Pacifism means opposition to war and the pursuit of peace. So described, however, it is not a single doctrine but plural. Many people who abhor war may feel that a particular war is justified and that it is permissible, or even required, to fight in such a war. Many if not most people, including many who called themselves pacifists, thought the Second World War was such a war. In this paper I shall draw on the debate over pacifism in Britain during the Second World War, in which the leading philosophical sources were Gandhi and the British Gandhian philosopher R. B. Gregg.
Crucial to their view is a distinction between two types of pacifism: a pacifism concerning acts, and what I shall call emotional pacifism: the rejection of retributive anger in favor of a spirit of universal love. These two forms were linked by the Gandhians, by Gregg, and by some who followed their lead. But they can be separated, and they were separated by many, including the poet W. H. Auden and the American singer and songwriter Pete Seeger. I shall argue that we must separate them, refusing a total pacifism of acts and supporting violence when necessary to defend a nation unjustly attacked. But emotional pacifism is compatible with this nuanced stance, difficult though it is to maintain. It offers us valuable dividends, if we can rise to its challenges. Martin Luther King, Jr. and above all Nelson Mandela – both of whom followed Gandhi closely but not completely -- show us how this may be done.
A person's vibe—the emotional atmosphere they create through their presence—is a subtle yet powerful force in social spaces. While vibes are deeply personal, they can function as either bridges or barriers between individuals, fostering unity or creating distance in social contexts. This presentation explores how vibes operate as a distinct form of emotional influence. Drawing on the classical Confucian tradition, which recognized the social-emotional impact of personal presence, along with research on nonverbal behavior, emotional expressiveness, and cross-cultural studies of self- awareness, I will examine three key questions: How do we come to know our own vibe? To what extent are we responsible for our emotional impact on shared spaces? How should we ethically evaluate the social consequences of personal vibes? Though contemporary philosophy has largely overlooked this phenomenon, understanding vibes—and their power to unite or divide social groups—is essential for grasping how individuals shape collective emotional environments.
This talk analyzes defiance. I start with a narrow class of discrete, affective acts of defiance that ‘communicate autonomy’ in response to others’ acts—a combination of interaction and distancing that demands explanation. ‘Narrow defiance’ seems close to a reactive attitude, intervening communicatively to respond to a bad act. But where the reactive attitudes aim at a conversation leading to repair and reconciliation for a shared, stable moral community, defiance instead shuts down conversation. Defiance also serves as a defense mechanism against imposed values and a guide for others to resist, but those are best understood as characteristic effects rather than a central mechanism. Following recent work in the philosophy of language, defiance can be understood as functionally equivalent to a speech act—specifically a refusal, uncooperatively denying someone’s social authority to set certain normative statuses. I then elaborate on one upshot of the foregoing analysis: the ‘defiant stance.’ Defiance stakes a claim, committing one to a certain position—a position far away from where the defier is normatively expected to be. Defiance is secessionist, moving towards the creation of a new community with different expectations. The lesson is twofold. First, affective reactions to others’ attitudes don’t just strengthen our communities but can just as much, and just as usefully, weaken communities. Second, the defiant stance, freed of the other features of narrow defiance, can explain a wide range of the many things we call ‘defiance.’
Why does it seem to be the case that the same piece of criticism can engender a deep sense of shame in some but not others?
In this article, I explore but ultimately reject two prevailing explanations for this phenomenon that center the nature of the object of criticism: the Insecurities Explanation and the Moral Responsibilities Explanation. According to the Insecurities Explanation, shame arises when criticism targets traits or behaviors about which the individual already feels insecure. The Moral Responsibilities Explanation takes shame to be a reactive attitude—a fitting response to moral failings that are criticized by others. I argue that neither explanation helps us understand cases in which criticism evokes shame in individuals who are neither insecure about the object of criticism nor have failed morally.
I then propose an explanation grounded in a novel account of the relationship between criticism and shame that links both to personal identity and centers gendered and racialized narratives around personal identity formation. On my account, shame is the generic response to being told one has erred (in any way) when one believes that the testimony of others is, in large part, constitutive of one’s personal identity. Hence, one’s propensity to experience shame in response to criticism (of any kind) is a function of how much one perceives one’s personal identity (and, as such, one’s moral worth) to depend on the testimony of others. How much one perceives one’s identity to depend on the testimony of others is, in turn, shaped by one's gender, race, and gender and racial identities.
In this way, I argue, shame ought to be understood as an oppressive emotion that upholds patriarchal and white supremacist ideologies, disproportionately affecting individuals from historically marginalized groups. And inequalities in shame ought to be seen as yet another injustice tied to gender- and race-based oppression.
In this paper, I engage with María Lugones’ “Hard-to-Handle Anger,” and ask how we handle our hard-to-handle anger at systems of oppression. I ask how anger at oppression can move us beyond territories of resistance and into uncharted yet liberatory and experimental territories of world building. By engaging with Audre Lorde’s and Myisha Cherry’s views on anger as a force for transformation, Sara Ahmed’s idea of affect aliens who reject oppressive worlds, and Gwen E. Kirby’s fictional representations of anger bursting into violence, the paper argues that anger—particularly when shared collectively—has the potential to create alternative, liberatory worlds. Building upon all of these accounts, I argue that a way to handle our hard-to-handle anger at systems of oppression is to handle it together and build life worlds around community and solidarity with one another. By weaving together theoretical and literary approaches, the paper presents collective anger as a tool not only for resisting oppression but also for imagining and constructing radically different possible worlds.
This paper explores the power of nostalgia to inform political imagination via collective cultural memory. Nostalgia has a reputation as a tool for reactionary, exclusionary political movements, yet I argue that nostalgia can be employed to benevolent ends and that its rhetorical power must not be overlooked by any political project. My purpose is to outline a framework for recovering a political culture that promotes strong community bonds and living in harmony with nature. I understand collective memory and the complex emotion of nostalgia to be supportive of such a framework.
First, I examine the process of invoking collective memory, which is housed in cultural stories and ancestral practices passed down through generations. In the contemporary age, such invocations often provoke nostalgia, longing for the past, due to the consciousness of having lost continuity with ancestral traditions. This consciousness of loss stimulates the imagination of the subject as one is drawn to reflect on one’s own place in historical time and the flow of past, present and future. I argue that the rhetorical force of nostalgia is enacted by this provocation of memory, imagination and emotion, and provides a motive and a means by which a subject can begin to imagine a future grounded in both honoring the past and acknowledging the present.
I next look to examples from Daoist political theory to show how the invocation of cultural memory can be employed to inspire political imagination when advocating for a social framework that prioritizes living in harmony with nature. I contrast the Daoist use of cultural memory with that of Confucians in order to show how two traditions draw from the same cultural storehouse in different ways, resulting in different imagined futures.
Finally, I engage with Indigenous Epistemology to address contemporary concerns about cultural memory and knowledge transmission. Using this framework, I explore how the boundaries of time, place and culture can inform our political moment, and what kinds of possible futures might be imagined.
This paper explores an alternative moral psychology of anger, grounded in the account of xin (信), trustworthiness or the ability to make good on one’s word, in the Analects. In contrast to mainstream Western descriptions of anger, such as Aristotle’s, this Confucian perspective is better able to explain our anger at ourselves and our anger at inanimate objects in terms of disruptions of our agency. Rather than focusing on a desire for revenge or to address unjust relations of standing, which don’t seem to obtain between persons and objects and intra- personally, the account which I propose instead takes various forms of anger to arise when our capacity to act is disrupted. A typical example of this is the betrayal we feel when our trust is broken; however, I argue that this analogy can be extended to the frustration that we feel when an object grows unreliable or when we interfere with our own capacity. Having given an outline of this relationship between anger and trust, I then offer some remarks as to how my position might respond to proponents and opponents of moral anger.
For many philosophers, blaming emotions are central to the moral life. Such emotions, however, are subject to a regulatory problem—they are all too often out of control. Mindfulness has been presented as a way to regulate blaming emotions. Mindfulness advocates, however, have historically disavowed blaming emotions. As such, for mindfulness to appeal to the blame-embracer a convincing case must be made regarding how mindfulness can solve the regulatory problem in a way that is normatively compatible with blame-embracing. This paper aims to make such a case by arguing that mindfulness enables the blame-embracer to properly sculpt their blaming emotions without sacrificing such emotions’ moral value. Insofar as the blame-embracer experiences an emotion mindfully, they affectively appreciate their emotion without being fully gripped by it, equipping the blame-embracer with the skills and dispositions needed to blame well. As such, blame-embracers, by their own lights, ought to become mindful moral emoters.
Philosophical accounts of the duty to grieve argue that we do not have a duty nor reasons to grieve strangers. The leading account, developed by Michael Cholbi (2020), argues that we only have reason to grieve the loss of a relationship with those who helped to constitute who we are – our practical identities. Another recent account by Cholbi and MacKenzie (2024) contends that the duty to grieve is derived from a broader duty of practical fidelity that we only owe to people with whom we share loving relationship. But strangers cannot and do not antecedently constitute our practical identities, and do not share in loving relationships with us. Further, grief is in many ways, “bad” for us, engaging us in a process that is mentally, emotionally, and physically painful and taxing. Why should we undergo grief’s pains for someone we don’t know? Thus, it seems grieving strangers is neither fitting nor obligatory. Nevertheless, I argue that sometimes we do have a duty to grieve strangers. In particular, I argue that we have a moral duty to grieve the deaths of strangers who are fellow citizens when their deaths are a result of systemic injustice. Grieving the deaths of strangers in such circumstances is a means of recognizing how we, as members of the communities where these injustices occur, are implicated in and responsible for rectifying these injustices and how to reconstitute ourselves as a political community in response. This grief is not identical to the grief one experiences with personal losses, but a distinct political grief.
The paper studies the performance of mourning for the martyrs at Karbala in the month of Muharram as the commemorative and ritualized cultivation of grief as public emotion, and as perpetual reminder of the possibility of commitment against injustice. Such ritualized mourning is viewed using Martha Nussbaum’s notion of tragic spectatorship. The paper studies the importance of mourning both in the realm of devotional performance and fictional narrativization. I take up the contemporary Indian novelist Ismat Chughtai and her Urdu novel “Ek Katrā Khūn” or “One Drop of Blood” as exemplifying the narrative-commemorative possibilities Karbala opens. Chughtai’s novel is a literary commemoration of Karbala, and a deployment of tragedy for political ideals like democracy and freedom. Like the marsiya poets and nohā singers of her beloved Urdu, she makes use of the emotion of grief to sustain and develop an imagined political position (I would even argue, an imagined community) against imperialist injustice. I show how spectatorship of the tragedy of Karbala emphasises shared human vulnerability across space and time, making it possible for Chughtai to recast the story in the modern political vocabulary of the fight between democracy and fascist imperialism. Thus, through enactment and memorializing, narrative and fictive reimagining, the subversive potential of mourning is brought out. Read in terms of the commitment against injustice, the ritualized repetition of mourning (in both performance and fiction) makes conspicuous and helps energize and recreate a vulnerable relationality and community – formed out of an irredeemable loss – which is always poised against the ever-present and ubiquitous shadow of injustice.
We fall in love with a particular person. Over time, our beloved changes. They might acquire new interests, and beliefs, or lose some, perhaps many, of the qualities they had when we first met them. How does our love for them persist? How should we view this changing identity in the context of loving relationships? I argue that a narrative identity theory can account for how love often persists despite changes in the personal identities of lovers. Using Marya Schechtman’s Narrative Self-Constitution View (NSCV), I develop an account that aims to explain how love often persists despite changes in the identities of lovers. I argue for three claims to develop the account: 1. A claim that lovers communicate their self-narratives with each other through what Nora Kreft terms ‘deep conversation’. 2. Narratives play an explanatory role in loving relationships. The communication of self-narratives makes it possible for lovers to engage in two sense-making processes – making sense of each other’s changing identities, and of their persisting love for each other. 3. Lovers become a part of each other’s narratives, and continually strive to keep each other as a part of their self-narratives.
Some philosophers (Marušic, 2022; D’Arms and Jacobson 2000; 2023) argue that pragmatic reasons for an emotion—reasons concerned with the practical benefits of having that emotion—should be rejected, as such reasons are considered the ‘wrong kind of reasons’ for experiencing emotions. These reasons are considered the wrong kind because the genuine reasons for an emotion should be related to the fact that is the proper object of the emotion, while pragmatic reasons are not related to such a fact. They argue that only fitting reasons—reasons that make an emotion appropriate or suitable given the circumstances or facts—should be taken into account. However, I challenge the view, arguing that pragmatic reasons for emotions should be taken into account, especially when they serve public goods, promote political stability, or foster social integration. Emotions like moral indignation or anger can be justified not only by their fittingness but also by the pragmatic benefits and social advantages they bring. If emotions play a critical role in fostering social integration, then pragmatic reasons for emotions are vital in achieving and maintaining that integration. Recognizing the importance of pragmatic reasons in emotional experiences allows us to better understand how emotions contribute to both individual well-being and the cohesion of society as a whole.
In the literature on political polarization, philosophers and political theorists have posited that negative emotional states have been a driving force behind polarization, and that such emotional states constitute a kind of polarization themselves. This discussion has often aimed at neutrality between the appropriate objects of emotion. Anger is anger, no matter who it’s aimed at or why. It has also proceeded without developing a fine-grained account of which emotions are at work.
In this essay, I will survey the use of emotion within major parts of the political polarization literature, highlighting where it is underdeveloped. I will argue that this underdevelopment leads to two errors. First, it leads to the theorists accusing too broad of swathes of emotions of contributing to polarization. Second, it promotes inappropriate demands for people to quell their emotions in the name of deliberative, cooperative society.
Following Myisha Cherry’s work on Lordean rage, I am skeptical of calls to reduce or limit a broadly defined emotional state. We should be clearer about the practical role an emotional state is playing. Contrary to much of the polarization literature, I hold that emotions can foster and improve deliberative practices and alleviate polarization. Rather than consign ourselves to states of emotional neutrality, we can, and should, consider the use of engaged emotional states to both fight against oppression and to build community. I contend that deliberative democracy need not be a sterile, emotionless landscape, but can, and should be, a place of powerful emotions.
A common diagnosis of contemporary right-wing populism is that it relies on misdirected anger: it galvanizes the justifiable anger people feel due to economic exploitation and marginalization but directs it towards scapegoat targets, like immigrants or minorities. Such explanations are not new: W. E. B. Du Bois already used the idea of misdirected rage to explain race relations in Civil War-era USA, and for authors like Adorno it figured as a key part of the explanation for 20th century European fascism. Despite the ubiquity of this analysis, though, the phenomenon of misdirected anger has received very little philosophical attention, and it is rarely made explicit what it means for an emotion to be ‘misdirected’. In this paper, I argue against existing epistemological and psychoanalytic accounts of misdirected anger and provide an alternative account that relies on a phenomenological understanding of anger. Anger arises from embodied frustrations that subjectively reveal problems in the subject’s lifeworld and aims to overcome them. Thus, it is a way of making sense of practical problems and is misdirected when interpreted in ways that do not help overcome the source of the initial frustration. The question of correctly directing one’s anger, then, is a forward-looking, rather than a backward-looking, one, which distinguishes the diagnosis of misdirection from other ways in which emotions can go wrong, like being inappropriate or unfitting. This account explains how misdirected anger serves to stabilize exploitative social orders and suggests that political organizing around shared material interests, rather than simply better information, is most likely to help people redirect their anger in more emancipatory ways.