We have seen many examples of people who have not lived up to the standards we set for them. Typically they are politicians. This week we have had examples from both Scotland and Northern Ireland.

Tuesday saw the sentencing of Peter Murrell, former head of the Scottish National Party and husband of Nicola Sturgeon, after he admitted to buying a bizarre range of items with the Scottish National Party’s money. His many purchases included toilet rolls, a Swiss army knife, £2000 fountain pens and the now famous £120,000 camper van, all funded by his embezzlement of more than £400,000.

His wife claims to have been cleared. In fact, she was interviewed by police, but gave ‘no comment’ answers to each of the questions.

And this week, we’ve also had the conviction of Sir Jeffrey Donaldson the self-declared Christian leader of the Democratic Ulster Party for sexual misconduct, many years ago, with children of primary school age.

Of course, when we point to the hypocrisy of someone we don’t like we easily conflate their conduct with their politics. We condemn both even though the two are not necessarily related. Something we realise only to well when it relates to a group with which we ourselves sympathise.

At that point, we do our best to ignore it, painting the offender as just ‘one bad apple’ and say that it has nothing to do with the group’s underlying political views.

But it is not only in the political field that these things happen. I find it particularly difficult in the world of music. I’m not a great fan of Wagner. Mainly, this is because I find that his operas go on for far too long and the fantasy world they portray too ridiculous.

But it is not only that. As we know, he was Hitler’s preferred composer. I imagine that this was in part because of the nature of the gods depicted by him – a despicable lot, who used their power as they wanted, without any regard for its effects on others. That, and Wagner was violently antisemitic.

Although, in the early 1930s, Richard Strauss did not join the Nazi party, he initially cooperated with the early Nazi regime. This was, we are led to believe, in the hope that it would promote German art and culture. Much of Strauss's motivation in his conduct during the Third Reich was, however, to protect his Jewish daughter-in-law and grandchildren from persecution. We are told that Strauss used his considerable influence to prevent them from being sent to concentration camps. And then we have Der Rosenkavalier and his four last songs as examples of his art, so I find it difficult to be too critical of Strauss despite initial appearances.

Handel is reputed to have invited friends for a dinner. Towards the end, he left the table and, being gone for rather a long time, his friends searched for him. They found him in the kitchen having a second meal. So then a glutton – gluttony, one of the 7 deadly sins. But then, he did write Messiah and numerous very tuneful organ concertos. So I’m not inclined to be too judgemental there either.

As for artists, many have lived openly dissolute lives. The Baroque artist Caravaggio is probably the most well-known in this regard. He was famous for gruesome paintings like “Judith Beheading Holofernes."

Yet it wasn’t only his paintings that were brutal and violent. As his profile grew over the years, he became notorious for his drinking, gambling, sword-carrying and brawling. Between 1598 and 1601, he was arrested for carrying a sword without a permit, sued for beating a man with a stick and accused of attacking another man with a sword. Caravaggio went on trial at least 11 times, including on one occasion for throwing a plate of asparagus at a waiter. Something of a waste.

He eventually fled Rome to escape punishment for killing a man and died in exile under mysterious circumstances. So do we ignore his work because of his character flaws? After all, he never purported to be a moral example – just a brilliant painter who could make money out of his art.

It gets more difficult when character flaws appear in a person whose philosophy is widely considered to be worth studying and who portrays himself as a moral example to us. Noam Chomsky falls into that category.

He established himself as one of the most influential scholars of the twentieth century, transforming the field of linguistics, reshaping how many think about language, mind, and human cognitive capacities.

And he also told us that power hides behind institutions, that media narratives deserve suspicion, and that the suffering of distant strangers is not morally distant at all. He painted himself as being on the side of the vulnerable.

During the Vietnam War era, Chomsky took public stands that put him at personal risk, including involvement in draft resistance that led to arrest and the possibility of imprisonment. Chomsky spoke publicly, showed up at protests, demonstrating his personal political engagement.

Unusually for a philosopher, this gave his political thinking a particular authority. Whether you agreed with it or not, he appeared to embody the values he articulated. This is why recent revelations about his association with the convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein feels so disconcerting.

Although Chomsky denies knowledge of Epstein’s crimes, the discomfort arises from the mere association with someone who on any basis did not meet the standards called for by Chomsky in the leaders of our society. It is perfectly reasonable for us to judge someone’s reputation from those from whom you have accepted hospitality - very generous hospitality.

The philosophical question this raises is whether the person’s intellectual standing should be reassessed in light of associations that create such moral double standards.

Our lives have been shaped by ideas whose creators were not morally perfect. The question is how to live with that fact, especially in an age of cancel culture. Public figures are now subject to glib, rapid moral judgment, and the piling on of instant outrage via (anti)social media. Past failures are never forgotten, let alone forgiven, and calls to withdraw from platforms can be swift and sometimes are justified - obviously we do not want prestige to shield wrongdoing. And we all have to recognise that ideas must have consequences.

But a philosophical confusion often enters the picture and distorts it. In cancel culture we often conflate two different kinds of judgement: moral judgment (was this person good or bad?); and intellectual judgment (are their ideas true or illuminating?).

These in turn lead us to make a judgement about whether someone should be cast into the outer darkness of being cancelled – at least on-line. But someone can be immoral and have produced intellectually valid ideas or have produced philosophical nonsense whilst being very moral – religion is a good source of such people.

Refusing to celebrate someone should not therefore automatically mean refusing to study them. Criticising a person’s character does not refute their arguments; indeed, an ad hominem attack is a logical fallacy. And recognising the usefulness of an idea does not require treating its author as a moral exemplar.

We’re drawn to moral heroes because, psychologically, they simplify our enquiry into the validity of their opinions. If a thinker seems both insightful and admirable, their life appears to validate their philosophy. This is however merely an illusion. Particularly when the paragon of virtue turns out to have feet of clay, as they nearly always do.

23 June 2026

Paul Buckingham