Veganism needs to bypass the murky waters of moral debate

Persuasive states of affairs are better tools for shepherding the idea of veganism towards a cultural norm

When we use moral arguments, for example, why it is wrong to eat chicken, we hope to increase the potency for this moral belief and convince ‘chicken eaters’ to modify their eating habits.

Once we have successfully converted the first set of ‘chicken eaters’, we are inevitably left with ‘chicken eaters’ less inclined to modify their eating habits.

At this point, we can continue to look for new ways to repackage our moral arguments. We can elaborate them to state, not only why eating chicken is wrong, but also, why eating garbanzo beans is right, and so on.

But, if and when we have successfully converted the second set of ‘chicken eaters’, once again, we will be left with ‘chicken eaters’ even less inclined to modify their eating habits.

And so, as we repeat this cycle, the amount of ‘chicken eaters’ converted each time will be less — and those who are not converted increasingly resistant.

Moreover, the more we continue to use moral arguments for these remaining ‘chicken eaters’, the more they might actually solidify their position in the wake of yet another failed attempt at persuasion.

It’s as if each successive failed attempt at persuasion leaves some kind of emotional residue which affects the next attempt at persuasion. Eventually, many remaining ‘chicken eaters’ may have simply ‘backed a horse’ and will be intent on arguing it to the line regardless.

These ‘chicken eaters’ may also be deliberately choosing to adopt a dishonest moral discourse to conceal their true moral inclinations and justify their selfish goals. This hypocrisy might be referred to as ‘moral dickery’, a phenomenon whereby almost any selfish goal can be seemingly backed-up by empty moral ‘noise’ in a way that makes it practically impenetrable to reason.

The Urban Dictionary describes ‘dickery’ as:

“When playing a game in such a way as to piss off anyone who is playing with you or against you. To turn being a dick into a viable way of playing a game. It is only dickery if they are aware of what they are doing”.

It also seems true that where our moral arguments appear destined to become derelict, it is often the persuader and not the subject of persuasion, who parades a kind of pompous dismay for lack of persuasive progress.

The merits of our moral message can — all too often — be demoted for lack of a cordial ambassador to properly promote their cause. Some of our moral pontification seems so hardboiled and egomaniacal it appears to be accompanied by a strange kind of monotonic supernatural trance.

Moral arguments may be appropriate as a kind of pre-wash or springboard, a revving of the car engine on a cold winter’s morning, or a hair-raising Haka before the whistle blows for kick-off.

But, too much moral wrestling can result in, a digging in of the heels, a reflexive lashing out, a stubborn loyalty to that which has survived previous attempts at persuasion, or just good ‘ol ‘moral dickery’.

And to pursue moral arguments without end is to risk indoctrination. It is to risk being seen as imposing a Garden of Eden concept of moral utopia with simple answers and simple truths.

Genuinely successful examples of change that do not leave an underbelly of resentment, are perhaps more likely to involve the persuader being able to woo the status quo, not by humiliating their existing cultural norms with arguments that assume conflict — but rather by opening new doors to even-more-desirable states of affairs.

That is, new states of affairs that can be sought after, observed, consumed and favorably compared with existing states of affairs — in their capacity to satisfy our selfish goals.

Without states of affairs — and therefore without any observable space to move into and interact with — remaining ‘chicken eaters’ less inclined to modify their eating habits may feel cornered and therefore more inclined to resist.

But by being the effect, as opposed to trying to induce the effect in others, states of affairs, which appeal directly to our selfish goals, can bypass resistance.

To put it simply, if garbanzo beans are less desirable and less nutritious than chicken, then only an absolute courageous moral saint might be able to effortlessly and continuously eat garbanzo beans.

On the other hand, if garbanzo beans provide better incentives to be eaten than chicken, then even an overly habitual or ethically challenged ‘chicken eater’ might effortlessly adopt a vegan lifestyle.

For some ‘chicken eaters’, even a colossal increase in the potency of their moral beliefs might not enable them to immerse themselves in veganism.

We do not know how many and given the dishonest nature of people’s moral beliefs it is impossible to know, but it is strangely possible, perhaps even likely, that a significant majority of ‘chicken eaters’ already harbor vegan values, concerns and ideas, but are simply holding out for a better deal on their selfish goals.

And the more we frame it like this, the more the pot of ‘chicken eaters’ who can be converted by improving the incentives in their environment, as opposed to endless moral debate, starts to look very big.

If this is the case, veganism needs to create states of affairs for people as they really are — including their default levels of selfishness.

It needs to create states of affairs where the geometry of our moral beliefs and selfish goals is such that neither becomes fractured through their entanglement with the other.

That is, veganism needs to create states of affairs in which neither our moral beliefs or our selfish goals emerge as the clear winner, a kind of Mexican standoff, where the opposing forces are perfectly balanced and the cultural landscape allows for full-blown technicolor versions of each.

The extent to which it is possible to find this equilibrium or harmony may correlate with the endurance and longevity of our moral beliefs and selfish goals in our cultural norms.

On the contrary, if veganism cannot bring about states of affairs where our moral beliefs and selfish goals coexist without conflict, neither will be manifested to their full potential.

Rainer Maria Rilke, the mystical German-language poet, wrestled with similar themes: if we suppress our selfish goals we have a smaller canvas on which to express our moral beliefs.

“Don’t take my devils away because my angels may flee too” (Rainer Maria Rilke).