Why did Nigel Farage change his mind and decide to once again stand for election? What could possibly compel him to return to British politics? He dropped a hint only last week: he was concerned, he said, that young Muslims in this country may not share our British values.
He neednāt worry, of course, since thereās no such thing as British values. No country has a monopoly on justice, tolerance, integrity and compassion. Itās true that some nations are better known for certain values than others: the Arabs and Irish for hospitality, the Americans for freedom, the British for decency and fair play and so on. But this doesnāt mean that there arenāt any inhospitable Arabs, just as there arenāt many Swedes or Nigerians who believe in indecency and foul play. Cultural differences of this kind shouldnāt distract us from the fact that the most fundamental moral values are universal. Indonesian peasants or Jamaican motor mechanics want much the same for their children as English stockbrokers. Theyāre no more likely to be lusting for blood or genetically inclined to robbing banks than Fiona Bruce.
Those who doubt this should take a look at world literature. Having spent much of my life reading the stuff, I know of hardly any significant piece of poetry or fiction from anywhere in the world which advocates rape, torture or genocide. This is such a remarkable fact that it passes largely unnoticed. The mythical law of averages would dictate that buried in the millions of novels, poems and plays churned out from every corner of the globe, you would find quite a few pernicious moral agendas. With the odd exception like the Marquis de Sade, however, this simply isnāt true. There are no great fascist novels.
Perhaps this is because the Huns and Vandals were too busy sacking and pillaging to write poetry. Itās also true that thereās a rift between the largely civilised values of Virgil or Horace and the atrocities perpetrated by the empire they served. In the modern era, however, with the gradual spread of humanitarianism from the 18th century onwards, itās hard to find many people eager to defend crucifixion or mass murder. You might claim that these things are regrettably unavoidable from time to time, but not that theyāre inherently good or morally indifferent. This is one way in which the age of Gladstone differs from the era of Caligula. We may not be ethically superior to the ancient Romans, but at least we feel bad about it. We are aware that there can be a discrepancy between what we value and our actual behaviour, a gap which most of us are conscientious enough to regret.
A good deal of political life involves what philosophers call a performative contradiction, where what you say is at odds with what you do. This is more bluntly known as hypocrisy or lying through your teeth; but itās actually more complex than that, because people can believe that they believe something without actually doing so. (They can also believe something while not knowing they do.) To determine what someone in this situation really thinks, itās advisable to examine the beliefs implicit in their behaviour rather than rely simply on what they say. If I profess to love white mice but spend all my free time dissecting them without anaesthetic, then it isnāt true that I love white mice, whatever my protestations. Compassion is a matter of what you do, not what you feel. It doesnāt diminish the value of handing a coin to a beggar that you donāt feel a warm glow as you do so.
There is, then, a surprising degree of global consensus about what constitutes sound moral values. As far as Iām aware, there are no political parties anywhere in the world fighting for inequality, injustice and a callous indifference to the suffering of others. Plenty of political organisations promote these values in reality, but we havenāt yet reached the point where they inscribe them proudly on their banners. We have yet to witness the emergence of the Screw the Poor party or Put All Women On the Moon campaign, though this could still happen. There may come a time when the desirability of genocide is once again touted, as it was with the Nazis. In the meanwhile, however, vice pays homage to virtue by denying its own nature and masquerading as a form of righteousness, or at least as an unfortunate necessity.
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