Isn’t it? I saw Steven Spielberg’s Munich the other day, and it got me thinking. (I liked the film because it got me thinking, regardless of any heavy-handed- or crass-ness). It provoked me to question a belief on which I’ve acted for the whole of my life; a belief that I would count amongst my most deeply-held convictions. Violence is never the best solution.
It’s not that I condone Israel’s vengeance for the murder of eleven members of its 1972 Olympic team – far from it. In this case, I can’t see how the assassination of the perpetrators got anyone anywhere. But I have noticed that my belief in the categorical wrongness of violence stands on pretty shaky ground. Whether I like it or not, I have little justification for condemning violence in every conceivable circumstance. Perhaps it sometimes is the right course of action to take.
Suppose there is a tyrannical dictator whose oppressive regime has so far led to millions of brutal executions. There is no sign of regime change, nor of the situation improving. Sanctions have failed, serving only to further disadvantage the population. Negotiation is not an option. Do we sit back and keep our hands clean or take military action?
If I were in charge, I’d be inclined to hold back. Perhaps things will change: maybe the people will rise up and establish democracy; maybe the regime will go soft in its old age and stop the executions; maybe pigs will fly in and sort it all out. There’s always hope.
But hope isn’t always founded on reason. I probably wouldn’t take any action because I’m a coward. I recognise that. If things went wrong, I wouldn’t want to take the blame, nor would I much enjoy the criticism of those telling me that one more year might have solved everything without recourse to violence. I don’t want to run the risk of people telling me that my decision was morally wrong. I would want to keep my hands clean.
This attitude comes down to an imbalance between our views of action and inaction. I’m not as likely to be held morally responsible for failing to take any action, since there is always someone else more directly responsible than me; the dictator. Any letters of complaint should be addressed to him, not me. But people will blame me for taking positive action, as I then put myself in the position of direct responsibility for any civilian deaths as a result of the war. Which is more admirable: choosing worse consequences and avoiding blame, or better consequences and putting oneself in the line of fire? I know which answer I’d give, but I also know very well that I’m not courageous enough to practice what I preach.
As a rule of thumb, violence is rarely the answer. But a categorical, non-revisable belief that it is never the best option seems to be founded partly on cowardice rather than reason. The courage it takes to make the right decision may be beyond most of us. But it’s worth being courageous enough at least to re-examine our own convictions. That way, when someone does make the right decision, they suffer less for having done better than we ever would have.
the apprentice 