Showing posts with label moral sense. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moral sense. Show all posts
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Morality After Boston
I don’t know whether, in the aftermath of yesterday’s bombing of the Boston Marathon, our sense of morality becomes clearer or not. My initial reaction of revulsion - both at the human cost and at the very idea that someone somewhere thought this was the way forward – seemed to present morality in clear black and white terms: the bombing was about as wrong as you can get morally. It was indiscriminately destructive of human life, and young life at that. It was so incredibly sad. It was pointless. It was evil.
And those runners, organisers and spectators who instantly thought of others and who helped and comforted the wounded, despite the immediate risk of further bombings, deserve our total moral approbation. These are good men and women, showing true humanity, whom I hope I might emulate if ever I am placed in similar circumstances.
But morality cannot rest there. At its core morality is not about our yesterdays but what we should do right now, this moment. And right this moment, to use Obama’s words, there is a need to understand why. Yet the reason why is not clear at all.
Kant - we should remember - never asked why. His most important question, underpinning even his highest moral philosophy, was how ("How is synthetic a priori knowledge possible?"). ‘How’ gives us a clearer object to investigate. In the confusion ‘how’ gives us focus. 'How' allows means to be assessed relative to ends, but also subjects those ends to a fair bit of questioning too. "How", we must ask, "is your goal valid?" "It just is" is no answer.
So perhaps we too should ask how instead of why. Not just in the detailed forensic investigation now underway (and certainly not in the brow-beating sense of "How could we have allowed this?"), but much more fundamentally. We should ask how the perpetrator(s) came to view ordinary, everyday people as somehow being legitimate targets. To plant a bomb is an evil act, but the seed of such evil germinates in the failure to appreciate other people as real individuals, and instead dismiss them merely as an undifferentiated mass under the heading of ‘Americans’ or ‘Bostonians’ or 'Runners' or whatever category your cod philosophy suggests. Behind such indiscriminate evil there is always a superiority complex that pathetically employs such categories.
When it comes to questions of morality ‘how’ is more significant than ‘why’. In the end ‘why’ can only come from the mouth(es) of the perpetrator(s) and, to be honest, I do not want to hear their irrational rationalisations of why they did what they did. Naturally they will have their superficial reasons but nothing they could say would make their actions any less evil; it would only add stupidity to their enormity.
‘How’ stands a better chance of telling us what we want to know. 'How' might get us to the point of seeing how such people are created. 'How' might help us see how certain ideas can be used to reduce whole masses of real, individual people to subhuman categories ready to be slaughtered. Asking ‘how’ is what we need to do right now. And of course keep running.
Sunday, 24 February 2013
The Runner's Moral Sense
This morning marked the beginning of my 2013 road racing season with the Weston Run. I'd not trained specifically for it, but in recent months I have done a few longer runs in preparation for a half-marathon in May, and I've now got a good few cross-country races in my legs, so I was hopeful of a good time over its 5 mile course.
We all like a good time but runners are quite specific about what they mean by "a good time". As it turned out my good time was 35:14 minutes - about 30 seconds faster than my previous best over this distance. I was very pleased with this. Not because it was a personal best, but because I knew that, given who I was at 11am this morning, I couldn't have run it any faster.
Many a time over the last year since I started running seriously I have crossed the line and felt, once the breathlessness has passed, that I had not given it 100%. This is a judgement you pass on yourself, and is not based on your time; it is based on your moral sense. Somehow you know that, though you achieved a PB, you could have gone faster. Or, though you didn't achieve a PB, you gave the race everything. I think it debatable which one of these options is the better. But today I was lucky: I gave it my all and got the PB.
And what is your all? It's easy enough to declare, before the race starts, that this is what you will give it. But what does it mean after you start? I don't think it means sprinting off in front of the leading pack (for some it does, but not - perhaps never - for me). Neither is it something you can measure physiologically: your 'all' is not easily expressed in terms of minutes per mile or maximum heart rate.
Rather, your 'all' is what you give when your moral sense is delicately poised between pushing too hard and cruising along. I don't know about you but my body has a natural tendency to cruise, perhaps in someone's slipstream, perhaps at a 'reasonable' pace determined by stopwatch and mile-markers (I don't own a Garmin), or perhaps a polite distance behind a fellow club-runner whom you 'know' is faster than you. Cruising isn't easy. It certainly isn't conversational. So pushing harder than this requires a moral decision to make yourself slightly less comfortable ('comfort' being a relative concept in racing), to be slightly dissatisfied with who you currently are, to commit to gaining on the person in front. And how many times need you make this decision? I would say in a 35 minute race about 1,050 times. About every 2 seconds.
Pushing hard is mentally as well as physically exhausting. The runner's moral sense can oscillate between body and soul like an up-tempo metronome from the moment the gun goes off to the moment the finish funnel is entered. But unlike your body, your soul is ready to go out again almost immediately, in the knowledge that you're a slightly bigger person than you thought you were.
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