The Promise of Politics

Have you ever felt frustrated because you cannot put into words a feeling that you have about what is happening in the world today?  It happens to me all the time, and I turn to the philosophers and literature for help in framing my thoughts.

Seeing on my television screen the events that became labelled "The Arab Spring" filled me with hope for the decline of totalitarianism; for a new world understanding of the human condition.   More recent events have dulled that hope, but not distinguished it.  Hope remains alive in me because there are people like Marie Colvin who are prepared to live and die in the cause of accurate reporting from war zones.  There are many more thousands who live and die for their causes, who will not give up, who are not prepared to live in the hopeless, isolated conditions that Hannah Arendt describes as "desert".

It is to Hannah Arendt that I turned to help to sort out my muddled thoughts about politics, about action and about the human condition. She was writing at the time of the Cold War and trying to encourage people and nations to offer understanding and common humanity to each other.

In the introduction to the 2005 edition of "The Promise of Politics" Jerome Kohn writes:

".. [Arendt's] writings are even more demanding of attention today than when they were written or in 1968.  Politically speaking, the Cold War dominated the 1950s and 1960s, but our current "war on terror" is not cold at all."

I remember the Cold War.  I began teaching at a time when we worried about how to look after the children if the "four minute warning" sounded.  The protocol included an orderly movement to the cellars, rather like a more serious fire alarm.  Looking back to the days when the older pupils were only four years or so younger than myself, and the daily lessons continued just the same, it is hard to remember the fatalism that attended the possibility of us all dying in the most horrific way.  In those uncertain times the only thing I was sure of was my duty to put the pupils first.  Raymond Briggs' book "When the Wind Blew" reinforced those feelings that no cellar, garden shelter or indoor cubbyhole could ultimately alter our fate.

At that time the worst did not happen to us.  But the worst has happened in so many ways to so many people over time, and is still happening.  

One could become so disillusioned with politics with so much at stake.  Politicians strut about the national and international stages, making promises, making alliances, making digs at each other and at the countries they represent, giving interviews to the media, and generally acting as if they have the answers, or at least as if they know what they are doing.  I have some sympathy with their condition.  It is similar to the condition in which I found myself in the 1960s.  Except that I hope that I did not make digs at my colleagues, or at teachers in other countries who had their own pupils to look after as well as their own hopes and fears.

Life must go on.  Education, The National Health Service, and the Welfare System must all be funded, as well as defence, overseas aid, and so much more.  Taxes must be collected.  Benefits must be given.  Standards must be kept up.  Satisfactory progress will not do.

It all makes me think of the stuff that was piled onto the horse of the White Knight in "Alice through The Looking Glass".

I think we are all White Knights in a way.  We are mostly well-intentioned, woefully ill-equipped for the hazards we face, less than skillful riders, desperately trying to keep our balance.  Yet we hope against hope.  We try do our best.

The way Hannah Arendt describes "action" is the human capacity to begin anew.  In being born we are in ourselves a new beginning, and we are able to make many beginnings.  She disapproves of adjusting, or settling into the conditions as we find them, into "wasteland" or "desert", where there is space between us and other humankind.  If I read her correctly, we are both human and political because we have speech; because we have the capacity to endure the passions of living under desert or storm (totalitarian) conditions and the capacity to "summon up the courage" that lies at the root of action.  The meaning of action being:

".. venturing forth in speech and deed in the company of one's peers, beginning something new whose end cannot be known in advance, founding a public realm, promising and forgiving others...."

By this token, politicians are not political if they are just "adjusters" of the status quo, or followers of political theory.  Any person who has the courage to speak out, to reach out to others in order to understand them, who creates "oases" of friendship, love and beauty, or is involved in community projects, is political.  

Kohn, in his introduction, says of Arendt's view of the meaning of political experience:

"If human courage, dignity and freedom are integral to that meaning, then we might decide that it is not politics per se but its prejudices and prejudgments that we should be free of.  After so many centuries, however, such freedom probably can be attained only by judging afresh each new possibility of action the world presents."  

Arendt says in her epilogue:

"If they who must spend their lives in the desert, trying to do this or that, constantly worrying about its conditions, do not know how to use its oases, they will become desert inhabitants..."  

She goes on to quote Hamlet:

"The time is out of joint, O cursed spite,

That ever I was born to set it right."

It is easy to recognise that sense of things being in such a mess that it is too big a task to sort it all out, and of wanting someone else to take the responsibility.  For Arendt, though, the promise of politics seems to lie in her words,

"The world is always a desert waiting for new inhabitants to begin it anew."

Perhaps those of us here already could begin to think, speak, act, and relate to each other with new courage and dignity, in friendship and in common humanity.  Everything begins somewhere.

It is not you, it is me

On what level can I know you?

Some people would say that it depends on what I mean by "I' and "You" and "Know'.  That would be a long exposition, including contradictory and often controversial theories and that is not my problem.  If you wish to explore that problem you might start with, "Conversations on Consciousness" by Susan Blackmore.

The problem I wish to explore is the problem of otherness, and in order to do so I wish to start with my own simplistic view of you and me.  I begin by accepting that I exist to myself as a bundle of sensations and experiences contained in a body, and operated by a brain, and that I think of all this together as "me".  All this is what I mean when I say, "I'.  Equally I accept that you exist to yourself as your own bundle of sensations and experiences, operated by your own brain and that you call all this together "me" and "I" also.  I accept that I view the world through my eyes and perceptions and that you view the world through your eyes and perceptions.  This give rise to my problem : how much can I ever know about another person, even if that other person is my dearest intimate?  A second problem might be that on some level it is easier to know enough about a person with whom one is not intimate.

Take the sentence "I love you".  It is so much easier to know what is meant by "I love your hat."  Even if both statements are true in so far as the utterer believes them, in the second case the emotion is likely to be on the level of admiration or envy and would be recognised as such by both parties.  In the first case the emotion might be desire, tenderness, empathy, need, possessiveness or affection, or all or none of these.

In our language we accept conventions of meaning.  We understand the extent of dislike when someone says, "I loathe that person". We understand also that loathing involves finding the other person repellent in some way.  If someone says, "I hate that person" we accept that a passion is felt, the nature of which we cannot know, and we cannot know whether this is a momentary passion towards someone more generally liked.

Trouble arises when we bring our own perceptions to what other people are saying.  

I might not even pay attention to what you are saying if I do not like your clothes or your accent, your car or the company you keep.  I might pre-judge your opinions negatively because of the tone of your voice, your facial expression, your gender, your manners or your political affiliation.

"Charming" and "smarmy" might be used by different people to describe the same person, while those who know him more intimately might describe him as generous or mean, affectionate or reserved, hard working or lazy, intelligent or stupid, calm or tempestuous, thoughtful or shallow, clever or cunning, impetuous or cautious, principled or stubborn.   

The psychologist George Kelly claimed that we "construct" a person from our observations of how much they display the qualities that matter to us, both negative and positive.  If I value honesty I will be looking for it in the people I see and I might use the flimsiest of evidence to support my theory about their honesty or lack of it.

It is almost as if we are doomed to misunderstand or misread the people we meet.  This is only a problem when it matters.

If I feel disappointed or let down by a friend it is most likely my perception of friendship that has let me down.  My mother used to say, "Expect nothing and you will be surprised by what you get".  This leads me to think that it is more important to be a friend than to lay expectations of friendship upon others.

Perhaps it is expectations that are the real problem.  If I do not expect you to think like me, to value what I value, to give what I am prepared to give, to mean what I mean, then I stand a chance of getting to know something of what you do think, what you do value, what you are prepared to give and what you mean by what you say.

When it comes to love and friendship I have a better chance of knowing another person when I listen to what they think and feel and believe, and to their story about how how it is in their world.

David Hume tells us that we can know enough about another person by how they behave in aspects of family, business, and society.  He tells us that we can think of him as a good man if he provides for his family, is kind to his servants, deals fairly in business and is affable with his neighbours.

That is not enough for me.  If I am to know you at all I must meet you on a level of understanding not only who are but also what matters to you.  It requires an open mind and an open heart on both our parts.  If you deceive me then "It is not me, it is you."  If I fail to understand you then, "It is not you, it is me."

The Grand Panjandrum*

I awake. The eyes that see are my eyes, and the room I see is my room. The sound of rain is heard by my ears, and the thought, "Good. It does not matter that I forgot to water the plants last night", is my thought. The neck that turns to look at the clock is my neck. The feeling of stiffness in that neck is my feeling. The decision on whether to get up or to lie there a little longer is my decision.

I am the subject of my life. I am The Grand Panjandrum in my life.

Disregarding completely any philosophical argument about the existence of a soul, I am going to reflect here upon the problems that arise just because each of is the one subject of one life : our own.

The first category of problems that comes to mind are social ones. Learning to live as part of a family, part of a neighbourhood, part of a school and part of the wider society is at its best a gentle process of adaptation and adjustment. We learn to curb our passions and to share; to take turns and to defer gratification. As we make efforts to gain mastery of our behaviour and to make sense of our world, Plato and Freud would be proud of us. Aristotle would appreciate the times in which we apply reason in order to balance our own needs and desires against the needs and desires of others.

At its worst a child's early experience of society might be abusive, neglectful, conflicting, confusing and full of fear. How then does a child learn to adapt to the norms of a world so different in character from the one he knows? He might begin to expect everyone else to play The Grand Panjandrum against him, and thus determine to get his defence in first. He might defend himself by inflating his own ego so much that he sees himself as The Grand Panjandrum over all others. That we label people who exhibit such tendencies beyond infancy as thugs, hoodlums or sociopaths is not helpful in terms of political efforts to build a just and secure society.

To be just in government a society needs to be able to deal humanely with those who challenge the established norms. If we allow any sense that such people are in some way "other" or "beyond the pale" we not only deny our own humanity but we also might be inclined to play The Grand Panjandrum with real people's lives.

The second category of problems are ethical ones. My Grand Panjandrum is kind, caring, generous and honest. Or so I believe, because my Grand Panjandrum is me. Socrates claimed that the unexamined life is not worth living. I would agree. But how do I know that the conclusions to which my examination leads me are the right ones? Socrates would tell us that by dialogue we are best able to reach a consensus of opinion about the best way forward. But what if my dialogue is only with people who are like me? And if my dialogue is only with myself I am doomed to put forward the same old arguments. As Francis Bacon said,

"For what a man would like to be true, that he more readily believes."

If there is no external authority like a god to tell me what to do then my Grand Panjandrum and I have to do the best we can. I weigh the money I send to Charity X against the knowledge that it is a drop in the ocean by consoling myself that something is better than nothing. I restrain myself from crowding around an accident victim because I respect the person's dignity. But if the person was wounded and alone and drunk and vomiting and swearing would I put my coat under his head and hold his hand until the ambulance I called arrived? I do hope so, but I suspect that my Grand Panjandrum and I are cowards "full of sound and fury and signifying nothing". (Shakespeare. 'Macbeth')

So where does that leave me? It leaves me wanting every child to grow up sure of itself and its own Grand Panjandrum. It leaves me wanting suitable housing in which to bring up those children, for all families. It leaves me wanting employment opportunities in real jobs for young people. It leaves me wanting better ways of dealing with crime or anti-social behaviour than just locking people up. It leaves me wanting a culture of mutual respect between all classes, creeds and post codes in our society. It leaves me wanting to be braver, and bolder.

So what must I do? I must speak up on these issues at every opportunity. I must write letters to MPs and consider carefully how to use my vote. I must hold those banks with whom I hold savings to account, and make a nuisance of myself demanding answers to the questions they would rather were not asked. I must learn to live not with what I want but with what I need, and give as much as I can to the groups in my community that do good work. I must learn to smile and to encourage and to thank those whom I encounter. I must be happy to pay my taxes. I must learn to keep my mobile phone charged and a battery in my torch and a blanket in my car. I must learn basic first aid.

These things will do for starters.

How about you?

* The Grand Panjandrum
Late 19th century. From 'Farrago' a nonsense verse composed by Samuel Foote to test the memory of the actor Charles Macklin.
Used to denote a figure of power or authority.

Truth, Integrity and Justice

I see truth and justice as inextricably linked, and not only in a court of law.  Let me explain : if I lie or withhold the truth I perpetrate an injustice of some kind.  The injustice might be only to myself, to my own integrity, but it could be an injustice towards another person in the form of misrepresentation, betrayal or denial.  

To start with a seemingly trivial example, the detective story.  We are encouraged to follow clues in order to seek out the facts (or the"evidence") and the "motive".  Where a denouement comes as a surprise it is usually because we have missed the clues, and we admire the writer's skill.  If the facts or the motive have been withheld until the last chapter we often feel cheated.  Although it is "only a story" we seem to have some expectation of the integrity of the contract between reader and writer: "I agree to suspend my disbelief if you agree to puzzle me but neither to deceive me nor to withhold information".  I expect the puzzle to be solvable by me, even if I cannot solve it.

A serious example is the recent experience of examination candidates who encountered questions that had no solutions and who spent precious time trying to work out the answers.  The response of the students and the schools' representatives showed the disbelief and anger that follows a betrayal of contractual integrity.  Attempts by the examining bodies to make redress by adjusting the marking in no way do justice to those students.  Someone at the exam board should have been more vigilant.  The examination papers were not fit for purpose nor were they true to their claims.  They failed on every practical and moral ground..

"Practical truth" an Aristotlean concept, is examined rigorously by Anthony Kenny in "From Empedocles to Wittengstein".  There is even doubt cast as to whether the idea was Aristotle's at all.  There is much examination of what practical truth means.  I enjoyed reading the chapter but I persist in my child-like and personal interpretation: that my reason will tell me which facts add up and that my need for a morally satisfactory (or ethical) conclusion will help me to reach the best judgement.  "The best judgement" is my interpretation of "practical truth".  If I read Anthony Kenny correctly he seems to interpret practical truth as "the resolution of an inner debate in accordance with the right desire".  In that case I would claim that "the resolution" equals "the best judgement".

So, if practical truth is the best judgement that can be made on the basis of the known facts and on the desire for an outcome that is morally satisfactory, ethical or virtuous (to use Aristotle's own word) then justice will be as well-served as is humanly possible i.e.

Reasoning + Ethics = Best Judgement  (Practical Truth) -> Practical Justice.

I use the term "practical justice" rather than "justice according to the law" because the law does not embody all the facts of life in the world today and the law is open to interpretation.  (This is not an argument for rapid changes in the law, as the rapidity often leads to a violation of both the reasoning and the ethical parts of the argument for truth and justice).  Also justice is a not just a legal matter.

Some events force us to examine concepts of truth and justice and integrity.  Some people say, "9/11 changed the world". Certainly our perception of the world as we know it has had to accommodate these events. Also we have had to accommodate into our awareness events such as the imprisoning of people without trial at Guantanamo Bay and the phenomenon of "Extraordinary Rendition".

I am sickened by arguments about where and when Human Rights Law or The Geneva Convention applies, which arguments are used to fudge the issues of detention and rendition.  I am sickened by arguments about the meaning of the word "torture" or of the phrase "cruel or unusual punishment" which are used to fudge the issue of maltreatment of prisoners.  Yet, in this volatile world, we must have these arguments and we must have them out in the open in order to establish a practical truth, to make the best judgements, to maintain the integrity of the law and to achieve justice.

We must not be squeamish and turn away.  We must not settle for less than the best.  We must hold people to account.  We must be vigilant.  We must try to make the best judgements.  We must speak up for those who cannot speak up for themselves. 

Truth

My late husband sometimes used to introduce me as, "My first wife."  This caused amusement to people who knew us and disconcerted those who did not.  He was witty, sociable and loved to play with language and ideas.

T's teasing introduction is philosophically similar to 'Ishmael's problem', as quoted by Simon Blackburn in his book, "Truth a guide for the perplexed".  At the end of "Moby Dick" Ishmael says, 'I alone escaped to tell the tale', which would be impossible if his account of the sinking of the ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean is true.  For my husband's statement to be true in so far as the accepted meaning of 'First wife' he would have needed at least a second wife which, is not the case,so far as I know.

'So far as I know', or 'to the best of my belief',  are caveats to the truth that are fundamental to the smooth running of society.  We sign legal documents and declare our good faith with such phrases.

Does this mean that truth is relative or that ultimate truth is unknowable?

Right away, I must say that, although I find it easy to accept that ultimate truth is unknowable, I do not believe that truth is relative.  I do not believe that what is essentially true in one context will not be essentially true in another.  If I lie I lie.  It does not matter where or when, in front of whom I lie, or why I lie.  I lie if I do not believe that what I am saying is the truth.  This is an entirely separate issue from whether my lying might save my skin, or 'serve a greater good'.  I do not see 'Truth' as a moral issue so much as a philosophical one.  It is what happens to the truth that is the moral issue for me.  The crucial fact for me is that I know whether I am lying or not.  If I believe the words that I say then I am not lying and I am telling the truth as I know it.

This is an easier matter if the question is, 'Were you there?'  Unless I was unconscious or otherwise unaware or have forgotten over time, I would expect to know where I have been.  I should be able to give a truthful answer.  It is whether I would choose to or not that is the moral issue.

If the question is, 'What did you see?' the truth becomes more difficult.  In this case perception muddies the waters.  I might see someone who reminds me of my father, so I would probably cast him in a kindly light in my description. I might even remember the individual as having some of the physical characteristics of my father, and not even noticed those characteristics in which he differed from him, such as having a moustache or wearing glasses.

This is one reason why witness statements can prove to be unreliable under questioning.  Having been at the scene of an accident and wanting to give a truthful account I was not able to give much eye-witness information to the police.  When asked, 'What drew your attention to the accident?' I was able to say, 'The sound of the brakes.'  I had not seen whether the lady stepped off the curb in front of the bus, nor was I able to offer any information about the speed of the bus, I had only heard the driver trying to stop the bus. Had the lady reminded me of my granny, or the driver reminded me of someone I did not like, I might have perceived things differently and thus my account might have been been less judicial.

Just as it is hard to be sure of the truth of our perceptions, it would be hard to be certain of our intentions. Elizabeth Anscombe told us that we cannot know intention.  It would thus be hard to be truthful about our intentions.  But I do not think that it is hard to know what we believe.  I think it is hard to deceive ourselves about the truth for that reason.  It might be hard to know the whole truth but it is not hard to know the essential truth of what we think, of what we say, of what we do, of what we feel and of what we believe.

Socrates said that knowledge is virtue.  Aristotle said virtue is happiness.  I say that if we are not true to our own beliefs, if we deceive ourselves we cannot be happy.  Virtue we can argue about.  Meaning we can argue about.  We can have fun with words and phrases and enjoy teasing each other.  We can explore the limits of knowledge and the nature of morality.  But if we are incongruent  and say what we do not believe to be true we deny ourselves.   

Time 2

It is July.  The children are on holiday from school.  I hear them laughing at the bus stop.  I hear the creaking of the hinges on the swings in the park.  I see a line of teenagers perched on the church wall, waiting for something to happen. I envy them that they have time to play, time to waste, time to be bored, time to make wishes, time to be discontented. 

Yet is such "divine discontent and longing" the privilege only of the young?

While the education pundits are worrying about "learning loss" in the summer holidays, ought they perhaps to be taking lessons from the young?  We talk about "down time", "me time", "spare time", "time out" and "time off" without perhaps considering what we mean.  I prefer to think of what I have called "fallow time".

When a field lies fallow it is resting from the effects of the ploughing, from the planting, from the fertilizing and the harvesting of crops.  The fallow field is open to stray seeds, of the type we often call weeds, and it becomes a home for a variety of insects and small mammals.   Some of the seeds grow into plants that nourish the soil, some are far less desirable.  Some of the insects are beneficial and others are destructive.  Some of the mammals help to keep down the more pestiferous creatures and others are damaging and dangerous.  

Some people believe that when a field is left fallow a "balance of nature" returns and fertility is restored to the soil.  Other people worry about the seeds of weeds blowing to other, cultivated, fields and about the proliferation of troublesome insects and animals. It depends on how you view life.  

Philosophy comes into everything.

Is life a blessing and a gift to be cherished and savoured and lived with enjoyment?  Or is life a matter of duty and hard work?  Is learning a matter of being taught and working hard to absorb the lessons?  Or is learning a matter of observation and experience?  Is thinking a matter of quiet contemplation?  Or is thinking a matter of dialogue with colleagues and friends and strangers? Is recognising what is good a matter of studying a holy book and listening to preachers?  Or is recognising what is good a matter of observation and reason, emotion and experience?

I would say that life and learning are all of the above and more.  

Time to live and time to learn must include time to be fallow: to see what comes into the mind, to watch and wait and to experience the world we live in; to appreciate the company of the people and the creatures around us; to rest and to restore our energies.  Of course living and learning also includes time to strive, time to be active and time to slog away until a job is done.  The emotional experiences of living and learning include achievement and failure, pride and disappointment, celebration and consolation, joy and sorrow, pain and pleasure, intimacy and isolation.

Being young involves the pressure to learn how to learn, to learn how to live and to learn how balance emotion and reason and to decide what is good.  No wonder they need time play, time to sit on a wall and time to "hang out".  Give the children a break you pundits.  Just as a fallow field needs to be prepared again for cultivation so the first week back at school is a time of revision and getting back to formal learning.  Rather than looking at "learning loss" look at how much the children have grown, and how pleased they are to be back at school.

Of course not every child enjoys the long holiday.  The answer is not to cut the holiday short but to provide activities and learning opportunities for those who want to make use of them.  We need more positive input from the educationalists, more resources, more people involved; more musicians, sports people, artists, writers, dancers, actors, technicians and engineers, scientists and mathematicians, who are willing to invest their time in inspiring and educating our children.  

Yes this means cash not cuts, and the question then is what kind of a society do we want to live in?  What are our values?  What are our priorities? What do we deem to be worth investment?  What are the consequences of not investing extra effort and resources in our children and young people?

While you ponder these question I am going to sit on a wall and watch the world go by.  I am learning from the young.

Time

In language the word "time" has commonly accepted usages.  We speak of "spending time", "using time", "biding time", "wasting time", as if time were a commodity.  We "measure" time by the clock and the calendar, as in "waiting times", "delivery times", "arrival and departure times", "timetables", "time zones" and "life time".

A 'life time" was brought powerfully into my mind yesterday as I attended the funeral of a ninety-seven year old lady.  I use the term "lady" because women of that generation were generally more accustomed to that term than to being described as a "woman".  Here was a life measured in almost a century.  A century of great change: of two world wars, the holocaust, the atom bomb, universal sufferage, economic crises and times of mass unemployment, of increased travel abroad, of the formation of the National Health Service, of improved educational opportunities,  of scientific invention and technological change, and of the development of the internet. 

Kathleen's life time also had a personal and a domestic span: as a girl, a young woman, a wife, a mother, aunt and grandmother. She was a person of our time.      

The words from Ecclesiastes were read:

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get and a time to lose; a time to keep and a time to cast away;
A time to rend and a time to sew; a time to keep silence and a time to speak;
A time to love and a time to hate; a time of war and a time of peace."

Another philosophical view of a life time is to be seen in the British Museum Afghan exhibition: the words of Clearchus of Soli, of Aristotle's peripatetic school.  On a funeral monument of about 300-250 BC are the words translated as:

"As a child, learn courtesy,
As a young man, learn to control the passions
In middle age, be just
In old age, give good advice
Then die, without regret."

I am grateful to Sue for drawing my attention to these wise words.

What then about time?  For me "time" is just a word we use to help us to understand and to accommodate into our daily living the phenomenon of change, and of movement from one state to another.  It is the change and the movement and how we deal with the phenomena that fascinates me.  I am open to all ideas and all wise words on the subject.

Two further philosophical utterances that I find especially useful in helping to guide me in my time on earth are:

"A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life." 
Charles Darwin

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."
Buddha

How about you?  What do you think?