Michael finally realized Hanna was illiterate, after so many years, and came to the dilemma if he should present that fact to the judges. He's raised this as an theoretical case to discuss with his friends but to no avail. So he turned to his father, who was a Philosophy professor. The "answer" reveals an interesting point, which I have never thought about before.
When he answered, he went all the way back to first principles. He instructed me about the individual, about freedom and dignity, about the human being as subject and the fact that one may not turn him into an object. 'Don't you remember how furious you would get as a little boy when Mama knew best what was good for you? Even how far one can act like this with children is a real problem. It is a philosophical problem, but philosophy does not concern itself with children. It leaves them to pedagogy, where they're not in very good hands. Philosophy has forgotten about children.' He smiled at me. 'Forgotten them forever, not just sometimes, the way I forget about you.'
'But...'
'But with adults I unfortunately see no justification for setting other people's views of what is good for them above their own ideas of what is good for themselves.'
'Not even if they themselves would be happy about it later?'
He shook his head. 'We're not talking about happiness, we're talking about dignity and freedom. Even as a little boy, you knew the difference. it was no comfort to you that your mother was always right.'
Today I like thinking back on that conversation with my father. I had forgotten it until after his death, when I began to search the depths of my memory for happy encounters and shared activities and expericnes with him. When I found it, I was both amazed and delighted. At the time I was confused by my fateher's mixing of abstraction and concreteness. But evenjtually I sorted out what he said to mean that I did not have to speak to the judge, that indeed I had no right to speak to him, and was relieved.
The Reader by Bernhard Schlink (translated by Carol Brown Janeway)
But isn't this contracditory to advising and counselling then? I am over-simplifying the scnearios for sure, but to a certain extent they do sound similar. Of course, in counselling, I think most of the time isn't about telling what the other person to do, but to guide her to find the "right" way. But by whose standard is the way "right"? And if the problem is her own, who else would know better what to do?
A lot of the times, people retort the kind advisors with "What do you know about my problem?" and that is very true. But is having the freedom any better than making a wrong choice? (oh, again, by who's standard is the choice wrong? Is there any aboslute measure of it then?)
And then that comes back to people who have taken their own lives, people who have decided to give in to the pain and agony, and all those who care about them and tell them to be strong and keep fighting - who's right?
Maybe, after all, it's not about right or wrong, and not even about happiness, but about freedom and dignity?
I don't know.
=*=*=
So, it turns out the philosopher actually went on further:
'No, your problem has no appealing solution. Of course one must act if the situation as you describe it is one of accrued or inherited responsibility. If one knows what is good for another person who in turn is blind to it, then one must try to open his eyes. One has to leave him the last word, but one must talk to him - to him and not to someone else behind his back.'
But how do we know what we tell that person will do him actual good?
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