Here's the next essay in the series of (what a colleague of a colleague calls) "quasi-popular" essays I aim to write on many of the issues I've discussed on this blog and in some of my other work:
The Courage of Conviction
As always, comments appreciated.
I like it. It might go a little quickly for some people's taste though. This is probably inevitable when writing "quasi-popular" essays, since you presumably don't want to stop and dissect every concept as it comes up. But places where I can imagine a philosopher wanting more include these:
ReplyDeleteOn p. 6 you talk about knowledge in the first paragraph, but what sense of knowledge do you have in mind? At first it sounds like knowledge that, then it sounds like knowledge how, and in the end I wondered whether you were rejecting that distinction. Basically, it sounds as though you might have an interesting account of knowledge to offer, and I found myself wanting to hear more about it.
Also on p. 6 you seem to reach the (tentative) conclusion that love is the counteracting emotion to fear quickly. Would it be worth considering possible counterexamples or other views on the matter here?
On p. 8 you say that "it would make little sense to attempt to encourage someone to do something that he or she strongly and sincerely morally opposes." Do you mean that it wouldn't work, or that it is inconceivable that someone might try to do something like this? Nazi murderers were encouraged, with some success, to commit the murders that their guts told them not to commit. Doesn't Huck Finn believe it is wrong to help an escaped slave? It seems to make sense to encourage someone like that to follow their gut or heart. But I might be missing the point. These cases might not be ones of strong and sincere moral opposition, but maybe it would be worth pointing this out.
DR--thanks as always. I'll have to think about the point about knowledge more. On the other point on p. 6: yes, it's only a tentative conclusion, and perhaps I should do more work here to connect love and anger--or more specifically, thumos (spiritedness); I work that connection some, but I see your point.
ReplyDeleteOn p. 8: Maybe what I need to do here is put more emphasis upon--and do a little more explaining of--Gaita's point that "encouragement" would have to involve getting the person to see the situation differently. But I can see how an objection to that being helpful might go: that even in the case of someone's merely feeling psychologically unable to go on, urging them to "try" would also involve getting them to see their situation differently (that is, as "doable" or manageable and so forth). So I agree that I could do more to bring out the difference here. The way I understand Gaita, the point is something like this: if I'm trying to get my daughter to read, and she says, "I can't do it," but I have reason to think she can, then there's a sense in which it's perfectly in line to say, "Well, just try." (And maybe something about settling down, concentrating and so on.) But if the Nazi says, "I can't resign," where this means not that he is psychologically unable (say afraid) but rather expresses some kind of moral commitment, then it seems off to say, "Well, just try."
That all sounds right. The Nazi case I have in mind is odd because it goes the other way. The Nazis in question don't want to resign but to carry out their orders. I was thinking of Nazis who say "I can't shoot these people," who are then encouraged to try harder, to see that it is their duty, and so on. In their minds they have accepted that it is right to murder certain people, but they have a hard time bringing themselves to act on this belief. I would suggest that this psychological difficulty is a kind of moral opposition, but it isn't identified that way by the people who experience it. Quite the reverse. And that's why someone with Nazi values can (and actually did) encourage them to try harder. Gaita's point is a good one, but it might only apply when the person's moral opposition to doing something is recognized as such by the agent.
ReplyDeleteI see your point. (And perhaps through a strange lens, as I'm currently reading Jonathan Lear's Radical Hope, and am thinking about the way in which he's put to use some of what Williams says about shame, which seems relevant to the Nazi example you give--that those soldiers felt ashamed perhaps even in spite of an inchoate moral opposition to what they were being asked to do...I'll have to think about it...)
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