In one way we think a great deal too much of the atomic bomb. “How are we to live in an atomic age?” I am tempted to reply: “Why, as you would have lived in the sixteenth century when the plague visited London almost every year, or as you would have lived in a Viking age when raiders from Scandinavia might land and cut your throat any night; or indeed, as you are already living in an age of cancer, an age of syphilis, an age of paralysis, an age of air raids, an age of railway accidents, an age of motor accidents.”
In other words, do not let us begin by exaggerating the novelty of our situation.
Julia Wise, quoting C.S. Lewis
That does not kill us makes us stronger
Hilary Clinton, quoting Kelly Clarkson, quoting Nietszche
In light of current events, I've personally found it difficult to reach equilibrium. In particular, I've found it hard to navigate a) the 2022 loss of ~3/4 of resources available to longtermist EA, b) the consequentially large harms in the world caused by someone who I thought was close to us, c) setbacks in the research prioritization of my own work, d) some vague feelings that our community is internally falling apart, e) the general impending sense of doom, f) some personal difficulties this year (not all of which is related to global events), and g) general feelings of responsibility and also inadequacy to address the above. I imagine many other people reading this are going through similar difficulties.
I'll find it personally helpful to understand how our (my) historical heroes dealt with problems akin to the ones we're currently facing. In particular, I'd be interested in hearing about similar situations faced by 1) the Chinese Mohists and 2) the English utilitarians.
I will be interested in hearing stories of how the Chinese Mohists and English utilitarians dealt with situations of i) large situational setbacks and ii) large-scale moral compromise.
In the past, I've found it helpful to draw connections between my current work/life and that of those I view as my spiritual or intellectual ancestors.[1] Perhaps this will be true again. I confess to not knowing much of the relevant histories here, but presumably they've faced similar issues? I'm guessing the Mohists couldn't have been happy that states they defended ended up being conquered anyway, and Qin Shihuang unified China with fire and blood. As for the English utilitarians, I assume some of the policies they've advocated backfired severely in their lifetimes, whether obviously or more subtly.
I'd be interested in seeing and possibly learning from how they responded, both practically and on an emotional level.
So this is my question for the historians/amateur historians: In what ways have our historical moral heroes dealt with large-scale adversity and moral compromise?
- ^
For example, it was helpful for me to learn about what John Stuart Mill viewed as his personal largest emotional difficulties, as well as the Mohist approaches to asceticism in a corrupt world.
I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been feeling this way, Linch. I’ve also been facing some of the difficulties that you describe. I’ll try to do the best I can but would welcome the input of people who are more knowledgeable than me!
In the professional work of the English Utilitarians, what stands out to me is perseverance. When Bentham’s Panopticon project (which was meant to be an improvement on the often cruel treatment of prisoners) failed to get off the ground, he moved on to other things such as education reform (advocating for an end to corporal punishment, for example). Similarly, when the ‘Philosophical Radicals’ (a loosely knit group of parliamentarians and writers associated with utilitarianism) split in the early 1840s, Mill took the opportunity to do some “deep work” and publish A System of Logic, which had been on the back burner for over a decade.
Friendship and companionship were also important. Mill, over the same period, deepened his companionship and collaboration with Harriet Taylor, which was to be a source of great happiness to him for the rest of his life. After her death in Avignon, he would spend six months a year working close to the cemetery where she was buried. Meanwhile, Henry Sidgwick’s efforts to improve the higher education of women — which he sometimes felt did not progress rapidly enough — were supported by his wife Eleanor, and whenever he had a crisis he would always seek the company of his friends in the Cambridge Apostles (a discussion group in which he felt he could freely express his views), particularly John Addington Symonds. Symonds happened to be gay, and so Sidgwick (who often advised Symonds about what to publish) regularly had to confront dilemmas about how quickly the established moral order should challenged. (His personal experiences here may have influenced his noticeably cautious approach to the utilitarian reform of public morality in The Methods of Ethics.) Again, friendship and open discussion were indispensable to him here.
I’d be interested to learn more about the Benthamite Edwin Chadwick’s life after he was forced to retire from the Civil Service after his stint as Commissioner of the General Board of Health (following the passage of the Public Health Act of 1848, inspired by his report on sanitation). He seems to have attracted a great deal of backlash from various interest groups. One thing he did do was correspond with Florence Nightingale, who wanted to resurrect his efforts, so he did not entirely give up (despite the direct effect of the 1848 Public Health Act, partly due to lax enforcement, being modest at best).