The Illusion of Moral Cohesion

I sometimes think many of us feel an imperative to represent ourselves as having moral cohesion.

I don’t know about you, but my moral life is messy at the best of times. Let’s get specific by choosing a way in which I strive to be moral, but frequently disappoint myself: in living an anti-racist life. 

There are things I do which I can say are oriented towards relating to different cultures and/or ethnicities, staying open to people of colour as they feel emboldened to be authoritative in ways which white Australians might censor or negate… when I locate that tendency to censor and negate within myself, I try to a) calm down, and b) ask questions which can get me to a more accepting place. The goal is to create space for people of colour to be themselves - messy, imperfect, variable - and still worthy. 

Now, I have personally benefitted from the knowledge of many feminists of colour, such as Bell Hooks, Audré Lorde and Sara Ahmed… But…

In my messiness, I have not always been able to be as generous to someone like Sara Ahmed as I can now see as ideal. For example, I articulated to myself the value of analysing the emotional states that feminism often results in (Sara writes of feeling like an ‘affect alien’ in ‘Living a Feminist Life’, describing, for example, feeling out of sync with the rest of society as they might laugh at a joke in which the punch line depends of gender stereotypes). But for ages I put undue focus on what I regarded as the least rewarding part of the book, its word-play. 

Browsing through Amazon.com reviews of ‘Living a Feminist Life’, I noted that just about everybody else was too enthralled with the revolutionary insights of the narrative to bother complaining at all. But, reader, I insisted that what I now experience as a minor flaw, ought to be duly called out. This eventually ended with me being passive-aggressive to a feminist I met on the internet who had noted that Sara Ahmed was one of her favourite authors. I regret this.

Rather than a tidy, open-and-closed case of me having been morally dubious (being overly critical of a Black woman, then being micro-aggressive to a woman of colour about it), and having atoned for it by recognising my rightful position as an admirer and amplifier of Ahmed’s work, and going forth into the world with more ardent anti-racism… I don’t mind sharing that I have made similar mistakes since, and will probably continue to make them in the future. 

I strive to be fair and just to everybody, but is it even realistic to expect constant adherence to this perfectionistic standard? As a white person in a white supremacy, I am a product of my environment, and I unconsciously act out what I have been taught… until I catch myself in the act, back off, get calm… and curious. Reflect, and change… Then reinforce the strengths in my anti-racism and expand upon them. 

But one thing I cannot offer is moral certitude, moral cohesion, or moral consistency. If my morality is a painting, it is constantly rearranging itself. Sometimes I am pleased with myself. Sometimes I am not. I notice I am more pleased if I opt out of representing myself as morally cohesive. Removing the pressure to be perfect creates space for more self-compassion, and giving myself permission to fail ironically gives me more freedom to take more risks. Self-compassion and a growth mindset helps me grow: as an anti-racist and as a person with moral agency.

Morally messy - that is how I am. It’s a relief to be open about it, and it would make me happy if I could encourage someone to feel more comfortable with their messy, ambiguous self. I am still worthy - and so are you.