Daniel Brudney

In this essay, I raise the question of whether some degree of noncoercive state support for religious conceptions(broadly understood) should be left to the majoritarian branch of government. I argue that the reason not to do so is that such state support would alienate many citizens. However, to take this as a sufficient reason to constrain the majoritarian branch is to accept the thesis that not being alienated from one’s polity is a significant part of the human good. Those who would prohibit even a small amount of noncoercive support of religious conceptions must appeal either to pragmatic considerations (the worry that noncoercive will lead to coercive support, i.e., to tyranny) or to a conception of the good that puts great value on the agent’s sense of connectedness to the polity. And the latter is something that reasonable citizens in a modern democracy could reasonably reject.

I am grateful to John Phillips and David Wendler as well as to The Journal of Medical Ethics for the opportunity to express some thoughts about surrogate decision-making. Current practices are just a few decades old. It would not be surprising if they need a bit of tweaking. An earlier acceptance of the physician as the decision-maker at the bedside relied on the premise that, among those at the bedside, the physician was most likely to be a person of practical wisdom, what Aristotle called a phronimos. The premise was that, in the welter of medical and non-medical considerations, the doctor was the most likely to pick out the best available option for the patient, the option that would best advance the patient's interests. Read this way, there are reasons for scepticism: 1. In an era of hospital medicine, the doctor is unlikely to be sufficiently well acquainted with the patient to know what is best for her, what is in her best interests. 2. If the decision is (non-medically) difficult, calling for sagacity and human insight, there is no reason to think that the doctor, through being selected, trained and put to work by the medical establishment, will have more of such qualities than the patient. It is thus understandable why the premise of physician wisdom might no longer seem attractive with decisionally competent patients. Turning to the surrogate context, three questions need answers: What did the patient say or indicate she wanted? What would the patient want? What is in the patient's best interests? Let's examine them in reverse order. The above objections also apply to the issue of who is more likely to get the patients’ best interests right, the doctor or the surrogate. With the question of what the patient would have chosen, the scale tilts further …

Communitarians have long criticized John Rawls′ theory of justice as fairness. In this paper I sketch a picture of communal relationships and use it to examine the nature of community in Rawls′ theory. In the first section I extract a picture of communal relationships from Karl Marx′s work of 1844; in the second section I argue for this picture′s distinctiveness; finally, I look at a shift in the nature of Rawlsian community between A Theory of Justice and Rawls′ later book, Political Liberalism. I argue that a picture structurally similar to that in Marx is exhibited by the well-ordered society of A Theory of Justice, although not by that of Political Liberalism. The communitarian charge – the charge that Rawls′ view is at odds with an emphasis on community – turns out to be justified, but not with respect to A Theory of Justice, the standard communitarian target.

Among the tasks of modern political philosophy is to develop a favored conception of the relations among modern citizens, among people who can know little or nothing of one another individually and yet are deeply reciprocally dependent. One might think of this as developing a favored conception of civic friendship. In this essay I sketch two candidate conceptions. The first derives from the Kantian tradition, the second from the 1844 Marx. I present the two conceptions and then describe similarities and differences. My approach is both taxonomic and programmatic. My taxonomic goal is to provide an initial sketch of the conceptual territory. My programmatic goal is to provide reasons to think that the conception derived from Marx is both appealing and feasible.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 27.2 (2003) 318-340 [Access article in PDF] Marlow's Morality Daniel Brudney "Good is a transcendent reality" means that virtue is the attempt to pierce the veil of selfish consciousness and join the world as it really is. —Iris Murdoch, The Sovereignty of Good I THE REPUTATION OF Conrad's sailor-narrator, Charlie Marlow, has risen and fallen through the years. Initially seen as a simple master mariner or at most as a technical device, a way to get a tale told, with the work of Albert Guérard he began to receive his due, becoming lionized as the true subject at least of Heart of Darkness, and of more than technical interest in the other stories. 1 In recent years, however, his reputation has slumped hard as his racism and sexism have come to the fore. In this article, I attempt no full-scale rehabilitation but simply point out that, despite his failings, Marlow possesses a virtue worth remarking and that his failings involve a failure to extend that virtue far enough.I call that virtue attentiveness, and more specifically, attentiveness to the other. It has been neglected, at least by philosophers, although as a virtue it is utterly obvious. This is not surprising. The moral life is generally the sphere of the obvious and progress here often consists merely in noting what has been overlooked. The presence or absence of this virtue is revealed less by what the agent feels or doesn't feel or does or doesn't do than by her stance or orientation toward others. And as orientations are slippery things to describe (and this one more than most) there is an advantage in looking at literary characters: they show palpably the virtue (or corresponding vice) at issue. My focus in this [End Page 318] article is the forms that Marlow's tales (particularly Lord Jim and Heart of Darkness) show attentiveness to the other can take—and fail to take—in a human life. II Let's begin with Marlow's sexism, and specifically as manifested in his lie to Kurtz's Intended. She asks for Kurtz's final words, and Marlow replies not "The horror! The horror!" but "The last words he pronounced was—your name" (HD, p. 161). 2 Marlow says that the truth "would have been too dark, too dark altogether" (p. 162). But what doesn't Marlow want the Intended to know? That her beloved went mad in the jungle, became evil? And why shouldn't she know this? Because it would bring her pain? But Marlow insists that the Intended has "a mature capacity" for suffering (p. 157; a capacity to handle it, presumably, not a proneness to it). Anyway, Marlow's lie will perpetuate suffering, her mourning for her image of Kurtz: smash her idol and she might be able to get on with her life. In any event, the issue of suffering does not explain why the truth is "too dark."Marlow does not class the Intended as "one of us" (LJ, p. 43). This is the phrase he, like Conrad, uses to characterize Jim in Lord Jim. It is usually taken to refer to national or racial identity or perhaps to membership in the merchant service. However, the phrase also has a biblical resonance. Genesis 3:22 says, "Behold, the man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil." I think the reason the Intended is not "one of us" is that she does not know good and evil—does not know that there are good and evil. That is the mystery into which Kurtz's final words would have initiated her."There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies," Marlow says, "which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world—what I want to forget" (HD, p. 82). Yet he does lie, so there must be something he thinks worth saving even at the cost of siding with mortality. What might that be? In the beginning of Paradise Lost, Milton declares that he will sing Of Man's first disobedience, and...

When literary texts are included in a course on moral philosophy they tend to be classical tragedies or existentialist novels: texts filled with major moral transgressions and agonized debates over rights, wrongs, and relativism. Recently, however, the focus of much discussion on literature and moral philosophy has been Henry James’s last novel, The Golden Bowl. This ought to seem surprising. For The Golden Bowl is a quintessential Jamesian novel. Almost nothing happens. In the course of more than five hundred pages there are two marriages, one affair, and a single act of violence, the smashing of the golden bowl. The rest is reflection, nuance, detail: the creation and preservation of a “‘brilliant, perfect surface,’” one “scarcely more meant to be breathed upon, it would seem, than the cheek of royalty.”1 There are no extreme actions or high-flown speculations. The moral issues among the four central characters either go unspoken or are raised expressly to be suppressed, banished from articulation. And what counts as the expression of the moral maturity and insight of the heroine, Maggie Verver, is her extraordinary ability to keep the truth silen00to put it precisely, to lie. If even there was a novel in which the protagonists shied away from moral debate, it is The Golden Bowl.The challenge for the philosophical critic, it seems to me, is to argue that it is just this stress on surface and silence that makes this novel of interest to moral philosophers, that makes it exemplary for how literature can do something philosophically important that philosophy cannot. 1. Henry James, The Golden Bowl, pp. 445, 172; hereafter cited by page number. Daniel Brudney is an assistant professor of philosophy at the University of Chicago.