Exploring acts of conscience
By Louisa Thomas |
March 9, 2012, Friday
|
Print Edition
Print Edition
PAUL Gruninger, a Swiss police commander, had a simple explanation for why he broke the law to help Jewish refugees flee Austria in 1938. His daughter remembered that he would repeat the words "I could do nothing else." It is a humble answer, as if to say that anyone would have done the same.
Except that most Swiss police officers didn't: they turned the refugees away, as the law required. Gruninger made a choice, and it was certainly not the expected one. He did not fit the image of a resister. He was not a political activist and did not have a history of rebellion. He had a family to protect and provide for. He had taken an oath to uphold the law, and he considered himself faithful to his country. When the authorities discovered that he had falsified the documents of Jews, he became a pariah. So why did he disobey his orders?
That is the question that Eyal Press asks in "Beautiful Souls." It is not a book of moral philosophy. Press is a journalist, and he is interested in how moral problems play out in particular lives. To that end, he relates the experiences of Gruninger and three others: a Serb who saved the lives of Croats by lying about their ethnic identity; an Israeli soldier from an elite unit who refused to serve in the occupied territories; and a financial industry whistle-blower. Press is not simply storytelling, however. He splices his case studies with brief accounts of other dissenters, along with insights drawn from sociology, political theory, history, neuroscience, psychology, fiction and philosophy.
Press examines his subjects carefully, alert to the different personalities and circumstances of each individual. He weighs the role of prejudice, idealism and community. He explores the "element of reciprocity" in one case and the "anxiety of responsibility" in another, sees the importance of "mutual support" and discusses the frustrations of being ignored. He reads about oxytocin receptors; he studies David Hume. He makes modest conclusions. I don't mean that as criticism. If Press made more comprehensive claims, I wouldn't trust him. It's no more possible to explain an act of conscience than it is to dissect a dream.
We often use the word "conscience" when we don't know what other word to use. When Gruninger said he "could do nothing else," he may have been deflecting judgment, or he may not have been able to describe his sense of compulsion any better, his feeling that he didn't have a choice when he clearly did. "Conscience" is indefinable. It can be indefensible, too: An act of conscience describes an action motivated by loyalty to a conviction, but it usually requires the defiance of other loyalties. It can mean turning away from your family, or your country, or your job, or even your sense of self. Press's real achievement in this short book is not in his research or analysis, but in his refusal to flinch from that disquieting fact.
Though Press clearly admires his characters, and wants readers to find them inspiring, he can see how their actions can create conflict and their personalities grate. "If I knew only Thoreau," Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote of his friend Henry, "I should think cooperation of good men impossible."
But moral convictions can lead to disengagement from civic life, or sometimes even wars.
A conscience can be used to justify anything, even heinous crimes. In some ways this book is a thoughtful gesture of support. That might sound like a small thing, but it's not. Compassion never is.
Except that most Swiss police officers didn't: they turned the refugees away, as the law required. Gruninger made a choice, and it was certainly not the expected one. He did not fit the image of a resister. He was not a political activist and did not have a history of rebellion. He had a family to protect and provide for. He had taken an oath to uphold the law, and he considered himself faithful to his country. When the authorities discovered that he had falsified the documents of Jews, he became a pariah. So why did he disobey his orders?
That is the question that Eyal Press asks in "Beautiful Souls." It is not a book of moral philosophy. Press is a journalist, and he is interested in how moral problems play out in particular lives. To that end, he relates the experiences of Gruninger and three others: a Serb who saved the lives of Croats by lying about their ethnic identity; an Israeli soldier from an elite unit who refused to serve in the occupied territories; and a financial industry whistle-blower. Press is not simply storytelling, however. He splices his case studies with brief accounts of other dissenters, along with insights drawn from sociology, political theory, history, neuroscience, psychology, fiction and philosophy.
Press examines his subjects carefully, alert to the different personalities and circumstances of each individual. He weighs the role of prejudice, idealism and community. He explores the "element of reciprocity" in one case and the "anxiety of responsibility" in another, sees the importance of "mutual support" and discusses the frustrations of being ignored. He reads about oxytocin receptors; he studies David Hume. He makes modest conclusions. I don't mean that as criticism. If Press made more comprehensive claims, I wouldn't trust him. It's no more possible to explain an act of conscience than it is to dissect a dream.
We often use the word "conscience" when we don't know what other word to use. When Gruninger said he "could do nothing else," he may have been deflecting judgment, or he may not have been able to describe his sense of compulsion any better, his feeling that he didn't have a choice when he clearly did. "Conscience" is indefinable. It can be indefensible, too: An act of conscience describes an action motivated by loyalty to a conviction, but it usually requires the defiance of other loyalties. It can mean turning away from your family, or your country, or your job, or even your sense of self. Press's real achievement in this short book is not in his research or analysis, but in his refusal to flinch from that disquieting fact.
Though Press clearly admires his characters, and wants readers to find them inspiring, he can see how their actions can create conflict and their personalities grate. "If I knew only Thoreau," Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote of his friend Henry, "I should think cooperation of good men impossible."
But moral convictions can lead to disengagement from civic life, or sometimes even wars.
A conscience can be used to justify anything, even heinous crimes. In some ways this book is a thoughtful gesture of support. That might sound like a small thing, but it's not. Compassion never is.
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