents, which are not yet cohesive and self-aware social collectives, but are on the path to coordinated activity. The civil rights movement, in the earliest stages, is a salient example. Chains of actors don’t satisfy the requirements of group agency, as they are not coordinate, interdependent, or aware of belonging to a coordinated group, but they are a critical developmental stage in the formation of a group agent. They are the process through which individuals mobilize into politically efficacious groups.

Notably, people can belong to chains of actors without having any substantive relationship or direct contact with one another. They only need epistemic and moral affinities. That is, to belong to a chain of actors, one only needs to share values and attitudes with a critical mass of others. These attitudes can be implicit or explicit, so long as they are expressed in overt behaviour. Hence, people who express racist values but deny being racist can still belong to a chain of actors. Because the inclusion criteria of chains is lower than that for group agents, it is easier to label ordinary citizens as members of chains. In fact, chains are a pervasive part of modern democracies, since they encompass the myriad subcultures and informal social groups in which we are immersed.

 Returning to the Charlottesville rally: while active participants in the rally may have qualified as group agents, a broader range of sympathetic actors who did not participate in the rally, but condoned it in spirit or shared sympathies with the participants, could be qualified as belonging to a chain of actors, including but not limited to the active participants. The limits of chains of actors are necessarily blurry, since it is hard to identify members of uncoordinated and dispersed collectives who may not even identify themselves as part of the chain – indeed, they may sincerely deny that there is any such chain, since many members of rape culture do (because they do not admit that rape is a pervasive problem).  However, enlightened third parties can sometimes identify members of chains on the basis of their isomorphic actions, which may expresses certain sympathies or affinities shared in common. As with group agents, members of chains bear responsibility not only for their own embodied actions, but also for the actions of the chain, since they are voluntary participants and constitutive elements of the collective. Their sympathy with the chain enables the chain to exist, thrive, and have an effect.

On this view, Trumps’ response to the rally, and general attitude toward racial injustice, situate him in a chain of actors that includes the rally participants. This makes Trump partly responsible for the rally even though he did not participate or explicitly endorse it.

Indirect blame and praise

On the view that I have proposed, reactive attitudes do not need to be addressed to the named agent, unlike the paradigmatic dyadic model. But why should I take this to be the case?

One reason is that social agents are capable of responding to mediated blame in diffuse contexts just as well as to direct blame in dyadic contexts. Thus, there is no principled reason to confine blame to the face-to-face paradigm. If I blame someone through an intermediary, I manage to express my reactive attitude to the person, albeit indirectly. In the digital age, mediated blaming responses are more ubiquitous than ever. In fact, social media arguably makes mediated blame the norm, i.e., the paradigm case. When we blame someone in person, we typically also blame the person in our social media interactions – by unfriending, restricting, blocking, or otherwise modifying the virtual relationship. Sometimes the first and definitive blaming response is virtual, as in the practice of ‘ghosting.’ In political contexts, virtual blame is the only option for ordinary citizens, since we never directly encounter most politicians, particularly at the federal level. Likewise for celebrities and public figures. But these people have the largest sphere of influence and the largest impact on the social imaginary. When Jennifer McCarthy promoted the idea that vaccines cause autism, many people decided not to vaccinate their children, and the rate of infectious diseases increased. Notably, Trump has also spread anti-vaccine rhetoric. This campaign hurts children and vulnerable groups the most. If blame is to serve the function of promoting relations of equality and respect, thereby enhancing collective responsibility, we ought to blame public figures for damaging statements by any means possible. In many cases, the only means is social media.

When we blame people in virtual reality, even if we do not expect our message to reach the intended target, we might reasonably expect our message to contribute to a chain of opposition, constituted by a multitude of sympathetic commentators or political activists. Even if the ordinary citizen’s individual voice is never heard, the formation of a collective with critical mass and visibility will most likely attract the attention of the media, who will echo the conversation in public platforms such as newspapers and television. In the modern age, blame is often a collective phenomenon, vocalized by chains of actors, and delivered via social media, the press, and sympathetic public figures.

Another reason to think that blame and praise do not need to be direct and unmediated is research on the psychological effects of the reactive attitudes. For example, there is evidence that praise positively affects not only the target, but also bystanders. Researchers reported that when teachers praised the top performers on a mid-term exam in front of the class, those who fell just short of the top scores improved on the next exam, compared to students who had not witnessed any public praising (2017). One of the researchers explains the results by conjecturing that “student performance is influenced not only by personal benefits, such as grades or passing an exam, but also by the existing performance norms,” which are expressed in the teacher’s praising attitude. The lesson is that praise motivates both the object of praise and bystanders who are in close reach of achieving the commended norm. Similarly, praising and blaming people in virtual space could motivate witnesses to approximate to the norm endorsed in the statement.

List and Pettit’s theory of corporate responsibility points to the potential responsibilizing function of collective responsibility attributions, which hold all member responsible even if they did not contributed equally, or at all, the the conglomerate’s operative decision. The rationale is that holding members responsible for the group incites them to take an active interest in the company’s ethical protocols, preventing a descent into corruption, akin to what happened in banks and Government Sponsored Enterprises during the subprime mortgage crash of 2007-2010. Holding people collectively responsible is supposed to prevent the diffusion of responsibility that afflicts many collectives, leading to internal corruption and moral anomie. The same thing can happen to governments if no one takes responsibility for the government’s collective decisions, or intercedes to prevent corrupt members from eroding democratic norms. At the moment, G.O.P. insiders like Paul Ryan and Mitch McConnell can be held responsible for enabling Trump’s anti-democratic behaviour – the Muslim ban, the racist proclamations, etc.

These considerations suggest that blame and praise do not need to be addressed directly to the object of the attitude to be psychologically efficacious – they have indirect and diffuse effects, motivating bystanders, witnesses, and group members to conform to endorsed norms.

Public shaming: collective blame gone wrong

The opposite of silence in the face of injustice is unjust or disproportionate public blaming, which can include ‘virtue signalling’ and ‘public shaming.’ ‘Virtue signalling’ refers to superficial or self-serving public expressions of blame, and ‘public shaming’ refers to collective acts of blame that are unfair, false, or disproportionate to the offence.

While judicious public blaming, which recruits chains of actors to disseminate the message and positively shape public discourse, serves to promote relational equality and shared moral responsibility, unfair and disproportionate public blaming does exactly the opposite – it promotes and retrenches injustice, and can seriously harm the target agent. While there are significant differences between blame and shame in psychological terms, the phrase ‘public shaming’ in popular discourse is used to denote a collective action or campaign aimed at holding someone responsible for a putative normative violation. This is what I mean by mediated or collective blaming, so, on my view, public shaming is a species of collective blaming.


In the digital age, blame can have serious negative consequences, both on individuals and on social institutions and practices. In ‘So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed’ (2015), Jon Ronson draws attention to the perils of public shaming campaigns, which can target innocent people or severely punish people for relatively benign transgressions. He traces the history of public shaming through the Middle Ages, when it was common for convicted criminals and ‘undesirables’ to be pilloried or hanged in the town square, to the digital age, when online shaming campaigns can result in people losing their jobs, reputations, and social standing. Ronson focuses on errant shaming campaigns, like the online shaming of a U.S. care worker who jokingly took a picture of herself yelling in front of a ‘silence and respect’ sign in a cemetery. The shaming response was, in Jonson’s view, greatly out of proportion. Although Jonson doesn’t develop a philosophical position, his point seems to be that social media enables a magnitude of resentment that is out of proportion to the offence, and this is unjust to the targeted individual, and can also distort our shared norms. If we outcast someone for a practical joke, we’ve seemingly lost the ability to discriminate between benign violations and core moral ones like assault.

Although Jonson is critical of public shaming in the book, he can’t possible mean that we should never publicly shame people. In fact, when questioned about the Twitter campaign devoted to outting people who participated in the white supremacy rally (@YesYourRacist), he approved of the campaign, saying, “They were undisguised in a massively contentious rally surrounded by the media..[there is] “a big difference between making a thoughtless or offensive comment online and marching in the name of white power.” Publicly shaming public figures and very heinous people (like Nazis) is, in his view, morally permissible. Evidently, he does not want to eliminate public shaming, but to caution people to exercise epistemic and moral sensitivity (in effect) in deciding whether to shame someone.

This view balances the need to hold public figures accountable, with the mandate that we not ruin ordinary people’s lives for relatively benign normative violations.

Of course, it can be difficult to anticipate whether a post on social media will gain support, so the safe bet might be to confine public censure to public figures, while holding private citizens responsible in the traditional way, i.e., in face-to-face interactions. This would ensure that the magnitude of the response fits the severity of the offence, in general. Face-to-face blame modifies the interpersonal relationship without triggering institutional consequences – consequences like firing, expelling, and outcasting. These responses are typically more fitting for highly influential public figures than private citizens, whose impact on social and institutional norms is fairly limited.

That said, there can be exceptions for private citizens who commit very serious offences, particularly offences that reinforce social inequality, and exceptions for offenders who escape fair sentencing due to inequalities in the justice system. In  such cases, public blame serves as a substitute for criminal sanctions, and compels legislators to amend the law.


*I’m using mostly masculine pronouns because this analysis is about Trump, a man.

Hate as a type of prejudice: Luke Roelofs.

Hi. I’m going to take this opportunity to promote Luke Roelofs’ philosophy blog:

His latest post analyzes ‘hate’ as a discriminatory attitude. He describes hate – specifically, the type involved in misogyny, homophobia, racism, and so on – as a holistic pattern of de-valuation that targets a group of people.

He says that hate on this description can encompass both hate as a feature of individual psychology and hate as a set of institutions and practices that function to devalue historically disenfranchised groups (or something to this effect). He also says that this description is compatible with seeing hate as both a psychological state and a matter of consequences. Finally, this definition explains why ‘reverse racism’ isn’t real: because racism as a feature of individual psychology can only exist against a background of systemic racism.

This is a compelling proposal, though not immune from criticism. One might argue that there can be real instances of inconsequential hate – for example, someone making a racist remark that no one hears. Still, racism can simply be re-defined by reference to an action’s tendency to cause harmful consequences to the targeted group under certain conditions. One might also argue that a person who doesn’t embody the psychological features of hate can still commit a hateful act, defined as such by its consequences. Relatedly, one might argue that the psychological definition of hate is redundant, since once you’ve defined hate as a feature of institutions, any action that contributes to discriminatory institutional arrangements is hateful as such, regardless of the agent’s psychological profile.

That said, I think that the psychological-systemic definition is useful because it illustrates how systems of relations are embodied in intentional agents, the metaphysical bedrock of those institutions. This dual description also covers cases of white ignorance and indifference, in which an agent’s moral character is defined by what it lacks – suitable responsiveness to morally salient contours of the environment. If we see moral psychology as a set of patterned responses (both conscious and unconscious) to morally-salient conditions, then hateful people lack patterned sensitivity to conditions of inequality and injustice.  Hate, in other words, is a disposition to respond insensitively to morally significant social cues – a flaw in the structure of the agent’s moral psychology. And this attitude contributes to, and partly constitutes, a broader system of social relations. As such, a person can be hateful (racist, misogynist, etc.) without knowing it, and can be hateful without causing harm – e.g., if he is stranded on a desert island, though the agent’s hateful disposition would be harmful under ordinary (i.e. unjust) social conditions.

This, at least, fits with some influential accounts of moral responsibility and its lack (e.g., Fischer 2012, Sher 2010), of ignorance and insensitivity (Mills 2007, Medina 2012, Fricker 2007), and of implicit bias (e.g., Levy 2016).

On this view, ‘reverse racism’ is a myth because one cannot be insensitive to systemic discrimination against white people, since this kind of discrimination doesn’t exist – ‘reverse racism,’ that is, only makes sense on a grossly distorted social ontology. However, one can be reasonably wary of white ignorance and patterned indifference to the plight of Black people, which is a rational attitude, not an instance of discrimination. This is why racism and ‘reverse racism’ are not equivalent – indeed, reverse racism is impossible.

Blameworthiness in Context: Inspired by Maya Angelou


Elsewhere, I have argued that blameworthiness cannot be understood independent of cultural context. While many philosophers highlight the role of the internal properties of the agent and the interaction of these properties with local features of the environment in moral appraisal, there is less attention paid to broader cultural factors. Though recent research shows that laypeople’s judgments of a person’s blameworthiness/ praiseworthiness depends heavily on context (forthcoming), this is less salient in the philosophical literature.

Reading Maya Angelou (1969) recently brought the role of cultural context into starker relief for me. Angelou relates memories of her parents’ friends sharing stories about duping and defrauding ignorant white people, in one case selling a white man worthless property in Oklahoma for $40,000 (pp. 313-320). In all of these cases, the con artist exploits the white person’s racist belief that Black people are infantile and intellectually inferior, which makes the racist particularly susceptible to being blind-sided. It is also notable that, while these cons are often crimes according to U.S. law, they do not have the ordinary (or expected) effect of undermining social justice; rather, they often (1) debunk anti-Black myths, (2) punish racism with financial penalties, and (3) increase the socioeconomic status of successful Black con artists and, by extension, their communities, since (on Angelou’s description) Black communities tend to be far more interdependent and communitarian than white ‘communities.’ For this reason, when reading about these financial crimes, one shares Angelou’s sense of vindication and humour (at the victim’s expense), whereas when reading about, say, Donald Trump selling people fake college degrees, one feels exactly the opposite sentiment: moral indignation.

This reveals that the same action, thinly described (e.g., defrauding someone), can be blameworthy or praiseworthy, or more or less of either, depending on the context. Donald Davidson (2001) explains that one and the same action can be explicated under different descriptions: the action of flipping a light switch, for instance, can be described as turning on a light or, if there is a burglar outside, as alerting the burglar to one’s presence in the house. The second, ‘thicker’ description depends on the agent’s conscious intention. The normative significance of any given action, though, cannot be reductively defined by the agent’s conscious intentions, as George Sher (2010) and other anti-reflectivists have shown. Hence, even if the Black con artist’s only conscious intention is to make money, the moral import of his/her action is not exclusively, or even primarily, economical – it intrinsically involves the disruption of a racist social order. This thick normative description of the action abstracts away from the agent’s mind, and homes in on the action’s functional role in the body politic. Similarly, even if Trump’s only intention is to make money, his actions also are not exclusive or even primarily economical – they function to undermine social justice. To paraphrase Putnam (who was talking about semantic content), moral significance ain’t in the head. Nor is blameworthiness, which derives from the thick (contextualized) description of the agent’s action.

Angelou’s description of Black social mobility in postwar America reminded me of an article by Malcolm Gladwell about social mobility amongst immigrant crime factions in the U.S. Gladwell explains that Irish gangsters created organized crime rings in the mid- to late-19th Century, climbing the ‘crooked ladder’ to socioeconomic prosperity, followed by Jewish gangsters, and then Italian gangsters (as famously, albeit stereotypically, depicted in ‘The Godfather’). These immigrant gangs used the proceeds of crime to bribe politicians and regulators, and eventually run for political office and open legitimate businesses, thereby sociopolitically enfranchising their communities. That is, European immigrants, to a great extent, used organized crime as a means of disrupting the xenophobic social order. Perhaps the most notable thing about this historical progression is the fact that African Americans were systematically barred from climbing the crooked latter to socioeconomic enfranchisement, unlike European gangsters. While 20th-century European immigrants could use fake I.D.s, bribe police officers, and sell drugs with near impunity, Black people were segregated and targeted by racial profiling, police brutality, and biased sentencing norms. Thus, they were barred from the ordinary historical channels to social mobility. The same racist barriers that prevented them from effectively mobilizing into criminal factions also barred them from pursuing legal routes to social mobility, and these factors continue to shore up historical white privilege to this day.


Now, I’m not arguing that crime is justified – I’m merely reiterating Gladwell’s point that organized crime historically functioned (in part) to enable disenfranchised groups to achieve social mobility, forcing American society (especially cities) into a closer approximation of equality. Angelou’s narrative reveals that African Americans managed to climb the crooked ladder to a point, but their path was blocked by a glass ceiling of systemic anti-Black prejudice – as were all available legal channels. When legal paths to equality are blocked, this inevitably drives disenfranchised groups into the black market.

If we look at crimes in context, we see that the self-same crime can be more or less blameworthy/praiseworthy depending in its functional role in the broader social fabric. Some crimes promote social justice (even if they also cause distinct harms) while others reinforce racial inequality (while also causing distinct harms). This goes some way toward explaining why committing a crime of fraud by selling worthless property to a white supremacist is not morally on a par with committing a crime of fraud by selling worthless university degrees to vulnerable people. While there are several notable differences between the two cases (e.g., one victim is a white supremacist whereas the other is a decent person), surely one morally salient difference is that one crime contributes to social justice while the other subverts it. To put it succinctly, one con artist is punching up while the other is punching down. This holds even if we imagine two exactly identical crimes (in legal terms) – e.g., two people defraud someone of $40,000: the moral valence of each crime varies depending on its role in the system of social relations.

At the moment, the U.S. Justice System operates on exactly the opposite principle: Black defendants get significantly harsher sentences than white defendants, even when the severity of the crime, the circumstances of the arrest, and the number of prior convictions is identical in both cases. That is, instead of giving harsher sentences to white perpetrators who exploit and entrench white privilege, courts do the opposite – they give white people more lenient sentences across the board. This can have no other effect than to undermine confidence in the justice system and weaken citizens’ sense of shared responsibility. This state of affairs reveals the justice system to be closer to Austin’s sanction-imposing model than one might want to admit, in contrast to H.L.A. Hart’s ideal of civic engagement, on which the law does not threaten, but rather instills a shared democratic sensibility. Indeed, we are perilously far from Hart’s ideal of shared civic duty.


Blame and Brock Turner



This is *very* rough and there’s a lot going on, but here you go.

Trigger warning: this post contains information about sexual assault and/or violence that may be triggering to survivors.

Introductory Statements

I’m going to write about a sensitive topic with some reservations and apprehensions, but I think that it’s a case worth addressing from a philosophical perspective. I believe it’s a case on which philosophers can shed light, and a case that we can learn from. As I’m sure you know, Brock Turner raped a 23-year-old woman whom he met at a party. He was convicted of three charges of felony sexual assault and sentenced to six months’ jail time and 3 years’ probation by Judge Aaron Persky. This case has elicited a very vocal blaming response from the public, which I think is eminently appropriate. But it raises some questions for responsibility theorists. The main one that I want to address is the relationship between individual and collective responsibility, or more specifically, the responsibility that an individual bears when he is a member of a broader social group, and his actions reflect the (implicit or explicit) values of the group. I also plan to reconsider what can count as responsibility-relevant group membership, to include participation in ‘mere aggregates’ such as rape culture. I think that assessing Turner through the lens of collective responsibility explains the force of our shared reaction in a way that wouldn’t otherwise be possible. That is, I think that there is general consensus that Turner is blameworthy in a particularly strong way, and we can explain this reaction by considering his social position – specifically, his implicit affiliation with particular (loose) social groups.

Without saying too much about this, I take this analysis to be consistent with certain contemporary projects in responsibility theory, particularly Vargas’ emphasis of the ‘moral ecology’ (2013) – the social structures that enhance or limit moral agency. I don’t think that it’s possible to assess a person’s responsibility status without considering the moral ecology, since responsibility, properly understood, is a function not just of a person’s internal properties, but the dynamic interaction between those properties and the world. Individual responsibility, then, can’t be judged independently of person’s social context. While social factors can impair responsibility by cutting off deliberative possibilities (consider Wolf’s famous JoJo example [1986], or Beauvoir’s example of the cloistered sex slave living in a harem [1964]), I argue that social structures can also amplify a person’s blameworthiness if those structures enable antisocial behaviour by creating conditions of privilege.

Before proceeding, a few clarifications.

I favour the view of blame on which blame is more than just a judgment to the effect that someone is blameworthy or that blame is fitting; I take it to be a cognitive state (i.e., a judgment) plus a conative or affective response – a disposition to rebuke the target or feel negative reactive emotions under blame-conducive circumstances, or something along those lines. I won’t defend this picture here, but in any case, I think that what I have to say is probably compatible with different conceptions of blame. You can adopt your preferred view.

I also want to state in advance that in what follows I’ll be discussing ‘rape culture’ and a ‘culture of White privilege’ (CWP for short), by which I mean to denote an aggregate of persons that could be called a loose ‘collective’ or ‘social group,’ though there is no shared intentionality amongst its members (i.e., ‘intentional agency’), or well-ordered decision procedures, unlike structured organizations (e.g., Walmart, the US military). I think that these particular aggregates are ‘social groups’ in a morally-relevant sense (i.e., a sense that confers responsibility on group members) because they share a set of implicit attitudes that motivate characteristic antisocial behaviours – most importantly, misogynistic attitudes, and an assumption of racial superiority and relative immunity from legal and moral sanctions, respectively. Members of these groups implicitly hold these attitudes, though they probably would not explicitly avow them, nor would they self-identify with these groups – they may not even know that these groups exist. Nonetheless, I hold that people who harbour and act on these types of implicit attitudes form a responsibilty-releative collective, and their group-typical individual behaviours are inflected by their group membership. Specifically, they can be responsible for harms committed by group, even if these harms outstrip their individual causal contributions to the group.

With this in mind, I submit that Turner is responsible for an individual act of rape as well as participation in rape culture and CWP, and this group participation makes his individual act more blameworthy, because it is both more wrong (in deontic or acetic terms – take your pick) and more harmful (in its effects). To be clear, I’m not just saying that Turner is blameworthy on three counts: for committing rape, for participating in rape culture, and for advancing CWP; I’m saying that his act of rape is more blameworthy as an act of rape on account of his participation in these social groups. This makes his act different from similar acts committed in different contexts. Some people benefit from membership in privileged social groups without committing rape, and some people who commit rape don’t belong to these types of groups; the unique confluence of rape and membership in these privileged social groups has normative implications for members’ responsibility status.  Now, even if we were to deny that group membership impacts on individual responsibility in this aggregative way, it would still be useful and informative to characterise Turner as responsible for not only an individual act of rape, but also implicit participation in these groups, which requires attention to Turner’s moral ecology. Yet I think it’s more accurate and informative still to see his action as part of a collective activity, and thus imbued with an ‘extra’ layer of moral significance which makes it more blameworthy.

I will also argue that Turner was a particularly active, albeit implicit, member of these groups, which prevents us from seeing his membership as in any way coerced (contrary to what he would have us believe). His participation in these groups was, properly understood, fully voluntary, given that he (tacitly) promoted the implicit values of these groups.

This construal of the situation poses a challenge to some popular ideas about responsibility. For example, the idea that collectives must have shared intentional agency or formal decision-making procedures to be collectives in a morally-relevant sense, and to confer responsibility onto individual members; the idea that individuals can be responsible for implicit biases and unwitting social affiliations; and the idea that unwitting group membership can have inculpating effects rather than (just) excusing effects.

This is a lot to take in, but for the rest of this post I’m going to focus on three key claims: (1) Turner is an active albeit unwitting participant in rape culture and CWP, (2) rape culture and CWP are responsibility-relevant collectives in spite of falling afoul of the standard criteria (i.e., intentional agency and/or formal decision procedures); and (3) Turner’s membership in these collectives intensified his blameworthiness, because it makes his action both worse (inherently) as well as more harmful. Then I’m going to explain how this construal of the situation challenges some popular assumptions about moral responsibility.

Note: To avoid confusion, I want to clarify that even if Turner’s action hadn’t been part of a collective harm, it would still have been utterly blameworthy and offensive in its own right. But while admitting this, I want to draw attention to features of the case that have received less attention in the media, that are generally overlooked by philosophers, and that might challenge some of our assumptions, especially concerning individual responsibility and the relevance of collectives.

(1) Active implicit participation

There are different degrees of group participation, and correspondingly different degrees of responsibility. Most theorists agree that resistors are not responsible for the activities of the group, and reluctant participants may be less-than-fully responsible. Passive participants, who neither contribute to the group’s aims nor resist, may be somewhat responsible. By contrast, active participants, who advance the group’s aims, are more responsible than any other type of group member. It may seem paradoxical to say that an active participant can also be an unwitting participant – oblivious to the group’s aims – but I think that this is intelligible if we consider tactic promotion of the group’s aims to count as ‘active participation.’ When someone explicitly denies group membership but exemplifies adherence to the group’s values through his actions, we can consider the person a willing participant. This allows us to say that someone might be a member of a collective even if the person wouldn’t recognize the collective as such: all that matters is whether that the person embodies the group’s values, even if they are only implicit represented in the person’s motivational system. The person wouldn’t count as ‘decisively endorsing’ his values in Frankfurt’s sense (1971), but he ‘endorses’ them at the level of overt behaviour – either bodily actions or speech acts that tacitly invoke the group’s values.

I think that this is true of Turner, inasmuch as he tacitly invoked salient features of rape culture and CWP repeatedly in his court statement. For instance, he claimed that, ‘coming from a small town in Ohio,’ he ‘had never really experienced celebrating or partying that involved alcohol.’ These are salient features of rape culture, and when invoked as a defence against rape, they function in a stereotypical way – to obscure the normative import of misogyny and violence against women, and to protect group members against harsh legal and social sanctions. It’s worth noting that Turner never confessed to rape, nor was he ever convicted of rape; he was convicted of felony sexual assault on (what I would describe as) a technicality – because the prosecution couldn’t prove to the court’s satisfaction that Turner raped his vicim with his own ‘sexual organ,’ as California law requires. This law can be seen another artefact of rape culture, promoting the idea that the male penis is special, imbued with some magical power to transform a woman’s moral and legal status in a unique way. (Otherwise why treat it differently than any other penetrative object?) Next, Turner appealed to ‘the stress of school and swimming’ as an apparent excuse for his ‘lapse of judgment’ (which, again, he refused to describe as rape). This can be seen as an invocation of White privilege: White people disproportionally participate in varsity swimming and comprise a majority of Stanford’s student and faculty population, and disproportionally  take this to reflect special moral standing, which can potentially ‘offset’ antisocial behaviour in their private lives – like a carbon tax for ‘white-collar crime.’ Turner’s father’s testimony reinforces this notion, citing Turner’s swimming record as an excuse for his behaviour. (A commentator cleverly edited this letter to show what a red herring these details are; but it would be wrong to see them as mere non sequiturs, rather than characteristic appeals to salient features of CWP. Seen in this light, they’re not morally irrelevant – they reveal flaws in the speaker’s moral sense). The judge responded by giving Turner a lenient sentence – much less than the maximum of 14 years in prison – on grounds that “a prison sentence would have a severe impact” on the defendant. It might not be a coincidence that the judge himself went to Stanford and was the captain of the Lacrosse team. It’s not implausible to think that he, too, is a member of CWP, sympathized with Turner as a compatriot, rather than the plaintiff, who pleaded for a harsher sentence. In any case, the point of this section is that salient aspects of Turner’s testimony suggest that he is a spokesperson for rape culture and CWP, even if he would deny it.

One might object here that a lenient sentence is required by liberalism and a commitment to rehabilitation – and perhaps this is the right attitude to take toward crime in general, which is often committed by underprivileged members of society (especially in economically polarized countries like the United States); but when you construe the judge’s verdict as a concession to Turner’s invocation of White privilege and rape culture, it can no long be seen as an innocuous defence of rehabilitative justice: it begins to look more like a defence of White privilege, rape culture, and the misogynistic attitudes that flow from the intersection of these subcultures. While some lenient sentences might legitimately rest on rehabilitative principles, Persky’s verdict problematically legitimates the defendant’s ludicrous excuses, and ignores the plaintiff’s request for a harsher sentence. This reinforce the pervasive social narratives of rape culture and CWP. And while rehabilitative justice is meant to equalize social inequality, this verdict does the opposite: it actually reinforces social equality by favouring the interests of the most well-off.



It’s also worth noting here that Turner denied responsibility for rape, absurdly insisting, both before and after the trial, that his interaction with the plaintiff was ‘consensual.’ I don’t think it’s implausible to say that Turner didn’t know that he was committing rape, but surely he should have known, and (relatedly) he could have known – he could have learned what rape means. Turner says, and perhaps genuinely believes, that he was ‘coerced’ by Stanford’s party culture (into committing an ‘indiscretion’), and this is supposed to excuse him. But he wasn’t coerced in any meaningful sense of the word. He could have sought out a different peer group, but he chose note to. He’s not like Wolf’s famous lone psychopath (JoJo). He’s an exceptionally privileged members of a liberal democracy with unimpeded access to many forms of life, and so he had as much free choice as any living person could want. He was thus ‘free’ in any meaningful compatibilst sense.

(2) Responsibility in collective contexts

One of the controversies in the collective responsibility literature is whether responsibility for participation in a collective harm can transcend the contributions of individual members, such that the collective harm is greater than the contribution of each member – whether the sum can be greater than its parts. For example, there is a question about whether genocide can be worse than multiple individual acts of anti-Semitic murder. I think that it can, but we need to deny some classic assumptions about collective responsibility. Some theorists (methodological individualists) think that collective action, and thus collective responsibility, is metaphysically impossible, but I see this as a collectivist version of what Strawson called ‘panicky metaphysics,’ and I don’t want to get bogged down in metaphysical concerns, so I won’t. I’m concerned with developing a practical evaluation of the situation that makes sensible distinctions amongst people. Other theorists are worried about treating individuals unfairly by lumping them together, which might seem to contravene Rawls’ principle of the ‘separateness of persons.’ This may be why H. D. Lewis referred to collective responsibility as a kind of “barbarism” (1948). But this worry seems to jump the gun; if there is a compelling reason to see individual participation in a collective as (morally) different then individual action simpliciter, then we should treat them differently. This isn’t barbarism, it’s realism. Of theorists who think that collective responsibility is coherent, many take this to be the case only if the collective has either organizational mechanisms (decision-procedures), or collective intentionality – especially shared intentional aims (e.g., French 1984). Others have defended a more permissible notion of collective responsibility, on which group membership can be based on shared attitudes;  yet these attitudes are typically construed as reflective. Marilyn Friedman and Larry May (2985), for instance, hold that ethnic groups, such as White men, can bear collective responsibility, but they offer the following three conditions of group membership: self-identification, continuous primary relationships with members of that group, and a shared cultural heritage. I doubt that rape culture and CWP meet any of these criteria. Certainly ‘group identity’ (in the typical sense) is lacking, since involvement in rape culture tends to be implicit, and would be explicitly disavowed by most members if asked. Nor do members bear ‘primary relations’ to one another; they usually meet only sporadically, if ever. Nor do members share something that could be called, in substantive terms, a share cultural heritage – at least, not the kind of well-established heritage that most ethnic groups share. Yet I still want to say that these groups – rape culture and CWP – commit collective harms, and members can be held responsible for these harms (depending on their degree of participation). Furthermore, the wrongness and harmfulness of collective harms outstrips the contribution of any individual member, yet each member bears a degree of blameworthiness for the collective harm – that is, the individual’s blameworthiness for his group-typical behaviours – such as rape – is intensified by virtue of his relation to the group. This is true whether the person knows that his action is part of a broader harm, or whether he knows that he belongs to the group at all. This is also different from being part of an ethnic group per se because rape culture and CWP are smaller subcultures, making it relatively easy to avoid them. And on top of this, their core members are relatively privileged and autonomous, and can fairly easily use their privilege and self-determination to choose more pro-social peer groups.

These thoughts, however, go against the standard constraints on collective responsibility, which hold that group membership only confers responsibility if shared intentional agency or organizational mechanisms are present, rendering membership ‘voluntary.’ On my proposal, group membership can be a matter of shared group-typical implicit biases, in addition to the standard criteria. (This expands the definition of ‘collective’). This modification fits most closely, of all the views I can think of, with Larry May’s notion of ‘group intentions’ as “pre-reflective intentions,” which are “not yet reflected upon by each of the members of the group” (May 1987 p. 64); yet this description suggests that there is counterfactual reflective endorsement, i.e., that group intentions would be avowed upon adequate reflection. Implicit biases aren’t like this; they resist reflective access. Perhaps May’s view could be adjusted to accommodate implicit attitudes; but either way, I have a different reason for rejecting the condition of shared intentionality – the ‘intentionality constraint.’ The reason, very simply, is that we shouldn’t even have an intentionality constraint on individual responsibility, let alone collective responsibility.

Responsibility theorists who specialize in individual responsibility are increasingly moving away from the intentionality requirement (also referred to as the ‘epistemic condition,’ ‘knowledge condition,’ or ‘reflective condition’). For example, George Sher argues that we can be responsible for unconscious omissions such as forgetting about a beloved pet in the backseat of a hot car, falling asleep on duty in a combat zone, or crashing an airplane due to lack of proper attention (2010: 24). Angela Smith (2005) argues that we can we can responsible for forgetting about a friend’s birthday. Nomy Arpaly (2014) says that we can praiseworthy for doing the right thing unwittingly, i.e., ‘inverse akrasia.’ She cites  Huck Finn as an example, for helping his friend Jim escape from slavery in spite of naively thinking that slavery is justified. These examples illustrate the idea that people can be responsible for their behaviour even if they fail to grasp the normative force of that behaviour, provided that their actions are ‘characteristic’ in some sense. (Most of these theorists believe that actions have to be suitably connected to some subset of an agent’s motivational system – the person’s moral personality – to confer responsibility). Some of these arguments rest on the intuitive force of the examples, while others marshall theoretical arguments. Arpaly, for instance, contends that reflective judgments are not, as Kant believed, “non-accidentally” connected to the normative features of right action, such that they reliably produce right action (2014: 145); hence, non-reflective actions can be praiseworthy – and presumably, they can also be blameworthy. If this is right, then maybe we should reject the intentionality constraint.

Another rationale for rejecting this constraint is that empirical research indicates that many of our characteristic choices and actions are not the result of reflection. Yet these choices and actions seem to define us as persons – even as moral agents. For example, people are more likely to donate to an honour box if there are eyes posted next to it (Bateson 2006). Although this is a non-reflective (automatic) choice, it might reflect a person’s agency (characteristic values and beliefs). John Doris (2015) takes this kind of research to show that agency doesn’t require reflective control – it’s at most loosely connected with reflection. Extrapolating from this, we can infer that responsibility, too, doesn’t require reflection. Extrapolating further, we can infer that implicit biases, if expressed in a person’s characteristic behaviours, can be responsibility-imputing albeit non-reflective.

By rejecting the intentionality constraint, we allow that people’s implicit biases might be responsibilty-conferring, if those implicit biases are manifested in overt behaviour. We also allow, by the same token, that a person’s implicit participation in a social group can be responsibility-conferring, and further, that this participation can amplify the person’s responsibility for his individual implicit biases and related actions. I turn to this thought next.

(3) Blame amplification through group participation

Although I am not aware of an exact precedent for defining groups in terms of implicit biases, there are precedents in the collective responsibility literature for discussing individual responsibility in collective contexts, and we can modify them to fit our purposes.

I hold that a person’s action can be especially blameworthy if the person is a member of a harmful collective, even if the person doesn’t self-identify with the group. I’ll unpack this claim in four steps. This will partially summarize, and partially build on, what has already been said.

(1) A person is responsible for participation in a group harm if this participation is voluntary either in the classic sense, i.e., there are decision procedures or shared intentional agency, or the members share group-typical implicit biases and manifest those biases in their overt behaviour. It is also relevant whether there are alternative possibilities within the person’s cultural environment: a lack of alternatives can undermine the voluntariness requirement by practically necessitating a certain outcome. In liberal democracies, it’s relatively easy for most people to move from one subculture to another.

(2) A person’s action is more blameworthy when the person is part of an antisocial collective (and the person meets condition 1), because the action is more wrong (deontically or aretaically), inasmuch as it embodies rational flaws and/moral and epistemic vices, or both, over and above the person’s individual flaws; and it is more harmful, inasmuch as is it part of a group harm, which outstrips the individual’s causal contribution to the group. Rape culture and CWP embody misogynistic and racist attitudes, and they perpetrate harms not just against individuals, but against whole groups – women and racial minorities (directly). They might even be construed as committing harms against everyone, inasmuch as they promote pernicious cultural myths that normalise misogyny and racism and make it harder for ordinary people to see them for what they are. Yet individual members might not know or appreciate what they are doing. Nonetheless, I think that it’s reasonable to see these agents as responsible for these outcomes, even if they don’t explicitly intend or endorse them. And I also think it’s plausible to see members who promote the core values of the group as responsible for peripheral values that they don’t implicitly hold, inasmuch as promoting the core features of an ideological system supports the perpetuation of the system as a whole. So group members can, I think, be responsible for promoting values that they neither implicitly nor explicitly hold. In this way, group members who promote core ideological tenets can be responsible for more than their own implicit biases – they can be responsible for unwittingly promoting additional values; and they can be responsible more than their individual direct contrition to the group – they can be responsible for additional indirect harms.

(3) I don’t just want to say that members of antisocial groups who commit a group-typical harm are responsible for their individual action, in addition to their membership in the group – although this is an interesting claim in its own right, and it helps to counterbalance the tendency to ignore the moral relevance of context. But I want to say more than this, i.e., that a person’s individual action is coloured by his membership in the group. Turner, specifically, is responsible not just for an act of rape, but for an act of rape as an act of group-based misogyny and White privilege. The act itself has several moral ‘layers.’

This is where there’s a helpful precedence in the collectivist literature, and I’m thinking specifically of Tracy Isaacs (2011). She says that when an individual’s action makes a causal contribution to a collective harm, that action (in effect) inherits a layer of normative significance from its relationship to that broader harm. So for instance, when someone murders a Jewish person in a Holocaust context, this isn’t just an act of murder, or even an act of anti-Semitic murder; it’s an act of genocide. The action is thus transformed from a strictly individual action to part of a collective harm, and this has significance for the individual’s responsibility status – how blameworthy he is. This theory leans on previous accounts of agency (Williams and Davidson’s), but adds a new dimension to them. On Bernard Williams’ theory of evaluative concepts (1985), a single action can be described variably in ‘thinner’ or ‘thicker’ terms. For instance, saving a drowning child can be described more ‘thickly’ as an act of courage. On Davidson’s theory of reasons, actions admit of intentional and non-intentional description; the act of flipping a light switch can be redescribed (intentionally) as an act of turning on a light or (unintentionally) as alerting a prowler lurking outside that someone is inside (1963). These accounts exemplify ‘the accordion effect’ in Sheffler’s sense – action descriptions ‘expand’ and ‘contract’ to reveal different layers of meaning. What Issacs adds to these ‘accordion’ views is the idea that an individual action can have collective significance –  a thicker type of significance. This explains the Nazi example: the individual act of murder becomes an act of genocide when the agent is part of a Holocaust. Isaacs, however, is only talking about organisations and goal-oriented collectives (like military regimens), which satisfy the group intentionality constraint. But if you drop this requirement, her view can be made to suit my purposes: we can describe individual actions in terms of implicit group membership, yielding a ‘thicker’ description. So Turner’s act of rape is, properly understood, also an act of misogynistic violence and White privilege. These collective descriptions are part of the meaning of his action, and inform his moral status. Note that individual and collective descriptions don’t attach to different actions; they co-describe the self-same action. The description of rape as, in part, an endorsement of rape culture and CWP may not be as succinct or epigrammatic as the description, ‘an act of genocide,’ but I don’t think that semantic clumsiness should bother us; we happen to have a convenient word for a genocidal action, but not other types of group harms. Yet I think that there are many group harms beyond the classic compendium, and they are sufficiently analogous, although they may be more complex and multifaceted. If we fail to see Turner’s action as part of a group harm in the relevant sense, this may be due to a pervasive individualist bias.


(4) When I say that Turner’s action is worse because it casually contributes to these two collectives – rape culture and CWP – I mean that it’s worse than an equivalent action performed outside of these groups, ceteris paribus. The reason this action is worse is that the collectives are especially morally flawed and especially harmful. Rape culture represents a set of misogynistic ideas, including that it’s permissible to treat women as objects, that sex doesn’t require explicit consent, and so on. If someone holds a core subset of these values, the person implicitly promotes the whole evaluative framework – not just these attitudes, but connected ones closer to the periphery. These attitudes also become more plausible to people, by virtue of their relation to the ideological system. Furthermore, the group perpetuates a set of harms that no individual would be capable of perpetrating on his own, yet every member’s contribution helps to sustain the group. For these reasons, actions that contribute to the group are especially wrong and especially harmful.

People who commit wrongs individually often don’t bear the same degree of responsibility as group members, especially particular types of group members. For example, a lone psychopath might commit a heinous offence, but either the person had no choice due to severe, inalterable cognitive deficits, or the psychopath wasn’t causally implicated in a harmful collective, capable of causing collective harms and promoting pernicious and false beliefs and attitudes;  he acted on his own psychopathic ‘reasons.’ In either case, the psychopath’s responsibility it determined by his own internal properties. A child soldier, like Ishmael Beah, might commit atrocities as part of a group, yet not be responsible because the person was a child, indoctrinated into a pernicious ideology by force; or the person might have lacked alternative possibilities – Beah, after all, was captured by the Sierra Leon government army during a civil war, drugged, and basically brainwashed. Members of privileged groups in liberal democracies aren’t like this. They’re not psychopaths for the most part, and they’re not captured, forced, or coerced in the literal sense.

This explanation poses some challenge to standard accounts of responsibility, which I’ll address next.

Responsibility as theory and practice

Here are some theoretical and practical commitments that are challenged by my claims. I should be careful here because I suspect that many theorists would reject these commitments, but I think that there is a natural way of construing certain view such that they imply these commitments, and I also think that commonsense morality might be committed to some of them. To avoid controversy, I’ll avoid citing anyone unless there is a clear connection.

(1) What is a collective?

First, I challenge the idea that responsibility-relevant collective must have clear decision-making procedures and/or explicit shared intentionality. This broadens the scope of responsibility-relevant collectives, but not so much that pervasive, practically inescapable collectives count. I don’t want to say that whole cultures are collectives in the responsibilty-conferring sense. Subcultures seem like more apt candidates for group status.

(2) Atomism

I’ve argued that we can’t adequately describe an individual’s action without considering the individual’s relation to collectives, since certain collectives can confer moral significance onto their members’ actions. This goes against the atomistic view, on which only individual actions have moral significance. While people can be responsible for an individual action, and for participating in a certain collective, atomists don’t allow that group membership can affect the significance of the individual’s action in a qualitative way.

(3) Groups as excusing

There’s a pervasive line of thinking on which group membership is excusing, because it induces ignorance and undermines control. Milligram’s famous experiments (1963) purported to show that anyone could have been a Nazi under the wrong circumstances, which reinforces a ‘there but for the grace of God go I’ mentality. If people do bad things only because they didn’t know better and couldn’t have done otherwise, people aren’t blameworthy. But there are degrees of control, and some people have more of it than others. Turner invoked lack of control in his defence: he suggested that when he committed ‘a lapse of judgment’ (in his words), he was under duress from ‘party culture.’ Reinforcing this narrative is dangerous, and I think that the narrative itself is false. Turner had as much freedom and autonomy as anyone in this world could want; if he isn’t free, then who is? Appeals to coercion are legitimate in some cases (maybe Ishmael Beah’s, for example), but not everyone can legitimately appeal to them. There are morally relevant differences between getting drunk at a party and raping someone, on the one hand, and being kidnapped, drugged, and brainwashed during a civil war as a child, on the other. These differences, I think, are sufficient to say that one person is responsible and the other isn’t (or at least, that one person is significantly more blameworthy than the other).

(3) Implicit attitudes aren’t responsibility-imputing

There’s also a pervasive line of thinking on which implicit attitudes are not blameworthy (e.g., Levy 2014; H. Smith 2014). (I say blameworthy because the kinds of implicit attitudes that philosophers are generally interested in are morally problematic). But if we have to define a person’s responsibility status on the basis of either a person’s explicitly avowed commitments or the person’s conflicting implicit attitudes, where the latter are expressed in the person’s overt behavioural patterns, then it makes sense to go with the manifested implicit attitudes. This is especially true of people who implicitly promote certain groups by invoking or embodying their normative features, since their contribution to the group’s aims can intelligibly be construed as a kind of (implicit) endorsement of these aims. This is different from Frankfurt’s notion of ‘decisively endorsement,’ since ‘decisiveness’ is conspicuously lacking, but it better captures what Watson (2006) described as a person’s values.

(4) The Searchlight View

There’s yet another prominent line of thinking on which a person can’t be responsible for unwitting infractions. Sher (2010) calls this the ‘searchlight view,’ and says that it can be attributable to Kant as well as commonsense morality. In some cases, this logic seems to make sense: if someone does something under posthypnotic suggestion, he’s not responsible because he didn’t know what he was doing and couldn’t have done otherwise. But as we saw, Sher and other modern deep-self theorists reject this view, on grounds that unconscious infractions might reflect our moral personality more than our reflective beliefs. While I wouldn’t go so far as to say that consciousness and control don’t matter at all, I think that in many cases of ‘unwitting wrongdoing,’ there is an element of control, albeit in a very indirect sense: specifically, the agent could have made different choices in the past, which could have conferred a stronger capacity for control. This is certainly true of Turner (on a very natural interpretation): he could have chosen different peers, different social groups, different ideological perspectives, different books, different movies. In any case, unwitting infractions seem responsibility-relevant, either because they reflect a person’s moral personality, or because the person could have made better choices.

(5) Actual-sequence control

Fischer (2012) famously defends a view of responsibility on which responsibility for an action A requires ‘actual sequence control’ over A, i.e., a person must have had control over A in the actual sequence of his deliberation. If the person could have exercised control over A only under different, counterfactual circumstance, the person isn’t responsible for A. It’s hard to apply this view to practical cases, because it’s hard to know when anyone has actual-sequence control over a particular choice, and this has led to an extended debate between Vargas (2005) and Fischer (2012). I think there’s a case to be made that Turner didn’t have actual-sequence control when he committed rape, because he was closed off to certain moral considerations, and couldn’t entertain or imagine them; but if that’s the case, then I think that this shows what’s wrong with the actual sequence control model. If this isn’t the case and Turner did have actual sequence control (sufficient to underwrite responsibility), then the actual sequence control model might be viable, but I would still worry that it artificially cuts off relevant parts of the moral ecology which might inflect a person’s responsibly, as I’ve argued in previous posts. But I won’t take this up here.


Conclusion: TBC.

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