The course on war and morality and the service-learning option in it that are described in this paper are motivated by the belief that political philosophers should help students see more clearly the relationships between various forms of political violence. I think of this as something like a hypothetical imperative: if political philosophers have any special responsibility at all in a democratic society, it is to acquaint other citizens with the wide range of phenomena - from acts of war at one extreme to legal lynching and administrative bullying at the other - that can be subsumed under the generic heading of political violence.
I discuss this notion of political responsibility and the meaning of political violence in the first two sections of the paper. My purpose there is to introduce and explain why I have taught a course on war and morality centered around service-learning. There is not enough room here, nor frankly do I feel prepared to offer at this time, a theory of political violence that would adequately justify such a strong imperative to use service-learning in political philosophy courses. The method of the course was experimental and the purpose of this paper is more descriptive than justificatory.
Having said this, I should also acknowledge that very few students, as far as I can tell, including the service-learning students, left the course with a clearer understanding of the relationship between war and other forms of political violence. This proved to be too ambitious a goal. However, I believe, based on the evaluations they turned in at the end of the course, that some of the students did gain a better understanding of the effects of the violence of war, and that some of them are in a better position to make the connections between the violence of war other forms of political violence as they encounter them later in life.
I. The Political Responsibility of Political Philosophy
In a recent article on service-learning in Teaching
Philosophy, Patrick Fitzgerald argues that it is ironic that
moral philosophers do not include themselves when reminding
professionals of their broad social responsibilities and specific
moral duties to their patients and clients. Philosophers are
professionals too, yet they rarely worry about what they owe society
in return for their privileged
Fitzgerald suggests that one way that moral philosophers who teach applied ethics can meet their own social responsibility is through service-learning options in their courses. The main benefit to students and society from this kind of service is that students seem to be better prepared for and more likely to perform socially responsible activities later on. At least, that is what the students in Fitzgerald's small sample said. After performing their public service, they believed that they were more understanding of the sick and unfortunate and more likely to lend a helping hand. Leaving aside the reliability of this self-assessment, are there similar responsibilities and potential benefits for philosophers who teach political philosophy, not applied ethics?
The first thing to note is an important difference between courses in political philosophy and applied ethics. Whereas applied ethics courses aim to prepare professionals to act morally, the standard political philosophy courses do not have the same kind of normative developmental purpose. Applied ethics courses emphasize the positive responsibilities of professionals, including the duty to respect the rights of patients and clients. Although some political philosophers have discussed the noblesse oblige of public administrators,(2)
most political philosophy does not distinguish between professional and civic responsibilities. In a democratic society all citizens, including political philosophers, have a strong but qualified allegiance to the state and a duty to respect the rights of their fellow citizens. Academic political philosophers explain, justify, and sometimes criticize this allegiance and these rights and duties.
This difference in purpose is reflected in a difference in content between applied ethics and political philosophy courses. The sub-field of applied ethics in moral philosophy continues to grow rapidly. From its origins in medical and legal ethics, it now has a foothold in almost every professional discipline from engineering and architecture to business and journalism. The format of applied ethics courses across the board is the same. Students are confronted with moral dilemmas and a method for resolving them. Sometimes the method is fairly abstract, say, some variety of utilitarianism. Sometimes it is more casuistic and tailored to the particular problems faced by the profession in question. Either way, applied ethics courses follow a fairly predictable trajectory from contemporary problems as different as brain death and the risk of a suspension bridge collapsing to moral judgments and back again.
In contrast, political philosophy courses, whether taught in a philosophy department or under the name political theory in a political science department, focus on the structure and limits of government that can make it a legitimate object of political loyalty. Some political philosophy courses are historical, concentrating on the structure of government in texts such as Plato's Republic or Hegel's Philosophy of Right. Other political philosophy courses are organized around problems or topics such as justice, political equality, and freedom of speech through the writings of contemporary philosophers such as John Rawls, Martha Nussbaum, and Ronald Dworkin. Instead of emphasizing the legitimacy of government, they focus on the rights a legitimate government should protect, the duties its citizens have when their rights are protected, and the character needed to exercise these rights responsibly.
Neither historical nor problems courses in political philosophy are addressed to future politicians or public policy makers. They are addressed to citizens and designed to teach greater political literacy, that is, how to speak the language of rights and duties, and mean it. Even though many pre-law undergraduates take these and other philosophy courses, they do so usually because they have heard that they will help them score well on the LSAT, not because they think political philosophy will make them more politically responsible lawyers or public officials.
In political philosophy courses like these, what should students learn that is analogous to the moral character development that Fitzgerald claims service-learning can provide in applied ethics courses? One answer is that they should learn about the limits of political obligation, even in a just or well-ordered society.(3)
This seems too narrow to me. It reduces political responsibility to the occasional crisis in a nearly just society when politics intrudes into everyday life and no longer can be ignored.(4)
My view is that political philosophy should enable students to recognize the origins, forms, and effects of violence in the political society they inhabit and the ways that some societies can export political violence abroad, so that they may be able to limit and cope with political violence lest civil disobedience becomes the only alternative to uncritical acquiescence or complicity.
II. Political Violence
Let me now introduce the subject of political violence more directly, using the first text that we read in the course.
In 1959 J. Glenn Gray wrote The Warriors: Reflections on Men in Battle, a memoir of his experience as an Allied interrogation officer in World War Two. Throughout the book Gray emphasizes the similarities between the sometimes erotic, sometimes callous feelings of soldiers and citizens in general toward violence. It is a frank and disturbing indictment of a culture of violence that was reissued in 1970 during the Vietnam War when Gray was reminded of how virulent abstract hatred of the enemy can become when it originates far from actual combat.
The Warriors is used in undergraduate courses on war and morality because it provides students with a rich vocabulary for discussing the concrete details of war from a personal point of view. Gray's taxonomy of wartime modes of love, hate, and guilt helps students make philosophical distinctions and arguments that most war stories unintentionally obscure.
However, students also find The Warriors very difficult the first time through. Gray is especially fond of quoting Nietzsche to the effect that "we should choose death twice in preference to being feared and hated" because "[n]othing corrupts our soul more surely and more subtly than the consciousness of others who fear and hate us."(5)
He is even more deeply committed to Heidegger's critique of technology: "Until we learn to experience more simply and directly our gardens and trees, the skies above us, and all the objects amid which we move and work, we will find it difficult to achieve closeness to neighbors and even to ourselves."(6)
These themes either baffle or repel students, who don't understand what they have to do with war.
Without defending Gray's uncritical reliance on Nietzsche or Heidegger, I do wish to endorse his general claim that we have difficulty coming to terms with violence in modern Western societies because those who are supposed to control violence often cover it up.(7)
According to Gray, "sometimes it takes penetrating eyes to notice the violent undercurrents of daily life in our Western society, so commonplace do they seem and so adept are public officials in keeping the more overt out of sight."(8)
In wartime, it is not hard to spot intentional harm to civilian populations. From terror bombing to economic embargoes, these methods for pressuring the enemy by weakening their own domestic support are openly confessed and justified by the doctrine of realism. In peacetime, no such harsh version of raison d'etat is available in democratic countries, so statistics must be manipulated, silence bought, and those who suffer from violence cleverly disenfranchised and their complaints buried in committee. The cumulative effect is what Gray calls an "atmosphere of violence" that "draws a veil over our eyes, preventing us from seeing the plainest facts of our daily existence."(9) Not all violence is political in this sense, but in modern Western societies Gray argues that it often is.
Now, at the turn of the century, it no longer requires "penetrating eyes" to see political violence. The "veil" has been lifted, and no one, certainly no public official, tries to keep violence -- from domestic abuse to terrorist bombings to grinding ethnic cleansing -- "out of sight." Instead, political leaders and bureaucrats speak of the need to cope with the effects of violence and manage the risk of violence within acceptable limits. This casual attitude toward violence is not restricted to ordinary citizens.
Not long ago the President of the United States, in a tone that suggested presiding over the closing ceremonies of the twentieth century, publicly admitted that the country he was chosen to lead is the world's most violent society. He offered this insight as he would announce another self-evident fact, such as the country's ever accumulating debt or its inviolable entrepreneurial spirit.(10)
Violence has become a routine part of the cost of doing political business, and this makes the problem of political violence even more urgent than Gray thought it was. If we are going to make our students more uncomfortable in the presence of political violence, then we will have to teach them to recognize the violent undercurrents of this kind of deficit spending. When it is treated this way and when it is presented as merely administrative efficiency or bureaucratic necessity by public figures, it becomes political violence. We have to give them a feel for the violent currents that run through the legitimate exercise of state power and the ability to handle this burden in a cooperative way. This requires a kind of poise or composure under fire that neither liberal nor communitarian theories of democratic politics have captured.(11)
To illustrate the kind of political poise I have in mind, consider the following passage from another text we read. In his story, "The Things They Carried," Tim O'Brien reflects on the burden he and the other members of his Vietnam combat platoon had to carry everyday.
For the most part they carried themselves with poise, a kind of dignity. Now and then, however, there were times of panic, when they squealed or wanted to squeal but couldn't, when they twitched and made moaning sounds and covered their heads and said Dear Jesus and flopped around on the earth and fired their weapons blindly and cringed and sobbed and begged for the noise to stop and went wild and made stupid promises to themselves and to God and to their mothers and fathers, hoping not to die. In different ways, it happened to all of them. Afterward, when the firing ended, they would blink and peek up. They would touch their bodies, feeling shame, then quickly hiding it. They would force themselves to stand. As if in slow motion, frame by frame, the world would take on the old logic - absolute silence, then the wind, then sunlight, then voices. It was the burden of being alive. Awkwardly, the men would reassemble themselves, first in private, then in groups, becoming soldiers again.(12)
The poise of the combat soldier that O'Brien describes is analogous to the poise that a democratic citizen needs in the face of political violence. It is the capacity to pull yourself together for another acrimonious debate, after yet another defeat or betrayal. It is being able to name the denials and obfuscations of public officials and then still sit down with them to try to make things better. Democratic citizens can't afford to burn their bridges behind them, no matter how outraged or angry they may be. Most of all, it is the poise to admit our own shortcomings, even cowardice, under fire and seek strength in those "groups" that permit us to be honest about these failings in order to overcome them honorably.
This suggests that citizens would be well-served by a certain
stoic attitude toward political violence. If they can reflect
critically on the passion for violence, their own as well as others,
they may be in a better position to resist the temptations of
political violence and the natural urge to burn their
In the political culture of the United States, the classic example of this stoic character is Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose skepticism toward government authority was matched by a deep commitment to democratic citizenship. The Fugitive Slave Law represented in Emerson's day a clear case of political violence, perhaps the quintessential American case. His objection to it was unequivocal, but he remained a committed democrat despite this perverse legislation.
These things show that no forms, neither constitutions, nor laws, nor covenants, nor churches, nor bibles, are of any use in themselves. The Devil nestles comfortably into them all. There is no help but in the head and heart and hamstrings of a man. Covenants are of no use without honest men to keep them; laws of none but with loyal citizens to obey them.(14)
Emerson had little faith in laws and constitutions by themselves. The Fugitive Slave Law was the case in point. But he was hardly an anarchist. The loyalty of his ideal "loyal citizens" was to democratic justice, not the gerrymandered government that so often promulgates unjust laws in the name of the people.
III. Service Learning
On the first day of class in Spring 1998, one of the almost 200 students in the room asked, point blank, "Why should I take this course? I'm a senior, and this course has nothing to do with my major. I could probably take another course that would fulfill the graduation requirement that landed me in this class, and that would have less reading and less writing than this one." I was stunned, although I probably should not have been. Like most colleges and universities, Michigan State University now makes it clear to its students that they and their families are consumers who deserve a good product at a reasonable price. This student was only expressing what was on the minds of most of the other students in the class: "This better be a good deal." In other words, "if I do all the work, I expect to get a good grade."
I responded nervously that even though she did not think the experiences of war that citizens have endured on, behind, and between the battle lines have much to do with her major or her life right now, that will probably change. I said that it is likely that war will touch her in one way or another. It may not even be the result of a new unforeseen war. Someday she may find herself trying to comfort a parent, grandparent, or someone else close to her who needs help coming to terms with the memories of war and its aftermath. It is better to think about these things before they happen.
Another student then asked, "Have you fought in any wars?" My mind began to race. I said that I lived through several wars that the United States had been involved in, beginning with Vietnam but including the wars in Central America during the 1980s and the Persian Gulf War. I alluded to my opposition to these wars, but mentioned that many of my relatives were involved in World War Two and that their experiences and losses also had been important in shaping my views about war and peace.
The second student sat expressionless. Then, he asked, "Is this a course about war or about anti-war protests?" That first-day-of-class fear was never higher than it was at this moment. I wasn't just afraid that I wouldn't capture their attention or they wouldn't like me. I was afraid that they would see right through me.
Actually, these skeptical students had a point. I was not exactly sure that this course was going to work. What kind of service could 20 students provide to wartime veterans that they could then share with their other 180 other classmates and that would enhance everyone's understanding of the course material?
Despite these doubts, I assembled a stock of readings. In addition to the Gray and O'Brien books, this included Robert Kotlowitz, Before Their Time; Louis Begley, Wartime Lies; Lan Cao, Monkey Bridge; and selections from Studs Terkel, The Good War; James Carroll, An American Requiem; Paul Hendrickson, The Living and the Dead; and Binjamin Wilkomirski, Fragments. I thought that these readings would be realistic and unblinking without succumbing to the standard ideology of moral realism that infects so much first-person narrative on war. I also wanted students to see how wartime experiences vary dramatically depending upon whether one is a soldier, a munitions worker, a nurse, a refugee, a protester, or even a troubled dissembler. My general plan was to use examples and questions from Michael Walzer's Just and Unjust Wars to focus on particular moral dilemmas faced by the authors and characters in these texts. But I knew from experience that this wasn't going to be enough. Walzer describes the moral dilemmas of civilians, soldiers, and officers, but his perspective is still removed and dispassionate. He asks us to step back and consider what our shared moral vocabulary requires of us. As powerful as this discursive strategy can be for academics who are accustomed to this kind of inner dialogue, it wasn't going to get my students to think about how the violence of war might affect them as individuals on, behind, or between the lines.
My desire to bring the students closer to the experience of wartime veterans, before they were unreflectively overwhelmed by political violence, led me to begin the course with two poems from Wyslawa Szymborska. The first, "Some People," describes the "grayish stoniness" of the refugee, and the helpless life they lead. It registers, I think, what happens when human connections are destroyed and the world becomes abstract. There is only "another wrong road ahead."(15)
Then, we read "The End and the Beginning." Here Szymborska describes the process of cleaning up when the war is over and how memories are gradually buried. Eventually,
Those who knew
what this was all about
must make way for those
who know little.
And less than that.
And as last nothing less than nothing.
Someone has to lie there
in the grass that covers up
the causes and effects
with a cornstalk in his teeth,
This poem infuriated many students. They thought Szymborska was saying that we must forget the past. Doesn't she say, "The bridges need to be rebuilt?" And if we get on with the rebuilding, eventually, we will turn away from interminable disagreements about "causes and effects," and be able to relax and enjoy the "clouds."
My own interpretation is that Szymborska does not favor this kind of forgetfulness. However, the fact that the students read her this way enabled me to contrast this view with Gray's injunction that unless we remember why we are willing to fight wars that necessarily result in the deaths of so many civilian non-combatants we will become "refugees in an inner sense."(17)
The choice, then, as the students saw it was between Gray's critique of the inner refugee who has no moral compass and no destination and Szymborska's entreaty to put the past behind us. They couldn't accept the message to forget that they attributed to Szymborska, but Gray's way of remembering left them cold, as I knew it would. His effort to recover his own past, to "remember to some purpose," bewildered them. It was this personal space created by the tension between Gray and Szymborska that I opportunistically hoped the other texts and the service-learning project would begin to fill. I used Walzer to supplement these texts, but as a critical lever for opening the texts it had proved ineffective, at least in my hands. The disagreement between Gray and (their reading of) Szymborska proved to be pedagogically more useful for me. It created an atmosphere that was more conducive to integrating the service-learning option into the course as a whole.
The service learning option offered in these two semesters was a collaborative writing project that had several parts. Twenty individual students were paired up with twenty community volunteers for approximately two hours per week during ten out of the fifteen weeks. The student's main task was to produce a written account of the volunteer's wartime experience. The experience could have been in combat as a soldier, nurse, or doctor; behind the lines as a parent, loved one, or industrial worker; or between the lines as a prisoner of war, a refugee or a war protestor. One goal of this part of the project was to get the student and community voluntary to work on something that would be of mutual benefit to them. The student would benefit from learning firsthand how difficult it is to come to terms with the experience of war. The volunteer would receive assistance putting this experience into words, thereby gaining greater control over it. A second goal was to get the students to stand back and reflect on the relationship between the wartime story they helped compose and the other material they read for the course. In addition to the collaborative writing project, the students wrote a 3-5 page interpretive essay relating these two things. Which books and articles they used depended upon the content of the wartime story they helped their community volunteer to write.
An additional task for students in the service learning project was to meet in small groups with me to discuss how their collaborative writing project was going. I met with the students three times in groups of 4-9 students. Some students had problems getting started, especially where their community volunteer was elderly and had a difficult time focusing on a single incident or set of experiences. Other students had no trouble at all and hit it off with their community volunteer right away.
These small group discussions were awkward at first. The students were nervous about the project and nervous about how I was going to grade them on it. For some this remained true throughout the semester. But most of them soon came to enjoy reporting to the group on the unexpected obstacles they encountered and the curious things they learned from their community volunteer. "I got an idea of what ideas others had for the final project, what kinds of questions to ask my volunteer." Another felt relief: "It made me realize that I wasn't the only one having minor problems. Also, I felt good because many had more difficulty."
The final task was to turn the wartime stories into a script for a readers theater performed by three students from the Theater Department. This was performed at the end of the semester for all of the students in the class and the community volunteers, almost all of whom came, some with their families. The idea here, in addition to recognizing publicly the work of the students and the community volunteers, was to bring the service learning project back to the class as a whole so that other students could learn from it as well. As one student said, "The best part was seeing the faces of the volunteers light up - everything was worth it. This also served as a benefit to those students who didn't partake in this option, I'm sure."
After the second readers theater in Fall semester 1998, a discussion broke out in class between the community volunteers and the students. This was probably the most productive part of the entire enterprise. Volunteers eagerly compared experiences in World War Two with Vietnam and Korea. World War Two veterans compared their experiences after the war, some returning to college, others forced to re-enlist because they had not yet finished high school and couldn't find work. Students discovered how irrational combat can be as one volunteer, a fighter pilot in Vietnam, explained how his own mission reports were rewritten. One community volunteer, in response to a question by a student, noted that he had never spoken about his wartime experience to his own children or grandchildren. Now he would. This proved to be a more common reaction than I had anticipated.
Along with the readers theater, I collected the wartime stories in a small 30 page booklet that was given to students and community volunteers, and also posted on the web page for the course.(18)
The service learning students also filled out a short evaluation of the service-learning option in addition to the regular course evaluation that all of the students in the course completed. Students thought the project was "wonderful" and "an experience to remember." Slightly more revealing were comments about "actually seeing" how war affects veterans, not just reading about it, and how the books we read themselves "became more real." One student proudly showed me a picture of her and her roommates celebrating her community volunteer's birthday at the volunteer's home.
The community volunteers were given a short questionnaire and expressed both appreciation for the opportunity to get to know their student on a personal level and satisfaction with the way that they were able to make a little more sense of their own wartime experience. The community volunteers tended to take more time composing their evaluations than the students did. Several spoke about the importance of the project and the readers theater for their families. As one said, "I learned something about articulating my memories of war - I hadn't done much of this, especially with my own family members." For another, "It was cathartic, but also allowed me to write it down for my own family, and now put it behind me." One community volunteer said "I have grandchildren and great grandchildren who could never understand. It is difficult to convey your true feelings about wartime experiences."
These comments surprised me. I did not expect that the project would enable the community volunteers to rethink and publicly present experiences that they had not shared with their own family members at all. I thought that the volunteers would be people who already felt very comfortable sharing their stories. For some, it seems, this public remembering could now take the place of sharing these memories with their families. For others, it may serve as a first chapter in a new conversation with their children and grandchildren.
In general, the comments that the service learning students made about the course, consistent with their 3-5 interpretive essay, suggest that they felt that they did learn something about wartime experience that they did not get from the other readings and the classroom discussions in the course. It is difficult, however, to say exactly what this is. Almost all of them felt some personal connection to their community volunteer, and said that just meeting someone with this kind of story to tell and helping them tell it was important to them. Some were more articulate than others in identifying parallels between episodes in the books they read and the wartime stories of their volunteers. This was the subject of their interpretive essay and the quality of these varied considerably.
On the negative side, some service learning students felt that the amount of work they put into the project was not reflected adequately in the formula for calculating the final course grade. Other students who did not participate in the service learning project felt that service-learning students were graded on a more generous scale than they were.(19)
In fact, the grades for the service-learning students were slightly higher than for the rest of the class in both semesters. My teaching assistants gently reminded me of this at the end of the first Spring semester, and I am sure that I had more to do with this than I should have. We changed the division of labor the following semester, and the disparity was reduced but not eliminated.
One could argue that the service learning students chose this project because they knew that their learning styles were more suited to this kind of work than the standard academic paper assignment. There is probably some truth to this. My impression, when I visited regular recitation sections, was that some of the service learning students who had received relatively high grades on their interpretive essays were not contributing as well to the recitation section as most of the other students, yet on average they received a higher grade for the course. On the other hand, some of the very best students in the course elected the service learning option.
None of the students said in the service learning evaluation that he or she saw political violence in his or her own life more clearly. What does come through is a new confidence in their ability to make sense of experiences radically different from their own. "It made me see things from a different perspective. Very satisfying." From the perspective of a Vietnam Vet who was"infuriated at the mass media?" From the perspective of a World War Two Navy WAVE who defended her daughter when she was "involved in sitdowns during high school to protest Vietnam?" From the perspective of a pacifist serving as a medic in World War Two who "realized then that he needed and wanted to join the fighting force?" From the perspective of a Navy Task Force Commander in Vietnam who refused to obey a superior's foolish order "to send his men out to ambush every night?" From the perspective of a fighter pilot disillusioned by the inaccuracy of official body counts? From the perspective of a landing craft pilot on D-Day who saw what students saw in "Saving Private Ryan" and much more? From the perspective of a combat nurse in Vietnam whose composure under fire was "no big deal?" The students working with these community volunteers knew that the bright line between violence and legitimate force had been blurred in these cases, even though they didn't label it political violence.
One of our authors, Robert Kotlowitz, visited the Spring class to read from his World War Two memoir and take questions. In response to one student who asked, "What did you learn from your wartime experience?" he said, " I learned that I am both much less and much more than I thought I was before I went to war." Kotlowitz, one of three survivors in a group of 40 soldiers killed in an obscure battle in France, does not fit the stereotype of the battlefield hero. On his return to camp, after he was pinned down for 12 hours in the mud by enemy machine gun fire and had to listen to the other soldiers slowly die around him, he tried to confront the officers responsible for ordering this suicidal mission. He could only recoil in disgust at their feeble attempts to deny their responsibility for this tragedy. "They couldn't wait to get rid of me," he said.(20)
That Kotlowitz, a private drafted into the war right out of college, has come to terms with this single act of political violence forty years later through the act of writing suggests it may be too early to assess the full effect of this service learning experience. A better measure of the success of service learning projects such as this may be whether later in life students and teachers can recognize political violence when we see it. If they can do it with the same kind of poise that Kotlowitz and many of the community volunteers showed as they worked through their own difficult memories in writing and in conversation with these students, I think the experiment was worthwhile.
1. 1.Fitzgerald credits Annette Baier with first raising this question: 'More than a decade ago Annette Baier worried aloud about the social role of the moral philosopher. Why, Baier asks, should the rest of society "not merely tolerate but subsidize our activity, given what we do and how many there are of us who do it?" This is a question that ethicists rarely ask, and it is a disgrace, Baier claimed, given that we belong "to a calling which claims to be more reflective than others."' Patrick Fitzgerald, "Service-Learning and the Socially Responsible Ethics Class," Teaching Philosophy, Vol.20, No.3, September 1997, p.256.
2. 2. John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971), p.116.
3. 3. Stephen Nathanson, Should We Consent to be Governed? (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1992).
4. See David Lyons, "More Judgment, Historical Reality, and Civil Disobedience," Philosophy & Public Affairs, Volume 27, Number 1, Fall 1998.
5. J. Glenn Gray, The Warriors: Reflections on Men in Battle (New York: Harper and Row, 1970), pp.228-29.
6. Gray, The Warriors, p.235.
7. This, of course, runs counter to the familiar Weberian distinction between violence and the force of a legitimate political authority. For example, murder is an act of violence but capital punishment is the act of a legitimate political authority, kidnaping is violence but extradition and incarceration are not, bombing civilians is an act of violence but collateral damage to civilian population centers is not. Robert Paul Wolff analyzes this distinction between violence and force in "On Violence," Journal of Philosophy , Vol.LXVI, No.19, October 2, 1969, pp.601-16. Wolff rejects the distinction as polemical because he believes that no state can be legitimate. I believe the distinction is simplistic for historical reasons.
8. Gray, The Warriors, pp.217-18.
9. Gray, The Warriors, p.232
.10. Stathis Gourgouris, "Enlightenment and Paranomia," in Hent de Vries and Samuel Weber, eds., Violence, Identity, and Self-Determination (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997), p.119.
11. For a conventional view of liberal political education, see Eamonn Callan, Creating Citizens: Political Education and Liberal Democracy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997). For my own critical view of liberal political education, see Intimacy and Spectacle: Liberal Theory as Political Education (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994).
12. Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried (New York: Penguin, 1991), pp.18-19.
13. On the classical Stoic program for "extirpating" the passions, see Martha C. Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton: Princeton University Press), Chapter 10.
14. Ralph Waldo Emerson, "The Fugitive Slave Law," reprinted in The Collected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 2nd ed., ed Joel Myerson (New York: AMS Press, 1979), Vol.11, 219ff..
15. Wyslawa Szymborska, Poems, new and collected, 1957-1997, trans Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh (New York : Harcourt Brace, 1998), p.262.
16. Ibid., pp.228-29.
17. Gray, The Warriors, p.24.
19. 19. I did all the grading for the service-learning students and only some of the grading for the other students. Two graduate teaching assistants did the rest of the grading for the non-service learning students. Service-learning students attended regular discussion sections with other students in addition to the three discussion sections I held for them, and they also participated in the three email discussion exercises along with the other students.
20. Robert Kotlowitz, Before Their Time (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1997), p.147.