The Ethics of Emotionality
I’ve been mulling on something like metaethics lately (what can I say, 2020 is a full pensive mood). Does ethics ineffably serve us, or is it yet another system we rely on as a nascent species just to get us to some as yet seen developed stage? Most of the musings feel about at utile as the inquiry, “how do you feel about your feelings?” That is to say, it’s not distinctly aggravating and pointless, but we’re getting close.
I control the narrative here, so it’s no coincidence I asked about feelings on feelings. It’s a cornerstone of modern reality that has fascinated me from both a personal and an anthropological note. One particularly delicious example of this phenomenon goes something like, “I feel bad because I know I only like that guy because he looks toxically male.” Feelings on feelings. At the core, I argue that this is conscience and awareness beyond the self; that’s hopeful in my opinion. There’s still some external motivation, and I’d always love for more ego death, but I’ll take progress where I find it. But what’s the point of feeling about feeling? And much more importantly, is there an ethical boundary to how we treat our own and others’ emotions.
Ethics currently stands primarily on bodily autonomy and intellectual rights. Does the former include our feelings that have multiple known physical components? Does the latter account for our emotional intellect and needs? As per usual, I’ll serve as example. Anecdotes aren’t great for ethics, but I don’t want to speak on behalf of another, let alone a hypothetical other.
In graduate school (and before and after), I was depressed. That’s not surprising, I live with chronic major depression among other things. On my way toward a particular nadir in my depressive spirals, my advisor asked to see me privately to chat. He acknowledged that something felt off about me, and was curious how I was doing. Those who know me now are aware that I’m not one to mince words; at the time, I was still developing that skill for the very reason I’m writing this piece at all.
“I’ve been really depressed is all.”
“Oh, well depression is normal here. You just have to get back to the work and let the work fulfill you. Are you feeling [slitting throat sound]?”
Pause. My advisor wanted to ask me if I was feeling suicidal. As a result of the times and because he’s barely fit to be fecund human waste he literally couldn’t muster those words.
“Well, the thoughts come and go. That’s been part of my depression for a while.”
“Well you don’t want any of that. And think about the others. It’s hard to get good work done with someone moping around all the time. We smile for each other.”
This didn’t happen with everyone who confronts my depression, and it still doesn’t happen. In part because at that moment I developed a LOT of gumption and lost a fair bit of tact.
“My depression is my own. I’m not asking for help and I won’t excuse my emotions.”
Stepping back into the present and further into the abstract, is there a right or wrong there? Is there even a clear distinction between healthy and unhealthy behavior in that anecdote? In ethics, the central belief is toward the “good of humanity.” It’s an emphasis on the group, away from the individual. Realistically, ethics can’t focus too heavily on the individual or their needs because that’s just morals. As a field, ethics tries very hard to be much more objective than morality so that it can serve more reliably for the whole of humanity.
But my boss was partly right. It is difficult to interact with a sad sack (that’s a technical term). Eeyore isn’t the character Christopher Robin and Pooh turn to when they want to build a go-kart or play party games. As social creatures, humans have some intrinsic empathy that sways our own emotions as we interact with others. When I am sad and my mother knows of it, she becomes sad for and with me. Empathy and sympathy work together here, likely because it was anthropologically advantageous to ensure the entire human herd was healthy. When one is suffering, it puts the whole at risk. And I’ve had countless brazen individuals tell me flatly, “you can’t kill yourself; that’s selfish and you’ll cause way more pain than you fix.”
I can do whatever the fuck I want with my body, it’s 2020.
Wait, can I?
Do we owe each other the obligation of living, and living in the delusion of delight simply because loss and heartbreak is too much to ask of others? Realistically, this ethical quandary has come up repeatedly over the past fifteen years. If the stars align such that I am both *in a mood* and expected to be somewhere with others, I call myself into question whether or not it is ethical or even just rude to show up fully myself or whether I should curtail my being for the emotional security of others. To be clear, I’m not outright physically harming people and I’m usually not assaulting their character; I’m just Eeyore-esque. Back to the question, am I doing myself an ethical disservice by denying my earnest suffering for the platitudinous comfort of others? After all, the large majority of those I interact with are well past the point of survival (in regard to Maslow’s Hierarchy). When can I reasonably expect any other to risk the full gamut of my emotions?
For a few reasons, in those moments of trial I maintain an overly conservative stance. I don’t go, or if I do I make a quick showing and leave without saying goodbye. Whether or not ethics is on my side, society has shown multiple times over that it is not yet at the stage where we can reliably facilitate particularly emotional individuals in just any context. This isn’t a fair system; mania is more widely accepted (and undiagnosed) while depression and anxiety are edged out of the limelight. Regardless, it’s the current state of affairs, and while I definitely know there are parties specifically for big saddies like me, I don’t own enough black clothing and I don’t want to be there either.
This year has been hard for a lot of us, and for many we don’t have the structures in place to appropriately process the trauma we’ve experienced. Going forward into next year, I anticipate more and more people to face the same sort of ethical quandary to which I’ve become accustomed. I don’t know the answer outright. I know where I fall in terms of beliefs.
Feel your feelings. I’ll do my best to understand them and empathize without contracting them myself. If your feelings sway me, it is not your fault.
I ask the same kindness in return.
Sincerely Not Sure,
August
