If I say that literature and philosophy are mere artistic diversions, I in effect concede that the forms of discourse those in power take seriously (law books, contracts, diagnostic manuals) are the best ones. This is precisely the concession that literature and philosophy refuse to make. The form of rationality that sees the power of other human beings in the same way it sees the laws of nature is merely a systematic and methodical form of cowardice. If I decide my career plans based on what is lucrative rather than what seems to me true and just, I have allowed those in power to decide for me what is true and just. What we call “practicality” is in fact no more than cowardly capitulation.
Suppose a woman helps those she finds most worthy and asks for nothing in return. When she comes to me asking for help, she can offer no money. Even if I want to help her, my duty to my employer makes it impossible. Although I would never concede its truth, the principle that in fact guides my actions is the supposition that only those with money are worthy of help. If a waiter were to behave as a rational and humane distributor of food, turning away fat wallets and feeding the poor and hungry, he would be fired in an instant. “It is difficult to get a man to understand something,” says Upton Sinclair, “when his salary depends on his not understanding it.” It’s difficult to get myself to understand that the principle by which I choose whom to help and whom to ignore is a false principle.
Property rights are a fiction. This fiction, however, happens to be one that those in power take seriously. This makes them, in a sense, a fact. The Spanish Inquisition tormented atheists, and thus made the existence of God, in just the same sense, a fact. The rationalizations offered are also similar. If we didn’t all believe in God, society wouldn't please God. If we didn’t all believe in property rights, society wouldn't produce the largest possible amount of property. The cowardly hypocrisy of today’s skeptics, who proudly announce they are unwilling to believe in fictions, and yet show themselves perfectly willing to believe in fictions enforced by the state, continues to perplex me.
If the world is barbaric, then adjusting to the world as it is will make me barbaric. It is only insofar as I remain unadjusted that I retain any trace of humanity. The quest for unity of theory and practice has been largely discarded by thinkers of today. Theory must now adapt and reconcile itself to practice, no matter how irrational or barbaric that practice may be. The temptation to give up on the unique course of ethical development my mind sees before it at each moment, and conform to the pre-established course of bourgeois life, is ever present.
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