Nehru’s Enlightened Middle Way

It is a cliché that a deep division exists between the idea of India and of Bharat Mata. One is meant to be secular, liberal, modern, rational, open-minded, without qualms about learning from the West, even from imperial ­Britain, and is associated with those who speak English. The other is religiously nationalist, majoritarian, traditional, illiberal, conservative, narrow-minded, anti-Western, anti-Muslim and associated with Hindi speakers. The main exponent of the first is perceived to be Jawaharlal Nehru. The other is ­vigorously promoted by the main ideologues of the current government. No wonder, Nehru is the greatest ideological enemy of Hindutva. And it seems that for the moment Bharat Mata is winning hands down.

Purushottam Agrawal, editor of the book under review, agrees entirely with the assessment that Nehru and Hindutva ideologues are pitted against one another. But, in this outstandingly curated collection of essays and speeches by Nehru, he dismantles the framework within which this debate occurs.1 For Nehru, Bharat Mata is simply a different vehicle to ­express the idea of India supported by him. In the introduction that precedes the selection of Nehru’s writings on history, culture and the idea of India, Agrawal carefully shows that he was equally sensitive to the need of Bharat Mata in the Indian discourse. For Nehru, “Bharat Mata” was a way of fleshing out the idea of India. Differences between the two exist, no doubt, but similarities too abound. Both reflect an ideal, a ­social and ethical vision of a people—secular though not anti-religious, modern but not scornful of tradition, diverse but mindful of the requirements of ­unity, willing to learn from but not blindly imitative of the West, eschewing all hatred for the British but emphatically anti-imperialist, liberal and non-liberal, but not illiberal. In short, Nehru’s thinking expresses the genius of India—“to avoid extremes and follow the enlightened middles” and in doing so gave new, virtually identical sense to the two phrases, India and Bharat. The difference lay in two features in language and more importantly, in their emotional resonance (p xxxii). The idea of India can be discussed, debated, deliberated upon but is not revered. It is hard to love, or be devoted to it. Bharat Mata, on the other hand, can be adored, sung about, painted, sculpted, danced to, saluted, ritualised. In some contexts, for certain purposes, it might uplift one. But the main content of one is not any different from the other and both crystallise a forward-looking nation, yet rooted in tradition and heritage (p xiii). To differentiate them as if they belonged to distinct species creates a false dichotomy, with enormous social and political consequences.

Who Is Bharat Mata?

Agrawal is among the first to take seriously the question “Who is Bharat Mata?” The “who” question seeks the reference of the term. This is different from asking the equally important question: “What is Bharat Mata?” The “what” question can be answered by asking what Bharat Mata means, its real and desired characteristics, what it is and what it should be. The “who” question tells us where these features are found, who its bearers are. For Nehru, as Agrawal shows, Bharat Mata is not an ancient Vedic goddess or a reified transcendental idea to be worshipped. It is only secondarily embodied in territory. Rather, it refers to “these millions of ­Indian people” and therefore “victory (jaya) to Bharat Mata can only mean ‘victory to the these people’” (p xxxii). This is vintage Nehru. He does not abandon the term, treat it disrespectfully or casually. He redefines it. Given this reference of the term, one disrespects mother India when one oppresses these people, exploits, demeans, marginalises, excludes, humiliates or mistreats them. These nasty acts can be performed by ­insiders as much as outsiders. Imperial Britain disrespected Bharat Mata (for instance when it reduced millions of ­Indians to penury or refused them political freedoms), but so does any one section of India harming another (caste, gender, and religion-related domination). Mother India is harmed when any part of it is harmed. It also follows that the term cannot be used in a deeply ­diverse country such as ours as a “violent challenge to the integrity of any religious group of this nation or anyone who uses some other metaphor to ­express his or her love for the country” (p xxxiii). Bharat Mata is wedded to India’s rich diversity.

Agrawal concludes that for Nehru this also answers the other deep question that is frequently raised by cynics about the stability, identity or authenticity of India as a nation state. These critics fail to realise that the Indian people are conducting a great self-experiment. They have put before themselves a difficult task to transform “an ancient and continuing civilization into a modern nation state defined by diversity, accommodation and the best, most humane and enlightened elements of both tradition and modernity” (p xxx). This is their chosen destiny, their purpose, why they are there at all. Implicit then in Nehru’s vision of the nation is that it is a deeply different people, self-consciously bound together by ­common or overlapping concerns about their past, present and future. This self-conscious awareness of commonality is not genetically encoded. Nor does it drop from the sky but grows when people talk and listen to one another and, through oral and written communication, understand each other. So I would add, the objective of nation-building cannot be achieved unless people saw themselves as engaged in actual or ­potential conversation. It is entirely apt to say that a ­nation exists only as long as there is a continuous conversation among its members about what it was, is, will and should be.

A disruption of this conversation is the undoing of a nation. Anyone uninterested in this conception because he already has a preconceived notion of what it should be is already a disruptor, working against the nation. Those who do not want to converse with others show a deep disregard for it, make a virtue of not showing consideration or compa­ssion for others. They think of self-­restraint and civility, the prerequisites of conversation, as a mark of weakness. Such disruptors, espousing a uniform Hindu Rashtra, are undoing the Indian nation, causing it enormous harm, straying from its chosen purpose. Those who want to build a purely Hindu nation have generated notions “out of ignorant fantasies of the past or distorted imaginations of the future” (p xxxviii). Such ideas stem from a deep unease with one’s past, traditions, even one’s own religions and spring from an acute sense of insecurity, lack of self-confidence and massive inferiority complex (p xxx). Only this explains why such ­people want a break from the past and unthinkingly emulate the West.

Go for the Enlightened Middle

The other equally important point in Agrawal’s introduction is about Nehru’s mode of thinking. And all said and done, this is what made him quintessentially Indian (p xxxiii). In the dialectic of thought, one may go from one extreme to another, but eventually one should settle down somewhere in the middle. But not just any middle position. The key word here is “enlightened.” If one has really thought through the issue, really or imaginatively experienced all crucial sides of the matter, actually felt the pull of opposites, then one would arrive at an “enlightened” middle. Furthermore, this middle has no “conceited claims of fina­lity.” We, humans, must eschew an ­emphatic conception of truth. This, according to Agrawal, is what the best of Indian tradition has taught us.

Following the enlightened middle does not mean sitting on the fence, being wishy-washy, or arriving at a bad, indefensible compromise. It means balancing competing and equally valid claims, acco­m­modating them, and tempering adolescent revolutionary zeal. It means not abolition of everything given but, as the German philosopher, Hegel, who surely learnt a thing or two from Indian ways of thinking, called dialectical overcoming. Cancelling the past and yet preserving it; not a radical break with the past or with tradition but its reappropriation by giving it a different meaning.

Let me elaborate. Nehru was committed to a certain model of contextual moral reasoning, a form of reasoning that accepts that all reality has a moral dimension and that this morality consists of multiple values. To accept its multi-value nature is to acknowledge that its constitutive values do not always sit easily with one another. On the contrary, they frequently conflict.

Some degree of internal discord, and therefore a fair amount of instability, is an integral part of all ethical problem-solving. Because of this, moral reasoning forever requires attempts at reconciliation and compromise. No general a priori rule of resolving these conflicts exists, no pre-existing hierarchy among values that enables us to decide that, no matter what the context, a particular value must override everything else. Each time the matter presents itself differently and it will be differently resolved. If this is true, our moral understanding cannot be straitjacketed into well-delineated and explicitly stated rules (Taylor 1994). This form of thinking recognises that conflicts between individual rights and group rights, or between equality, liberty, and fraternity cannot always be adjudicated by recourse to some general and abstract principle. Rather, they can be settled only case by case and may require a fine balancing of competing claims. The eventual outcome may not be wholly satisfactory to either claimant but may still be reason­ably satisfactory to both. Such multi-­value thinking encourages accommodation—not the giving up of one value for the sake of another, but their reconciliation and possible harmonisation so that apparently incompatible concepts and values may operate without changes to their basic content.

This endeavour to make concepts, viewpoints, and values work simultaneously does not amount to a morally obje­ctionable compromise. This is so because nothing of importance is being given up for the sake of something less significant, something without value, or even with negative value. Rather, what is pursued is a mutually agreed-upon middle way that combines elements from two or more equally valuable entities. The roots of such attempts at reconciliation and accommodation lie in an absence of dogmatism, in a willingness to experiment—to think at different levels and in separate spheres and in a readiness to make and accept decisions on a provisional basis. The pursuit of this middle way captures a way of thinking characterised by the following dictum: “Why look at things in terms of this or that, why not try to have both this and that?” (Austin 1993).

This non-dogmatic thinking is an aspect of Indian tradition that is worth keeping alive. Indeed, it must be conti­nuously reinvented. It is fundamentally non-ideological. Ideologies contain clear directives for action; that indeed is their function. But such directives are necessarily short-lived. They change as the situation changes on the ground. An ideological dictum is fixed but valuable only when temporarily so. To turn into a general principle and shift it to the core of our moral thinking is foolish. When people do this, they stop thinking ­because they allow ideology to do the thinking for them. There are, alas, no ready-made answers for life’s most ­important problems. Every little thing has to be thought through. All claims have to be examined. All relevant interests taken into account, all values factored in. Thinking cannot be simple-minded or innocent but complex, sophisticated, experienced. And good practice must be guided not only by this kind of situational thinking but by persuasive argument, consensus-seeking and moral judgment. Nehru exemplified this approach.

Religion and Secularism

This way of thinking was illustrated in Nehru’s conception of nationalism but can also be illustrated by Nehru’s views on religion and secularism.

Nehru was unhappy with the term “religion.” In his An Autobiography (1936), he says “The word ‘religion’ has lost all precise significance (if it ever had it!) and only causes confusion and gives rise to interminable debate and argument. It would be far better if it was dropped from use altogether.” Why? Because for Nehru religion referred both to (i) ethical teachings of self-realisation and fulfilment which humans who wish to lead a good life cannot do without (pp xxv–xxviii) and to (ii) particular­ ins­ti­tutionalised, power-laden, status-­ridden and doctrinalised systems of ­beliefs and practices sharply demarcated from and hostile to other similar systems. For Nehru, this second conception of religion was a source of discord and violence. He respected the first dimension of religion, and found its other ­dimension repugnant. Hence his ambivalence for the term. He wished to disentangle its two senses but since they had become virtually inseparable, he wanted to drop the term altogether. But given its general acceptance, he obviously could not. This is why he concluded that “the use of the same word with different meanings makes mutual comprehension still more difficult.”

The most important feature of ethical teachings in India is its multiplicity and fluidity, its “pantheistic atmosphere” (p xxviii). Religion as ethical teachings was not a closed system. Being open, it did not discourage people from seeking solution from other, very different ethical teachings. It encouraged multiple belonging and easy movement from one to the other because the Indian thought environment encouraged translation from one system to another. This is possible if every “ethic of self-realisation,” that includes both god-dependent and god-free ethics can be treated as a way of relating to the ultimate, in whichever way the latter is defined or understood. This translation can continue as long as there are no theological, social or political incentives to block it. For ­example, translation becomes impossible if one assumes that there is irreducible non-equivalence of the terms sought to be translated if two terms simply can never refer to the same entity. So, here we confront two irreducibly different entities. If the worlds centred on the two entities are incompatibly different, then one can either live in one or in the other, not in both. This results in a very different multi-theistic universe without conversation, a world peopled by groups that are internally intimate but fundamentally and irreconcilably estranged from one another. This happens when we work with an emphatic conception of truth such as there is only one true or real God and all other gods are seen to be false.

This distinction between those who follow true religion and believers in false religion (them and us) can slide easily under some circumstances into a radical difference between friend and enemy. The enemy outside (infidel) and the enemy within (heretic). Add to this the need to keep one’s flock together and you have rigidly guarded boundary, a set of well-armed gatekeepers. Nehru was firmly against this way of thinking about religion. Religion must continue to connote multiple, intercommunicating, ethical teachings. In that sense, he himself partook of religion in one sense (an ethics which related to something morally higher than humans but was ­independent of gods and God). He knew that there are many such religio-ethical world views and each is equally important to meet the challenge of “spiritual emptiness facing our technological civilisation” (p xxvi). This religio-philosophical culture was entirely responsible for India’s celebrated diversity, tolerance and respect for difference. On the other hand, religion in the other sense, a comprehensive ideo­logy pertaining to spiritual, ethical, social and political matters with its institutional hierarchies and that is associated with one group sharply demarcated from other rival groups is deeply problematic and must be continually be called into question, challenged.

Nehru was similarly dissatisfied with “secular,” a term to which Agrawal pays less attention than it deserves.2 He ­believed that we use “secular” and call our state a secular state, because we have not yet found a better term. What is his conception of the secular state? First, the state cannot identify with any single ­religious ethics or declare it to be the state religion. The ethical ends of any one religion, no matter how lofty, cannot become the ends of the state. This goes fundamentally against the grain of plurality. The state may be nourished by all or by none. Even if the majority of a country owes allegiance to one of them, so that the general climate is coloured as he believed India’s is with the Hindu ethos, the state should not be Hindu. He was particularly critical of the “Hindu Rashtra.” Or a Hindu nation state.

It may sound very nice to some people that we will create a Hindu Rashtra but I cannot understand what it means. Hindus are in the majority in this country and whatever they wish will be done. But the moment you talk of a Hindu Rashtra, you speak in a language which no other country except one can comprehend and that country is Pakistan because they are familiar with this concept. They can immediately justify their creation of an Islamic nation by pointing to the world that we are doing something similar. … Hindu rashtra can only reduce the status of those who are not Hindus. … You may say patronisingly that you will look after the Muslims or Christians or others … but do you think any race or individual will accept for long the claim that they are looked after while we sit high above them? (Gopal and Iyengar 2003)

Thus, since all states in the modern era are nation states, Nehru opposed all narrow nationalisms, including religious ones. In religiously diverse societies, all religious nationalisms are exclusionary.

Second, a secular state cannot be anti-religious. It is not a state where religion as such is discouraged, or pushed into oblivion. How could he indiscriminately oppose religion or espouse its absence, given his acknowledgement of the ­indispensability and value of the ethical dimension of religions? He also appre­ci­ated that since many faiths express themselves publicly, a secular state must accept the public presence of ethical ­Reli­gions. There should, he insisted, be “free play for all religions.” A secular state must protect freedom of religious beliefs and practices, including, of course, freedom for those who have no religion in the conventional sense such as atheists. ­Indeed, Nehru goes a step further and says that it must honour all faiths equally and give them equal opportunity. This is the duty of a secular state in a religiously diverse society.

But what should a secular state do in relation to the power-laden dimension of organised religion? How should it res­pond to its power hierarchies, its dogmatic doctrines, to inter-religious rivalries, hate speech and inter-religious violence?

First, if religious tensions and conflicts surface, then a secular state must ensure that all religious communities be at peace with one another, that there be, to use Gandhi’s term, “communal harmony.” Second, it is the duty of a secular state to undermine inter-religious domination. Since communalism consists largely in fostering inter-religious rivalry or domination, a secular state must oppose communalism, regardless of whether it stems from the minority or the majority. Unlike what is widely believed, “Nehru opposed both majority and minority communalisms, both full of admiration for Hitler” (p xxix). Indeed, it is the duty of both min­ority and majority communities not to jeopardise the ideals of a secular state. Yet, a minority community, more vulnerable in a democratic polity needs protection from majoritarian domination, and therefore solely for this purpose it must be given community-specific minority rig­hts. Third, since religion is also ridden with intra-religious domination—a condi­tion in which some members of a religious community ­oppress, exclude, discriminate against, humiliate and degrade other mem­bers of their own community. He provides three forms of such domination. The first was religiously justified inter-caste domination, the ugliest expression of which is the practice of untouchability. Nehru says that “the word secular conveys something much more to him, ­although that might not be its dictionary meaning—the idea of social and political equality.” A state that encourages or tolerates such deeply inegalitarian, casteist practices is not secular (Gopal and Iyengar 2003). Second, against gender-based discrimination. As early as 1934, addressing Prayag Vidya Peeth, he said

Our civilisation, our customs, our laws have all been made by man and he has taken good care to keep himself in a superior position and to treat the woman as chattel and a plaything to be exploited for his own advantage and amusement. Under this continuous pressure the woman has been unable to grow and develop her capacities to her fullest and then man has blamed for her backwardness. (Iyengar 2007)

Since, many of these customs (purdah, ghunghat) and laws (marriage-related laws) are bound up with religion, a secular state must challenge such religious practices (Iyengar 2007).

A third instance of intra-religious domination to which he draws attention is the domination of ordinary persons by religious clerics, the ability of bigots and fanatics to hold them captive.

Brahmins are prepared to march shoulder to shoulder with the Maulvies, the priests from the Ghats fraternise with the mullahs from the mosques against any freedom and equality-oriented internal reform. (Gupta 2006)

Given this socially oppressive and politically meddlesome stance of religious elites, Nehru argued that the “high priests of religion cannot take decisions on social and political questions.” Thus, a secular state must also inhibit the ­continuing attempt by the high priests of religion to impose their views and norms on ordinary men and women.

On Cultural Amnesia

Now, to come to the last major issue. Agrawal rightly points out that Nehru understood that no political community can live without cultural amnesia.

Memory defines individual and collective identity. It implies a serious moral responsibility of choosing what to remember and what to forget … If nurtured merely emotionally, without any rational negotiation of the past and an ethical imagination of the future, memory leads to disastrous delusions. The cultural memory of India cannot be narrow and exclusionist. (p vii)

I agree almost entirely with the thought and feeling underlying these statements. I believe it also captures Nehru’s own understanding of the need and ethical uses of collective memory. How else do we understand his monumental effort in writing the Discovery of India? Yet, this is precisely where we need to pause to reflect deeper on this issue because many of our current problems stem at least partly from how we have imagined our past, particularly our recent past.

How have we handled the awful events leading to the partition of the subcontinent and the violence that foll­owed? If not official, at the very least, our unofficial memory of recent past is patchy and selective. Ethics has played an important role in its construction, but the moral psychology that underlay it has probably been simple-minded. The unofficial default policy of the state is “let bygones be bygones, to forget the bitter recent past” and to move on. The reason is the fear that “there is a dragon living on the patio and we had better not provoke it.”3 If memory of suffering is kept alive, will not reprisal occur in ­future, opportune moments? Forgetting is necessary for civic peace. Such a view has a long pedigree.

For instance, Thomas Hobbes argued that suppression of memories of past wrongs was essential because if society is treated as a building made of stones then some stones that have an “irregularity of figure take more room from others” and so must be discarded. Hobbes’s covenant was a device to incorporate ­social amnesia into the foundation of ­society. But this view runs into two problems. First, forgetting cannot be brought about intentionally. Of the many Arabs, Turks, Persians and ­Afghans who arrived, only some came as invaders bet­ween the 8th and 18th centuries, but for many Hindus, all Muslims continue to have the mindset of invaders who can at any time kill, destroy and convert them. The conquest of Quebec by the English happened more than two centuries ago but for Quebec nationa­lists their nationalist project “involves a reconquest of the conquest.” A large part of nationalist agenda all over the world, Michael Ignatieff rightly reminds us, is about settling old scores. In so many countries, people remarkably similar in essential respects appear to go at each other’s throat simply because once upon a time one ruled over the other. A simple strategy of forgetting has simply not worked. Besides, it is to live in a fool’s paradise to imagine that as grievances recede into the past and are half-forgotten, they will somehow cease to be real. As Ignatieff puts it “Collective Myth has no need of personal memory or ­experience to retain its force” (1993). Only an appropriate engagement with the past makes then for a liveable common future. If not properly addressed grievances and resentments resurface.

Forgetting past wrongs anyway fails to achieve its putative objective, a point to which Jeremy Waldron (1992) has drawn our attention:

When we are told to let bygones be bygones, we need to bear in mind also that the forgetfulness being urged on us is seldom the blank slate of historical oblivion. Thinking quickly fills up the vacuum with plausible tales of self-satisfaction, on the one side, and self-deprecation on the other.

Beneficiaries of injustice then come to believe that gains accrue to them due to the virtue of their race or culture, and victims too easily accept that their misfortune is caused by inherent inferiority.

Second, it is doubtful if forgetting is a good strategy for repairing wounds or achieving reconciliation. When a person is wronged, he is made to not only suffer physically but is mentally scarred, the most injurious of which is the damage to his sense of self-respect, if he is left with any residue of it. As Jeffrie Murphy (1990) points out, when a person is wronged
he receives a message of his marginality and irrelevance. The wrongdoer conveys that in his scheme of things the victim counts for nothing. Since self-esteem hinges upon critical opinion of the other, the message sent by the wrongdoer significantly lowers the self-esteem of the wronged. The demand that past injustices be forgotten does not address this loss of self-esteem. Indeed, it inflicts further damage.

To be sure, former victims and fragmented societies eventually need to get on with their lives rather than be consumed by their past suffering. Victims need to forget just about as much as they need to remember. But real forgetting comes with addressing wrongs and acknowledging past injustices. People who carry deep resentment and grievance against one another are hardly likely to build a society together. I believe timing is the essence of the issue here. Forgetting too quickly or without redressal, by failing to heal adequately, inevitably brings with it a society haunted by its past. One canot forget entirely, too soon and without a modicum of justice. Moreover, while specific acts of wrongdoing need to be forgotten eventually, a general sense of the wrong and of the horror of evil acts must never be allowed to recede from collective memory. Such remembering is crucial to the prevention of wrongdoing in the future.

So, while Agrawal is right about Nehru’s understanding of the ethics of memory (we need to make ethical judgments about what to remember or forget), I do not think in practice he got the balance right. We have not engaged ­appropriately enough with our recent bitter past. In short, I do not think we have properly addressed the wrongs that occurred on either side of our current borders or those committed largely against Muslims in post-independence ­India. More discussion, deliberation, ­acknowledgement, proper memorialisation is necessary. Is it all Nehru’s fault? I recall an event where the poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz was asked to recite one of his famous poems. Now, Faiz had a heavy Punjabi accent which, in the eyes of many, did not quite do justice to his own Urdu poetry. So, one of the listeners could not help saying to him, “Faiz ­sahib, you write so well, why don’t you recite equally well?.” Faiz immediately retorted. “Sab ham hi karen, kuch tum bhi karo” (Is it my responsibility to do everything, don’t you think you must do something too!’) This could well be Nehru’s reply to his political followers. We who love, respect and follow Nehru have not done enough to carry his legacy further and are currently paying a heavy price for this neglect.

Agrawal’s edited collection, with a ­lucid and elegant introduction could not be more timely. Nehru was no unthinking Westernised intellectual. He was not contemptuous of Hindu traditions or for that matter any religious tradition. He was not blindly anti-religious or pure-secular. But he was firmly against the ideological vision of Hindutva and no one knows this better than Hindutva ideologues. They know that he was loved and admired even by his critics (pp xv–xvi). They hate him precisely because he earned the trust, respect and faith of people “the hard way, without catering to their baser ins­tincts and phony sentiments” (p xxxvii). And therefore, they fully understand that “to have lasting success, they must distort his memory, tarnish his image, belittle his towering personality and erase his imp­ression from the Indian mind” (p xiii). Not able to answer the charges against him or fight this calumny, it is up to us, those who passionately admire his thought but can still dispassionately see his flaws (p xxxvii), to rescue his subtle and complex thoughts from Hindutva’s onslaught. The need is greater because unlike what many think they remain ­relevant in India today.

At a time, “when we are divided like never before and where an educated public is misinformed like never before,” a necessary book such as this could not have come from a better scholar.

Notes

1 The book covers a large ground—on India’s past and future, its domestic and foreign policy, on nationalism and the national movement, on philosophy, literature and science, on culture, religion and spirituality. In fact, one whole section is devoted to how he is viewed by significant others from Gandhi to Vajpayee. In this review, I focus only on a few of these topics.

2 For a detailed account, see Bhargava (2017).

3 Quoted from Rosenberg (1997).

References

Austin, G (1993): The Indian Constitution: Cornerstone of a Nation, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

Bhargava, Rajeev (2017): “Nehru against Nehruvians: On Religion and Secularism,” Economic & Political Weekly, Vol 52, No 8, 25 February.

Gopal, S and Uma Iyengar (eds) (2003): Jawaharlal Nehru: The Essential Writings of Jawaharlal Nehru Volume 1, New Delhi: OUP.

Gupta, Nand Lal (ed) (2006): Jawaharlal Nehru on Communalism, Gurgaon: Hope India Publications.

Ignatieff, M (1993): Blood and Belonging, New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Iyengar, Uma (2007): The Oxford India: Nehru, ­Oxford Indian Collection.

Jawaharlal, Nehru (1936): An Autobiography, ­Oxford University Press.

Murphy, Jeffrie G (1990): “Forgiveness and Resentment,” Forgiveness and Mercy, Jeffrie Murphy and Jean Hampton (eds), Cambridge.

Rosenberg, Tina (1997): Dealing with the Past, Alex Boraine, Janet Levy & Ronel Scheffer (eds), Cape Town, 66.

Taylor, Charles (1994): “Justice after Virtue,” After MacIntyre: A Critical Perspective on the Work of Alasdair MacIntyre, J Horton and S Mendus (eds), Polity Press.

Waldron, Jeremy (1992): “Superseding Historic ­Injustice,” Ethics, Vol 103, No 1, pp 4–28.