Why "male privilege" probably doesn't matter

I'm not claiming that "male privilege" (MP) does (or does not) exist. My claim is narrower: if MP exists, it has little normative significance. It does not give us reasons to do (or not do) things we had no reason to do (or not do) anyway.

A useful "checklist" of male privileges can be found here. As for a definition, I quote the following from the Feminist 101 FAQ:

Male privilege is a set of privileges that are given to men as a class due to their institutional power in relation to women as a class. While every man experiences privilege differently due to his own individual position in the social hierarchy, every man, by virtue of being read as male by society, benefits from male privilege

More generally, privilege is:

About how society accommodates you. It’s about advantages you have that you think are normal. It’s about you being normal, and others being the deviation from normal. It’s about fate dealing from the bottom of the deck on your behalf.

So, to summarize, male privilege involves a package of benefits men get for being men. They get the package from background institutions that systematically deprive women of the same privileges.

This definition is hopelessly incomplete without saying something about the term "benefit." Benefits come in objective and subjective forms. Person X is benefited objectively when he really is better off, according to the standards that matter, than he was prior to receiving the benefit. Person X is subjectively benefited when he only thinks he is better off after receiving the alleged benefit.

I think what feminists have in mind is objective benefit. Since men receive MP without even being aware of it, the kind of benefit they receive can't be subjective in the sense I defined. It has to be objective (objective benefit can include certain subjective states, insofar as having those subjective states is an objective benefit.)

MP thus involves men benefiting objectively from their status as men. And, furthermore, the benefits must somehow be withheld from women, in virtue of their status as women. Indeed, in the worst case, the benefits men receive must somehow be produced precisely by depriving women of similar benefits.

I think that's enough for the argument. What I'm responding to is the way some feminists seem to use privilege as an all purpose hammer. For example, Amanda Marcotte of Pandagon recently objected to the way some men assert that some women look better without makeup. In the comments, a man said he really didn't see the point of wearing makeup, and was attacked for showing male privilege. When a woman said the same thing, it was pointed out that this was permissible, since when she was saying it, it wasn't a demonstration of privilege.

For simple reasons, this use of the privilege card is pernicious and epistemologically dubious. If a person raises a valid concern -- points to a fact that provides a reason to do or feel a certain way -- then his privileged status doesn't undermine the validity of the concern. As I've said before, a valid argument is a valid argument. If a male makes a valid argument, the validity isn't undermined even if he is privileged viz-a-viz women.

So, in this sense, male privilege doesn't matter: it doesn't turn good arguments into bad ones.

Second, I'm not sure how much male privilege matters, morally speaking. Consider, again, the notion of a "benefit." I can think of think of very few things that qualify as benefits as such. Suppose background institutions were such that men were generally expected to fight in wars, and were the only people accorded the right to vote.

These background institutions would be objectionable. But not because one of their major benefits was only given to men. The institutions would be objectionable because, in this case, women should have the right to help determine the nature of government. If no one had the right to vote, the institutions would be even more objectionable. The fact that certain benefits are given solely to men doesn't make the background institutions objectionable. They're objectionable simply because they're not given to everyone.

Now look at it from the other side. Social institutions don't often give out benefits freely. Benefits always come with strings attached. In my example, a major string is the expectation that men should fight in wars. This imposes a major hardship. By referring to the package of benefits as a "privilege", feminist writers ignore the costs imposed on those who receive the benefits.

Am I saying that every privilege a male receives is offset by a cost? No. That would be ridiculous. Some men -- rich, politically connected -- are better able to shift the costs of their privilege on to others. But so are some women. The ability to shift the costs of privilege is itself a privilege -- I get this. But it makes it very hard to speak of "male privilege" per se, since those who bear the costs of the privilege of others are just as likely to be men as women.

Or, at least, I've never seen any argument that, in general, the costs associated with "male privilege" are shifted exclusively on to women. History doesn't support that contention. Rich men sent poor men to die in wars. They did not -- could not -- shift that cost on to women. The claim that women are generally less privileged viz-a-viz men needs more support. For every so-called privileged man, I can probably show another male who had costs shifted on to his life by other, even more privileged men. And I can probably show women who had costs shifted on to their lives by other women.

Privilege, it seems, is a slippery thing. Rich women were once expected to bear children: definitely a burden. But they had the privilege of shifting some of the costs of that burden on to other women. Meanwhile, poor men were expected and, indeed, legally required to fight in wars. Again, definitely a burden. And there was no one to whom they could shift that burden. Of course, poor men received a package of benefits, too: no question. Did those benefits outweigh their burdens? I have no idea, and no feminist knows either.

And this is why male privilege doesn't matter: for any "male privilege" I can show a male burden that comes as part of the package. Some men can shift that burden on to men or other women, true. But are men, in general, capable of fully sloughing off those burdens on to others? No one has shown that, and it's probably not true. Some men can do so. Others cannot. Some probably bear burdens that wholly outweigh whatever meager benefit they get from society.

Mutatis mutandis for women, of course.

But the idea that men generally receive benefits from society that outweigh whatever burdens society imposes on them is left un-argued for, and probably unarguable.

Finally, there is the problem that no singular, monistic, objective sense of "benefit" can plausibly be defined. To some men, having to fight in wars is probably a benefit, given their temperament, skills, etc. To others, having to fight is a major burden. Are men who enjoy the trials of war more privileged than the men who don't? Are the men who enjoy fulfilling the expectations society places on men more privileged than those who do not?

Perhaps. And that opens another can of worms. Feminists have proceeded as if the notion of "benefit" can be simply defined, and that men simply receive them, passively. But society's expectations can be interpreted as good or bad. If male privilege is supposed to matter, then it must be argued (a) that the benefits men receive viz-a-viz their privilege really are benefits, and not a complicated package deal with burdens attached that outweigh the benefits, and (b) that, when there are burdens attached to the benefits, men in general are able to slough the burdens off on other women.

If either (a) or (b) fail to obtain, then you don't have "male privilege": you just have some story about how society imposes different burdens and benefits on its members, and about how some of those members resent the imposition. Some people appreciate the package. Some people don't. Some people (usually rich) are able to shift some of their burdens on to others. Some people (usually poor) get the shaft.

But that's not as dramatic a story as the one about the eternal Patriarchy, so I can see why feminists avoid it.

But what follows from it? Something like this: people should have to bear the burdens associated with their benefits. And people who want a different deal (a different package of benefits and burdens) should be free to pursue that possibility with other like-minded individuals. This gives us a reason to: (a) not shift the burdens on to others, and (b) not take up a social benefit without being acknowledging the burdens that go along with it.

However, these are things we would have reason to do apart from the existence of male privilege. The general prohibition involves "burden shifting", or, more generally, receiving social benefits without acknowledging the costs. Since both men and women can do this, the reason applies to both.

Secularism and Political Justification

This Newsweek piece caught my eye:

The End of Christian America

The percentage of self-identified Christians has fallen 10 points in the past two decades...the number of Americans who claim no religious affiliation has nearly doubled since 1990, rising from 8 to 15 percent.

Interestingly, the drop in religious affiliation is spread across the U.S. to some degree. While the northwest has always been less religious, the northeast has become "the new stronghold of the religiously unidentified."

That's an odd phrase: how can you have a stronghold of the unidentified? It's kind of like imagining a cabal of people unaffiliated with any other cabal.

Anyway, this is a philosophical blog, so I'm not going to try to explain why the number of self-identified Christians is dropping in the United States. Rather, I want to focus on the significance, especially the significance to liberalism.

John Rawls, some may recall, set out to meet what he saw as one of the most important challenges contemporary liberal democracies now face: liberal societies guarantee freedom of thought and expression. These freedoms lead to great diversity in moral and religious doctrines. How do you keep a society politically unified amidst an ever-expanding, irreconcilable diversity?

Rawls problem, I've become to believe, is quite similar to the same problem Madison tackles in Federalist 10. Madison saw that freedom leads to factionalism. When factions gain political power, they tend to use it to suppress other factions and to advance their own, narrow interests, which quickly becomes destructive to a political community.

It's impossible or at least undesirable to remove the causes of faction and diversity: the very freedoms we want to protect. The only solution is to mitigate their impact. For Madison, this meant setting up institutions that were, by design, highly resistant to the will of the people. For Rawls, this means articulating a freestanding, political conception of justice that everyone can support, despite their deeper disagreements about religion and morality.

I think both solutions are compatible. In the short run, we should support the institutions that tend to thwart the majority, like courts. In the long run, as political philosophers, we should try to find what I've called fixed points in the public culture, and build our ideas upon the edifice they provide. A fixed point is nothing more than some aspect of morality around which one can rally a consensus. Such fixed points are always fixed relative to some public culture, and are rooted in the history of the community.

For example, in the United States, the wrongness of discrimination against blacks is a highly potent fixed point. It would not have that standing if not for the American experience with slavery, the Civil War, and its aftermath. This is not to say that this point is accepted by everyone; rather, it is a point around which we can rally a consensus. Those who accept the fixed point -- and there are many of them -- find racism so evil that they are motivated to set aside class and racial privilege to support policies justified on the basis of that point.

So we should be careful: I am not claiming that there are no racists in the United States. I am claiming that (a) There are many, many people who do find racism evil, and (b) Those who see racism this way genuinely see racial discrimination as an injustice, so they are motivated to act against the evil even when their own interests are not directly implicated by it.

By this definition, fixed points get around the factionalism problem Madison envisages. They do so by providing enough people with enough motivation to set aside the interests of their relevant faction to do the right thing, or some facsimile of it.

Nothing I've said necessitates that everyone who accepts a fixed point does so for the same reason. Some people have rejected racism because they see it as contrary to the Christian idea that all are equal in the eyes of God. Some reject it because they see it as contrary to a certain version of Kant's categorical imperative, as I do. Some undoubtedly reject it for other reasons.

Fixed points do not require a consensus all the way down. That's the point.

Now, back to the collapse of Christianity in America: we might say, this is the inevitable outcome of the freedom liberal democracies guarantee to their citizens. Monolithic religious groups will splinter into sects and sub-sects. One might think this could lead to the abandonment of fixed points: after all, if those in group X accept that racism is evil because the doctrine of group X says it is evil, what happens when people leave group X? Are we destined to lose all our fixed points, and to stumble into the factionalism that so concerned Madison?

My answer at this time is: no. The funny thing about fixed points is that, by their nature, they can be justified in several different ways. Arguably, even to become a fixed point, a belief has to be broadly compatible with the diversity from which it arises. What will happen as people leave group X is that the things group X condemns that are not fixed points in the wider culture will likely be abandoned. What kind of things do I have in mind?

Well, the condemnation of same-sex marriage is such an issue. No, I'm not claiming that there is a shortage of religious groups now condemning same-sex marriage. Nor am I claiming that same-sex marriage is a fixed point in the sense I've used the term. It's not, although I think its permissibility can be derived from principles of equal protection that are fixed points.

Rather, what I'm claiming is this: same-sex marriage has only recently become a controversial issue. Of course, it would have been controversial, prior to the 20th century. But since the issue wasn't even raised, it never became controversial -- unlike slavery, which was controversial in the United States from the very beginning. The absence of controversy meant no consensus emerged with regard to same-sex marriage one way or the other, and with no consensus there can be no fixed points.

If the absence of fixed points leads to factionalism, then -- with regard to same-sex marriage -- what we have is factionalism. I happen to believe one faction has the better side of the argument. But the religious groups that condemn same-sex marriage are also factions. Their condemnation does not represent a fixed point; it is not justified on the basis of a fixed point. Thus, those who abandon those factions will not likely retain this belief, because it is justified solely in terms of doctrines endogenous to the factions.

Thus, I see the situation like this: if people abandon Christianity, they will retain a belief in issues clustering around certain fixed points. People will not start believing in the permissibility of slavery because their version of Christianity condemned it. They will continue to believe it is impermissible, because the wrongness of slavery is a fixed point. However, they will either stop believing in the wrongness of same-sex marriage, or else be far less motivated to impose this belief on others through law.

Actually, I think something is even more likely than this: same-sex marriage, while not a fixed point itself, is closely aligned with a belief that all are entitled to equal protection of the law. This belief is a fixed point, or close to it. Thus, history really is on the side of same-sex marriage advocates. The war between the factions will be resolved in favor of the side that can best call upon these fixed cultural points to justify itself.

That will be the side in favor of marriage equality. Count on it.

Iowa court makes right decision

Today, the Iowa Supreme Court struck down that state's ban on same-sex marriage.

From what I can tell, the ruling was made on equal protection grounds:

“We have a constitutional duty to ensure equal protection of the law,” the Iowa justices wrote in their opinion. “If gay and lesbian people must submit to different treatment without an exceedingly persuasive justification, they are deprived of the benefits of the principle of equal protection upon which the rule of law is founded.”

As I wrote some place in the past, the argument in favor of same-sex marriage through equal protection is fairly simple. The law gives some people the right to marry the consenting adult partner of their choice. Unless there is some "exceedingly persuasive justification" against it, everyone should have that right. There is no reason to restrict the right only to those who wish to marry someone of the opposite sex.

Simple. Conservative arguments against gay marriage often rely on dubious assumptions about the consequences that would follow from the legal recognition of same-sex marriage. For example, it has been argued that the legal recognition of same-sex marriage will somehow incentivize hetereosexuals against getting married -- despite the tax and other social benefits that go along with marriage.

These arguments are so transparent, it is no wonder the Iowa decision was unanimous.

There are other conservative arguments that could be called "formalist." These arguments rest on the assumption that marriage is and always has been defined in a certain way, and that -- for some reason -- the law ought to track that definition, to the exclusion of all other considerations.

These are silly arguments, for several reasons. One reason is that it is not clear how the person making the argument thinks normative content can and should be derived solely from a dictionary definition. I'm not claiming that a commonly accepted definition of a term should _never_ inform the law. But it is hardly the only consideration that matters.

Another formalist argument involves denying that same-sex couples have unequal rights, since they have exactly the same right to marry as opposite-sex couples: that is, they can marry someone of the opposite sex.

This argument piggy backs on the first. There is no way to rebut it directly -- not because it is that powerful of an argument, but because it is barely an argument at all. Marriage has certain essential features. We rely on these features when we distinguish "good" marriages from "bad" ones. A loveless show marriage, for example, qualifies as a "bad" marriage (or, better: it is a bad example of a marriage.)

Why is this? Well, we tend to think that the presence of a loving, committed relationship is an important, if not essential, feature of marriage. Same-sex relationships can exhibit this feature. That value -- which can be present in same-sex relationships to the same degree as opposite-sex ones -- is important, and the law ought to recognize it without prejudice.

But notice, the value -- which we can call the essential value of marriage -- depends in no way on the people in the relationship being of the opposite sex. When the law restricts marriage to opposite-sex couples, it is not protecting the value of marriage; instead, it is diminishing it, because it is placing what is an inessential part of the value of marriage -- the opposite sex part -- on the same level as a feature that is part of the essential value of marriage.

What is important is that we recognize committed, loving relationships; not that we recognize committed, loving relationships between people who happen to be of the opposite sex.

This is a good day for Iowa.

Conservatism: Libertarian means, traditionalist ends?

According to Donald Devine, lecturer at the Federalist Leadership Institute seminar I attended a while back, that's the definition of American conservatism. The free market is the best but by no means the only way of achieving the ends tradition sets for us.


Why should tradition set our collective ends, or have any say at all over the goals we as a society choose to pursue? Why can't we just dream up an end -- say, the abolishment of poverty -- and then use the power of the state to achieve that end?

Conservatism's reliance on tradition represents a rejection of what Hayek called "constructivist social rationalism." Modern liberals believe -- in a way classical liberals did not -- that society cannot only articulate its own goals, but effectively pursue those goals through legislation. To rationalists of this stripe, the "city of God" is attainable here on earth, if only the right legislators with the right ideas are given the power to pass the right laws.

Although constructivism is now rampant, it is not a modern ideology. Arguably, Plato was its first and most vociferous exponent. According to the constructivist, the authority of the state can abolish poverty (or poetry, as Plato preferred) and bring about social harmony. It can achieve the ideal -- the right, the true, the good -- here and now.


How does the conservative's acceptance of tradition as a source of ends repudiate constructivism? After all, whether they admit it or not, many of the ideals liberals espouse are ends conservatives would affirm themselves, e.g. ending poverty, religious coexistence, and ensuring the benefits and burdens of living in a society are distributed fairly. What differentiates the conservative's acceptance of these ideas?


There is nothing new about the desire to live in a tolerant, prosperous society. This desire is not something liberals discovered on their own, to be gradually introduced to the rest of us uneducated troglidytes when we are ready for it.


Nor, however, are the goals of mutual toleration, justice, and freedom innately pursued. In our society, these are traditional goals. But societies like ours, that value these goals, are historically uncommon. There is nothing inevitable about the fact that you have come to value toleration, justice, and freedom. You value them precisely because you were lucky enough to be born into a society that valued them first.

While constructivism may accept traditionalist goals and ideas, it cannot accept them because they are traditional. It must accept them because they are rational. This means: because unencumbered, detached reason has formulated them, and given them its authoritative stamp of approval. However, as both Nietzsche and Hayek well knew, there is no such source of authority. The idea that we can reason best by abstracting away from our cultural surroundings, from our upbringing, from tradition itself -- this is a Platonic sham.

Epistemologically, the abstraction process -- deluding ourselves into thinking we have sanctified ourselves of any vestige of prejudice or cultural conditioning -- only leads to a distortion of our ideas. Morally and politically, it leads to policies that may work well in theory, but have disastrous results when applied to the "real world."

"Ecce homo," says Nietzsche's saint, painting himself on the wall. That is man, the way man ought to be. But not everyone can be a saint, and not only because for most attaining sainthood would require them to completely demolish their current identity. It would be a bad thing for all of us to suddenly ditch our current lives for the life of St. Francis of Assisi. Or the life of Jesus Christ, for that matter.

Some must stay behind, if only to grow the food for which the rest of us will beg. And if many of us did suddenly decide to make the switch to sainthood, those remaining behind -- standing athwart history, yelling "Stop!" like William Buckley -- could have no more accurate label than "conservative."

Fortunately, most of us will not whittle down our current identities and choose to start from scratch as saints. When it comes to the preservation and maintenance of our identities, we are all conservatives.
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The constructivist's repudiation of tradition leads to a distortion of conception. Policy-wise, the measures constructivists adopt to achieve their ends will suffer a similar theoretical bias. Imaginging themselves to be formulating their goals for the first time, they will ignore what has worked relatively well in the past in favor of social engineering more suited to the abstract, detached nature of their supremely rationalist ends.

Policy failure can easily be explained away -- "Well, at least we did something," will be the familiar refrain, just before another, newer policy is proposed. In repudiating the idea of traditionalist ends, the constructivist repudiates every traditional solution, and must always be on the hunt for the next social science "breakthrough" to supply the latest fix to age-old problems.