Virtue Quest

Ah, if only it were that simple and clear-cut.

I’ve mentioned before some of the principles I wish were more prevalent in political conversation. Here’s the list again, for those who hate clicking on links:

• Common good
• Subsidiarity
• Interdependence, aka, Solidarity

Many more good things worth talking about certainly belong on the list, but this is as far as I’ve gotten in trying to articulate some essential political principles.

However, while I generally like to focus on the positive, it’s important to recognize the genuine evils out there which undermine any possibility of real human life, liberty, and community.

Recognizing evil

A quick reminder: evil is not any thing in itself. Evil is the distortion or destruction of something good. So when my anger starts rising up, I have to remind myself to look for the good that’s being distorted. I have to remind myself that whoever is committing or supporting evil is actually trying to accomplish something good, albeit in a twisted way.

In other words, (more…)

'Nuff said

I was driving a friend to the airport, and we got talking about media and politics – always a dangerous combination. My friend was talking about how 1) NPR doesn’t take a strong enough stand on the truth or falsehood of some news items; and 2) it’s utterly irrational to dispute the reality of global warming.

I’ve got no dog in either fight. For the record, I listen to NPR occasionally and find it to focus on rather different issues (it tends to give a strangely large portion of time to pelvic issues) than the other local news stations, but with not too different a slant or bias. I’m sure that human activity has a significant effect on our climate but I’m always suspicious of a scientist who considers a question as closed and beyond dispute. What if Einstein never disputed Newton? Or Newton, Aristotle? Or Aristotle, Plato? Etc.

So, being the argumentative type, I asked him how his vision for NPR/PBS would be so different from FOX News, which he excoriates as a “propaganda machine.” And I asked him how to cover the genuine dispute over changes in the climate.

He replied that the news should investigate facts, and should not just give a “Republicans say X, Democrats say Y. Who’s to say what’s true?” account. Which I entirely agree with, so long as the facts are themselves clear and indisputable.

As to the reality of global warming, he recommended to me Al Gore’s film, An Inconvenient Truth. When I asked about the apparent manipulation of data and the secrecy policies I’d heard about, he simply replied that the science was solid and established and irrefutable.

Faith and trust

Now, a car ride to the airport is not the time to draw out a detailed philosophical argument. So I don’t want to be clear that I don’t think my friend was just avoiding questions or justifying his own beliefs. Having had detailed philosophical arguments with him, I know he’s a very smart and savvy debate partner.

But the situation reminded me of the way debates seem to be conducted in public forums these days: claiming that a position is indisputable, and therefore implying that one’s opponent is either stupid or arguing in bad faith.

It’s a subtle form of ad hominem,

an argument that fails because it focuses on the person rather than on the issue. And it’s all over. It’s the foundation of virtually every political ad I’m hearing on the radio and seeing on TV – all of which seem to be attack ads. It’s also rife in the blogosphere, in which the same statement seems to be taken entirely differently depending on whether it’s posted on the Huffington Post or the Drudge Report.

So, being an all-around skeptic, I tend to be very cautious about where I put my trust. I’m willing, even happy, to play devil’s advocate against just about any position, because I’ve discovered that most “facts” are indeed open to dispute, or at least to deeper questioning.

It is perhaps ironic that one of my greatest certainties is that most things in life are uncertain. I know how limited my own knowledge is, and how narrow my understanding is of what I know. When I’m relying on other people – which is foundational to human life – I tend to put more faith in those who also seem aware of their own limits than in those who claim an absolute certainty. People who know their limits are less likely to attempt to overreach.

Tools for life

This is why (to continue an argument from last week) I rely on tools like logic, or like the traditional structure of the virtues. I know how easily I make mistakes in my thinking or screw up my own life, left to my own devices. Ways of thinking and acting that have been tested through generations, that have had many of the kinks worked out of them, are reliable guides and serve as reality checks when I’m facing a difficult problem.

More than that, they give me something beyond my own opinions or desires that I can base a real and deep communication with others on. Logic and virtue help me sort out what’s real and true from what’s agenda.

Just keep walking, just keep walking...

I get overwhelmed pretty easily. Sometimes, just looking at the pile of dishes in my sink exhausts me. Other times I’m more ambitious: I figure I can conquer the world but I worry if I’ll make it outside the little pond of our solar system. But the fact is, whenever I face a new task – or a new start on an ongoing task – there’s a part of me that asks, “Can I really do that?”

For example, I’ve mentioned that I’m working on a book about my grandmother’s life. Until the last couple weeks, I’ve been stuck on the magnitude of the project. I talked to one of my uncles about my problems, and he suggested a couple ways to break the project down into smaller pieces, each of which is do-able in an hour or two.

Well, duh! says I. I know how to do that. I just don’t want to.

Why not? (more…)

Land of the free? Home of the brave?

I’m trying to figure out who and what to vote for this November. I’m nowhere near being able to recommend particular candidates or ballot measures to other people, but I am getting closer to articulating some basic principles for making political decisions.

It seems to me that the American government has, for quite some time, been doing all sorts of things that a government has no business doing; meanwhile, it has neglected the very proper and necessary work of governing.

The purpose of government

It seems to me that government exists to defend and promote the common good of society. (more…)

Not actually all that logical

My good friend Amy said:

The problem here is that you can’t teach people how to think. Not, at least, without heading straight long into [indoctrination] schools (Communist, Nazi, etc). Not a soul on the planet will tell you they don’t know how to think, even if their life is a long string of screw ups. And who gets to judge whose thinking is “right”? (After all everyone must think to act, even if poorly.) Other than practical matters of social order and universal natural law, I think humans might be best to leave that judgment to God.

There’s a lot going on it that. (more…)

Cutting through to the heart of the question

The profound James Chastek points out that James T. Kirk must have hated Greek drama:

The Greeks loved sticking characters in the midst of problem for which there is no right answer: Antigone must bury her brother and obey the king; Agamemnon must sail and love his daughter; and the fight between Achilles and Agamemnon is like the fight between the head coach and the star quarterback. The circumstances demand action but make every action wrong, or at least very problematic. This applies even to inaction : Achilles is doing something when he sits in his tent and lets his compatriots get slaughtered and pushed back to the ships.

In other words, the Greek playwrights loved exploring the dynamics of a no-win situation. The near-Greek Alexander the Great took matters to a new level by challenging the limits of the test: using a sword to loose the Gordian Knot.

But most of us don’t have the resources of an Alexander or a Kirk. Most of us, like Antigone or Agamemnon, are stuck facing powers greater than ourselves. Those powers don’t have to be gods; they could be banks, or governments, or even bosses.

And these are the kinds of situations that push all our moral buttons. What do I do when faced with an impossible choice? Do I pay my utilities or my mortgage? Do I alienate my best friend or my brother? Do I break the law or break my promise?

What is impossible?

The reason these situations can’t be easily resolved is because we are all limited, finite human beings. We are not all-powerful. We do not have bottomless bank accounts. We can’t be in two places at once. Eventually, we will die.

But I do have a certain power that is unlimited: that is my freedom. I am able to make choices without any restraint or encumbrance. I will always have to face the consequences of my actions, but my decisions are truly and completely my own.

How does this help anything? Freedom allows me to step away from the choice presented to me and ask another question entirely: what is the good that I can do here?

These situations are only impossible because they present every choice as something evil. But evil does not exist in itself: it is nothing but the loss or distortion of some good. And if the question turns to a choice, not between evils, but about the kind of good I can do – then I see what is truly possible, rather than fearing what is impossible.

Outwitting evil

Only two things are necessary to face any “no-win” decision: a clear understanding of what is good, and a clear knowledge of one’s own abilities.

Granted, gaining true clarity about those things could take a lifetime, or longer. But it shows what is important to look for, what the questions need asking and what questions are mere distractions.

Paying the bills with limited resources won’t get done by worrying about which axe will drop first. But it can be solved by overcoming fear and pride, talking to creditors, seeking different ways to gain income.

Maintaining close relationships with people who hate each other can’t happen by tip-toeing around the situation. But whatever is worth keeping in those relationships will remain if I seek love and honesty rather than avoiding hurt feelings.

It’s true, something will be lost or damaged, whatever choice I make. But this is true of all of life, not just the so-called “no-win” situations. But no good can be done by avoiding loss or hurt. The world is full of powers greater than any one of us, or even all of us together. Our goal is not to avoid suffering, but to do whatever good is possible. And because we can see the real good in the world, good made through our own efforts and those of others, we can trust that our work will not be in vain.

To everything... (turn, turn, turn)

I have two main goals for this blog: First, to share practical, down-to-earth tips on growing in virtue that I glean from my own experience and what I’m learning from others; Second, to transform the world into a perfectly virtuous society.

Okay, so maybe the second goal is a little ambitious. I guess I’ll focus on the first.

I find I often get stuck, whether in a project or in a relationship or just in life, because I don’t feel like I’ve made enough progress. I feel like I’m spinning my wheels, like I’m never going to get to the destination. I wonder whether it’s worth all the effort I’ve put into it – or worth any effort at all.

It helps me to see where I actually stand in the big picture. For example, I’m working on a book, and I’m still mainly in the research phase. It’s frustrating that I don’t have many pages written, but I have to remind myself that I really shouldn’t have many pages written at this point in the project. What I should have – and do have – are lots of notes and a to-read list that I’m slowly working through.

The big picture of a virtuous life

Living a life of virtue is a much bigger project than writing a book, and the process can seem vague or unclear. The goals are abstract: happiness, ease, skill. The advice is general: practice, discern, persist. This is because virtue is a habit that applies to every action and decision a person takes, pretty much from birth to death; so it’s hard to get too specific.

That said, I do think there are three broad stages of growth in virtue, and seeing where I am in those stages helps me keep working.

The stages are:

1. Discipline
2. Experimentation
3. Mastery

(more…)

Ignatius the knight, before he became Ignatius the saint

I’ve recently started a nine-month “retreat” – though maybe a better name would be a spiritual workshop – based on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola. The goal of the retreat, at least for me at this point in my life, is to learn the skill and process of discernment.

Discernment is the ability to see clearly or, maybe better, to see to the heart of the matter. It is the ability to tell one thing from another. So with physical vision, for example, it is the ability to tell your mother from your sister when they’re still a quarter mile down the street.

In morality, it is the ability to tell good from evil, (which usually is easy,) or to distinguish one good from another, (which often is harder). It is the skill of seeing the good that I should pursue in this situation, and the good that I should let go, at least for the moment.

Getting to the Exercises

I had long been suspicious of the Ignatian Exercises because, from what people told me of them, it sounded like they boiled down to “find your heart’s deepest desire.” But there’s much more to life than the desires of my heart, even the deepest ones, so I spent many years avoiding the Exercises.

However, after only the first couple sessions, I’ve discovered to my great delight (and only partly to my surprise) that the Exercises contain a great deal more that mere emotionalism. I figured as much, since they’ve stood the test of five centuries; but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find a director who would go beyond the passions.

Putting my questions in order

I should say here that I’m bringing what I’m learning to this blog as I’m learning it. In other words, these are my first impressions, in the moment of discovery. Please don’t take this as a complete exposition on Ignatius or his program.

One of the first things I’m learning is that discernment involves putting my questions in the proper order. Here’s what I’ve sorted out at this point:

1. What desires, attachments, thoughts persist in me? What remains strong over time? What are the deep desires of my heart?
2. Where do these attachments or desires lead? What are their various results or consequences?
3. What do I choose to be my goal or destination?
4. Seeing my desires and my destination, what practical step will I take? Which desire will I pursue, and how?
5. Having taken that action, what in fact happened? Were there any surprises, or anything to consider in taking my next action

Obviously, this is a process for major decisions; everyday decisions, I hope, can be made more easily and without so much reflection. But since I have trouble with both kinds of decision-making, I’m very glad for any tool of discernment that comes my way.

Zeno - founder of Stoic philosophy

Here’s a punchy quote from After Virtue that, I think, summarizes the heart of his argument:

I remarked in Chapter 13 that when teleology [I'll explain this below the quote - RK], whether Aristotelian or Christian, is abandoned, there is always a tendency to substitute for it some version of Stoicism. The virtues are now not to be practiced for the sake of some good other, or more, than the practice of the virtues itself. Virtue is, indeed has to be, its own end, its own reward and its own motive. It is central to this Stoic tendency to believe that there is a single standard of virtue and that moral achievement lies simply in total compliance with it.

Okay, first off, let me translate teleology. That’s philosophical techno-babble for an inherent purpose or direction in things themselves. So, a common example is an eye: the eye is for seeing, so sight is the purpose or end of the eye. An eye is directed toward sight, so sight becomes a standard of goodness internal to the eye itself. The major debate is whether the human person has such an end, and what that implies. Aristotle’s idea was that the purpose of human life is to contemplate abstract truth. Christianity’s idea is usually called “heaven” but is often put in similar terms as Aristotle: to gaze on the face of God.

The Stoics, and their Enlightenment inheritors, disconnected the idea of moral action from any goodness for the moral person. It’s not seen as virtuous to do the right thing if you’re getting anything out of it for yourself.

Major guilt trip

This, more than anything the nuns did to me as a kid, is the source of my own guilt today. I almost feel in my gut that I have to act against my own nature and gifts and joys, that I have to be unhappy, in order to really be good. Sort of like saying that the eye has to avoid seeing and work real hard at hearing in order to be good. Pretty dumb, huh?

But that’s what happens when morality gets divorced from the actual person who is acting morally, and from the situation in which he or she is acting. Morality is reduced to a set of rules, which more and more become arbitrary and unrealistic. No wonder our culture has such an abhorrence of rules and restrictions: we know deep down that there’s something wrong with a demand for obedience for obedience’s sake.

On the other hand, if we recognize that we don’t have to reinvent morality from scratch every second of every day, and that rules are meant to remind us of our nature rather than force us to work against it, then morality becomes much less of a burden. I can relax a little, because I only have to ask, “Does this action fit with my own nature and abilities in this situation?” I don’t have to agonize over whether it’s “right” or not, whether it’s the “best possible action” or anything like that. I’m here. Something needs doing. If I can do it, great! If not, well, not much I can do about it and feeling guilty isn’t going to help matters any.

It ends where it began

I actually dreamed about “Lost” last night. Scary. I should definitely talk to my therapist about that.

Anyway, here’s something approaching a thoughtful response to the “Lost” series finale, and actually to “Lost” as a whole. Needless to say, there will be SPOILERS in this post, so if you haven’t yet seen the finale, you can watch it on Hulu. And if you haven’t seen the rest of the series, well, most of what I say won’t make sense anyway.

What “Lost” found

Let me start with what I loved about “Lost.”

First and foremost, Hugo “Hurley” Reyes. Easily the heart of the show, Hurley has been the only character I have never lost hope for, and my hope was not disappointed. As soon as Jacob’s “candidates” were mentioned, I declared that I wanted Hurley to end up as the new Jacob. He was the only one whom I would trust with The Island, and I’m pleased to see that the writers agreed with me.

I loved that it ended with “nobody dies alone”. A major theme of the whole show was the forming and challenging of relationship and of community. As a Catholic, I see shadows of the idea of the communion of saints here, and the idea that none of us ever is utterly alone or disconnected from the rest of humanity.

I was super-pleased to see Sayid and Ben find a kind of redemption. I was particularly worried about Sayid after he lost his emotions, but it’s clear that his growth in virtue over the years was not lost – not entirely, anyway.

I could go on for hours listing all the details and small beauties of the show, but I’ll simply say that I loved the fact that the writers took each and every character (with the possible exception of Kate, who at times seemed little more than the prize that Jack and Sawyer were competing for,) seriously, and gave each one room to grow and develop. I loved that they took the mystery of The Island seriously, and left even Jacob a bit in the dark (so to speak) about the Light. I loved that they took morality seriously, and showed how each character’s choices formed and changed his or her personality. Despite the bizarre and sometimes inexplicable turns of events, the writers basically kept the characters real, and that invited me (and the rest of the viewing public, I hope,) to give the show what Tolkien called “secondary belief”: an honor due only to a really creative (or sub-creative) world.

My problems with “Lost”

That said, “Lost” was far from perfect. And the finale in particular brought out a number of the most serious problems with the show. Being a hyper-critical kind of guy, I just can’t let those imperfections pass without comment.

To start with, the “LA story” of this final season ultimately didn’t hold together for me. I get that it’s a kind of purgatory, but I don’t quite get Eloise Hawking’s warnings to Desmond – does she really know what kind of reality she’s in? And I don’t entirely understand the presence of Jack’s son. Is this a “younger Jack” (like the “younger Jacob” that appeared on the Island)? And what does Ben still have to work through in this “place”? Maybe his relationship with his father? Not really clear.

Most of all, the whole, “This is a place you created together, so that you could find each other again,” just doesn’t make the connection that I think they’re trying to make to their life on The Island. It makes it all feel like a gimmick to get the whole cast back together for a sentimental ending. I think I would have bought, “This is a gift from the Island for the service each of you provided,” or something along those lines, but the way it was is just metaphysically muddy to say the least.

Which actually brings me back to The Island. From the first season, The Island was developed as a kind of living being, with a will and a character of its own. I think the “Across the Sea” episode was intended to draw together the threads of The Island’s own story. But come on … a Light at the Heart of The Island – oooh! I want something a little more.

My main question about The Island throughout the series has been, what is the connection between The Island and the rest of the world? And despite Alison Janney’s explanation that “if the light goes out there, it goes out everywhere,” I just don’t buy it. I need to see that there’s a real connection between the state of the Light on The Island and the state of … hope? humanity? something in the rest of the world. And when the Light is “uncorked” in the finale, well, it turns red, and dimmer, and Smokey becomes mortal, and the Island shakes, and… it doesn’t seem to affect the persons the way it should if the light within them is threatened. Wouldn’t they all have become like Sayid, or like the Smoke Monster? or something?

So, ultimately, I’m left wondering what the whole point of The Island is in the first place. I wonder what really would have been so bad about the Light going out and The Island sinking into the sea. What difference would it make?

So that’s a rather disappointing place to be.

And, in the end…

As with the things I loved, I have tons of nit-picks that aren’t worth going into. Overall, “Lost” was an ambitious and often inspiring show, and I don’t regret a moment I spent watching it. Maybe it failed in its ultimate aim, but the effort was a worthy one on every count, and I have learned a great deal about myself and about telling stories from the show.

And that’s quite a lot for one show to accomplish.