faith

Or: More thoughts on the Road to the Cathedral

In some sense it is up to me what I believe. What I can do with those beliefs is not.

One might expect there to be a strong correlation between the amount of time that someone spends reading or thinking about the terrible things that humans do to one another; and their view of human beings, of humanity in general, and of what is possible and desirable in a world created largely by humans. What seems strange is that the correlation appears to go in the wrong direction: those who are best informed about human rights violations - in other words, those who are most aware of the horrific things that some humans do to other humans - tend to be those who actually believe that (all) human beings are worthwhile individuals and that the world can be made into a place where people treat each other fairly, with respect¹.

On the other hand - those who appear to know least about the horrific experience and consequences of oppression, inequality, injustice - those with their heads in the business clouds, or anyway somewhere other than the human rights clouds - those people tend, in general, to have a less idealistic - some might say more cynical - view of humankind. (They would say, of course, that their view was more real-istic.)

Perhaps the second half of that 'correlation' is less universally true, but it is the first half that is so surprising. If anything ought to shake a belief in universal human dignity, then evidence of brutal, callous, selfish, devious behaviour by human beings on a widespread scale should do so. If anything ought to undermine our faith in the potential for universal human justice in the future, then evidence of fairly universal injustice in the present, endlessly rewarded, ought to do so; and if anything should breed cynicism, a resigned acceptance that the world is pretty grubby, always has been, and likely always will be - then an awareness of the impact and extent of human beings cheating, exploiting and oppressing one another surely ought to do so.

And yet... still it doesn't. I think we can even say with certainty that it will not do so: no amount of reading the reports of Amnesty International could make a human rights believer stop believing that even torturers are human beings, and even they deserve some minimal respect. More surprising, perhaps, no amount of seeing the depths to which human beings can sink appears to dampen hope that one day, if we were to do things differently, humanity just might stop sinking altogether.

It could be the case that the correlation (if indeed it exists) is coincidental: it could be the case that our belief in the possibility of a better world develops in parallel with, but wholly independently of our awareness of the inadequacies of this world. That seems unlikely - not least because the correlation seems so strong.

Perhaps it is that those who have their heads in the human rights clouds - or in the smog of violations - have more need for something to believe in, something that will clear the smog. So their belief in the fundamental dignity of terrorists, torturers and - even - US Presidents, however brutally and inhumanely they have all behaved, could be just a form of faith. I do believe to some extent it is (as I have said before).

Or then there are two further possibilities: the first is that by bumping into violations (intellectually, because I don't believe it holds on other levels) we come to see, to understand, how 'worthy' human beings can engage in brutal treatment. So the brutal treatment is viewed in context, rather than just being seen as a freak event, as evidence of 'evil'. That may be why someone like Eugene de Kock ('prime evil') who showed humanity in his genuine remorse is in some ways such a comfort: he confirms what we hope, desperately, is true of those who act in brutal ways.

But even so, and although I think that seeing things in context plays some part in explaining how the human rights believer can continue to believe - even so, I rather doubt it plays the most important part. I feel sure that we think we know the answer to the question about context before we bump into the 'evidence'. I feel sure that human rights believers start out believing, and then reshape the evidence they come across to fit it to the theory (just as the other side do too, undoubtedly). A suicide bomber, for example, must have had a reason; a torturer was almost certainly a victim; a president... Well, I'm not quite sure...

That isn't quite as hopelessly irrational as it may appear - and as the other side would paint it. It is certainly no less - but probably no more - rational than the other side's behaviour. It is just a very different view of human beings. And given that we start out with a different understanding of human beings, it cannot be surprising that we end up with a different explanation for why people do what they do. Their explanation doesn't work for us, because human beings are not like that (not evil, for example); and ours doesn't work for them for the same sort of reason. Human beings are not like that, they say, so they will not behave significantly differently in different circumstances.

The catch is that we can't change the circumstances without their help, and that means that it's very hard to prove to them that we are right.

A wonderful quote²:

"the forward-looking moral vision of human nature that is the source of human rights provides the basis for the social changes implicit in claims of human rights... We say: if you treat human beings this way, you will get truly human beings. They say: no you won't. So we don't need to treat them this way"

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1I mean armchair awareness, of course. I make no claims for those who have experienced real human suffering on themselves.

2I cannot for the life of me remember where I found it, but I will trace the author. I have the page number (18!)

• 1. 1.
• 2. 2.

When I was a tidy and naive right-winger, I thought it was very important to read the press of the 'opposition', rather than to read journalists who viewed things in the same way as you did. So I bought the Guardian rather than the Daily Telegraph, studying the opposition's best arguments for their position, trying to understand how they could believe in anything as obviously outdated and absurd as 'socialism' (as it was still called, just).

I thought that we would only ever get a true discourse between different ideologies if each side really understood the other - and that meant living, breathing, feeling the arguments as expounded by the others' best exponents. Trying to understand how on earth they could believe in them.

It seemed quite clear - and still does - that one could never expect to do that, if one only ever looked at the newspapers and journals that most naturally appealed. But that is exactly what happens: one side reads one set of arguments, statistics and interpretations; political 'opponents' read another set, completely different. Each set has been carefully selected and selected out to back up an existing position and appeal to readers who agree with it already. Not surprisingly, ne'er the twain do meet.

Something must have met - fleetingly, momentarily - in me, on my journey to the left. The trouble is, I don't remember passing through the mid-point, even if I noticed it. The first few months of Guardian reading made only imperceptible, tidy little alterations to my outlook. By the time I saw that I was on the move, I was going at such a pace that I could barely see the passing scenery. Since then I only seem to keep accelerating.

If I were true to my word (and beliefs) I should be reading the Telegraph again by now. I persuade myself that I don't need to because I've been there, done that, know the arguments. The truth is that I can't bring myself to do it, and find nothing except emptiness and odious opinions when I open it. Even the Guardian would represent an 'other' to my current thinking (and reading). Even the Guardian is often odious (with honourable exceptions).

But the danger in not looking at the odious opinions is that we then can't find the way back to another point of view. That doesn't matter too much if you really know you never want to go back; but it does matter for other reasons. First of all it matters because there are people - nice people - who actually believe the odious things. That is very difficult to reconcile. Secondly, it matters because it becomes increasingly difficult to engage in any sort of useful dialogue with anyone outside a narrow circle. Thirdly, it matters if you want (and need) the help of those who are still 'back' there to bring the world forward - and there is no doubt that we do.

Corruptness: lack of integrity or honesty; use of a position of trust for dishonest gain (from Definitions of corruption on the Web

Corruption is pretty normal nowadays. In the business world I can almost regard it as fair play: part of the sordid rules of that game. The latest Saudi arms deal was nothing surprising. We know that's how the world works, how the Blair government works, how the arms trade works. Shocking, perhaps, that we have become so inured to this that it no longer even surprises - let alone shocks - us. But it doesn't.

What does still shock (me, anyway) is corruption in spheres where you don't expect it, where the rules of the game do not demand it, where very few consider it, let alone engage in it. I don't just mean fiddling the books, which is indeed normal in every ngo and probably every institution (and maybe the rules of the game demand it). I mean deliberate deceit for personal gain, 'use of a position of trust for dishonest gain', in a world - such as the ngo world - where personal gain is publicly, demonstratively put in second place. Or that is the idea anyway.

The foundations on which our ultimate, unlimited faith in human beings rest are so incredibly fragile. The examples of human duplicity, brutality, ignominy are so horrifying and so widespread that it sometimes seems that those foundations must crumble. But we shore them up, determined that ignoble behaviour is always the result of corrupted rules of the game, of unfortunate circumstance, of the system, rather than the individual.

I had always imagined that the ngo world, even if corrupt in its own small way, was a relatively safe haven. When that too starts to rot; when the individuals appear to be moving the system towards corruption, rather than vice versa; when they look at the rot as if it is normal and the safe haven eats up the rot as if nothing has happened – then one wonders what on earth it is that we are trying to shore up.