Individualism is part
and parcel of classical liberalism. It is the individual that matters morally,
and it is the individual for which liberalists postulate the right of an
autonomous choice of its own way of life. But how does this connect to the fact
that humans depend on others for both their physical and psychic survival? How
does it connect to the fact that we pick our choices mainly from the role
models that are available in society? Such are the questions that are discussed
in Ethics of Identity.

With this book, Princeton philosopher Appiah presents an abundance of
information and good arguments for anyone who wants to get to know the field.
Though densely argued, the book has also a narrative side. As a part-time
author of crime-novels, Appiah knows how to tell a story, and he efficiently
uses narration to get across his points. On many occasions Appiah’s own family
history provides illustrations for the phenomena he is discussing. Born in
England to an English mother and an Asante father and raised in Ghana, Appiah
graduated in Cambridge/England and has since taught Philosophy at a number of
renowned American universities.

The book even starts off with a narration. Appiah begins by narrating
the life of John Stuart Mill, who at the same time is the arch-defender of
liberty and, through his own biography, conscious of the importance of a person’s
identity for a good life. But even personal identity involves social aspects,
or so Appiah argues: "To value individuality properly just is to acknowledge the dependence of the
good for each of us on relationships with others. Without these bonds we could
not come to be free selves, not least because we could not come to be selves at
all." (21)

A collective identity is defined by Appiah as "the collective
dimensions of our individual identities" — and these collective
dimensions of our individual identities "are responses to something
outside our selves", "they are the products of histories" (21).
They all provide "what Ian Hacking has dubbed kinds of person: men, gay, Americans, Catholics, but also butlers,
hairdressers, and philosophers" (65). What we make use of when we
construct our own personal identity are just these "kinds of person
available in one’s society" (21): those notions that "provide loose
norms or models, which play a role in shaping our plans of life" (22).
Therefore, collective identities, in Appiah’s eyes, are "scripts":
"narratives that people can use in shaping their projects and in telling
their life stories" (22) — and society is the big "scriptorium"
(21) where such notions are created and copied.

Not every collective term represents a social category: "There is
no social category of the witty, or the clever, or the charming, or the
greedy." Appiah argues that there is "a logical but no social
category of the witty", because people who share this property of being
witty "do not constitute a social group" (23). But Appiah does not
present an account of what is or is not to count as a social group. Thus his
argument has a loose end here. Throughout the book Appiah is scarcely interested
in groups as such, but rather in the individuals that belong to certain groups
and how they see themselves. Sometimes, as in this case, it would have been
helpful, had Appiah considered groups as collective entities in their own
right.

For Appiah, social categories are connected with social expectations:
"Because we have expectations of the butler, it is a recognisable
identity" (66). According to Appiah, if "L" denotes a collective
identity then L has the following structure: First, there is a term, i.e.
"L", available in public discourse for the bearers of this identity.
It suffices that there is "a rough overlap in the classes picked out by
the term ‘L’ so there need be no precisely agreed boundaries" (67).
Second, this label "L" is internalised by at least some of its
bearers. Third, there are "strong narrative dimensions" connected
with this label. And fourth, there are "patterns of behavior towards L
such that Ls are sometimes treated as Ls"
(68), both by people who consider themselves as Ls and by others: That someone
is an L might be a reason for action, and therefore such collective patterns of
identity matter for moral philosophy.

But among political philosophers there is no unanimity "whether
autonomy […] is or ought to be a value in the first place" (40). Is it
not just another thing that is being exported from Western modernity? Does not
the "talk of self-fashioning, self-direction, self-authorship" reflect
"an arrogant insularity" (40)? Is there not "a tension between
tolerance and autonomy" (41)? Appiah does not evade these questions. Although
the concept of autonomy may stem from Western modernity, or so Appiah argues,
the right to choose one’s way of life freely is a value for itself, while
diversity is of instrumental value only. He does not plead for a "preservationist
ethic" (130). If individual autonomous choices will lead to the extinction
of certain forms of life, of cultures or languages, then the individuals still
have the right to choose their own way of life.

Individuals do not create their "theory of the good" isolated
from society. Humans are raised by parents and educated in schools, which may
be run or supervised by the state. Public education of the children matters for
their individual choices when they are grown up. Now, if it is not possible not
to influence children, which influences are to be chosen? Borrowing from Plato
the conception of politics as "the art of caring for souls," Appiah
calls this educational influencing "soul making" (155). He discusses
at length the tensions between soul making and the purported neutrality of the
state towards identities, and which kinds of identity may be justly disfavoured
by the state and whichmay not. According to
Appiah, the state may justly disfavour identities like being a terrorist,
because this identity threatens the state’s very existence.

In his last chapter, Appiah argues for a position he calls "rooted
cosmopolitanism" (213). The rooted cosmopolitanist does not deny his roots
in his own culture, but he is open-minded with regard to other cultures. Appiah
puts it in the slogan that we should seek "conversation, not mere
conversion" (264). Within conversation, or so Appiah hopes, we could also
convince members of other cultures of the value of human rights: not through
conversion to universal principles, but through conversation starting from
shared intuitions about particular cases.

The issues Appiah discusses are of philosophical interest and at the
same time of political importance. His book is well written and bare of
technicalities, but it requires concentrated attention when reading it. I wish,
however, that this attention will be given to the book and its argument not
only by philosophers but also by social workers, psychologists and politicians
— by all those who care for souls.

© 2005 Ludger Jansen

Ludger Jansen, Ph.D. teaches Philosophy at the
University of Stuttgart and is a research fellow at the Institute of Formal
Ontology and Medical Information Sciences at the University of the Saarland in
Saarbrücken.

Categories: Philosophical