Virtue of Feminist Rationality

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The Virtue of Feminist Rationality Continuum Studies in Philosophy Series Editor: James Fieser, University of Tennessee at Martin, USA Continuum Studies in Philosophy is a major monograph series from Continuum. The series features first-class scholarly research monographs across the whole field of philo sophy. Each work makes a major contribution to the field of philosophical research. Aesthetic in Kant, James Kirwan Analytic Philosophy: The History of an Illusion, Aaron Preston Aquinas and the Ship of Theseus, Christopher Brown Augustine and Roman Virtue, Brian Harding The Challenge of Relativism, Patrick Phillips Demands of Taste in Kant’s Aesthetics, Brent Kalar Descartes and the Metaphysics of Human Nature, Justin Skirry Descartes’ Theory of Ideas, David Clemenson Dialectic of Romanticism, Peter Murphy and David Roberts Duns Scotus and the Problem of Universals, Todd Bates Hegel’s Philosophy of Language, Jim Vernon Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, David James Hegel’s Theory of Recognition, Sybol S.C. Anderson The History of Intentionality, Ryan Hickerson Kantian Deeds, Henrik Jøker Bjerre Kierkegaard, Metaphysics and Political Theory, Alison Assiter Kierkegaard’s Analysis of Radical Evil, David A. Roberts Leibniz Re-interpreted, Lloyd Strickland Metaphysics and the End of Philosophy, HO Mounce Nietzsche and the Greeks, Dale Wilkerson Origins of Analytic Philosophy, Delbert Reed Philosophy of Miracles, David Corner Platonism, Music and the Listener’s Share, Christopher Norris Popper’s Theory of Science, Carlos Garcia Postanalytic and Metacontinental, edited by James Williams, Jack Reynolds, James Chase and Ed Mares Rationality and Feminist Philosophy, Deborah K. Heikes Re-thinking the Cogito, Christopher Norris Role of God in Spinoza’s Metaphysics, Sherry Deveaux Rousseau and Radical Democracy, Kevin Inston Rousseau and the Ethics of Virtue, James Delaney Rousseau’s Theory of Freedom, Matthew Simpson Spinoza and the Stoics, Firmin DeBrabander Spinoza’s Radical Cartesian Mind, Tammy Nyden-Bullock St. Augustine and the Theory of Just War, John Mark Mattox St. Augustine of Hippo, R.W. Dyson Thomas Aquinas & John Duns Scotus, Alex Hall Tolerance and the Ethical Life, Andrew Fiala The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Deborah K. Heikes

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Heikes, Deborah K. The virtue of feminist rationality/Deborah K. Heikes. p. cm. – (Continuum studies in philosophy) Includes bibliographical references (p. ). ISBN 978-1-4411-8657-7 (hardcover) – ISBN 978-1-4411-8880-9 (pdf) 1. Rationalism. 2. Reason. 3. Feminist theory. I. Title. B833.H454 2012 128’.33082–dc23 2011034958

Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India For my mom and in memory of my dad vi Contents

Acknowledgments viii

Chapter 1: Why Reason? 1 Chapter 2: The Fossil of Reason 17 Chapter 3: The Virtue of Reason 43 Chapter 4: The Virtue of Embodiment 71 Chapter 5: The Virtue of Emotion 95 Chapter 6: The Virtue of Difference 119 Chapter 7: The Virtue of Subjectivity 149 Chapter 8: The Future of Reason 173

Notes 187 References 197 Index 205 Acknowledgments

In a quite roundabout way, this work is the culmination of the task I set for myself when I wrote my dissertation. Back then, I had an inkling of what I wanted to say, but I knew that it was going to take me more than a couple of years to formulate it. And so it did. I certainly have not addressed nor resolved every issue that interested or still interests me, but it is a step in that direction. I would have loved to have written this book all those years ago, but I was not yet ready. That being said, I have many people to thank for my philosophical education and my leaning to think about these issues in the way I do. Stuart Rosenbaum and Steven Wagner have shaped my thoughts in especially significant ways, but the person who stood out the most while I was writing this is someone whose influence I failed to recognize for well over a decade, Peter Winch. Professor Winch is the person who truly taught me Wittgenstein, and while I have always been thankful to him for that, I never quite realized the impact he had on my life and career until recently. He was a shy and reserved man, but he took enormous interest in my career when I was a student at Illinois. Outside of my dissertation advisor, he probably had the biggest impact on my philosophical thinking. I wish he were here today so that I could personally thank him. Since he is not, this remembrance will have to do. In addition to my teachers, I also wish to thank the philosophy students I have had over the past year, especially in my Junior Research Seminar and Modern Philosophy classes. As I worked on this book, they helped me think through the ideas and have challenged me to find clear explanations of some of the key points concerning differences between modern and postmodern (in the broad sense) conceptions of rationality. Most directly, some of my colloquial explanations of Kant came directly from these classes. I am grateful to my colleagues at UAH who have been patient with my single-minded focus on finishing this text. To them, I promise to pick up the slack. I am equally grateful to Sarah Campbell and the entire staff at Acknowledgments ix

Continuum. They make the process of publishing as painless as it can be. I thank Ann Cudd and Alessandra Tanesini for their support. Each has made substantial contributions to my efforts. And, as always, I thank Augusta Gooch for her tireless efforts to make my work clearer and more grammati- cally precise. I have a tendency to write sentences that are far too long, and she has a tendency to object to every last one of them. In the end, and after much resistance, I always find her to be correct. Finally, I want to thank my mom, who for several months had to listen to daily progress reports on this work. She is my biggest supporter, and I know she will proudly display a copy of this book on her living room bookshelf, even if she never reads it. x 1Chapter 1Chapter Why Reason?

The concepts of reason and rationality have fallen on hard times. Over the past several decades, many philosophers have noted a “sudden loss of con- fidence in our traditional ideas about rationality . . . [one] marked enough, and widespread enough, to constitute . . . an episode, not just a collection of contemporary events” (Toulmin 2001, 3). Despite the crisis that has befallen reason, feminists need the concept. Without it, we lack grounds for truth, and without truth, feminists can only proselytize and preach to the converted. Put simply, feminism needs a full-bodied, substantive, and normative rationality. While such claims may appear antithetical to much of feminism, I firmly believe that feminists who fail to consider positive accounts of rationality are giving up far too much. My goal is to consider what feminists want from rationality and to begin building an account that is not simply sensitive to feminist concerns but, more importantly, that seeks to capture what rationality genuinely is. Because rationality has always had a strong association with the masculine, the search for a feminist theory of rationality appears contrary to much feminist thinking. One of the more common feminist attitudes is that “there is no place on the terrain of Reason to which women can claim rightful occupancy” (Code 1991, 119). And for much of philosophical history this sentiment correctly assess the philosophical landscape. The history of philosophy carves out precious little space for women, and what space is available is, almost without exception, undesirable. Nevertheless, abandoning reason to men is a risky tactic. If feminists share anything in common, it is that women have been and are oppressed and that such oppression is unjust. How can we argue for or establish the truth of these claims if we concede the inherent masculinity of reason? If we accept that there is no place for women within the domain of the rational, how are we to frame our moral and political requests (and demands) so that they are (or should be) taken seriously? And despite rationality’s almost invariable historical association with the masculine, why should feminists accept this sort of 2 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality essentialism concerning the concept? Why can women not co-opt philosophical concepts in the same manner that men are accused of doing? The answers to these questions by no means come easily, but accepting the inherent masculinity of reason is a dead end. Women must carve out for ourselves territory within the terrain of Reason that is our rightful domain. We should not accept either exile or living as strangers in a strange land. So what do feminists stand to gain by formulating a theory of rationality? The short answer parallels Sandra Harding’s response to the question: Why do feminists need an epistemology? First, because “feminists need a defense against, and an alternative, positive program to, the traditional discourses . . . ,” and second, because we need “a decision procedure . . . to guide choices in theory, research, and politics” (Harding 1996, 302–3). The same can be said of reason. Throughout philosophy, theories of rationality provide normative standards for cognition, and feminists need a positive alternative to exclusionary and oppressive criteria for rational agency. Furthermore, if feminists are to make informed and thoughtful choices concerning theory, research, and politics we require the normative grounding offered by rationality. Take for example our interest in promoting diversity. While diversity can be something valuable, it is possible to lose sight of the fact that not all diversity is valuable. Rita Felski reminds us that “affirmations of difference often assume, in an oddly naïve way, that all differences are necessarily benevolent and hence deserve recognition” (1997, 17). We all know, of course, that some differences are in fact harm- ful. The difference of the totalitarian or the racist or the sexist is a difference that feminists reject rather than embrace, but we give ourselves precious little room to defend such normative distinctions if we fail to embrace the ground that rationality provides. In a similar manner, not all choices about theory, research, and politics are equally good. The challenges that feminists have made against canonical conceptions of rationality should be taken seriously as a means to formulate a kinder and gentler conception of rationality, but they should not be taken as a rejection of rationality in toto. After all, there is little reason to believe that philosophers have truly exhausted the concept. Instead, we need to develop a conception of rationality as a genuinely human faculty—not one in which women are outsiders. If rationality can be appropriately reconceived in a manner that avoids past transgressions, it promises just such a ground for distinguishing among epistemic, moral, and political choices. My argument for a specifically feminist conception of rationality rests on a few assumptions. First, my arguments will be of a transcendental variety. I assume that human beings are, all things being equal, rational beings. Why Reason? 3

Barring any serious cognitive deficiencies, humans are capable of formulating and evaluating the worth of various goals; we are capable of considering reasons both for and against various beliefs and actions; and we are able to give reasons in support of our choices. Although my main argument is highly critical of Enlightenment approaches to rationality, my starting point is, oddly enough, Cartesian. In his Discourse, Descartes explicitly maintains that most people are equally reasonable:

the diversity of our opinions does not arise because some of us are more reasonable than others but solely because we direct our thought along different paths and do not attend to the same things. For it is not enough to have a good mind; the main thing is to apply it well [italics added]. (1985, 111)

Humans share reason in common; whether we use our rational capacities well or poorly is another matter entirely. Evaluating the quality of our reasoning involves the further concept of reasonableness; yet when it comes to our basic faculties, almost every single one of us is able to reason.1 Admittedly, Descartes is eager to move beyond so-called ordinary reason to a more scientific understanding of the concept, but even he starts with our lowly, common human capacity for cognition. The ordinary, everyday concept of reason is, as many feminists would probably agree, the one that actually occupies most of our cognitive lives, and I take as a given that we are all fairly good at this common activity. Such an assumption is actually rather minimal for regardless of the numerous challenges that have been formulated against rationality as a philosophical concept, feminists assert with almost a single voice that women are just as capable as men in formulating beliefs and deliberating about actions. In other words, just about every feminist will allow that both women and men reason in the most minimal sense of that term. Within contemporary theorizing, the philosophical difference between feminists and nonfeminists on this point is that feminists are more concerned to bring in aspects of deliberation that may have been excluded from discussion (e.g., emotion or caring), but no one denies that humans have the cognitive capacities necessary to navigate our physical, emotional, and social worlds. Another assumption with which I begin is that reason is something that exists in the world as a part of the world, not as something entirely removed from it. Whatever reason is and however it developed, its primary function is to help us navigate the world around us. Reason never operates independently of some context. Emmanuel Chukwudi Eze, a postcolonial philosopher who is sensitive to many of the same issues that concern feminists, 4 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality points out that “everyday reasoning requires the individual to engage in processes of subsuming diversity and difference under actual and possible unities of general experience. Rationality cannot be distinguished from these processes” (2008, 20). This point is somewhat Kantian, but it reflects something central to the process of human reasoning: while reason creates unity from diversity, this diversity is constitutive of reason. This latter claim distinguishes Eze’s approach from Kant’s. In other words, reason is an immanent and not a transcendent concept. Immanence, however, entails that any investigation into faculty of reason will be partial. Our inquiries into reason are necessarily self-reflective (i.e., we must use reason to investigate reason), so what we can understand about this faculty has limits. As philosophers have come to recognize this limitation in our use of reason, it is hard to imagine how previous generations thought they could have some context-independent view of either reason or the world in which it operates. To think that a “God’s eye perspective” is even possible seems to us, from our perspective, to be the height of hubris. Any discussion of rationality must take seriously that the open-endedness of the concept means there are no necessary and sufficient conditions for defining it. It defies precise definition—partly because the empirical content and context of rational reflection have a great deal of influence on its function and partly because investigations into reason are self-reflective. Since we must use reason to analyze reason, we remain blind to many of reason’s basic assumptions, and since it is historically situated, our understanding of the concept is necessarily partial. Ultimately, reason is not so much a thing or an object as it is an activity. Its basic function is to guide our responses to the world around it whether that world be material, social, or emotional. In order to perform this function, reason must be highly flexible and diverse in its responses. That is, there is not simply one way to be rational. In the past, philosophers took the acquisition of truth to be one of the primary goals of reason. However, this is no longer the case. Truth is rarely considered the only goal of reason, if it is any sort of goal at all.2 For example, Helen Longino maintains that reason is “simply not the infallible road to truth or away from error that it is often claimed to be” (1989, 264). And Robert Nozick argues that rational persons do not always care about truth or reliability.3 Reason is taken to be much more than a means to formulate and maintain true beliefs, however it is we define truth. Determining what more reason is leads us away from simplistic, methodological accounts that allow for definitive criteria for rational thought. The modern attitude that “the term ‘rationality’ can amount to anything, only if it amounts to everything: otherwise, it will Why Reason? 5 amount to nothing” is no longer a widely held belief (Toulmin 2001, 2). In its current instantiation, rationality is a decidedly post-Enlightenment concept. It entails a responsiveness to the world, both natural and social; it demands we be willing, on occasion, to violate rules for cognition; it asks us to be sensitive to context and to be flexible in our responses. It accepts the interdependence of mind and body, permits emotion to be cognitively significant, focuses on the social elements of the world, and acknowledges the role of bias in rational reflection. In its place is a view of rationality that asserts that “how we think and act embodies traditions that show an onlooker who we are, and where we came from” (Toulmin 2001, 41). But this is only the beginning of a much longer story. The much longer story is one I wish to tell here.

Many feminists will, at this point, wish to object: it is all fine and good to say how wonderfully diverse and flexible reason is, but the truth is that the concept is not built on diversity or on openness to body, emotion, plurality, and subjectivity; it is instead grounded in narrowness and exclusion. From an historical perspective, this objection is, in large measure, true, especially for the Cartesian or modern conceptions toward which feminists have directed many of their attacks. Modern accounts of reason are constituted as much by what they exclude as they are by what they include. Stephen Toulmin, one of the more vocal critics of modernist conceptions of reason, explains the restriction of the term “reason” that begins in the middle part of the seventeenth century:

the belief that the ideas of rationality and method were tightly connected helped define the nature of that link from the start, and the standards imposed on scientific and philosophical arguments by the demand for a rational method were taken to be universal, not varying from place to place, from time to time, or from one subject matter to another . . . . In brief, a fully rational method would comprise universal, self-evident rules from which we deviated only at the risk of irrationality. (2001, 83–4)

If we take this approach to be all there is to reason, then feminists are probably right: the concept is irredeemable. Universal, self-evident rules leave room for no one outside of a few privileged European—or even more narrowly, analytic—philosophers. But as Toulmin, and others, argue: “This 6 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality emphasis did an injury to our commonsense ways of thought, and led to confusion about some highly important questions . . .” (2001, 204). Philosophers such as Alasdair MacIntyre, Charles Taylor, Richard Bernstein, Hilary Putnam, Robert Audi, and even Robert Nozick are all unwilling to surrender “rationality” to modernist notions—so why should feminists be willing to do so? To see the injuries done to reason and, more importantly, to see how contemporary philosophers seek to remediate these injuries, we should examine the flaws of the tradition—but then seek to overcome them. Within feminist discussions of our philosophical traditions, one of the most foundational flaws of reason is its dependence on dichotomous thinking. Feminist philosophers from all walks of life accept that rationality is historically constituted by gendered dichotomies, but despite this consensus, the task of eliminating or overcoming these dichotomies is widely and seriously debated. While we may agree that binary oppositions are undesirable, an important question remains unresolved: how best to reconceptual- ize philosophical thinking in the absence of dichotomies? I believe that the way to do this is to co-opt the concept of rationality and refuse to allow its past masculine connotations and polarizing divisions. And how do we accomplish this? Not by reinventing the wheel, but instead by returning the concept to the embeddedness and diversity it enjoyed before the Enlightenment’s demands for certainty and doctrinal methodology hijacked it.4 I have no illusions that I can subsume or undermine reason’s dichotomous nature in a way that will satisfy all feminists, so my primary goal is rather to suggest a shift of focus in addressing the problems and formulating the debates. That the concept of rationality is caught up in dichotomous thinking is not news to any feminist; however, rather than using this association as merely a ground for criticizing rationality, we should instead consider rethinking and reconceiving rationality in a way that engages dichotomies differently. Rather than bemoan the philosophical dependence on dichotomous thinking, we should examine how the poles of each dichotomy bolster arguments for feminism’s moral and political goals. In addition, instead of focusing narrowly on particular debates within academic feminism, we should follow Martha Nussbaum’s (1992) advice to engage in a broader concern with human functioning, which is ultimately the concern of rationality. In a way, what I propose to do is to follow Wittgenstein’s dictum concerning philosophy: “What we do is to bring words back from their metaphysical to their correct use in language” (1993, 167). The words “reason” and “rationality” are precisely the sort of terms that need to be returned from Why Reason? 7 their philosophical to their ordinary use. Rationality is a common human faculty, and that it has come to be associated almost exclusively with masculinity is the fault not of the faculty itself but of philosophers who have created reason in their own image. Rather than leave rationality as it is, we should remove from it the polarizing dimensions that have defined it for so long—and that have distorted the meaning of the term. Standard histories of reason tell us that with the Enlightenment, rationality comes to be defined by its supposed relationship to a series of opposing pairs of terms which include mind/body, reason/emotion, unity/diversity, and objectivity/subjectivity. However, if we return rationality to a premodern understanding that focuses not on delineating the rational (or logical) from the irrational (or nonlogical) but that understands reason as a faculty that engages the world in a variety of ways, we find a much broader and richer concept. Treating rationality as an old-fashioned virtue concept highlights many of the features feminists seem to want in a theory of rationality while also promising to resolve many foundational issues of feminist philo sophy, especially concerning polarizing thinking. If we take rationality to be a virtue concept, we can move the feminist debate beyond the issues that have occupied it for several decades. Of course, all virtue concepts originate from some notion of human good, which certainly produces suspicion in many philosophers, but I believe it is precisely the notion of human good that makes virtue concepts so powerful. If there is some shared end of rationality, then normativity, and everything that comes with it, is possible.

The starting point for understanding rationality as a virtue concept is to consider what it is we are trying to explain. I take it that the term “reason” refers to some faculty and the term “rationality” refers to the activity of utilizing that faculty. Those of us that utilize our faculty of reason well will be more rational than those of us who utilize reason poorly. So how are we to best utilize our faculty of reason? This is one of philosophy’s most enduring questions and has admitted a variety of answers: from Platonic dialectic to Aristotelian logic; from Cartesian deduction to Humean associations; and from positivistic verification to Wittgensteinian practices. The philosophical tradition contains a wide diversity of approaches when it comes to understanding rationality and its methods. A number of explanations for this diversity are possible, but the simplest explanation lies in the nature of reason itself. Much to the chagrin of many, what we try to capture in the 8 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

concept of reason is not one-dimensional. Philosophers have sought (and over time sought increasingly) to restrict reason to only certain aspects of cognition, but the concept covers a number of different human activities beyond the purely logical and deductive aspects of cognition. Our faculty of reason not only concerns big philosophical questions. It also allows us to get from point A to point B, helps us figure out what to have for dinner, tells us when it is time to walk the dog, and considers what time to put the kids to bed. If we are to fully explain the concept, we cannot forget this part of reason. Of course, if we wish to reflect on universal and eternal principles we can do so, Toulmin reminds us, “so long as they keep some links with the spheres of life on which they seek to throw light; but ignoring the urgent demands of daily life is less praiseworthy than deplorable—the behavior of an intellectual ostrich” (2001, 168). Throughout the philosophical canon, we find that the demands of daily life are often ignored or dismissed outright, but doing so has produced a distortion so great that even philosophers have become skeptical of reason. Despite their best efforts, philosophers have been unable to tease apart reason from the messiness of everyday life. One aspect of my argument, then, is that philosophical reason has shed the methodological narrowness and transcendent individualism that defined it for the past few centuries. My further, and more significant, task is to generate a specifically feminist theory of rationality. This latter project is fraught with difficulty. The biggest and most immediate obstacle is the amazing diversity of feminist philosophy. It is at best an arduous, and at worst downright impossible, task to speak of a feminist theory of anything. The single and, perhaps, incontrovertible truth about feminism is that there are no necessary and sufficient conditions for being a feminist. As Donna Haraway observes, “There is no single feminist standpoint because our maps require too many dimensions for that metaphor to ground our visions” (1988, 590). Feminists adopt a wide variety of philosophical perspectives, and seemingly every one has a different philosophical axe to grind. There is surely no stable or fixed perspective from which to make any more precise statement that will hold true for all feminists. Nonetheless, the dimensions and the varieties of feminist philosophy do share certain family resemblances which revolve around a common commitment to identifying and overcoming oppression. Feminist philosophy has its prom- inently articulated problems and central debates, and while I will not pretend to speak for all feminists, my aim is to speak to how some feminists can use a theory of rationality as a way to frame and, hopefully, resolve some of these concerns and debates. As a matter of necessary convenience, Why Reason? 9

I will often speak as if feminism does not have as many different points of view as it does. However, just because I focus on the similarities among feminist positions, I in no way mean to imply that there are not serious debates surrounding these similarities. More controversially, I do believe that there are better and worse views that feminists can hold, and we need to consider what understanding(s) of rationality ground or should ground feminist projects—and consider which feminist projects might need abandoning due to a lack of proper grounding.5 Since rationality is flexible and diverse enough to underpin most human experience and activity, surely it allows for the breadth of feminist thought—and if it cannot, then we should just surrender the concept. Yet surrendering rationality is a complete and utter philosophical surrender. Without it, normative claims in epistemology, metaphysics, and ethics lack sufficient grounds for their defense—and the normative claims that most feminists are inclined to make are central to the tasks of feminism, including concerns with equality, fairness, and justice. No one concerned with oppression can do without these concepts. Regardless of the topic of argument, it is fair of our opponents to ask that we explain the cognitive grounds for our theoretical and moral choices. Yet questions of grounds create a great deal of unease within most feminist circles, as do appeals to Enlightenment moral concepts. Even though most feminists maintain, for example, that it is right that all people are treated as persons, many also maintain that the underpinnings of these concepts are steeped in androcentric bias. The tension, which stems from feminists’ widespread rejection of the dualisms in which such concepts are immersed, is one of many such tensions highlighting insufficient attention to grounds. While it is beyond dispute that feminists express deep objections to binary oppositions, what is a matter of enormous dispute is whether feminism can get by without these oppositions. In other words, in the absence of the dichotomies upon which Enlightenment moral concepts are grounded, can feminists maintain the normativity and objectivity necessary to argue against our philosophical opponents? If not, can we reconceive these dichotomies in ways that are less masculine, less exclusionary, and less destructive of people’s lives? I contend that if we simply shift the focus of reason from asking one sort of question to asking another sort, we can at least hope to bridge the gaps and find a balance between seemingly opposing concepts. The key is to bring rationality back to its everyday use, even if this bringing back must be done in the abstract and formal language of philosophy. Provided that we look beyond the merely structural aspects of reason to the broader goal of “human flourishing,” however we ultimately 10 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality define this flourishing, we should find mental acts of perception and understanding that embrace all aspects of what it is to be human, not simply engage in abstract problem solving. Given the extensive literature on philosophical dichotomies and the masculinity of rationality, I can in no way do justice to it all. Instead, my argument is limited to four polarities that lie at the core of how it is that philosophers have typically come to terms with reason. These are: mind/ body, reason/emotion, identity/difference, and objectivity/subjectivity. In many ways, the issues surrounding each of these dichotomies bleed into the issues surrounding the others. For example, the distinction between mind and body is directly linked to the distinction between reason and emotion. Reason is historically a faculty of the mind; emotion tends to be tied to bodies. While the concerns are similar, they are not identical, and as a result, the issues at the heart of each of these polarities engage different concerns both within the tradition and within feminism. The divide between mind and body (or in yet another form, between subject and object) involves a metaphysical distinction upon which the reason/emotion polarity does not draw. Similarly, the epistemic issues in the divide between objectivity and subjectivity are tied to the distinction between mind and body, but only the former polarity directly engages the perpetual threat of relativism. And the distinction between identity and difference introduces moral concerns, including issues with autonomy that are not directly addressed within the mind/body distinction. I attempt to disentangle these issues as much as possible so that I can be as clear as possible in my argument that reconceiving reason produces different understandings of these divisions. Within epistemology and the philosophy of mind are a core set of tensions: objectivity and bias, mind and body, reason and emotion, objectivism and relativism. Each of these is part of a larger tension between universality and plurality, which also extends to the ethical realm insofar as it affects how we are to conceive of moral agents. One of the more central questions is: how do we deal with selves that are fragmented but somehow unified? Feminist philosophers perpetually encounter the tensions created by binary oppositions; thus, we need an understanding of rationality that can, if not eliminate them entirely, at least navigate these oppositions. My own view is that it is not necessary or desirable to seek to entirely dissolve them. These so-called oppositions are actually related to one another; each influences the other and cannot operate in the absence of its opposite. The secret to making rationality work as a feminist concept is to recognize the interdependence of opposing pairs of concepts and to understand that rationality lies at the center of these relations. Put simply, rationality does Why Reason? 11 not exist in the absence of particularity, emotion, embodiment, and social situatedness—that is, all those aspects that philosophers have for centuries excluded from the proper domain of reason. However—and here is the great controversy—neither can rationality function without some unitary, transcendental ground. In a way, then, my task is to seek a systematic unity of oppositional pairs so that feminists’ need for normativity and desire for inclusiveness can be balanced. This approach is something of a departure from most feminist paths. When it comes to dichotomous thinking, feminists have adopted three general approaches: first, allow the oppositions are genuine but claim women’s equal alignment with the valorized term; second, allow the opposition but valorize the traditionally feminine half of each pair; or third, reject the oppositions entirely. The first of these approaches tends to be found in historical feminists such as Mary Wollstonecraft and Simone de Beauvoir, as well as in feminist empiricism.6 The second of these approaches tends to be found in views such as standpoint epistemology and ethics of care, both of which consider, say, particularity, concreteness, and emotion (as opposed to universality and transcendence) as essential to philosophical reflection. The final approach is mostly found within postmodern feminism, which finds inspiration in deconstruction of modernism’s dualisms and dichotomies. The path I forge is different from all of these, although it has some affinity with the first approach. My own suspicion is that whatever side one takes on the debate over dichotomous thinking, the pairs are impossible to avoid altogether.7 Reason, objectivity, and unity can no more be forsaken than can emotion, subjectivity, and plurality—unless one is willing to give up on philosophy entirely. Without both sides of the oppositional pairs, feminists cannot support the types of metaphysical, epistemological, and moral claims that we wish to make. Yet, admitting that there are genuine divisions that can be drawn between concepts does not entail that we must understand these concepts as radically opposed to each other. They may simply be different, albeit mutually interdependent. I believe the truth is closer to this latter claim and that we should seek to understand the interconnections among supposedly opposing concepts, especially insofar as they affect our conception of rationality. If we consider not simply what rationality has been taken to be but also what it can be in a post-Enlightenment world, we find the means for navigating dichotomous tensions and the promise of a more inclusive concept of rationality. As a result, this book has two major themes: reason and dichotomies. With respect to the first, I maintain that feminists would be well served by 12 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality constructively engaging the concept of reason, which can then help us resolve some of the difficulties of dichotomous thinking. With respect to the second, I argue that when it comes to philosophical dichotomies, the appropriate target of feminist attacks is simply the manner in which mainstream philosophers have treated them—oppositionally. While the typical metaphor for dichotomies is of a pole with one of the opposing terms on each end, feminists are almost unified in their distaste for this metaphor. What metaphor, then, should replace it? The image I think better captures the relationship of dichotomous pairs is that of a binary star system in which each term not only circles and influences the other but also needs the other in order to do its philosophical work. Put more directly, we should not seek to overcome dichotomous thinking but should recast it in a different form so that the poles are viewed interdependently. This approach is decidedly conservative, but not reactionary. Although dichotomies may be inescapable, we need not accept that they are thereby oppositional (even if that is how they are been historically cast). On the one hand, we cannot have emotion without reason, or body without mind, or subjectivity without objectivity—at least not if we want to engage in philosophical debates. On the other hand, these concepts are not adversarial, as many philosophers (and not just postmodern ones) are coming to recognize. Despite the emphasis on dichotomous thinking, my primary concern does not lie with dichotomies; rather, my main concern is an extended defense of a decidedly feminist concept of rationality. The concept I defend, namely, a virtue concept, engages continuing historical and feminist debates pertaining to reason. Philosophers have traditionally utilized dichotomies in defining and explaining our faculty of reason, and while I accept that this might not be the best approach, it is nonetheless a familiar and well-worn one—both for feminist and nonfeminist philosophers. I do not so much want to reinvent the concept of reason as I want simply to reinterpret or even reorganize philosophical approaches to it. “Reason” needs to be returned to its ordinary use.

III

Before I begin, I should reiterate and explicate two matters of philosophical housekeeping: first, my overall view of reason, and second, my approach to feminism. In the case of reason, I reject much of the widespread skepticism concerning the concept. As I previously indicated, I take it that outside of fairly radical disruptions in cognitive development, all humans turn out Why Reason? 13

(more or less) rational.8 I also take it that rationality is never isolated or free-floating. It always has a context. This observation is not all that novel. It goes back at least as far as Kant. Contrary to Kant, though, I believe most of us understand that the mental acts that make up our rational activities, such as perception and understanding, are often indistinguishable from the culture and practices that are partly constitutive of them. In other words, rationality is always historically situated; yet underlying this situatedness is a faculty that transcends specific cultures—rationality is the default position for almost every human being. Such claims concerning the histo- ricity and universality of reason need much unpacking, but I argue that this approach to reasoning is a widely, albeit not universally, accepted one.9 Because I take it that rationality is partly constituted by context, there are no necessary and sufficient conditions that can be given to decisively define the concept. As a result, my discussion of how rationality functions as a virtue concept may appear less than concise. Unfortunately—or, fortunately, as the case may be—the rejection of methodological conceptions of reason comes with a bit of fuzziness around the boundaries. I believe this fuzziness returns some speculative vigor to the concept, which is something that feminists can then use to their advantage. On the second issue, namely, my approach to feminism, I explicitly reiterate that I do not intend the foolhardy task of speaking for all feminists. While I do make an effort to speak to as many feminists as possible, I recognize that there are fundamental and perhaps incommensurable differences between the various reformist and radical feminist positions. Hence, I make no effort to speak to every feminist. My arguments are unabashedly reformist, and for someone disinclined to a reformist attitude, my view will seem hopelessly naïve. That said, my position is not as reformist as some. In describing feminist empiricism, another reformist position, Harding ascribes to it the view that “sexism and androcentrism are social biases correctable by stricter adherence to the existing methodological norms of scientific inquiry” (1986, 24). My own position is not quite this conservative for I reject that there is some single methodology that is constitutive of rationality (although I also maintain that feminists need to take seriously that rationality is not entirely neutral about methodology either). I argue in fact that the sexism and androcentrism that feminists find in our concepts of reason are correctable through feminists holding philosophers’ feet to the fire and insisting that they take seriously the influence of categories like sex, gender, race, and class. Most philosophers working on rationality today understand that minds are not distinct from bodies and that the content of rationality is always context dependent, but feminists are often best equipped 14 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality to pressure the philosophical community to seriously explore what this means for rationality. Just as Harding argues that feminist values are necessary to expose sexism in science, I believe feminist values are necessary to fully challenge and reconceive our notions of reason. Thus, I start from the position that feminists need a substantive, and not merely instrumental, rationality. My reasons for this are largely practical and my arguments are often transcendental. Women are genuinely oppressed and this oppression is unjust, but to make such claims requires some stable ground upon which to construct justificatory structures, not just for oneself or one’s insular community, but with which reasonable people can be per- suaded.10 Feminists must be able to establish the truth of feminism. Some may object, with good reason, to my pursuit of truth through reasoned argument. Philosophical accounts of reason have not been kind to women. While I believe that philosophers are remiss if we fail to consider the lessons of our past, our philosophical concepts need not be wedded to past meanings. The search for truth does not require a timeless and transcendent perspective, as some feminists seem inclined to think. It does, however, require that our immanent critiques permit stable meanings. So, from where are these immanent critiques to come? From where else? Mainstream philosophical conceptions of rationality. This response may seem shocking, but it should not be so. I admit that mainstream philosophy is not politically innocent and that many male philosophers, whether knowing or not, perpetuate past oppressive structures. Still, the fact is that our current philosophical obsession with reason emanates from a widespread rejection of Cartesian or Enlightenment conceptions of rationality. Current accounts of rationality contain fewer and fewer of the oppressive features that feminists so revile in historical accounts of reason.11 Many of the objections raised by feminists have been also been raised by nonfeminists, albeit motivated by different reasons. As a discipline, philosophy revels in its past, but it does not revel in it uncritically. Charles Taylor may be speaking about morality, but he might as well be speaking of rationality when he says:

frameworks today are problematic. This vague term points towards a relatively open disjunction of attitudes. What is common to them all is the sense that no framework is shared by everyone, can be taken for granted as the framework tout court, can sink to the phenomenological status of unquestioned fact. (1989, 17)

Whatever residual elements of the Enlightenment remain in our thinking, most are open to serious question, including the notion that Reason can be Why Reason? 15 single, universal, transcendent, mythological, detached, disembodied, unemotional, unitary, and absolutely objective. The transformations that many feminists seek concerning our understanding of rationality are already under philosophical discussion. The time has come for feminists to consider a positive account of rationality. Feminists are no different from other philosophers in keeping one eye constantly on canonical figures and philosophical history. We have something to learn by doing this. On the other hand, Enlightenment rationality, in all its flawed glory, is no longer a live philosophical concept. Rationality is no longer bound by Enlightenment ideals. There is widespread acceptance that values, and even emotion, must be taken into account when considering the nature of rationality. And feminists have much to contribute to these debates, especially when it comes to topics such as the role of emotion in reason. Furthermore, feminists have a sensi- tivity to gender issues that nonfeminist philosophers simply do not have. If we surrender the concept of reason and refuse to offer alternatives to masculine ways of thinking about it, then we should not be surprised that rationality continues to be a masculine concept. In what follows, I argue that rationality, understood as a virtue concept, captures many of the features that feminists seem to want in our notion of reason. It may not be perfect—- and what feminist admits to holding perfection to be a useful ideal—but it is friendly to feminist aims and arguments. The work of shaping this concept and carving out a space for women is up to us. 16 2Chapter 2Chapter The Fossil of Reason

In our critical obsession with reason and rationality, feminist philosophers are no different from any other philosophers. While “philosophy” may literally translate as “love of wisdom,” it is perhaps more accurate to define it as the “love of reason.” The centrality of reason to philosophy is borne out not only by the attention it has received over millennia but also by the intensity of the attacks upon the concept in the past several decades—otherwise, why speak, as Richard Bernstein does, of a rage against reason? Rage can only be generated toward something to which one has had a previously strong affinity, and until recently, reason was unquestioningly at the core of philosophy. Regardless of how strong the attacks on it have been, even reason’s harsh- est philosophical critics begrudgingly acknowledge that the concept cannot be entirely undone. Stephen Stich goes as far as to deny that “rationality and justification have any intrinsic or ultimate value” (1991, 21), but even he allows that “cognition . . . is an activity that plays a central role in the pursuit of a variety of ends” (1991, 158). When it comes to reason’s feminist critics, Linda Alcoff, who is much less harsh than Stich, admits that “feminist philosophy cannot entirely forego the recourse to reason, objectivity, and truth” (1995, 10). Reason is, after all, a necessary condition for philosophy itself, although that has not stopped contemporary philosophers from engaging in a serious critique of how we understand the concept. In our willingness to critique reason and rationality, feminist philosophers are again very much in the mainstream, even if our criticisms are not always focused on the same aspects of reason as those of nonfeminist philosophers. Much of the feminist rage against reason stems from the foundational role the concept has played in the dichotomous, and oppressive, nature of Western philosophy. Reason is clearly a central player in most of these oppositions. Within the canon one can see philosophers argue, again and again, about which features belong to the realm of reason and which features stand in opposition to it. While the qualities associated with reason may vary 18 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality over time, what does not change is that those qualities associated with it are the ones valorized—and are typically associated with whatever constitutes so-called masculinity. It is this maleness of reason to which feminists invariably object, and the question of whether reason and masculinity can be divorced is a matter of serious debate within feminism. Contrary to popular feminist opinion, I am convinced that even though the history of rationality is overwhelmingly masculine, it is not inherently or essentially so. In other words, reason and masculinity can be disentangled. “Rationality” has two distinct meanings. On the one hand, “rationality” may simply refer to our ability to reason in a quite minimal sense: to give arguments and to respond to reasons both for and against beliefs and actions. This sense of the term, which is the only sort of reason someone like Stich is willing to defend, seems incontrovertible. Human beings naturally engage in this sort of activity in unreflective and unconscious ways, and a philosopher who rejects this aspect of reason can hardly engage in doing philosophy at all. Quite the contrary, to reject this sort of reason would seem to assure one of nothing but perishing quickly. This minimal sense of rationality is usually not of particular interest within philosophy, although some feminists speak as if it is the only sense of “reason” they will allow. On the other hand, “rationality” also refers to a much more substantive and normative activity. In this sense, we consider a rational agent’s desires and goals as well as the relation of these desires and goals to actions in the world. It is under this interpretation of “reason” that we consider how we ought to formulate the beliefs and actions that guide our lives. This broader notion of rationality is much more complex and controversial for it includes concerns over transcendence v. immanence, universality v. particularity, objectivity v. subjectivity, and so on. These are the discussions that greatly interest philosophers, including feminist philosophers. For feminists who are deeply concerned that women have been systematically and consistently excluded from the domain of the rational, the substantive notion of rationality is the locus of debate. If reason is to be salvaged, it must be capable of being con- ceptualized in such a way that women are fully included within the domain of the rational, not simply as guests but as full-fledged residents. While no feminist philosopher doubts that women are rational in the first sense of the term, in the latter sense, one finds serious questions— albeit not about whether women are actually rational, whatever that may mean, but about whether, given its historical connotations, women should aspire to the normative sense. Alcoff is suspicious of any claim to the effect that the prejudice of male philosophers can be removed from our understanding of reason, and as a result, she is also suspicious of the idea The Fossil of Reason 19 that reason is capable of revealing truth. In summarizing the tension surrounding feminism’s critique of rationality, Alcoff says,

the feminist critique of reason challenges philosophy’s self- understanding as a discipline of discourse primarily organized by the pursuit of truth . . . . [The] demise of philosophical reason would seem to consign us to accepting that all discourse are reducible to strate- gies of power or manifestations of a desire ungoverned by rational standards. But if philosophy is truly truth-seeking, then how can we account for the exclusion, denigration, and repudiation of all things female throughout the history of our esteemed vocation? (Alcoff 1995, 4–5)

The problem here is twofold. If, on the one hand, philosophy is indeed a pursuit of truth, why do male philosophers seem to be so far from the truth when it comes to women and women’s experience? If, on the other hand, philosophers reject the pursuit of truth, must we resign ourselves to irrationalism? We seem to be damned if we buy into an androcentric conception of reason and damned if we reject the grounds necessary to argue the so- called truth of feminism. Within feminism, there is a strong sense that philosophy’s history of misogyny is not simply a matter of a few philosophical blind spots but is inseparable from the philosophical enterprise. For some, such as Michele Le Doeuff, the division between masculine and feminine is incapable of being bridged. She argues:

the man/woman difference is invoked or conscripted to signify the general opposition between definite and indefinite, that is to say validated/ excluded, an opposition of which the logos/mythos couple represents one form . . . . [T]he feminine, as support and signifier of something that having been engendered by philosophy whilst being rejected by it, operates within it as an indispensable deadweight which cannot be dialectically absorbed [italics added]. (1987, 196)

Philosophy’s exclusion of women and, by extension, reason’s exclusion of women is, for many, not simply an accident; it is an ineliminable part of the history of philosophy. Consequently, reason, which is at the heart of this practice, cannot be liberated from its androcentricism—or so some feminists seem to claim. On the other side of the debate are feminists who believe we concede too much if we abandon rationality as irredeemably androcentric. Instead, 20 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

reason’s misogynistic history requires a self-reflective and self-critical examination, which should produce a radical transformation into something more open to and inclusive of women. Feminists who adopt this stance understand there is a price to pay if we surrender rationality to the masculine. The consequences of abandoning rationality are summarized by Longino:

To reject rationality as masculine is to concede to this expropriation of a basic human quality from women . . . . The consequence is not simply to grant rationality to men, but to deprive women/feminists of the means to support and persuade others to alternative accounts which do not incorporate the values of domination to which we object. (1989, 263)

Surely no feminist cares to deny women a basic human trait, but what is at issue (which Longino clearly understands) is not whether we are willing to grant men the use of the term. Rather, the issue is whether feminists can use the powerful tools of rational argument to defend our views. If masculinity is truly inseparable from rationality and feminists must abandon it, we stand to lose a great deal. Conversely, if rationality can be philosophically trans- formed into a genuinely human faculty, we stand to gain a great deal. Given the nature of philosophy itself, all feminist philosophers surely have some implicit theories of rationality underlying their arguments. We would be well served to examine what it is that is wrong with masculine versions of the concept and to discover what would constitute a good feminist theory of rationality.

The most widespread and most fundamental criticism that feminists launch against the concept of reason is that it is masculine. The motivation for this criticism is not any particular gripe with a common sense or practical understanding of reason but lies instead with the sense that women are left out of most philosophical discussions relating to it. Almost all of the various ways reason comes under attack from feminist philosophers fall, in some way or another, under the heading of the “maleness of reason.” Women simply are not included. Exactly what constitutes this “maleness” depends on who formulates the argument, but most agree that there is some degree of androcentrism inherent in philosophers’ understanding of reason. In Man of Reason, Genevieve Lloyd (1984) makes a persuasive case that although our concepts of “reason” and “male” have changed over time, the two concepts The Fossil of Reason 21 are philosophically welded together.1 The question is not whether the exclusion of “the feminine” is one of the most pervasive features of the concept of reason: clearly, it is.2 The question is how we, as feminists, respond to this exclusion. In summarizing feminist philosophy’s treatment of reason, Karen Jones (2004) identifies three general approaches that feminists adopt when considering the exclusion of women from the realm of the rational. The first of these is the highly conservative path of the classical feminist project. Three features of this first approach are:

1. the acceptance of reason and rationality as genuinely human norms and ideals; 2. the belief that the norms and ideals of available conceptions of rationality are sufficiently complete and capable of prescribing wise and responsible beliefs and actions; and 3. the attitude that rationality indeed grounds our worth as persons, our equal moral standing, and makes us distinctively human.

For the classical feminist, there is nothing wrong with the concept of rationality itself; the problem lies in the gender-biased conceptions that philosophers have advocated. One can infer that this is precisely the attitude of Mary Astell when she says:

if therefore he [God] has given to mankind a rational mind, every individual understanding ought to be employed in somewhat worthy of it. . . . And if the understanding be made for the contemplation of truth, and I know not what else it can be made for, either there are many understandings who are never able to attain what they were designed for and fitted for, which is contrary to the supposition that God made nothing in vain, or else the very meanest must be put in a way of attaining it . . . ; all may think, may use their own faculties rightly, and consult the master who is within them. (1994, 115)

This way of looking at reason, namely, to view it as a faculty that anyone is capable of using, is the most conservative and, given the path of feminism over the past several decades, perhaps the most controversial within feminist circles since it implies that the concept can be purged of its androcentrism while being left mostly intact. However, this approach does have its advantages, and as Nussbaum argues, has “some value for women in seeking to secure their equality . . . . [F]eminists, from Cartesian philosopher Mary 22 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Astell to Mary Wollstonecraft, were able to appeal to women’s rational capacity as a ground for claims to full political and moral equality” (1999, 72). That is, the classical feminist can use men’s philosophical arguments against them, so to speak. Nevertheless, for feminists who oppose the classical feminist project, a serious problem remains: classical feminism tends to leave everything philosophically as it is—and the way things are is not at all good for women. The alternative approaches to reason, namely, the different voice and strong critical projects, are much less willing to accept that all is right with our conception of reason. The different voice project specifically rejects the second claim of the classical feminists’ view: the idea that our philosophical and commonsense notions of rationality are complete or sufficient. Advocates of the different voice project argue instead that because our inherited theories of rationality leave out capacities that have typically been associated with women (e.g., emotion), they misrepresent reason and should be rejected. By contrast, the strong critical project includes a diverse number of perspectives, but what its proponents hold in common is a rejection of classical feminism’s first claim: the idea that reason and rationality are genuine human ideals. In other words, reason is inherently masculine. Although many feminist philosophers continue within the spirit of the classical feminist project (e.g., Longino, Nelson, Nussbaum, and Nagl- Docekal) and, thus, accept that rationality can be wrested away from androcentric domination (and thereby redeemed), just about every feminist, regardless of perspective, retains a certain skepticism concerning the concept. The association of reason with masculinity is historically so clear and so strong that classical feminists have perhaps the most difficult argument to make: that somehow, despite the overwhelming, the perpetual, the consistent associations of reason with masculinity, the concept can be salvaged. That is, the philosophical canon provides strong support for the claims made by the proponents of the different voice and strong critical projects. When considering the canon, feminists can be easily tempted to dismiss philosophers such as Aristotle and Kant, both of whom explicitly denigrate women’s capacity for rationality—and do so in ways that look rather silly in hindsight.3 According to Kant, women “can leave Descartes his vortices to whirl forever without troubling themselves about them” (1960, 79).4 No feminist philosopher is likely to take such a claim seriously—after all, we have all troubled ourselves with Descartes at some point. But the question concerning the inherent maleness of reason can perhaps be best addressed by examining philosophers like Plato and Hume, philosophers who on the surface seem quite enlightened and progressive when it comes to their The Fossil of Reason 23

attitudes toward women. Here, too, it appears we find the same sort of skepticism concerning women’s ability to reason as well as men. With Plato, this skepticism stems from his belief that while all bodies corrupt the soul, women’s bodies seem to corrupt more absolutely. Unless Plato is simply being disingenuous, which is highly unlikely, he clearly believes that women can be the equal of men. If he actually thinks that women are by nature unable to achieve the life of reason, the life of the philosopher, he surely would say as much. Instead, he argues quite strongly that “we shall say that no proof has yet been produced that the woman differs from the man for our purposes” (Plato 1961h, 454e). What is far less clear, however, is whether Plato thinks any women actually achieve such equality. Having a female body is a corrupting influence on the soul, and he, time and time again, describes women as exhibiting qualities unworthy of men—so much so that unworthy men are said to be reborn as women.5 While Plato falls under some suspicion due to his denigration of the body (and for other reasons that I will discuss in subsequent chapters), Hume remains an attractive figure due to his penchant for valorizing emotion and being deeply skeptical concerning the power of reason. He is such an appealing figure for some, precisely because he does what many so-called different voice feminists (among others) also do: places emphasis on those qualities typically excluded from the domain of the rational (e.g., emotion). In reflecting specifically on reason and rationality, Longino, herself a defender of reason, appeals directly to Hume, saying, “When in a quandary, turn to Hume” (2005, 84). At least part of the motivation for turning to Hume lies in the fact that he actually comes as close as any modern philosopher to rejecting Enlightenment accounts of reason. One of the issues that feminists have with modern conceptions of rationality is the strong link these accounts have with logical/deductive methodology. While Hume may not object to this link on the same grounds as feminists, he does object, which strikes many as an endearing quality in his philosophy. When it comes to the feminist response to the logical conception of reason, Longino summarizes one popular argument:

The [traditional epistemological] theories are held to be the products of masculine ways of knowing, that is, rationality. If logic, rationality and objectivity produce such theories, then logic, rationality and objectivity must be at fault and women must search for alternative ways of knowing nature. Such arguments often end up privileging subjectivity, intuition, or a feminine way of knowing characterized by interaction with or identification with, rather than distance from, the object of knowledge. (1989, 262) 24 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Hume does much the same. A Humean account of reason rejects self-transparent, transcendent, logical methodologies. As a result, it is highly deflationary, making reason subservient to the passions. Hume very much privileges subjectivity, although he does not go so far as to endorse intuition or so-called feminine ways of knowing. One of the most charming aspects of Hume is that in his work there appears little philosophical pretense, at least when it comes to the nature of rationality. Minds are merely bundles of particular perceptions, and they are powerless when it comes to guiding desire. Hume’s approach is not entirely free of Enlightenment presuppositions (e.g., epistemic individualism), but his willingness to remove from reason its transcendental ostenta- tion shares a certain affinity with contemporary feminist accounts. Even so, he does not escape issues of dominance and control that disturb feminists. Hume, the sole example of a philosopher who is willing to assert that reason is the slave of the passions, still maintains that “the inferiority of women’s capacity [to reason] is easily accounted for. Their domestic life requires no higher faculties either of mind or body” (1875, 401).6 However progressive some Humean ideas appear and however much his view can be used to further feminist political goals, he quite easily infers women’s inferior rational capacity. Furthermore, whatever Hume’s actual intent, his moral theory can easily support arguments against feminist claims of equality for women. “Equality,” like other Enlightenment concepts, elicits ambivalent reactions among feminists. We may want equality, but it is an open question whether women are capable of equality given the term’s modernist connotations. In its Kantian formulation, for example, “equality” is predicated upon an a priori understanding of reason that decisively excludes women since women are associated with body, feeling, subjectivity, and particularity—none of which is proper to reason. The advantage of Hume is that he rejects the significance of the a priori for the morality. Yet his moral theory, with its simple appeal to the social utility of equality, permits oppression when socially useful. He argues:

Were there a species of creatures, intermingled with men, which though rational, were possessed of such inferior strength, both of body and mind, that they were incapable of all resistance, and could never, upon the highest provocation, makes us feel the effects of their resentment . . . [o]ur intercourse with them could not be called society, which supposes a degree of equality; but absolute command on the one side, and servile obedience on the other. (1875, 185) The Fossil of Reason 25

The history of women through many cultures and time periods reflects precisely this state of affairs, and Hume allows that there is nothing especially wrong in these situations. Thus, while Humean reason sidesteps many of the objections feminists raise against reason generally, the pure instru- mentality of the concept also weakens the ground of feminism’s normative claims. Of course, normativity is not the problem at the moment: the masculinity of rationality is. If the canonical philosophers who are widely considered, from a feminist point of view, the most progressive still retain the association of masculinity with reason, it may be that the two simply cannot be divorced. Rationality is, throughout the canon, supposed to be universal and neutral, beyond the particular limits of gender. Nonetheless, feminists are relatively united in arguing that such pretensions to universality and neutrality involve ways of thinking that invariably favor men and disadvantage women. In the past century, the rise of positivism’s scientific rationality as the dominate model of reason brings to the forefront ideals of universality and impartiality as clear markers of the rational. Positivists are, of course, intensely concerned to establish a value-neutral objectivity that synthesizes knowledge based on unmediated sensation, but as Lorraine Code, among others, argues, “hidden subjectivities produce these epistemologies and sustain their hegemony . . .” (1993, 19). In selecting their examples, says Code, positivists’ choices, which are intended to be neutral with respect to context, actually reflect the privileged status of those promoting “neutrality.” The so-called hard-mindedness of the positivists implies that only some subjects, presumably scientific ones, are proper to reason. Such limits utilize claims of universality and impartiality in order to establish their legitimacy, but according to most feminists, these claims actually serve to define rationality in ways that favor masculine ways of thinking. The result is, as Elizabeth Grosz argues, that men can invisibly take on the role of neutral reasoners because “there is no other knowledge with which it can be contrasted” (1993, 204). In the absence of alternatives, the only knowledge-game in town is that of an assumed neutrality. Despite the historical assumptions of and claims to neutrality, the evidence suggests that rationality is never neutral—and this evidence is widely recognized by the broader philosophical community. Even someone as philosophically conservative as Nozick claims that “no one seeks out all possible reasons impartially and gives them equal weight” (1993, 105). He goes on to add that rationality “is biased in the very goals it pursues and in the manner of its pursuit” (1993, 106). But if rationality cannot be neutral, must its biases be inherently masculine? Is the dichotomy of male/female 26 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality inescapable when it comes to reason? Feminists who adopt the so-called strong critical approach and who deny that rationality is a genuinely human ideal, answer in the affirmative. However, I find this approach deeply problematic because it marginalizes feminism within the larger philosophical community and makes feminist arguments far too easy to dismiss. More importantly, I think this attitude fails to recognize the liberating potential of nonmodern, contemporary accounts of reason. Rather than abandon rationality to a supposed masculinity, we should wrest the concept away from its association with masculinity. To do so requires a bit of subversion—- but only a bit.7 Whatever feminist complaints can be lodged against reason, nonfeminist philosophers have been equally disenchanted. The widespread skepticism concerning reason that has developed since the middle of the twentieth century has led to a radical rethinking of the concept, and this rethinking has produced a post-Enlightenment understanding of rationality. Even a cursory examination of philosophers working in the later part of the twentieth century demonstrates a clear trend away from modern atomistic, individualistic, transcendent, universal, value-neutral, and culturally insensitive conceptions of rationality. For example, Taylor argues that our moral agency develops out of social connections, saying, “living in society is a necessary condition of the development of rationality, in some sense of this property . . .” (1985, 191). Atomistic individualism, in other words, cannot account for rationality. Bernstein makes a similar epistemic point when he argues that

in contemporary analytic epistemology, we have witnessed an internal dialectic that has moved from the preoccupation (virtually an obsession) with the isolated individual term, to the sentence or proposition, to the conceptual scheme or framework, to an ongoing historical tradition constituted by social practices—a movement from logical atomism to historical dynamic continuity. (1983, 24)

Over the course of the past century, the assumption of individualism and, along with it, our notions of autonomy have fallen from favor. So much so that Nozick, who also rejects absolutely neutrality, maintains: “It is not just our rationality and our principles that are partial, designed to work in tandem with external things. We humans are partial creatures, not wholly autonomous” (1993, 123). So much for transcendence and independent autonomy. And Putnam reiterates that rationality is anything but value- neutral when he claims, The Fossil of Reason 27

If ‘rationality’ is an ability (or better, an integrated system of abilities) which enables the possessor to determine what questions are relevant questions to ask and what answers it is warranted to accept, then its value is on its sleeve. But it needs no argument that such a conception of rationality is as value loaded as the notion of relevance itself.

And with that, out goes the idea of absolute objectivity. Finally, Peter Winch attacks the universality of reason, telling us that what we can learn by studying other cultures are “different possibilities of making sense of human life, different ideas about the possible importance that the carrying out of certain activities may take on for a man” (1964, 321). In short, over the past several decades, our conception of reason has changed, and changed dramatically. While each of these views may individually fail to capture a philosophical consensus, they nonetheless demonstrate the willingness and ease with which philosophers have discarded key, gendered features of modern conceptions of reason. So, feminists are not alone in endorsing sociality, immanence, and value- ladenness. What mainstream arguments lack, however, is feminisms’ interest in the gender associations of reason. Such gender associations are intimately linked with philosophers’ tendency to think dichotomously. Man/woman is often wedded to mind/body, reason/emotion, identity/difference, objectivity/subjectivity, and so on—and feminists from every walk of philosophy are concerned with this sort of polarizing thinking. Because such dichotomies are intimately associated with and are even partly constitutive of our philosophical conceptions of rationality, to tease apart rationality and masculinity requires a more detailed look at how rationality has been defined according to polarizing dichotomies. To fail to speak to the divisions that have kept rationality out of the grasp of women is to fail to speak to feminist concerns. In the final analysis, however, not every account of rationality need be predicated on dichotomous thinking. Considering reason in the premodern mode of a virtue concept returns us to an understanding that avoids many of the sins of the Enlightenment. How it is these sins are avoided, though, depends on just what one takes those sins to be. If we come to terms with the distortions that rationality has suffered at the hands of the moderns and their heirs, we gain insight into our own understanding of what reason is. And if feminists take seriously what reason can be and not simply what it has been, we may find that the concept can be humanized. 28 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Canonical conceptions of rationality rely heavily on binary oppositions, but these same conceptions and their attendant oppositions have, over the past several decades, begun to philosophically unravel—so much so that some consider the ideal of rationality to be dead. The mystery of how rationality has come to be viewed as dead requires a plot as complicated as any good detective novel, but the outlines of the tale are relatively simple. What contemporary philosophers object to in historical accounts of rationality can be clearly traced to how the moderns radically précised the concept in a way that codified its oppositional nature. As with any philosophical tale, the opening scene belongs to Plato. In his work we find a clear and consistent distinction between reason and emotion as well as between soul and body, but what we do not find is the radical incommensurability that defines much of modern philosophy.8 The philosophical universe may be portrayed in oppositional terms, yet Plato accepts that souls are embodied and affected by their bodies, that reason is linked to and cannot entirely escape emotion. He recognizes that we must live in the real world with real bodies, and his philosophy reflects our embodied existence. In fact, one of the key aspects of Platonic metaphysics and epistemology is that the physical world participates in the world of Forms. Such willingness to put forth an interactionist account of oppositions may be less objectionable than the radical gulf that modern philosophers propose, but given his hierarchical account of these oppositions, Plato’s integration of body and soul does not necessarily garner kudos from all feminists, although it does garner kudos from some.9 In contrast, Descartes offers a methodological conception of reason that relies on a sharp and radical division between mind and body, and between reason and emotion. As such, he finds few feminist defenders. Cartesian methodology excludes almost all concern with, and influence of, body and emotion on reason and rationality. In his first two Meditations, for example, he demonstrates both the untrustworthiness of the senses and the independence of mind from body. Specifically, in Meditation II, Descartes first concludes that he is, he exists. Only then does he ask the question “what am I?” And he answers this question long before determining that he does indeed have a body (which comes, at last, in the final Meditation). What Descartes never quite resolves, and that for which Princess Elizabeth calls him to task, is how mind and body can actually interact given their distinctness as separate substances. That he cannot resolve this problem is, however, not terribly surprising since he is rather unconcerned with the The Fossil of Reason 29 question.10 What actually holds his interest is not the interaction of mind and body but is instead the internal methodology of how minds ought to operate. Bodies are not only irrelevant to this question, they are an impediment to answering it. For the next three centuries, this attention on internal operations of the mind becomes the focus of philosophy, both in rationalism and empiricism. Yet, it also produces a paradox: the paradox of Cartesian inwardness.11 This paradox results from understanding reason as a disembodied, disengaged, self-sufficient faculty focused only on its own internal ideas. Withina Cartesian framework, disembodied reason is not part of the world and can exist nowhere in the world. This separateness and distinctness from the world of objects is designed to allow for certain and objective knowledge as well as freedom and autonomy in a mechanistically determined world. But it leaves reason so detached from the physical world that it can attend only to itself and its own ideas. As a result, objectivity can be obtained, for Descartes and most of the moderns, only through a quite radical subjectivity. That is, if I am to function adequately as an epistemic agent, the focus of my attention must be only on my own internal ideas, and these ideas, when properly attended to, are supposedly the ground of my knowledge of a world independent of me. This paradox emerges from the opposition between mind and world, and it is a significant motivation for the widespread skepticism concerning reason in philosophy today. Still, this insight is not new. The difficulties with such a radically subjective conception of reason were first understood by Kant when he asks the question “Is metaphysics possible?” The question, and his reply, demonstrate the depth of the problem: given the radical and individualized subjectivity entailed by having only one’s own ideas upon which to build knowledge, we seemingly lose all ability to understand or know an external world. As a result, much of the Critique of Pure Reason concerns the possibility of finding some objective grounds for knowledge within a radical subjectivity. While Kant grasps fully the depth of the problem of subjectivity, especially as it is embraced in Humean philosophy, he nonetheless fails to challenge the foundations of Enlightenment rationality and the dichotomies on which it depends. He retains a view of rationality as a spontaneous and autonomous nonmaterial seat of mental activity. Only in the twentieth century do the foundations of Enlightenment rationality come under attack—and, then, with such a vengeance that Bernstein asks: “Why is it that when ‘Reason’ or ‘Rationality’ are mentioned, they evoke images of domination, oppression, repression, patriarchy, sterility, violence, total- ity, totalitarianism, and even terror” (1986, 187)? 30 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Given the current intellectual climate, the only philosophers who would be surprised to learn of problems with canonical ways of conceiving rationality are those who have been living under rocks. For several decades now, both feminist and nonfeminist philosophers have been “raging against reason.” Seyla Benhabib notes that modernity’s tendency to engage in ratio- nalization and disenchantment has been “replaced by a disenchantment with modernity itself” (1992, 68). Modernity, and its conception of rationality, are no longer the standard for normative judgments concerning the progress (or lack thereof) of various societies. However, the aspects of modernity that worry feminists are not always shared by the larger philosophical community. What distinguishes feminist from nonfeminist “rage” is not an opposition to dichotomies—this can be found equally in mainstream philosophy. What distinguishes these approaches is rather the emphasis feminists place on the central role reason plays in the oppression of women. Feminists may widely disagree about what is wrong with reason or about whether the concept has any redeeming qualities, but few question the intimate association of rationality and masculinity. The standard feminist approach to reason proceeds along a rather well- worn path. Modern accounts of rationality, according to this story, typically establish the autonomy and sovereignty of reason in a way that many philo sophers believe excludes women from the domain of the rational.12 Such a view of rationality codifies certain dichotomies that are invariably associated with either masculine or feminine qualities. On the side of the masculine are: reason, objectivity, mind, and unity. On the side of the feminine are: emotion, subjectivity, body, and plurality. Furthermore, Cartesian rationality comes with a universality, transcendence, and noncontingency that establishes a single correct, objectively valid procedure for acquiring knowledge. On standard conceptions, such objectivity is, of course, predicated on eliminating subjectivity, which in turn means eliminating all that is merely empirical, including the body. Since women are almost always identified through body, this account leaves women excluded from the domain of the rational. Admittedly, this is an overly general and stereotypical picture of both Enlightenment rationality and feminist criticisms of it. For example, this version of the story ignores entirely the differences between rationalist and empiricist accounts of reason, not to mention any relationship to the perspective of the ancients. And the differences between the rationalists and empiricists are actually quite significant when it comes to the sorts of arguments feminists utilize when condemning (or occasionally endorsing) Enlightenment accounts of rationality. This story further ignores the great The Fossil of Reason 31 diversity of feminists’ attitudes toward the history of rationality, which is equally relevant to the discussion at hand. Nevertheless, the simple version of the story is indeed the one told by many feminists, and there is a great deal of truth in it. What is often lost, though, is that such a view of rationality no longer holds philosophers’ attention. Just as specifically modernist accounts of rationality have come under attack, so too have broadly dichotomous understandings of reason, most notably within cognitive science and philosophy of mind.13 Across the philosophical discipline, there is a move to question dichotomous thinking, and feminism has, in many respects, led this charge. Over the past century, one issue that has become increasingly clear is that our conceptual systems are grounded in our perceptual and motor systems.14 It is equally clear to many contemporary philosophers that emotions are integral to rational cognition, that social and cultural differences matter in determining the rationality of belief and action, and that objectivity cannot be a matter of achieving some transcendent, value-neutral perspective.15 In other words, on most contemporary understandings of the concept, rationality is always embodied and is always responding to the world around it rather than being disengaged from the world. Reason is no longer defined by its own internal methodology. For much of the contemporary philosophical world, reason is a faculty that always exists in situ.16 Standard conceptions of rationality these days take quite seriously Kant’s maxim that concepts without content are empty. To quote Putnam: “there is no notion of reasonableness without cultures, practices, procedures” (1983, 234). This recognition that our concept of rationality is dependent upon a material and cultural world is well received, and this shift in our understanding of rationality makes it easier than ever to expose and undermine flaws within modern accounts. The longer story exposes how our attitude toward the moderns has radically changed over the past several decades. It also highlights a shift away from a modern understanding of rationality and toward a premodern conception of it. The shift in our attitudes concerning rationality is no less revolutionary than the shift that took place throughout the seventeenth century. For philosophers in the seventeenth century, “the new idea of Reason took as its starting point Descartes’ claims that knowledge must have the certainty of a geometrical system, and that opinions unsupported by such a rigorous theory were just that—nothing but unsupported opinions” (Toulmin 2001, 156). The dominance of Cartesian methodology, which involves simplifying problems down to their self-evidently true foundations and then building knowledge through a thorough and comprehensive 32 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

enumeration, has been so complete that both rationalist and empiricist branches of philosophy perpetuated this method until the latter part of the twentieth century. Despite Descartes’ own protestations that he was not teaching “the method which everyone must follow in order to direct his reason correctly” [italics added], philosophers, both natural and otherwise, took this method as definitive of rational thought (1985, 112). This myth of the single method is a significant misstep in the eyes of many contemporary philosophers. From this misstep, a series of further concerns arise, especially with respect to the isolation and narrowness of rational methodology. Because rationality is the same for everyone—or so the moderns tell us— it provides us with access to an objective structure of reality. Of course, how objective the access is will depend on whether one is a rationalist or an empiricist. Hume allows for a greater role for the subjectivity of experience, for emotion, and for social interaction than does Descartes, but he fails to diverge from Descartes’ views on epistemic individualism, conscious awareness of cognitive processes, and the methodological approach to reason. In fact, it is Hume’s failure to find a satisfying methodology for reason that leads to much of his skepticism concerning the concept. The assumptions that Hume shares with Descartes are precisely those that latter day empiricists, such as the positivists, emphasize with a vengeance. Hume himself may have deviated from the doctrine that passions are slaves to reason, but Humean reason remains fully dependent upon dichotomous thinking and maintaining the modern emphasis on epistemic individualism. For both the rationalist and the empiricist, a “distinction between the determinate (if unpredictable) Natural Order and the far less regular course of Human Affairs. . .” is firmly entrenched (Toulmin 2001, 162). However, reason today is no longer permitted the radical distinctions demanded by the moderns. The assumptions underlying all modern conceptions of rationality hold little persuasive power in contemporary thought. Enlightenment rationality, which is constituted by internally focused, scientifically determined methodologies, demands the division between mind and body as well as the division between reason and emotion. Yet the viabil- ity of such polarized and narrowly defined methods is widely rejected. Toulmin directly argues this point with respect to methodology, saying:

The perception of ‘rationality’ associated with the popular idea of Scien- tific Method—as universal, self-validating, and compelling—has become increasingly implausible during the last thirty years, and this allows us to focus more directly on the resulting assumption that the pursuit of The Fossil of Reason 33

knowledge depends, not just on conformity to rules, but on acceptance of a singular set of rules and procedures appropriate for all peoples and all subject matters. . . . [L]et us take up again the alternative idea, that productive rational activities employ a multiplicity of procedures which depend on the multiple tasks we set ourselves in the course of all our different enterprises. Far from being fixed and universal, our procedures must vary with the different tasks that we are undertaking. (2001, 85–6)

We can, in other words, no longer focus only on a single method when it comes to rationality. Similarly, the polarization of rationality can no longer be maintained. Bernstein refers to a “Cartesian anxiety” that we need to exorcize so that we can render unintelligible the disjunction of objectivism and relativism (1983, 19). For Bernstein,

we are coming to the end . . . of an intellectual tradition (. . . the ‘Carte- sian-Lockean-Kantian tradition’). . . . [W]hen we work through the most significant contemporary philosophical debates, we will discover that . . . there are now sufficient signs and evidence to reveal the shape and the telos of this new [non-scientific and non-deductive] understanding of our human situation. (1983, 7)

He goes on to claim that “we need to alter our understanding of how rational argumentation . . . works, to realize that there are times when there are disagreements that we cannot immediately resolve by appeal to fixed standards . . .” (1983, 7). Given this repeated rejection of fixed methods and standards, we have good reason to believe rationality, as the moderns understood it, is a dead concept. But why do philosophers continue to have such a sharp reaction to this conception of reason? In the quotes from both Toulmin and Bernstein, and in the work of philosophers as diverse as Audi and Stich, the emphasis is, again and again, on the multiplicity of tasks and procedures in which we humans engage. Stich, who explicitly rejects rationality as a normative concept, argues that we have “no one ideal method of inquiry, no cognitive system that excels in all historical settings” (1990, 140). He adds that “given the diversity of goals and values, it is all but certain that different systems of cognitive processes will be pragmatically preferable for different people” (1990, 136). Audi, who is no relativist, nonetheless argues that “reason . . . leaves the specific content of rational belief and desire largely open” (2001, 188). And he continues by saying, “reason can embrace indefinitely many cultures. It constrains how they contribute to rationality, but not, beyond 34 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality broad limits, what they contribute to it” (2001, 189). Another way of putting these ideas is to focus, as Alasdair MacIntyre does, on the social practices affecting the concepts, beliefs, and modes of thought that are rational. MacIntyre tells us, “Philosophical theories give organized expression to concepts and theories already embodied in forms of practice and types of communities” (1988, 390). Of course, “rationality” is one of the most central of these embodied philosophical concepts, which means that however we end up defining it, reason cannot be purely a priori or transcendent. This increasingly evident insistence upon the immanence of reason is reflected in Putnam’s straightforward and bald-faced statement concerning the possibility of transcendence: “There is no neutral conception of rationality to which to appeal” (1981, 136). The idea that there is a single and neutral methodology, even a scientific one, that can define what it is to be rational simply ignores key features of what we take to be central to our lives—social practices and culture. Philosophers no longer believe reason can be divorced from the context and the content with which it operates. How we relate socially, which includes bodies and emotions, is central to how rationality is formulated and understood. Philosophers also share a further sense that the epistemic individualism and self-awareness of cognitive processes demanded by the moderns are equally untenable ideas. In the case of epistemic individualism, the most abrupt, shocking, and matter-of-fact rejection I have encountered occurs when Nozick admits: “[s]ometimes it will be rational to accept something because others in your society do” (1993, 129). This comment may not seem that dramatic until one considers the context. Nozick is a decision- theorist who has an interest primarily in providing a highly technical and rule-governed account of rationality. He has no postmodern, feminist, or otherwise radical agenda. He is not especially concerned with multiculturalism or inclusiveness. He is actually a defender of objectivity. Yet, he quite easily, and without much argument, allows that social mechanisms and social facts impact the rationality of belief. Within modern philosophy, such admissions would be tantamount to sacrilege. Now, while Nozick abandons epistemic individualism, he still maintains that rationality is self-conscious.17 However, not everyone retains this aspect of modernism, especially philosophers who are interested in the premodern roots of reason and its emphasis on activity. The epistemological distinction between knowing-that and knowing-how captures much of this sense that there is a non-self-conscious aspect to reason. But the distinction between reason and self-conscious methodologies is also explicitly drawn in The Fossil of Reason 35

Audi, who conceives of “rational persons not as constantly reasoning, or as always self-consciously logical, . . . but rather as having in some sense internalized rational standards which then guide them without the conscious thoughts one might cite in explicitly rationalizing their behavior” (2001, 33). The idea that we may not be self-consciously logical while still being rational is surely an anathema to the modern view. On all these fronts—methodology, individualism, self-consciousness—- the widespread suspicions and rejections of modern conceptions is evident. Philosophers today find themselves confronting many of the same issues as the moderns: rather than a revolution in printing, we have a revolution in how information is disseminated; rather than a need for religious toleration, we have a need for cultural and racial toleration; and rather than a loss of faith in intellectual traditions, we have a loss of faith in reason. This last element, our loss of faith in reason, is what truly distinguishes our world from that of the moderns. Where they fully believed they could find assur- ance and certainty through rational methods that were available to all, we have no such belief. The situation is so dire that we not only have a so-called rage against reason, we have philosophers who will argue that “neither being rational nor generating truth . . . turn out to be an intrinsically valuable features for cognitive processes to have” (Stich 1990, 21). Much of the motivation for such claims appears to lie in the recognition of the importance of culture and of social practices to the content and structure of reason. If culture is a significant factor, can we really say that our way of reasoning is any better (or worse) than anyone else’s? After all, without the normative, transcendent standard that modern rationality seemed capable of providing, how are we to know the ways in which we ought to go about reasoning? These are certainty significant and deeply-troubling questions for philo sophy. They are questions not all that different from the doubts facing the moderns, and like those doubts, these are questions that demand answers. In coming to understand that the context of rationality matters, several contemporary philosophers recognize that the ancients provide a quite different conception of rationality—and one that avoids many of the pitfalls of modern approaches. In fact, ancient conceptions of reason deny the sharp distinctions that are not only essential to modern accounts but that also provide the gap necessary to generate doubt. In other words, when reason is understood as being essentially embodied in actual lives and, thus, essentially contextual, there is little room for hyperbolic doubts. A sufficiently developed argument of this point must wait a while longer. What need not wait is a more general grasp of the sharp distinction between modern and 36 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality nonmodern ways of understanding rationality. MacIntyre, who speaks of rationality being dependent upon traditions, argues:

Where the standpoint of a tradition requires a recognition of the different types of language-in-use through which different types of arguments will have to be carried on, the standpoint of the forums of modern liberal culture presupposes the possibility of a common language for all speak- ers or at the very least of the translatability of any one language into any other. Where the standpoint of a tradition involves an acknowledgement that fundamental debate is between competing and conflicting understanding of rationality, the standpoint of the forums of modern liberal culture presupposes the fiction of shared, even if unformulable, universal standards of rationality. (1988, 400)

More straightforwardly, modern notions of reason may demand a single, universal standard or viewpoint (even if it can only be fictionally generated), but conceptions of rationality that rely on traditions can allow and debate variations in the goals and methods of reasoning. The point is that reason is more than the moderns make it out to be, and once again, there is a philosophical chorus echoing this thought. Within mainstream philosophy, the idea that rationality’s responsiveness to the world is partially constitutive of rationality itself can be found in Nozick. While he may reflect his modernist roots in his search for specifiable rules and standards of rationality, he nevertheless allows that there is an interplay between the world and our rational understanding of it—and these are in constant interaction. Standards of rationality are not immuta- ble but are responsive to the world. Says Nozick, “Our view of the world and ourselves, and our notion of what counts as rational, are in continual interplay” [italics added] (1993, 134). In other words, rationality is always historically situated, even within mainstream accounts. Similar views are repeatedly expressed within mainstream philosophy, but outside of the mainstream, expressions of the variability of reason are even easier to find. Although somewhat conservative in his approach to rationality, Eze claims, “There are many forms of expression of thought. There are many universal languages of reason” (2008, 9). The idea of “many universal languages of reason” may sound rather strange to some. After all, how can we have many universals? Is the idea of a universal not all- encompassing? For the modern ear, surely it is, but we no longer hear as the moderns did. In a world in which some infinities can be larger than others, some universals are less universal than others. We live in a world The Fossil of Reason 37 with a diversity of traditions, each with its own history—and each tradition has its own rationality. As MacIntyre explains,

rationality itself, whether theoretical or practical, is a concept with a history: indeed, since there are a diversity of traditions of enquiry, with histories, there are, so it will turn out, rationalities rather than rationality . . . . [O]nce the diversity of traditions has been properly characterized, a better explanation of the diversity of standpoints is available than either the Enlightenment or its heirs can provide; and that acknowledgement of the diversity of traditions of enquiry, each with its own specific mode of rational justification, does not entail that the differences between rival and incompatible traditions cannot be rationally resolved. (1988, 9–10)

The diversity of our cultures affects not only the content of our rational beliefs and desires but also how rationality itself operates in response to the world. Yet such differences need not entail incommensurability or a view that anything is rational as long as my culture says it is. The appeal to culture also comes with the promise that different traditions can resolve diver- gences among perspectives. Elsewhere MacIntyre adds,

it is central to the conception of such a tradition that the past is never something merely to be discarded, but rather that the present is intelligible only as a commentary upon and response to the past in which the past, if necessary and if possible, is corrected and transcended, yet corrected and transcended in a way that leaves the present open to being in turn corrected and transcended by some yet more adequate future point of view. (1984, 146)

There can be many forms of expressing rationality that are presumably compatible. Yet, saying such compatibility is possible is one thing; showing how it is possible is another thing entirely. Compatibility requires some sort of transcendence, but more and more, the idea of transcendence has lost its previous connotation, which excludes any immanence whatsoever. The moderns understand quite clearly the difficulties of bringing together divergent traditions, and their solution is to endorse one method of rationality and discard any and all difference that falls outside of that method. Contemporary philo sophers have revolted against this solution. Still, the rejection of modernism comes at a high price if we cannot find ways to communicate across differences. This need to bridge the demands for unity within diversity is one of the most difficult, and most necessary, aspects of rationality. 38 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

III

My task follows along the line of other feminists who have attempted to determine “what is living and what is dead in universalist moral and political theories of the present, after their criticism in the hands of communitarians, feminists, and postmodernists” (Benhabib 1992, 2). My own view is that there is indeed little to salvage in Enlightenment conceptions of rationality, although the moderns’ concern with unity and objectivity cannot be entirely ignored. We need rational selves if we are to have moral and epistemic agency, and we need a way to distinguish among various claims to truth, including the truth of feminism. Ultimately, I find myself in agreement with Eze, who asserts that reason is an everyday concept grounded in experience and that minds cannot but think diversely. Given these assumptions, any attempt to explain reason’s subsumption of diversity “under actual and possible voices of experience” is no small task (Eze 2008, 20). Yet it is a necessary one. Eze recognizes that we require a transcendental element for “not even the most empirical reason can fully justify all the grounds of even its own empiricities by a reductive appeal to the empirical and positivistic in experience” (2008, 78). As with postcolonial philosophers, feminists tend to have an aversion to all things transcendental; however, to abandon a transcendental or universal ground, to abandon aperspectivalism or metanarrative—call it what you will—undermines feminists’ ability to defend their moral demands for justice. The full development of my argument for aperspectivalism—and feminists’ need for it—must wait for now, but I offer here at least an opening reductio to support my claim.18 Assume for a moment that we deny rationality has some universal ground. Instead, we adopt the view that we have only the habits and practices which we cultivate and which allow us to rationally perceive and make sense of our environment. Further assume, as would a perspectivalist, that not everyone has access to every relevant feature of experience—in other words, we have blind spots that, in principle, we cannot overcome because we lack the relevant perceptual capacity. An example of this, and one that can actually be found in feminist literature, is that women’s experience is fundamentally different from men’s experience.19 One variation of this sort of argument can be found in Iris Marion Young, who argues not simply that there is a difference between the values embodied in women’s and men’s experience but that the values reflected in women’s experience are superior.20 This argument for the superiority of the feminine is a typical approach in this type of argument. Usually, feminists make this claim in order to privilege women’s experience—but that is not The Fossil of Reason 39 the only possibility. Men have clearly made a distinction between men’s and women’s experience for years, and most typically this distinction has disad- vantaged women. Even assuming that we have successfully undermined the epistemic ground of sexist dismissals of women’s experience, claiming that different people have different experiences and that at least some of these experiences are in principle inaccessible to others does little to promote equality and inclusion. In fact, it gives good grounds for dismissing those views that we know to be inaccessible to us. The inclusive aims of feminists are best served by treating experience as open to all. Once we do this, however, we then need some way to distinguish among various perspectives for not all perspectives are themselves admirable or desirable. If we adopt an aperspectivalism that allows for a commonality and underlying rationality, we need not open the Pandora’s box of incommensurability. Now, I know the immediate objection: universal rationality is masculine. Although this is true for Enlightenment conceptions of universality, it is not clearly true of more contemporary understandings. Take Nozick and Audi as examples. Neither believes rationality can be transcendent. Neither believes rationality can be divorced from context or community. Neither believes rationality can be fully captured in a precise set of principles. Yet each believes rationality is grounded in common experience—which is not to say that we all experience the world in the same way; rather, we share certain common stable features of our environment, including shared desires, that ground belief and desire and makes it possible for us to make sense of disagreement. Nonetheless, we still need some way to make sense of disagreement and, where appropriate, some criteria for distinguishing views that exhibit more or less rationality. No one in the debate really believes in the intellectual equality of all beliefs and actions. We need a means to distinguish the legitimate contenders from those who are beyond the pale. To accomplish this, I argue that feminists would be well-served by adopting a conception of rationality that treats it as a virtue concept. Indeed, we have much to learn from conceiving of reason along the lines of premodern assumptions. Doing so moves us away from methodological and atomistic universalism and makes possible an alternative conception, what Benhabib calls a postmetaphysical discursive universalism. The first step in developing a discursive universalism is “to shift from a substantialistic to a discursive, communicative concept of rationality. The second step comes with the recognition that the subjects of reason are finite, embodied and fragile creatures . . .” (1992, 5). Since all virtue concepts take normative standards to be the product of how virtuous people think and act within 40 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality practices and traditions, effecting this shift to communicative and embodied reasoners will be precisely what a virtue account of rationality will do. As a result, virtue rationality actually reflects many of the features that at least some feminists want in a theory of rationality: interconnectedness (both with the world and with other people), embodiment, communication, and fallibility. Just as importantly, treating rationality as a virtue concept allows for enough normativity to ground claims concerning the truth of feminism. Why? Because it also relies on conceptions of goods that are themselves not entirely dependent upon equally autonomous rational agents freely choosing their own ends. That is, we are capable of individually chosen goals and aspirations but some account of what is good for humans transcends our own goals. This talk of transcendent goods and rational selves is admittedly problematic, but without it, feminism is in serious trouble. Here again, Benhabib makes the argument:

A certain version of postmodernism is not only incompatible with but would undermine the very possibility of feminism as the theoretical articulation of the emancipatory aspirations of women. This undermining occurs because in its strong version postmodernism is committed to three theses: the death of man understood as the death of the autonomous, self-reflective subject, capable of acting on principle; the death of history, understood as the severance of the epistemic interest in history of struggling groups in constructing their past narratives; the death of metaphysics, understood as the impossibility of criticizing or legitimiz- ing institutions, practices and traditions other than through the immanent appeal to the self-legitimation of ‘small narratives.’ Interpreted thus, postmodernism undermines the feminist commitment to women’s agency and sense of selfhood, to the reappropriation of women’s own history in the name of an emancipated future, and to the exercise of radical social criticism which uncovers gender ‘in all its endless variety and monotonous similarity.’ (Benhabib 1992, 228–9)

Women have consistently been denied moral and epistemic agency, which in turn has undermined their claims to self-determination. Feminists really do believe there is something unjust in this situation. But if we reject the possibility of metanarratives such as those which can be provided through a unified and normatively prescriptive conception of rational agency, we lose the very possibility of defending claims to injustice and to women’s rights as rational agents. The Fossil of Reason 41

Still, any appeal to metanarratives is somewhat tricky, since many, many feminists strongly resist even the possibility of metanarratives. As Longino explains,

What the postmodernist and the feminist resist is the idea that there is a template of rationality in which all discourses fit, a template that dissolves the barriers of locality, a universal language into which all statements from local contexts can be translated and brought into logical relations with each other. (Longino 2005, 81)

The worry for feminists is that any appeal to a universal will erase diversity and perpetuate the myth of neutrality and objectivity. That is, it will perpetuate masculine ideals of rationality. Although the worry is legitimate, so too is the threat of fragmentation and incommensurability that come with the absence of all universals. Feminist discourse needs a middle ground, and in the next several chapters I argue how virtue rationality provides this middle ground when it comes to dichotomous thinking. Rationality may only be able to exist within diversity, but diversity without some unity is something of which we can make no sense. I begin by developing an account of rationality as a virtue concept, but what I suspect will be the more persuasive aspects of my argument will come in my application of this concept to the dichotomies that have historically circumscribed reason. I consider four dichotomies that are absolutely central to feminism’s dissatisfaction with the concept of rationality and the larger philosophical debates in which rationality plays a role. These dichotomies have been not simply the source of countless philosophical difficulties but also the primary grounds upon which philosophers build arguments excluding women from the practice of philosophy. As a result of the gender associations of these dichotomies—and their links to the concept of reason—many feminists maintain that reason is inherently and, perhaps, necessarily masculine. While these criticisms are by no means new, they are important. They highlight what feminists have found wrong with the concepts of rationality which underlie them, and they serve as a guide for understanding what it is that feminists want a theory of rationality to do. In other words, if we want to understand how to redeem the concept of reason, we must first understand why feminists are often so eager to condemn it. Why are dichotomies so objectionable in the first place? What problems stand in need of fixing? As with any repair, we must first know what is wrong with rationality and what sort of revisions philosophers have made to sidestep and overcome the distortions to which the concept has been subjected. 42 3Chapter 3Chapter The Virtue of Reason

Any effort to develop a feminist theory of rationality faces a number of obstacles, but the widespread feminist rejection of Enlightenment rationality is not one of them. The received view in philosophy has, for the past several decades, shifted decidedly away from modernism, so much so that modernism is no longer philosophically viable. While assumptions about rationality as objective, value-neutral, disembodied, self-transparent, methodological, and deductive have been challenged and rejected by postmodernists, they have also been criticized by many whose philosophical lineage can be traced directly back to modernism’s last true defenders, the logical positivists. Across the board, philosophers are disenchanted with the Enlightenment. One result of this disenchantment is that many have begun looking back to the premodern roots of rationality and to the concept of reasonableness. Unlike “rationality,” which the moderns radically précised so that only a determinate and scientifically rigorous methodology was permitted under the heading of “rational,” the concept of reasonableness was simply dismissed and ignored. In Return to Reason, Toulmin provides an elaborate and persuasive version of the story of how the concept of reasonableness was banished from the realm of the rational, and what he most bemoans is the loss of “speculative vigor and tolerance” that gave way to doctrinal certainty by 1650 (2001, 196). The demand for doctrinal certainty is perhaps most strongly felt in rationality’s alignment with scientific method and the subsequent exclusion of anything that did not fall under the domain of science. “From Grotius and Descartes on,” says Toulmin, “the ideals of rational intelligibility and intellectual order . . . emphasized regularity, uniformity, and above all stability” (2001, 48). The narrowness with which reason came to be defined—and the problems that emerged as a result—have made philo sophers today wary of the concept. Yet such wariness has also produced an increasing emphasis on reasonableness and the “speculative vigor” that rationality previously enjoyed. Those who seek to open the door to a broader 44 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality and fuller account of rationality include Alasdair MacIntyre, Robert Audi, Stephen Toulmin, John McDowell, and—within feminist circles—Laura Ruetsche, Rebecca Kukla, and Nicholas Burbules. This renewed interest in premodern rationality largely, although not exclusively, focuses on rethinking Aristotelianism from within a contemporary framework. The increasing emphasis on the immanence of reason fits neatly with Aristotelian virtue, which is both acquired and expressed in our ordinary lives. If reason is indeed something akin to a virtue, which must be developed within a lived world, then the practices of our daily lives will affect the content and nature of rationality. Treating rationality as a virtue concept speaks to the variability and plasticity of reason for it requires that we consider how the practices of our society shape our cognitive processes. It also frees the concept from being narrowly defined according to deductive methodologies, thereby liberating it from the constraints of modernism. As Aristotle tell us about ethics: the point is not to know the good but to actually be good. The same is true for our cognitive endeavors: the point is not to define rationality but tobe rational. I begin by examining the resurgence of premodern conceptions of rationality and reasonableness, and I develop an account of rationality that I believe can establish a ground for resolving the tensions that develop when feminists push and pull on philosophical dichotomies. Because feminists have often focused only on critical discussions of rationality and not on positive formulations, we can find ourselves thinking, like Phyllis Rooney, that the issue is “not simply whether reason is good or bad, for, given its history, we hardly know what reason is” (1991, 96). Whatever our level of ignorance, I believe we can know something of reason. The concept may be well hidden, especially in light of the distortions to which modern philosophers subjected it; it may be that our grasp of the concept is necessarily partial and incomplete; it may be that definitions of it lack both necessary and sufficient conditions. However, rationality is an everyday part of our lives that we can understand as such—but only if we choose to do so.

The return of reason to its premodern roots typically emphasizes an Aristotelian pragmatism and its central concept of virtue, which is typically considered “an acquired human quality the possession and exercise of which tends to enable us to achieve those goods which are internal to practices and the lack of which effectively prevents us from achieving such The Virtue of Reason 45 goods” (MacIntyre 1984, 191). The idea of virtue depends, of course, on humans having a function that can be pursued in a better or worse fashion, but contemporary accounts are far less metaphysically determined than ancient ones. Although the goods of human life are historically not chosen by the individual but are rather dictated by one’s nature, contemporary philosophers recognize that the practices we pursue are often freely chosen by us (in some sense of “freely”), even if our choices are constrained by our culture and by the potentialities belonging to human beings. In other words, the habits of thought and action, or second nature, depend not simply on the “potentialities we were born with but also . . . [on] our upbringing, our Bildung” (McDowell 1994, 87). One advantage of taking reason to be a virtue concept, then, is that it changes dramatically the philosophical landscape for it requires us to consider the practices surrounding various goods and, thus, prevents reason from being defined purely methodologically or in isolation from the world. What reason is will, in large measure, depend on the goals and practices with which it is immersed. Like virtue, it is something that works from the inside out, originating with a conception of the good and the person who achieves that good. Now, some feminists may raise an immediate objection: there is and can be no single conception of “the good,” not even as an ideal. Still worse, this objection may continue, attempts to define “the good” have been driven by androcentric interests, so any conception of the good will reflect masculine interests and contribute to the oppression of women. These are serious objections that cannot be easily dismissed, and my argument against these challenges will take some time to develop. Nonetheless, I can make a prima facie defense at this time. First, human life is governed by certain biological, psychological, and cultural facts. We can in many cases specify these facts, and these facts constrain the minimally necessary conditions for living a fulfilling human life. For example, we share in common our needs for food, clothing, and shelter; for safety and security; and for the love and respect of others. We may disagree about what constitutes, say, a good meal, but that each of us needs to eat and that each of us shares similar nutrient requirements provides a constraint on our definitions of a “good meal.” And, even when someone has a condition that alters their nutritional requirements (e.g., diabetes), we can specify the conditions that are different for that person. Regardless of how we might construct various conceptions of “good” for our differing social or individual lives, there are natural limits to these constructions. It is, for instance, simply not good for a diabetic (or anyone else, for that matter) to eat an all- candy diet, and this is true across sex, gender, race, class, and culture.1 46 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Contemporary theories of virtue recognize that there are limits to what it is to live a human life. But unlike ancient views, ours tend to have a more open-ended understanding of “human flourishing,” which in turn allow for a variety of traditions and practices from which virtue, including the virtue of rationality, can emerge. In Audi’s account, for example, he claims: “It is obvious that rational persons disagree about some important matters and that even a high degree of rationality in persons is consistent with great diversity among them” (2001, 9). Such differences are produced by the variability of experience and culture. We all do not define “rationality”—or the goods pursued by rationality—in the same way, and the societies in which we live clearly have a great deal to contribute to our definitions. Nonetheless, these differences are underpinned by the con- stancies of living a human life. While virtue accounts permit us to define goods differently, the relativity of differing goods is, at the same time, limited by the nature of what it is to be human. Believing something is good does not make it so because not just anything will actually be good for us. Second, even though our conceptions of what is good are influenced by social and cultural elements and, thus, allow for variation, feminists in fact assume some conception of good, albeit not exactly a singular conception of the good. Almost universally, feminists argue for the inclusion of women in the social, political, and moral lives of their cultures. These arguments are, at least in part, predicated on the claim that such exclusions diminish women as persons and, thus, are not good for women. Furthermore, feminists of many varieties tend to insist on inclusion, even for societies that are largely content with their practice of exclusion. Yet, if goods can be determined only from within practices, such arguments are rather difficult to make—or, better, such arguments lack intellectual authority and offer little ground for the cessation of exclusionary and oppressive practices for those cultures happily engaging in such practices. Exactly how specific claims concerning goods, or even so-called feminist conceptions of “the good,” are to be formulated is an open, and highly contentious, question. In fact, arguments concerning “the good” are incapable of resolution in the absence of a framework within which we can understand both the particularity and the diversity of various conceptions. In other words, questions about goods cannot be asked in the absence of particular practices. Similarly, and just as importantly, the framework for asking such questions must allow us to compare and evaluate these various answers—and virtue rationality does exactly this. An emphasis on virtue allows for a wider focus that can frame specific questions of the good, which The Virtue of Reason 47 is precisely Nussbaum’s point when she argues against a particular narrowness of interests within feminism and for a more broadly focused feminist Aristotelianism.

We are living in a world in which women are starving because their traditions will not let them go outside of the house to seek employment, even though employment is their only hope of obtaining food. . . . I believe that Aristotle’s account of human functioning does offer us a promising way of criticizing such situations . . . . But of course, seen this way, Aristote- lian feminism . . . becomes concerned not just with gender, but also with class. Its goal becomes the general goal of capability equality, its enemies whatever structures—economic or cultural or political or religious— prevent equality from being realized. This, I think, is as it should be, since I think that American feminism is too much propelled by questions of narrow self-interest, too little by a more generous and general concern for human functioning. (1992, 1027–8)

Beyond the concerns of this or that group of women are larger concerns of justice, equality, and freedom. At its heart, feminism requires that we value these concepts—and not just for those who share our practices. Until we have a framework within which we can conceptualize these larger concerns, the particular debates will remain fragmented and disjointed in ways that are not especially fruitful for the political goals of feminism. While feminist philosophers are rightly suspicious of “totalizing” theories, to abandon a general conception of the good or to reject every single claim to universality undermines feminism and threatens incoherence. Surely not every concern of feminism can be resolved by a sweeping concern with the goods related to human functioning, but this broader perspective is necessary to frame and argue about appropriate solutions. Disagreements about what is good are always possible and are often likely, but we also find widespread agreement about what is good for humans, especially within specifiable communities. For example, the United States is engaged in a protracted and heated debate over health care. Two of the most hotly debated issues are: who should have access to what, and who should pay for it? Regardless of one’s position on these issues, no one dis- putes that health is a good or that human lives are better when we have access to health care. The problem is that these goods conflict with other ends that we also widely believe to be good. In the United States, we have a strong sense of self-determination and self-reliance that for many people stands at odds with the idea that health care should be paid for at the 48 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

public’s expense. In other words, this is a country that values individualism (for better or worse), and as much as we understand the value of health care for individual lives, we also value individual responsibility. Of course, feminists are some of the biggest critics of such heavy handed individualism because those who seem to be hurt the most by this stance are women and children.2 Nonetheless, what is often, and easily, overlooked is how much feminists actually share the value of self-determination. Feminists who more typically support working within communities toward communally held conceptions of good (e.g., providing access to health care for women and children) also argue that women’s lives are better-off if we have the ability to control our own lives and make our own choices. Goods such as these are not diametrically opposed to one another, but they do often conflict. Given that the communities in which some women live are united in denying them the right to pursue their own ends, feminists in many instances argue that these women would have better lives if allowed this freedom. That is, women should be free to pursue their own, autonomously chosen ends.3 Regardless of how critical feminists may be of individualistic attitudes, arguing for women’s self-determination nevertheless demonstrates a commitment to a shared conception of self-determination as a good. While we can, and do, disagree over how goods should be weighed against one another, in this case and others like it, we actually share, at a basic level, similar values and ways of understanding what it generally means for humans to flourish. Fortunately, my goal here is not to resolve tensions over conflicting conceptions of goods but is instead to establish a general, shared conception of goods that can serve as a ground for an understanding of rationality as a virtue concept. And when it comes to cognition, such an understanding does exist. Ways of thinking that are conducive to our survival, emotional stability, and satisfying relationships are widely recognized as cognitively superior and as contributing to better lives for those who exercise these cognitive patterns. If rationality is “an evolutionary adaptation with a delimited purpose and function, designed to work in conjunction with other stable facts it takes for granted and builds upon,” then what we really need to know is how these facts and human goals work together (Nozick 1993, xii). In the broadest sense, this is not terribly difficult to discover. As I write this, a storm is brewing outside my window. I can see the trees swaying and the sky turning black; I can feel the wind; I can smell the coming storm. Regardless of the social, cultural, communal interpretations we can give these so-called facts, our need for survival constrains our interpretations in important ways. To reason well in this instance means that I understand the need to seek shelter in such a storm. Many of the stable facts in our lives are The Virtue of Reason 49 similar to this. As humans, we share certain biological, emotional, and social needs that may be expressed in a variety of ways, but in spite of this variety, the world we encounter provides us all with the same limits. Although the cultural and social limits of my world have much to say about the meaning of my specific actions, these limits make little difference to the brute fact that I risk my life by going out into the storm, that I need love, that I desire the respect of others, and so on. On the issue of how we are actually to achieve the goods that lead to human flourishing, the answer can only be given through the ways in which virtuous people order their everyday cognitive lives and perform actions in the world. Because a virtue concept of rationality requires the standard of rationality be established by actual rational persons, it must always be determined contextually. Much as in the case of virtue ethics, there are no rules or methods that can be applied abstractly to determine what it is rational to believe or do in any given case for every specific instance of the application of one’s faculty of reason will depend upon contextual features of the world. Another, less life-and-death example: is it rational for me to believe that there is a woodpecker pecking on my house just outside of my study? The answer is obviously, “it depends.” If you know that I live in the woods in the southeastern United States, that woodpeckers are indigenous to the area, that I keep hearing a rat-tat-tatting that sounds much like a woodpecker’s, and that a line of holes characteristic of those made by a woodpecker has appeared in my fascia board, you would likely agree that this is a rational belief. Take away this context, and the belief may not be at all rational—if, instead, I lived in Australia, where woodpeckers are not indigenous, if I never heard the characteristic rat-tat-tat sound despite being home much of the time, or if no holes ever appeared in the siding of my house. The context of a belief or an action always matters to its rationality such that any specific belief can be rational or irrational depending on context. But even the most methodological theory of rationality can allow for this sort of contextualism. Take Descartes’ view, which provides a series of rules for rationality that require one, among other things, to “make use of all the aids which intellect, imagination, sense-perception, and memory . . . so that we make the most thorough use of all our human powers” (1985, 39). While he certainly would not admit that knowledge gained through the senses is anywhere near as certain as deductive knowledge, Descartes does not ignore entirely knowledge gained through sensation. By the end of the Meditations he insists that

I ought not to have even the slightest doubt of their [sensory presenta- tions’] reality if, after calling upon all the senses as well as my memory 50 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

and my intellect in order to check them, I receive no conflicting reports from any of these sources. (1984, 62)

Hence, methodological conceptions of rationality can allow for this sort of variability in belief. The contextualism of a virtue account, however, goes much deeper. Beyond the obvious cultural, historical, and personal differences that matter to the content of rationality, a virtue account rejects the idea of set criteria that govern what it is to be rational. In other words, if rationality is indeed a virtue, it is not a matter of following rules but is instead a matter of believing and doing as the rational person believes and does. We can, to some extent, specify rules that generally guide our rational reflections, but given the plasticity of reason, there are no necessary and sufficient conditions for being rational. Psychologists and philosophers who have attempted to define rationality by specifying certain rules have sometimes come to the conclusion that humans are not rational after all.4 Of course, if we wish to define “rational” as “following logical, deductive rules of inference,” these critics of reason are probably correct: we humans are irrational. However, the only compelling motivation for defining reason so narrowly seems to be the prejudices we inherit from the Enlightenment. Toulmin, who is deeply suspicious of and antagonistic toward such narrowness in our conception of reason, asks the following question:

‘Is the primary task of Human Reason to find formal solutions to abstract problems, and impose these solutions on the raw material of the world, as we experience it?’ we may ask, ‘Or is its primary task to get acquainted with the world of experience in all its concrete details, stating our problems and resolving them later, in light of that experience?’ (2001, 39–40)

The evidence suggests that we answer the former question in the negative and the latter question in the affirmative, which does not deny formal reason its place in human life—it is simply to say that there is much more to human reasoning than formal requirements can capture. Understanding reason as a virtue, then, requires a certain amount of charity in our attitudes toward others and a dependence on social practice. These are standard requirements for any traditional, Aristotelian account of virtue. One cannot be virtuous in isolation from others for the concept of virtue aims not at an individual telos but rather a human telos.5 We exist within communities, and we always stand in need of others with whom we can express our virtue. As MacIntyre argues, the goods of a practice “can only be The Virtue of Reason 51 achieved by subordinating ourselves within the practice in our relationship to other practitioners” (1984, 191). Similarly, rationality, as a virtue concept, requires us to be sensitive to our environment, including our social environment. Whether or not my beliefs or behavior are rational cannot be established in the absence of my community. Practices, then, are a large part of our understanding and application of virtue, but because the emphasis on practice stands in sharp contrast to modernity’s atomization of human life, the idea of a telos is more complicated in its current instantiations. According to modern conceptions which still hold sway, our lives and the individual actions we undertake are not fundamentally part of a larger whole. The ends or goods that we pursue are not given by some human telos but are freely chosen by autonomous agents concerned with their own well-being. Insofar as we share common final ends, that commonality is essentially governed by a social utility that we each recognize as conducive to the pursuit of our individually chosen ends. Of course, many feminists have fought such individualistic and atomistic conceptions, but at the same time, many are also suspicious of narrow and totalizing conceptions of community. The sword cuts both ways: modern individualism may ignore our dependence on others, but communities are as capable of subsuming difference as they are of celebrating it. Feminists seem to want their own, different voice—but with a relatedness to others. Because contemporary accounts of virtue require a delicate balance between individuals and communities, the self and others, diversity and equality, they would appear capable of walking this tightrope. For virtue theorists, the delicate balance between individuals and community is captured in the ideas of practices, narratives, and traditions. Although practices are logically prior, narratives are an easier place to begin. Rather than view each life as a discontinuous and mutually independent series of role-playing, as the moderns and their heirs tend to do, proponents of virtue tend to appeal to narrative histories as essential to characterizing human lives and actions. Our lives, and the actions within them, require context to be intelligible. For the concept of selfhood, the context is provided by the narrative I, and others, tell about my life. This also entails that rationality is not an object, which is a view echoed by other contemporary philosophers. Eze claims that “reason is not a thing—that is, it is not a self-subsisting object, substance or essence among other self-subsisting objects, substances, or essences—but rather a field of mental acts in perception, understanding and explanation” (2008, xvii). And Benhabib argues that “the self is not a thing, a substrate, but the protagonist of a life’s tale” (1992, 162). I am the subject of a history that is my own, even if I am 52 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality merely a co-author of the story, and I am accountable to others whose narratives interlock with my own. The idea that I am born with a history entails that my future is also limited by the traditions I inherit. For MacIntyre:

We live out our lives, both individually and in our relationships with each other, in the light of certain conceptions of a possible shared future, a future in which certain possibilities beckon us forward and others repel us . . . . There is no present which is not informed by some image of some future and an image of the future which always presents itself in the form of a telos—or of a variety of ends or goals—toward which we are either moving or failing to move in the present. Unpredictability and teleology therefore coexist as part of our lives . . . . (1984, 215–16)

Within communities we move toward a telos that is formed by some consensus about “the good.” If we lacked this consensus, we would lack community. However, this consensus need not be final or absolute, and I need not adopt this telos uncritically. “A living tradition,” says MacIntyre, “is an historically extended, socially embodied argument, and an argument precisely in part about the goods which constitute the tradition” (1984, 222). We can, in other words, debate our notions of the good. Furthermore, although my life is embedded in a community that predates me, I remain the subject of a narrative within these traditions. As such, I may accept or reject my inherited tradition, although rejecting this tradition does not mean I can entirely escape it. Whatever traditions I weave into the narrative of my life, however, the future possibilities for my life, and the life of my community, can be given only through these traditions. An obvious objection comes into play at this point. Traditions may define goods, but many traditions have defined goods in ways that are detrimental both to those within the tradition and to those outside of it. Feminists are acutely aware of this difficulty since many traditions’ so-called goods have excluded the good of actual women. African philosophers are equally sensitive to this problem; after all, colonialism, whose proponents often define goods in ways detrimental to native populations, overshadows much of African thinking. Eze, who argues that rationality can best be appreciated only from multiple points of view, utilizes an Aristotelian framework that places rationality firmly within cultural contexts. What he recognizes is that because our identities may be irreducibly and culturally conditioned, cultures exercise power over individuals for both good and bad. “Given the power of culture to The Virtue of Reason 53 invest its past with an aura,” says Eze, “it is not surprising that the modern and postmodern mind should be, rather than instinctively conservative about culture, instinctively suspicious of it” (2008, 154). For African philosophers, this would seem especially true since, as Eze recognizes, racial narratives, which have been highly destructive for Africans, are a part of the fabric of narratives of cultural and personal identity. Yet, he is not quick to dismiss traditions. After evaluating various stances toward culture, Eze observes:

the moral drawback, if any, in traditionalism does not consist in the more or less insufficiently reflective attachment to traditional beliefs by individuals or groups; it consists instead in the fear of potential fundamentalism suspected to exist in an inability to imagine, tolerate, or respect different moral viewpoints. (2008, 157)

The problem is not culture; it is a narrowness of culture. Traditions that fail to recognize that there can be a variety of both means and ends, and that there are those who may fail to share their particular goals, are presumably the root of the problem. Eze is committed to the task of clarifying values, especially those related to social suffering, but he also believes that these values can be defended as universal, although what he intends by “universal” carries neither the transcendent nor impartial connotations of the modern sense of the term. This so-called universal does not provide the certainty and security typical of claims to universality, but because it is grounded in the practical and the everyday, it finds traction in common aspects of human life. In other words, we can find a so-called transcendental ground for the universal nature of reason through a reductive appeal to empirical aspects of our experience. The emphasis on the empirical aspects of reason is a common theme in virtue conceptions. Underlying every conception of virtue, is a concern for the practical—and the related notion of a practice. In fact, it is the notion of a practice that most clearly highlights the plasticity of rationality, and it makes evident why we cannot have necessary and sufficient conditions either for what it is rational to believe or do or for rationality itself. One of the key features of a practice (and hence of virtue) is the pursuit of common goals, but the goals are never fixed or absolute. As MacIntyre argues, the concept of a virtue “always requires for its application the acceptance for [sic] some prior account of certain features of social and moral life in terms of which it has to be defined and explained” (1984, 186). The question at hand, of course, is how to define and explain these features. Practices 54 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality have a history, and, thus, they provide the starting conditions for the narratives of our lives. They are, says MacIntyre,

any coherent and complex form of socially established cooperative human activity through which goods internal to that form of activity are realized in the course of trying to achieve those standards of excellence which are appropriate to, and partially definitive of, that form of activity, with the result that human powers to achieve excellence, and human conceptions of the ends and goods involved, are systematically extended. (1984, 187)

Essentially, this is a complicated way of stating what Aristotle means when he says all human activity aims at some good. In our social lives we share practices that, insofar as we perform them well, lead to various goods. Although this sort of teleology is a common feature of Aristotelian accounts of practice, not every understanding of a practice has the teleological element evident here. One account that is clearly lacking in a teleological element is a Wittgensteinian one. Within Wittgenstein’s work, the clearest example of a practice is that of following a rule. Despite enormous debate surrounding so-called rule-following considerations, the received view is relatively straightforward. Rational activities, such as using language, are governed by rules, but these rules are never fixed. Instead, they remain open to change or abandon- ment, and the same rule can be interpreted in a multitude of ways or function differently in different contexts. What fixes the interpretation of a rule is the practice or custom in which the rule is applied, which in turn implies that one has mastered some technique for applying the rule.6 Rules are, as Wittgenstein says, signposts, but for these signposts to be useful to us, we must understand how to interpret them. For example, one time when I was traveling abroad, I was asked to explain the game of baseball. Although I find the game intuitively obvious, I realized very quickly how complicated the rules of the game truly are. What makes the interpretation of the rules so obvious to me—and so confusing to the outsider—is that I have a cultural inheritance that makes their application second nature to me.7 While we can, and do, disagree about the application of these rules in the hard cases, those of us who share a practice have no widespread difficulty in their application. However, the situation becomes more complicated when we consider that the same rules can be applied in different practices. Sticking with baseball, people in Japan and in the United States both play baseball. Yet, the practices are not identical. The traditions and cultures surrounding the game are different, even if the rules are largely the same.8 The Virtue of Reason 55

We cannot determinately fix the interpretation of the rules of baseball by appealing to a single practice for different practices surround the game. The result is that we can have as many meanings or interpretations of the rules as there are practices surrounding them. A central element of the Wittgensteinian notion of practice is that there is no way to get outside of practices (or, in Wittgenstein’s terminology, language) to identify the “correct” one. The advantage of this way of thinking about practices is that it provides an open-endedness and freedom for cultures or traditions to create their own interpretations. The disadvantage, however, is this same open-endedness and freedom. Customs do provide some limitation on the interpretation of rules, but only within that custom. If Japanese baseball decides to eliminate the home run, perhaps the most prized element of the game for its North American fans, would it still be baseball? Would one version be a better than the other? These questions, of course, have no answer, and when we ask them in the context of a mere game, they seem rather idle. However, if we shift to asking moral questions, this idleness quickly turns into serious concern. Should girls have a right to an education? Cultures clearly differ in their responses to this question: many agree that they do have this right, but some do not. Nonteleological accounts of practice have a difficult time establishing normative constraints because it makes no sense to evaluate a practice, say education, outside of the context in which it occurs. If we cannot meaningfully ask the question about how practices should be constructed, then we seem to be left in a tenuous position as feminists—that is, if we indeed want to say that girls ought to be granted educational opportunities. If our questions about the nature of practices are meaningless outside of that practice, then practices can only be subject to internal critique. If, contrary to standard Wittgensteinian accounts, we understand practices as striving toward goods, we can evaluate the acceptability of a practice by how well it achieves the goods internal to that practice. Wittgenstein and MacIntyre both use the example of chess, but while Wittgenstein cannot clearly answer the question of whether someone is actually playing chess when he yells and stomps his feet, MacIntyre’s notion of a practice can provide grounds for rejecting such behavior as “playing chess.”9 However, we choose to define the goods internal to playing chess, it is difficult to see how yelling and stomping one’s feet will achieve those goods, although it still may achieve different goods. Furthermore, while a Wittgensteinian may be forced to admit that that we have no right to say the yellers and stompers are not playing chess, a teleological account requires such judgments to be made by those who know the practice and who are, thereby, competent 56 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality judges of the practice.10 Clearly this solution is problematic. Although it limits the range of practices, it also opens the door to tyranny. The threat of radical relativism cannot be resolved, for feminists at least, through appeals to absolutism or exclusion. We have to ask ourselves, then, who is a competent judge? For proponents of virtue concepts, the question is by no means new—nor is the answer: the virtuous person. However circular the answer appears (and it is circular), the fact is that we actually use this response everyday. One of the distinguishing features of a profession is that the members of that profession are self-governing. Our practices and traditions are set up so that the members of a profession police themselves, partly because no one else has the specialized knowledge and understanding necessary to evaluate the activities of those within the profession. On the other hand, the autonomy of professions does not imply that the judgment of their members is infallible or that those outside of the profession are excluded from discussions of internal goods and their achievement. As an example, the medical profession has undergone enormous change in the last several decades as a result, in part, of its own hubris and of the public’s insistence on having a say in defining the goods of medicine. Paternalism within western medicine may not be a thing of the past, but fewer doctors will openly acknowledge paternalistic attitudes, largely due to an emphasis on patient autonomy demanded by those outside the profession. The goods of medicine, which include promoting health, also include allowing patients to determine their own course of treatment, albeit within the physician’s understanding of best medical practices. Whether these are the only goals (which they surely are not) and how we weigh the various goals against one another is indeterminate. Achieving the goods of medicine requires a debate about what goods we wish to pursue, and for this debate to go well, it must include those outside the profession. However, no one denies that medical professionals occupy a privileged role in the debate, and no one denies that health is a universal human good. We all need to rely on the judgment of our doctors, lawyers, educators, plumbers, electri- cians, and so on. But we also recognize that there are those who are good at the practice and those who are not so good. The distinguishing feature relates to how well each person achieves the goals of that practice. A virtue conception of rationality, then, is quite distinct from Cartesian conceptions that are individualistic, methodological and rule-governed, inwardly focused, transcendent, universal, and consciously self-aware. Virtue rationality involves a concern with the practices of everyday life rather than with a theoretical, scientific methodology or with rules of inference. It is The Virtue of Reason 57 guided by a concept of the good that is fundamentally a lived concept and not a theoretical one. That is, we can theorize all we want about “the good,” and we can argue about the merits of differing conceptions of it, but at the end of the day, the true goal is to go out and be good. Virtue rationality rejects the idea of strict and individualistic methodology in obtaining the good. Instead, it encompasses a multiplicity of tasks and a multiplicity of procedures for completing those tasks. Science, technology, and logic fall within the domain of the rational, but so too does literature, poetry, art, craft, politics, and household management. The rational procedures we adopt in one of these activities will usually vary from the procedures we adopt in other activities. Because activity lies at the heart of this account, virtue rationality is necessarily a cooperative endeavor, which is dependent upon myself and others sharing practices and achieving cooperatively shared goals. Yet, practices are not mutually exclusive nor independent of other practices. Each of us belongs to many different sorts of communities. I can simultaneously be a member of a university community, a spiritual community, a family, and so on. The goods defined within each community and its practices may or may not be compatible, and within each community we can have disagreements. However, we can and do find ways to navigate the conflicts and disagreements within the practices defined by the communities. Insofar as we find ways to reconcile the values and goals defined by the different communities to which we belong—and insofar as these ways lead to well-lived lives and not, say, a schizophrenic compartmentalization and fragmentation—we exhibit the virtue of rationality. One advantage of this sort of thinking is that I am not bound by only the goals of my community or communities. I can engage with other traditions. Winch, who is particularly concerned with how to understand other cultures, maintains that

What we may learn by studying other cultures are . . . different possibilities of making sense of human life, different ideas about the possible importance that the carrying out of certain activities may take on for a man, trying to contemplate the sense of his life as a whole. (1964, 321)

This making sense of human life in all its possibilities is something that virtue rationality presumably requires us to do. When we look at others’ actions, we may not always understand them, but we nonetheless usually recognize the rationality of the behaviors as long as they occur within a larger context of rational behaviors.11 Attempting to understand this behavior on the 58 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality model of a determinate and limited scientific methodology has contributed to the denial of rationality to those who fail to fit within this method. A virtue conception of rationality has no set methodology, no determinate rules one must follow to be rational. Instead, it allows us to examine a variety of goals and means of achieving them, all of which can be rational. Whether or not they are rational will depend on the practices of the society and on the fact that these practices are ultimately governed by the biological, emotion, and social constraints that are built into being human. Our beliefs and actions, as well as the practices that constrain them, must be reasonable.

Rationality is all fine and good as a starting point, but the modern legacy of modeling rationality on the necessity found in Euclid and Newton shifts the focus of discussion toward theory and away from practice. The legacy of modernism is that the central and defining features of rationality are removed from everyday human life and experience. One result of the emphasis on methodology is that philosophers seem, more often than not, to overlook the distinction between reasoning well and reasoning poorly. When taken as a purely methodological concept, there is no gap between reasoning and reasoning well. With virtue accounts, however, this is not the case. One can reason poorly and still be rational. In other words, rationality exists on a continuum, and we need some means of determining who better expresses rationality—and why. Tucked into the discussion of rationality as a virtue concept is an often ignored and more narrowly defined concept: reasonableness. The basic idea of reasonableness is one that we recognize in our everyday lives. In our dealings with others, we sometimes encounter people whom we find to be quite unreasonable, albeit not irrational. When, for example, we marshal our best arguments to convince another person (one who is often in a position of power) to act in a certain way but find that person unwilling to genuinely listen or to engage in discussion, we may walk away frustrated at that person’s refusal to be reasonable. In saying that the person is being unreasonable, we do not thereby imply that the person is irrational; rather, we are claiming that this person fails to meet the higher standard of reasonableness. My students who come to every class, proceed to fail every test, and still ignore my pleadings for them to come to office hours are not irrational. However, given that they presumably want to pass the course, they are acting unreasonably—all the more so when they finally come to me the last week The Virtue of Reason 59 of class pleading to improve their grades. One can make consistently bad choices and still be rational, but one cannot do so and still be reasonable. The idea of reasonableness is found in Toulmin and Audi, but it is also found in John Rawls, who introduces his discussion of reasonability as follows:

The reasonable is an element of the idea of society as a system of fair cooperation and that its fair terms be reasonable for all to accept is part of its idea of reciprocity. As I have said . . . the idea of reciprocity lies between the idea of impartiality, which is altruistic (as moved by the general good), and the idea of mutual advantage understood as everyone’s being advantaged with respect to one’s present or expected situation as things are. (1993, 49–50)

Feminists are, in large measure, highly suspicious of all this talk of fairness, reciprocity, mutual advantage, and the general good. After all, these concepts have often been defined exclusively, not inclusively. “Mutual advantage,” for example, is often employed in a way that emphasizes the mutual advantage of men—and not women. In addition, “fairness” has typically been defined as a matter of public justice, which in turn limits the application of the concept to decidedly masculine ways of thinking. However, the public nature of reasonableness is, I believe, something that should interest feminists. Because reasonableness requires us to be prepared to work within a social world, Rawls argues that it cannot be achieved in isolation from the community. The problem, of course, is that Rawls’ specific conception of this public aspect of reasonableness, namely of individuals, each with their own ends, working toward fair terms of cooperation, is highly dependent upon modern presuppositions. Nonetheless, the underlying idea is that reasonableness necessarily requires community, and this idea is highly consistent with a premodern perspective. While Rawls may be staunchly grounded in Kantian preconceptions concerning individuals and their pursuit of their own ends, other conceptions of reasonableness harken directly back to a premodern understanding. One example is Audi’s far more pluralistic and less individualistic conception of cognition. Audi’s notion of reasonableness forgoes talk of fairness and impartiality and focuses instead on actual conduct, including responsiveness to reasons, good judgment, and sociability. Audi tells us that

it is fruitful to think of reasonable attitudes, such as beliefs and desires, as the kind that are appropriate to a reasonable person, and similarly for 60 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

reasonable actions; and it is also fruitful to think of them as the kind that constitute appropriate responses to reasons for them. (2001, 152)

Audi’s emphasis is on reasonableness’ relativity to circumstances rather than on some a priori rules of rationality. We cannot say in advance what it is reasonable to believe or do because context is essential. Another premodern understanding of reasonableness is offered by Toulmin, who directly contrasts his account with modern conceptions of reason. He says: “Rationality goes with focusing narrowly on matters of content. Reasonableness with a feeling for the dozen ways in which a situation may modify both the content and the style of arguments” (2001, 21–2). Unlike reason, with its emphasis on certainty and formal proof, reasonableness, for Toulmin, is associated with narrative and with “substantive, timely, local, situation-dependent, and ethically loaded argumentation” (2001, 24). Naturally, this latter approach was banned from the domain of reason by modern philosophers and scientists, which is why Toulmin believes rationality lost its balance and became such an exclusionary concept. Unlike Rawls, who is content to work within modern conceptions, Toulmin argues that “the recovery of Reasonableness can restore to the concept of Rationality the richness of which Descartes had deprived the Classical logos” (2001, 203). He is specifically concerned that we recover our pretheoretical notions of knowledge, and doing this requires us to reunite theory and practice, which he argues is modeled in the work of Wittgenstein. Although Wittgenstein himself has no desire to return philosophy to some premodern roots, his view does share an affinity with the idea that reason is a virtue concept. A Wittgensteinian conception of language and, by extension, cognition is a conception of individuals engaging in public and cooperative activities. Late Wittgenstein rejects the idea of rigid rules and methodologies; instead he maintains: “the very idea of wanting to explain a practice . . . seems wrong to me . . . . I believe that the attempt to explain is already . . . wrong because one must only correctly piece together what one knows, . . . without adding anything . . .” (Wittgenstein 1993, 119– 21). The idea that Wittgenstein returns to again and again in his later work is that we have some implicit, practical knowledge that underpins our theoretical understandings. When discussing the possibility of following rules, he says in the Investigations that “If I have exhausted the justifications I have reached bedrock, and my spade is turned. Then I am inclined to say: ‘This is simply what I do’” (Wittgenstein 1958, §217). And in On Certainty he repeats this point saying, “Not only rules, but also examples are needed for establishing a practice. Our rules leave loop-holes open, and the practice has The Virtue of Reason 61 to speak for itself” [italics added] (Wittgenstein 1969, §139). When Toulmin speaks of reasonableness as encompassing “a feeling for the dozen ways in which a situation may modify both the content and the style of arguments,” it is this same sort idea that we find in Wittgenstein. The activity or the practice is not only prior to the theory but also sensitive to context in a way that modern, rule-bound reason could never quite be. Reasonableness, then, emphasizes the communal, contextual, and active aspects of reason. But, of course, not just any practice will do when it comes to reasonableness. If our engagement in practices is going to count as virtuous, our cognitive capacities must exhibit the right sorts of habits. The problem, though, is that specifying what constitutes the right sort of habit is no small task. The idea of habits, or second nature, builds on the Aristotelian notion of virtue as something that is not innate but is rather acquired through cultivation. Because virtue requires one to act “to the right person, to the right extent, at the right time, with the right motive, and in the right way” and such matters are not fixed, no set of rules or principles offer a secure guide to how one is to become virtuous (Aristotle 1941b, 1109a25). One must learn to see which reasons matter to this deliberation about “rightness” and which ones do not, and the relevance of reasons to our rational evaluations depends upon one’s perspective and one’s community rather than upon some transcendent methodology. The idea of “learning to see” is one that actually makes an appearance within modern philosophy, albeit one that is difficult to discern. In the Discourse, Descartes argues that

the power of judging well and of distinguishing the true from the false—- which is what we properly call ‘good sense’ or ‘reason’—is naturally equal in all men . . . [but] it is not enough to have a good mind; the main thing is to apply it well. (1985, 111)

What one should notice is that Descartes himself does not deny anyone the capacity to reason. What he does deny is that everyone has an equal capacity to apply reason, and this application depends on how well we attend to the evidence available to us. Similarly, Kant argues that the rules for synthesiz- ing experience cannot apply themselves and that judgment, the ability to apply these rules, “is a special talent that cannot be taught but only prac- ticed” (Kant 1998, A133/B172). Modernism may emphasize methodology, but buried within it is the idea that methods must be applied, which can only be accomplished through examples and practice and learning to see. 62 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

The idea of “learning to see,” which also occupies much of Wittgenstein’s thinking, has its roots in the Aristotelian notion that John McDowell refers to as second nature, or “having one’s eyes opened to reasons at large” (1994, 84). For Aristotle, the development of virtue requires a proper upbringing and inculcation into the right habits. We must learn, through experience, what actually matters for the issue at hand so that we can act in the right way. McDowell expands Aristotle’s ethical insight to consider our conceptual or cognitive capacities, which must also be responsive to rational demands. However, the truly interesting part of his argument is not his claim that reason requires the right habits; instead, his insight lies in his motivation for recapturing the idea of second nature: to keep nature partially enchanted. The modern world view treats nature as a rationally intelligible system, which has patterns that can be exemplified with mathematical and geometrical precision. The problem, as McDowell sees it, is the loss of human responsiveness that lies at the heart of the transition from the ancient to modern worlds. He explicitly contrasts the intelligibility sought by the natural sciences with the intelligibility that is proper to meanings, by which he means a space in which we do not seek to understand simply facts of nature but the meaning of these facts for human interactions. For McDowell, “[w]e need to bring responsiveness to meaning back into the operations of our natural sentiment capacities as such, even while we insist that responsiveness to meaning cannot be captured in naturalistic terms” (1994, 77). The way we reenchant nature with meaning is to recognize our nature as largely second nature, determined by our human potentialities and our upbringing. What is important about the idea of second natures is that each of us may respond to different features of the environment, but it is not the case that we are limited to those features to which we do respond. Each of us has natural aptitudes, but second nature goes far beyond simply having an aptitude for some activity. For instance, from the time I was a small child, I displayed little musical aptitude. Nonetheless, I have been able to learn to hear more clearly what is going on within music. Similarly, my logic students, who come to my class knowing nothing of logic, can learn to see fallacies, even if logic is not one of their better subjects. Every semester I actually have students excitedly report that they start hearing fallacies when they encounter them outside of class. With practice, listening to music or recognizing logical fallacies can become something at which we become quite good. That is, it can become a second nature. While one must initially have some basic capability, second natures are acquired, and this is true even when one has a natural aptitude. No one is born a great doctor, lawyer, The Virtue of Reason 63 or Indian chief. Furthermore, those features of our environment to which we respond when we employ our second natures are features to which others also have access. When I respond with amazement at a particularly good double play in baseball, I have no greater access to empirical evidence than my companion who does not yet understand the game and who fails to see anything special in the play. I simply have a better ability to discern relevant aspects of the experience and to integrate them within a network of beliefs that my friend could acquire if she is so inclined. The facts to which each of us has access are not incompatible; rather, we have different abilities to recognize what is significant or relevant within those experiences. Eze draws out the philosophical moral from these simple examples. “As second nature, habit is far from blind: it surreptitiously reconciles the untrained . . . part of an otherwise rational individual to the accumulated wisdoms of a society” (Eze 2008, 150). Our cultures and traditions ground our second natures and the ways in which we are responsive to the world. The idea of second nature, then, is one that ties into the notion of reasonableness for they both require an appropriate responsiveness to reasons. Not just any habits and responsiveness to reasons will lead to the right sorts of second natures. Aristotle clearly delineates a difference between the habits that increase virtue (i.e., the right sorts of habits) and those that destroy it. This is reflected in current attempts to revive second nature. In their argument for second nature rationalities, Rebecca Kukla and Laura Ruetsche acknowledge that not all second natures should be valued. “[F]or some men,” they observe, “it is a second nature to dismiss women’s testimony as not reason-providing, as [sic] least when it comes to certain topics . . .” (2002, 410–11). Many men quickly and thoughtlessly dismiss women’s ability, for example, to give directions—or, even worse, to act rationally. I experienced this latter tendency with a somewhat well-known and respected male philosopher while at a conference some time ago. During a break in the conference I was relating a story about a tenure revocation case going on at my school. One of the grounds for dismissal (which I have good reason to believe was true) was that this woman would go into campus offices and deliberately disrupt business until she got what she wanted. At this point in the story, this male philosopher said, in all seriousness, “what do you expect from a woman?” For this man, it was second nature to conclude that women are incapable of professionally appropriate behavior—and to express this view openly in front of other professional women. He simply did not see his own attitude as anything but reasonable. Yet if the doctrine of second nature is to have any normative power, it should not defend this sort of selective responsiveness to reasons. 64 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Attitudes such as this should serve as more impetus for women to defend the concepts of reason and reasonableness. Not all habits are benign, and as Nussbaum explains,

Wherever you most mistrust habits, there you have the most need for reason. Women have lots of grounds to mistrust most habits people have had through the centuries, just as poor people have had reason to mistrust the moral emotions of kings. This means that women have an especially great need for reason. (1999, 79)

We need some means to distinguish habits or second natures that are worth- while from those that are destructive. A more complete understanding of second nature should make it easier to see why not all second natures may be reasonable, even if they are all rational. In giving her account of second nature, Kukla uses a model of perception. She points out that perception is not as simple as it first seems. We all have the capacity to perceive, but many of us are better at it than others. When it comes to music, for example, I confess that my perceptual capacities are not well developed. During a musical performance, I am perceptive enough to notice when a musician hits a wrong note, but I often miss some of the more subtle aspects of performances. I do not know how to hear what a trained musician hears. On the other hand, I cannot help but notice the subtle details of arguments when I listen to them. Without any effort whatsoever, I notice every fallacy; I notice the structure of arguments, the implicit premises, and the unstated conclusions. Part of the difference here may be that I simply have more raw philosophical ability than I do musical talent, but fundamentally that is not what explains this difference. The difference lies in what I have been trained to perceive. As Kukla tells us, “. . . the contingent histories of our rational capacities are not simply strings of chance events that result in a second nature we have by happenstance. Rather, as Aristotle emphasized, our second natures are educatable [sic] through practice and experience” (Kukla 2006,87). We can learn to perceive things differently than we do. As long as a second nature is capable of being guided and of learning, it is rational, but when second natures become uneducable, they cease to be, for Kukla, rational. While I agree with the spirit of denying rationality to uneducable second natures, I am not convinced that they actually lack rationality or, more strongly, are irrational. Some second nature capacities, like automatically concluding that women cannot act professionally, are unreasonable, but that does not make them irrational. Perfectly intelligent human beings whose rationality The Virtue of Reason 65 would otherwise never come into doubt can express an uneducable second nature (as the sexist philosopher does), but this should not necessarily lead us to question the person’s rationality. Bad reasoning, especially in the context of generally sound reasoning, does not imply one lacks rationality. Yet, the broader point that second natures must be educable still remains despite my somewhat semantic disagreement over terminology. What makes a sexist attitude unreasonable is that it is not receptive to reasons—and virtues must be receptive to reasons. On this point Kukla adds:

Insouciance, inattention, impairment, and biases and prejudices that block or distort certain kinds of information all might hamper the cultivation of rationality, just as they can the moral virtues. But this is no argument against the rational modifiability of our contingently variable rational capacities. For not all dimensions of our second nature are rational. (Kukla 2006, 88)

Men who insist on ignoring evidence in favor of women’s abilities to give and follow directions, to act professionally, or to function as rational agents, engage in a rather willful ignorance that in turn diminishes the functioning of their own rational capacities. Still, we must have some means to distinguish those second natures that are reasonable from those that are not. Reasonableness requires that we be willing to engage other points of view, and it offers us a way to distinguish, among perspectives that are rationally held, which perspectives are better and worse. In other words, reasonableness gives us some capacity to evaluate competing epistemological perspectives such as those of the feminist and the sexist. The real advantage of reasonableness in doing this is recognized by Nicholas Burbules, who maintains that reasonableness can function normatively, even if we adopt a postmodern attitude toward rationality. This is because we can make discriminations between people who are more or less reasonable without depending on the dichotomy between the “rational” and the “irrational.” He claims that a

person who is reasonable wants to make sense, wants to be fair to alternative points of view, wants to be careful and prudent in the adoption of important positions in life, is willing to admit when he or she has made a mistake, and so on. (Burbules 1995, 86)

“Reasonableness” gives us a means to determine, in a principled manner, which views to discount, not because they are necessarily false but because 66 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality they are uncooperative and exclusionary. It also gives us a means by which we can encourage those with other points of view to engage in dialogue. Four qualities are central to reasonableness on Burbules’ account: objectivity, fallibilism, pragmatism, and judiciousness. The first of these, the requirement of objectivity, demands that we step back from our own viewpoint to acknowledge and engage with other points of view. The idea is not that I can divorce myself entirely from my own perspective but that I be willing to genuinely listen and respond to alternatives. The result is that objectivity suddenly demands tolerance and pluralism. While every account of rationality, even Cartesian ones, makes distinctions between those views that are perniciously narrow and unreflective about other points of view and those views that attempt to eliminate radical subjectivity and distorting bias, the requirements of reasonableness are stronger. Reasonableness asks us to consider those reasons that stand opposed to our views, not simply those supporting it. It furthermore counsels us to consider the support or warrant reasons give. The broader concept of rationality relies simply on standards that are reflective of subjective and experiential grounds, but the narrower concept of reasonableness insists that these standards be followed in a way that engages alternative perspectives and considers all available evidence (or at least as much as is realistically possible). In this we have the promise of perspectivalism without relativity, what Kukla calls “sophisticated aperspectivalism.” That is, the requirement of objectivity does not demand an absolute impartiality, which is impossible. Instead, it asks us to be willing to consider that the evidential grounds for our beliefs are partly constituted by the social practices that we use to interpret them. Furthermore, we must consider that experience provides grounds for far more beliefs than those held by a specific person or society, and the reasonable person will take note of the fact that others may be attentive to different aspects of experience or might be better attuned to the relevant aspects of experience. If we are objective in this sense, we should have an easier time coming to understand our disagreements with others, even if we cannot resolve them. Audi addresses this point when he argues:

The same sources that make it rational for different people to hold conflicting beliefs and to have disparate desires can make it possible for them to resolve disagreement in rational ways. . . . Even where consensus is not possible, . . . [o]ften we can also come to appreciate how and why others might rationally differ from us. The objectivity of the standards of rationality makes this appreciation possible; the internality of its grounds makes the plurality we can thus appreciate natural. (1995, 194) The Virtue of Reason 67

These remarks reflect a concern for both plurality and objectivity, which is precisely what the reasonable person strives to attain. To be reasonable, we need not be willing to adopt any and all points of view for this would lead to a cognitive incoherence. What is required is that one be willing to consider that the evidence transcends one’s own perspective. Reasonableness also requires one to be fallible. Fallibilism involves being willing to make cognitive mistakes, the ability to admit one is wrong, and a capacity to reflect on how and why mistakes are made. From a virtue perspective, rationality is grounded in experience and shared practices, which are by no means indefeasible. People who are too fearful of making mistakes, who never admit they are wrong or who cannot critically reflect on why those errors occur, exhibit a certain unreasonableness. Honest mistakes occur in both belief and action, but the reasonable person will admit to and learn from these mistakes. When someone (or some group) is unable or unwilling to admit that she could be mistaken, we then have grounds for discounting the reasonableness of that perspective. Fallibility is itself not an infallible criterion of reasonability, but it gives us another tool for evaluating differing views. The requirement of judiciousness captures the idea that sometimes rational persons should refrain from applying the skills of rationality. At first glance, this is an odd requirement, but as Burbules explains: “those whom we respect as reasonable are judicious about when and how they follow the dictates of argument in the strict sense of the term, and they are receptive to the influence of other kinds of persuasion as well” (1995, 96). There are times when we should be willing to let go of using solely rational demands and be willing to explore other avenues of arriving at conclusions or determining and influencing actions. My aunt and uncle displayed such judiciousness when my cousins were young and somehow got hold of some chewing tobacco. When my aunt and uncle discovered this, they chose not to insert themselves into the situation but to patiently wait. Upon trying the tobacco, the boys predictably made themselves sick, which in turn led them to give up future tobacco use. Rather than using reasons to convince the boys about the dangers of tobacco, they judiciously watched from afar. And in the end, they achieved their desired result through inaction. Reasonableness sometimes demands this sort of moderation. Finally comes pragmatism. Pragmatism signifies “a belief in the importance of practical problems in driving the process of intellectual, moral, and political development. Such an outlook is sensitive to the particulars of given contexts and the variety of human needs and purposes” (Burbules 1995, 94). Toulmin, in his discussion of reasonableness, echoes this point. 68 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

He argues for a pragmatic approach to theorizing that can repair “the imbalance in our ideas about Reason that we have inherited from Modernity, and restore to our other ways of thinking and acting the legitimacy that an egalitarian approach requires” (Toulmin 2001, 172–3). We must take note, he says, that “in real-life situations, many universals hold generally rather than invariably,” and that “Life as we live it, in its daily concreteness, has a complexity that prevents experiences from being listed as neat, ready-made ‘cases’” (Toulmin 2001, 111–12). The reasonable person, then, must consider contexts and the practical needs evident within these contexts. At times, the context demands little precision—for example, telling a vacation story—and other cases it demands a great deal—for example, testifying in a court of law. The reasonable person understands this and remains sensitive to varying contexts. Furthermore, pragmatism “reflects a tolerance for uncertainty, imperfection, and incompleteness as the existential conditions of human thought and action” (Burbules 1995, 94). Reasonable people, in other words, do not need to know it all and must often be content with not knowing it all. The emphasis here is on the existential conditions of human thought and action, which are as much a part of the experiential grounds of reason as anything else. This emphasis shows reasonableness to lie more within the domain of the subjective, personal, and social aspects of our lives. Thus, it is in the shift to reasonableness that feminists can truly find an expansion of the realm of the rational into subjective and emotive aspects of human life. Reasonable people will not ignore human needs and purposes. These four criteria of reasonableness—objectivity, fallibilism, judiciousness, and pragmatism—are, of course, themselves highly contextualized and subject to a great deal of bias in application. So, there is some question about how well they can offer some criteria for evaluating competing beliefs. However, to expect a clear demarcation between the rational or irrational, between the reasonable and the unreasonable, is to accept a dichotomization typical of Enlightenment thinking. Philosophers, whether they be feminist or not, tend to accept that rationality admits of degrees and that context matters greatly to rational evaluation of belief and action. The strength of the virtue account is that it maintains that there is a standard of rationality, namely, the rational person, but this standard is neither fixed nor transcendent. Instead, it is dependent upon the flexible goal of human flourishing. And since presumably we share in common our humanity, this gives us a place to begin when we consider both the rationality and reasonableness of others. The Virtue of Reason 69

Rationality, on this view, is an activity that engages the world. Its embodiment in practices and traditions is not secondary to theoretical principles or structural elements, which are themselves dependent upon the practices and traditions that shape them. Rationality and reasonableness require responsiveness to the social world as much as the material world. These concepts are built on narratives and communally determined constraints; yet their teleological character provides open-ended grounds for evaluating practices and standards of rationality on a case-by-case basis. In short, this is an account of rationality that rejects modernism, through and through. However, that a theory of rationality rejects modernism is not sufficient reason for feminists to endorse it. To make the case that virtue rationality can function as a feminist account of rationality, I examine how this conception addresses dichotomous thinking within philosophy. My claim is that virtue rationality allows us to reconceive traditional philosophical dichotomies and does so in ways that is sensitive to many of the concerns feminists express about the distortions and destructiveness of polarized thinking. I argue, first, that treating rationality as a virtue concept moves beyond the binary opposition that traditionally define rationality and, second, that it allows feminists to ground some of our basic metaphysical and ethical claims concerning oppression and injustice. 70 4Chapter 4Chapter The Virtue of Embodiment

Virtue rationality may subvert many modernist connotations concerning reason, but for a theory of rationality to win acceptance from any of the great multitude of feminist points of view, it must do more than simply reject modernism. After all, premodern accounts of rationality do not escape equally harsh criticism, especially when it comes to the ways in which dichotomous thinking constrains how we view rationality. Feminists have consistently objected not just to modernism but also to the broader historical exclusion of women from the domain of reason. Whatever form reason has taken, it always appears to divide the world along gender lines that diminish women’s rationality. While I have thus far argued that women can carve out space within the domain of the rational, the carving has yet to be done. Recommending that we return to a less methodological, less theoretical, and less limiting premodern conception of reason is one thing; actually establishing reason’s humanity and utilizing this human concept to overcome certain problems within feminist philosophy (and philosophy in general) is another matter entirely. The time has come to address some of the polarities that have been integral to philosophers’ understanding of reason. If virtue rationality and reasonableness are going to win over proponents of feminism, these concepts must avoid the dichotomization of modern conceptions of reason. Finding any widespread consensus among feminists is difficult and rare. Despite the different keys in which we speak, feminists have almost a single voice in expressing a desire to subvert and overcome radically polarizing thinking. This attitude, which echoes across all feminist thought, is reflected in even the most conservative of feminist viewpoints. After all, the universal valorization of the masculine, which all feminists oppose, is firmly grounded in dichotomous thinking and its gendered connotations. In introducing 72 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality her own sustained treatment of philosophical dichotomies, Raia Prokhovnik address the fact that

Dichotomies such as reason/emotion and man/woman represent fundamental polarities, fixed deep within Western philosophy and reflected in the structures of our language. . . . It is crucial in feminism’s commitment to praxis to bear in mind both the philosophical and political aspects at work in the operation of these polarities. According to the logic of dichotomous thinking in the Western cultural tradition, the term ‘rational woman’ is a disjunction resting on a confusion of categories. (2002, 1)

The theme expressed here is repeated over and over and over again: dichotomies are always gendered and always favor so-called masculinity. That is, dichotomies represent “a system of value that privileges masculine experience and established the male as the human norm” (Longino 1995, 30). Such claims are, at this point, hardly a matter of debate. What is a matter of heated debate is what stance we should adopt toward this gendered hierarchy of concepts. How ought feminists respond to philosophy’s history of dichotomization? Given the fact of dichotomous thinking and its gender valorizations, what then for feminists? Two of the most popular options are, first, to leave the dichotomies intact and to valorize the so-called feminine side or, second, to deny the distinctions entirely, claiming instead that to accept any part of these distinctions is to endorse masculine privilege. Yet, there is also a third, seemingly more conservative, option that requires us to reevaluate and to rethink the dichotomies in a way that understands them to be relational but that does not entirely eradicate their poles. Although taking this third path is fraught with controversy, it offers feminists the greatest potential gain for, if successful, it can subvert androcentrism while seizing for women qualities that have repeatedly been denied them. In other words, if reason is no longer understood as something opposed to body, emotion, particularity, or subjectivity, then women are in a much better position to assert their claims to rationality and to defend their claims to moral and epistemic agency. This third option also fits neatly within a virtue conception of rationality for this understanding of reason, which is always embodied and situated, does not itself admit of radical polarities and epistemological gulfs. It opens the door to a conception of reason as a human quality that necessarily involves embodiment, emotion, diversity, and subjectivity—as much as it necessarily involves normative concepts of universality and objectivity. This bringing together seemingly opposing philosophical concepts offers feminists some The Virtue of Embodiment 73 powerful argumentative tools for defending feminism, but it also demands the co-opting of concepts that have been used against women, and it insists that our understanding of rationality be broadened. Reevaluating the role of dichotomies in philosophical thinking allows us to keep both poles, which in turn allows feminists to retain that part of the tradition that we can use to our advantage while simultaneously rejecting the radical divisions that have grounded oppression. This tactic of co-opting and redefining terms is rather common in philo sophy, and I see no convincing argument against its use by feminists.1 Philosophers spend a great deal of time worrying about definitions—and for good reason: effective arguments require precise meanings. It matters, for example, that Aristotle and Mill mean entirely different things by “happiness.” Kant famously redefines “a priori” to fit within the Cartesian doctrine of radical subjectivity. And the later Wittgenstein argues that meanings are only as stable as the practices that underlie them. We can argue how well various definitions work and how clear they truly are, but such arguments highlight the importance of defining one’s terms. When it comes to “reason” and “rationality,” these terms have been narrowly and, for feminists, objectionably circumscribed. But this does not imply that the definitions are invariable and entirely resistant to change. Feminists, who want not to leave the world as it is, should refuse to accept that philosophical dichotomies are necessarily a part of reason and are always contrary to the interests of women. Perhaps one of the most poetic philosophical expressions of feminists’ tension when dealing with the canon is Benhabib’s “cry of the rebellious daughter” versus “the teaching of the good father.”2 This tension results from the admittedly poor track record of philosophers’ views on women. Should feminists defend the core philosophical ideas of freedom, equality, justice, and self-realization (for example) even though they are tinged with misogyny, if women are even mentioned at all? Should feminists reject the tradition as irredeemably logocentric and dichotomous, committed fully to the inferiority of women? Despite much disagreement among feminists, it does appear as if we are as committed to the history of philosophy as any nonfeminist philosopher. As Richard Rorty explains: “The self-image of a philosopher . . . depends almost entirely on how he sees the history of philo sophy. It depends on which figures he imitates, and which episodes and movements he disregards” (Rorty 1982, 41). Even postmodernist philo sophers who reject much of our shared philosophical tradition still define themselves in terms of it—or, better, in opposition to it. This tendency to map out our own philosophical territory in relation to the maps that already 74 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality exist is equally a part of feminist philosophy. Like all philosophers, feminists tend to be critical of that tradition, albeit for reasons that are guided by politics and the commitment to understanding how women have been treated (and mistreated) within the philosophical canon. Indeed, all feminist philosophers must confront a deeply misogynistic tradition. At the same time, however, feminists, even those who adopt the insights of postmodernism, have need of moral concepts that arise out of this highly suspect tradition. Oppression, for example, cannot be unjust in the absence of ethical concepts like equality or dignity. Similarly, philosophy cannot proceed without normativity since philosophers are rarely concerned with how things actually are but focus instead on how things ought to be. Nonetheless, even if we grant the truth of such contentious claims, the debate remains: how ought things be? Should feminists be reformists (following the teaching of the father) or radical (following the cry of the rebellious daughter)? This debate does not get more pronounced than it is when feminists consider dichotomous thinking. The philosophical subtext of binary oppositions is not easily eliminated, and the effort to do so presents its own back and forth tension. Rebelliousness comes at a cost, and, as I shall argue, the cost of outright rebellion is too high. To make this argument, and to argue more constructively for a conception of rationality that can successfully navigate the tensions feminists encounter, I consider four dichotomies central to any feminist project: mind/body, reason/emotion, identity/difference, and objectivity/subjectivity. Criticism of these four dichotomies permeate much of feminist thought because they play such a large role in the diminishing of women’s rationality and agency. Consequently, in my efforts to resuscitate reason for feminists, I focus on bridging the gaps between these specific dichotomies. Ultimately, my concern lies in how our understanding of reason informs the feminist philosophical project and how it provides a normative ground for the claims of feminists.

In the pantheon of binary oppositions to which feminists are opposed, perhaps the most canonically instilled and most suspect division is that between mind and body. Given both historical devaluations of body and philosophers’ quite consistent identification of women with body, feminists have repeatedly and consistently expressed a concern with bodies: how they define and individuate us, how they are defined by social inscription and power relations, how they take on meaning, how they influence The Virtue of Embodiment 75 our moral standing, and so on. Doing justice to the complexity of each of these discussions is a daunting, perhaps impossible task; yet no adequate discussion of feminism and rationality can ignore how it is that mind and body relate to each other. After all, a great deal rides on how we understand this relationship, especially for those who see the gap between mind and body as the lynchpin to much of the androcentrism in philosophy. Elizabeth Spelman has gone as far as to assert that “examining a philosopher’s view of the distinction [between soul and body] may give us a direct route to his views about women” (1982, 119). The accuracy of Spelman’s view becomes evident upon even a cursory examination of the tradition. Philosophers often do signal their attitudes toward women when discussing the relation of mind to body, especially when the topic concerns the radically different relationships that male minds have toward male bodies and that female minds have to female bodies. Unfortunately, these attitudes tend to closely tie women to their bodies and, thus, diminish women’s mental capabilities. Canonical philosophers, those whom Genevieve Lloyd captures in the marvelous phrase “the mighty dead,” assign a much greater value to mind than to body. The specific nature of this association changes over time, but evident within the philosophical canon is a consistent association of mind with what is masculine and body with what is feminine. Although Plato’s somewhat nonessentialist attitude toward male and female bodies makes him a unique figure within the canon, the male/mind, female/body associations can even be found in his work, albeit in something of a more ambivalent form that in the rest of the mighty dead. Plato may inherit from Socrates the belief that souls are invariably superior to bodies, but what ultimately matters for him is not what sort of body parts one has but what sort of soul one possesses.3 Within both the Republic and the Meno, Plato dismisses the biological differences between women and men.4 For instance, to be a philosopher king or queen in the Republic requires one to overcome the corrupting influence of the body so that the soul can express its essential nature (and ideally grasp the Forms), but women are, in principle, as capable of doing this as are men.5 The implication of this attitude is aston- ishing for, as Susan Moller Okin argues, “it is one of the very few instances in the history of thought when the biological implications of femaleness have been clearly separated from all the conventional, institution, and emotional baggage that has usually been identified with them” (1977, 358). Feminists may argue over his sincerity and consistency on this point, but at times Plato clearly indicates that women can have souls that are the equal of men, even if their bodies are weaker.6 76 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

With respect to the other, nonbodily half of the dichotomy, however, Plato is quite unambiguous in his assertion that only the rational, nonmaterial, eternal aspect of the soul can achieve the purity necessary to know the Forms. Bodies, at least in this life, are very much united to souls, but this influence is never for the soul’s betterment. Bodies are so much a hindrance to our acquisition of knowledge that philosophers must seek to free the soul from the body. Says Plato, “in despising the body and avoiding it, and endeav- oring to become independent—the philosopher’s soul is ahead of all the rest.”7 Thus, despite his progressive attitude toward women’s independence (in principle) from bodies, he is unequivocal in finding philosophical virtues to lie within rational souls that are purged of the negative influence of body. And despite the feminist-friendly accolades he receives from some philosophers, feminists are often quite suspicious when considering Plato’s attitudes toward female bodies for they lead him to point “an accusing fin- ger at . . . people with a . . . female body—because he regards them as embodying the very traits he wishes no one to have” (Spelman 1990, 30). When it comes to the negative influence that body has on the soul—and women’s lesser ability to master or control this negative influence—his views are quite in line with those echoed repeatedly throughout philosophy. Following Plato’s emphasis on mind over body, modern philosophers like Descartes and Kant take the division a step further by eliminating entirely the philosophical significance of bodies. The gulf that is hinted at by the ancients becomes deeply entrenched during the Enlightenment: minds exist logically prior to and independent from bodies. In the Meditations, for example, Descartes differentiates between body, which is extended and unthinking, and mind, which is unextended and thinking. And in coming to terms with who he is, Descartes writes:

Can I now assert that I possess even the most insignificant of all the attributes which I have just said belong to the nature of body? I scrutinize them, think about them, go over them again, but nothing suggests itself . . . . But what about the attributes I assigned to the soul? Nutrition and movement? Since now I do not have a body, these are mere fabrications. Sense perception? This clearly does not occur without a body . . . . Think- ing? At last I have discovered it—thought; this alone is inseparable from me . . . . I am, then, in the strict sense only a thing that thinks [italics added]. (1984, 18)

Without a great deal of effort, he concludes that body is inessential and that thought alone constitutes his essence. This idea that he exists necessarily as The Virtue of Embodiment 77 a mind but only accidentally as a body is repeated in Meditation VI, the very meditation in which he struggles to reunite mind and body. He says:

It is true that I may have . . . a body that is very closely joined to me. But nevertheless, on the one hand I have a clear and distinct idea of myself, in so far as I am simply a thinking, non-extended thing; and on the other hand I have a distinct idea of body . . . . And accordingly, it is certain that I am really distinct from my body, and can exist without it [italics added]. (1984, 54)

Descartes obviously believes that we have bodies, and he makes explicit claims to this effect throughout his work, most notably in his correspondence with Princess Elizabeth. However, he makes equally clear that the body is not our primary mode of existence and is not a primary source of knowledge—rational intuition is. The body is an inert and inessential machine that is piloted by the mind, the active seat of thought, will, and agency.8 Even worse, the body is an impediment to the purity and neutrality of the detached mind. Despite the criticism that he has faced over the past several decades, at least part of Descartes’ reason for the elimination of body is cogent. Because the scientific revolution disenchants and objectifies nature, the mind cannot remain spontaneous and free in a world governed by deterministic physical laws. That is, Descartes acutely recognizes the threat to human freedom and autonomy contained within a mechanistic, increasingly deterministic universe. He understands that to remain free, human thought and moral action have to be detached from the mechanistic realm of bodies. Yet whatever advantage might be had from Cartesian efforts to keep the human world enchanted, modern philosophers’ own suspicions about the body motivate them to eliminate it entirely from considerations of personal identity, epistemic and moral agency, and autonomy. Beyond defending free will, the implication of the division between mind and body is that body is regarded as an even more serious impediment to epistemic purity than it was for the ancients. In fact, the first so-called knowledge that is subject to Cartesian doubt in the Meditations is that gained through the body—and this becomes the trend for at least the following three centuries. Hume’s radical skepticism concerning rationality and the mind stems from his embracing the subjectivity of perception. Furthermore, while Kant is less willing to doubt knowledge gained through the senses, he, of course, follows Cartesian suspicions concerning the objectivity of any empirically grounded epistemic or moral judgments. For each of these philosophers, 78 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality and at least as far as the positivists of the twentieth century, to be bound to the body is to be bound to subjectivity and epistemic imperfection. Because women are invariably identified with their bodies, such philosophical moves have had a far reaching impact on women—even if the stated rationale for discounting the body is not its associations with the feminine but its impediment to the correct use of reason. This desire for separation and distance is, as Susan Bordo argues, “an aggressive intellectual flight from the female cosmos and ‘feminine’ orientation toward the world” (1987, 100). Other feminists may be less dramatic in expression, but the consensus is that the Cartesian desire to liberate the mind from body (i.e., the principle impediment to the acquisition of knowledge, properly conceived) is indicative of a masculine perspective. Grosz goes as far as to claim that the “crisis of reason” that has taken hold of philosophy over the past several decades is directly caused by “historical privileging of the purely conceptual or mental over the cor- poreal” (1993, 187). Can it be that this privileging has precipitated the deep disquietude that surrounds reason today, and if so, how do we silence the doubts? The historical evidence suggests that there is something right both in the view that modern philosophy’s flight from the body is a flight from the feminine and in the view that the mind/body gap has contributed to the current crisis concerning reason. Consider Lloyd’s treatment of the Cartesian metaphor of the mind in motion:

The ideal of intellect is an attentive gaze, which leaves behind the unsta- ble, erratic motion of inferior forms of knowledge drawn from sense and infected by the intrusions of body. The ideal is a form of stasis with intellectual contemplation construed on the model of vision. The only real or proper activity of the mind that Descartes allows is the will . . . . (Lloyd 2002, 83)

She goes on to say:

On the one hand, Descartes downgrades the ‘motion’ of the mind. It represents an instability that must be transcended. On the other hand, the privileged state of mind is also presented as a form of activity. But this superior form of mental activity belongs to the proper nature of the soul—the movement of the will. . . . The mind is pushed by the body into a motion not its own. The will must exert a counterforce ‘reining it in.’ (2002, 86) The Virtue of Embodiment 79

The moral of the Cartesian story is that intelligibility must emphasize regularity, stability, and uniformity—and this requires moving beyond the external influence of body. The moral of Lloyd’s story, though, is quiet different. In her retelling, the emphasis is on the thoroughgoing masculinity of Descartes’ image: passive movements of animal spirits being controlled and overcome through the activity of intellect and will, which reflects masculine fears concerning the contamination of cognitive faculties with the impurities of the body and the so-called feminine. The result of this flight from the contingency and particularity of the physical is a certain androcentric distortion philosophical thinking. Kant, who completes Descartes’ inward turn toward a radical subjectivity, does make the explicit identification of women with the body and does draw the conclusion that women’s rationality is thereby lessened. Like Aristotle before him, Kant does not deny that women possess some rationality, but he argues that women’s rational capacities are more diminished than men’s. In his moral theory, he most clearly stresses rationality and autonomy as the sources of moral agency. Particularity, contingency, subjectivity, and emotion—all qualities associated with the body—are explicitly excluded from the grounding of moral principles. In the Groundwork, Kant argues:

All moral concepts have their seat and origin in reason completely a priori, and indeed in the most ordinary human reason just as much as in the most highly speculative: they cannot be abstracted from any empirical, and therefore merely contingent, knowledge. In this purity of their origin is to be found their very worthiness to serve as supreme practical principles, and everything empirical added to them is just so much taken away from their genuine influence and from the absolute value of the corresponding actions. (Kant 1964, 411)

Never has there been a more straightforward statement about the origin of morality: morality is a priori, period. While not every feminist rejects Kantian morality, it is far from an understatement to say that a great many feminists have objections to this claim. Kant’s attitude entails the removal of women from full consideration as autonomous moral agents worthy of respect for, as he says elsewhere, women’s “philosophy is not to reason, but to sense” (Kant 1960, 79). It is precisely because women are associated with body (i.e., sense) that women are taken to be less rational than men. The theme that women are tied to the body is typical throughout almost all of philosophy. Women are almost always bound by the immanence of the 80 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality body—but so too are some men. Philosophers as diverse as Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Hume, and Kant have all devalued the physical in favor of the mental, and men who are associated with the body, as laborers are for Aristotle, are also believed to have diminished minds. A consistent claim across the discipline is that anyone tied to the body is unable to use reason appropriately for the correct use of reason demands transcendence from the influence of body. Our capacity to be epistemic agents or autonomous moral reasoners requires that we forsake the body in favor of the mind or soul, and since philosophers (outside of Plato, perhaps) most clearly identify women with their bodies, this entails diminished rational agency, if any at all. The exception to this is, of course, Hume, who is willing to allow that reason does not provide a universal or infallible method for the acquisition of knowledge, even if he remains agnostic about the actual existence of bodies.9 Most other philosophers, especially since Descartes, insist that reason, when applied correctly, provides neutral access to a distinct, objective reality. Unfortunately for women (and some men, especially nonwestern men), this linking of reason to the mind only makes it all the more masculine since women are “naturally” tied to the body. The official story is this: Body is an impediment to knowledge and freedom; women are bound to their bodies (while most men are decidedly not so bound); thus, women can act with neither epistemic nor moral autonomy. The frameworks of the past have attributed body in an essential way only to women. Historically, it is men alone who are capable of transcending the situatedness of body and, hence, are fully capable of rational agency. A rationality that cannot account for bodily interaction will perpetuate this narrow and heavily masculine conception that effectively denies women agency. This ideal of rational agency that flourishes in the modern era, and that still exerts an influence, albeit a diminishing one, on our thinking today, is one of a subjectivity that is detached from corporality and capable of fully understanding the principles according to which the mind organizes and understands sensory perceptions. This idea lives on through the influence of the positivists and the entrenchment of what Code describes as S-knows- that-p epistemologies. In these epistemologies, “S” is supposed to stand for any knower. But for “S” to represent any epistemic agent, we must have a conception of what it is to be a knower that abstracts from the particular details that make each of us different and instead focuses on what we universally hold in common as knowers. The result is that bodies must be epistemically irrelevant since body is always particular and is historically and socially located. Although mind/body dualism has been widely criticized The Virtue of Embodiment 81 through the philosophical community since the latter part of the twentieth century, philosophers are certainly not willing to give up the primacy of mind. Even if philosophers today are somewhat more sympathetic to the fact that minds are embodied and that bodies contribute to our knowledge of the world, the default position is still that our minds are the key source of agency and that our bodies simply fill in some of the specific content of cognition. This radical division of mind from body has, then, significant implications for our understanding of rationality—and the gender of rationality. Women’s rationality is, historically, highly suspect. After all, rationality supposedly requires a transcendence that, outside of a privileged few in the Republic, women are unable to achieve. The canonical situation is so bad that Alcoff argues, “the major factor in this masculinist formulation of reason has been mind-body dualism” (1995, 8). And the evidence suggests she is correct. While the mind/body split is perhaps not the sole cause of the crisis of reason, it is clearly a major contributor to the presumed masculinity of reason.10 As a result, feminist critics are quite vocal in their willingness to link reason’s masculinity to the polarity between mind and body. For any theory of rationality to function as a feminist theory, it absolutely must eliminate the mind/body gap.

Predictably, feminist philosophers have fought against the alignment of men with mind and women with bodies. The usual argumentative tact is not to assert women’s ability to transcend the body but rather is to focus on men’s unrecognized immanence. This argument comes in a variety of forms, but one of the most prevalent focuses on why philosophers remove the body from epistemological consideration in the first place: the ineliminable subjectivity of the body. Philosophers desire epistemic purity and objectivity, and the particularity of the body just gets in the way. In a direct confrontation with the issues surrounding the removal of subjectivity, Code maintains that gender-neutrality, that is, “the presumption that gender has nothing to do with knowledge, that the mind has no sex, that reason is alike in all men, and man ‘embraces’ woman,” cannot be sustained (1993, 20). Instead, she argues, “the phenomena of the disinterested inquirer is the exception rather than the rule” (1993, 30). Although Code does not come out and explicitly refute the mind/body divide, her argument that subjectivity must be included in epistemology is closely related to such a 82 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

refutation. On the other hand, Grosz (1993) directly challenges the mind/body divide and its connotations concerning the masculinity of reason. She maintains that insofar as philosophers have denied the body as a source or condition of knowledge, they have distorted the epistemological enterprise. Like it or not, corporeality is sexed and it affects both knowers and the objects known. Regardless of the particular brand of feminism one endorses, just about everyone accepts that knowledge is not gender neutral and cannot be had in isolation from bodily concerns. Few agree, however, on what this means for our understanding of rationality. As Judith Butler notes, “It has seemed to many . . . that in order for feminism to proceed as a critical practice, it must ground itself in the sexed specificity of the female body” (1993, 28). Traditional accounts of rationality, however, cannot withstand such a strong insistence on specificity. Furthermore, attacks on the mind/body divide have contributed greatly to the “crisis of reason,” making it all the more clear that our concept of rationality needs to be rethought. This, in turn, has opened the door for feminists to attack standard masculine epistemologies and to provide alternatives that will make evident the sexualization of knowledge. In other words, bodies fundamentally matter to knowledge. Because philosophers have ignored this fact, we are in an epistemic morass that we can escape only if we acknowledge the material processes that function in knowledge production. In the case of feminist theory, the exclusion of the body has led to a series of insights and criticisms concerning how philosophy has conceived of the body—and it is to these insights and criticisms that a feminist theory of rationality must respond. Grosz argues that when it comes to the division between reason and body, feminists demand that we: (1) acknowledge the dominance of reason over body, (2) undermine or transform the alignment of men with reason and women with body, (3) accept that bodies are particular and different, (4) recognize that bodies are socially inscribed, and (5) seek to understand the interaction of power and body.11 The first of these claims, that we recognize the priority of reason over body, is widely accepted as historical fact but is also largely criticized within contemporary theorizing. Philosophers are increasingly realizing that by excluding bodies from all epistemological considerations we have indeed grossly distorted our understanding of the activity of acquiring knowledge. For instance, George Lakoff and Mark Johnson argue that if we consider the evidence from cognitive science, we find that there “is no such fully autonomous faculty of reason separate from and independent of bodily capacities. . . . These findings of cognitive science . . . tell us that human reason . . . [is] The Virtue of Embodiment 83 inextricably tied to our bodies and the particularities of our brains” (1999, 17). During the past several decades, philosophers have come to understand that treating the mind as disembodied leads to distortions in our understanding of reason, and this recognition has been an important factor in the recent philosophical tendency to question the concept. In fact, when it comes to the division between mind and body, few philosophers these days are willing to radically divide the two. The remaining claims—the negative association of women with body, the need to accept the difference of body, the social inscription of body, and the power relations that constrain body—these are not widely accepted by the mainstream philosophical community although each topic is the subject of debate—and within feminist circles, these debates are often quite heated. A theory of rationality will not resolve every concern about women’s (and men’s) relation to body nor will it resolve issues of difference, social inscription, or power relations. However, if rationality is understood as a faculty that is dependent upon body, as many philosophers suggest, and if we take the time to consider what an embodied reason would look like, then we have a more constructive framework for debate. Feminists who think about mind/body issues do not usually deny or denigrate mind; rather, they seek to integrate it with body. Nonetheless, because of the force of the two thousand year tradition they resist, feminists have in practice largely ignored the mind. Indeed, for those feminists who are most concerned with bodies, almost no emphasis is placed on minds. But focusing solely on issues of the body is no less distorting than is the exclusive focus on mind. Given the success of arguments to the effect that minds are inextricably linked to bodies, the time has come to consider the effects this interconnection has on our understanding of rationality. What virtue rationality offers the feminist is a way to dissolve the polarizing tension between mind and body. One hallmark of treating rationality as a virtue is that it is always engaged in the world, and this engagement demands embodiment. In other words, to be rational requires a mind, but minds are always materially situated. Not only do we never encounter disembodied minds in the world, we also have no idea what it would mean to be a disembodied mind, pace Descartes. Furthermore, because virtues are to be understood in relation to achieving the goods that are internal to practices and because the practices that evolve out of our ordinary lives assume embodiment, there can be no epistemological gap between mind and body. If we take quite everyday practices, which must be successfully navigated for one to demonstrate adequately her rationality, we find that, almost without exception, they involve the presumption of embodiment. Getting dressed 84 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality for work, shaking hands as a gesture of greeting, sitting down at the dinner table, and so on, each of these activities presumes a material element to our lives, not to mention the presumption of social elements that shapes the meanings of each of these practices. Nonetheless, it is one thing to say that virtue rationality recognizes the integration of mind and body; it is another thing entirely to say along what lines we must understand this integration and how this integration relates to issues of gender. One way of investigating the possible meaning of such an integration is to consider the relationship of practices to a Foucauldian framework for understanding bodies. Michel Foucault is a highly controversial figure within feminism, but his approach to the body is one that resonates with many and that touches on each of the issues Grosz raises. Still, the criticisms other feminists raise against Foucault also highlight the importance of mind in our theories of body. Quite directly, Foucault’s approach highlights concerns related to the social inscription of the body and the power relations that constrain bodies. On Butler’s account, “Power operates for Foucault in the constitution of the very materiality of the subject, in the principle which simultaneously forms and regulates the ‘subject’ of subjec- tivation” (1993, 34). This is, for many feminists, a useful way of coming to understand the construction of women’s bodies, but the proponents of Foucault’s approach also expand it to include a concern with different bodies and with the negative associations made with respect to women’s bodies. Broadly conceived, Foucault explores the idea that bodies are “docile”—or disciplined, useful, submissive. All bodies, on this account, are constructed, and they are constructed in such a way that they are inscribed by power relations. For feminists who accept the idea of “docile bodies,” bodies that are produced through multiple power relations, “Foucault helps us move from a ‘state of subordination’ explanation of gender relations, which emphasizes domination and victimization, to a more textured understanding of the role of power in women’s lives” (Deveaux 1994, 231). To view power as constitutive of bodies, then, provides some feminists with a way to conceptualize bodies and the role they play in our lives, for better and worse. For example, Sandra Bartky (along with Bordo) extends Foucault’s views to include a specific account of how women’s bodies are culturally controlled and inscribed, although Bartky’s appropriation is also a critical one. Whereas she believes Foucault’s account of the body is useful for theorizing about women’s bodies and the ways they have been circumscribed by various powers and forces, Bartky also finds in his work the same exclusion of women that one finds throughout the history of philosophy. She writes, The Virtue of Embodiment 85

But Foucault treats the body throughout as if it were one, as if the bodily experiences of men and women did not differ and as if men and women bore the same relationship to the characteristic institutions of modern life. . . . Hence, even though a liberatory note is sounded in Foucault’s critique of power, his analysis as a whole reproduces that sexism which is endemic throughout Western political theory. (Bartky 1990, 95)

Despite this, however, Bartky accepts that bodies are subject to discipline and constructed by power relations, even if she believes that Foucault’s understanding of that discipline does not go far enough. For feminists, the strength of this framework lies in its ability to explain how women’s bodies are socially constructed and are controlled within society. Even if Foucault himself fails to recognize the gendered nature of bodies, many believe that his arguments about how bodies are socially constructed offer useful tools for making visible what has historically been invisible. The appropriation of Foucault for feminist projects is highly contentious, and while I accept that some part of the story about the social construction and control of bodies offers useful insights, I make no real effort to resolve the debate over whether Foucault is actually a useful ally for feminists.12 Instead, my immediate concern is with how the notion of social practices and traditions, which are emphasized within theories of virtue rationality as well as well as in Foucault, function to bring together mind and body. In particular, given contemporary philosophers’ skepticism concerning the division between mind and body, what sort of framework can rationality provide for guiding our understanding the interactions between the two? Setting aside, if only for a moment, issues of power within practices, consider the embodied nature of practices. A quite simple example of the embodiment of practices can be found in the opening of Wittgenstein’s Investigations. The builder and his assistant have a primitive language-game in which the builder says a word—“slab,” “block,” “pillar,” “beam”—and the assistant brings the called for item. This game has a decidedly material element. The assistant must move his body in space to bring the required physical object. Outside of highly theoretical language-games, like philosophy, this is typical of linguistic practice. In fact, this tendency to remove words (and, more broadly, philosophical concepts) from their use in the everyday world is something of which Wittgenstein is highly critical. He argues that the fundamental problem with philosophy is that it removes words from the ordinary contexts in which those words make perfectly good sense. This same idea is reflected in Toulmin’s criticism of modern philosophers’ treatment of rationality. He criticizes the “Dreams of Rationalism” as 86 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

constituting a project “designed to purify the operations of the Human Reason by desituating them: that is, divorcing them from the compromising association of their cultural contexts” (Toulmin 2001, 78). Given the increasing tendency to understand the embodied nature of minds, one could just as easily speak critically of the tendency to divorce reason from the compromising association with material contexts. A virtue account of rationality is predicated on rationality being an activity that takes place in particular contexts. Ordinary contexts, and the practices within them, assume embodiment, and these then provide the context for rationality. Furthermore, the standards of rationality are given by actual reasoners, and actual reasoners are people who live in material and social worlds. To consider reason under the presumption that it is distinct from body is, to use Wittgenstein’s phrase, nonsense. Of course, a Wittgensteinian notion of linguistic practices is one thing, but the use Foucault makes of power relations inherent within practices is radically different. While Wittgenstein is largely oblivious to power relations, Foucault emphasizes how social practices function to circumscribe and control bodies, and this attention to how bodies are disciplined makes him the subject of widespread attention within feminism. As Margaret McLaren notes, “The Foucauldian framework of disciplines and practices that both [Barky and Bordo] use to explore female subjectivity does not simply describe the creation of passive feminine bodies, but reveals the contingency of the cultural construction of gender” (1997, 115). The strength of Foucault for those feminists who build on his work is that he provides a starting point for theorizing the social inscription of body and the power relations that constrain body. In other words, the seemingly gender-neutral language-game of Wittgenstein’s builder must give way to practices that express power (or submission) and that control or limit the body. Questions concerning power and its application actually assume a conception of rationality, or at least what it is to be a rational subject, and on this point, feminists do have serious concerns about Foucault. As McLaren notes, “the omnipresence of power seems to inhibit the possibility for agency and resistance on the part of the subject” (1997, 116). This sort of position is, for some, incompatible with feminism’s call to women’s agency and resistance of oppression, and thus, a central feature of debates over Foucault is whether his rejection of the subject allows women moral or political agency.13 That this is even a controversy demonstrates an implicit recognition that our underlying view of the rational subject makes a difference. Bodies may be socially constructed and they may constitute an essential aspect of the self; however, human bodies are connected to minds.14 The Virtue of Embodiment 87

How we understand or conceive of the mind makes a great bit of difference to feminist arguments. If bodies are merely “docile” and unable to resist the powers that define them, women stand to lose a great deal. Consequently, the mind should matter to feminists. Given that feminists need a conception of agency that can underlie the social constitution of body, the question becomes how to formulate this agency.15 The immediate and overly obvious response is that feminists require an account that entails the integration of mind and body—and this is precisely what happens when we consider rationality to be a virtue concept. From within a virtue conception of rationality, bodies can be easily understood as at least partially constituted by social construction and power relations. After all, reason is immanent, and its standards are not transcendently methodological but are given through the activity of reasoning in the world. Because the rational person generates the standards for rationality, we are permitted claims to agency—but without relying on Enlightenment conceptions of disembodied reason. From the perspective of virtue, it makes no sense to speak of minds that are distinct from bodies since part of what constitutes the mind is provided by the material context in which that mind operates. This conception of rationality allows us to consider the social inscription of the body without losing the underlying sense of self and agency. If reason is contextually determined for social beings like us, then the social facts that determine our lives will be relevant to the rational person’s expression of her rationality. Insofar as feminists are in any way inclined to consider reason positively, the consensus view is surely that it is not an a priori faculty. I take it that feminists would concur with the contention that rationality is an evolutionary adaptation that serves to work within the environment in which it develops. Following Nozick on this point, we can say that the stable features of our environment within which rationality develops include a mixture of material, symbolic, and social aspects of experience. Virtue rationality reflects this mixture, although proponents of this view of reason rarely refer to embodiment. One of the hallmarks of any conception of virtue is that it relates to a whole human life, including the social dimensions of that life. If philosophers broadly considered are right to reject mind/body dualism and if feminists are right (as I believe they are) that bodies are socially constructed, then any complete conception of virtue rationality must take body into account. Beyond issues of power and social construction, feminists’ insistence on emphasizing the connection between mind and body has epistemological consequences. According to Grosz, the exclusion of body from the 88 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

production of knowledge has affected both epistemology and feminist theory. In the case of epistemology, she maintains:

The masculinity or maleness of knowledges remain unrecognized as such because there is no other knowledge with which it can be contrasted. Men take on the roles of neutral knowers, thinkers, and producers of thoughts, concepts, or ideas only because they have evacuated their own specific forms of corporeality and repressed all traces of their sexual specificity from the knowledges they produce . . . . Women thus function as the body for men. (1993, 204)

The so-called neutrality of knowledge—that is, the neutrality that results when the particularity and historical situatedness, including that of bodies, is supposedly transcended—is thoroughly biased. In other words, because everyone who counts as a knower shares the same bias concerning the body, bodies seem to disappear from epistemological consideration—but they do not. The body and its subjectivity remain in place, regardless of epistemologists’ assurances to the contrary. Even though the disappearance is a mere seeming, it is enough to relegate women to the domain of objects rather than subjects since only men’s bodies disappear from view. If women are ever to gain access to being subjects, the epistemological significance of male bodies must be brought into view. While feminists have argued vociferously for epistemology to consider the material conditions of our lives, Grosz does point to a significant obstacle to such arguments: we have, in the past, lacked alternatives or contrasting perspectives to the androcentric vision of men as disembodied knowers. However, alternatives are emerging, and not just within feminist philosophy. Lakoff and Johnson argue:

Philosophically, the embodiment of reason via the sensorimotor system is of great importance. It is a crucial part of the explanation of why it is possible for our concepts to fit so well with the way we function in the world. They fit so well because they have evolved from our sensorimotor systems, which have in turn evolved to allow us to function well in our physical environment. (1999, 43–4)

This claim that our sensorimotor systems are central to our capacity to reason and gain knowledge about the world is reiterated and expanded in Nozick: The Virtue of Embodiment 89

It is not just our rationality and our principles that are partial, designed to work in tandem with external things. We human beings are partial creatures, not wholly autonomous. We are part of the natural world, designed to work in tandem with other parts and facts, dependent upon them. . . . [W]e too are physical creatures who occupy ecological niches. The evolutionary account of rationality and its limitations fits one theme in the writings of Ludwig Wittgenstein, John Dewey, Martin Heidegger, and Michael Polanyi, who also, for different reasons, see rationality as embedded within a context and playing a role as one component along with others, rather than as an external, self-sufficient point that judges everything. (1993, 123)

The theme is clear in both these passages: reason is embodied. Reason evolves in the ways that it does because there is a world to which it must respond. As Nozick indicates, this evolutionary approach leads to a contextual understanding of rationality (and, by extension, knowledge) that is widely reflected in philosophy over the past century. The concept of virtue rationality, with its embeddedness in the world and its emphasis on context, fits nicely within this tradition. Yet what this tradition lacks, for all its discussion of embodiment, is a concern with the gender system that pervades all bodies. While the concept of virtue rationality is inherently embodied, the simple fact of embodiment is not enough to guarantee that the concept will escape androcentrism. That we live embodied lives is an unalterable feature of existence. How we conceptualize this, however, is an open question that will depend in large measure on the practices that surround our understanding of reason. Much feminist work is intended to counter the distortion and exclusions of the mind/body split by producing epistemologies and moral theories that offer alternatives which reject transcendence and that embrace the material world. Often the feminist interest lies in how bodies locate us in epistemic and moral spaces. For Haraway, “Feminist embodiment . . . is not about fixed location in a reified body, female or otherwise, but about nodes in fields, inflections in orientations, and responsibility for difference in material-semiotic fields of meaning” (1988, 588). Because the starting point for most feminist reflections on women as epistemic and moral subjects begins with embodiment, a concern with orientations and semiotics in a material world is a necessary aspect of feminist thinking about rationality, especially with respect to the question of whether the concept can be demas- culinized. Bodies are immersed within social, symbolic, and historical 90 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality frameworks, and virtue rationality offers tools for questions concerning the nature of these frameworks. That is, it provides the alternative ways of knowing for which feminists often ask. A virtue conception of rationality starts with the rational person in situ. Rational persons do not arrive in the world fully formed but instead inherit cultures, traditions, and practices, all of which determine the direction of our cognitive lives. Similarly, we have no means to understand rationality independently from the embodied context in which it functions because there are no abstract methodology or transcendent rules defining rationality. The material context of rational persons provides features of the world, often quite stable features that must be adequately addressed if one is to be rational. Simply put: bodies matter. Yet how they matter cannot be determined in advance of uncovering the “orientations and semiotics” of the material world that engages us. If our world is gendered—and there is every reason to believe it is—then our detailed account of the interaction of mind and body within this world can and should include gender. The physical world, including gendered bodies, always affects how the mind functions, both descriptively and normatively, and it provides the context within which rational principles necessarily function. Insofar as we refuse to allow gender to remain in the background, we will discover new alternatives for understanding embodied reason and its role in the construction of knowledge.

III

One final issue related to bodies concerns our knowledge of and thinking about bodily interactions with the world. In our everyday practices, we carry with us a certain level of knowing-how that concerns not some self-consciously reflective process of reason but an acting within the world, which can rely just as heavily on sensorimotor faculties as it does cognitive ones. As Gilbert Ryle would describe this, “an intelligent performance need incorporate no ‘shadow act’ of contemplating regulative propositions” (1945–6, 2). As we move about in and interact with the world, we need not explicitly reason in order to be reasoning. That we need not be self-consciously aware of our use of reason is an integral aspect of virtue rationality. Our sensorimotor faculties are constantly involved with our nonpropositional understanding of the world, and hence, a further avenue into understanding the body is to investigate our implicit forms of knowledge. Take the idea of second nature. Second nature involves a “learning to see,” but this sort of learning is not distinct from our bodily interactions The Virtue of Embodiment 91 with the world. In fact, the example Kukla uses is her learning to see space as her father with Parkinson’s disease does. Parkinson’s affects spatial cognition, which in turn affects how one moves about in the world. Kukla’s task is not an abstract exercise but a coming to understand how people with Parkinson’s move their bodies in the world. In a similar way, I have had to come to understand living in the mountains after spending much of my life on flat land. This may not seem particularly problematic until you have to do it. It requires being able to process one’s movements in space on a verti- cal as well as horizontal axis. When I first moved to the mountains, I would constantly have vertigo just standing in my front yard. The landscape is such that one usually has to stand with one’s feet at different elevations, and if you are not used to it, the feeling can be rather disorienting. And climbing up and down the hill means learning how to navigate constantly shifting, rocky terrain. I never consciously considered my efforts to master moving about on mountainous landscapes, but master it I have. It took a bit of time, but navigating this land has become second nature to me. This second nature is entirely concerned with how I move my body in the world around me—and it is rarely a matter of conscious awareness. Learning to see or move within space may not be at the heart of rationality, but one’s inability to do this would certainly speak against that person’s rationality. Cognitive success depends partly on how bodies move in the world. Virtue rationality’s emphasis on practices and on responsiveness to the world allows us understand why this is. So what does this mean for the division between mind and body? First, we must consider that mind and body are not distinct faculties. Virtue concepts cannot be defined in isolation from their actual application, and in the case of reason, this actual application necessarily involves a connection to the body—and to bodies in the world. Perception and bodily movement are central features of our interaction with the world, so it is rather implausible that our mental concepts and structure would escape being significantly influenced by these aspects of experience. In fact, underlying a conception of virtue rationality is that any conception of the mind that divorces it from the body will be necessarily distorted as a result. Why? Because in our experience, minds never function outside of the context of the body. To suppose that they could do so is to remove reason from stable features of the world, from the context, from the practices and traditions without which we cannot operate. This has the further effect of providing a path to resolve issues related to the gap between mind and world. Historically, theories of rationality have a difficult time connecting mind to the world, but the solution that virtue 92 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality rationality offers is to reject that they could ever be disentangled in the first place. This follows along the lines of McDowell, who maintains that

it is our lives that are shaped by spontaneity, patterned in ways that come into view only within an inquiry framed by . . . ‘the constitutive ideal of rationality.’ Exercises of spontaneity belong to our mode of living. And our mode of living is our way of actualizing ourselves as animals. (1994, 78)

The idea expressed here is far from simple, but the relatively simple version is that we should retain a Kantian notion of spontaneity within cognition without losing the Aristotelian idea of humans as rational animals with second natures. McDowell pursues Kant’s idea that experience is thoroughly conceptual, but he rejects Kant’s transcendental apperception. He says: “If something starts out conceiving itself as a merely formal referent for ‘I’ (which is already a peculiar notion), how could it come to appropriate a body, so that it might identify itself with a particular living thing?” (1994, 102–3). In other words, our nature, which is largely second nature, requires bodily action, but in the same way “the movement of limbs,” for example, “without concepts are mere happenings, not expressions of agency” (1994, 89). Our minds are what they are because of certain biological facts and as a result of the material and social worlds in which they develop. We are in the world. Conversely, however, our bodies lack agency without the mind and its concepts. What Descartes, and those who follow him, miss is that we live embodied lives. Once we remove the faculty of reason from the context in which it operates, the result is rational methodologies that speak, at best, to narrow and abstract problem-solving only. Yet, our lives are not lived in the abstract, and our reason cannot operate in isolation from bodies. To use Kant’s analogy, a dove may believe it would be pleasant to eliminate wind resistance, thereby making flying easier, but this wind resistance is precisely that quality that gives rise to flight. Anxieties and fears may have driven Enlightenment philosophers to seek certain, objective grounds for knowledge by removing the subjectivity of body, but embodiment is a necessary condition for cognition. Virtue rationality will not itself resolve issues concerning the gendered nature of bodies, but it can at least remove the divide between minds and bodies. If mind and body are interdependent, women immediately occupy a different location within philosophical debate. It would be naïve to believe that women might suddenly be held the equal of men, but the integration The Virtue of Embodiment 93 of mind and body undermines one of the primary sources of arguments against women’s epistemic and moral equality. If the mind/body dichotomy is truly the source of discontent over the concept of reason (which I do not believe it is), then virtue rationality should produce some contentment for it refuses to allow a divorce of body from mind. Even if there are further sources of discontent (say, the divide between reason and emotion), having a conception of reason that bridges the gap between mind and body is a step in the right direction. After all, virtue rationality brings us one step closer to exposing and undermining the gender divides within reason. The historical linking of women to their bodies and the subsequent valorization of this link by some feminists means that feminist literature on the subject of body is much more highly developed than it is within nonfeminist philosophy. It also means that feminists are far more sensitive to how material bodies affect agency, identity, or subjectivity. Such concerns are addressed briefly, if at all, within mainstream accounts of virtue, and thus, there is room for feminists to expand the debate concerning rationality. However, outside of feminist philosophy lie much more developed theories of mind and how these minds guide our interaction with the world, whether it be material, emotional, or social. I have made my argument that feminists should consider how rationality allows us to interact with the material world. The time has come to open the door to considerations of the impact our emotion and social worlds have on virtue rationality. 94 5Chapter 5Chapter The Virtue of Emotion

Both the history of and current debates about rationality speak to the difficulties feminism has with the way bodies have been excluded from philosophical attention. Contemporary concerns with rationality also speak to feminists’ arguments for the inescapability of body, so much so that mind/body dualism is hardly a live option these days. Although feminists have an almost overriding interest with bringing bodies back into philosophical dialogue, the divide between mind and body is by no means the only philosophical division of interest. Closely related to, and just as historically significant as, the distinction between mind and body is the division between reason and emotion. Western philosophy has consistently emphasized a strong distinction between the domains of reason and emotion—- much to the detriment of women. Emotion may not be necessarily tied to having a body, but the two concepts are frequently linked through their common association with the feminine. And just as being linked to the body undermines women’s claims to rationality, so too does our close alignment with the emotional. While philosophers throughout history have been forced to acknowledge (on pain of idiocy) that men, too, have bodies and emotions, the task philosophy has adopted for itself has been to remove men’s ties to both body and emotion. And in this, philosophers have been quite successful for the stereotype persists to the present day: men are capable of transcending such deleterious influences while women (or womanish men) are ruled by their emotions. After all, boys don’t cry. The gender story of the distinction between reason and emotion goes something like this: reason is associated with that which is universal, public, and male while emotion is associated with that which is particular, private, and female. In a study of the gender aspects of reason/emotion, Longino argues:

the very concepts upon which philosophy constructs itself rely upon and reinforce a distinction between the domain of reason, the world 96 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

of philosophy, and the domain of feeling and passion, the domain of political movements such as feminism. Far from being a neutral distinction, however, the distinction between reason and feeling is itself a highly politicized one and cannot in its most common forms withstand feminist scrutiny. (1995, 22)

Given the philosophical and cultural forces that invariably link women and emotion (however it is that we conceive of emotion) the masculinity of reason becomes perhaps more evident in its absolute exclusion of emotion than in its absolute exclusion of body. The metaphorical association of mind, cognition, and reason with the masculine and of emotion, feeling, and passion with the feminine is so strong within the tradition as to appear almost self-evident.1 Put simply, when it comes to reason and emotion, we find a deep and gendered division of labor. We all know what the received view is: reason, not emotion, is the indispensable faculty for the acquisition of knowledge.2 We also “know” that men are supposedly far more capable of keeping their emotions in check and being ruled by reason. If such claims are true, women’s rationality becomes highly suspect—and for many of the same reasons that the linking of women to bodies makes our rationality suspect. Therefore, the reason/emotion dichotomy is at least as big a threat to women’s rationally as is the mind/body divide. After all, women are invariably linked to emotion, and if emotion is a detriment to the proper use of reason, women must surely be interlopers within the realm of reason. Any viable feminist theory of rationality must, then, reject the separation of emotion from reason. Nevertheless, the initial evidence does not look at all favorable for carving out women’s place within the realm of the rational. Historically, emotions are antithetical, if not downright threatening, to reason. To be seen as being ruled by one’s emotions may not make one irrational, but for just about all of the mighty dead it is a clear sign of a diminished rationality. Furthermore, within the canon not everyone is viewed equally when it comes to the possession of reason and the expression of emotion. Alison Jaggar tells us that “reason has been associated with members of dominate political, social, and cultural groups and emotion with members of subordinate groups” (Jaggar 1989, 157). “Naturally,” these subordinate groups include women and people of color. Jaggar goes on to acknowledge that “women in our society form the main group allowed or even expected to feel emotion” (1989, 157). However, given the strict divide between the rational and emotional, this ability to express emotion is far from positive since it limits women’s claims to rightful occupancy on the terrain of reason. The Virtue of Emotion 97

Any halfway satisfactory account of feminist rationality absolutely must reject philosophical tradition and undermine this gap. While many feminists dispute whether the force of the tradition can be overcome and whether emotion can be integrated with reason, the fact is that empirical research in cognitive science has already generated much skepticism concerning the philosophical exclusion of emotion from the proper domain of reason. While much work remains to be done, a virtue account of rationality is one that not only acknowledges the necessity of emotion but also offers clear insight into how emotion may be incorporated within a rational framework. In much the same way that virtue rationality avoids drawing a sharp distinction between mind and body, it undermines the drawing of a sharp distinction between reason and emotion. This conception of reason does not reject body or emotion but instead recognizes the constitutive role each plays in what rationality is. Thus, feminists should consider that when it comes to acknowledging emotion the problem is not with rationality itself but is rather with the distortions to which philosophers, especially modern ones, have subjected the concept. To rethink rationality along the lines of virtue is to also rethink the canyon that has traditionally divided it from emotion.

Like most other dichotomies, the recurring theme of men-as-rational and women-as-emotional can be traced back to Plato. In the Republic, he presents a tripartite vision of the soul in which reason rules over emotion and appetite. The moral? Reason must control spirit or desire, and in mastering one’s feelings, one becomes capable of knowing the good. Although he does not entirely exclude emotion, to be ruled by one’s emotions is, for Plato and almost every philosopher who follows, a cardinal philosophical sin: those ruled by the corrupting influence of emotions are incapable of being appropriately ruled by reason. Where Plato differs from other philo sophers is in his willingness to allow that women are capable of the same level of rationality as men. But in stark contrast to his nonessentialist stance concerning bodies, he maintains that women are much more typically ruled by emotion. In fact, the attitude that women (and children) cannot be expected to control their emotions is evident from the earliest Socratic dialogues. Socrates’ deathbed reaction to his friends’ weeping is reported by Plato: “Really, my friends, what a way to behave! Why, that was my main reason for sending away the women, to prevent this sort of disturbance . . .” 98 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

(Plato 1961e, 117d-e). The evidence suggests that Plato shares his teacher’s view that women are ruled by their emotions, and it is one reason why he insists that men are never to imitate women: doing so corrupts the masculine soul.3 Men—or at least rational men—should remain always in control of their emotions. Nothing much has changed in the intervening time: the expression of most emotions is appropriate for women but not men. Still, the divide between reason and emotion is, for the ancients, not absolute, as when Aristotle, in the Nichomachean Ethics, enjoins us to be angry toward the right person, in the right amount, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right manner.4 Emotions are, then, relevant to our reasoning, at least our practical reasoning, but just as he follows Plato in accepting emotion as a significant part of human life, Aristotle also adopts his teacher’s hierarchical ordering of these faculties: reason must rule over and guide our emotions. For Plato, this hierarchy makes it more difficult for women to be “fully rational,” but for Aristotle, it makes it downright impossible. Why? Because from the Aristotelian point of view women are so inherently ruled by emotion that their rationality, unlike men’s, simply cannot be sovereign.5 Furthermore, virtue is not the same in women and men.6 Women have some power to reason, but Spelman, in a sarcastic imitation of Aristotle, explains that “Nature tossed them [women] a dash of reason—enough to make them members of the same species as male citizens—but clearly not the kind of reason found in the souls of their natural rulers [i.e., men]” (1994, 107). As distasteful as the hierarchical approach to reason and emotion is to feminists, the radical split that develops in the modern period is even more destructive for women’s rationality. With Descartes and his emphasis on the methodological faculty that functions primarily according to rules of deductive inference, reason loses whatever connection it previously had to emotion. In the opening of the Passions of the Soul, Descartes writes:

The defects of the sciences we have from the ancients are nowhere more apparent than in their writings on the passions. . . . And the teachings of the ancients about the passions are so meager and . . . so implausible that I cannot hope to approach the truth except by departing from the paths they have followed. (1985, 328)

Clearly, he thinks the ancients have little to offer when it comes to understanding emotion. Furthermore, he proceeds to relegate emotion to the realm of body, which largely functions as an impediment to our acquisition of knowledge. We must recognize, says Descartes, “that what is a passion in The Virtue of Emotion 99 the soul is usually an action in the body. Hence there is no better way of coming to know about our passions than by examining the difference between the soul and the body . . .” (1985, 328). Emotions are passive perceptions of the soul of what is going on in the body. Like other sensations, these may be trustworthy, but only insofar as they are properly attended to by the mind. Rather than reason being in control of emotions, the modern mind takes reason, when at its best, to be dispassionate, disembodied, and dispossessed. Emotion is not to be controlled as much as it is eliminated. When it comes to practical rationality, the connection to emotion is fully dissolved by Kant who unambiguously removes any sentiment from proper consideration of moral matters. In setting up his conclusion that moral concepts must be entirely a priori, Kant tell us that “a mixed moral philosophy, compounded of impulsions from feeling and inclination . . . must make the mind waiver between motives which can . . . guide us only by mere accident to the good” (1964, 79). As with Kant’s epistemology, morality requires overcoming the subjectivity, individuality, and irrationality of emotions. Although most Enlightenment philosophers are eager to dismiss emotion as an impediment to epistemic purity, Kant goes so far as to make an explicit connection between women’s emotional nature and their diminished rationality. In his introduction to a lengthy discussion of women, Kant observes that “it is not enough to keep in mind that we are dealing with human beings; we must also remember that they are not all alike” (1960, 77). In particular, women are different from men in that “women’s philosophy is not to reason, but to sense” (1960, 79). Kant may disagree with Hume about a great deal, especially on the topic of emotion, but he shares with Hume the view that feelings are forces entirely lacking in reason.7 The connection of sense with emotion in this context is made clear when Kant goes on to add that “Feeling for expressive painting and for music . . . refines or elevates the taste of this [i.e., female] sex. . . . Never a cold and speculative instruction but always feelings” [italics added] (1960, 80–1). The implica tion Kant draws is that women are governed primarily by feeling and that laborious learning cannot, and should not, be expected of them. Of course, this also means that women cannot be fully autonomous moral agents. As Kant makes abundantly clear in his moral theory, feeling is always subjective, and belonging as it does to the realm of nature, it cannot be properly included within the realm of freedom. Yet morality demands that we act freely, according to a priori principles. To be ruled by sense means that one acts heteronomously, not autonomously. For the moderns, in particular, unreason is metaphorically cast as feminine.8 100 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Throughout the philosophical canon, the most consistently held view is that emotion is inherently nonrational, if not irrational. From Plato to the logical positivists, passion should be the slave of reason.9 This presumption that to be emotional is to lack rationality carries through all the way to the twentieth century. For the positivists, genuine knowledge derives from simple, and dispassionate, descriptions of sensory phenomena and logical syn- tax. If we allow our emotions to affect our judgment, then we have no hope of achieving epistemic agency. Regardless of philosophical difference, the mighty dead are seemingly united on this point: emotion, which is both subjective and particular, muddies the epistemic and moral waters. As Bordo explains the situation:

For the model of knowledge that results [from the Cartesian tradition], neither bodily response (the sensual or the emotional) nor associational thinking, exploring the various personal or spiritual meanings the object has for us, can tell us anything about the object ‘itself’ . . . . Here ‘masculine’ describes not a biological category but a cognitive style, an epistemological stance. Its key term is detachment: from the emotional life, from the particularities of time and place, from personal quirks, prejudices, and interests, and most centrally, from the object itself. (1986, 450–1)

Reason comes to be widely seen as universal, inwardly focused, and entirely disconnected from emotion. That is, reason is precisely the same faculty in everyone and has as its subject only its own ideas. If reason is to give us an objective access to the world around us, we must eliminate from these ideas everything subjective, especially emotion. Rather than serving as a guide to help us understand reality, emotion is an impediment to knowledge, at least in the so-called context of justification where claims must be purged of idiosyncrasies and biases.10 Thus, to be allowed to express emotion does not further one’s status as a rational agent. The often emphasized conclusion that emotions are in no way to be trusted as a source of knowledge is rather unfortunate for women’s status within philosophy: since emotions cannot be trusted, women’s reason certainly cannot be trusted. Philosophical history speaks with almost a singular voice on the topic of women’s alignment with emotion over reason, so if reason is truly devoid of emotion, then women truly are excluded from the domain of the rational. The dilemma for feminists appears as one that leaves us “damned if we do” accept the gap between reason and emotion and “damned if we don’t” accept it. Either way, our rationality is suspect. To The Virtue of Emotion 101 accept the division between reason and emotion is, for women, essentially to abandon epistemic agency. And when morality is closely tied to rationality, as it is in Kantian ethics for example, this division also denies women moral agency and autonomy. Conversely, to deny the division suggests a lack of epistemic purity that makes feminists’ arguments more suspect. Emotion is simply not a proper epistemic consideration. Given that the association of women with emotion or unreason is so strong, feminists have an especially strong interest in recasting reason in light of emotion. But this is far from a simple task. The depth of the task and the frustration feminists feel is summarized by Rooney:

In reconceptualizing reason and its allies knowledge and truth, we have to uproot a rhetorical matrix that admits these concepts to the realm of action, insight, and power yet has expelled feeling, passion, instinct, and nature from any enduring claims to rational power and knowledge. . . . We have been able to talk about the power of reason but not about the power of empathy. We can talk about the insight and understanding that rational knowledge brings, but we cannot talk about the understanding a deepening sense of compassion brings. (1991, 97)

Philosophers, in other words, have quite successfully banished and excluded emotion as a legitimate consideration in epistemic and moral matters—and this banishment needs to be undone. As long as women are invariably identified with emotion, and as long as emotion is viewed as irrational, women can indeed claim no part of reason. Feminists must clearly bring emotions back into the philosophical dialogue but do so without irrationalism.

Although philosophers remain wary of emotion, the Enlightenment’s seemingly complete erasure of emotion has come to have less of a hold on philosophical imagination over the past several decades. As scientific research has given us a better understanding of emotion, philosophers have been forced to rethink the relationship of reason and emotion, so much so that Robert Solomon tells us, “it is now clear that philosophers cannot ignore or neglect the rich neurophysiological literature on emotions” (2008, 11). In the same way that current research into the mind has lessened the divide between it and body, this same research is making the general task of bringing emotion back into the realm of philosophical debate less 102 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

challenging. During the past couple of decades, researchers have argued not only that emotion is an ineliminable part of human life but that, far from being irrational, it is also an important source of information about the world and has a functional, survival value. The trend, both scientifically and philosophically, is to allow emotion a place within the domain of reason. Nozick, who defends a decision-theoretic account of rationality, makes perhaps the most stunning admission concerning the role of emotion in our lives. He asks the rhetorical question: “Doesn’t rationality exclude emotion, passion, and spontaneity . . . ?” He then goes on the answer the question thusly:

But rationality can pursue these. Even decision-theoretic rationality can recommend henceforth making many decisions without thought or calculation, if the process of doing this is more valuable than the losses that might be incurred by these less-reflective decisions, or if the process of calculation itself would interfere with the nature of other valued relationships, such as love and trust. (Nozick 1993, 106)

While this may not be an unqualified endorsement of the importance of emotions within our cognitive lives, it is a long way from modern attitudes. More direct endorsements of emotions can be found in texts on neuropsychology, where one can find claims such as,emotion “ in fact involves a kind of cognition, a kind of knowledge,” complete with the italics (Buck 2000, 52). Throughout scientific research into the brain, one finds the disintegration of sharp distinctions between reason and emotion. In his book Descartes’ Error, neurologist Antonio Damasio discusses his work with patients who have damage to the frontal regions of the brain and who, as a result, are devoid of emotional responses to the world around them. He explains how his thinking about the role of emotion within reasoning developed, saying:

Although I cannot tell for certain what sparked my interest in the neural underpinnings of reason, I do know when I became convinced that the traditional views on the nature of rationality could not be correct. I had been advised early in life that sound decisions came from a cool head, that emotions and reason did not mix any more than oil and water. I had grown up accustomed to thinking that the mechanisms of reason existed in a separate province of the mind, where emotion should not be The Virtue of Emotion 103

allowed to intrude, and when I thought of the brain behind that mind, I envisioned separate neural systems for reason and emotion . . . . But now I had before my eyes the coolest, least emotional, intelligent human being one might imagine, and yet his practical reason was so impaired that it produced, in the wanderings of daily life, a succession of mistakes, a perpetual violation of what would be considered socially appropriate and personally advantageous. (1994, xi)

Damasio admits to starting with a traditional view in which reason and emotion are entirely distinct faculties, but he also suggests that the empirical evidence does not support such a division. He proposes that “reason may not be as pure as most of us think it is or wish it were, that emotion and feelings may not be intruders in the bastion of reason at all: they may be enmeshed in its networks . . .” (1994, xii). In other words, reason needs emotion for its proper functioning. And it is not just Damasio saying this. Another neurologist, Susan Greenfield, maintains: “Emotions must somehow be incorporated into any neuroscience Rosetta Stone” (2000, 16). Her position is that emotion is inextricable from consciousness and that “surely the idea of no emotion at all is alien to our idea of being human” (2000, 15). Within cognitive science, the evidence strongly suggests that a Cartesian notion of mind simply will not do. The philosophical conclusion of the empirical research is stated rather straightforwardly by Daniel Dennett, who observes the obvious connection between Damasio’s patients and the ideal reasoners of modern philo sophy: “these patients are the very epitome of the cool-headed, passionless thinkers philosophy has typically encouraged as the ideal, and yet that very lack of emotional coloring renders them pathetically ill-equipped for the rough-and-tumble of real world time-pressured decision-making” (1995, 4). Modern ideals of reasoning fail, and fail quite miserably, when applied in the social world in which we all must live. While some feminists may be reluctant to endorse the oftentimes highly materialistic and reductionistic elements of scientific accounts of emotion, the fact is that the received view, whether in science or philosophy, is rapidly moving away from conceiving of emotion as a passive, nonrational aspect of human experience. Increasingly one finds the attitude that emotions “are not momentary intrusions in our lives, but . . . [are the] very core, and the source of our ideals” (Calhoun and Solomon 1984, 40). Gone are past references to the emotions as the “passions,” which Jaggar explains “emphasized that emotions happened to or were imposed upon an 104 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

individual, something she suffered rather than something she did” (1989, 146). In contrast to a passive account of emotions, Solomon tells us:

Emotions are not the brutish, unlearned, uncultured, illogical and stu- pid drives that they are so often argued to be. To the contrary, they are extremely subtle, cunning, sophisticated, cultured, learned, logical and intelligent. There is more intelligence in resentment than in the routine calculations of syllogizing; and there is far more strategy in envious Iago than in thoughtful Hamlet. The cunning of Reason, when you see what Hegel means by it, is almost always the cunning of emotion. (1977, 46)

Emotions give us information about the world that we do not get from other sources. They are not to be contrasted with reason; instead, they should be understood as a necessary aspect of reasoning. Now, if the philosophical community is inclined to reject a strict reason/ emotion dichotomy, what is left of the masculine/feminine connotations that go along with that dichotomy? Unfortunately, they appear to have gone underground rather than to have disappeared, and this becomes all the more clear when we consider the sorts of criticisms feminists have about philosophical attitudes toward emotion. Sue Campbell has identified four themes common to many of the criticisms of the reason/emotion dichotomy.11 First, feminist philosophers (as well as nonfeminist ones) start from the premise that emotions contribute information about the world and, thus, are not simply passive or irrational disturbances. Second, for many feminists, women have the moral right to claim anger on the basis of their treatment. In other words, emotions can be morally appropriate and justifiable. Third, emotional experience is not private but socially constructed. And fourth, emotion is often accorded a cognitive aspect such that judgment becomes part of what it is to experience an emotion.12 As I have argued, these themes are partially shared by philosophers and scientists more broadly, but feminists do place an emphasis on gender that is not found outside of feminism. Whatever emphasis emotion now receives, one finds essentially no recognition of gender associations outside of feminist work. Within feminist thought, these four themes are obviously not universal, but they do explain many shared concerns that feminists have when making sense of emotion and its role in philosophy. Although there is no strong consensus on how to conceive of emotion, I take it that feminists tend to reject the view that women are genuinely more emotional than men. Instead, women and men are held to be (more or less) equally emotional, The Virtue of Emotion 105 but we are socially and culturally conditioned to express these emotions differently. In other words, if we wish to truly understand emotion (or for that matter, understand reason), the gendered dimension of these social and cultural conditions must be explored. Jaggar’s view is that “Women appear more emotional than men because they . . . are permitted and even required to express emotion more openly” [italics added] (1989, 157). For her, and many others, we can explain women’s greater identification with emotion most clearly by considering the social demands placed upon them. Yet, there remains a biological (bodily) ground for emotion. Nussbaum is particularly sensitive to the dual nature of emotion. She argues on the one hand that “[h]uman beings experience emotions in ways that are shaped both by individual history and by social norms” (2001, 140). On the other hand, she goes on to claim that emotions “are elements of our common animality with considerable adaptive significance: so their biological basis is likely to be common to all” (2001, 141). Still, Nussbaum returns to the claim that such a biological basis “does not mean that emotions are not differently shaped by different societies” (2001, 141). The idea expressed again and again is that, despite a biological basis, emotions are not simply raw feelings but are cognitive states influenced by culture and society. Interestingly enough, this understanding of emotion extends beyond feminism. Although Solomon does not emphasize the cultural elements involved in emotion, he does argue:

Many feelings have a distinctive structure, which (not surprisingly) emerges in the thoughts (and then in the verbal expressions) of the emotions. Thus, we should identify the experience of having an emotion (as opposed to just a simple ‘feeling’) as embodying thoughts, judgments, and other cognitive elements. (Solomon 2008, 10)

Emotions are not simply passive states or irrational disturbances. Instead, they are formed and shaped by social forces that can work for good or ill. For women, the working good or ill has much to do with the practices and gender connotations surrounding the construction of emotion. For Nussbaum, who wishes to defend something of a liberal conception of emotion,

the most powerful feminist criticism of liberal views of reason and emotion . . . [is] the argument . . . that emotion, desire, and preference are not given or ‘natural’ but shaped by social norms and appraisals—and that many emotions of both men and women are shaped by norms that subordinate women to men. (1999, 77) 106 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

This criticism appears over and over again. If emotions were simply “naturally felt” they would not be subject to social influence; hence, there is indeed a cognitive dimension to emotion.13 For feminists, emotions have a particular value because they allow us to see the world and to see it in a less partial and distorted manner.14 For this reason, we cannot simply allow the division between reason and emotion to go unchallenged, or to treat emotion as a hindrance to knowledge. Emotion is surely a difficult subject, but it affects our lives and our ways of knowing. Cognition is not distinct from emotion. Thus, when Jaggar suggests alternative epistemological models, she says:

I would suggest [these alternative models] display the continuous interaction between how we understand the world and who we are as people. They would show how our emotional responses to the world change as we conceptualize it differently and how our changing emotional responses then stimulate new insights. They would demonstrate the need for our theory to be self-reflexive, to focus not only on the outer world but also on ourselves and our relation to that world, to examine critically our social location, our actions, our values, our perceptions, and our emotions. (1989, 164)

An adequate feminist theory of rationality, then, must not only address the material conditions of our lives, but also the emotional ones. It must address how our emotions affect our understanding of the world around us, how they reflect a reality that is both subjective and highly socialized, and how emotions reflect appropriate ethical values. Yet this is precisely what many current accounts of emotion actually do, sans the emphasis on gender. Solomon concludes that

even the most basic emotions involve or come to involve ‘intentionality’—an engagement with the world. And this involves perception and some knowledge, as well as the abilities to act in the world. Thus, an emotional experience is not just a Jamesian sensation, but a complex awareness of one’s engagements in the world and one’s tendencies to act in it. (2008, 10)

This is not all that different from the insights brought about by the empirical discovery that those lacking emotion are ill-equipped in coping with the social world, but feminists have, for some time now, been far more The Virtue of Emotion 107

concerned than nonfeminists to draw out the epistemically positive aspects of emotion. Megan Boler summarizes feminist thinking on emotions in the following way:

Contemporary feminist philosophies of emotion can be characterized in part by the following: (1) They challenge the traditional separation of emotion and cognition; (2) Emotions are not private, but rather must be understood as collaboratively constructed. (3) Emotions are viewed not as gender-specific, but gender related—for example, it’s not that women don’t get angry in public or that men don’t feel shame, but there are gendered and culturally specific patterns to emotion that can be identified. This view challenges conceptualizations of emotions as ‘natural.’ (1997, 222–3)

The fundamental claim is this: emotions are not merely sensed; they are constructed. And this claim holds even if women are truly more emotional than men. Jaggar most clearly argues this point, saying: “we have no access either to our emotions or to those of others, independent of or unmediated by the discourse of our culture” (1989, 148). In other words, emotions cannot be treated as a “given.” So, even though feminism lacks a unified voice or a shared consensus concerning the nature and role of emotion within reason, the idea that there is some cognitive aspect to emotion is, as Nussbaum explains, rather typical:

The position that many feminists would favor as doing most justice to women’s experience of the value of emotional attachment would be a position that first analyzes emotion as containing cognition and then evaluates them positively, as having at least some value in the ethical life. (1999, 73)

The ethical dimension of emotion has little, if any, interest to scientists and many mainstream philosophers, and thus, there is surely room for feminists to continue to push for a wider inclusion of emotion within philosophical discourse.15 And virtue rationality can help this push. In fact, it is well-suited to the task of understanding how emotion impacts practical reasoning—- but it is also the case that proponents of rationality and virtue demonstrate how far philosophy has to go in coming to terms with emotion. 108 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

III

Virtue concepts are historically ethical ones, and they are historically dependent upon emotion. However much Aristotle may diminish the significance of emotion as a consideration in theoretical philosophy, he makes it a central component of his practical philosophy. One must take pleasures and pains in the right sorts of things, and one must find the moderate point in the expression of emotions such as anger. As Aristotle says,

just acts are pleasant to the lover of justice and in general virtuous acts to the lover of virtue . . . ; and virtuous actions are such, so that these are pleasant for such men . . . . For . . . the man who does not rejoice in noble actions is not even good; since no one would call a man just who did not enjoy acting justly. (1041b, 1099a)

Contemporary proponents of virtue, such as MacIntyre and Audi, follow Aristotle’s concern with the ethical and with the idea that virtue requires us “not only to act in particular ways, but also to feel in particular ways” (MacIntyre 1984, 149). And this is true even when we make theoretical rationality a virtue. Audi, for example, maintains that humans have a tendency to some degree of altruistic desire and that “a pervasive pattern of such failures [to act altruistically] bespeaks some deficiency in rationality” (2001, 141). Rationality, in other words, requires that we have desires of a certain sort. Nevertheless, such weak admissions to the effect that we cannot eliminate all desire is a fair distance from some acknowledgment that human beings are inherently emotional beings. Despite a lengthy treatment of virtue and rationality in which he is highly critical of modern individualism and universalism, MacIntyre ignores entirely the ineliminable role that emotion plays in our social lives. Audi does better, acknowledging in an extremely brief discussion of emotions that “life would be impover- ished without them” (2001, 204). However, he goes on to add, in the very next sentence, that “emotional and attitudinal poverty . . . is not necessarily a deficiency in rationality” (2001, 204). Whatever the truth of this latter claim, it implicitly entails that emotions are not to be thought of as central to rationality. Yet, if rationality is indeed a virtue concept in which standards are given by actual, rational persons, we need to say more about emotion than it enriches our lives. As neurologists have empirically discovered, emotional poverty can, in fact, lead to a deficiency of rationality, at least in extreme cases. Across various cultures and traditions, the social practices in which The Virtue of Emotion 109 rationality functions demand that we emotionally respond to the world, and these practices also define correct and incorrect ways of emotionally responding. The centrality of emotions for our lives is rarely as evident as when one encounters someone for whom emotions are a mystery. We may not seriously question, say, an autistic person’s rationality, but when it comes to social situations, the autistic person demonstrates a clear deficiency that limits his or her ability to respond in a way that those of us with the appropriate second nature would deem reasonable. In fact, I once had an Asperger’s student who did not identify himself to me. As it turned out, he lacked any ability to read the emotions of others, and by the middle of the semester, his classroom behavior was so disruptive that I began to question the student’s rationality. These sorts of situations, which many of us experience, illustrate the centrality of emotion to our rationality. The having of emotions and the ability to appropriately interpret other people’s emotions are not, as the moderns believe, incidental to our rationality; they are absolutely crucial to our ability to navigate the world in which we live. Put differently, rationality involves our responses to stable features of the world, and virtue is dependent upon the specific practices within this world. Neither the world nor its practices are exclusive of emotion. Consequently, the immanence of virtue rationality demands that we account for the ineliminable and important role emotions play in our lives and practices. Yet since emotions exist within practices, the ways in which rational persons incorporate emotion will be variable and flexible, even if there are limits to how we ought to deal with emotion. This implies, in turn, that virtue rationality needs to account, first, for the role of social context within emotion and, second, for the constraints on how we interpret emotions. Presumably, emotions, like beliefs, are not simply what we want or take them to be. Given that dialogue and community are important concepts for most feminist approaches, feminists often view emotion as embedded in social context. The obvious link to culture given a cognitive element of emotion is best expressed by Jaggar: “If emotions necessarily involve judgments, then obviously they require concepts, which may be seen as socially constructed ways of organizing and making sense of the world” (1989, 151). Here is where the immanence of a virtue rationality can begin to explain the role of emotion within cognition. Consider Aristotle’s claim that the virtuous person must get angry in the right way, at the right time, under the right circumstances, and so on. What a citizen in an ancient Greek polis and one in a contemporary liberal democracy would define as “virtuous anger” is surely not the same thing. How and when anger, or any other emotion, 110 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality should be expressed is determined by the practices of one’s society. For instance, during the writing of this chapter, I was walking in my neighborhood one morning and was hit by a car. While the accident was not serious and I was not significantly harmed, I immediately experienced rage that the driver of this car was so brazen as to accelerate into me as I crossed her path. She did, after all, have a red light, and I was in a well-marked crosswalk near a school. Because the accident happened about a mile from my house, I had approximately twenty minutes to think and feel as I walked home to call the police. By the time an officer came to make the report—and by the time two days later when a police investigator called me—I was much calmer. Even though I was still angry about being hit, I no longer felt the rage I did immediately after the accident. And, presumably, that is as it should be, at least in my society. Time should allow one to become more circumspect and moderate in the expression of emotion, although not every culture shares, or needs to share, this expectation. On the other hand, that I should, according to my society, be calmer and more circumspect about the accident is no guarantee that I will be. We all see people who refuse to let go of past grievances. They fuel their anger and allow it to seethe. This might perhaps be an appropriate response if the grievance is great, but in minor cases, we recognize that letting go of anger is healthier (even if one continues to pursue justice). How we construct emotions is partly governed by social expectations, but it also stems from a receptivity to the reasons emotions provide and from an understanding of how those emotions affect our lives. In the case at hand, my anger and expression of it is socially acceptable (within limits) but my life is surely better for my willingness to moderate that anger. If nothing else, medical science tells me this. The notion of virtue rationality and the narrower notion of reasonableness—both of which reflect the social and biological limits of our lives—provide a means to explain the appropriate formulation and expression of emotion. The benefit of this way of understanding emotion is that it can explain why the exclusion of emotion is epistemically and morally distorting, and it can allow for “interpretation and reinterpretation of our emotional responses within appropriate dialogical communities [which] permits us to form and maintain our claims to our emotions” (Burrow 2005, 28). In the case of moral judgments, our traditional theories ask us to consider only the strict demands of reason, such that the consistent utilitarian will allow his own child to drown in order to save ten strangers. And in the case of deontology, Kant makes it sound as if the person who hates doing the right thing (but nonetheless acts out of duty) is more moral than the person who The Virtue of Emotion 111 acts from a genuine love for humanity.16 By contrast, virtue ethics quite easily explains the moral significance of having personal relationships and acknowledges the significance of having emotions appropriate to actions. This is one of the clear advantages virtue ethics has over universalist theories. Nonetheless, virtue and the feelings appropriate to it are open to nego- tiation within communities. People do genuinely disagree about what emotions are appropriate to what situations. The strength of virtue accounts is that they allow us, both individually and as communities, to consider emotions and how they fit within larger cognitive structures. Cold indifference, however, fails to satisfy the conditions of virtue. This is as true in the theoretical realm as it is in the practical. Toulmin gives an example that shows clearly how a failure to consider emotion can lead to not only epistemic distortion but to downright blindness. He reports a story told to him by a physician. This doctor was presented with a case that had befuddled others: a young woman who, two weeks earlier, started blacking out. The patient had been subjected to biochemical, physiological, neuro- logical, and cardiological tests. All the tests were negative. No one could figure out what was wrong with her. Upon reading her chart, this new physician turns to the patient and asks her when the blackouts began. The patient, in turn, reports that they began shortly after her mother came to visit and, during the visit, suddenly dropped dead. When he sympathetically responded, “how terrible that was for you,” Toulmin reports that the patient “immediately burst into paroxysms of grief” (2001, 114). It was the first time she had been asked to speak for herself. Now, the failures in this case go far beyond ignoring the importance of emotion in our lives, but the blindness to emotion is a significant factor in the doctors’ befuddlement in this case. It undermines a correct diagnosis. And as Toulmin argues, the lessons here are Aristotelian. What virtue rationality requires us to do is consider the empirical sources that justify our beliefs—all the sources. A rational person who excludes evidence because she does not find it relevant may not be irrational for doing so, but one is clearly not being reasonable when the same sort of evidence appears repeatedly. The concreteness of everyday life, in which emotion plays a central role, cannot be ignored in morality or epistemology. Our everyday social practices must be attuned to emotion out of necessity—otherwise we fail in our interactions with others. And even our scientific practices highlight the importance of emotion for our lives. In other words, reason, when properly understood, must incorporate emotion as a necessary element. Along with the bridging of the divide between reason and emotion, virtue rationality also tends to undermine the public/private distinction that 112 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

typically accompanies that divide. Modern philosophers partition the epistemological realm into those matters open to public discourse and rational justification/verification and those that are not. As something private and not subject to rational constraint, emotion traditionally falls within the latter domain. Perhaps the clearest example of this attitude is Hume’s claim that “reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them” (1978, 415). Of course, Hume’s point is more a defense of than an attack upon “the passions,” but the attitude is the same: emotion is beyond reason. Within philo sophy, this attitude is slowly losing its grip, but within neuropsychology this public/private distinction is as much under attack as is the Humean pre- supposition that the passions are passive and noncognitive.17 Emotions are no longer widely held to be simply passive objects that comprise internal sense or feeling. Emotions are shaped by practice, and practices are social; therefore, emotions and emotional responses are publically available and capable of being critiqued. Errol Bedford argues that

the traditional answer to the question ‘How do we identify our own emotions?’ namely, ‘By introspection,’ cannot be correct. It seems to me that there is every reason to believe that we learn about our own emotions essentially in the same way that other people learn about them, namely, by examining the external circumstances. (1984, 267–8)

Bedford gives this external, social element of emotion a behavioristic interpretation, but behaviorism or the radical materialism of neurologists are not the only means by which we can understand emotion. Emotions can also be understood as the result of social practices, and as a concept steeped in traditions and practices, virtue rationality provides a ground for such discussions. We can, in other words, allow that emotions are not private or internal states because they are formed by the publically available practices that help form them. This follows somewhat along the lines of Wittgenstein’s so-called private language argument. In part of that argument, Wittgenstein is concerned with the grammar of “pain.” We claim to feel pain, but, of course, I cannot feel your pain and you cannot feel mine. So, when we each use the word “pain,” do we both mean the same thing by it? In Wittgenstein’s case, the meaning of the term is public and does not refer to some mental state that is mine, and mine alone. In the case of a virtue rationality, our raw feelings may be somewhat brute reactions to the world, but emotions are shaped by the practices of our society and the ways in which we deem it appropriate The Virtue of Emotion 113 to act and feel in specifiable circumstances. As a result, emotions are not simply private states of affairs but rather are available for public scrutiny, comment, and evaluation.

Much more can and should be said about emotion, but at the most general level, feminists are concerned to recognize emotion’s social nature and its epistemological value for reason. Taking rationality to be a virtue fits this view for it not only incorporates emotion within rational deliberation but it also allows for social practices to play a role in the construction and interpretation of emotion. Yet if we are to explain the cognitive aspect of emotion and the role emotions play within rationality, we must first have some idea what emotions are. Of course, because there is no consensus account of emotion, any attempt to define the term adds a level of difficulty. Nonetheless, one aspect of contemporary accounts is evident: the tendency to view emotion as a brute force in human life is no longer fashionable. One widely shared perspective on emotions, for example, love or anger, is that they include some cognitive elements.18 The tendency to bring emotion under the heading of cognition sits well with feminists’ shared desire to emphasize the previously denied relationship between emotion and reason. Morwenna Griffiths points out that while feminists often speak in very different voices, “the different concerns expressed in feminist writing and the variety of different voices that make themselves heard, all point, time and time again, in a similar direction with regard to emotion and reason” (Griffiths 1988, 134). Feminists start with a shared concern for feeling and emotion, along with a desire to link emotion with reason. Still, some feminists are equally suspicious of simple transformations of emotions into beliefs or are critical of emphasizing the cognitive dimension to emotion. In particular, Boler expresses a certain uneasiness over linking emotion and cognition:

I have always been frustrated even with feminist versions of conceptual theories, because . . . on this view emotions are granted epistemological status only by virtue of their association with rationality. The reversal of binaries—whether that be valuing hysteria rather than reason, or arguing that emotions can be classified as rational, still leaves intact the dualisms of rationality/irrationality. . . . In sum, according to these theories emotions are rational responses to the beliefs that one holds. (Boler 1997, 223) 114 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Her worry is that simply reversing binary oppositions fails to overcome them, and hence offering a cognitive theory of emotion does nothing to bridge the gap between reason and emotion. It merely reinforces that gap. Feminists have, of course, been making these sorts of claims for some time, but the trick is seeing how to bring emotion and reason together so that they do not stand in opposition to one another and the division between them is surreptitiously reinforced. If we take rationality to be a virtue concept, emotion does not become wholly cognitive as much as it becomes essential to the proper function of cognition. This sense that emotions can be intelligent is consistent with Aristotle’s own claim that we should get angry at the right time, in the right way, toward the right person, and so on. So, the question is: How well can a virtue conception of rationality incorporate the emotional conditions of our lives? Fairly well, for it can not only incorporate emotion, it can demand that the rational person do so. In other words, the standard of virtue is what the virtuous person says or does in response to the situations in the world, including emotional aspects of our world. As I have argued, to lack an appropriate emotional response is to have a diminished rationality. This approach stands in stark contrast to modernist accounts which denigrate, dismiss, and ignore the emotional aspects of our lives. On the modern view, emotion is understood as subjective, particular, and irrational, and, as a result, it has more typically been taken to be a serious impediment to the acquisition of knowledge, not a source of knowledge. However, if we look at the world around us, we can clearly see what happens when we fail to account for emotion or to properly incorporate feelings into our beliefs and actions. In our everyday lives, we all encounter people who either do not deal with their feelings or deal with them badly—and we see the negative effects that this has on their lives. Feelings, of course, differ from emotion insofar as feelings themselves can be neither rational nor reasonable; they are merely responses to the world while emotions, by contrast, involve beliefs and desires. But to be virtuous, one cannot ignore feelings or fail to master the emotional aspects of various social practices. Virtues “are not mere habits of feeling or action. Rather they are receptive sensitivities to reasons, born out of proper upbringing, experience, and practice” (Kukla 2006, 84). As such, they must take into account the emotional aspects of our experiences; yet, that they must do so says nothing about how they must do so. Virtue rationality requires us not only to act in the right way but to feel the right way. That is, our inclinations, desires, and feelings must be culti- vated in the right sorts of ways, but what the “right sorts of ways” are is The Virtue of Emotion 115 dependent upon my community. This implies that the “right way to feel” will be somewhat indeterminate in meaning, but it does not imply that we lack the ability to determine this. The practices of our communities, along with basic facts about human lives, provide the constraints according to which we can evaluate our emotional lives, even if this evaluation is, of necessity, open-ended. Although Audi is not the biggest proponent of including emotions into the domain of the rational and although his discussion of our emotional lives is unfortunately brief, his account of rationality does provide an insightful analogy:

A beautiful garden need not have every kind of flower, and it can be lovely with a small selection. But those it does have must in themselves possess certain fine qualities, and these must be related to the other flow- ers in a way that sustains the beauty of the whole. (2001, 204)

The same is true for emotions—and their relation to reason. We need not have every emotion under the sun, but a life without emotion is impover- ished and, as the empirical evidence suggests, lacking in rationality. We need to have some feeling with and feeling for others if we are to be fully rational. What type of emotions we must have or to what extent we must have them are open questions that can only be determined by considering how rationality is defined by and functions within the practices of one’s society. Even so, a rational person cannot be devoid of all emotion. Emotion is necessary to rationality on a virtue conception not only because we expect rational persons to express appropriate emotions but also because emotion offers insight into the world and evidence for beliefs. We all have experiences when our emotions are better tuned into a situation than is dispassionate reason. At times, our emotional responses are more insightful than our rational ones. One such experience I recently had was with a salesman who was giving me an estimate. I could not articulate what was bothering me, but I felt deeply unsettled and somewhat distrustful after our discussion. When talking to a later salesman, for whom I had a much better “feel,” he told me, without any prompting on my part, of the unethical practices of that other company. Suddenly I could articulate what I previously had merely “felt.”19 In other words, I take it that my emotional response was, in this case, more insightful than my rational one. This type of “gut reaction” is a rather common one, although the feeling does not always turn out to be justified or correct. What this sort of experience suggests, however, is that emotions are not simply physiological responses to the world but sources of insight.20 116 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

The ways in which emotions offer insight into the world depend upon how they are incorporated within cognition. For Cheshire Calhoun, who is especially concerned to indicate how cognitive theories of emotion lead to a variety of philosophically suspect claims, “A cognitive emotion is a paradox because the conceptual terrain where ‘belief’ finds its home differs vastly from that of ‘emotion’” (1984, 330). In other words, for “cognitive emotion” to be a sensible term, we must find a way to bridge the gulf between “belief” and “emotion.” Calhoun argues that instead of equating beliefs with emotions, we should allow that emotions can be experienced in the absence of emotion-relevant beliefs, that beliefs accompanied by inap- propriate emotions are defective, and that our account of emotion needs to involve some cognitive element. Aside from how the specific details of this sort of noncognitive theory are actually worked out, the general lines of this view work well with a virtue conception of rationality—and with its corresponding concept of second nature. Calhoun’s argument focuses, in part, on Carl, a man who was raised to believe that women belong in the home and are intellectually inferior to men. He has since come to reject these beliefs, but he continues to prefer the company of male colleagues, to accept more readily the opinions of men, and to be more critical of women teachers. What Calhoun claims is defective about Carl’s belief is the fundamental conflict between the beliefs he holds inferentially and those he holds experientially or perceptually. Even though he intellectually holds the capabilities of men and women to be equal, Carl has a prereflective and unarticulated framework that guides his associations and patterns of attention, and this framework leads him to experience women as less capable. A central aspect of Calhoun’s argument is that we all have habitual patterns of attention or ways of interpreting the world, some of them deeply rooted. These patterns shape our experiences, but they also shape our emotions since emotions, says Calhoun, involve seeing the world in a particular way.

To the acrophobic, heights appear dizzyingly treacherous. To the jealous, the beloved appears to have betrayed his love. But can we infer that the person must believe that the world is at it appears? No. The world often is not what it appears to be. And although we cannot prevent it from appearing the way it does, we can refrain from giving credence to the appearance. (1984, 342)

While emotions are related to how we see the world, the way the world appears to us is also affected by the framework of beliefs we bring to it. In The Virtue of Emotion 117 other words, Calhoun denies that emotions simply are beliefs, but she maintains that the two are interconnected in such a way that “when emotion and belief are in conflict, something like, although not identical with, a conflict of belief transpires” (Calhoun 1984, 340). That is, we cannot take our emotions at face-value, but we must consider them as evidentially related to our beliefs. This account of emotion fits neatly within virtue rationality and second nature. That we have habitual, precognitive patterns of interpreting our experiences is the whole idea behind the notion of second nature. When Kukla introduces her discussion of second nature, she gives the example of learning to see space differently because her father has Parkinson’s disease. She does not address any emotional content in this example, but the story implies such content. In fact, her effort to learn to see differently is likely motivated precisely by her caring for her father. And when we take the time to see the world as another sees it, we do not only consider the physiological aspects of that person’s experience but also the emotional aspects. In fact, part of what we often must develop when we acquire a second nature is the right sort of emotional response. I am certainly not the most naturally caring person on the planet, but one skill I seem to have acquired is the ability to recognize when I encounter someone who is lonely and simply needs to talk. When in public situations, I find myself, time and time again, approached by people who, in the hardware store, want to discuss their divorce or who, in the food court of a shopping center, wish to tell me their life story. I am never quite sure why these people choose to speak to me. Perhaps I look unthreatening. Or perhaps it is because when they start speaking, I stop and listen. When this happens I always sense that this person needs a few minutes of my time, and I am usually willing to oblige. I have a know-how in these situations that I cannot actually explain in any propositionally clear manner, but it is an ability that is directly linked to an emotional engagement with the world. This sort of ability, which many of us have in different ways, seems to rely on habitual, precognitive patterns of interpreting our experiences. The habits we develop show how it is we perceive and respond to the world. Our past experiences, including emotional ones, guide our future interpretations. Emotions are linked up with the world in a wide variety of ways, but sometimes the emotional response to an event is disproportionate, and when the reaction is disproportionate, it often indicates a tie to some symbolic aspect of our lives, one that is absolutely critical to our flourishing. Nussbaum explains, “emotions are appraisals or value judgments, which ascribe to things and persons outside the person’s own control great 118 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

importance for that person’s own flourishing” (2001, 4). A few years ago, I went to a baseball game in Yankee Stadium. For the seventh-inning stretch, the Yankees have someone sing “God Bless America.” At the game I went to, they played an old version of the song by Kate Smith. I immediately started crying. Not because I love the song, nor was I particularly moved. This specific recording was my grandmother’s favorite song. She died the previous year, and when they started playing that song, out came my emotions. The disproportion of my reaction resulted from the symbolic value that song held for me. Now, as Nozick points out, “when the utility of an action is equated with the utility of what it symbolically means—we are apt to think it irrational” (1993, 28–9). However, he quickly adds that “we should not too quickly conclude that it would be better to live without any symbolic meaning at all or never to impute utilities in accordance with symbolic meaning” (1993, 29). Emotion, and the symbolism it entails, allows us to bring symbolic meanings to the forefront. Nussbaum continues to explain that emotions combine cognitive appraisals with the idea of one’s own goals and projects as well as the salience of external objects in one’s own schemes and goals. Emotions register how things are with respect to events in the world that we consider salient to our own flourishing. If our understanding of rationality were to fail to account for this aspect of our lives, we would be unable to explain why, for example, the cold and indifferent person strikes us as lacking in rationality while the person who cries at a wedding makes perfect sense to us. Emotion is not reason, and reason is not emotion. And feminists are not particularly inclined to equate the two. Feminists are, however, inclined to emphasize the role emotion plays in our lives. To accept that rationality is a virtue furthers the goal of highlighting what feminists take to be true: emotion is an integral part of our cognitive lives. After all, the virtuous reasoner is emotionally involved in the world. Yet, this conception of rationality also recognizes something else feminists believe, although not always explicitly: not all emotions are equal. Love and caring count for more within feminist discussion than anger and jealousy. To make sense of the appropriateness or worth of some emotions over others requires us to have some means of grounding these distinctions. Virtue rationality offers such grounds and does so in ways that are dependent upon culturally variable social practices. 6Chapter 6Chapter The Virtue of Difference

Over the past several decades, the philosophical landscape has changed in ways dramatic enough that many philosophers will now allow that reason has both a material and emotive nature. As a result, our understanding of rationality need not exclude either body or emotion. Such anti-Cartesianism is not only plausible but is well-supported by the evidence. And even though few within the larger philosophical community focus on the gender distinctions that have accompanied reason’s dichotomies, it is still the case that mainline attitudes reflect the same discontent that feminists have with modernist assumptions concerning body and emotion. Because the Enlightenment tradition is clearly dying, if it is not already dead, the arguments undermining cold, methodologically governed accounts of reason are (relatively speaking) not especially difficult to make. From this point on, however, the arguments become more difficult and far more controversial. The dichotomy of unity and plurality—or, in a different form, identity and difference—is much more subtle, pervasive, and entrenched than those of mind/body and reason/emotion. The tension between unity and plurality exists at the heart of ethics, epistemology, and, above all, metaphysics. Because this tension permeates much of the philosophical discussion, without necessarily being at the forefront of most of it, it is far more difficult to unveil and bridge the gap. Furthermore, unlike the two previous dichotomies, a far greater number of philosophers will dispute the claims that the dichotomy of unity/plurality should be rejected. Eze, who is himself committed to understanding diversity within unity, describes the philosophical tension in the following manner:

In our time, the paradigm of the contested insignificant must remain what has been dubbed the ‘trinity’ of contemporary criticism: gender/race/ class—a trinity whose inner forms and affinities remain far from concep- tually articulated. On the other hand, diversity may also be understood 120 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

as a dogma, an idea uncritically held, and behind which unwelcome degradation of common values—among intellectuals and in the general culture—has been licensed. (Eze 2007, 172)

While the first paradigm falls under the heading of “multiculturalism,” advocates of the second approach “rarely hide their scorn for multiculturalism” (Eze 2007, 173). In other words, philosophers are truly divided on the topic of diversity. Even so, only the most radical of philosophers (e.g., Rorty) typically stand entirely opposed to the philosophical task of finding some commonality or unity underlying plurality. For the majority of us, there remains the “deep yearning to transcend partisanships or, at least, to live between camps and rise intellectually above the factions, [that] is a desire as old as philosophy itself” (Eze 2007, 173). Even philosophers who are committed to recognizing diversity must somehow account for how it is we understand that diversity—and this implies unity. Although this tension takes a number of forms, one of the most critical aspects for contemporary philosophy is how diversity relates to rationality. Is rationality one thing or many? Are rational agents unified or fragmented? Is reason different within different cultures, or is there some unity that transcends cultures? These are all questions that matter greatly to our understanding of rationality—and to any feminist account of rationality. Lying at the heart of all these questions is another troublesome concept: the self. If there are rational selves, they must be unified. But if feminism is correct, we need to embrace difference and not dismiss or diminish it. For this reason, feminists tend not only to be somewhat critical of notions of autonomous rational agents but also to embrace difference at the expense of unity. Still, an overemphasis on diversity comes at the cost of diminishing agency, as most feminists recognize—and as many endorse. However, a radical insistence on diversity is a dangerous tact since women have yet to achieve full agency within philosophy. The tension between emphasizing women’s diversity and asserting women’s agency is a precarious one. Although there is no simple solution, I argue that feminists should take seriously the conception of the self offered within virtue accounts: a socially related but nevertheless unified seat of agency. That my thesis is controversial is likely an understatement, so I again repeat one significant caveat before going any further: I will not be able to do justice to every issue surrounding rational agency. When it comes to feminist attitudes toward the divisions of mind/body and reason/emotion, one can find obvious, unmistakable, and widely shared views among all the various perspectives and arguments feminists endorse. The devil is certainly The Virtue of Difference 121 in the details, but underlying every disagreement is a shared belief that these dichotomies have contributed to oppression and have been highly distorting. The split between identity and difference—or between unity and plurality—is much more contentious, both in how it is understood and in how feminists analyze its flaws. On this topic, feminists furiously disagree. The breadth and depth of this subject—not to mention the voluminous literature on the topic—makes it impossible that anyone could capture the full range of feminist approaches to and disagreements about diversity. Yet, as with the previous dichotomies, feminists do echo a few similar themes and confront similar tensions when attempting to balance diversity against unity. My goal is to focus on the seemingly inescapable tensions between fragmentation and identity, and between sociality and autonomy.

The immediate objection to any claim to unified, autonomous selves is that, historically, this is a concept that has referred to men, almost exclusively. In her attack on narrow conceptions of autonomy, Marilyn Friedman explains that the work in feminist psychology done by Carol Gilligan and Nancy Chodorow has led to the suggestion that “autonomy is a masculine . . . preoccupation and that, for men, it is regrettably associated with individualism, independence, disconnection from others, and a tendency to see other persons and close relationships as threatening to the self” (Friedman 1997, 43–4). In the pervasive valorization of dichotomous philosophical terms, “unity” is masculine, “plurality” feminine. And to make something of an ad hominem attack, although hopefully not an entirely fallacious one, the same philosophers who denigrate women, if they mention women at all, are often those most interested in achieving some universalism or unity in our understanding of self, knowledge, and reality (think Kant). Eliminating difference often appears to go hand in hand with the exclusion of women in philosophical thinking. Time and time again, philosophy submerges difference in order to discover unity, especially when it comes to personal identity and autonomy. However, I do believe that feminists should demand a conception of rational selves, albeit one that is inclusive of diversity. The cost of losing the self is simply too high. This tension between identity and difference is even more critical to feminists than the tensions between mind/body or reason/emotion because many of the moral concepts we rely on are grounded in this distinction. Feminist philosophers, for example, argue against injustice and oppres- 122 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality sion, but in the absence of concepts like justice and equality, these arguments lose a great deal of their force. Even so, feminists are uneasy with such concepts because they stem from liberal traditions in which human dignity arises out of a rational autonomy that demands selves be distinct, separate, and independent from one another—all masculine ideals according to most feminists. The situation becomes even worse when we further consider that independent, autonomous selves must be at some level fundamentally the same since what makes us creatures with dignity lies in what each of us has in common not in what makes each of us different. Of course, when difference is lost, women become invisible. Within liberal traditions, plurality and difference is subsumed under unity and sameness, or, to use Benhabib’s phrase, the focus is placed on the generalized, not the concrete, other. Unlike the dichotomies of mind/body and reason/emotion, which have come under widespread attack, our moral selves remain generalized to a great extent. Yet to allow this transcendence of difference is to valorize what is supposedly masculine. After all, sameness is most often equated with masculinity and difference or otherness with what is feminine. On the one hand, feminist philosophers understand that if we allow our moral selves to be generalized, the subsumption of difference threatens to undermine or erase the so-called feminine from philosophy. On the other hand, to emphasize plurality, difference, and fragmentation threatens to undermine the very same agency that has been denied women throughout the canon. As Rosi Braidotti argues:

Well may the high priests of postmodernism preach the deconstruction and fragmentation of the subject, the flux of all identities based on phal- locentric premises; well may they keep reading into feminism the image of the crisis of their own acquired perceptions of human consciousness. The truth of the matter is: one cannot deconstruct a subjectivity one has never been fully granted . . . . In order to announce the death of the subject one must first have gained the right to speak as one; in order to demystify metadiscourse one must first gain access to a place of enuncia- tion. (1994, 140–1)

No wonder feminists express a deep skepticism concerning the subsumption of difference within identity: it has eliminated women from the philosophical landscape. Given the nature of our androcentric philosophical tradition, feminists have every reason, when negotiating the division between unity and plurality, to emphasize plurality, fragmentation, and The Virtue of Difference 123

difference rather than to emphasize unity—until, that is, we need moral and epistemic agency. Feminists are between the proverbial rock and a hard place. To make matters worse, the nature of philosophy itself seems opposed to the aims of feminism, especially when it comes to the subject. By its nature, philosophy is a priori and metadiscursive, qualities which tend to reject or at least discourage difference, while feminism, by contrast, is a historically situated movement that emphasizes the particular, not the universal. Speaking in favor of a postmodern feminist theory, Nancy Fraser and Linda Nicholson argue that such a theory “would be explicitly historical, attuned to the cultural specificity of different societies and periods, and to that of different groups within societies and periods” (1988, 390). In other words, feminists should focus on difference. Fraser and Nicholson go on to say that the categories of this theory must be historically specific. Clearly, this sort of feminism is highly suspicious of metadiscourses and the pursuit of unity. However, the difficulty with eliminating these ideals is that unconstrained plurality and infinite fragmentation quickly disintegrates into nonsense. For one thing, as Felski notes, “any defense of difference and specificity necessarily relies on a universal maxim that transcends particulars, for example, the claim that ‘all differences should be treated with respect’” (1997, 16). Critiques of past notions of autonomy as linked to disembodied unity are warranted, but appeals to difference cannot stand alone. Furthermore, if selves can only be relational we stand to lose personal identity and a commensurability that allows us to relate to others radically different from ourselves. Something must hold our narratives together and must allow us to be moral beings. We must consider that women have historically been denied the opportunity to be subjects of both epistemology and morality, and the philosophical denial of women’s agency stands in need of challenge, not surrender. Rather than emphasize a radical subjectivity, feminists need to find a way to conceptualize the subject and women’s place as agents. Benhabib makes this point in two separate ways, one philosophical, one not. In her philosophical expression, she defends her goal of “justifying the norms of universal moral respect and egalitarian reciprocity on rational grounds” by saying: “Whereas most of my colleagues in this volume [Butler, Cornell, and Fraser] seem to think that even this is in some sense too much, I think that to want to deny this point is like wanting to jump over our own shadow” (Benhabib 1995, 118). Cartesian cogitos and transcendental apper- ceptions, necessary foundations for modern thought, may no longer appear to be adequately able to ground the unity of subjectivity, but we do need unity to have a subject at all—and we need subjects if we are to have respect 124 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality and reciprocity. Furthermore, we need a subject if we are to make sense not only of experience but also of relationships and interpersonal dependency, which brings up Benhabib’s less philosophical—and I believe far more significant—argument.

[T]he historical and cultural study of diverse codes of the constitution of subjectivity, or the historical study of the formation of the discursive practices of individuality, does not answer the question: what mechanisms and dynamics are involved in the developmental process through which the human infant, a vulnerable and dependent body, becomes a distinct self with the ability to speak its language and the ability to participate in the complex social processes which define its world? (Benhabib 1995, 109)

In our everyday lives and our ordinary conceptions of reason, having a sense of oneself as distinct from other is absolutely necessary to social interaction, not to mention psychological health. It is a false dilemma to allow that selves must be either thoroughly individualized and atomistic or radically fragmented and socially constructed. The force of history, however, makes it seem as if these are the only two options.

The philosophical tradition has much to say on the topic of the unity versus plurality of the self. If we accept the historical picture that the dichotomies of mind/body and reason/emotion provide, our image of self becomes one of a being who is disembodied, disengaged, and detached from the world. Insofar as it is rational, the self is neither materially nor emotionally engaged in the world. Such transcendence of the particular and the concrete supposedly allows for self-determination and self-control because it permits the particularity and difference of individual agents to be overcome by a unity of mind that responds to universally valid considerations. Only creatures who transcend the influences of body and emotion can live their lives according to their own autonomous choosing—or so the story goes. However much it has changed over time, this concept of the self is a fairly stable assumption within Western philosophy. It consistently functions as the unity that draws together, controls, and stands against the particularities of perception, emotion, culture, and society. As with most philosophical debates, Plato sets the stage first, in this case with his tripartite view of the soul in which reason rules over emotion and The Virtue of Difference 125 appetite. Perhaps the clearest metaphor for how the self functions to control and master disparate elements can be found in the Phaedrus where he paints the image of the soul as a charioteer with two horses.1 If the soul does not bring the horses under control so that they work together, the mind remains fragmented, lacking in both calmness and self-possession: chaos ensues. Conversely, when reason is in control, the mind becomes a singular, well-ordered entity: peace is achieved. In this image, mastery of oneself involves the rational part of the soul ruling over the nonrational parts. The picture of diverse elements of ourselves needing to be brought together within a single ego, cogito, or transcendental apperception is one that permeates our philosophical tradition: to be a unified self is to have some transcendent identity that utilizes reason to rule over the subjectively diverse feature of the self. Whether this reason be directed outward toward an ontological ordering of the world or inward toward an internal structure of the mind (which typically mirrors an ontological structure) depends on the philosophical era. Feminists, however, are often reticent to acknowledge this unitary self because women have been deliberately denied the very idea of it. Within the concept of a unitary self, we find qualities associated with masculinity, and, as with other central philosophical concepts, the self devalues qualities typically associated with women. Perhaps more significantly, however, the idea of unity also denies women’s difference, thereby making women invisible within philosophical dialogue. This tension between unity and difference can be seen in Plato—and in how feminists have reacted to his work. What makes Plato a candidate for the honorific title of “feminist philosopher” is the same thing that some feminists find objectionable: his insistence that there is no essential difference between women and men. Contrary to the prevailing views of his day, Plato argues not only that women share in a common conception of virtue but also that women are capable of having a nature which is, in all important respects, equivalent with men. For example, in the Meno Socrates argues that there is no difference between the virtue of a man and the virtue of a woman. He specifically asks Meno: “will virtue differ, in its character as virtue, whether it be in . . . a woman or a man?” (Plato 1961d, 73a ). While Meno expresses some doubt that virtue is indeed the same in women and men, he does agree (perhaps begrudgingly) with Socrates’ following claim that “both men and women need the same qualities, justice and temperance, if they are going to be good” (Plato 1961d, 73b). And in much the same way that Meno presents a radical view of virtue, the Republic presents a philosophically and culturally radical view of 126 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality justice. Here Plato unequivocally expresses that sex differences are irrelevant to the activities men and women are to pursue in the ideal state. Instead, he maintains that the pursuits of individuals within the state are to be divided not according to sex differences but according to the natural capacities one possesses. In particular, Plato says:

there is no pursuit of the administrators of a state that belongs to a woman because she is a woman or to a man because he is a man. But the natural capacities are distributed alike among both creatures, and women naturally share in all pursuits and men in all . . . . (1961h 455d-e )2

What is shockingly radical within the passage is Plato’s explicit denial that women should be excluded from any activity of the state simply because they are women. Even though Plato appears rather progressive in passages such as these, not all feminists are happy with his denials of difference.3 To enter into the Republic as guardians, women are required to abandon their nature as women. Arlene Saxsonhouse explains that “[t]he female in Book V of the Republic raises questions about Socrates’ project and reminds us of what Socrates must do to the human beings—remove them from their natures—to make them part of a perfect city” (1984, 24). If women are to be permitted to be rulers in the republic—or to be an “S” in an S-knows- that-p epistemology—they must deny their status as women for only the masculine soul is capable of unifying disparate elements into a cohesive whole. While some feminists may find Plato’s lack of essentialism refresh- ing, not all do. Some, like Saxonhouse, are more concerned with philosophers’ radical elimination of women’s differences and women’s biology. Plato’s alleged flaw is that in his inclusiveness he is actually being exclusive. That is, to be included, women must give up being women and, hence, different. Thus, feminist opposition to the dichotomy of identity and difference is not simply focused on rejecting women’s consistent identification with the differences and particularity of body and emotion. In fact, quite the contrary can, and does, occur. Women’s identification with diversity and difference is sometimes taken to be an accurate portrayal of women’s lives—but with one important qualification: women’s particularity is to be praised and not blamed.4 Difference is not something to be rejected and subsumed under the concept of identity; rather, it should be accepted as an ineliminable feature of the world in which we live. This, of course, is what Plato did not allow in his arguments for philosopher-queens. For feminists, The Virtue of Difference 127

philosophers must recognize the distortion that occurs when we focus on an abstract sense of identity rather than on individual and concrete details that define our lives and influence our choices. Such concerns quickly lead to issues that lie at the heart of feminism, for example, essentialism. Much of the discussion surrounding essentialism revolves around issues of difference and involves arguments that attempt to establish whether “woman” can be taken as a meaningful term. Given both the oppressive history of the concept of woman and the diversity of people who fall under it, can we (or should we) identify some necessary and sufficient conditions that make one “a woman”? Is there some unitary identity of the concept, and if not, what does this mean for feminism?5 Are we left merely with an infinitely fragmented, and hence meaningless, concept? Even though the consensus answer to the latter question leans toward denying a radical fragmentation, feminists also refuse to view concreteness as a liability, insisting instead that advantages attach to particularity. For instance, standpoint epistemologists argue that epistemology can be better done from the margins because the particular, material place that we occupy in the world offers us better (or worse) views on the formulation and acquisition of knowledge. Furthermore, feminists are concerned that men have consistently suppressed and ignored their own particularity. However much male philosophers wish to do so, feminists insist that difference cannot be subsumed under identity, for women or for men. The ideal of some unified self that transcends these particularities is widely believed to be a myth. With the advent of the modern era, philosophers do eliminate many of the concerns with body and essentialism by turning the self inward to reflect only on internal operations of the mind—but the effect is not to enhance women’s status as subjects. Within yet another fundamental dichotomy of Enlightenment thinking, women become associated with particularity and difference, both of which are antithetical to the acquisition of knowledge. For Descartes, to obtain epistemic agency we must transcend our fragmented and discontinuous mental lives through a clear, rigorous, unified philosophical method that is centered within a single consciousness.6 Even though Descartes himself appears to have believed women are capable of such transcendence, other philosophers of that era clearly deny women this capacity. Within the domain of ethics, the elimination of difference is most clearly illustrated in Kantian morality, which demands that we take into account only the strict and universal demands of reason. This means that in our moral judgments we must consider only the form of the moral law itself, which is, in turn, determined by a universal reason. Or, if we do consider others, we need only consider them as ends-in-themselves, who share our 128 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality own rational desires. Insofar as one includes considerations that relate to one’s particular place in the world or one’s subjective desires, one is not judging correctly or choosing autonomously. Of course, since Kant believes women incapable of divorcing themselves from subjectivity and particularity and, hence, incapable of acting according to the strict demands of reason, we women lack full autonomy from a strict Kantian perspective. While it is unfortunate that Kant chooses to emphasize women’s particularity and diminished moral faculty, the stakes in this divide between unity and plurality are much greater than merely issues within deontological ethics. The connection between the unified self and autonomy impacts wider arguments for women’s rights. For the moderns, to possess reason is to possess universal human rights, rights which result from moral agency and obli- gate others in dealing with us. It is the idea of the unitary, rational mind that confers dignity and the demands of universal justice. Insofar as we are governed by particular features of our own self interest and the material circumstances of our lives, the less autonomy we are accorded. Put simply: to be autonomous is to stand in relation only to oneself; it is to be so disconnected from others that one has “a tendency to see other persons and close relationships as threatening to the self” (Friedman 1997, 43–4). This is not simply impossible but also as highly distorting as a funhouse mirror—yet it is the received view throughout much of philosophical history. Not surprisingly, since women in the modern period are tied to the particularity of body and the subjectivity of emotion, they are excluded from the domain of autonomous selves. After all, an autonomous being is supposedly one who formulates beliefs and chooses actions only on the basis of principles freely chosen by oneself. Beings who are defined by their bodies and who are governed by emotion, as women are, lack the capacity to function as autonomous selves. The concept of a unitary self, which is a necessary condition for both epistemic and moral agency, is, however, a concept difficult to reconcile fully with everyday human life. To return briefly to the ancients, an Aristotelian conception of virtue (especially the virtue of self-control) requires us to master our desires and emotions so that we not only act but also feel in the right way. As I have argued, this view has the dual advantages of incorporating emotion within belief and of offering a ground for evaluating the appropriateness of an emotion. But Aristotle’s account of virtue also expresses the tension between autonomy and the social nature of selves. This tension is quite clearly evident in the Nichomachean Ethics, in both discussions of happiness and of friendship. Eudemonia, which concerns the sort of happiness that results from human flourishing, is defined in Book I The Virtue of Difference 129 as self-sufficient—but it is not entirely self-sufficient. Humans are, after all, material and social beings. One can possess self-mastery, but it does not eliminate our dependency on certain material goods and on social relationships with others, who are different from ourselves. This is a difficult tightrope for Aristotle to walk. He privileges activity and self-sufficiency, but he also recognizes our dependence upon others. The virtuous person must, for instance, have friendships which put him (and for Aristotle it is a “him”) in association with others, but these associations are largely a means for the virtuous person actively to express his virtue. It is, says Aristotle, always better to do good than receive good. Yet, what presumably brings together the best of friends is a shared conception of the good, thus undermining difference.7 That is, the aims of politics, which supersede one’s personal goals, determine how our social relationships are to proceed since we are each governed by a shared political telos. Nonetheless, the person possessing virtue cannot stand in isolation from others and so cannot be fully self-sufficient. The liberal traditions of the Enlightenment have no such difficulty and this despite the fact that the tensions between self and society actually deepen. Universalist ethical theories of the modern period resolve the conflict between unity and difference by entirely eliminating difference from moral consideration. The moral and political theories of the time become thoroughly individualistic. Within this latter domain of political philosophy, the answer to conflicts with others comes in the form of social contract theory. The emphasis is no longer on a shared telos but on the rights of individuals to each do what they want within a so-called state of nature. While the idea of a shared telos may, in the eyes of many, oppressively subsume difference, the image of a state of nature finds even fewer supporters. The message of this image is, as Benhabib observes, crystal clear and narcis- sistic: “in the beginning man was alone” [italics added] (1992, 156). As she goes on to argue,

in this universe the experience of the early modern female has no place. Woman is simply what man is not; namely they are not autonomous, independent, but by the same token, nonaggressive but nur- turant, not competitive but giving, not public but private. The world of the female is constituted by a series of negations. She is simply what he happens not to be. Her identity becomes defined by a lack—the lack of autonomy, the lack of independence, the lack of a phallus. The narcis- sistic male takes her to be just like himself, only his opposite. (Benhabib 1992, 157) 130 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Man is now free to choose autonomously his own ends, within the limits demanded by the equality of rights, but autonomy, more clearly than ever, applies only to men—and it does so precisely because man, not woman, is capable of transcending difference and achieving selfhood. On the modern account, there is no social nature of the self for man is essentially alone. In the twentieth century, the positivist demand for scientific objectivity assures the continued suppression of difference. The search for observation sentences, for example, requires eliminating as much subjectivity and particularity as possible, which means that one ends up with statements like, “red here now.” Such statements, of course, refer to one’s immediate experience, but are intended to reveal objective, scientific facts about the world. That such a view leaves no place for women, who are indentified through their difference from men, is recognized by most feminist philosophers. Quine changes the positivistic landscape radically with his insistence on the relevance of context for meaning, and philosophers like Louise Antony (2002) and Lynn Nelson (1990) recognize the usefulness of Quinean epistemology for feminist argument. However, feminists almost universally ignore positivists prior to Quine since these philosophers thoroughly and vigorously endorse every Enlightenment dichotomy they can find. For many feminists, in fact, any philosophical approach that emulates science is hopelessly and irredeemably masculine, particularly when it comes to the exclusion of difference. By all appearances, then, the philosophical tradition is entirely irredeemable in the eyes of feminists. Still, whatever its troubled past, the divide between unity and plurality threatens to impale feminists on the horns of a nasty epistemological dilemma. On the one hand, the subsumption of difference in the search for objectivity and truth (however one chooses to define these terms), perpetu- ates past philosophical exclusions and denies either women’s agency or women’s difference from men. On the other hand, to valorize difference risks fragmenting societies and individuals in ways that undermine the identities and relationships of communities and persons. The dilemma at the heart of the problem of diversity is

a problem with an objective pole (reality; nature of things) and a subjective pole (thought; formal categories of reason). What we can ‘experience’ is that which mediates these poles, but the tensions between them also mark, and thereby introduce, even before we formalize the problems, the multiplicities of identities that we find in the natural routine of experience. (Eze 2007, 175) The Virtue of Difference 131

This tension is also addressed by Oshadi Mangena, who fully agrees with other critics that objectivity needs to be redefined and opened to difference, but she also recognizes that to focus exclusively on partiality is to ignore the holistic connection that exists between different races, classes, nationalities, and sexes. Different perspectives must be able to mutually inform and challenge one another, and this can take place only if there is some unity. Mangena claims:

the thesis I am defending insists that wholeness lies behind fragmentation, and insists that this be sustained both in the construction of social theory and in the translation of such a theory into practice. That is, we are required to represent reality as an integrated whole, albeit compris- ing distinct specificities. Accordingly the local or indigenous condition of women must be linked dialectically to the global condition of women. . . . The scientific claims based on this approach would be universally valid in the sense that they would refer to a multiplicity of concrete experience, although in general terms. (1994, 281)

This sort of appeal to a unity that incorporates multiplicity is contentious, but it allows that abstract reasoners simply will not do. It is also a claim echoed by Eze, who maintains not only that diversity is a necessary condition for cognition but that “everyday reasoning requires the individual to engage in processes of subsuming diversity and difference under actual and possible unities of general experience” (2008, 20). Rationality, in other words, cannot function without both ends of this dichotomy.

III

In contrast to the fairly widespread rejection of mind/body or reason/emotion dualisms, contemporary philosophers are far more divided concerning the relationship of unity and diversity. Few wish to abandon the idea of a unitary self, but what we are to make of diversity is a contentious issue. The most influential political theory of the last several decades is that of Rawls, whose view originates with strongly modernistic ideals of the self—including its utter lack of diversity. Within the original position, Rawls assumes that people will be entirely self-interested in the choice of principles of justice, but since “differences among the parties are unknown to them, and everyone is equally rational . . . , each is convinced by the same arguments. Therefore, we can view the choice in the original position from the 132 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

standpoint of one person selected at random” (1971, 139). Lest one think that this radically generalized individualism is something Rawls later dis- cards, he expands this idea to his further notion of reasonableness discussed in Political Liberalism. Here he says, “Reasonable persons . . . are not moved by the general good as such but desire for its own sake a social world in which they, as free and equal, can cooperate with others on terms that all can accept” (Rawls 1993, 50). Rawls believes we can conceptualize selves who are capable of formulating their own conception of the good and are capable of having a sense of justice. As a result, says Rawls, “equal justice is owed to those who have the capacity to take part in and to act in accordance with the public understanding of the initial situation” (1971, 505). Who has this capacity, however, remains an open question. Of course, feminists, most notably Okin, have strongly criticized Rawls for failing to recognize how pervasively gender structures society. She also criticizes him for failing to recognize how gender affects decisions made behind the veil of ignorance. Rawls consistently and explicitly maintains that “[o]ur social position and class, our sex and race should not influence delibera- tions made from a moral point of view; and on this ground, these facts should be bracketed” (1975, 537). In contrast, Okin persuasively argues that those in the original position must take into account the perspective of both men and women since “‘the general facts about human society’ must include the knowledge that women have been and continue to be the less advantaged sex in a number of respects” (1987, 66). She continues her argument, saying:

The coherence of Rawls’s hypothetical original position, with its unanim- ity of representative human beings, . . . is placed in doubt if the kinds of human beings we actually become in society not only differ in respect of interests, superficial opinions, prejudices, and points of view that we can discard for the purpose of formulating principles of justice, but also differ in their basic psychologies, conceptions of self in relation to others, and experiences of moral development. A number of feminist scholars have argued in recent years that, in a gender-structured society, women’s and men’s different life experiences in fact affect their respective psychologies, modes of thinking, and patterns of moral development in significant ways. (Okin 1987, 69)

Other feminists echo this point, saying that “the question remains whether Rawls’s foundational moral psychology of morally autonomous rational reasonableness is a legitimate assumption for a two-gender population in any The Virtue of Difference 133 tradition. If the answer is no, of course, Rawls’s exercise must exclude women . . .” (Hirshman 1994, 1869). In large measure, feminists concur that the answer is indeed “no” and that, consequently, we should reject a Rawlsian notion of autonomous selves, even if a few of us are still inclined to retain some notion of the self. Feminists do find good grounds upon which to criticize Rawls and his exclusion of women’s difference. Furthermore, these concerns about whether selves can be meaningfully autonomous behind a veil of ignorance that abstracts from all difference are shared by communitarians. Communitarians are not particularly interested in the gender associations involved in liberal ideas of the self, but they do argue that

The [liberal] self-portrait of the individual constituted only by his willful- ness, liberated from all connection, without common values, binding ties, customs, or traditions-sans eyes, sans teeth, sans taste, sans everything-need only be evoked in order to be devalued: It is already the concrete absence of value. What can the real life of such a person be like? (Walzer 1990, 8)

Assuming such arguments are ultimately successful, the last remaining ves- tige of abstract, modern selves disappears and we are left with the problem of how to construct a positive account of the self in the face of plurality and difference. Should we radically endorse fragmentation or hold more con- servatively to some unity of self? In her work, Sabina Lovibond compares so-called radical feminism’s approach with more moderate feminist views. Her view is ultimately that feminists need to “recognize that they have an interest in subjecting power-formations to judgments of value and trying to secure the existence of tolerably good ones” (1994, 85). With respect to the idea of the self, Lovibond begins her argument by noting that “while seeking access to the role of subject (rather than object) of speculative thought, women should nevertheless refuse to take that role at face value” (1994, 73). She goes on to add:

If the mark of a ‘post-crisis’ thinker—one who no longer identifies the subject with his or her ‘wilful [sic], conscious self’—is to be a kind of las- situde in respect of the demands of classical reason, . . . then I want to say: very well, the synthetic power of the ‘I’ is ‘a grammatical necessity, a theoretical fiction’ . . . . But the point about a ‘fiction’ of this kind is that it is something to which we are committed by our forms of expression; hence that unless we have an alternative to those forms of expression, it is a device that we must consider not optional but mandatory. (1994, 82) 134 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Put simply: feminists need a conception of the subject, even if this subject is fictional. Indeed, a relational subject, which is a somewhat accepted notion within feminism, must be something if it is to stand in relation to something else. That something may amount to being nothing more than a grammatical placeholder, but it must be something rather than nothing. Although I am personally inclined to believe that selves are not fictions but are substantive, real agents, the conception of rationality which takes it to be a virtue concept can remain ontologically neutral about the subject, even if it is not epistemically or morally neutral. Whatever disagreements we have about the reality of rational subjects, our language-games and social practices do not allow us to forego the use of the personal pronoun “I.” Similarly, the moral language-game of the feminist who insists that women can be oppressed (and have a right not to be) and who insist that those who engage in oppressive behaviors are responsible for their actions, these language- games cannot function without agency—and agency demands an “I.” Postcolonial philosophers share with feminists a strong sense of the diversity of the self and a sense of the tension between this and the unity necessary for agency. Despite his almost axiomatic dependence on diversity, Eze nonetheless admits that “not even the most empirical reason can fully justify all the grounds of even its own empiricities by a reductive appeal to the empirical and positivistic in experience” (2008, 78). We need a unity of self to bind the diverse elements of ourselves. Just as with “reason,” the terms “unity” and “autonomy” need not continue to be defined in modernist terms. If practices and traditions truly lie at the heart of rationality, our conception of rationality will allow the co-opting of these terms in such a way that feminists can account for women’s agency without committing to masculine ideals. As long as we persist in the same dichotomous thinking that has historically defined philosophical thought, it matters not whether we consider selves as unitary or decentered. We may allow that the structure of reason comes from the details of embodiment, but we must also transcend the tendency to treat rationality as either internal or external, unified or fragmented, autonomous or determined. While it may well be that the self is relational, social, and constructed through narrative, for it to have any agency, it must also be unified and autonomous. That is, there must be an “I.” In introducing his discussion of rationality Eze explains the difficulty of conceptualizing the diversity of reason in experience. The problem is unique, as he says, “because diversity as such can be thought about only through the idea of identity,” and vice versa (Eze 2008, 1). Reason may not be able to think outside of diversity, but diversity cannot conceptualize itself or provide a ground for freedom and autonomy. “Unity” has historically The Virtue of Difference 135 been an oppressive concept for those who are considered different or “other,” but that philosophers’ past conceptions of reason and the self have been overly narrow is no ground for insisting on plurality at all cost. At the same time, however, if feminists are to successfully reformulate our understanding of rationality, we must undermine gendered ideals of the self. This is a narrow tightrope to walk.

Rationality as a virtue concept emphasizes practice and lived experience and thus refuses to allow that rational selves can be purely transcendental or interchangeable. On this view, a necessary condition for being rational is that one believes and does as the rational person, not in some abstract sense but in the actual world. Rawls can argue that a veil of ignorance will allow us to take “the standpoint of one person selected at random,” but such generalized conceptions of others makes no sense from the point of view of a rationality grounded in immanence, that is, in the actual beliefs and choices made by rational persons in a lived world. We can only determine what is rational or reasonable from within the traditions and practices in which our lives are immersed. As a result, the groundwork for this understanding of the self is of a “being in a social world.” In addition, the narrative I tell about myself and that defines who I am cannot be told in general, but only in particular. I am, as MacIntyre says, born with a past, and what I currently am is influenced by this past. As a result, “the self has to find its moral identity in and through its membership in communities such as those of the family, the neighborhood, the city and the tribe . . . . [P]articularity can never be simply left behind or eliminated” (MacIntyre 1984, 221). In a similar vein, Toulmin argues that the only way to proceed in developing an account of rationality is “to go behind all the rival theoretical positions and present a narrative with a personal perspective” (2001, 7). Such an approach entails that our understanding will always be partial, but it also provides a broader, more inclusive, and less distorted understanding. Because virtue rationality can never be defined in isolation from the community, the rational person is always in relation to others. When it comes to understanding the self, one thing feminists do mostly appear to agree upon is its relational nature. Regardless of whether we adopt a conservative or a radical view, regardless of whether the self is substantive or a fiction, to be a self is necessarily to be part of a particular community or communities. We interact with others, and this interaction is 136 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality constitutive of who we are. That is, Descartes truly does put the cart before the horse when in Meditation II he first determines that he exists and only afterward considers what he is. The existence of the “I” cannot be divorced from the material and social features of the world that define it. Virtue rationality reflects this outward oriented notion of the self, as opposed to the inward focus of the moderns. For the moderns, “We think of our thoughts, ideas, or feelings as being ‘within’ us while the objects in the world which these mental states bear on are ‘without’” (Taylor 1989, 111). Virtue rationality shifts this focus to actual lives actually lived, which in turn shifts the focus of selfhood from an inward to an outward perspective because “[e] very practice requires a certain kind of relationship between those who participate in it” (MacIntyre 1984, 191). For each of us, we cannot understand ourselves as a self without coming to terms with the “circumstances of my birth and family, linguistic, cultural and gender identity” form, along with my choices, a life story (Benhabib 1992, 162). Who and what I am is not determined by some transcendent cogito reflecting on clear and distinct ideas in the mind but is instead centered on the social aspects of my life and the ways in which culture contributes to my narrative. This idea of a narrative conception of self and its relation to virtue (although not necessarily rationality) is developed in MacIntyre, who explains the idea as follows:

we all approach our own circumstances as bearers of a particular social identity. I am someone’s son or daughter, someone else’s cousin or uncle; I am a citizen of this or that city, a member of this or that guild or profession; I belong to this clan, that tribe, this nation. Hence what is good for me has to be the good for one who inhabits these roles. As such, I inherit from the past of my family, my city, my tribe, my nation, a variety of debts, inheritances, rightful expectations and obligations. These constitute the given of my life, my moral starting point. This is in part what gives my life its own moral particularity. (1984, 220)

This could not stand in greater contrast with modernist ideas. Instead of treating rational agents as interchangeable, one’s agency is intertwined with and dependent upon the particular features of one’s life. MacIntyre continues,

the story of my life is always embedded in the story of those communities from which I derive my identity. I am born with a past; and to try to The Virtue of Difference 137

cut myself off from that past, in the individualist mode, is to deform my present relationships. (1984, 221)

Modernity’s distortion of the self results from dissolution of the community through an atomistic focus on individuals and their separate goals. To correct this distortion, we must consider how our lives are intertwined. The stories we tell about our lives place us within communities but also acknowledge the difference of individuals and groups. We are not all the same, and to be coherent, the narratives each of us tell must reflect this difference. In other words, there must be something different in my story to make it mine. In this way, the narrative conception of the self reflects the sorts of concerns feminists have about the narrowness and exclusive- ness of historical accounts. In the absence of community, many believe that there is no way to make sense of selves as different from one another—and thus, no way to maintain moral autonomy. In particular, Taylor focuses on the negative consequences of concentrating attention solely on an atomic self, what he terms the “primacy of self-fulfillment.” When our attention is exclusively focused on an individual self, “Community affiliations, the solidarities of birth, of marriage, of the family, of the polis, all take second place.” He goes on to say that a “society of self-fulfillers, whose affiliations are more and more seen as revocable, cannot sustain the strong identification with the political community which public freedom needs” (Taylor 1989, 507–8). Whether it be in feminist or nonfeminist philosophy, the criticism of modern notions is clear: the self cannot be viewed as independent of the community—at least not without negative and distorting effect. Insofar as we insist on an atomistic conception of selves, the individual is removed from “a rich community life and now enters instead into a series of mobile, changing, revocable associations, often designated merely for highly specific ends. We end up relating to each other through a series of partial roles” (Taylor 1980, 502). MacIntyre repeats this point:

This capacity for recognition of the self as being already to some degree at home in some tradition sharply differentiates this kind of person and this kind of encounter with a tradition of enquiry from the person who finds him or herself an alien to every tradition of enquiry which he or she encounters and who does so because he or she brings to the encounter with such tradition standards of rational justification which the beliefs of no tradition could satisfy. (MacIntyre 1988, 395) 138 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

This theme is a constant drumbeat throughout much of contemporary philosophy: in the absence of the community, we can have no concept of self. If this drumbeat were not enough, philosophers also argue that the notion of atomistic or unencumbered selves undermines moral autonomy and freedom. Michael Sandel makes this point:

To imagine a person incapable of constitutive attachments such as these [i.e., to family, community, or nation] is not to conceive an ideally free and rational agent, but to imagine a person wholly without character, without moral depth. For to have character is to know that I move in a history I neither summon nor command, which carries consequences nonetheless for my choices and conduct. (1984, 90)

If my identity is always distinct from the acquired desires, aims, ends, and goals that I pursue because I am a member of some community which is only accidently and incidentally related to me, then I lose the narrative of my life. I could live at any other time or place, I could have any other family, I could live in any community and I would still be the same person. “The liberal ethic,” as Sandel argues, “puts the self beyond the reach of its experience, beyond deliberation and reflection. . . . [It] is left to lurch between detachment on the one hand, and entanglement on the other” (1984, 91). In other words, the modern “I” gains unity and identity at the expense of all those aspects of experience that make the “I” different and distinct. Now, despite the tendency of contemporary philosophers to reject much of modernism, the tension between unity and diversity remains a strong undercurrent, even for those who otherwise adopt a virtue account of reason. Take, for example, Audi. While he accepts that the standards of rationality can be given only through how rational persons actually respond to evidence provided by an actual world, he avoids reducing rationality to a mere product of culture. Culture may determine many of the different types of activities that people enjoy, but reason “constrains how they [different cultures] contribute to rationality” (Audi 2001, 189). The point is subtle but clear: practices are not all there is to rationality. Given virtue rationality’s empirical focus and given that our experiences are widely varied and influenced by culture, we must allow for a diversity within reason. Yet, as Audi argues, rationality remains a structural notion, and many of the experiences that rationality structures are common ones.

The partly structural character of rationality and the plurality of substantive standards for it are tempered by the universality of certain basic The Virtue of Difference 139

sources of it in human cognition. . . . There are also universally basic sources of rational desire. Pleasure and pain are the most widely recognized. The inescapable promptings and vulnerabilities of the body . . . help to make pleasure and pain seem the only basic grounds of practical reasons. (2001, 172)

The crux of the issue is this: sure, there is a great deal of variability in human experience and the cultural patterns that are partly constitutive of it, but when it comes to the basic sources or grounds for rational belief and action, there are common elements in all rational humans. What this means for the current discussion of how we should conceptualize the unity versus the plurality of the self is that we cannot give up on unity. If the self is a fragmented and socially determined entity, we cannot make sense of our epistemic and moral lives, nor can we make sense of the fact that human rationality does transcend culture. What virtue rationality offers, then, with its account of narratives is a means to unify the self in the face of difference. Because these narratives are specific to the individuals about whom they are told, and because these narratives are publically available, they necessarily incorporate difference and a multiplicity of perspectives. On the other hand, virtue rationality also offers the possibility of structurally grounding these narratives through a conception of generally held, common ends, the pursuit of which is necessary to human flourishing. In other words, the ordinary affairs of reason are determined by the particularity of one’s life, but the structural elements of rationality—and that which allows us to recognize that others who are different from ourselves are also rational—provide for a necessary unity.

The concept of a self that is individualistic, unitary, and fully aware of its own cognitive processes excludes what feminists often wish to emphasize most: the socially and historically situated self that lives in the empirical (not the transcendent) world. Still, a tension survives between recognizing the particularity of individual selves and accounting for the self’s agency in the world. On the one hand, the self clearly exists as an embodied being that occupies a particular historical, cultural, and social place. On the other hand, moral autonomy and epistemic agency require some unity within the diversity. Fragmentation without unity undermines our moral and epistemic lives. Feminists do recognize this need for stable identities, although no 140 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality one seems to agree about what we should make of this need. Thus, with the polarities of identity and difference, there is much less general consensus in approach. In dealing with this topic, feminists must ask and respond to a series of complex questions: What is it to be a self? If selves are relational, are they also unified? If selves are not unified, can they be autonomous? Even though some feminists pursue modifications of liberal conceptions of the self, a more popular approach is to deny that the rational self is universal and to focus instead on the power relations that are constitutive of it. This argument often relies on the work of Foucault—so one more, brief foray into his work is in order. Perhaps the biggest debate concerning Foucault and feminism surrounds his idea of the subject. As I previously discussed, feminists who look to Foucault often do so because he emphasizes the body and focuses on power relations. His work highlights difference and how that difference leads to inequalities. Conversely, feminists who reject Foucault often do so on the grounds that his conception of the subject lacks the moral and political agency necessary to resist unjust power relations. Foucault has what Sawicki calls a politics of difference. He does not, in other words, seek unity or assume that all differences can be resolved, suggesting instead that there is no subject—or, at best, that the subject may merely be a product of forces, so the best we can hope for is a genealogy of the practices and forces that produce subjects. What both parties to the feminist version of this debate seem to agree upon is that feminists need a subject substantial enough to ground political agency and to resist power.8 More specifically, feminists want a conception of the self that, unlike Rawls, recognizes and allows for interpersonal dependency while retaining agency and autonomy. Put slightly differently, we want selves that are dependent upon social relationships but that are also autonomous enough to grasp that social relationships are not always just. Asserting our need for a relational notion of self does not, however, make the need for unity disappear. Regardless of how much we emphasize difference, somehow sameness always remains in the background—and it must do so if we are to adequately explain our cognitive and communicative abilities. We humans can, for example, communicate with others from different traditions. We understand them to be rational, albeit different from ourselves. Yet, the only way we can come to terms with this difference is through an underlying unity. And the only way we can recognize moral agency is if there is some self that is responsible for one’s actions. There must be an “I” if one is to be responsible for one’s good or bad actions. This is especially important for feminists since most of us understand that women must be The Virtue of Difference 141 accorded agency if the goals of feminism are going to be achieved. More importantly, those who engage in unjust or oppressive actions must be held accountable for their unjust action. Feminists cannot do without this. Such claims are, of course, rather contentious. Within feminism, the emphasis on both difference and sameness tends to lead to the realization that there is no single set of issues or concerns that will address the problems faced by all women as women. As feminists have addressed questions about difference, it has become increasingly clear that “woman” is far from a homogenous category that can simply be contrasted with the concept of “man.” Some of the central issues of feminism revolve around paying attention to the experience of women, and the experience of women is diverse. Women are divided along many lines, including race, class, culture, and sexual orientation. No simple, cohesive category of “women’s experience” actually exists, which, of course, stands in opposition to conceptions of the self as an individualistic, unitary rational decision maker that transcends all difference and particularity. What feminists emphasize in contrast to this account is an empirical, social, and historically situated self. Making this shift results in a transformation of autonomy from a concept grounded in shared features to a faculty that revolves around relational and decentered selves. It also generates a need for a different sort of grounding for feminists’ commitment to egalitarianism. After all, relational selves do not allow modernistic appeals to our common humanity. Given the modern attitude, one can understand why feminists would seek to abandon entirely a structural unity of self and to instead focus on discursive notions of the self that rely on “fictional” subjects created through discourse and power relations.9 This tendency is especially strong for poststructuralist feminists, who reject the idea of unencumbered selves and argue instead that the “subject is not a locus of authorial intentions or natural attributes or even a privileged, separate consciousness” (Alcoff 1988, 415). This approach gives feminists ammunition in attacks on modernist ideas, but, the questions surrounding the self’s social construction and fragmentation do not suddenly disappear in the face of such platitudes. In discussing advances in feminist philosophy, Alcoff addresses some of the questions that feminists have confronted:

Feminist philosophy in the 1980s, like feminist theory more generally, wrestled with questions of difference. If ‘equality feminism’ presupposed a masculine norm of values and mode of life, must feminism be committed to women’s fundamental difference from men? . . . The other ‘difference’ question concerned differences within the category of women 142 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

itself—differences of race, of sexual identity, of culture and ethnicity, of physical ability, and of economic position within the global map of neo- colonialism. (Alcoff 2000, 842)

Should feminists emphasize women’s sameness or difference from men? Should we emphasize women’s difference from each other? And if we emphasize difference, do we not end up with a seemingly infinite fragmentation that loses commonality—and, hence, the basis for the moral concept of equality that grounds many feminist political demands? These are difficult issues, but the possibility of rational selves that can make moral claims of others is a central part of the discussion. Some feminists may be eager to embrace the disintegration of selves into fragmented parts, but as many others recognize, this threatens to undermine the moral autonomy on which we must rely if we are to make arguments against the injustice of oppression. Emphasizing fragmentation has immediate ethical and political consequences, and these consequences are not conducive, for example, to claims to women’s agency or to men’s culpability for sexist beliefs and actions. If notions of independence, unity, and autonomy are fully replaced by dependence, fragmentation, and social determination, we risk losing personal and moral responsibility. While feminists fairly readily agree that we should object to dichotomous oppositions between mind/body and reason/emotion, the conclusion is not so obvious in the case of identity/difference.10 On the one hand, radically individualized selves have historically excluded women and people of color; on the other hand, emphasizing difference has, aside from the problems of fragmentation, deep problems with normativity. Feminists need not only consider the significance of particular forms of difference but also their value. Whether or not we can resolve competing claims concerning the value of difference will be the subject of the following chapter, but the problem for identity and difference is much the same: can we ground our understanding of selves so that we can retain our autonomy but be shaped by differences determined by social structures? Although the issue of autonomy is a difficult one, Friedman identifies four main grounds for criticizing so-called analytic notions of autonomy: (1) that such notions ignore the social nature of the self, (2) that they presume unified subjects with stable identities, (3) that they regard the self as being transparently self-aware, and (4) place the source of autonomy in reason rather than emotion, desire, or embodiment.11 The implication is that a broadly feminist notion of autonomy should address social identities (whether stable or not) that are often opaque and are dependent upon the The Virtue of Difference 143 particularities of one’s actual life. Instead of placing autonomy at one end of the polarity of independence/dependence, many feminists seek a middle ground that acknowledges the relational nature of autonomy.12 A virtue account of rationality can do this. Consider Aristotle’s discussion of voluntariness. That which is done under compulsion cannot be something for which we are held responsible, but Aristotle clearly understands that voluntariness is not all-or-nothing. He equally understands that one can be more or less autonomous in one’s actions and that the degree of autonomy with which one acts in not always clear. His example should be a familiar one for proponents of care ethics. He says,

if a tyrant were to order one to do something base, having one’s parents and children in his power, and if one did the action they were to be saved, but otherwise would be put to death . . . , it may be debated whether such actions are involuntary or voluntary. (Aristotle 1941b, 1110a)

Some feminists might criticize Aristotle for his willingness to even debate the voluntariness of such actions, but I believe he is correct in recognizing that while external circumstances affect our choices, we must nonetheless choose how we respond to those circumstances. In this sense, virtue rationality also holds us responsible for how we cope with difference—after all, not all differences are benign. We may be influenced by the social practices we inherit, but not every tradition is one that we should, upon reflection, endorse, even if it is our own tradition. If we instead assert that we are thoroughly socially determined, then our choices cannot be ones for which we can be held responsible, even if those choices cause great harm to others. Still, more controversially, Aristotle argues that virtue requires deliberation but that “we deliberate not about ends but about means” (1941b, 1112b). Now, feminists are not always the biggest fans of the liberal ideal of autonomous agents freely choosing their own ends, but we do paradoxically tend to be skeptical of any view that denies women the ability and freedom to choose their own ends. In fact, one of the most significant problems with taking a community-focused, narrative approach to the self and moral agency is its dependence upon a prior conception of “the good life.” The seeming advantage of liberal or universal moral theories offered up by the likes of Mill and Kant is that they are neutral with respect to how we are to live our lives and what ends we pursue in our lives, provided that we respect the dignity of others (although utility has well-known problems accounting for human dignity). In his own argument for autonomy, Aristotle rejects the 144 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality possibility of deliberating about ends; yet I believe this can actually be made to fit our understanding of ends, including those we choose (even if the choice is socially determined). There are some ends that we choose, but there are others that we do not. As I write this paragraph, I happen to be sitting in the middle of the street—literally. This rather bizarre behavior does, however, have a rationale. My community was hit by a series of tornados which took out many of the lines that link us to the area’s power plant. Almost all of the north- ern part of my state is without power, and we are told this situation will last at least five days. As my neighbors and I emerged from our houses yester- day morning after the storms had passed, many of us decided to band together and share resources, especially the food which is melting in our refrigerators and freezers. Some of us have camp stoves, some have fuel, some have charcoal, and others have ground coffee. We have thus far had breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. We have a more or less permanent kitchen set up in the street. We share news updates and are thankful that we were not harmed as many others have been. In between meals, I sit out in the light, which is mostly in the street since we live in the woods, and write. So, one may ask, what does this have to do with the choosing of ends? In one sense, my neighbors and I have chosen our ends. We decided to help each other and to use the crisis to socialize and emotionally support each other. In another sense, however, we have not chosen our ends at all. We need water, food, shelter. And emotionally we need to know what has happened and is happening in our community. These are ends we actually do not choose. How we respond and pursue these ends does allow for choice and can be done better and worse. In this way, virtue rationality allows that there are some shared goals even if the means by which we pursue these goals may be radically different. Although any final resolution on the issues of autonomy is yet to be had, virute rationality incorporates communal practices as well as personal choice and responsibility. It thus responds to many of the criticisms of modern notions of the concept. When philosophers speak of moral autonomy, the basic idea is straightforward enough: my choices are determined by me according to moral standards that I have determined to be appropriately justified. Simply put, I am the author of my own actions. For the moderns, this is about all there really is to autonomy—individuals making choices entirely on their own. For us today, it no longer seems this simple. Given the current emphasis on social relatedness, what constitutes making a decision for oneself becomes rather complex. In everyday experience, we understand The Virtue of Difference 145 that autonomy is not absolute. Like everyone else, I have done a great many things in life not because I have freely chosen to do so on the basis of my own beliefs, desires, and goals but because a friend or family member wanted to do so based on her beliefs, desires, and goals. Clearly, we could argue that my freely chosen goals include making this other person happy, but what this general observation indicates is how complex a task it can be to determine when, on the assumption of individualism, an action is truly autonomous. There are always outside influences that affect us and that seem to undermine autonomy in a strict sense. What feminists will criticize in this radically independent conception of autonomy is the masculine ideal of disconnectedness that it reflects. This is the same sort of tension that Benhabib recognizes in conceptions of the self, and what she and Audi both recognize is that our moral lives require us to be capable of autonomy and choice, which require that there be some aspect of the self that is capable of choosing to act. One of the major lines of thinking about identity concerns its relational features. Benhabib adopts just such an approach when she says:

The self becomes an individual in that it becomes a ‘social’ being capable of language, interaction and cognition. The identity of the self is constituted by a narrative unity, which integrates what ‘I’ can do, have done and will accomplish with what you expect of ‘me,’ interpret my acts and intentions to mean, wish for me in the future, etc. The Enlightenment conception of the disembodied cogito no less than the empiricist illusion of a substance-like self cannot do justice to those contingent processes of socialization through which an infant becomes a person, acquires language and reason, develops a sense of justice and autonomy, and becomes capable of projecting a narrative into the world of which she is not only the author but the actor as well. (1992, 5)

In this way of conceiving identity, we retain the idea of the different social, cultural, and material circumstances that help form this identity. The contrast between modern and postmodern (in the broadest sense) conceptions of the self is drawn by Benhabib’s distinction between the generalized and concrete others. Within liberal traditions, autonomy and moral agency attach to unified selves that are divorced from their particularities, what Benhabib calls the “generalized other.” She describes it thusly:

The standpoint of the generalized other requires us to view each and every individual as a rational being entitled to the same rights and duties 146 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

we would want to ascribe to ourselves. . . . Our relation to the other is governed by the norms of formal equality and reciprocity. (Benhabib 1992, 158–9)

This is very much the kind of conception Rawls requires in his political philosophy. In contrast to this, the standpoint of the concrete other, which

requires us to view each and every rational being as an individual with a concrete history, identity, and affective-emotional constitution. In assuming this standpoint, we abstract from what constitutes our commonality and focus on individuality. . . . The norms of our interaction are usually, although not exclusively private, non-institutional ones. (Benhabib 1992, 159)

For Benhabib, like many other feminists, the standpoint of the concrete other is absolutely essential to the epistemic coherence of moral theories for the way I am individuated, the way I become a self, is not through, potential choices but through the choices that I make in living my life. So, can virtue rationality ground the sort of self that will fit within a feminist framework? I take it that most feminists do see the need for some com- promise between “difference feminism” and “equality feminism,” one that recognizes diversity as not simply a necessary evil but as absolutely central to our understanding of the self. That feminists need the self says nothing, however, about how this self is to be understood. Almost all feminists reject notions of autonomous selves that rely on modern notions of unity, but with current philosophical fashion, this is to be expected. As with all things modern, our contemporary conception of a rational, unified self has not escaped the crisis created by the death of the Enlightenment. As Taylor makes clear, “our modern notion of the self is just as much a historically local self-interpretation which would also be opaque and perplexing to outsiders” (1989, 113). When it comes to modernism, we are now outsiders, even if we are the descendants of that tradition. While we may be temporally more distant from the ancients, the tendency to return to the premodern roots of key philosophical concepts gains strength from seeing where the Enlightenment distorted our previous conceptions. In other words, the modern understanding of the self is not all there is to the concept. To unpack our own historically local self-interpretation, we should consider what it is we understand the self to be, how that understanding promotes certain ends, and whether virtue rationality can appropriately ground this conception. The Virtue of Difference 147

When it comes to the dichotomy of identity and difference, what feminists most consistently seem to want in a conception of rationality is that it recognizes the following:

zz We each have a multiplicity of identities that are constituted through social and historical forces. zz If we are to affirm individual agency or autonomy, it must be done without domination and exclusion. zz Our self-identity should not repress differences within the self or deny our connectedness of others.

I have argued that virtue rationality, as an activity that engages the social dimensions of our lives, does actually acknowledge each of these claims. The details of the story virtue rationality will tell for each needs, of course, to be written, but that is as it should be. Stories cannot be told in the abstract. 148 7Chapter 7Chapter The Virtue of Subjectivity

Thus far I have considered how a virtue account of rationality promises to bridge some of the most pervasive and gendered conceptual gaps within the history of Western philosophy. Because it allows for no radical separation between mind/body or between reason/emotion and because it requires that unity be constructed out of diversity, virtue rationality reflects many of the aims of feminism. Furthermore, because this approach insists that rationality is always immanent, it entails that reason cannot be isolated from the material and social elements that partially constitute it. As a result, virtue rationality offers a means to undercut many of the gender associations that have historically attached to the concept. Nonetheless, one significant issue remains: can virtue rationality provide a sufficient normative ground for the claims of feminism while still acknowledging the subjectivity of much of our knowledge? In other words, can virtue rationality bridge the divide between objectivity and subjectivity? This remaining distinction is the most abstract and, in my view, most significant dichotomy for coming to understand our concept of reason. If rationality is to function as a normative concept, whether epistemically or ethically, it must allow us to assess various beliefs and actions. Some feminists will argue that we should abandon the search for grounds upon which we can assess beliefs since these sorts of searches are too narrow and limiting. The weight of history, once again, propels these arguments against normativity, which often functions as yet another means of excluding women. Against this rejection of normative standards stand feminists who argue that

condemning traditional methods of assessing beliefs leaves us without some common and conclusion-independent way of evaluating competing claims. Thus, some arguments for alternative methods either commit the fallacy of affirming the consequent, in that a methodology is endorsed because of the conclusions to which it leads, or they reject the very idea of comparative epistemic assessment. If we have no way of evaluating 150 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

competing claims, however, we have no grounds for preferring one set to another and no basis for persuading others to the same preferences. (Longino 1989, 262)

Whatever feminism is, and whatever disagreements exist among feminists themselves, surely all feminists argue for the truth of feminism. In other words, we wish to argumentatively persuade others to share our beliefs and preferences. In the absence of some substantive notion of rationality that allows for objectivity (however one wishes to define this term), our tech- niques of persuasion can be, at best, merely rhetorical. Like identity and diversity, the gap between objectivity and subjectivity takes a number of different forms. Most notably, it can be alternatively captured under the heading of objectivism v. relativism. When this dichotomy is considered as one of objectivity/subjectivity, the concern of the dichotomy focuses on whether we can eliminate bias, particularity, and idio- syncrasy from our efforts to acquire knowledge. When it is considered as one of objectivism/relativism, the concern becomes less a matter of eliminating bias and more a matter of asking whether (and how) we can know anything. The objectivity/subjectivity debate is more directly focused on how we understand the status of epistemic agents and their relation to “the world” while the objectivism/relativism debate is more directly concerned with the existence of epistemic standards and our ability to know those standards. However one chooses to formulate the dichotomy, a chasm appears: either we can have Objective (with a capital “O”) knowledge of the world, or we are stuck within particular perspectives and are committed to all knowledge being relative. For the contemporary ear, the search for Objectivity reverberates most clearly in our Cartesian heritage, but it is equally a task for the ancients. Given the metaphysical orientation of the Greeks, the idea for them is not that the world conforms to our knowledge, but that our knowledge must conform to the world. Subjectivity interferes with such epistemic endeavors for it distorts our understanding of an objective reality. This theme is for most of philosophical history ever-present: we must subsume subjectivity in favor of objectivity. Feminists are, of course, suspicious of objectivity because, as with every other dichotomy, it carries significant gendered connotations. Women are traditionally tied to particularity and subjectivity and as such are incapable of obtaining objective knowledge. Yet, the search for objectivity is no less incumbent upon feminist philosophers than it is upon nonfeminist ones. We need to find some way to justify the central claims of feminism concerning the nature of justice and oppression, not as subjective truths but as The Virtue of Subjectivity 151 objective ones. The pursuit of objectivity is especially difficult for feminists, however. If there is anything at all that counts as a received view in feminist epistemology, it is the view that all epistemic perspectives are imbued with subjectivity. “God’s eye views from nowhere” find no place within feminism, but the rejection of this kind of so-called objectivity comes at a price. If all perspectives are subjective, a descent into radical relativism emerges as a very real possibility since thoroughgoing perspectivalism undermines the possibility of some shared standard against which we can evaluate competing standpoints. The problems become even worse if we consider this dichotomy from the point of view of epistemic agents. Along with moral agency, one of the last remaining strongholds of the Enlightenment is the idea of epistemic agency. In other words, to be an epistemic agent requires one to be neutral and objective. Insofar as one is biased or one’s knowledge depends on the details of one’s social, cultural, and historical situation, one cannot be a knower. Despite forceful and sustained challenges, this idea of objectivity as neutrality is difficult to dislodge. After all, if we allow ourselves to be biased, we have little hope of obtaining knowledge—or so our intuitions often tell us. And surely our intuitions are not entirely wrong. Some biases are inherently destructive to the acquisition of knowledge. Take the unabashed racist who cannot allow, for example, that the Chinese discovery of gunpowder was anything but a lucky accident.1 The person who refuses to step away from his or her biases is simply not as good a reasoner as someone who is willing to consider other perspectives. Still, the extreme conclusion that all bias must be eliminated tends to exclude women and unprivileged men from epistemic agency since they are associated with body, emotion, particularity, and a thoroughgoing bias. Feminists, then, have yet another tightrope to walk. That women can be epistemic agents is one sort of argument; whether feminist philosophy should embrace relativism is another sort of argument. The heart of the problem lies in how we address the possibility of objectivity given the ubiquity of subjectivity. In the end, how we understand rationality affects how we walk this tightrope, and just as virtue rationality allows for diversity within unity, it also provides a means to frame the division of subjectivity within objectivity.

The debate over objectivity and subjectivity has particular significance for feminist philosophers, who are keen to point out androcentric bias within 152 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality traditional conceptions of objectivity. “Subjectivity” typically refers to having a particular perspective, which may or may not interfere with one having accurate or true claims to knowledge. It stands in opposition to “objectivity,” which typically implies that one transcends particularity and adopts an unfiltered view of how things are independently of any particular perspective. From the modern era until quite recently, philosophers have been unified in their attitude toward these terms: objectivity, good; subjectivity, bad. Because Descartes is the first to establish a conception of objectivity that intends to eliminate all subjectivity—including body, emotion, social context, biological adaptability, and so on—he is often painted the villain by feminists. Some of this blame is surely earned. At the end of the Meditations, Descartes makes a peculiar comment that demonstrates not only his philosophical prejudice against sensation and body but also a distorted view of what it is to be a rational being. He says:

Besides this, I find in myself faculties for certain special modes of thinking, namely imagination and sensory perception. Now I can clearly and distinctly understand myself as a whole without these faculties; but I cannot, conversely, understand these faculties without me, that is, without an intellectual substance to adhere in. This is because there is an intellectual act included in their essential definition; and hence I perceive that the distinction between them and myself corresponds to the distinction between the modes of a thing and the thing itself [italics added]. (Des- cartes 1984, 54)

According to Descartes, while I can conceive of myself without a faculty of perception or imagination, I cannot conceive of sensations without a self. Upon reflection, this is a truly odd, and perhaps incoherent, claim. Descartes argues that he can conceive a world in which he exists without having a faculty of imagination; that is, he counterfactually considers a situation in which he lacks imagination. Yet conceiving of a counterfactual appears to entail some dependence on imagination. Descartes can claim that, logically speaking, conceiving is independent of imagination. However, our actual ability to counterfactually conceive in the absence of an imaginative faculty is open to serious, not metaphysical, doubt. Furthermore, given the way he generates his methodological doubt through both the dream hypothesis and the evil deceiver, the Cartesian discovery of the cogito relies heavily on the imagination. And to complicate matters even further, to claim that we could even envision what cognition could be in the absence of a faculty of The Virtue of Subjectivity 153 sense would appear to violate our post-Kantian “common sense” since it is precisely this faculty which provides the content for cognition. Sensation may not be a sufficient condition for cognition, but it certainly appears to be a necessary one. After all, concepts without percepts are utterly meaningless.2 Descartes’ ordering of the metaphysical dependencies of the cogito and the modes of cognition may meet the strict demands of logic, but my own worries about this follow Berkeley: whether Descartes has this wonderful ability to conceive of the mind without the faculties of imagination and perception, he can best tell; for myself, I have it not. So why the Cartesian divorce of the cogito from sense and imagination? Because these faculties belong to the body and, when not properly managed, are a corrupting influence on cognition and the acquisition of objective knowledge.3 Since knowledge must be of what is absolutely certain, Descartes has backed himself into a corner and cannot allow any subjectivity to fall within the domain of epistemology proper. This strong division between the objective and subjective persists throughout most of the modern philosophy, including Hume, for whom the pervasiveness of subjectivity leads to a serious skepticism concerning reason. Much of the criticism of rationality from a feminist point of view addresses the “assumed objectivity” of this Cartesian way of thinking.4 Genuinely rational cognition must adopt a stance that is not conditioned by the cognizer’s social or historical position, or so the story goes. Such a conception of objectivity is intertwined with other philosophical dichotomies in such a way that the valorized qualities of each dichotomy are defined in terms of one another. For example, what it means to be objective, in the typical historical definition of the term, is to transcend particularity such that one is removed from the constraints and influences of the body and the particular aspects of oneself that make one less than a unified epistemic agent. The polarity between objectivity and subjectivity brings in mind/body, reason/ emotion, and identity/difference since in each of these pairs, the latter term is associated with subjectivity and, hence, with bias and other epistemic impurities. What “objectivity” is intended to signify is a stance in which the mind can connect with the world without the limitations and narrowness inherent in particularity. Objectivity offers a universal perspective on the world and, consequently, a path to Truth. By the end of the modern era, Truth becomes less about reflecting some ontological reality and more about a priori cognitive structures, but in either case, we can say something about necessary features of reality. From the moderns, we inherit an idea of objectivity that Sharyn Clough describes as 154 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

a normative property . . . [that] also describes an epistemic method for detecting such properties. If we are objective, if we stand apart from the filters of all our subjective theories, if we enlist the help of other objective observers similarly placed, then we can open the bridgeway between our sensory receptors and the causal forces of the empirical data. (2003, 31)

In other words, abstracting from all subjectivity and adopting a perspective that permits universal validity is the proper way to acquire knowledge, whether this knowledge be of the world itself or of simply the necessary conditions for representing the world. To reject this sense of objectivity is to commit oneself to an ineliminable bias in our theories and claims to knowledge. Of course, feminists, along with most other philosophers these days, take it that bias is not an inherently bad thing, but to defend arguments that are necessarily imbued with subjectivity is a complicated task. The rejection of Objectivity has created a cottage industry among epistemologists trying to head off both skepticism and relativism in a world of subjectivity. The problem is so pronounced and so widespread that I would place this dichotomy, not the division between mind and body, as the central source of skepticism concerning reason.5 Given the pluralism of the world in which we live, philosophers understand that Objectivity is beyond salvaging, and this appears to relegate the rules or standards of rationality to cultural whims, which in turn leads to much philosophical hand-wringing. That a Cartesian ideal of objectivity is unsustainable has come to be a fairly standard view among all sorts of philosophers, even those who have no intention of abandoning the concept.6 In a book entitled, of all things, Philosophy After Objectivity, Paul Moser concludes that “reasons and explanations are perspectival.” He goes on to say: “The immediate lesson is simple but significant: Do not take epistemologists themselves out of their epistemological and explanatory tales” (Moser 1993, 226–7). Statements such as these are not difficult to find in mainstream philosophical texts of the past few decades. Nonetheless, given the vast philosophical influence of modern ideas, when we hear the term “objectivity” the meanings that most readily comes to mind are largely Cartesian or positivist. That is, we tend to consider objectivity as something that invokes a universal, self-transparent methodology that transcends the subjectivity of the world. One of the strongest feminist critics of such Cartesian transcendence is Bordo, who argues that the distancing of the self from the world is a denial of a separation anxiety in which “the specter of infantile subjectivism is overcome by the possibility of a cool, impersonal, distanced cognitive relation to the The Virtue of Subjectivity 155 world” (Bordo 1987, 99).7 While Bordo may be the most literarily colorful opponent of the Cartesian objectivity, she is by no means the only one. When it comes to later positivist conceptions of objectivity, feminist criticisms are not quite as dramatic in expression, but the objection is much the same, even if the emphasis differs from Cartesian to positivist accounts. While the separation of self and world is similarly part of the positivist program, their empirical focus emphasizes less the internal operations of the mind and more the identification of common features in our experience of the world. The intended result is the same: eliminate all subjectivity. Code describes the positivist view of objectivity thusly: “sensory observation in ideal observation conditions is the privileged source of knowledge, offering the best promise of certainty. Knowers are detached, neutral spectators, and the objects of knowledge are separate from them . . .” (1993, 17). The issue for the positivist is how to approach experience in a way that assures shared sensory observations. The feminist retort is almost singular: no such approach is possible—and to think that one is possible exposes the masculinity of the whole epistemological enterprise. The modern view of objectivity, then, stands in direct contrast to what is undoubtedly a consensus view within feminism: we always stand in relation to the world and to other people in the world. The desire for separateness, distinctness, independence, and transcendence expressed in the concept of objectivity is, as feminists are eager to point out, a masculine ideal. Even worse, however, is the epistemological distortion that makes men subjects of knowledge (because they can achieve objectivity) and women the objects of knowledge (because we are ruled by the subjectivity of the body). Whether or not mainstream philosophers will allow that objectivity is a masculine concept, feminists certainly have a legitimate complaint about the historical meaning of objectivity as value-neutral, detached, and disinterested. A century of criticism from Wittgenstein and Quine to Kuhn and Putnam, from Rorty and Bernstein to Derrida and Foucault has taken a toll on this sharpness of the divide between objectivity and subjectivity. Of course, feminist thinking on this issue does not always parallel nonfeminist concerns, but many times it does. Seemingly no one is willing to endorse Cartesian or positivist ideals of objectivity. The received view—and not just among feminists—is that modern conceptions of objectivity are untenable. Philosophers, across the board, are increasingly comfortable with bias as integral part of our reasoning.8 Yet, as Elisabeth Lloyd argues, feminist epistemologists get a bad rap within the philosophical community at large because we reject Cartesian objectivity. Even though mainstream epistemologists reject standard historical conceptions of objectivity, she argues that 156 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality these male epistemologists still unfairly form a unified front and attack feminist epistemologists for making the same claims against historical objectivity. She could not be more correct. Says Lloyd, feminist empiricists “are caricatured as disregarding . . . [objectivity] in order to further their political agendas” (1995, 375). But she also points out that

This strategy can only work if ‘objectivity’ is transparent, simple, stable, and clear in its meaning. It most certainly is not. In fact, taking ‘objectivity’ as a sort of beautiful primitive, self-evident in its value, and all-powerful in its revelatory power, requires careless philosophy, and the best workers in metaphysics, epistemology, and philosophy of science have made reworked definitions of ‘objectivity’ absolutely central to their own projects. (Lloyd 1995, 375)

The moral? Objectivity is no longer defined by anyone along the lines drawn by modern philosophers, but exactly how it should be defined is, at this point, unclear and contentious. Whatever objectivity is, the consensus among philosophers is that it is not transcendent and universal. The features that actually distinguish feminist from the nonfeminist philosophers when it comes to the rejection of objectivity are the emphasis feminists place on the masculinity of the concept and the willingness of many feminists to embrace subjectivity, even at the expense of objectivity. Beyond the gendered connotations of the concept of objectivity, feminists’ distrust toward it—and their corresponding emphasis on subjectivity—centers on two observations: first, that the ideal of objectivity is anything but objective and, second, that this ideal functions in way that silences women’s voices. The protestation that objectivity is not objective arises out of the belief that all knowledge claims are socially and historically situated. Despite the fact that philosophers have sought to establish a standard for objectivity that transcends social situation and thereby offers us access to unbiased standards of epistemic evaluation, the actuality is that the supposedly transcendent and neutral perspective of Western philosophers is nothing but another socially situated perspective from which to view knowledge claims. While objectivity is neither a stable nor transparent concept, the norms that are most closely associated with it—that of a disengaged and detached rationality, a commitment to abstract principles, and a dismissal of values—are norms that are not universal but that arise out of the biases shared by male philosophers who occupy positions of privilege and power. Such arguments have been made time and time again.9 And these arguments—as well as similar ones made within mainstream The Virtue of Subjectivity 157

philosophy—have been so successful that one would be hard pressed to find philosophers willing to defend a purely Cartesian or positivistic conception of objectivity. That subjectivity is ineliminable and that values permeate all claims to knowledge have become received views. The second objection feminists have is that the concept of objectivity has undermined women’s status as knowers and has thereby silenced them. Even when women have not been explicitly excluded from the realm of epistemic agency, the status of “objective knower” has historically been out of reach for women, at least according to the standards of Cartesian and positivistic models of objectivity. These ideals assume a universal human nature that transcends social situation, historical location, and every other form of particularity. The tale is a familiar one: since women are incapable of this sort of transcendence—being, as we are, supposedly governed by body and emotion rather than mind and reason—androcentric philosophers certainly cannot expect women to function as knowers in the strict sense of the term. In arguing against this view, Code highlights the fact that in a standard S-knows-that-p epistemology only those capable of transcending particularity can be an “S” or, more explicitly, an epistemic agent—and women presumably cannot do this. The same point holds in moral theory: neither Aristotle nor Kant, for example, deny that women are capable of some moral virtue, but both philosophers deny women the status of “fully autonomous moral agent,” primarily because women lack the ability to transcend particularity and to “objectively” use reason to evaluate moral situations. Women simply cannot obtain a satisfactory level of objectivity for epistemic or moral agency, or so say the mighty dead. As a result of these exclusions, many feminists tend to treat objectivity as if it is neither possible nor desirable. Yet most philosophers accept that the division between the objective and the subjective is muddier than it has previously appeared, even for those who defend objectivity. The real challenge comes when we consider the implications of this muddiness. If we eliminate objectivity from the equation, are we truly stuck with only subjectivity? If so, feminism (and epistemology, broadly conceived) has a real problem. Yet more than a few feminists are willing to abandon the concept of objectivity (or the accompanying notion of a metanarrative) given its nefarious history of narrowness and exclusion.10 The chief difficulty with abandoning the concept of objectivity is that “feminist theoretical practice has among its responsibilities that of giving reasons why change is required and of making the demand for change accountable by demonstrating that it conforms to some standard for judging social arrangements” (Barwell 1994, 82). To reject objectivity is to abdicate this responsibility. “Giving 158 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

reasons” means providing justification that places normative demands on belief. If we allow that all justification is necessarily subjective, then our reasons for change may be persuasive (or not) but they cannot be taken as normative.

Regardless of the need we might have for normativity, feminists also want to speak of knowledge gained from the perspective of the oppressed and subjugated, those lacking in power. These are precisely the perspectives that have been dismissed and ignored by those wielding modern ideals of Objectivity. Using the metaphor of vision, Haraway claims that “there is good reason to believe vision is better from below the brilliant space plat- forms of the powerful” (1988, 583). Yet, this claim is not as straightforward as it might appear for it depends as much on location as any other claim. Take a pedestrian example from everyday life: going to the doctor. When I go see my doctor, she is in the position of power, on the “brilliant space platform.” While I may have a better view of my medical condition since I have the experience of living with it, the operative word here is “may.” Like most people, I typically make the effort to see a doctor only when I need access to the medical knowledge which is the basis of her power, and it is her distance from my condition that may make her better able to examine my symptoms with some measure of impartiality, for lack of a better word. In this case, it is not clear that the less powerful perspective is always the “better” one, although medicine will tend to work best when it is a cooperative endeavor, that is, when the viewpoint of both doctor and patient work in concert with each other. Having a less privileged perspective does allow one to see more clearly many of the inherent biases and assumptions of a society, but the view from the margins is not inherently superior. Like most things, it depends on perspective—and the ends being pursued. Of course, philosophers are well aware that the viewpoint of the subjugated cannot be adopted uncritically.11 Haraway admits that “‘subjugated’ standpoints are preferred because they seem to promise more adequate, sustained, objective, transforming accounts of the world” (1988, 584). However, this sort of claim is problematic. As Haraway herself understands, not just any partial perspective will do. For example, in so-called polite society (i.e., a society with power to impose norms on others), we forbid the expression of baldly racist views, but there are places, such as rural parts of the south- ern United States, where it is not all that difficult to find people who hold The Virtue of Subjectivity 159 and express these views somewhat openly. A majority of people who hold these views are undoubtedly subjugated themselves for they are often quite poor and the expression of their point of view is controlled by those in power, often in a way that reinforces the position of the powerful. Poor whites who have to compete with poor blacks for jobs generally fail to recognize how racial discrimination depresses their own wages, although the fact is rarely lost on the part of the employer. Can it be that the subjugated standpoints of the racist are “preferred because they seem to promise more adequate, sustained, objective, transforming accounts of the world” (Haraway 1988, 584)? Unless we are willing to admit the epistemic superiority of all subjugated viewpoints, which no one seems particularly inclined to do, the epistemic paradox is a genuine problem for feminism. Even though Haraway claims that “Feminist objectivity means quite simply situated knowledges,” the definition cannot be this simple (1988, 581). “Objectivity” cannot be adequately defined quite this simply because to do so opens the possibility of a radical relativism, which is inconsistent with the claims of feminism. One may be a feminist and a relativist, but one cannot be a feminist and a radical relativist—at least not without giving up on claims to the reality and injustice of oppression. As Code reminds us, “Feminists know, if they know anything at all, that they have to develop the best possible explanations—the ‘truest’ explanations—of how things are if they are to intervene effectively in social structures and institutions” (1993, 40). Any relativism within feminism must be of the sort that concerns variability within specifiable circumstances. It cannot be absolute since a radical relativity thoroughly undermines any claim to truth. In addition, given feminist suspicions about the ideal of objectivity as transcendent neutrality, the problem of relativism is ever-present for feminists. In order to assert the truth (in whatever form) of their claims, feminists need to fix some standpoints or points of view or perspectives from which these claims can be established. We need some sort of yardstick against which we can evaluate competing claims to truth—and presumably defend those we believe to be “more true.” Yet this yardstick is hard to find. To continue with Haraway’s argument, she notes that feminists have used a lot of “toxic ink and trees” on the topic of objectivity, and in her own spilling of ink, she maintains that “[s]ubjectivity is multidimensional . . . . The knowing self is partial in all its guises, never finished, whole, simply there and original; it is always constructed and stitched together imperfectly . . .” (1988, 586). This emphasis on subjectivity, or on shifting toward thinking of objectivity as partial, appears to naturally lead to relativism; but instead of relativism, Haraway believes we get “partial, locatable, critical knowledges sustaining the 160 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

possibility of webs of connection . . .” (1988, 584). The problem is, however, that saying we get knowledge is one thing; defending that knowledge is another thing entirely. As philosophers have understood for millennia, opening the door to relativism is always something of a slippery slope. Without looking too hard, one can find a great deal of feminist writing that embraces subjectivity while being critical of objectivity. The idea that we should reject the value-neutrality and detachment of historical approaches to objectivity is echoed in Code, who makes similar claims about the inherent subjectivity of epistemology. She argues that

[the] conditions that hold for any knower, regardless of her or his identity, interests, and circumstances (i.e., her or his subjectivity)—could con- ceivably be discovered only for a narrow range of artificially isolated and purified empirical knowledge claims, which might be paradigmatic by fiat but are unlikely to be so ‘in fact.’ (Code 1993, 15)

This is the philosophical way of saying, there ain’t no such thing as an objective knower. Since the entire idea of a “disinterested inquirer is the exception rather than the rule,” says Code, “there are no dislocated truths, and some facts about the locations and interests at the source of the inquiry are always pertinent to questions about freedom and accountability” (1993, 30). Of course, the enthusiastic focus on subjectivity and partiality, which is often presented in ways that seem highly antagonistic to objectivity, is one reason why mainstream epistemologists are suspicious of feminism. For nonfeminists, subjectivity may be inescapable, but it is not necessarily something in which to revel for it threatens a rather serious relativism. Embracing subjectivity may sound like a positive move in the face of exclusion and oppression, but we all understand that rampant subjectivism is an untenable position. Code’s solution is to argue that “the socially located, critically dialogical nature of the reoriented epistemological project preserves a realist orientation, ensuring that it will not slide into subjectivism” (Code 1993, 20). This solution is not quite as simple and clear as it might first appear for it does not specify how this “realist orientation” is to be sustained. Embracing subjectivism is an epistemological quagmire that feminists must successfully navigate. Even though Code goes as far as to ask explicitly whether feminists must “come out” as relativists—and to answer “yes”—her “yes” is not unqualified. In fact, her relativism is anything but unqualified for she writes, “The position I am advocating is one for which knowledge is always relative to . . . specifiable circumstances. Hence it is constrained by a realist, empiricist The Virtue of Subjectivity 161 commitment according to which getting those circumstances right is vital to effective action” (Code 1993, 40). Such a view is prevalent throughout feminist epistemology, largely because feminists generally accept that there is no God’s eye point of view or a so-called view from nowhere in which we can generate unbiased and perspectiveless approaches to gaining knowledge. Every claim to knowledge is inherently situated or biased, and as a result, the threat of relativism naturally follows. The ever shifting sands of radical relativisms will not do. Summarizing the tension, Haraway writes:

Feminists don’t need a doctrine of objectivity that promises transcendence, a story that loses track of its mediations just where someone might be held responsible for something, and unlimited instrumental power. We don’t want a theory of innocent powers to represent the world, where language and bodies both fall into the bliss of organic symbiosis. We also don’t want to theorize the world, much less act within it, in terms of Global Systems, but we do need an earthwide network of connections, including the ability partially to translate knowledges among very different-and power-differentiated—communities. (Haraway 1988, 579–80)

To ask for an “earthwide network of connections” in the absence of Global Systems is to ask a great deal of “objectivity.” In the absence of metanarratives or universal perspectives, how can we possibly hope to find an objective ground for constructing arguments for the moral superiority of feminist views? How can we engage in debates with those who disagree with us if we insist on the prevalence of subjectivity? How do we maintain a “realist orientation?” I suspect that if we thoroughly renounce Global Systems or metanarratives, then we can only “preach to the choir,” so to speak. On the other hand, if we allow for metanarratives, we must demonstrate that they avoid exclusion and oppression. Taking rationality to be a virtue concept does precisely this for it provides a metanarrative of the nontranscendental sort. It depends on the diversity and subjectivity that are always intertwined with it—and this would seem to be what many feminists actually want from a theory of rationality.

III

The rejection of a view from nowhere falls neatly in line with virtue rationality. Standards of rationality are not, on this account, given through transcendent and transparent methodologies but through what the rational 162 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality person—or, more accurately, through what the reasonable person—believes and does. Code’s argument that knowledge is relative to specifiable circumstances mirrors the notion that beliefs are rational and reasonable relative to specifiable circumstances. What it is rational for me to believe will depend on stable features of my environment, including my social environment. Thus, we cannot say in advance what one should believe or do because the circumstances are always open-ended. Rationality requires certain conceptual capacities, but what these capacities are and how they ought to function cannot be determined transcendently. Sometimes one might be required to simplify problems and act only when one has sufficiently ana- lyzed all the constitutive elements, but other times such precision can be downright idiotic. Rationality lacks a necessary and sufficient set of conceptual capacities that can define it because it can only be understood within social and material contexts, not outside of them. Nonetheless, there are shared capacities and certain family resemblances among rational persons such that we can translate knowledge across communities. This admittedly general appeal to the universal and the particular, to the objective and subjective, is a delicate balancing act. The gap between objective conditions of truth (whatever that is) and the subjectivities of experience and cognitive dispositions, however, must be bridged if we are to retain the epistemic and moral foundations of feminism. Reason’s role in bridging this gap is, however, another matter entirely. The greatest strength of a virtue account is that instead of glorifying the transcendent, it reinvests the concept of reason with the meaning it has in everyday life, thereby recover- ing its speculative vigor and tolerance. The idea of bringing the concept of reason back to its ordinary use, thereby rescuing it from philosophical abuse, reverberates with Wittgensteinian overtones. Wittgenstein understands that rationality must provide a yardstick for judging language-games or practices, but he is as critical as any feminist of the philosophical tendency to focus on the yardstick only.12 Given the narrowness of past philosophical accounts of rationality, his concern that the phenomena or patterns evident in language-games get dismissed as “irrational” is well-founded. Reconceiving rationality as a virtue concept does bring our attention back to the particular details of life. Since the rational belief and the rational action can only be determined contextually, we must take some of our attention off the transcendental yardstick of reason and put it on the subjective aspects of experience. The true advantage of taking rationality to be a virtue is that it retains the yardstick. Nonetheless, a purely Wittgensteinian approach will not do for it lacks a sufficiently unifying ground for objectivity. Wittgenstein is no skeptic, but The Virtue of Subjectivity 163 when it comes to interpreting rules, he can allow us only the practices in which those rules are immersed so that when I exhaust justifications and my spade is turned, I can only say: “This is simply what I do” (Wittgenstein 1956, §217). In other words, what is given are the “forms of life” which entail ways of grasping rules that are not themselves interpretations; however, complex social structures are themselves unjustified and unjustifiable.13 In contrast, a teleologically governed account of practices, which involves the achievement of goods, can retain a certain objective element in the evaluation of rules. As MacIntyre explains, “[in] the realm of practices the authority of both goods and standards operates in such a way as to rule out all subjectivist and emotivist analysis of judgment,” although we need not follow MacIntyre in eliminating all subjectivist or emotivist elements within judgment (1984, 190). Because virtue rationality exists always in situ, because we humans are material and social creatures, and because practices are historically situated, rationality will necessarily involve a certain amount of subjectivity and emotion. In particular, a person who lacks emotional expression or the ability to engage with others’ emotions will not be considered rational. Of course, MacIntyre does not want to rule out subjectivity entirely for he understands rationality to be situated within social relationships that can vary over time and from person to person. But insofar as he does want to rule out subjectivity within judgment, he does so in order to cut off the possibility of relativism. This is again that same tightrope between objectivism and subjectivism, and what we need from our conception of rationality is a ground for the subjectivity of practices and traditions. The fact that virtue rationality has a telos broadly conceived as human flourishing provides this ground in a way that brings together the transcendental and the empirical. Faint reflections of Kant should be evident in any attempt to maneuver between the transcendental and empirical. This may set off alarm bells for some, but, on this issue at least, Kant is really not as much an enemy as he is a product of the philosophical presuppositions of his time. In broad measure, Kant, too, is concerned with bringing together the subjective and objective, and his approach is one that is appropriate to updated conceptions of rationality. Put in its simplest form, the argument of the firstCritique is this: I know stuff about the world; what is necessary to explain this ability that I have? This same transcendental approach is later adopted by Wittgenstein, who couches the discussion in terms of language instead of cognition. It is an approach that works well as a way to understand reason, not as a technical philosophical concept but as a faculty that helps us navigate the world. 164 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

We humans are fairly good at recognizing other rational beings when we encounter them. Regardless of the particularities of one’s culture or its practices, the appropriately attentive person can travel the world and recognize similar behaviors in others. In fact, television gives us access to more parts of the world than any humans have previously had. I can watch a number of programs in which people travel to different places and experience different cultures. The practices I encounter when I watch these types of shows may be benign, or they may strike me as completely gross, even morally repulsive. Whatever my reaction, the practices invariably suggest abstract thinking, planning depth, symbolic behavior, or innovativeness. These are all signs of rationality.14 Underlying television programs that include con- frontations with different cultures is the premise that, whatever our differences, we can recognize others’ behavior as rational, even if it strikes us as strange and unusual. We may be amazed or repulsed or confused, but we do not typically question the rationality of those in other cultures—the unfortunately necessary word here is “typically.” Not everyone is willing to allow a prima facie presumption of rationality of people in other cultures. An advantage of the virtue approach to rationality is that it offers a principled means from which to evaluate claims of diminished rationality in others. Take, for example, colonial attitudes toward Native Americans. In discussing Enrique Dussel’s work, Lynda Lange writes:

Dussel argues that Europeans saw non-Europeans exclusively in terms of their own categories of thought, especially in the early stages of contact in the sixteenth century. The Spanish perception of the indigenous peoples of the Americas was entirely self-referential: they literally did not perceive the ‘other’ as ‘other,’ but rather as deficient examples of ‘the same. . . . Spanish selfreferentiality [sic] was so strong that even the dazzling evidence of urban development among the Aztecs and Incans that was superior to what the Spanish would have known in Europe failed to suggest to them that these peoples might be best thought of as simply different from them, rather than inferior to them.’ (Lange 1988, 135)

What this case illustrates is that the Spanish were not being reasonable in their assessment of the native peoples of America. Taking into account the evidence in an unbiased manner (albeit within the context of some practice), demands recognition of the Aztec, Incan, and other cultures’ mastery at dealing with stable facts about the world. These cultures were sophisticated and developed, and those who failed to see this were neither believing nor The Virtue of Subjectivity 165 acting reasonably. After all, people lacking in rationality do not engage in building projects of the scale evident in Native American societies. Whatever the Spanish wanted to believe, the evidence before them was of great civiliza- tions that demonstrated intricate planning and technological development. Simply because the Native Americans failed to share European practices was insufficient justification for denying their equal rationality—which, conve- niently enough, undergird Spanish justifications of gross mistreatment of native populations. Those who were willing to step back from their own beliefs and examine the evidence in a more impartial (or less biased) manner would have no trouble recognizing these native peoples as equal in cognitive power and moral status, despite the differences in practices. What allows us to recognize rationality in others is also what may allow us to discover a transcendental ground of reason within diversity. MacIntyre explains that

once the diversity of traditions has been properly characterized, a better explanation of the diversity of standpoints is available than either the Enlightenment or its heirs can provide; and . . . the diversity of traditions of enquiry, each with its own specific mode of rational justification, does not entail that the differences between rival and incompatible traditions cannot be rationally resolved. (MacIntyre 1988, 9–10)

In other words, the fact that traditions differ does not entail incommensurability. If we were to adopt the view that there are entirely incompatible traditions—if we are so bound by our own practices that we cannot step outside of them and attempt to see the world from other points of view—we would probably also need to admit a certain incommensurability in different forms of rationality. This would amount to having entirely different forms of life that could not translate across traditions and thus we would be unable to recognize the cognition in others and would be incapable of com- municating with them. However, this is not our experience. If we are open to others and willing to learn, I know of no culture, past or present, that is incommensurable with our own, even if something is always lost in translation.15 At least a partial communication and understanding always appears possible as long as we remain willing to address and bridge the differences. To make this possible, some underlying structural nature of rationality must be shared across traditions. That is, we need a transcendental ground to explain our experience. While virtue rationality must be responsive to experience, this concept is no less structural than any other notion of rationality, and, thus, it both 166 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality explains how the relativity of experience alters the reasonability of actions and provides guidance for how, based on our experiences, we should orga- nize beliefs and desires into an integrated whole. An account of the structural elements of virtue rationality can be found in Audi (2001). Among the features of rationality he identifies are: (1) a foundational structure, (2) fallibility or defeasibility, and (3) both conscious and unconscious transmission of rationality across beliefs.16 These aspects of rationality, as well as their relation to experience, can be better explained through a short example. I see something move in my backyard, and I look out to see what it is. On first glance, it appears to be a dog. However, I notice that it does not look like a regular sort of dog. It is sleek and compact. At this point I realize that the animal is not a dog but a coyote. Although I am inside my study, the coyote seems to stop and look back at me before continuing on through the yard. Knowing that my cats are probably outside, I run out to check on them. At this point, I see one of my cats sitting on the deck just under the window of my study. I wonder if the coyote was looking at me or at my cat. Now, what cognitively occurs in this scene is slightly different than how I have expressed it here because to tell the story I have to put it in a propositional form that it did not have when I experienced it. I glance out the window and see something that looks like a dog, but, without consciously thinking about it, I eliminate that possibility and quickly judge the animal to be a coyote. Having a coyote in the backyard may not be an everyday occurrence, but it is not all that unusual in my neighborhood. I have on previous occasions seen a coyote in my yard—and I do know the difference between a dog and coyote, even if I cannot fully justify my belief that I know the difference (which I actually cannot). I subconsciously take in the experiential information, which is defeasible upon further reflection.17 On the basis of this experiential information, I implicitly judge the presence of a coyote and make my decision to check on the cats. The same sort of thing happens, although much less subconsciously, when I see my cat on the deck and realize that my empirically justified belief that the coyote was looking at me may well be wrong. I could rationally continue to believe that I was the object of the coyote’s attention, but under the circumstances that belief could not be justified. It is much more reasonable for me to believe that my cat was the subject of the attention. What is significant here is that the reasonableness of my belief is in no way independent of the subjective elements of the experience. We can state what must structurally occur within rational cognition—the grounding in defeasible experience and the transmission of justification across both conscious and unconscious beliefs—but this means nothing in the absence The Virtue of Subjectivity 167 of content. The structural elements of rationality, while essential, cannot operate in the absence of the subjectively, and socially, experienced content. Yet the structural element is there, and it allows us to meaningfully discuss and argue “truth.” Closely tied to the quest for objectivity is the search for truth. Contemporary philosophers who want objectivity seek it not for its own sake but because they believe it is conducive to formulating and maintaining true beliefs, and having true beliefs is a necessary condition for knowledge—at least under most definitions of knowledge. Even so, feminists are often skeptical of the search for truth because many believe it is not the only goal, or even a desirable goal, of theorizing.18 Feminists, after all, tend to be empirically minded philosophers who seek to understand women’s experience, which has been thoroughly ignored or dismissed in our philosophical traditions. Part of the problem in theorizing about women’s experience is that there is no clear or homogenous category of “women’s experience,” and, hence, no truth about it. Similarly, one of the supposed problems with objectivity is that it is not representative of a human experience, reflecting as it does the experience of a small group of privileged men. It overlooks difference, which means that if we want “the truth” we find a seriously misrepresentative notion of truth, if there is any truth at all to be had. Yet whatever objectivity is to be had in rationality is probably more strongly tied to its everyday functioning in the world than in some philosophical conception of truth. After all, one reason we tend to value truth is that we see it as something helpful for guiding us through the world, but if we have merely our ways of actually going about our affairs in the world, this contingency would seem to threaten any claims concerning the so-called truth of feminism. Feminists do need a middle ground.

The issues and difficulties that arise in the quest to secure objectivity give rise to a deeper epistemological worry, namely, whether we must accept some version of skepticism or relativism in epistemology. Grosz argues that widespread doubts about so-called objectivist inquiry, even among its proponents, stem from an account of reason that is unable to articulate its basis in masculinity and power relations. In summarizing these doubts, she writes:

If objectivity means unprejudiced, observer-independent knowledge, some physicists and epistemologists challenge the belief that observers 168 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

face ‘facts’ directly, in a manner unmediated by theories, presumptions, and values. They deny the prevailing belief in facts, ‘raw data,’ and information as being somewhat independent of, and unaffected by, the presence of the observer. Objectivity implies a single monolithic world, which is posited as external to and autonomous from subjects. (Grosz 1993, 192)

The implied conclusion is that since we cannot have access to so-called raw data perhaps there is no external, autonomous, single world—but if there is no single world, it seems there can be no check on our representations, and anything (and perhaps everything) becomes epistemically possible. We thereby lose our “realist orientation” because standard objectivist inquiries cannot inquire into their own histories or acknowledge their own perspectival and partial access to the world. They are threatened by the increasing evidence, particularly in physics and cognitive science, that there is no unmediated access to the world. Here is where some feminists, Grosz included, argue that taking bodies seriously as sources of knowledge opens up new possibilities for epistemology and for overcoming the crisis of reason. Harding and Longino also attempt to forge a middle ground between objectivism and relativism. One of the most central tenets of Harding’s standpoint epistemology is that “knowledge claims are always socially situated” (1993, 54). As a result, there is no transcendent standard that will allow us to evaluate the merits of competing epistemic claims. Harding, of course, recognizes the resulting relativistic threat, but she argues that standpoint epistemology is not committed to the view that all competing knowledge claims are equally good. Quite the contrary, she maintains that the view from the margins is much less distorting than the view from within established power structures. In a similar manner, Longino argues that power relations do impact our claims to knowledge, but unlike Harding’s standpoint epistemology, Longino’s transformative criticism maintains that “[no] segment of the community, whether powerful or powerless, can claim epistemic privilege” (1993, 118). What her view, then, leaves us with is a pluralism in which there are a variety of different ends of inquiry and varying theories that are governed by local, communally agreed upon standards. As Clough says:

While each [Harding and Longino] has taken great care to distance her work from relativism, as well as from objectivism, each is left with a watered-down prescription for feminist scientific method that is restricted to detecting how the filter of culture intervenes between the world and The Virtue of Subjectivity 169

scientific knowledge. All our knowledge becomes relativized toour conceptual filters. Once our new maximally objective method has helped us identify the values, culture, and politics that comprise the conceptual scheme guiding our theories, the best we can do is pick the theory screened through the most appealing (to feminists) and/or least partial conceptual scheme. (2003, 92)

Clough’s solution is to abandon representationalism, which she believes is the source of the entire objectivism/relativism debate. When beliefs are conceived as representations of objects, there is an epistemological gap between the way we take the world to be and the way it actually is. The question, however, is whether our representations accurately reflect this reality. As feminists reject transcendent objectivity or objectivist points of view, we can no longer be sure we are getting this representation right since there is no independent measure to evaluate the quality of the representation. This is a serious problem. While Clough uses Davidson’s theory of radical interpretation to bypass the threat of skepticism, I am not so sure that this is the way feminists should go primarily because the theory of rationality that comes out of Davidson’s work strongly links rationality to language use.19 That rationality and language are strongly connected is a commonplace view, but rationality appears to go beyond language. The case of second nature is, for instance, one in which our rational abilities often outstrip our ability to articulate what we are responding to in the world and how we are responding to it. That is, we can be rational in ways that surpass our linguistic capabilities or, better, our capacity to put our knowledge into propositional form. I have known several excellent cooks in my life, and one thing I learned from them is that while they clearly know how to cook quite well, they often cannot tell you what makes them especially good cooks. When I asked one of these cooks for her chocolate chip cookie recipe, she told me that she just uses the recipe on the back of the package of chocolate chips. I believe she was telling me what she believed to be the truth: she just did what the package said, and voilà, chocolate chip cookies. But everyone who ate her cookies knew they were eating something that you did not get merely by following the standard recipe. She demonstrated an ability that she could not articulate when asked. Many abilities are like this. The idea of transcending language is something that greatly interested Wittgenstein. In a rare discussion of ethics, he speaks of what he calls a run- ning up against the limits of language. All of ethics and religion, for him, engages in a misuse of language. He says that the person who discusses ethics or religion, and who consequently engages a tendency to test the 170 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

boundaries of language, also engages in a task that is “perfectly, absolutely hopeless” (Wittgenstein 1993, 44). For Wittgenstein, ethical thinking cannot lead to knowledge, strictly speaking, because it concerns absolute values which transcend our linguistic ability to capture them. But, he does not thereby dismiss ethics. Instead, he concludes that ethics is something ultimately valuable: “it is a document of a tendency in the human mind which I personally cannot help respecting deeply and I would not for my life ridi- cule it” (Wittgenstein 1993, 44). While I expect many feminists will readily dismiss Wittgenstein’s approach to ethics, the underlying point is not antithetical to all forms of feminism. In “A Lecture on Ethics,” Wittgenstein implicitly rejects naturalism. 20 That is, the world is not everything that is the case. If it were, why respect an activity that attempts to transcend the limits of language and, hence, the limits of the world? What the tendency toward ethics and religion demonstrates is that not everything that may matter to our lives may be reduced to propositional form, not everything to which we respond in the world must be rule-governed. Virtue rationality, too, allows that there are aspects of rational thought that are not rule-governed and that may implicitly, non-self-consciously guide us in the world, but a lack of straightforwardly articulated methodology does not undermine the rationality of such beliefs if they are properly grounded in experience and social practice. The normativity offered within virtue accounts of rationality, then, is not the modern, methodological sort. Rather, the emphasis is on activities and how well those activities guide us in a world that is partly of our own making. Rationality does require us to be responsive to reasons, but there are a variety of sources for these reasons: experience, emotion, memory, and other justified beliefs, to name a few. As Audi tells us, however, the “proper weighing of conflicting sources of rationality cannot always be formulated in precise principles” (2001, 185). In addition, what it is rational to believe or do will always depend on the practices that surround the belief and action, but it will also depend on stable and shared features of our environment that are not thoroughly culturally determined. This balancing act is not all that different from the one performed by feminists. Many feminists reject the idea of knowledge as merely a search for truth and instead favor a view that treats knowledge as an activity that functions for particular purposes. These purposes are, in turn, dependent upon the politics of the society in which they function. What the feminist story often lacks, that accounts of rationality as a virtue do not, is sufficient attention to normative grounds. The Virtue of Subjectivity 171

Ultimately, feminists need normativity, regardless of how conflicted some may be about it. There is no way to be a feminist and to reject the normative. The erstwhile connection between normative concepts and objectivism is what has often tempted feminists to attack such concepts and to leave them for dead. Many philosophers, although by no means all, have offered up reason and everything that goes with it as a reflection of a universal and transcendent reflection of Reality. But it is a Reality that offers little place for women. The problem, then, is how to reject objectivism without thereby committing oneself to a relativism that undermines normativity. Someone like Grosz, who wants to undermine pretensions to objectivism within epistemology, still says:

Nor am I here affirming a relativism that asserts the equal value of all theories and all positions or perspectives. Relativism amounts to an abdi- cation of the right to judge or criticize a position—any position—and a disavowal of any politics insofar as all positions are rendered equivalent. (1993, 194)

This, however, also requires an acceptance of rationality in some form. Lovibond offers a strong argument for the incoherence of so-called radical feminist views which advance “absolutist” critiques of rationality. As Lovibond replies: “an abstract, totalizing rejection of the rationalist desire for self-legitimation will no longer be possible, for no one who is party to the attempt to think only what can withstand critical scrutiny can disown this desire” (1994, 84). She goes on to add that the “desire for legitimacy is not inherently ‘paranoid’ . . . . What it does express is an investment in the good opinion of one or another sub-set of one’s fellow (cognitive) subjects” (1994, 84–5). What we want as thinkers—and as feminists—is to formulate and maintain beliefs and actions that are accepted by other cognitive agents. If we reject the possibility of passing judgment on whether a belief or action is rational, we also undermine our ability to pass judgment on power relations and exclusionary practices. And if we do this, we cannot expect others to listen to us. In almost every area of our lives, whether it be auto repair, fixing a leaky faucet, offering a movie review, or advocating a political position, we expect people to give good reasons for their views and their actions. To be taken seriously by others, feminists must be capable of not only articu- lating reasons but also defending these reasons in the face of disagreement and criticism. At heart, all feminists do think their views better reflect some state of affairs than the views that they criticize. 172 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality

Because the dichotomy between objectivity and subjectivity is tied into several further polarities and because it is central to feminists’ epistemological concerns and the grounds feminists offer for feminism itself, this dichotomy may perhaps be the most foundational of all. Haraway talks of the greased pole which is the dichotomy of objectivity/subjectivity, but the dichotomy is much more a greased pig, almost impossible to capture. What feminists appear most commonly to want is a way to introduce issues of subjectivity without entirely abandoning claims to objectivity. The truth of feminism needs a metanarrative to ground it, but most feminists do not want this metanarrative to in any way function transcendently. In other words, the metanarrative must be grounded in the particularities of the world in which we live. Virtue rationality can do this. Just as importantly, however, it also provides a framework in which to think about alternative conceptions of knowledge. If men have truly been able to maintain the illusion of evacuating “their own specific forms of corporeality and repressed all traces of their sexual specificity from the knowledges they produce” (Grosz 1993, 204) because we have no alternative knowledges, then a key task of feminism is to develop alternative knowledges that are sexually different from male ways of knowing. Virtue rationality, which has not been theoretically developed in ways that are sensitive to gender issues, can be adapted as an alternative, nonmodern account of rationality that, in turn, grounds a nonsexual specific epistemology. The work still needs to be done, but it can be done. 8Chapter 8Chapter The Future of Reason

Rationality is not masculine or feminine: it is human. Because this claim appears to harken back to old conceptions of so-called universality which served to exclude everyone except a privileged few, many may find it overly conservative and hopelessly naïve. I beg to differ. In fact, I believe it far less conservative to insist on women’s proper place within the domain of reason than it is to abandon rationality to men. Nussbaum argues, and I think correctly, that “[it] is always radical to make the demand to see and to be seen as human rather than as someone’s lord or someone’s subject. I believe it is best for women to embrace this vision and make this demand” (1999, 80). Any feminist who settles for less is selling women short. Of course, platitudes are not arguments. Saying that rationality is human does not make it so. For many feminists, “implicitly or explicitly, rationality is an attribute of masculinity” (Code 1991, 177). For others, “it is not simply a question of whether reason is good or bad, for, given its history, we hardly know what reason is” (Rooney 1991, 96). I accept and have argued that historically both of these claims are to a great extent true, but I have also argued that this does not entail the further claims that reason is inherently masculine or that we cannot come to know what reason is. Given feminists’ general suspicions concerning talk of essences, I find it surprising that some feminists speak as if reason does have an essence, a masculine one. It is as if, on this one point, the mighty dead are right: there is no room within the space of reason for women to occupy. Admittedly, reason’s past is heavily gendered. Feminists’ arguments on this point are well-established and well-worn, so much so that Alcoff is com- pelled to argue that “the feminist critique of reason is not obsessing over an outdated conception of reason” [italics added] (1995, 6). While I am not sure I would go so far as to say that feminists are obsessing over an outdated conception of reason, rationality is surely no longer defined along the modernist lines that are the main subject of feminist attacks. I suggest that the far more significant issue at this point is what feminists do with the concept of rationality going forward. If we adopt Wittgenstein’s dictum that philosophy 174 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality should leave everything as it is, then it may seem that we have little choice but to abandon rationality. On the other hand, if we take the criticisms of Enlightenment accounts as a starting point for further reflection, we find that rationality is not defined once and for all by the moderns. The shadow of the Enlightenment is not nearly as long as it once was, and when it comes to how philosophers conceptualize our faculty of reason, few modern assumptions remain. As a result, we are only now beginning to become aware of what reason is outside of philosophy’s androcentric practices. The hard-minded philosophical reason to which feminists object so strongly is one aspect of this faculty, but it is far from the whole story—and the rest of the story is just now starting to be told. Whether the impetus for change be the failures of the Enlightenment or whether it be scientific discoveries concerning the significance of body and emotion for rational cognition, rationality is now understood to be related to the material and social world. It is understood to be shaped by the practices surrounding it. Change the practices, and you change the gender connotations related to the concept.

Much work remains to be done, but the heart of my argument is that philo sophers have come to embrace more embodied, emotive, diverse, and subjective accounts of rationality. Virtue rationality, in particular, is built on the idea that our faculty of reason is part of the world. It responds to that world in ways that are more or less suited to achieving the goods internal to our practices. The choice of goods and practices is largely up to us, but not entirely. At the most general level, there are stable facts about humans and the world in which we live that limit how we define the goods of practices, although in our everyday lives we engage in practices and define goods that are communal, open-ended, and variable. While each of us ultimately remains responsible for how we choose to act within socially determined practices, such practices are partly constitutive of rational selfhood. Because there is a shared world and a shared cognitive structure that underlies any rational encounter with the world, regardless of the social structures imposed, we can find common ground to recognize rationality in those whose practices differ from our own. These are the central features of the account of rationality that I have sought to establish as one worthy of feminist consideration. Along the way, I have also argued that this conception can avoid the various and sundry philosophical landmines created by polarizing thinking. The Future of Reason 175

How successful this argument is will depend in large measure on whether one believes rationality can be disentangled from masculinity. Part of the problem with establishing a supposedly feminist theory of rationality is that when it comes to the topic of reason, feminists most readily adopt a critical stance. As a result, figuring out what feminists think rationality ought to be is not as easy as figuring out what many think it ought not to be. Yet, if we work backward from the criticisms that feminists have launched against the dichotomies with which reason has been associated, we find themes that appear with some consistency, albeit not universally.1 Some feminists take the view expressed by Code, who says:

Feminists cannot simply claim a place for women within the androcentric domains of Reason and rationality except by affirming women’s right to inclusion within a masculine conception of Reason. Resistance against such a project is of a piece with feminist resistance to the exclusionary, immobilizing structures of dichotomous thinking. . . . [T]here is no place on the terrain of Reason to which women can claim rightful occupancy. (1991, 119)

Put simply: however it is we understand reason, the concept is always, always, always masculine. If we take into account the history of reason within philo sophy, there is clearly much evidence that speaks to the truth of this claim. However, that it has been so in the past is no guarantee that it is necessarily masculine, especially if we follow feminist philosophers in rejecting the transcendence of reason. If our understanding of reason is largely immanent and dependent upon the traditions within which it is defined, then to argue for the necessary masculinity of the concept is to argue that our traditions and practices are necessarily masculine. And if that is true, what is the point of feminism at all? If we surrender the concept and admit, as Code does, that “Women who seek inclusion will at best achieve the status of aliens, immigrants, whose presence is tolerated not on their own terms, but on the natives’ terms,” then we accept a certain a priori essentialism concerning rationality that leaves women in a highly undesirable position (1991, 120). Without a claim to rationality, we indeed become exiles from the realm of argumentative persuasion, exiles whose moral and political arguments will only be accepted if the natives so desire and not on the basis of the arguments themselves. Whatever reason has been, it should not continue valorizing the masculine. Alessandra Tanesini, who argues that feminists can use language to 176 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality subvert the masculine associations of key philosophical terms, has, I believe, the right approach. In the case of reason, she argues:

the Cartesian concept of Reason embodies judgements about how one ought to think. Because of this, it functions as a premise for practical inferences about how to do something — namely, thinking. The adoption of this concept is justified on the basis of its leading to results that are good from a cognitive point of view, and on the basis of its prescribing ways of thinking in which everybody can think. To claim that this concept is gendered is to hold that we ought to change at least some uses of the concept. . . . In other words, there are reasons for claiming that the community is wrong about the meaning of the term in question and for suggesting ways in which the term ought to be used. (Tanesini 1994, 209–10)

The conclusion here is that content should be viewed in terms of its infer- ential-justificatory role and that meaning claims should be considered pro- posals for emending practices. That is, the way in which we should understand “reason” is based on what produces good cognitive results (whatever these are), but if we find that our community’s account of rationality is exclusionary or fails to lead to good results, then we have grounds for redefining the concept. For Tanesini, there are two advantages to adopting this view. First, meanings are taken to be flexible, and, as a result, they can be altered. Even if a term has an oppressive history, there is no necessity to its continuing to be oppressive. Second, the content of normative concepts and judgments is given by the role they play in a larger framework of justifications and practical inferences. Assuming that the term “reason” can be successfully co- opted, the question is what meaning it should take on. In what ways can reason be reformed from its androcentric past and reformulated as a genuinely human faculty? The first step in answering this question is to consider what many feminists seem to want from rationality. Almost universally, feminists share a concern that reason not be defined dichotomously. That is, whatever rationality is, it must concern itself with or allow for bodies, emotions, diversity, and subjectivity—and it must subvert the gender associations that accompany these concepts. Of course, philosophers across the board are increasingly uncomfortable with defining reason dichotomously, so the general opposition to polarizing thinking is not especially out of step with philosophical trends. On more specific issues, especially relating to the role gender plays in dichotomous thinking, feminists speak in a multitude of different voices, The Future of Reason 177 although some common themes are reiterated within the literature: reason should not be defined methodologically or according to some determinate set of rules; reason and rational agents cannot be understood in isolation from the historical, cultural, social, and material circumstances that surround them (i.e., rationality is always relational); reason must be understood as necessarily partial and incomplete; reason must have standards that are diverse and variable. Rationality, if it is anything at all, is flexible and is engaged in every aspect of our lives, not just our deductive and scientific endeavors. For those of us who wish to salvage rationality from the big, bad boogie- man of masculinity, the details are all open to debate. However, the crux of the issue is ultimately rationality’s normativity. After all, “One person’s rationality . . . is another’s tyranny” (Longino 2005, 81). The tyranny of Cartesian Reason and the philosophical exclusion of women that it permitted have led to the widespread agreement among feminists that reason is not isolated from body, from social and historical location, or from power relations. If we can bring these concerns back into the picture, presumably we can still hope that women will find a philosophical home. Yet the fact that women have suffered second-class citizenship in the philosophical world does not mean we can abdicate our responsibility to justify our claims or to defend why we really do think feminist perspectives are stronger or better than some other perspectives. Rationality may inherently produce tyranny, but not all tyrannies are equally bad. Presumably, we think feminist ones tend to be less tyrannical than sexist or racist ones. The question is how we are to make these evaluations. Without a working concept of rationality, normativity will escape feminism. Broadly speaking, the problem with philosophy and philosophical concepts that reflect masculine attitudes—that is, the reason they are tyrannical—is that they are less truthful and more distorting than expanded and inclusive ways of thinking. These distortions lead to the exclusion of alternative and entirely justifiable points of view. So, for example, a Quinean naturalized epistemology (or, similarly, a standpoint epistemology) has the potential to be a liberating epistemology because it is capable of including points of view beyond that of the Western male philosopher. Now, to read Quine himself, one would not get the impression that he has anything to offer feminists. His work is narrowly focused on traditional issues in epistemology and metaphysics, and it draws heavily on positivism. Furthermore, concepts within ethical, value, or gender theory simply cannot be found in Quine. However, what feminist proponents of a naturalized epistemology identify within this approach is a means to conceptualize experience beyond 178 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality its past limitations. If we consider two belief systems, both of which must be evaluated with respect to their internal coherence and their ability to account for experience, one belief system might account only for the experiences of privileged men while the other system may include an explanation of the experiences of nonprivileged men and of women. Assuming these two epistemological systems are roughly equal in their internal coherence, which system is epistemologically superior according to the naturalized epistemologist? Presumably the one that does a better job of including a broader range of experiences. Or, to take the slightly different case of standpoint epistemology, which of these contrasting standpoints is the “better” one? The view from the margins, of course. The reason is that those holding the dominant or powerful view are blind to their own biases in a way that those on the margins are not. This tale is, admittedly, overly simplistic, but this is the sort of thing that feminists attempt to do. We want to say why it is better, or more truthful, or less distorting to have an epistemology that recognizes there is more than one way to go about formulating knowledge claims. Feminism is, like any other branch of philosophy, normative. In the absence of a groundwork against which to judge the merits of competing knowledge claims, feminists can say “this is what we believe,” but when pressed for arguments that can withstand critical scrutiny, we can offer little more than, “well, our practices support this belief.” Yet this is an insufficient response. The normativity offered by the concept of rationality, and the narrower concept of reasonableness which has been lurking in the background, provide the ground necessary for feminist arguments. The key is simply to demonstrate how the various practices constitutive of reason and reasonableness work better and achieve the right sorts of goods when they are not entangled with sexism and androcentrism. Now, all sorts of problems arise here, not the least of which is the idea of their being “the right sort of goods.” Unfortunately (or seemingly unfortunately), this is not a problem that can be resolved here since arguments concerning goods must take place on a case-by-case basis. Beyond quite general sorts of aims, one cannot say in advance what sorts of goods are the right ones—but this is precisely the way many feminists think rationality should operate since culture is supposed to make a difference to standards of rationality. The case-by-case analysis of goods is specifically the type of political discussion at which feminists actually excel. Take, for example, the practice of motherhood. Early in feminism, motherhood got a bit of a bad rap. Women had so long been defined only in terms of being mothers, the reaction against motherhood was necessary in order to allow women opportunities The Future of Reason 179 to pursue lives beyond the home. Yet, the fact remains, that many women freely, autonomously, willingly choose to be mothers, and some still would very much like to be stay-at-home moms.2 Should we say that women should not have this goal? Should we say that while some women think they autonomously choose this goal that they are really the product of social forces over which they have no control? Are those of us who choose not to be mothers somehow more authentic in our choices if we resist these social pressures? The list of questions one can ask about motherhood is seemingly endless. Discussions such as these fill in the content of a virtue rationality by examining the practices that are constitutive of it—in fact, they are necessary for a fuller understanding of rationality since the practices and goods involved are partly constitutive of rationality. However, the feminist political evaluation of practices can itself be tyrannical if we are not careful. I have heard feminists argue against motherhood in rooms full of women, many of whom appear quite approving of the unstated cries of “down with motherhood” or “mothers are unnecessary.” These arguments always strike me as some weird reversal of domination: don’t listen to those bad men who want to control your life; listen to those of us who will liberate you—even if you don’t want to be liberated. No one, of course, couches the argument in these terms, but I often wonder how a group of people who wish to assert their right of self-determination can be so sure that being a mother is so socially infected with oppression that no one would or should willingly choose it. Even if the whole social practice of mothering needs to be undone, which I personally doubt, the concept of self-determination, if it is to mean anything, must involve letting people make their own choices, even if other people think those choices are not all that good. Of course, self- determination also implies responsibility for one’s actions, especially when they turn out poorly. You pays your money, you takes your chances. But what does this sort of example have to do with rationality or reasonableness? I ask the question: is it rational to want to be a mother? Similarly, is it reasonable to want not to be a mother? The answers to these questions depend, and they depend not simply on the choices that we make but on the social practices that constrain our choices. In most cases, it is rational not to want a child, even if one lives in a society that defines women solely in terms of motherhood. There can be reasons, and even good reasons, to resist having children. The society in which I live may value mothers far more highly than other women, but I could have other goals in life that I am willing to pursue at the cost of social value. In an analogous case, I made this type of choice when I decided to become a philosopher. I could have easily been a chemistry major, which would have come with greater job 180 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality options, a better salary, and even far more respect within the academic world.3 Is it unreasonable to want to do philosophy in a world that no longer seems to value it? In some cases the desire to be a mother (or a philosopher) will seem unreasonable, especially if there is a great deal of social benefit to gain by having children. In our current western liberal societies, women suffer no seriously ill effects by not having children, but this is not true in every society. Furthermore, there are goods to be achieved by having children, but in many societies, there are also goods to be had by not having children. The rationality or reasonableness of someone’s behavior cannot be resolved independently of knowing the circumstances. This contextualism is both the strength and weakness of virtue accounts. It is a strength because it allows for immanence to be taken quite seriously within rationality; it is a weakness because we need, at least, some general limits for dialogue. Not all difference and particularity should be praised.

So what makes a belief or action reasonable or unreasonable? In the introduction, I offered a promissory note to make clear my use of the term “reasonable people.” The time has come to cash that note. I have argued that rationality is an activity that engages with an open-ended material and social world. Put another way, “‘Reason is an enacted, imperfect, social process, not the application of mechanical rules of inquiry” (Burbules 1995, 88). Modern conceptions of methodological norms and scientific reason have their place in the discussion, but the lived aspect of “being reasonable” leads to a nonmethodological and diverse set of principles for making such judgments. Following a set of rules for the direction of the mind (e.g., the rules of logic) certainly counts as rational, but it may not count as reasonable. In the ordinary, everyday world we distinguish people who are merely rational from those who are reasonable. To be reasonable entails a willingness to go beyond the strict demands of logic and to listen to others and to respond in ways that may violate the rules. For instance, I had a student call me from what turned out to be his death bed to inform me that he could not take the final exam. A few weeks later, I was asked to give him a grade for the class so that the university could award him a posthumous degree. I could have gone by the letter of the law, giving him the grade he truly earned. After all, he did not take the final, which was worth thirty percent of the course average. Instead, I gave him an A. To follow the strict letter of the law in this case would have been unreasonable. The Future of Reason 181

Reasonableness is a quality that requires us to balance competing tensions, and the standards for how we are to do this are not determinate. Yet, standards there must be, unless we wish to allow everyone is equally reasonable. Surely, then, we must say something about what these standards are, or at least how they are determined. Whether an action or belief is reasonable depends greatly on social forces, so the standards for reasonableness will not be universal. As Burbules explains, reasonable views are the product of social interaction. What makes it unreasonable for me to give a student a failing grade posthumously, even if that is the grade the student actually earned, is determined by social expectations. At my university, we even have a formal policy that prohibits assigning a failing grade to any student that dies during the semester, although it is hard to imagine anyone doing so. Of course, sometimes we find ourselves in unreasonable circumstances. These are described by Burbules thusly:

Contexts in which people are discouraged from careful deliberation and reflection; where dubious beliefs, values, tastes, and manners are enforced through strong social or institutional coercion; where hasty or overly simplistic choices are pressed upon persons; where there are few opportunities for intersubjective discussion and consideration of alternatives, are all unreasonable contexts, by which I mean that they are both the consequence of poorly-considered and oppressive social choices, and that they are likely result in unreasonable thoughts and actions by persons within them. (1995, 88–9)

What is particularly significant is that social practices cannot be accepted uncritically and that unreasonable behavior can be quite reasonable, depending on the circumstances. The patient, who insists something is wrong with him even though multiple doctors proclaim him to be in good health, may appear unreasonable—until he stumbles upon the doctor who finds the blocked artery, brain tumor, or whatever else it is that ails him. Similarly, people can be driven to seemingly unreasonable behavior if they are in especially oppressive circumstances. As Burbules explains, “No one can be expected to be reasonable in entirely unreasonable circumstances; and a corollary of this insight is that the characterization of ‘unreasonableness’ is often more a critique of social circumstances rather than a criticism of persons” (1995, 88). For women who find themselves accused of being unreasonable, it may simply be that their circumstances are what stand in need of evaluation, not their handling of those circumstances. More simply, 182 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality there are times when social circumstances are to blame for a person’s “unreasonable” behavior. The difficulty, however, lies in determining when it is the circumstances, rather than the person, who is being unreasonable. If communities construct their own practices in the absence of some universal norms governing those practices, is our notion of what is reasonable (or unreasonable) destined to be radically contextual and, hence, radically relativist? Can we actually say what beliefs and actions are appropriate to rational persons when faced with radically opposed, and mutually exclusive, views? If we cannot do so, virtue concepts will not help us much as we attempt to defend the truth of our beliefs.4 In other words, can we establish some metanarrative, some transcendental framework, some principles that respect plurality and diversity but that can, at the same time, provide limits to what is rational or reasonable? One way of answering these questions is to return to the body—and the sensory information it provides us in our construction of experience. Consider briefly the claim that “rationality is an evolutionary adaptation with a delimited purpose and function, designed to work in conjunction with other stable facts that it takes for granted and builds upon . . .” (Nozick 1993, xii). Two implications can be drawn, and drawn independently of some particular cultural practice: first, the world presents us with stable features of which we must make sense but over which we have little control; second, rationality (i.e., the way we come to terms with stable facts of our environment) is adaptive but nonetheless has a biological basis. That there are facts about the world and that biology acts as unifying element for rationality are not simply a product of mainstream, western, analytic philosophical thinking. One finds the same assertions within African philosophy—and this even though “facts about the world” is a suspect idea going back at least as far as Kant. After all, facts are constructed, whether socially or not. Granting a socially constructed dimension of facts, however, does not mean we must give up talk of a world beyond social construction. Eze notes that “if we think about the objective conditions of the things and ideas involved in the making of the singularities of the world of each experience, it is unde- niable to our senses and to the mind that such a world is a rough composi- tion” (2007, 176). The “objective” conditions of experience may be a rough sketch, but as Eze notes, there is a sketch—and this sketch appears to undergird the possibility of cross-cultural language-games. More to the point, “the commitment to the existence of ‘brute facts’ of nature merely commits us to the thought that, though we make the world, we do not make it ex nihilo, out of nothing” (Eze 2007, 189). Our interpretations may be socially The Future of Reason 183 determined, but humans live in a world that is not entirely of our own making, which naturally encompasses concerns with human biology. Other African philosophers note the biological underpinnings of rationality. D. A. Masolo writes that “this idea of the crucial significance of the body . . . is the basis of Kwasi Wiredu’s idea of biology as a unifying factor of our similarity to others in our relations” (2007, 229). The biological similarity that exists in humans across cultures provides a background against which we can communicate despite cultural differences. More specifically, Wiredu himself argues that “[t]he fundamental biological similarity of all human beings assures the possibility of resolving all such disparities, for the foundation of communication is biological” (1997, 20). We may not share the same “forms of life,” but we have a shared biology which allows for communication, even if its only partial. The relationship between some universally shared features of rationality and the commitment to overcoming cultural divisions is further discussed by Masolo, who explains,

The communitarian view which we uphold here is one which maintains that because the ideal of rationality in some sense applies to all alike, it lies in the commitment to find working principles which mediate between diverse opinions and views, one that encourages dialogue between people across cultures or whatever their contingent customary positions may be. . . . Such a view avoids the totalitarian tendency and propensity for branding as irrational any behavior that is not to one’s taste. (2007, 229)

What ultimately turns out to be reasonable involves dialogue and media- tion, not tyrannical conceptions of rationality for there are no a priori determinations of what beliefs or actions are reasonable. That we can hope to maneuver our way to some understanding of others (if not agreement with them) is provided by our shared world, including our own biology—- but we must still do the work of engaging in dialogue. Within virtue rationality itself, the clearest way to make the argument for unity within diversity is using the concept of second nature. Our experience requires us to recognize that people possess a wide variety of second natures. Even if we allow this diversity among second natures and perceptual capacities, we have not thereby overturned aperspectivalism. One can allow a variety of perspectives and still maintain that “any properly rational perceptual capacities . . . [are] the same ones that everyone has” (Kukla 2006, 84). In other words, empirical variations in perceptual capacities do not entail a difference in principle. Despite differences in what each of us is attuned to, we each have access to the same perceptual information. Kukla 184 The Virtue of Feminist Rationality admits that this is a sophisticated version of aperspectivalism, a version which allows that we often do process perceptual inputs differently even though these inputs entitle us to the same warrants. This sort of sophisticated aperspectivalism (which can be found in Nozick and Audi as well) is something feminists should take very seriously for it allows epistemic distinctions to be made without a totalizing rationality—and the alternative is far worse for feminism. Until we resolve this problem with normativity, we may insist on perspectivalism, but we remain unable to defend our distinctions between better and worse perspectives—and we really must make these distinctions.5 For feminists, virtue rationality offers a decentralized and contextual account that nonetheless maintains a certain ground for normative discriminations among epistemic, ontological, and moral claims. It allows different points of view, but it is not committed to the rational equality of each of them. We can say that both accepting and rejecting first-order propositional logic can be consistent with rationality, but for those who reject it, we expect some alternative kind of reasoning that fulfills the function that standard logic fulfills for us. Thus, we have a framework in which to say that not everyone need to think in the same way or come to the same conclusions, but we can also say, in certain cases, why some views fail to meet reasonable standards. The distinction between rationality and reasonability provides sufficient room to allow for some universal constraints on reason—after all, the overwhelming majority of humans do share reason in common, and we do so across cultural and contextual boundaries. However, it also provides room for the significance of context to the content of rationality. Ultimately, I am certain many feminists would like to change the meta- phors surrounding reason and rationality. Virtue rationality offers a means to begin the transformation for it walks precisely the same sort of tightrope that feminists need to walk between diversity and unity, between subjectivity and objectivity. The problem is, of course, how to balance examples against generalizations and vice versa. “We must,” says Eze, “order reality . . . . We systematize . . . nature by extending the relations we see or think exist in the world” (2007, 177). What virtue rationality does is allow us to act as if there is some solution to the problem of “getting it right,” even if the solution is not singular. Take MacIntyre’s account, for example:

There is not a finite and determinate set of necessary and sufficient conditions which determine the application of a concept (Waismann) or word (Putnam); but the examples which they cite also reveal that in normal The Future of Reason 185

circumstances and in standard conditions we can behave as if there were such a finite and determinate set and we do indeed so behave. (MacIn- tyre 1973, 2)

In this way, reason allows for social inquiry as much as it does inquiry into the natural world. It allows for temporary and provisional settlements on questions on what it is rational to believe. But, more importantly, it allows that there are indeterminate limits of rationality which are set by shared biology and share conceptions of the good for humans. While there is no consensus within feminist philosophy concerning how to construct a sufficiently feminist theory of rationality, it is quite evident what sort of theory feminists reject. Any view of rationality that asserts a transcendent, disembodied, context-independent, universal, and methodological conception of reason will fail miserably to account for those aspects of human experience that feminists are most interested to explain. Not every feminist has the same concerns, but it seems safe to say that feminists who are at all concerned with the concept of rationality desire a concept that can accommodate the fact that humans are related and interconnected, that we are embodied, that we experience emotion, and that we are at least partly constituted by race, class, and culture. Taking rationality to be a virtue concept may not do all this, or may not do it in the way some feminists might wish, but I believe that virtue rationality can indeed provide a way of understanding rationality that is not only sensitive to these sorts of feminist concerns but that is also capable of resolving some of the problems feminists have in navigating dichotomies. Virtue rationality is, appropriately enough, a means to a middle ground. 186 Notes

Chapter 1

1 Whatever his philosophical sins, Descartes is one of the few philosophers for whom it seems that having a rational mind is just as much possible for a woman as it is for a man. 2 According to philosophers like Catherine Elgin and Stephen Stich, truth is not a goal of inquiry. Both reject truth as an epistemically useful notion. 3 For Nozick’s discussion of this point, see (1993, 67–71). 4 As will become clear, I do not argue that premodern conceptions of reason are completely free from dichotomous thinking, but such ways of considering rationality are not as sharply polarizing as are those of the Enlightenment. 5 This latter matter is an argument for another time and will not be pursued here. 6 See Gubar (1994). Also see Hekman (1991). 7 I allow that future philosophical developments may change my mind on this point, but despite all effort to undermine and overturn these dichotomies, philo sophers seem unable to escape them. Harding concludes that “feminist science thinkers and their feminist postmodern critics stand with one foot in modernity and the other in the land beyond” (1996, 315). The situation with dichotomies seems much the same to me: the criticism of modern dichotomies appears in many instances to presume them, but this does not entail that we must accept them as is. 8 The “more or less” is a big caveat, and I will address the continuum of reason later. For now, my point is that all sorts of humans in all times, places, and cultures seem fairly good at not only getting around in the world but also using language, engaging in abstract representations, planning, building, raising families, maintaining social relationships—all in complex ways that transcend the abilities of so-called nonrational creatures. I am less interested in the technical and specific aspects of rationality than I am in understanding this general ability that humans seem to share in large measure. 9 Various aspects of this outlook on reason can be found in Eze, Audi, Nozick, Lakoff and Johnson, and Toulmin, among others. For as clear an account of virtue rationality as one can find (see Audi 2001). 10 I hope by the end of this book that what I mean by “reasonable people” will be sufficiently defined. Notes 188

11 My arguments for this claim can be found in Heikes (2010). Here my focus will, instead, be on developing one particular contemporary account, namely, virtue rationality, which I maintain can function as a feminist theory of rationality.

Chapter 2

1 For a discussion of the metaphorical associations of reason with masculinity and its separation from women, see (Rooney 1991). 2 Aside from the numerous arguments of others to this effect, I will make my own case for the masculinity of historical accounts of reason in subsequent chapters. 3 Some feminists ask the question: How can otherwise intelligent and thoughtfully observant men be guilty of such patently false claims when it comes to women? Feminist philosophers have some quite interesting answers to this question. See, in particular, Le Doeuff, Rooney, and Bordo. 4 The impulse to add to Kant the phrase “their pretty little heads” is almost too much to resist. Also see Aristotle (1941c, 1260a20 and 1941a, 737a28, 767b6–9). 5 See Plato (1961i, 91a and 1961c, 944d–e). Plato’s tendency to demean women in general, even while arguing for their capacity to have souls of the same nature as men, leads Susan Moller Okin to ask:

how the same, generally consistent philosopher can assert, on the one hand, that the female sex was created from the souls of the most wicked and irrational men and can argue, on the other hand, that if young girls and boys were trained identically, their abilities as adults would be practically the same. (1977, 345)

6 Hume does allow that this difference disappears when considering religious theory, but this does not alter that he explicitly accepts women’s inferiority in everyday reasoning. 7 As I argue in Rationality and Feminist Philosophy (2010), contemporary theories of rationality address many of the same criticisms that feminists make against Enlightenment rationality and reject the value-neutrality, self-transparency, transcendence, methodology, and disembodiment that feminists rage against. In the following chapter, I discuss a virtue conception of rationality which is fully mainstream and rejects many of the features that feminists believe make rationality masculine. 8 To be fair, Plato does exhibit dichotomous thinking throughout his dialogues, but he does not draw the deep and unbridgeable divides that Enlightenment philosophers do (see Plato 1961a, 36b–c; 1961h, 510e, 532a, 535b; 1961b, 464a, 477b–c, 501b, 524b; 1961g, 33c; 1961c, 673a, 795d, 828e, 837c–d, 927a; 1961e, 64c, 80b; 1961i, 34c). 9 Whether or not Plato is actually a feminist philosopher is widely debated. On the Plato-as-feminist-philosopher side of the argument, one finds Smith (1983) and Brown (1988), for example. However, Plato’s attitude toward the body is a significant liability to his status as a so-called feminist philosopher. The soul may be destined to interact with bodies, but bodies corrupt the soul. Even worse, Plato is clear that female bodies are a much more corrupting influence than are Notes 189

male bodies. Despite this, he is the singular example of a canonical philosopher who is willing to allow women, at least in principle, an equal standing with men (Republic, Book V). For a detailed version of Plato’s view of female bodies and souls, see Spellman 1990. For Plato’s own comments concerning bodies and souls, see 1961e, 65d, 81d; 1961b, 493a; 1961h, 611b–c; 1961i, 91a; 1961c, 944d–e. For the debate over Plato’s feminism, see Annas 1976; DuBois 1994; Forde 1997; Lesser 1979; Okin 1977; Saxonhouse 1976; Spelman 1982; Spelman 1990; Vlastos 1989. 10 When pushed by Princess Elizabeth, Descartes explicitly states: there being two things in the human soul on which depends all the knowledge we can have of its nature—the first, that it thinks, and the second, that being united to the body, it can act and suffer with it. I have said nothing of this latter, and have studied only to understand well the first, since my principal design was to prove the distinction that exists between the soul and the body, for which the first alone could suffice, while the other would have been an impediment. (1994, 13) 11 This paradox is discussed by Taylor (1989, 175–6). 12 Although Cartesian reason is a favorite target of feminists, Descartes himself appears to have been quite inclusive of women. In addition to the fact that Des- cartes was clearly willing to engage in philosophical discussions with women (Princess Elizabeth and Queen Christina, for example), many women saw Carte- sian philosophy as emancipatory (see Atherton 2002). 13 I make this argument in Heikes (2010). 14 See Lakoff and Johnson (1999, 22–42). 15 Arguments for each of these claims are forthcoming in the following chapters. Also see Heikes (2010). 16 See Wittgenstein, Putnam, Audi, Nozick, Toulmin, and Eze. 17 See Nozick (1993, 102, 127–8). 18 The full argument comes in the final two chapters. 19 See Shapiro (2006). This paper developed the idea of “G-experiential knowledge” introduced in Dalmiya and Alcoff (1993). For a further argument against the view that social position makes epistemic warrant inaccessible to some, see Kukla and Ruetsche 2002, 403–5. 20 See Young (1990, 73–4).

Chapter 3

1 Just to be clear, I should precise my definition of “all-candy diet.” I mean a diet consisting of foods made primarily from some form of sugar, with little else to recommend it nutritionally. In other words, one could not balance nutritional and caloric needs on such a diet. 2 The epistemic distortions of radical individualism will be discussed in later chapters. 3 “Autonomy” here does not necessarily refer to the radically individualistic conception of modern philosophers since feminists equally wish to emphasize the significance of social relationships in our lives. Even though we can debate the Notes 190

meaning of “autonomy,” there is a significant argument within feminism in support of the self-determination of women. Insofar as feminists actually make such arguments, we are committed to some notion of autonomy. This will be developed more fully in Chapter 5. 4 See Stich (1990) and Stein (1996). 5 I am sweeping under the rug a number of issues related to Aristotle’s attitudes toward women (and lower-class men and slaves). I am less concerned with Aristo- tle’s actual attitudes than I am with what use his views may be to current problems in philosophy. Thus, I will let these issues lie. 6 See Wittgenstein (1958, §199, §202). Also see Wittgenstein (1967, §418–19). 7 The concept of “second nature” will be developed in the following section. 8 While the rules of each game are much the same, Japanese baseball has smaller balls, strike zones, and fields. Also, games in Japan can end in a tie after 12 innings, while US games are played until someone wins, regardless of how many innings it takes. There have been approximately 50 games in Major League Baseball that have gone over 20 innings. (Baseball games typically end after 9 innings.) 9 See Wittgenstein (1958, §200); MacIntyre (1984, 188–9). 10 I am drawing a distinction here that may or may not be accurate if we consider simply the work of Wittgenstein and MacIntyre; hence, my reference to a Witt- gensteinian. I suspect that Wittgenstein actually means to assert that those who so radically differ in their interpretation of the rules are actually not playing chess. However, I remain skeptical that his view can allow for this much normativity. For a more complete discussion, see Chapter 6 of Heikes (2010). 11 When the larger context is one of mental illness, however, we may not be so charitable with our attributions of rationality. For instance, I had a neighbor who had a fairly serious mental illness and who often refused to take his medication. When I would see him out watering his garbage can, for example, I typically did not attribute rationality to his behaviors. Conversely, when another neighbor asked if I had seen the emu on our street, the question struck me as quite odd but not as irrational. The latter neighbor exhibited a pattern of rational behaviors that the former neighbor did not.

Chapter 4

1 In fact, Tanesini makes a strong argument in favor of such co-opting of philosophical terminology (see Tanesini 1994). 2 See Benhabib (1992, 242–3). 3 Plato’s emphasis on the soul is directly articulated in the Phaedo. Here he claims that the “soul is most like that which is divine, immortal, intelligible, uniform, indissoluble, and ever self-consistent and invariable, whereas body is most like that which is human, mortal, multiform, unintelligible, dissoluble, and never self-consistent” (1961e, 80b). This view is reinforced in the Timaeus where we are told that the soul is prior in origin and greater in excellence than the body (1961i, 34c). 4 The discussion in the Republic can be found in Book V. In the Meno, Socrates argues early on that virtue is the same in women and men—a conclusion Meno is reticent to accept. Notes 191

5 In practice, it is another story entirely (see Okin 1977). 6 See Plato (1961h, 456d–457b). 7 Plato (1961e, 65d). 8 See Descartes (1984, 58). Also see Descartes (1985, 141). 9 For Hume’s doubt about the existence of objects corresponding to impressions, see Hume (1978, 189). For the fallibility of reason, see Hume (1978, 92–3). 10 I maintain that the radical division between objectivity and subjectivity is a greater cause of philosophical skepticism concerning reason. I discuss this in Chapter 6. 11 See Grosz (1993, 195–6). 12 Whatever the strengths of his version of the social construction of bodies, I suspect that, in the final analysis, Foucault’s account of the self does not provide a strong enough account of agency. I do not have the space to sufficiently argue this point, but it will come up in my discussion of autonomy in Chapter 5. 13 Agency, and autonomy, will be explored later. Unfortunately, I am not able here to do these topics justice without losing focus on what is currently the central topic of discussion: body. For more on the debates surrounding feminist views of the subject, see Chapter 5. 14 This latter claim will be contentious for some (e.g., eliminative materialists), but I know of no feminists who dispute the existence of mind. 15 My discussion here is only a first foray into this topic. A more complete discussion, and one that will include moral agency, can be found in Chapter 5.

Chapter 5

1 It is, of course, not self-evident, although it is the arguments of feminists that have had much to do with undermining this seeming self-evidence. 2 For more on this point (see Jaggar 1989, 145). 3 See Plato (1961e, 60a; 1961a, 35b; 1961h, 395e; 1961c, 836e). 4 See Aristotle (1941b, 1109a). 5 See Aristotle (1941a, 608b; 1941c, 1260a). 6 See Aristotle (1941c, 1260b). 7 I do not mean to imply that all modern philosophers share this view. For a discussion of the various perspectives of Enlightenment philosophy, see Nussbaum (1999, 72–4). 8 For more on this point, see Rooney (1991). 9 Hume, obviously, excluded (see Hume 1978, 415). 10 Of course, the distinction between reason and emotion has been noted by nonfeminists as well. Ross Buck argues, “many modern philosophers have considered ‘emotion’ and ‘cognition’ to be mutually exclusive, with cognition being associated with public knowledge and discourse and emotion consigned to a ‘noncognitive’ private knowledge of doubtful epistemological status” (2000, 42). 11 See Campbell (1994, 47–8). 12 As Campbell acknowledges, Bartky is an exception to this last claim. 13 That emotions have a cognitive dimension is not uniformly accepted among feminists. Bartky, for example, rejects a cognitive approach to emotion (see Bartky 1990). Notes 192

14 See Jaggar (1989, 160–2). What it is for an emotion—or a system of beliefs—to be less partial and distorted will become an issue when the dichotomy of objectivity and subjectivity comes into play. 15 One of the strengths of feminism is its willingness to push philosophical thinking toward topics that have historically been dismissed, and thus, I believe it is important to highlight the ethical dimension of emotion. I broach the subject, but a more complete account is beyond what I can accomplish here. 16 See Kant (1964, 398). Of course, Kant does not actually say that one is more moral for having desires contrary to morality. 17 For the neuropsychological attitude toward the distinctions of public/private and reason/emotion, see Buck (2000). 18 A cognitive theory of emotion is by no means universally accepted, and it is not the only option available. However, this view allows for the rationality of emotions. Since feminists are typically eager to reject that emotions are brute feelings that lie beyond the domain of rationality, I will adopt the widely accepted attitude that emotions do have some cognitive aspect. For more on this topic, see Gordon 1989; Solomon 1983; Calhoun et al. 1984. 19 Now, I am not so naïve that I fail to understand the potential bias here. However, my past experience has been that such particularly strong emotions are often trustworthy (even when they cannot be fully articulated) so that when I encountered further evidence to support my emotional response, I was better able to make sense of my reaction. The salesman who offered me the warning about doing business with the first company also refused to make negative comments about any other competitor, including those with whom he knew we were in contact. 20 Obviously, there is also the possibility that our gut reactions can lead us astray. I will discuss this possibility shortly.

Chapter 6

1 See Plato (1961f, 246–7). 2 I intentionally left off the last part of the final sentence since the only point I am trying to make here is that Plato allows, in principle, equality between men and women. 3 A further problem with Plato’s view is that despite his assurances that men and women can have the same nature, other passages in the dialogue belay this insofar as they appeal to “men’s natures” and “women’s natures” (see Plato 1961h, 453a–454d, 466d). 4 Another significant observation feminists make is that, despite protestations to the contrary, men are also particular and governed by bodies. I will discuss this point later. 5 For a discussion of the issues surrounding this debate, see Alcoff (1988). 6 For a fuller argument of this point, see Bordo (1986). 7 I will be returning to this tension in the following section of the chapter. 8 For more on this debate, see McLaren (1997). Notes 193

9 Butler (1990) does this with the categories of sex and gender. 10 For a discussion of the concrete issues surrounding this debate, see Scott (1988). Also see Friedman (1997). 11 See Friedman (1997, 41–2). 12 See Code (1991, 73–4).

Chapter 7

1 I heard this exact argument—that all Chinese science was a matter of sheer luck—made by a rocket scientist. He simply would not accept that the Chinese had any real knowledge, and this belief made him unable to make an accurate evaluation of any nonwestern science. 2 While the reference to Kant is anachronistic, Descartes is a good enough philo sopher to recognize, even in the midst of being universally deceived, that he is a creature that has sense and imagination (see Descartes 1984, 19). Only later in the Meditations does he argue that the faculty of sense is inessential. 3 Descartes nowhere denies body as a source of knowledge. What he does do is insist that we first have our reasoned grounds of epistemic justification in order prior to taking body as a source of knowledge. The problem, however, is that he is famously unsuccessful at resolving the fundamental issues, which is why the senses seem perpetually untrustworthy on rationalist accounts. 4 For more on “assumed objectivity,” see Haslanger (2002, 232–6). Also see Jones (2004) and Langton (2000). 5 Grosz (1993) claims that the historical privileging of the mental over the physical is the source of the current “crisis of reason.” While I do not deny that this is a causal factor, I find it much more accurate to place the source of the crisis on the philosophical tendency to tie rationality to a notion of objectivity that excludes all subjectivity. As philosophers from the twentieth century onward have come to terms with the pervasive influence of concepts on our claims to knowledge—and in turn our language and culture on those concepts—the idea that rationality must be objective has undermined our understanding of rationality. 6 See Heikes (2004). 7 In contrast to Bordo’s view, Lovibond argues: The desire for [epistemic] legitimacy is not inherently “paranoid”—that is, it should not automatically be seen as springing from a primitive fear of being of out of line, an emotional investment in constituted authority per se. What it does express is an investment in the good opinion of one or another sub-set of one’s fellow (cognitive) subjects . . . . (1994, 84–5) 8 For a feminist take on the role of bias in contemporary analytic philosophy, see Antony (2002). One can also find the influence of bias and values in philosophers such as Nozick (1993), Putnam (1981), and Kuhn (1970). 9 Examples of these arguments can be found in Code (1993), Haraway (1993), and Harding (1993). For a good overall summary of the issues, see Code (1998). 10 See, for example, Jane Flax (1990, 1993). Notes 194

11 How to deal with the perspective of the subjugated is also an issue for Harding’s standpoint epistemology (see Harding 1993). 12 See Wittgenstein (1993, 389). 13 For a more complete discussion of this point, see Heikes (2010), especially Chapter 6. 14 For more on these aspects of rational behavior, see McBrearty and Brooks (2000). 15 I realize that I am begging a number of questions, but addressing them here will take me too far off topic. One can, of course, ask whether we could ever know of such incommensurability. Or one might object that we only believe that we are appropriately translating others. And even if my empirical claim is true, the in principle possibility of incommensurability has not been overcome. My basic response is Kantian: if I recognize someone as rational, then we must share some of our cognitive structures—and that is enough for commensurability. 16 Audi (2001) actually discusses four aspects possessed by an appropriately structured rationality, but I will discuss only the first three. The final aspect has to do with the justificatory relationship of nonfoundational to foundational beliefs. While concerns over the transmission of justification to nonfoundational beliefs is important to a complete account of rationality, such matters do not further the discussion at hand. 17 For example, as when my neighbor tells me that she just adopted a dog that looks like a coyote. 18 In this, feminists are certainly not alone. See Chapter 4 of Elgin (1996). Also see Elgin (2004), Elgin (2007), and Chapter 5 of Stich (1990). 19 See Davidson (1984, 170). 20 Hekman (2002) does actually argue for a Wittgensteinian approach to ethics, but she does not do so on the basis of the actual, and quite sparse, writing on ethics.

Chapter 8

1 I reiterate that I am not making an effort to speak for all feminists in laying out a feminist theory of rationality. I do not attempt the dubious task of constructing the feminist theory of rationality but am merely suggesting a view that I believe captures some common desires among many feminists. 2 I realize that the way I have presented this discussion leaves out a great deal of subtlety in the arguments, especially concerning whether women’s choices can truly be autonomous in a highly gendered society. I do not have the space to do justice to every aspect of this argument. However, what I have made clear, and will continue to do so, is that I believe people do make free choices, even if those choices are always partly dependent upon social and political forces. To deny women this ability is precarious ground indeed. 3 Let’s face it, many university administrators and faculty would love to rid themselves of the “dead weight” of humanities. Notes 195

4 I do not intend to imply that there is only one right or correct set of beliefs or that we need universal constraints that rule out all but one set of beliefs. I mean to maintain that we require some way to distinguish among competing claims and to sort out those beliefs (or sets of beliefs) that are more or less rational. 5 See Hekman (1997, 355). 196 References

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agency, classical feminist project 21–2 and body 86, 92 Clough, Sharyn 153–4, 168–9 epistemic 100, 127, 151, 157 Code, Lorraine 25, 80–1, 155, 157, moral 26, 79, 128, 134, 143, 145 160–2, 175 narrative approach to 134, 140, 143 community 39, 50–2, 57, 59, 109–11, 115, political 86, 140 135–8, 143, 182 rational 40, 80, 87 culture 13, 27, 34–7, 45–6, 52–3, 57, 63, women’s 40, 80, 86–7, 101, 120, 123, 105, 107, 109–10, 136, 138–9, 164, 130, 134, 141–2 178, 183 Alcoff, Linda 17–19, 81, 141–2, 173 aperspectivity 38–9, 66, 183–4 Damasio, Antonio 102–3 Aristotle 44, 54, 61–3, 79, 98, 108–9, 128–9, Descartes, Rene 3, 28–9, 31–2, 49, 61, 143, 157 76–9, 98, 127, 136, 152–3 Audi, Robert 33, 35, 39, 46, 59–60, 66, 108, different voice project 22–3 115, 138, 166, 170 autonomy, ends 40, 48, 51–3, 59, 130, 137–8, 143–4, Aristotelian 128, 143–4 146, 158, 168 see also telos exclusion of women from 30, 80, 101, essentialism 126–7, 175 128–30 experience, feminist approach to 121–3, 140–3, 145, and emotion 103–5, 114–17 147 of men 38–9, 72, 178 modern 26–7, 30, 77, 144 and reason 9, 38, 46, 62–3, 66–7, 87, moral 79, 137–8, 142, 144 91–2, 134, 138–9, 165–6, 170 subjectivity of 162, 167 Bartky, Sandra 84–5 of women 38–9, 130, 141, 167 Benhabib, Seyla 30, 39–40, 51, 123–4, 129, Eze, Emmanuel Chukwudi 3–4, 36, 38, 145–6 51–3, 63, 119–20, 130–1, 134, 182, Bernstein, Richard 26, 29, 33 184 bias 150–1, 153–5 body, women’s identification with 23–4, 30, fallibilism 66–8 74–6, 78–81 Felski, Rita 2, 123 Boler, Megan 107, 113 forms of life 163, 165, 183 Bordo, Susan 78, 100, 154–5 Foucault, Michel 84–6, 140 Burbules, Nicholas 65, 67–8, 180 fragmentation 41, 57, 122–3, 127, 133, 139, Butler, Judith 82, 84 141–2 Fraser, Nancy 123 Calhoun, Cheshire 116–17 Friedman, Marilyn 121, 128, 142 Campbell, Sue 104 friendship 128–9 206 Index goals, Mangena, Oshadi 131 personal 118, 129, 137–8, 145, 179 Masolo, D. A. 183 and practices 45, 53, 56–8 McDowell, John 62, 92 and reason 3–4, 18, 25, 36, 40, 45, McLaren, Margaret 86 57, 144 metanarrative 38, 40, 157, 161, 172, 182 goods, modernism 34, 43, 58, 61, 69, 138, 146 Aristotelian 44, 54 Moser, Paul 154 autonomously chosen 40, 45, 132, 174 the good 45–7, 52, 57, 97, 129, 132, 185 narrative 51–3, 60, 69, 123, 134–9, 143, 145 human 7, 40, 47, 51, 56, 185 Nicholson, Linda 123 and practices 44–6, 52, 55, 57, 83, 163, normativity 2, 9, 18, 39–40, 65, 74, 142, 174, 176, 179 149, 170–1, 176–8, 184 and traditions 46–8, 52, 57, 136, 163, 174 Nozick, Robert 4, 25–6, 34, 36, 39, 87–9, transcendent 40, 47 102, 118 of women 22, 46, 52, 59, 178–9 Nussbaum, Martha 6, 21, 47, 64, 105, 107, Grosz, Elizabeth 25, 78, 82, 84, 87–8, 117–18, 173 167–8, 171 Okin, Susan Moller 75, 132 habits 38, 45, 61–4, 114, 117 see also second nature Plato 23, 28, 75–6, 97–8, 124–6 Haraway, Donna 8, 89, 158–9, 161, 172 positivism 25, 80, 100, 130, 155, 157 Harding, Sandra 2, 13–14, 168 practices, human flourishing 9, 46, 48–9, 68, 117–18, and agency 134, 136, 140, 144 128–9, 139, 163 Aristotelian 54, 143 Hume, David 23–5, 32, 77, 80, 99, 112 and bodies 84–6 and emotion 105, 108–12, 114–15 immanence 4, 34, 37, 44, 79, 109, 135 and goods 45–6, 50–1, 54–5, 57, 83, 163, impartiality 25, 59, 66, 58 174, 178 individualism 26, 32, 34, 48, 51, 108, and reason 13, 34–5, 44, 50–1, 53, 56–7, 132, 145 67, 69, 89, 109, 115, 135, 138, 144, 163, 170, 174, 178–9, 182 Johnson, Mark 82, 88 and reasonableness 61, 66 judiciousness 66–8 relativity of 38, 46, 55–7, 138, 163–5 Wittgensteinian 54–5, 60–1, 85, 112, Kant, Immanuel 22, 29, 61, 77, 79, 92, 99, 162–3 110, 128, 163 pragmatism 44, 66–8 Kukla, Rebecca 63–6, 91, 117, 183 Putnam, Hilary 26–7, 31, 34

Lakoff, George 82, 88 Quine, Willard 130, 177 Lloyd, Elisabeth 155–6 Lloyd, Genevieve 20, 78–9 rationality, Longino, Helen 20, 23, 41, 95, 149–50, as an activity 34, 54, 69, 86–7, 180 168, 177 and biology 182–3, 185 Lovibond, Sabina 133, 171 Cartesian 14–15, 28, 30, 49, 56 context of 13, 35, 39, 49, 50, 89, MacIntyre, Alasdair 34, 36–7, 50, 52–5, 162–3, 184 108, 135–7, 163, 165, 184–5 and culture 34, 138, 164, 178, 183 Index 207

dichotomies 6–7, 10–11, 27, 30–1, 41, 69 Rooney, Phyllis 44, 101, 173 diversity of 41, 120, 134, 139 rules 5, 36, 49–50, 54–6, 60–1, 90, 98, 154, embeddedness of 13, 89–90 163, 170, 177, 180 embodied 31, 34–5, 40, 72, 81, 83, 86, 89–90, 185 Sandel, Michael 138 Enlightenment 7, 14–15, 23, 27, 29–30, Saxonhouse, Arlene 126 32, 50, 87, 146 second nature 45, 54, 61–5, 90–2, 109, environment 38, 51, 62, 87, 162, 170 116–17, 169, 183 see also habits evolutionary adaptation of 48, 87, self-awareness 34, 56, 147 89, 182 self-consciousness 34–5, 90, 170 and feminism 8–9, 15, 39–40, 44, 82, 96, self-determination 40, 47–8, 124, 179 106, 134, 161, 170–1, 173–6, 178 social inscription 74, 83–4, 86–7 immanent 4, 34, 44, 87, 109, 135, 175, Solomon, Robert 101, 103–6 180 soul 23, 28, 75–6, 80, 97–9, 124–6 maleness of 6, 15, 18–20, 22, 25–7, 30, Spelman, Elizabeth 75–6, 98 39, 41, 81, 96, 173, 175 Stich, Stephen 17–18, 33, 35 methodological 4, 13, 23–4, 28–9, 31–2, strong critical project 22, 26 34, 49–50, 56, 58, 92, 177, 180 subject 51–2, 84–6, 122–4, 133–4, 140–1 modern 4–5, 23, 26, 30–4, 36, 58, 60, 62, 98–9, 103 Tanesini, Alessandra 175–6 premodern 7, 27, 31, 34, 39, 43–4, Taylor, Charles 14, 26, 137, 146 59–60, 146 telos 50–2, 129, 163 see also ends responsiveness of 36, 59, 69, 91, 165 Toulmin, Steven 5, 8, 31–3, 43, 50, 60–1, rules of 49–50, 54, 90, 154 67–8, 85–6, 111, 135 social aspects of 23, 31, 36, 49, 135, traditions 36–7, 40, 46, 51–3, 55, 57, 63, 69, 162–3 85, 90, 140, 143, 165 transcendental aspects of 11, 24, 38, 53, truth, 162–3, 165, 182 and feminism 1, 4, 38, 40, 150, 159, tyranny of 177, 183 170, 172 and women 2, 18–22, 30, 34, 71, 79–80, and objectivity 153, 167 95–6, 98–101, 177 relation to reason 4, 19 Rawls, John 59–60, 131–3, 135, 146 reasonableness 3, 43, 58–61, 63–9, 132, Winch, Peter 27, 57 162, 166, 178, 180–3 Wiredu, Kwasi 183 relativism 10, 33, 56, 151, 154, 159–63, Wittgenstein, Ludwig 54–5, 60–1, 73, 85–6, 167–9, 171 112, 162–3, 169–70 208 209 210 211 212 213 214