Approaching philosophy in a time of war

American propaganda posters from World War Two 

(National Museum of American History, Washington DC)

How does one approach philosophy in a time of war? This is both a straightforward question and also a performative expressing its impossibility or impropriety.

1. Concerning the impossibility of philosophy. For some, philosophy is impossible in times of war because those people are in danger. These days I am thinking of philosophers I have crossed paths with—for example, in graduate school or at conferences or even via social media—who are physically near sites of violence and destruction in Israel/Palestine. Philosophy is inherently reflective and at times, the conditions of life simply do not permit one to pause and reflect. Sometimes, too, philosophical argument (beyond silence) is impossible because powerful actors threaten the free exercise of speech.

Philosophy may be impossible also because of the intensity and immediacy of emotions. Grief and anger can be powerful philosophical teachers, sources of insights into meaningfulness in life, morality, justice, and even the possibility/impossibility of God, but these emotions can also at times distort one’s perception of these same matters. Perhaps there is much to be said about individuality here. Some may find grief to be clarifying. Anger may produce clarity in some and confusion in others. Strong emotions are identified by philosophers as varied as Xunzi and Sextus Empiricus as anti-philosophical, corrupting judgment; while for others, such as Mengzi and Hume, emotions are intimately connected to philosophical activity and moral development.

2. Concerning the impropriety of philosophy. Even if philosophy is possible in times of war, it may be improper. In the Socratic tradition, the impropriety of philosophy was perhaps inevitably a consequence of questioning claims to knowledge. Yet the impropriety of philosophy in times of crisis is all the more pronounced because of how the regularities of social grammar (so to speak) may become scrambled or otherwise difficult to see. 

Philosophical engagement is not the first thing that comes to mind when one thinks of how to respond compassionately or ethically to another’s trauma, grief, or anger. Giving material support or keeping silent while listening to those who are suffering may be what is called for. Philosophy may be a proper response to one’s own pain or anger but not frequently another's. Of course, it's not so simple as that. People say and do things out of anger, grief, or trauma. Sometimes, those actions may call for a philosophically informed response (e.g., critique of Hamas massacring Israeli citizens and of Israel indiscriminately bombing civilians in Gaza and laying siege to the territory).

3. Approaching philosophy. Some approaches in philosophy can be helpful for taking stock of emotions, showing care for those who are suffering, and being reminded of one’s ultimate ends. For example, I find Xunzi’s account of philosophical contemplation (in the “Undoing Fixation” chapter of the Xunzi) to be helpful in structuring one’s attention to a situation and the people involved. Consider this short passage: 

From The Xunzi, Chapter 21: Undoing Fixation (Eric Hutton, trans.) 

To be sure, it is a privilege to be in a position to still the heart-mind, but it is also a practice that is envisioned here as a skill or habit that can be inculcated over time. Especially in times of crisis, knowing the Way will be elusive, all the more so when the crisis concerns the very nature of the social order in which one lives. Yet, as the text above reads, if one is overcome by “what one is already holding” then one will not be able to receive anything new. I think of this as referring to the capacity to take in new information or to adopt a larger perspective on a situation. In a highly charged and dynamic situation like war, this epistemic and affective deficiency will be morally disastrous.

In The Problems of Philosophy, Bertrand Russell conceives of philosophy as making the self expansive as it comes to know the world, the non-self; taking some inspiration from Russell, perhaps empathy (another expansion of the self) can be an important potential outcome of philosophical reflection. One of the tragedies of war is the tendency that accompanies it to shrink down one’s capacity for empathy, whether driven by sources of group identity (forms of nationalism, racism, religiosity) or trauma.

Of course, not all philosophy is relevant to war, and sometimes, this is a blessing. Being consumed with pure thought (for example, theories of truth or the adequacy of the conventional translation of a philosophical term from another language) can be a welcome distraction from the troubles of one’s time. 

Yet, some philosophy is relevant to times of war. Critique of racial, ethnic, or religious stereotyping, bias, or claims of group superiority is perhaps most consequential in times of crisis, especially, but not only in times of war. Philosophical reflection on morality, justice, and war is crucially important during wartime even as it is also painfully lacking.

Michael Walzer on the principle of double effect, from Just and Unjust Wars (2015)

To this end, these days I’ve been finding the work of Just War theorists such as Reinhold Niebuhr and Michael Walzer to be informative. Not that I endorse Just War theory, but I find the identification of numerous and detailed ethical criteria for the cause, conduct, and conclusion of war to shine needed light through the many sources of confusion onto the complexity of a given conflict and what is at stake in a time of war. Practically speaking, all or nearly all wars would fail to meet these criteria. Yet, criteria like these are helpful for keeping in mind the specific ethical perils of war and where people (including philosophers) might direct their attention and care both during and after the conflict.

On Humility and Philosophy

Philosopher in Meditation, Rembrandt (via Wikipedia)

I’ve seen some remarks on social media concerning philosophy and humility lately that have got me thinking. It was in relation to some discussion of The Guardian review of Daniel Dennett’s new memoir, I’ve Been Thinking. Stuart Jeffries, in his review of the book, remarks on Dennett’s apparent recurring pride throughout the book, writing that Dennett’s inability to be humble gets in the way of the book possessing some of the higher aspirations of Dennett’s own approach to philosophy.

My own take on this issue is somewhat complex. For the purposes of the present discussion, I'm thinking of humility as related to magnanimity (i.e., knowing one's capacities and limits, a sort of removal of egotism from philosophical activity). I am also thinking here of humility as a virtue; knowing what humility is and being humble are two different things. In perhaps an Aristotelian sense, one might approach thinking of humility as a habit that one can (attempt to) put into practice.

I personally think humility is of the utmost importance when it comes to philosophy (i.e., as an aspiration). It’s important for teaching, to leave space for students to enter into the discourse explored in a class; without the evident sincerity of the teacher inviting students to speak, many of them just won’t. It’s important for research, to remember that perhaps a great many philosophers, and other figures, have already thought about (broadly speaking) what you right now are thinking about. (This is important especially to correct for the many sins of analytic philosophy which has all too often been stridently and unrepentantly ahistorical). Even when you think you’re the first scholar to find a topic or a perspective, if you look around you, there have likely been others who have had similar thoughts. It’s also important for working with others, to being a good colleague. This all seems obvious to me, but perhaps in other contexts or with different experiences in mind, humility wouldn’t be such a positive trait.

Yet, I also recognize that there are a large plurality of ways to do philosophy. This is a good thing. While some of my favorite philosophers are actually, successfully humble (I’m thinking here of Hilary Putnam), I get a kick sometimes out of philosophers who aren’t. When I think of Marx, Nietzsche, or even Wittgenstein, I think of philosophers who were massively ambitious in their philosophizing and ruthlessly blunt in communication, and sometimes, they were quite effective at achieving their philosophical ends for those reasons. While I would not put Dennett in this company, I find his writing and public speaking amusing and thought provoking. I particularly liked his 1991 book, Consciousness Explained. I disagree strongly with what he has written in my area, philosophy of religion, and have written a little about this myself, but I think he is a clever and accessible writer who has brought some philosophical thinking to a broad audience, well beyond the usual confines of philosophy departments and the academy itself. There is real value in that. 

Perhaps, then, it is not a requirement for philosophers to be humble. Still, if there were fewer humble philosophers, I think it would be a real loss. Self-scrutiny and reluctance to speak for others can be genuine philosophical virtues.