Questionable Ethics #2
This is the slightly belated second installment of our series covering the ethical ambiguities unmentioned in Randy Cohen’s New York Times Magazine column, “The Ethicist.” (See here for a bit more background.) This week, Cohen covers two dilemmas about disclosure.
The first letter is from an intern in a district attorney’s office who is often taken for the DA or an ADA when making phone calls. Cohen explains that getting mistaken for the prosecutor is apparently a common problem, even for public defenders, and suggests that we don’t have an infinite obligation to disabuse people of their silliest misconceptions. One ought to make an honest, concerted effort to explain one’s actual identity—merely saying the words one time is not necessarily enough, but something like a preface to every sentence is unnecessary. This seems like reasonable advice that most would agree with.
However, Cohen adds an odd caveat that I think is not so universally acceptable. He writes, “If this were a situation in which the person being interviewed might respond differently, then you would have to continue to clarify your job title, even repeatedly, even at the risk of becoming an old bore.” But… when is that? How does one recognize one of those situations, without having psychic powers? A statement like this can hardly be considered an ethical rule if it is next to impossible for a human being to follow.
Additionally, though, particularly in the legal context, I can see a good argument for doing precisely the opposite. If you are gathering information about a trial, and suspect that witnesses are cooperating with you because they believe you to be from the prosecution side when you are actually from the defense, so much the better for you! The defense should have equal access to that information, and shouldn’t have to bend over backwards so that even the most stupid of witnesses can have the opportunity to obstruct justice. Similarly, if witnesses are telling you things only because they believe you to be in a position of power instead of just a lowly intern, probably they are trying to curry favor, politically or otherwise. Better that their information gets received while no corrupt back-scratching is promised. If someone imagines they’ve been promised favors when they haven’t, that’s their own fault. I’m not sure I am convinced by this, but a reasonable person certainly could conclude that if “the person being interviewed might respond differently,” one has no more moral obligation to clarify one’s identity than in any other case.
The second letter is the following:
I volunteer as a Sunday-school teacher at my Catholic church. While I consider myself Catholic and understand Catholic beliefs, I do not agree with all that the church teaches. When a student asks me about a topic on which the church and I differ, may I reply with my own beliefs in addition to the official doctrine? B.J.,WASHINGTON
Cohen answers that B.J. may, as long as the differing beliefs are presented impersonally as things which some modern Catholics believe. He says it is morally acceptable, and suggests it is morally obligatory, to include this because it is “objectively true, pertinent to the discussion and informative for the students.” While I do personally like the idea of a Catholic Sunday school class including an explanation of the ways many Catholics disobey the Pope, the principle Cohen’s defending here seems so counter-intuitive that I am sure it is not the only possible ethical ruling on the issue.
Cohen says that in a class meant to teach a certain set of material, it is ethical to stop and explain why and how some people disagree with the material being taught, provided that people truly do disagree, and that their disagreement is “pertinent” and “informative.” This sounds like a lovely abstraction, but we would not accept a biology teacher who set aside curriculum time for creationism, or a history teacher who made sure students knew that many people out there don’t believe the Holocaust ever happened, because they would not be doing their jobs (even though these statements are surely true, pertinent, and informative). Perhaps we can imagine a limited context in which these lessons would be acceptable: debunking the claims against evolution made by ID proponents, or discussing the complex sociology of racial hatred—that is to say, pointing out that some disagree with the curriculum, and then explaining why they are wrong.
But this is certainly not what is being proposed in the case of B.J., who is also in a unique situation teaching Sunday school. In that context, even if it is not delivered explicitly, the message is still, “You should believe this.” Presumably, the “this” that B.J.’s church wants the students to hear about is Catholic doctrine, not the ways in which some of the congregants disregard it. B.J. is teaching under the auspices of the church, and so might reasonably be expected to check with the religious education coordinator about what was expected and allowed. This would give the church ample opportunity either to give the go-ahead and assuage B.J.’s concerns, or to inform B.J. that they’d rather find a different volunteer.
One might also take a stand on more basic principles and argue that one has a moral obligation not to propagate beliefs and ideas one disagrees with—that is to say, it would be unethical for a Muslim or a Jew or an atheist, or even for a Presbyterian or a Lutheran, to agree to teach a Catholic Sunday school class, since doing so would misrepresent their own identity and act against their own interests. (This would not be true if a non-Catholic was teaching an academic course, perhaps in comparative religions, which discussed Catholic doctrine. In the Sunday school setting, the teacher is a religious authority figure, at least attempting to instill beliefs in students.) From this ethical perspective, B.J.’s struggles and doubts about proper behavior may be seen as evidence that teaching the class is already too much of a moral compromise.
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