Virtue Quest

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…)

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.

The 1967 film version of “Camelot” formed a great deal of my childhood, and still stands close by me today. Indeed, I remember in the 1980′s seeing Vanessa Redgrave in a contemporary film and being shocked because I knew her as the lithe young Guenevere. And I dearly loved the hyper-emotional Richard Harris in every role he played (he was magnificent in “Gladiator” in part because of the resonance between young Arthur and ancient Marcus Aurelius).

But perhaps the most powerful scene, for me, is the one where Arthur goes hunting in the woods, and reminisces of his youthful training under Merlyn (played by Laurence Naismith). Arthur asks Merlyn, “What’s the best thing for being sad?” and Merlyn replies, “The best thing for being sad is to learn something!”

Now, I’ve discovered a number of other things that are good for being sad, and, although things like sitting and talking with a close friend and doing something productive are also very good when I’m sad, I’ve never found anything that would definitively displace Merlyn’s advice about the very best thing for sadness.

Sadness and learning

I’ve had to rely on all these methods over the past week or so. The cause of my sadness has been a number of small, personal events that don’t really need talking about (though it began with that car accident I wrote about last week). But when friends were not available and work was just too difficult, I could always learn something.

I’ve been reading voraciously in Thomas Aquinas’ First Part of the Summa Theologica, specifically what is known as his “Treatise on Man” in which he describes human nature.

What is wonderful about this is, not only was it good learning, but it helped me understand why learning is a solution to sadness.

According to Thomas, humanity stands at a crossroads of creation: we are both material and spiritual beings. That is, we are physical (like stones and shrubs and squirrels) and also intellectual (like angels and God). This puts us at a unique place in the universe, and this uniqueness extends to how we understand (intellegere, in Latin) and how we act.

We do not act in the same way that other animals do, because they are guided by sense and instinct, while we are guided by reason. And we do not understand in the way that pure spirits do, because they apprehend truths directly, while we move from known to unknown by reason. Reason is the unique feature of human nature that sets us apart from everything else in creation.

Sadness (as an emotion, not as the vice of sloth) is an indicator that something is missing from our nature. So when an animal is sad, it seeks something to heal or restore its body (including its emotions). I’m not sure if an angel can be sad, but if it were it would seek something to return it to its direct apprehension of truth and goodness and beauty.

If a human being is sad, the answer lies (at least in part) in reason. The core, the “heart” as it were, of being human is to understand things by coming to know what is unknown. So in sadness, we seek to understand why we are sad, and then to know what we can do about it.

In other words, we learn something.

Even when knowing the source of some particular sadness eludes us, even then learning something brings a kind of healing and restoration and even growth. This is because our nature is (in part) to learn, and any time we learn anything we are fulfilling our nature. We become more happy when we learn because we become more ourselves.

Beyond learning

I said that our nature is in part to learn; that’s because our nature is also to act on what we have learned, to put our knowledge into deeds.

That’s partly what I’m doing here: I’m attempting to share something that I’ve learned with others. But it also means taking action to work better, to play better, to love our friends and family and neighbors better. The more we learn, the better we can act toward others. And, as if in reward, the more we can learn from those we love.

Tomorrow, that is, on the first day of July, I will awaken as a published author.

Sure, this blog is a publication of sorts. But I’m of the old school that believes you’re not really published until someone else – indeed, someone not related to you or biased by friendship – decides your work is worth putting out there. For me, that will happen tomorrow.

Where? you might ask. In a small on-line journal called This Great Society. It’s a quirky little corner of the internet, and well worth a read. I hope that recommendation includes even my own contribution to the issue.

My essay is entitled “Following Distance” and is a kind of meditation on the psychology of driving. I note that the space that separates cars on the road is also a medium of communication, and that giving another driver room is a sign of respect.

This message could not arrive at a more perfect time for me. On Monday, as I was driving home from work, I got in a fender-bender. I rear-ended the car in front of me. Fortunately, no one was hurt and the damage seemed minimal. (I left a pair of dimples on the other car’s bumper in the exact shape of the bolts holding on my front license plate.) And although the other driver called the police, I didn’t receive a ticket. The officer let me off with a warning, for “following too close.”

First off, I just want to say, “Thank you!” to readers Jeana and bob, who in the past week or so have helped me fulfill one of my goals for this blog: to generate provocative and intriguing conversation. Thanks!

So, in continuing the question of whether there’s any such thing as “natural rights” – or, more generally, what Thomists call “natural law” – the next step is to consider … the Order of the Universe!

Actually, I’m serious. By “order,” I mean specifically teleological order. In non-techno-babble, that means, whether things are in and of themselves directed to an end beyond themselves. The classic example is the eye: the eye is ordered toward the sense of sight, and so an eye that does not see is a “bad” eye.

Order and morality

Now, someone might object that you can’t blame the eye for being blind. And that’s true. So it’s important to distinguish between what’s called “ontological evil” and “moral evil.” “Ontological evil,” or evil in “being,” is simply the lack of full existence or perfection in a thing. A diseased tree, or a collapsed bridge, or a blind eye is “bad” because it lacks the fullness of what it is to BE a tree, or a bridge, or an eye.

“Moral evil,” on the other hand, involves the freedom of the will. Without personal freedom, there can be no “bad” or “evil” except in the ontological sense. For something to be evil in a moral sense, it must be a bad choice

Now, according to Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas and those who follow their tradition, the mind has several major parts, two of which are the intellect and the will. The purpose of the intellect is to understand things abstractly. The purpose of the will is to choose freely. If the intellect has a problem – for example, my intellect has great difficulty grasping poetry and metaphor, but thrives on mathematics – then we recognize that as a problem in the mind. I tell people that I’m “bad” with poetry, and they know what I mean.

If the will has a problem, it affects a person’s ability to choose freely. Sometimes this is a mental illness; for example, a psychopath is not free to act empathetically, or even responsibly. But often, we limit our own freedom by our very choices themselves. If I choose to insult you, I am no longer free to be your friend.

The slavery of vice

Now, part of the nature of the will is to develop habits. Habits are to the will what memory is to the intellect: they keep us from having to re-invent the wheel every time we hit the road. So, a virtuous habit is one that protects, or even extends the freedom of the will. Vice, on the other hand, increasingly limits the will’s freedom.

But this freedom is not freedom to do anything at any time; it is freedom to fulfill the nature of the person. It is freedom to pursue the good.

The best image I’ve found is that of a piano keyboard. Anyone at any time is free to hit any key or combination of keys on the keyboard. (This is what Pinckaers calls “freedom of indifference.”) But only someone who has practiced a great deal is free to play Debussy, or to compose an original work of music.

Now, every moment of every day, our will faces at least 88 possible choices of what to do next. If we practice making those choices well, with an idea of harmony or rhythm or beauty in mind, then we will develop habits that allow us to make more interesting and more complex and more, well, good choices. The will really does become more free, more fulfilled in achieving its purpose.

But if we simply hammer away at life according to mood or blind emotion, like a piano student who refuses to adopt proper posture or fingering, then we limit our freedom and risk hurting both ourselves and the instrument – that is, everybody around us.

Natural morality

This view of the human person, one who has a purpose or an end in both being and acting, and whose purpose is to pursue greater and greater goods, is the foundation of any theory of natural rights, or natural law, or natural morality of any kind.

Some thinkers have tried to do away with “human nature” without losing universal morality, but I haven’t found any of them (that I’ve read) to be convincing.

Others have noted that it’s incredibly difficult to pin down exactly what’s involved in “human nature” and have accepted that rejecting nature also means rejecting any universal morality. But then why do even they act as if moral questions remained vital? Dostoyevski’s Crime and Punishment is a brilliant exploration of the problems with this way of thinking.

So that’s largely why I’m convinced that there really is such a thing as human nature, and that the nature of the will is to choose freely, and that virtue is the true path to freedom and fulfillment and happiness.

But I’ve been talking too much. Looking forward to continuing the conversation.

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.

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.

Pardon me while I get all philosophical for a bit.

Those who have known me a while know that I suffer from clinical depression. The meds and some good therapy have that pretty well under control; but it’s linked to something that is beyond the scope of medical science. I have a bad habit of asking, “What’s the meaning of life?” or, “What’s the point of it all?” or, closer to home, “What’s the point of my life?”

Yes, I’m a Catholic; and I do buy the whole “know, love, and serve God in this life so that I may be happy with him forever in the next” idea. But it’s an idea: it’s words that I assent to in my mind, but that don’t always reach to my heart, or my gut – which is where those questions of meaning come from. In other words, I still ask, “What’s it mean to be happy with God?” or even, “Why did God make me in the first place?”

The questions “Why?” and “What does it mean?”

A good friend once suggested to me that most people – me included – put much more stock in what something means than what something is, and that this is a backwards way of living life. A person, or an experience, or even an object is only “significant” because it first exists in reality. A relationship has to be lived before it can “mean” anything.

He has an excellent point. I tend to over-think just about everything in my life, and on a cultural level it’s much easier to find “analysis” than it is to find “news.” There’s a certain cart-preceding-horse-ness about this whole approach.

At the same time, the question of meaning is one that just doesn’t go away. And, in terms of “what my life means,” anyway, I’m looking for something deeper than explanation or analysis. But it’s hard to say exactly what it is I am looking for. What am I asking when I ask “why?” or “what’s the point?”

What’s behind these questions, at least for me, is a sort of “what’s worthwhile about it?” or “is it any good?” And I think that’s what “a meaningful life” or an answer to “why?” would entail: I want to see and recognize what’s good about the world, and about my being in the world. I want to know that my life is good.

Not just a moral good

Now, this isn’t quite the same thing as, “I want to make the world a better place.” Of course, I want to be a morally good person: I want to be the kind of person who does kind and loving things, who makes living better for those around me, and so on.

But there’s something that comes first: there’s the very fact that I’m alive, that I exist in the world at all.

Or, in more philosophical terms, is goodness convertible with being? Is existence itself good?

Now, for some people, that’s an absurd question. It’s obvious to them that it’s good to exist. But that’s not universally true. Besides quirky people like me, there’s the whole tradition of Buddhism. If I understand it correctly, Buddhism teaches that existence is an illusion, and that we can escape from the illusion – not into a greater reality, but into nothingness, into not-being. The way to save oneself from suffering is to escape from existing.

And yet, I have real experiences of the goodness of being. For me, being something of a nerd, the paradigmatic moment was sitting in high school chemistry when I suddenly understood the structure of the periodic table. It was beautiful. It was profound. It opened up the world to me. I just wanted to stare at the chart on the wall for hours on end.

I’ve heard normal people describe similar experiences in watching a sunrise, or hearing music. Sometimes, it takes the form of awe at another person. Sometimes it’s falling in love.

The point is, it almost doesn’t matter that I’m there to see it; what matters is that this beautiful, wonderful thing exists. And if the periodic table is good – indeed, if anything at all is good – then that goodness is a part of the real world. In other words, the world has a “meaning,” a “point,” it’s “worthwhile,” at least as far as the periodic table goes.

And if I can recognize it, that recognition is also good. That means that, as far as my ability to recognize something good goes, I am good, worthwhile, and my life has some kind of meaning.

Ditto for everybody else in the world.

Now, this isn’t an air-tight proof that any- and everything that exists is good by its very existence (though I think it’s a step toward that), but it does remind me that the burden of proof lies with pessimism. I have the ability to recognize good in all sorts of things, including myself.

And that’s not bad.

I have this strange fear that I’ll never be able to overcome my failures – that every time I fail at anything, it’s a sort of ultimate failure of myself as a human person. So if I screw something up, even if it’s something that nobody else knows or cares about, suddenly I’m paralyzed and can’t face it. It’s like facing my own demise.

Which is to say I’ve been in a real slump the past few weeks.

I planned to write a post for this site one day, and didn’t. I don’t even remember if I had a legit reason or not. I wanted to again the next day, and didn’t again. At that point, I began thinking that anyone who actually reads the blog would be disappointed in me. And I didn’t want to issue yet another apology for my irregular posting. I really didn’t want to check the site stats and see the drop in readership that happens when I don’t post anything new.

And the days began to pile up. Each day was yet another confirmation of my inability to write, my incapacity for discipline, my utter lack of virtue and therefore my disqualification from writing on this blog at all.

My shrink calls this “all-or-nothing thinking.” My friends call it “perfectionism.” I’m learning to call it a lie.

After all, this blog is a quest for virtue. I wouldn’t be questing for it if I already had it.

The blog isn’t the only thing that’s fallen behind. I’ve blown off phone calls and emails. My bedroom is a pigsty. The laundry needs doing in a bad way. I don’t have any bills late yet, but I will if I wait much longer.

But the obstacles are entirely in my own mind. I simply need to start doing something – pretty much anything even vaguely productive – and 90% of the difficulty vanishes in less than a minute. I just need to face my fear/anxiety/depression/whatever about being normal, being limited, and having a life that doesn’t conform to my fantasies or desires.

I write a lot about knowing reality. Well, more than knowing it, I think I need to accept it. Accept that reality is there, it’s not going away, and it’s not a bad thing. Sure, it’s difficult at times. But it’s also the source of every true love I’ve ever encountered. It’s the only place genuine happiness can exist.

Wallowing in fantasy and wishing and spinning out impossible possibilities leads only to disappointment. I’ve got plenty of experience with that.

A quick and dirty definition of love, according to Thomas Aquinas, is “to will the good of another.”

This even works for loving oneself, if what you’re willing is really what is good for yourself – that is, what will make you the best person you can be, rather than what simply feels good at the moment.

The trick is, how do you know what’s really good for someone? Isn’t it just arrogant beyond belief to think that I know better than anyone else what’s best? Isn’t it horribly patronizing? Doesn’t it belittle the person I’m supposedly loving?

How to know what’s good

Well, think of the alternative for a moment. Wouldn’t it be a false “humility” to neglect to do nice things for a friend, or to refuse to warn someone of a danger, on the excuse that “I can’t really know what’s good for so-and-so”?

There is a danger of arrogance or a false “superiority,” because we can only judge based on our own perceptions. We can be deceived by apparent goods, or by the illusion of ease or safety. We can be blinded or distracted from what’s really going on.

But none of this means that we’re incapable of recognizing real good things when we meet them. It just means there are limits, and that we therefore need each other’s help.

I’ve found in my own life that the best way to know what’s really good – and therefore what’s really loving – is to double-check with someone I trust. Sometimes, I talk to my mom. Sometimes, to one of my close friends. For some situations, I ask a priest or a counselor.

In other words, when I’m not sure how to love, I ask someone with a different perspective than mine. I ask them to love me, by helping me to love someone else. I don’t always do what they advise, but their point of view gives me a better picture of what’s real, and helps me sort out the real good from apparent goods.

Knowing love and doing love

Of course, actions speak louder than words. This is where the other virtues come into play. I need temperance to work when I need to work so that I can play when my friends are available to play. I need courage to stand my ground when I’m tempted to give in. I need justice to remember and to guide me in my obligations toward others. I need prudence to figure out how to put my knowledge and my love into practical action in the first place.

So, if love is willing someone’s good, then all the other virtues are the tools that help me to accomplish that will. They enable me to actually do good, rather than just thinking or desiring it.

And that’s encouraging, because I often mess up the doing part. But if I learn, and practice, and continue to grow in virtue, then I’ll come closer to that ultimate goal of loving my family, my friends, my neighbors.