Virtue Quest

Love puts all the pieces together

I’m a big-picture kind of guy. I like to know where things are headed, and why. Only then can I really focus on the particular parts or steps.

So, in looking at living a virtuous life, a fully human and humane life, my first question is, “What makes an action or a habit to be virtuous?”

As far as I can see, there are three contenders for the title of “form of the virtues,” or, to put it another way, “foundation of morality.” They are:

1. Duty
2. Interest
3. Love

Now, before I go any further, I think it’s clear that any coherent approach to human action has to take account of all three of these aspects of morality. But the question of priority, of which one governs the others, is critical. I’m convinced that most ethical problems – both personally and in the public square – would become much more manageable if we had the big picture straight.

Duty and interest: how we think and how we act

When I ask a moral question, I tend to phrase it something like this: “What should I do?” or “What’s the right thing to do?” And the thing that makes me worry or question my decisions is usually a conflict between what I think I ought to do and what I want to do. I want another beer, but I promised to be the designated driver; I ought to treat my boss with respect, but I want to tell everybody what a jerk he/she is; I want that new smart phone, but I know I can’t afford the monthly payments; that sort of conflict.

That sense of duty is strongest (for me, at least,) in the little everyday decisions. I’ll ignore the duty to eat healthy food and get exercise, but I’ll feel guilty about it. When I’m in the checkout line, I don’t even think about not paying for the food or clothes or whatever I’ve bought. It’s a duty, after all.

But whenever I’m not strictly bound by duty, the sense of my own interest becomes more important. I ask, things like: “Do I want to marry this person?” or, “Do I want to take this job?” rather than, “Should I marry so-and-so?” or “Should I work for Mom & Pop Inc.?” The question of desire, of what is in my “best interest” seems to dominate in those kinds of decisions.

Duty is a category of justice: it tells us what we owe (what is due) to each other or, in a reflexive way, even to ourselves. It looks at the world in terms of what is required or necessary in any given situation.

Interest is more personal: it is focused on how to get what is best for me. My will, my desire, is the only standard it recognizes. It looks at the world in terms of what is desirable and possible.

In other words, duty doesn’t know how to deal with optional or free choices; and interest doesn’t know how to deal with obligations, seeing laws or rules merely as obstacles to be overcome. Stated this baldly, it’s pretty clear that neither duty nor interest works as a basis for moral life. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking in terms of duty and from acting in terms of my interests.

Love: forming and shaping desire

This is where the virtue of love shows its ability to support every aspect of human life. I’m not talking about the emotion of love, or affection, or being in love. Love as a virtue shows us the big picture of what is good in life.

Thomas Aquinas notes that “good” has two aspects: “One, the ultimate and universal good, the other proximate and particular.” Love is what shows us the ultimate good, and puts everything else in context. It’s like looking at the picture of a puzzle: it shows where each piece belongs.

If I love the environment, that shapes the kind of transportation I use and how I dispose of my trash and the kinds of things I eat and so on. If I love my spouse, then I look for things we can enjoy together and for ways I can contribute to his/her comfort and happiness.

Duty and interest are both important to help us make choices about particular goods. But Love knows when to call on them, how to balance them, how to choose in optional matters and how to accept obligations and requirements. Love shows us how to be fully ourselves, and fully human. That is why love is the form of all the other virtues.

A wicked left hook

A reader named bob commented on a previous post:

Simply asserting that rights are moral concepts does not make them so, otherwise I could assert anything.

This followed on an argument about whether “I have a right” could imply an “ought”, such as, “you ought to respect my right.”

My point was that it is one thing to say, “I have a right to free speech,” and another to say, “I have a wicked left hook.” Both are assertions of fact. But the first is a moral assertion whereas the second is merely descriptive. This is because (as I stated in my reply to bob) “right” is itself a moral concept: like justice, or love, or honor, the term itself contains “ought” as well as “is.”

Now, I think bob took me to be saying that “right” is a morally good or valid concept. So he gives the following examples:

By declaring “rights” as inherently moral, just because we define them as such, we open the door to use that language to justify anything. I have the right to eat ice cream. I have the right to drink beer.

I had no intention of playing either Tweedle-dum or Tweedle-dee. Rather, I meant that by using the language of rights, we automatically involve judgments about obligations and relationships between persons, because such judgments are contained in the definition of “right”.

That doesn’t mean we have to assent to every claim of a right. It only means we need to take it seriously as a moral claim, and judge whether the claim is true or not.

Natural rights and civil rights

Now, I take it for granted that we can all agree about civil rights. Civil rights are rights granted by the State, such as the right to vote or the right to remain silent. These rights can be revoked. They may be limited to a certain group of people such as, citizens, or adults over the age of 18, and so on. The question of whether so-and-so has a civil right to such-and-such can be determined in a court of law.

What bob calls into question is whether there are (or can be) natural rights, also known as “rights of Man” or “human rights.”

It’s a good question. In my previous post, I stated that a right is sort of the flip side of a duty. If you have a duty toward me, then I have a right to what is due me. If I have a right, then someone has a duty to respect that right. So, even though I think there’s far too much talk these days about rights, and far too little about duty, I’m willing to fight for the reality of rights. If there are no such things as rights, then it seems to me that there are likewise no such things as duties.

Now, a natural right (or a natural duty) is one that follows from nature. That is, the basis and foundation of these rights (and duties) is my human nature.

But a right is a kind of ownership of something, and a duty is a kind of debt. Both are kinds of relationships to other people. They do not exist in an isolated individual, but they necessarily exist in a community. You cannot interact with other people for very long without agreeing about who may or may not do this or use that.

So, the question is, is human nature essentially communal or individual? Are we meant to live together in mutual support, or are we independent and therefore competitive when we encounter one another.

That’s a critically important question, but I’ll leave it for another post.

Third Edition

My most meticulous fans/stalkers will have noticed that I’ve (finally) updated my Reading List page. I’m in the middle of After Virtue, by Alasdair MacIntyre. And fairly early on, Prof. MacIntyre makes the stunning claim that he doesn’t think human rights are real.

Here’s what he actually says:

[T]he truth is plain: there are no such rights, [i.e., human rights, natural rights, rights of man,] and belief in them is one with belief in witches and in unicorns.

The best reason for asserting so bluntly that there are no such rights is indeed of precisely the same type as the best reason which we possess for asserting that there are no witches and the best reason which we possess for asserting that there are no unicorns: every attempt to give good reasons for believing that there are such rights has failed. (p. 69, emphasis in the original.)

He then claims that modern attempts to explain or demonstrate or justify “rights” essentially contradicts itself.

What’s a right?

It’s difficult to argue with Prof. MacIntyre here because, while he gives a decent history of the term “human rights,” he doesn’t give much in the way of a definition of it. He focuses on explaining the universality of “rights.” Nor does he give much of an argument against them; he merely states that other attempts have failed.

Now, he might have gone into greater depth elsewhere, maybe even elsewhere in this book – I’m only about halfway through. But if I had made such a bold statement, I would have devoted a page or three to fleshing out my argument.

I think that the idea of “rights” is so important to our society these days that it’s worth thinking about a bit. I used to be of Prof. MacIntyre’s mind on the subject, that “rights” are a fiction, a myth. But I’ve read and thought and experienced a great deal since then, and I’m now firmly of the opinion that “rights” are indeed a real moral category, even if the way we think or talk about them leaves much to be desired.

So, here is my own definition of “rights”: a right is the flip-side of a duty. To claim a right is to claim that something belongs to me; that if I do not have it, then it is owed to me; and that it is owed to me by society in general and by any member of society who happens to be there at a given time.

In other words, if I have a right, then you have a duty toward me.

What Prof. MacIntyre gets right about rights

Now, Prof. MacIntyre notes a number of negative effects on society that arise from the focus on rights that has grown since the Enlightenment. For example, a focus on rights tends to isolate individuals, and presumes an adversarial relationship between individuals. It encourages selfish and self-centered thinking. It neglects the bonds and relationships I have with other people.

But all that’s needed is to say, “Hey, let’s not focus so much on rights!” Perhaps, “Let’s keep rights in perspective,” or, “We need to rediscover the dignity and respect we owe one another, rather than competing against each other.”

Granted, that’s an uphill battle. Our culture has discarded almost any kind of universal moral claim except “human rights.” But that doesn’t mean that those other claims don’t exist, any more than “rights” didn’t exist before the terminology was developed. Rather, it means that we have to learn (or re-learn) how to think and talk about them.