Like everyone else, how I look at the world is shaped by my backstory. While, as a professional philosopher, I have an excellent logical toolkit, my use of these tools is shaped by how I feel about things. Since the matter of guns is an emotional issue, I need to sort out how my backstory influences how I assess arguments about guns.
Academics, especially philosophers, are often cast as latte sipping effeminate liberals who would get the vapors if they so much as caught sight of a gun. The positive version of this stereotype is that an academic is far too civil to have any truck with something as barbarous as guns and far too intelligent to believe that guns have any value. A true intellectual, or so the stereotype goes, should dismiss all pro-gun prattle with the wave of a hand, a bemused smile and a remark about people clinging to God and guns. This slides nicely into a rather negative stereotype of gun owners.
Gun owners are all too often stereotyped as slack jawed ignoramuses, upper lips sweaty with thoughts of killing God’s creatures and who secretly stroke their shooting irons while fantasizing about killing. The positive reverse of this negative stereotype is that gun owners are practical folks who believe in God, guns and country and want nothing to do with those ivory tower intellectuals and their bemused smiles.
Being a gun-toting philosopher, I have been subject to these stereotypes. If an academic colleague or a fellow intellectual learns that I am a gun person (and especially that I have hunted), they often react with shock and dismay. Surely, they say, I am too smart and too decent to have anything to do with guns. Once they get to know me, they tend to look at my gun history as a small aberration in an otherwise decent person.
Gun folks who find out I am an academic are often surprised by this, especially when they learn I am a philosopher. They often think of academics as elitist liberals who swoon at the sight of guns. Once they get to know me, they tend to look at my being a philosopher as a small aberration in an otherwise decent person. As is true of everyone else, I am who I am today because of who I was. So, on to my gun related backstory.
Like many American boys of my time, my first gun was a BB gun. It was a Daisy BB gun, but not a Red Ryder. It would, however, put an eye out. As boys, we would shoot the hell out of each other with our guns, so it is a wonder that we all made it out of childhood with both eyes. This was the gun I used for my first kill.
While the mists of time have obscured many memories, I clearly recall taking aim at a songbird perched on a powerline by what we called “the frog pond.” Carelessly I shot, not thinking I would hit it. The bird fell, striking the ground as a corpse. Though I was a kid, I knew I had done something terrible and had committed a needless, senseless killing. I had murdered that bird. I was not protecting myself (obviously) and I did not need it for food. That callous and careless murder shaped my view of guns for the rest of my life. My young mind grasped that it is all too easy to silence a song forever.
Eventually I got my first real guns, a Marlin .22 and a single shot .410-gauge shotgun. I still have them back home in Maine. My father made sure that I knew all the safety rules and he taught me two of the great truths about guns. The first is that a gun is always loaded. The second is that you never point a gun at anything or anyone unless you mean to kill. The safety lessons stuck and I have never been injured by my own gun and I have never harmed another being without intending to do so.
Once I was old enough, I went hunting with my father. I had to get up at an ungodly hour of the day and I remember feeling very cold. We’d then drive down to the land we owned in Lamoine. On the way we’d get Dunkin Donuts which was my favorite part. Sometimes we would cook bacon and eggs by the ocean. Sometimes we would go down the night before and that meant Dinty Moore Beef Stew from the can. These are all positive memories—no one got hurt. Well, no one but the ducks. Although I make really good beef stew these days, I still buy a can of Dinty Moore from time to time. It tastes like memories.
While hunters are sometimes cast as bloodthirsty, callous or trophy lusting egomaniacs, nothing could be further from my experiences. My father taught me to respect the animals we hunted and the natural world. He also taught me a lesson that has shaped my character ever since.
While a duck usually drops immediately when hit, sometimes they are only badly wounded. These birds are sometimes able to fly away before being forced down. They are, no doubt, terrified and in great pain while they struggle to escape. While it might be thought that the right thing to do would be to let such a bird escape, the truth is that it will most likely suffer from an infection and die horribly and slowly. Once, when we were hunting, this happened, the bird flew quite a distance and then plummeted into the water, wounded but not dead. My father got the boat into the water and went after the duck, shooting it and retrieving it. The reason was not to avoid losing the duck. The reason was a moral responsibility to that duck. To leave it to suffer and die would be wrong; the duck was his responsibility. This reinforced my belief in the responsibility that comes from using a gun and the moral necessity of being fully accountable for one’s actions. We are dangerous beings, and we are accountable to those we harm.
Some might say that this tale is all well and good, but that the real lesson is that a person should not be out there shooting animals in the first place. As a philosopher, I agree there are excellent moral arguments against harming animals (I have, of course, read Peter Singer’s Animal Liberation and this is why I no longer eat veal). However, to hunt for the sake of food and to do so with respect for the animal is to accept that I am part of the natural world. That is, I am a hunter and the duck is prey. Someday, I too shall pass, and my mortal shell will be consumed. As I see it, it is morally acceptable to kill a duck for food, provided that the kill is clean.
Those who embrace vegetarianism can raise very reasonable moral objections against killing even for food: why kill an animal that can suffer instead of eating a plant that (supposedly) cannot? I do find merit in these arguments and accept that killing animals for food is morally worse than killing plants. However, I accept the moral weight of my actions, and this makes me reluctant to kill. In fact, I would now only kill for my own survival.
When I went to college and then to graduate school, I learned a great deal about ethics. It is, in fact, a subject I teach. Interestingly, what I learned about ethics did not radically change my views of guns (or hunting). Mainly it gave me a better theoretical framework in which to discuss the issues.
While I do not hunt like I used to, I still engage in target shooting with friends. We go to a gun range, follow all the safety protocols (and watch out for the fools who do not) and usually get lunch afterwards. We get, I think, the same enjoyment from this that people get from playing golf. While there is some risk of injury, that is true of many activities—so I have never regarded target shooting as immoral.
While assault rifles are usually the focus of the media, there is also concealed carry. Some states allow anyone to carry a concealed weapon while others require a license. When I got my first permit in Maine, the process was easy and was handled by the local police. When I got my permit in Florida, I had to take a safety course (which was easy, since I had been shooting for almost 40 years) and pass a thorough background check.
When I was in Maine, I had the permit mainly as a matter of convenience, so I could carry my .357 under my jacket while hunting. It was a backup in case my rifle malfunctioned, and I had to finish off a wounded deer. A fellow I know once had to finish off a deer with a small knife, which was horrifying. . I got the permit in Florida mainly for convenience in taking a gun to the range and to be legally safe in regard to carrying a knife. Being from Maine, I always have a knife.
Some people get permits because of fear of being attacked. While I am aware that this could happen, I am not particularly afraid that I will be attacked since I understand how statistics work. I also understand how being afraid creates more danger and a person whose mind is shaped by fear is more likely to overreact violently. I practice casual alertness: I know that some people I encounter will be friendly, the vast majority will be neutral and the odds of encountering an attacker are incredibly low. But it is unwise to be unaware. I have been in a few situations that could have gone very badly, but my preferred resolution is talking and that has worked so far.
I do, however, believe that a person has a moral obligation to be capable of self-defense. To expect others to bear the burden of defense is moral selfishness, worse than expecting someone else to do one’s cooking and cleaning. After all, defending a person can result in death. Naturally, I do accept that the helpless and those who are less capable should be protected; but being willfully helpless is a moral failing. I am not, however, claiming that everyone should get a gun. A gun is a great responsibility and should, as a matter of ethics, only be entrusted with those of the right character who are willing to learn to use the weapon properly and responsibly. I think the same way about all dangerous machines, including automobiles and computers. While there is the right to be armed, not everyone is up to exercising that right properly. This is, of course, distinct from the legality of the matter. To use an analogy, I think there are people who should not have children because they are awful parents. However, they have every legal right to do so, until they cross certain boundaries. The same applies to guns.
That, then, is my gun backstory that shapes the lens through which I see gun issues. Naturally, I expect people to have moral criticisms of my backstory as well as the position I take as the result of reasoning colored by this backstory. But those who disagree with me should consider their own backstories and how they impact their views. As should those who agree with me.