Last term I argued in one of my columns, using a game-theoretic model, that society might eternally need affirmative action to prevent stratification among races in the workplace. What led to this conclusion was a disturbing -- nonetheless, strong -- assumption that the cultural differences among races are so pervasive that no matter how consciously one attempts to treat members of other races fairly, one can never become color-blind. Thus, I implied, racism will never lose its cruel hold on human society.
I have no doubt that, for the most part, America has defeated overt forms of racism, but due to cultural differences subtle forms of racism linger in our society. Consider a crucial qualification for a typical firm's president -- the ability to relate with his or her employees to create a loyal organization unified under the goal of maximizing shareholders' wealth. Inevitably a firm whose staff is primarily black, for instance, would, consciously or not, prefer a black president to a white one. A common sense of humor, similar mannerisms or close tastes for food and music -- these are most often the factors that bind members of a race and also determine one's future in the corporate world, regardless of the extent to which good people may be endeavoring to eradicate such biases.
Today I hope to criticize the pessimism reflected in that argument by expounding that society can indeed overcome even the most subtle forms of racism by engaging in intellectualism.
By intellectualism, I do not mean the kind of thinking that leads to bigotry or punditry, but rather courageous contemplation by which one tackles every philosophical issue and relentlessly seeks an answer for it. Such intellectualism brings together the atomized individuals of the world by forcing them to experience the universal problems concerning human existence.
One can only be astonished, for instance, by the similarities between the works of two profound writers of very different backgrounds -- Dostoevsky, arguably the most influential 19th-century writer in the world, and Kawabata, now an internationally recognized Japanese Nobel laureate. The Russian author in "The Devils" captures the chaos that arises as the doctrines of modernity infiltrate his native country. He vehemently denounces utopian socialism for creating humans unable to distinguish the good from the evil. Modernity yielded such tragic results, depriving humans of unifying principles such as religion and reducing their lives to meaningless evanescence during which they satiate their appetitive desires.
Kawabata, writing in postwar Japan, beautifully portrays a man in "Snow Country" who leaves a city, symbolizing the modern West, in search of a place where he can discover his authentic identity. He ends up in a country where the pure whiteness of the snow allows him to escape from the materialism of modernity. Both Dostoevsky and Kawabata struggle to define for themselves a new meaning in life undermined by the perverse cerebral products of the Enlightenment.
I do not think it is merely an accident that numerous political philosophers believe that a sense of dignity constitutes a critical aspect of human nature. Kant, as demonstrated in his "Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime," believes in the existence of universal virtues stemming from two commonalties of human character: first, affection and second, dignity. Mill, whose utilitarian philosophy is often mistakenly interpreted as a derivative of materialism, also speaks similarly of human nature. He claims that utilitarianism is not a doctrine catering to the masses' appetitive desires, for the omnipresent sense of human dignity prevents human life from degenerating into that of an animalistic nature.
One can only be marveled by then discovering, approximately two millennia before the time of Kant, Plato, who portrays humans in the same intellectual picture; thymos, or an equivalent of human dignity in his terms, is to be an ally of reason to suppress humans' often problematic appetite.
I hope my point is clear: intellectualism is the path by which one can ascertain the universal of humanity. It is unfortunately a difficult path, for which reason many shun it, but such struggle perhaps is good, as Nietzsche would propound. It may even be inevitable if, as Hegel argues, the entire human history has been driven by man's struggle for recognition.
What is certain, nonetheless, is that the difficult path of life is what actualizes Kant's dream of perpetual peace. As Bertrand Russell says, the kind of contemplation I encourage is vital for the betterment of human consciousness because "through the greatness of the universe which philosophy contemplates, the mind also is rendered great, and becomes capable of that union with the universe which constitutes its highest good."
