Richard Rorty’s Cruelty, Solidarity, and Liberal Hope

The concluding episode of our three-part series on Richard Rorty’s Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity (1989), host Ryder Richards explores Part III, where Rorty tackles cruelty and solidarity.

Rorty argues that solidarity isn’t a universal human essence but a contingent creation, forged through “imaginative identification” with others’ pain via narratives like novels. We delve into vivid examples: Nabokov’s Lolita and its “tingles” of aesthetic bliss, which reveal cruelty through inattention and inspire moral empathy; Orwell’s 1984, where O’Brien’s “ironist” intelligent cruelty underscores the fragility of liberal hope; and Sellars’ “we-intentions,” showing how solidarity expands “us” through shared stories, not abstract truths.

Rorty’s appeal lies in his witty, pragmatic blend of literary insight and moral hope, empowering us to craft kinder worlds without metaphysical crutches. Yet, Ryder remains skeptical, critiquing how Rorty’s vision has materialized but been subverted in 2025. While his liberal ironist thrives in self-creation and anti-cruelty movements, mimetic identities—adopting others’ vocabularies for social gain—and weaponized solidarity, where anti-cruelty fuels division, distort his utopia. This episode traces Rorty’s narrative-driven philosophy from language and selfhood to community, urging listeners to question vocabularies while imagining a broader “we.”

Step 88: Rorty’s Cruelty, Solidarity, and Liberal Hope

Step 1: Noticing Cruelty Through Narrative – Nabokov’s “Tingles, Immortality, and Goodness” (Chapter 7)

Rorty opens Part III with Vladimir Nabokov, particularly Lolita, to show how novels help us notice cruelty in ways philosophy can’t. He argues that narratives, not treatises, drive moral progress by making us see others as “one of us” through detailed depictions of pain and humiliation. Nabokov’s work, especially the “Barber of Kasbeam” episode, reveals cruelty born of inattention, but Rorty’s discussion of Nabokov’s pursuit of “tingles,” immortality, and goodness is where his appeal shines, blending literary insight with moral imagination.

Rorty highlights Nabokov’s belief that art, not abstract ideas, achieves immortality by evoking “tingles”—those spine-chilling moments of aesthetic bliss. On pages 151–153, Rorty quotes Nabokov’s essay “The Art of Literature and Common Sense,” where he argues that “wonder at trifles” is “the highest form of consciousness,” revealing a world that’s “good” through imagination, not intellect. Nabokov rejects Platonic ideals or mathematical formulas as “dead metaphors” that offer transparency but no beauty. As Rorty puts it, “Art rather than mathematics breaks through the walls of time into a world beyond contingency” (p. 152).

Why is this compelling? Rorty’s logic here is poetic yet pragmatic: Nabokov’s focus on vivid, concrete details—like “something round and creamy, beautifully flushed” (p. 153)—captures goodness as an irrational, tangible experience, not a universal principle. This resonates because it feels human, grounded in sensory moments we all crave, like a perfect sunset or a child’s laugh. Rorty admires Nabokov’s ironist stance: goodness isn’t a Kantian imperative but a “childishly speculative” belief that keeps us moving despite “terror, stupidity, and barbed wire” (p. 153).

For Rorty, this narrative-driven goodness motivates us to avoid cruelty, not through logic but through empathy sparked by stories. Nabokov’s Lolita shows this darkly: Humbert’s aesthetic ecstasy blinds him to Dolores’s pain, but the novel’s details—like the barber’s unnoticed grief—force us to notice, making us less cruel. Rorty’s appeal lies in this pivot: he takes Nabokov’s literary obsession with immortality and spins it into a tool for moral progress, showing how art’s “tingles” can expand our moral imagination.

So, here, Rorty’s logic is seductive because it celebrates human creativity over rigid systems. He doesn’t demand we accept Nabokov’s metaphysics (which he calls a “self-consuming artifact”); instead, he praises the ironist’s ability to weave beauty and pity into a contingent, hopeful vision. It’s like he’s saying: forget universal truths, forget Plato or Kant’s dead metaphors—let’s tell stories that make us kinder. This feels empowering, inviting us to see novels as moral tools, not just entertainment.

Key Takeaway: Nabokov’s narratives, per Rorty, teach us to notice cruelty by evoking “tingles” that link aesthetic bliss to moral empathy, showing how art’s contingent beauty can drive solidarity, sidestepping formulas: make people good by feeling, not by rules or theory. 

Step 88: Rorty’s Cruelty, Solidarity, and Liberal Hope

Step 2: The Fragility of Liberal Hope – Orwell’s O’Brien (Chapter 8)

Given we discussed Orwell’s 1984 in Step 85, I wanted to insert an example here that aligns with Rorty’s linguistic contingency. 

Winston, the main character, says at one point: “I hate purity, I hate goodness! I don’t want any virtue to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones.” – Naturally, given that ‘good’ and ‘purity’ as language have been shifted to party values, Liberation comes in the form of decimation, to create a new ‘good’, an alternative vocabulary is necessary for freedom… freedom from usurped language. 

Now, when Rorty turns to George Orwell’s 1984 to underscore the fragility of liberal hope, warning that solidarity depends on historical contingencies, not inherent human goodness. His analysis of O’Brien, the intelligent torturer, is a good example of his ability to make abstract ideas visceral, showing how cruelty can hijack even the gifted mind.

In Chapter 8, Rorty interprets O’Brien as a chilling figure: a curious, cultured intellectual who uses his gifts to torture Winston, not because he lacks some “essential humanity” but because historical contingencies allow it. Rorty writes, “Intellectual gifts—intelligence, judgment, curiosity, imagination, a taste for beauty—are as malleable as the sexual instinct” (p. 177). O’Brien’s mastery of doublethink lets him serve the Party without irony’s doubts, yet Rorty calls him “the last ironist in Europe” (p. 176) because he uses ironist-like skills—probing Winston’s mind, forming an intense, empathetic conversational bond—to break him.

This example captivates because it’s terrifyingly plausible. Rorty draws on Orwell’s insight that history could empower figures like O’Brien, just as it once empowered liberals like J.S. Mill. The famous “two plus two equals five” scene isn’t about mathematical truth but about shattering Winston’s ability to rationalize himself, making his beliefs incoherent (p. 175). Rorty’s logic here is stark: nothing guarantees liberal hope’s survival—no universal truth or human nature—just “ ” (p. 177).

This hits hard because O’Brien feels real. We’ve seen intelligent people justify cruelty—think of propagandists or ideologues today. Rorty’s appeal lies in his refusal to sugarcoat: he uses Orwell’s narrative to show that solidarity is fragile, urging us to fight for it without metaphysical crutches.

Rorty’s reading of Orwell is gripping because it blends literary analysis with existential stakes. He doesn’t offer easy answers to O’Brien’s cruelty, just a warning that liberal hope depends on us creating narratives that counter such figures. It’s a call to action wrapped in a story, making his pragmatism feel urgent and human: consider that, pragmatic irony to counteract an extreme ironist. 

Key Takeaway: Orwell’s 1984, through O’Brien, shows Rorty that liberal hope is contingent, vulnerable to intelligent cruelty, pushing us to nurture solidarity through narrative imagination.

Step 88: Rorty’s Cruelty, Solidarity, and Liberal Hope

Step 3: Creating Solidarity – Sellars and Narrative Expansion (Chapter 9)

In Chapter 9, Rorty tackles solidarity directly, arguing it’s not a universal essence but a contingent creation, expanded through narratives that make “them” into “us.” His use of Wilfrid Sellars’ “we-intentions” is a clear example of his ability to ground abstract ideas in practical moral progress.

Rorty draws on Sellars to redefine moral obligations as “we-intentions”—these are shared goals of a specific group, like “we Milanese” or “we liberals,” not “we humans” (p. 190). He cites the example of WWII Jews: Danes and Italians were more likely to hide them because they saw them as “one of us”—fellow neighbors, parents, or workers—not because of some universal humanity (p. 189). Solidarity, for Rorty, grows when we notice similarities in pain and humiliation, making differences like race or religion less salient.

This is grounded in history, not dogma. Rorty points to novels like Uncle Tom’s Cabin or Black Boy, which detail suffering to expand “us” to include the enslaved or marginalized (p. 192). His logic is practical: moral progress happens when narratives make us care about strangers, like a mother in Dakar or a homeless American. He writes, “The right way to take the slogan ‘We have obligations to human beings simply as such’ is as a means of reminding ourselves to keep trying to expand our sense of ‘us’ as far as we can” (p. 196).

This resonates because it’s hopeful without being naive. Stories over abstractions are obvious today, as politics is all about perception and messaging, perceived value alignment, and less about policy and abstract principles. Sure, those are nodded at, but the particular human story is more compelling, more empathetic. Rorty makes a good case for turning a philosophical concept into a tool for real-world empathy. His focus on narratives makes solidarity tangible, inviting us to read, watch, and imagine our way to a bigger “we.” It’s philosophy that feels alive, rooted in human experience, not abstract or general universal truths. 

Step 88: Rorty’s Cruelty, Solidarity, and Liberal Hope

Step 4: Rorty’s Legacy – Subversion and Capture (Critique)

Rorty’s vision of solidarity through imaginative identification is inspiring, but 35 years after Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity, has it come true, and if so, how has it been subverted?
I argue that Rorty’s ideas have taken root but have been captured in ways that undermine his liberal hope

Rorty’s liberal ironist, who crafts a private self while publicly fighting cruelty, has partly come to life. Today, many people embrace self-creation, using new vocabularies to redefine gender, identity, or purpose—think of those proclaiming unique pronouns or personal truths. Rorty would cheer this as private irony, enabled by liberal freedom. Publicly, his call for solidarity through anti-cruelty resonates in movements advocating for marginalized groups, from #MeToo to Black Lives Matter, which use narratives to expand “us.”

But here’s the twist: these ideas have been subverted.
Rorty’s ironist self-creation assumes individuals craft unique vocabularies, which should lead to inimitable traits, but many today are mimetic, adopting pre-packaged identities from online communities or influencers. These aren’t ironist projects but conformist ones, glomming onto others’ vocabularies for social capital or immunity from criticism. As Rorty warned, solidarity’s “glue” might not hold in fragmented media landscapes (p. 87). Competing narratives—amplified by algorithms—often deepen “us vs. them” divides, like polarized politics or cancel culture, where empathy is selective.

Worse, anti-cruelty has been weaponized. Rorty’s liberal, who fears cruelty above all, inspired calls for public protections—like safe spaces or hate speech laws—but these can morph into scapegoating. Groups claiming solidarity sometimes attack others as “not anti-cruel enough” or “not anti-racist enough”- reproducing cruelty under the guise of justice. This isn’t Rorty’s ironist self-becoming but solidarity captured by performative moralism, where public proclaimed virtue trumps private doubt.

Rorty’s lack of universal grounding makes this vulnerability clear: without a shared truth, solidarity depends on narratives, which can be hijacked. His private-public split also falters when personal identities demand public validation, blurring the line he drew. In 2025, we see his utopia—freedom to redescribe oneself—but also its shadow: a world where solidarity’s rhetoric fuels division, not unity.

This critique doesn’t dismiss Rorty but highlights his own warning: solidarity is contingent, fragile, and open to historical derailment. His appeal endures because he equips us to notice this inversion, urging us to keep crafting narratives that expand “us” … despite the risks.

So, Rorty’s solidarity has partly materialized but been subverted by mimetic identities and weaponized anti-cruelty, showing the fragility of his narrative-driven hope.

Step 88: Rorty’s Cruelty, Solidarity, and Liberal Hope

Outro

That wraps our journey through Rorty’s Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity. 

We’ve traced contingency from language to selfhood, wrestled with the liberal ironist’s private-public dance, and explored how narratives like Nabokov’s and Orwell’s fuel solidarity while warning of cruelty. Rorty’s vision—empowering, witty, and human—challenges us to create a bigger “we” without universal crutches, but its subversion reminds us to stay vigilant. Perhaps we do need some metaphysics to fall back on, perhaps the ironist needs a stable order in which to develop and grow their new vocabulary. 

Thanks for joining me. Until next time, keep imagining new vocabularies—and questioning them.