never be justified.
A student put her hand up and asked, what about if you were in Holland in 1942, sheltering a Jew in your attic and the Gestapo came to your house? Should you tell the truth about your guest, knowing they’d be taken to a death camp?
Yes, said Dame Elizabeth, you should, you must, tell the truth. She had been anticipating this question; it invariably came up. According to Kant, she explained, there can be no exceptions. There are no ifs and buts. It’s not up to you to decide which bit of a moral law you decide to obey. If you start tinkering around with the main premise, you’re left with nothing.
‘I hope that answers your question,’ she said. The student, who was Jewish, looked far from convinced. Dame Elizabeth continued. ‘For example, killing. If you kill, you have a very shaky right to condemn others.’
Hanlon frowned her disagreement.
Killing, for Hanlon, was not an abstract notion.
‘And I’ll leave you with this thought,’ said Dame Elizabeth. ‘All actions, all decisions have consequences whether seen or unforeseen. In choosing to do what you regard as the right thing, rather than obey a moral, universal law, you might be doing something terribly wrong.’ She paused. ‘Think about it! See you all next week.’
The audience, with the exception of Hanlon, got to their feet with the usual rustling of papers, conversations initiated or restarted, bags being moved, zipped up, tablets and laptops closing, goodbyes being said. Soon there was just Hanlon left, her elbows on the shelf in front of her, chin resting on the bridge formed by her interlaced fingers.
Her grey eyes studied Dame Elizabeth dispassionately. Hanlon was almost certainly the only person in the room to have killed other people. One purely in self-defence, one for vengeance and one for justice. Is my conscience clear? she thought. Yes. To you, Professor, and to you, Herr Kant, these are just theories.
Not for me.
I know what it’s like to have a life in the balance. Iris Campion’s words returned to her memory. Who are you to judge? Answer me that, Professor.
The professor looked up at Hanlon, the only person left in the room. She had requested the meeting and guessed this was the policewoman sent by Corrigan. Gallagher, she remembered, was the name that the assistant commissioner had given her. She thought with affection of the huge figure of the AC. Corrigan was one of those people who seemed to enjoy hiding their light under a bushel. Most academics in her experience pretended to be much brighter than they were. Corrigan pretended to be slow on the uptake and then, just as you relaxed, unleashed a salvo of expertly chosen fact and tight, analytical reasoning. She knew him well from her civil service committee work and advisory positions she had held. When the murder had happened, she turned to him immediately. Now he had sent her this unlikely-looking figure. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t this woman.
Dame Elizabeth was not a superstitious woman, but the motionless figure sitting near the back of the auditorium looked very much as she would have imagined the Angel of Death to appear – dark, brooding, implacable.
She mentally shook herself in irritation at this atypical flight of fancy.
‘Do come down,’ she called, with an authority she didn’t really feel. ‘Come and join me in my office.’
She watched as, with an easy grace, Hanlon descended the stairs towards her. Dame Elizabeth shivered. Something about the policewoman was very disturbing indeed.
15
Hi, Mum! I’m so excited about tonight. All the Phil. Soc. are coming and some of the dons from the other colleges, and I spoke to the college chef and he’s got a couple of mates in to help with the extra catering so it’s all good. Yay! Anyway, am sooo looking forward to meeting Dr Fuller. Will be in touch, love you heaps, Laura. PS Say hi to Dad!
Laura pressed send on her iPhone and glanced round her room. It looked perfect.
A student put her hand up and asked, what about if you were in Holland in 1942, sheltering a Jew in your attic and the Gestapo came to your house? Should you tell the truth about your guest, knowing they’d be taken to a death camp?
Yes, said Dame Elizabeth, you should, you must, tell the truth. She had been anticipating this question; it invariably came up. According to Kant, she explained, there can be no exceptions. There are no ifs and buts. It’s not up to you to decide which bit of a moral law you decide to obey. If you start tinkering around with the main premise, you’re left with nothing.
‘I hope that answers your question,’ she said. The student, who was Jewish, looked far from convinced. Dame Elizabeth continued. ‘For example, killing. If you kill, you have a very shaky right to condemn others.’
Hanlon frowned her disagreement.
Killing, for Hanlon, was not an abstract notion.
‘And I’ll leave you with this thought,’ said Dame Elizabeth. ‘All actions, all decisions have consequences whether seen or unforeseen. In choosing to do what you regard as the right thing, rather than obey a moral, universal law, you might be doing something terribly wrong.’ She paused. ‘Think about it! See you all next week.’
The audience, with the exception of Hanlon, got to their feet with the usual rustling of papers, conversations initiated or restarted, bags being moved, zipped up, tablets and laptops closing, goodbyes being said. Soon there was just Hanlon left, her elbows on the shelf in front of her, chin resting on the bridge formed by her interlaced fingers.
Her grey eyes studied Dame Elizabeth dispassionately. Hanlon was almost certainly the only person in the room to have killed other people. One purely in self-defence, one for vengeance and one for justice. Is my conscience clear? she thought. Yes. To you, Professor, and to you, Herr Kant, these are just theories.
Not for me.
I know what it’s like to have a life in the balance. Iris Campion’s words returned to her memory. Who are you to judge? Answer me that, Professor.
The professor looked up at Hanlon, the only person left in the room. She had requested the meeting and guessed this was the policewoman sent by Corrigan. Gallagher, she remembered, was the name that the assistant commissioner had given her. She thought with affection of the huge figure of the AC. Corrigan was one of those people who seemed to enjoy hiding their light under a bushel. Most academics in her experience pretended to be much brighter than they were. Corrigan pretended to be slow on the uptake and then, just as you relaxed, unleashed a salvo of expertly chosen fact and tight, analytical reasoning. She knew him well from her civil service committee work and advisory positions she had held. When the murder had happened, she turned to him immediately. Now he had sent her this unlikely-looking figure. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t this woman.
Dame Elizabeth was not a superstitious woman, but the motionless figure sitting near the back of the auditorium looked very much as she would have imagined the Angel of Death to appear – dark, brooding, implacable.
She mentally shook herself in irritation at this atypical flight of fancy.
‘Do come down,’ she called, with an authority she didn’t really feel. ‘Come and join me in my office.’
She watched as, with an easy grace, Hanlon descended the stairs towards her. Dame Elizabeth shivered. Something about the policewoman was very disturbing indeed.
15
Hi, Mum! I’m so excited about tonight. All the Phil. Soc. are coming and some of the dons from the other colleges, and I spoke to the college chef and he’s got a couple of mates in to help with the extra catering so it’s all good. Yay! Anyway, am sooo looking forward to meeting Dr Fuller. Will be in touch, love you heaps, Laura. PS Say hi to Dad!
Laura pressed send on her iPhone and glanced round her room. It looked perfect.
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