Do you trust me?

James Chastek has been noodling questions of epistemology, that is, how do we know what we know. He’s been examining the basis of scientific evidence and certainty, which is fascinating stuff, but much of it is over my head. Again, this guy is a real professional philosopher.

But he recently had a post on belief and faith that caught my attention. His basic point is that the word “belief” has a very broad range of meaning, and that the word “faith” should be kept distinct from it. Some snippets:

There are certain beliefs that, though reasons can be given for them, do not need to be believed for those reasons; and/ or which should be believed before the reasons are known. Good reasons can be given for why a child must listen to his parents or a tribesman should love his tribe, but the virtues of piety, patriotism, obedience, etc. do not require that the one with the virtue know the reasons for his action. A child who listens perfectly to his parents or teachers would be viewed as having a virtue even if we did not know if the child had a reason for what he was doing; and you can love your family or children even apart from any evidence that they are lovable.

And so there is a sort of belief that gives a certain perfection to a person (a virtue), even apart from his believing it for a reason. The virtue of faith is this sort of belief. Faith adds to this idea that we believe the thing unconditionally.

Now, Mr. Chastek* is a very suggestive sort of writer. That’s my polite way of saying he doesn’t draw out all the conclusions I wish he would, so I have to think through them myself.

So, thinking through it, I notice that belief (and faith specifically) is about actions more than about ideas or propositions. He speaks of children obeying parents, of citizens loving their country, and so on; these are all actions in response to something which calls for belief. It is not fully belief unless it leads to action.

However, some of the actions he mentions are a little bewildering to me. For example,

There would be something perverse in a mother who waited to love her children until she saw a reason to love them more than the other persons she loved;

Who is believing whom or what, in this case? Is the mother “believing” that her child is lovable? I suppose so, in the sense that the mother acts “as if” her child is lovable, even before seeing any evidence of it. (Indeed, seeing some evidence to the contrary, in the diapers and so on.) But is this a matter of belief? Or is it a matter of will: I love my child.

But suddenly I find myself in the trap I’ve been warning others of: the will always follows on the intellect. I can’t love something or someone until I know it/him/her.

Still, belief (or faith specifically) is not the only kind of knowledge. It seems Mr. Chastek takes belief as acting as if there are reasons for doing something without know what those reasons are. And faith specifically is unconditional belief. I’m not sure I buy that.

It seems to me that the distinguishing feature of belief is that it is personal: I believe (in) a person; and therefore I accept what they say is true, and I act accordingly. This is even true of a child. If you ask, “Why did you do that?” most children would reasonably answer, “Because Mommy said so.” The relationship, the trust in another person, is the source of the belief.

Faith, it seems to me, adds not that the belief is unconditional, but that the relationship is unconditional. I can have faith in my spouse – so I am faithful to her and she to me – because only death can part us. I can have faith in my friend, insofar as our friendship does not depend on any conditions or requirements. I can have faith in God, because God is infinite and beyond any conditions I can place on him. There is no limit to the relationship, so there is no limit to what I will believe and act on.

But it is the relationship that is primary, not the propositions I am asked to accept, or even the particular actions I am led to. The knowledge of belief and faith is, first and foremost, that this person is worthy of my trust, calls forth my love. Based on this knowledge, I place my trust in this person, and I offer him or her my love. Specific “beliefs” and actions follow on the knowledge of the person, and of the relationship.

* His About page notes that he is a Ph.D. candidate, but also notes that he “plans to defend [his] dissertation in late 2009.” So, if he has attained his doctorate, I apologize for using the wrong title.

Virtue, according to the Greeks

You don’t even have to be Christian.

Huh?

So, at this point, I expect there are two groups of reactions to that sentence. First, from the Christians, I expect some flavor of “What do you mean you don’t have to be Christian?” And from the non-Christians (whether atheist or adherents of other religious traditions), “Why would you even ask that question? What does Christianity have to do with it?”

Here’s the thing. The virtues I’ve been studying arose in what’s called the Western philosophical tradition. Greeks like Plato and Aristotle wrote about them, and the early Christians picked up their ideas and ran with them. In developing the older, pagan ideas of virtue – ideas, by the way, which don’t fit neatly with the Jewish heritage of Christianity – they connected them to their theological notions, and significantly added three new virtues that were mentioned in the Bible: Faith, Hope, and Love.

The original Greek virtues were called Cardinal Virtues, since (like the cardinal directions on a compass) they point you in the right direction. The new ones were called Theological Virtues, because they are seen as gifts of God.

So I’m a Catholic myself, and I have no problem with some virtues being gifts from God. But I have big questions about how it works.

To start with, the virtues seem to overlap one another, or even replace one another. The obvious example is Charity trumping Justice: do you really need duty if you’re always going above and beyond duty?

At a slightly deeper level, it’s a little hard to see what’s particularly “theological” about the new virtues. After all, the goal is the same, isn’t it? All the virtues aim at making our lives more fully human, at helping us become who and what we’re meant to be. And you don’t have to believe in Jesus or have the life of the Holy Spirit in your heart to see that love is a good thing, that hope is important, even that faith – in the sense of trust and faithfulness – is central to living a properly human life.

And since I’m trying to build a career as a teacher of this stuff, shouldn’t I be able to explain it in some crystal clear way?

So here’s what I came up with.

The perfect cup

Maybe a royal Greek's coffee mug?

Now the goldsmith takes the cup to the king’s steward, who admires the cup. And the goldsmith is proud, and says, “It’s the perfect cup. You can’t get a better cup than this.”

But the steward says, “It’s excellent, no doubt. But it’s not perfect yet.”

The goldsmith is, understandably, heartbroken. “I can’t do anything more to improve it!” he cries.

“Of course you can’t,” says the steward. “But come with me.” And the steward leads the goldsmith to the palace’s cellars, where the royal vintner is maintaining the casks of wine. The steward hands the chalice to the vintner, and commands him to fill it with wine.

“Now,” says the steward, “it is a perfect cup.”

But the vintner laughs. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not perfect yet!” And he hands the cup full of wine to the steward, and tells him to drink. And as the steward tastes the wine, the vintner says, “Now that is a perfect cup!”

Perfection pointing to further perfection

So the cup itself has a kind of perfection in itself, but that perfection is directed toward the further perfections of being filled up, and being drunk from, even though it cannot achieve those perfections without something beyond itself.

Likewise, I can become a good human being in myself and by my own power; but being a good human individual is directed toward being a member of a community, toward receiving from others and giving to others. But these are not things I can accomplish without those others.

To go further, from the Catholic point of view, this shows how theologians can say that we are both created to share God’s life in heaven, and also utterly incapable of achieving that communion by our own power. A cup can’t be full unless wine is poured in from outside; but it first has to be a good cup, so that it will hold the wine that is poured in.

I hope this image is useful to someone else. It’s certainly been useful to me.

What do you mean, you don't have a secret identity?

I am my own arch-enemy.

I have this outrageous expectation that I should be super-awesome at everything I attempt, as if I’d been born on Krypton or some such thing. And if I can’t excel – or even if I could excel, but it would take, you know, effort – well, it’s easier to give up. It’s easier to fail in a way that I control, an intentional and deliberate failure, than to strive for success and risk falling short.

Stupid. I know. Or I know it in my head, anyway. Somehow my gut remains convinced of that little piece of insanity.

In other words, I know intellectually that I’m just an ordinary guy, a mere mortal, just like everyone else. But there are a couple obstacles to acting on that knowledge.

Lies I tell myself

First, there’s a part of me that’s convinced that everybody else around me really is entirely competent, brilliant, strong, and has X-ray vision. It doesn’t matter how much people tell me about their struggles. All I see are their actions; and their actions, for the most part, are displays of awesome ability that put me to shame.

I mean, these are people who accomplish superhuman feats like following up on emails, preparing properly for meetings, actually finishing projects they begin, and so on.

As for me? Well, sure, sometimes I do those things too. Sometimes. But I fail a lot. And even when I succeed, I’m full of fear and anxiety. For example, it’s been a while since I posted on this blog. Part of that is because, when I start to write a post, I worry about whether it will be as good as other blogs. I want it to be a masterpiece. I want it to impress everybody in the whole entire world as much as I was impressed by Plato, Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, and Jane Austen combined.

But it’s a BLOG, for goodness sake!

So there’s lie #1: I think I have to be extraordinary because I compare myself to people whom I consider to be extraordinary.

But there’s another lie, and it’s even more insidious because it’s hard to show just how it’s untrue.

After all, I am extraordinary. I am absolutely unique. There is no other me in the whole universe. And people have told me that I’ve had really helpful insights, and that they’re amazed at things I’ve done, and that they even really value my friendship. I am irreplaceable. In a very literal sense, no one in the world can do the things I do – because no one else is exactly me.

Here’s where the lie comes in: I think that I need to justify the fact of my uniqueness, and my value. I feel like I have to prove, constantly and repeatedly, that I really am as unique and special as I am.

But this is crazy. I’m not unique because I did something incredible; I’m unique because of the miracle of recombinant DNA. I’m not special because of my amazing accomplishments; I’m special because I happen to be a member of the human race, which gives me super powers like rational thought and free choice.

My dignity, my worth, does not rely on me or anything I have done. It relies on the mere fact of my existence. And my existence is not an accomplishment; it’s a gift.

Confidence in the world – not in myself

I was raised on a culture of self-confidence and self-esteem. I was constantly cajoled to feel good about myself, and to not rely on others for my worth.

But the fact is, the foundation of my value as a person is not me; the foundation is the inherent dignity of being human. It is the truth that I am made in the image and likeness of God.

The confidence I have in myself is actually an obstacle to accepting the gift of my life. I have confidence that I should be able to solve every problem and overcome every obstacle with ease. But this is a misplaced confidence. I am limited. I need help.

This is normal.

Every one of us is limited. We all need help. This is the right order of things. It is natural and good.

The confidence I need is other-confidence. I need to trust in the world around me to provide the help I need, when I need it. I have to trust other people. I have to trust God. I have to be willing to risk failure, because my actions are not supposed to succeed on their own. My actions only ever succeed when they combine with other people’s actions, when our individual attempts come together and create something than no one of us can do on his or her own.

When: 10:30am, Sunday 20 March 2011
Where: 5062 9th Avenue NE, Seattle – the downstairs room in the school across from the church

Here’s a chart I’m putting on the handout:

I expect that’s perfectly clear to anyone who thinks exactly as I do. The above organization is (as far as I know) my own invention. If anyone out there actually knows stuff about virtue ethics and thinks I’m barking up the wrong tree, or am just barking mad, please drop me a line and correct me. I’m working stuff out as I go.

Anyway, if you want to know what I’m talking about, come hear me talk!

Second, and far less importantly: I’ve had tech troubles with my old computer for the past few months. Random crashes and so on. It finally became intolerable, so I have a shiny new laptop. (Okay, it’s actually a matte finish.) Now I have to constantly remind myself that cool new toys do not equal happiness.

“Yes, I love technology / though not as much as you, you see / but still, I love technology / always and forever…”

'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.

Classical virtue - very classy

I was talking with a friend this weekend, and she said that she was a little confused when she first visited my blog because it wasn’t clear what kind of virtue I was talking about. So I took another look at the page, and I realize that the words “classical” and “cardinal” are entirely missing from the page.

I’ll rectify that soon, but in the meantime I realized that it never hurts to take another look at the big picture.

The classical virtues

The main reason I’m writing this blog is as a kind of public self-improvement exercise. I’ve found that the classical philosophy of virtue describes my strengths, my faults, and my potential. It also gives a very practical structure to work on overcoming my weaknesses and to work toward my potential.

These virtues are traditionally grouped under the four “cardinal” virtues and the three “theological” virtues:

• Cardinal virtues
  • Prudence, AKA Wisdom
  • Justice
  • Fortitude, AKA Courage
  • Temperance, AKA Self-control
• Theological virtues
  • Faith
  • Hope
  • Charity, AKA Love

Each of these virtues describes a different way to achieve a certain excellence or fulfillment of human life. They are ways to become more human, and more humane.

Habits of life

A virtue is a habit of life, that is, it is an inclination to live and act easily and effectively. It’s not a “natural” inclination, in that no one is born with it. We acquire the virtues, mainly by practicing the kinds of actions associated with them. For example, I develop an inclination to courage by taking standing fast in the face of danger and difficulty, even when I am terrified; as I grow in courage, I find that facing danger is easier and less intimidating – if not actually less frightening. I grow in both confidence and ability.

On the other hand, a virtue is exactly a “natural” habit because it is fulfills my nature as a human person. It is part of human nature to grow, to develop, to learn, to interact with other people, and so on. Virtues are the habits of living a fully human life: wisely, justly, lovingly. Practicing virtue helps me to become more myself.

It is something like the habit of playing a musical instrument: at first, the actions don’t feel natural; but with practice, they become a kind of “second-nature”. Playing music becomes easy and enjoyable. Virtues are habits that apply, not just to a single activity like music, but to every aspect of life.

Vice

A vice is essentially a bad habit: it is an inclination to act less than human, or even contrary to human nature. We all have them. My own main vice (as far as I can tell) is sloth: I’m lazy, and I also tend to be skeptical about whether something is worth doing. It takes a lot to get me moving. This means that I spend a lot of time and energy complaining or looking for escapist entertainment rather than actually facing reality or doing something positive.

Generally speaking, every virtue has at least two vices: too much and too little. Taking courage as an example again, it’s possible to be too timid, or to be to rash. Courage is bold, but not brash; it’s cautious, but doesn’t hesitate.

Overcoming vice and growing in virtue go hand in hand.

That whole “theological” thing

The “cardinal” virtues were taken for granted by the ancient Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle, and it’s possible to find similar ideas in most ancient cultures. In the middle ages, Christian philosophers like Thomas Aquinas added three “theological” virtues mentioned in the Bible. These virtues are acquired, not only by practice, but by a gift from God.

I include them in this blog, not because I want to push a Christian agenda, but because I think there is a natural aspect to these virtues that fills out the cardinal virtues. Love resolves the conflict between justice and mercy, hope gives purpose to courage and temperane, faith extends rational prudence into deep relationships.

That said, I’m a practicing Catholic myself, and many of the people I read approach these virtues from a Christian point of view. It would be silly to try to hide that. My goal, though, is to propose rather than to impose, to share the wisdom I’m learning without expecting it to be the final word.

"Have you read my new book?"

I just returned from breakfast with George Weigel – he happened to pick my table to sit at – who was this morning’s speaker for the Catholic Professionals of Seattle. The basic gist of his talk was to promote his newest book: The End and the Beginning, which is a “sequel” and a completion of his 1999 biography of Pope John Paul II, Witness to Hope.

There was a bit of cold war spy drama, and a bit of “Lifestyles of the Holy and Famous,” and a bit of Vatican inside baseball; but one detail from his presentation jumped out at me. He said that he took part of the structure of his book from the process of canonization – the Catholic Church’s process of declaring someone a saint. One of the stages asks witnesses to describe the potential saint’s life in terms of the theological and cardinal virtues: Faith, Hope, and Charity; Prudence, Justice, Courage, and Temperance. Mr. Weigel noted, as an aside, that it’s an interesting exercise to look at life through the lens of the virtues, but that most people don’t do it.

A life out of focus

The virtues really form the only lens that has been able to bring my own life in to focus. But I only stumbled upon them by accident, myself. The classical model of virtue runs almost directly counter to most of twenty-first century American culture.

Now, Americans tend to value daring, or initiative, or valor; and that quality is similar to courage. Americans appreciate cleverness and foresight; those are certainly aspects of prudence. And it goes almost without saying that Americans are passionate about rights, which are a part of the virtue of justice.

However, American culture takes these values for granted, as a collection of qualities whose importance is assumed to be self-evident. In fact, it’s a kind of jumble that ultimately serves another purpose: one’s own interests.

Following the more-or-less normal course of life, I always found myself confused: should I take a risk or should I follow the safe course? Should I insist on my rights or make sure I’m not trampling someone else’s? Should I pursue my own interests or those of my employer/family/country?

Putting life in focus

When I discovered the idea of the virtues, I finally found a principle to help me answer all those questions. Like putting on my glasses, it brought all the fuzzy shapes into focus, and I could see more clearly what to do – and, more importantly, why to do it.

The virtues depend on one another. Love, or Charity, shows us what is good, and drives us to pursue it. Prudence shows us what is real, and sorts out the details of the situation as it really exists. These two virtues form the bedrock and cornerstone of our lives.

Justice and Faith both guide us in knowing what to do: we give to everyone what belongs to them, and we recognize them as fellow children of God, infinite in dignity and worthy of profound respect. These virtues form the framing structure that gives shape to our lives.

Hope, Courage, and Temperance all give us the strength or the stamina to follow through on the loving and prudent actions that Justice and Faith guide us to do. They support us in the face of despair, or fear, or temptation. They are like cross-braces that give a building strength and stability.

Taken together, the virtues describe the whole form of a person’s life.

An end and a beginning?

As Mr. Weigel points out in the life of Pope John Paul II, the virtues allow us to understand the depth and complexity of a man whose actions sometimes appeared confusing or contradictory to American eyes.

But I find virtue is as important at the beginning of each day as it is at the end of a life. I ask, how can I understand my own life; and how can I bring it to be the best life I can carry out, the kind of life I was created to live?

Virtue?

Yes, virtue. First off, it’s encouraging both men and women to strive for excellence. Men, smell like an excellent man. Here’s what the ideal is. (“Sadly, your man isn’t me. But he could smell like me…”) Strive for this. And women, hold your men accountable, accept nothing less than an excellent man.

On top of that, the humor is a humor of excellence: it’s highlighting the absurdity of its claims in the midst of claiming them: “Anything is possible when your man smells like Old Spice and not like a lady.” Obviously not – but great things are possible when you strive for excellence, for virtue. Meanwhile, there’s a joyful exuberance in the exaggeration that I can’t help but laugh at – even after watching it a dozen times or more.

Finally, there’s the artistry of the filmmaking. The commercial is all one shot, with almost no animated effects. (The diamonds were the only part edited in.) Here’s a rather long-winded interview with some of the filmmakers. It’s almost twenty minutes, but it shows the lengths they were willing to go in order to produce a truly excellent commercial. The writers had great faith in the crew, the actor showed exceptional temperance (“He was spot on for every take”) and the director had the courage to attempt such a complex piece of work.

Beautiful. Downright inspiring. Can’t help but love it.

So: go and do likewise.

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return

Today, Ash Wednesday, begins the season of Lent in the Catholic Church. It’s a season of prayer and fasting and almsgiving, imitating Christ’s forty days in the desert, and preparing to celebrate his passion and resurrection at Easter.

Some Christian traditions, such as the Orthodox, have a very strict discipline for Lent. We Catholics have it fairly light in terms of required discipline: two days of actual fasting – Ash Wednesday and Good Friday – and no meat on any Fridays. But we’re encouraged to take on other penances ourselves.

So, here’s how I’m going about the whole Lenten thing.

Prayer, Fasting, Almsgiving

Prayer is the foundation and the heart of Lent. But not just any prayer. It’s a prayer of testing. Jesus went into the desert to be tested, so this prayer is for strength and endurance in the face of testing, in the face of temptation. It’s also a prayer of abandonment to God. It’s giving him permission to test me, and to challenge me in ways I haven’t necessarily planned for.

So, I’m taking up an old form of prayer: the Liturgy of the Hours. I’ve prayed this way before, and I’ve taken a break from it for a little while. But it’s very appropriate for Lent because it constantly recalls me to the very basics of my dependence on God.

As for fasting, I’m going to give up salty snacks (like chips and peanuts and such) as well as desserts at home. These are things that I really do long for, that I’ll notice are gone from my diet, and that will remind me that “man does not live on bread alone.” And that’s the main point of fasting: to rely on God’s care at a fundamental level. I don’t make my own food. God, ultimately, is the one who feeds me.

Also, on the not-so-foodlike-stuff level, I’m giving up computer games. I enjoy the heck out of them, but they too easily distract me from what’s truly important in life.

I’ll be honest: I don’t quite know what to do about almsgiving. I do make regular charitable donations from my income. I probably could devote a bit more money to it, but I don’t have all that much to give. So I’ve been thinking about doing some kind of volunteer work. I know there’s plenty that needs doing. Just not quite sure where to focus.

If you have any ideas, I’m open to them. I figure I’ll talk it through with my spiritual director when I next see him.

In any case, giving alms is like the other two Lenten disciplines: it forces me to put my trust in God. Not only that I can make do with less, but that God can give great things to others through me.

I don’t know how many of my readers celebrate Lent, but if you want to share what you’re doing, I think it would make great conversation in the comments box!

Just get it done

One of my friends describes her life as “the daily grind.” She’s worried that she doesn’t have the joy or enthusiasm for things that she used to. She feels tied down, restricted by the work of just maintaining stuff in her life: job, home, relationships, and so on.

My experience is totally different: I’ve been bouncing all over the place so much in the past few years that I’m soaking up stability and regularity wherever I can find it. It’s comforting to me to punch the clock at work, to have a morning routine, to do things like fill the car with gas or hit the grocery store on the way home.

But I have some distance from the chaos of the last couple years, well, I’ll probably get tired of the daily grind myself. And maybe my friend will find some new inspiration in her life.

The only constant is change

The trick is to find some way to happiness, some way to excellence, regardless of mood or life circumstances or whatever. And this is where virtue comes in.

Virtue is constancy in the midst of change.

Virtue holds up the goal, the ideal, the good, and shows the path to strive for it. The good, happiness, never changes; even though the way to pursue it often does.

Sometimes it takes courage; sometimes it takes self-restraint. Sometimes it means stepping back to a more objective distance; and sometimes it means jumping into immediate action.

Sometimes virtue is sticking with a person through thick and thin, even when you don’t feel like it. And other times, virtue is making a change, even when you’re overwhelmed by fear.

How to know the right thing to do

It’s easiest to see right and wrong in the rear-view mirror: hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. But there are a few things we can do in the moment to make better decisions – even if they’re not always the best:

1. Know the goal: take some time regularly to sort through your priorities. Check your list with someone you trust. Give yourself a clear, concrete image of what you’re aiming for
2. Take inventory: before making a difficult decision, look around and double-check the facts of the situation. Ask if there’s anything you’re missing. Ask if you’re assuming something that isn’t really there.
3. Listen to your heart: if something feels very right, or very wrong, there’s got to be a reason for it. Look for that reason. Don’t dismiss it.
4. Follow your head: your heart can give you good information, but it makes lousy decisions. Leave the actual decision to your reason. Ask yourself how you can move toward your goal, toward happiness, toward excellence, in this situation here and now. And, if you’ve gathered all the facts, trust your reasoning. Do what you have concluded is good, no matter how you feel about it.

For me, it’s the last two that always are the hardest. My feelings cloud my thinking; or my thinking pushes down my feelings. But I keep trying to learn from my mistakes, to go back and try to do better next time. Even small progress is better than no progress at all.