Virtue Quest

I’m reading a book written by an old friend, Fr. Janko Zagar, OP, titled Acting on Principles. It’s basically a summary of what’s usually called “Fundamental Moral Theology” in seminaries, but it’s written in plain English with concrete examples that make it quite accessible to a layperson.

Early on, he articulates a distinction that has always eluded me: the difference between the “end of the act” and the “end of the agent.”

Okay, yeah, that’s a bit of technical language. But the truly excellent thing is how he translates it in a way I can not only understand, but put into use in my own life.

When an end is not an end

So here’s the bit that has always confused me. On the one hand, it’s pretty basic to morality that “The ends don’t justify the means,” meaning that it’s wrong to steal a cookie even if you’re giving it to your sister. You can’t lie to your spouse just to protect his or her feelings. And so on.

At the same time, it’s another basic feature of morality that “The end specifies the act,” that is, an action is defined by its end.

I hope I’m not the only one who has trouble reconciling those two statements.

But here’s where Fr. Janko comes to my rescue. (more…)

Just finished reading The Tipping Point by Malcom Gladwell. Yes, I know I’m a decade behind on that trend. I found it an easy read, full of motivation to actually learn how statistics work so that I don’t make the same mistakes Gladwell does.

But the most important thing I learned came, not from Gladwell himself, but from an author he refers to: Judith Harris, in her book The Nurture Assumption. The following is Gladwell’s summary:

Parents provide food and a home and protection and the basics of everyday life that children need to be safe and healthy and happy. But does it make a lasting difference to the personality of your child if you are an anxious and inexperienced parent, as opposed to being authoritative and competent? Are you more likely to create intellectually curious children by filling your house with books? Does it affect your child’s personality if you see him or her two hours a day, as opposed to eight hours a day? In other words, does the specific social environment that we create in our homes make a real difference in the way our children end up as adults? … [page-and-a-half snippy] … On the contrary, all of the results strongly suggest that our environment plays as big – if not bigger – a role as heredity in shaping personality and intelligence. What it is saying is that whatever that environmental influence is, it doesn’t have a lot to do with parents.

In other words, I maybe should stop blaming my mom for everything that’s wrong with my life.

Except that I don’t really buy Gladwell’s arguments*, so I’m not sure how much credence to give his summary of Harris, whom I haven’t read at all. So…

I guess I’ll keep blaming Mom. For now. Better than taking responsibility for myself, anyway.

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* He essentially argues for general principles from anecdotal evidence, and tries to bolster it by referring to statistical conclusions without actually providing any statistical data to show he’s not cooking the books. So I’m not saying he’s wrong; I’m just saying he hasn’t made his case in a convincing way.

So, as I mentioned in the comments below, I’m an economic and political ignoramus, and I’m essentially live-blogging my self-education. So, of course, Adam Smith’s classic The Wealth of Nations is on my reading list; I’m working through it now.

Now, I’ve been told that Smith isn’t quite the die-hard laissez faire 100% regulation free super-capitalist my mother warned me about. I’m advised that he’s quite a moral guy, and sees an important role for government regulation in the marketplace, but that those parts come later in the book. I’m happy to keep reading.

But there are a few major red flags popping up in the first few chapters, and I thought I’d mention them because they all have one thing in common: they put things ahead of people.

Unwarranted assumptions

Smith makes a number of assertions at the beginning of his work, (more…)

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.

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.

Among the pungent foods, garlic stands out as my favorite. But onions hold a close second – especially sauteed or, still better, caramelized onions. This simple bulb hides an almost overwhelming variety of flavors that march forth in orderly fashion as it basks in low, slow heat: from bright and acrid to mild and savory to utterly buttery and ultimately to sweet in a way so different than every other sweet I’ve tasted that it’s almost a misnomer to call it sweet.

So when I was looking for a good burger the other night, I found the local restaurant Blazing Onion irresistible.

Let’s start with the virtues on display, right from walking in the door. They tell you where the beef comes from: Northwest raised, no hormones, just good local cows. They tell you what their proprietary “BOB” sauce contains: mayo, pepper sauce, spices. They even tell you that their “Butter Burger” is uber-high in cholesterol. So, they’ve got honesty down. I like that.

The staff joked around with each other and with me. They clearly know each other, like each other, and like working together. I like signs of humanity in a business.

And then there’s the creativity of the menu. Sure, they have the standard bacon cheeseburger, the requisite BBQ and bleu cheese burger. But they also have a Thai Peanut Burger with shredded cabbage and daikon radish; a Greek Burger with olive tapanade, pepperincini, and sun dried tomato; and burgers of buffalo and wild boar meat. In addition to the burgers, they have proper entrees such as salmon, sirloin steak, and fettuccine. Appetizers include a shrimp basket.

But all of this is before you even order. It was the quality of the food that convinced me to write a blog entry about this place.

I ordered their signature “BOB,” or Blazing Onion Burger. First thing I noticed was that they don’t skimp on the onions. Probably a 1:1 ration of onion to beef on that sandwich. And the onions had been sauteed to perfect butteriness. Most places that offer “grilled onions” seem to think it means heating the onions till they’re soft, and that’s good enough. Here, they clearly know what flavor they want from their onions, and they’re willing to take the time to prepare them correctly. Thank you!

Then the beef itself. One bite and I knew that they had chosen their meat with the same care with which they’d prepared their onions. There was no pink in the burger, yet the rich beef flavor emerged unscathed, which speaks of a good cow to start with and of cooks who know how not to burn it on the grill.

I don’t want to run on too long, so suffice it to say that the fries, the sauces, the French onion soup, and the couple other burger options I sampled from my friends plates (the Thai and the Greek) confirmed that Blazing Onion is more than a single trick pony.

I have only one critique: with burgers so bodacious, a toothpick or a paper wrap to hold it all together would have been helpful. But then again, I did enjoy licking my fingers when I was done, so maybe they planned that as well.

For those of you not blessed with a residence in the Puget Sound area, fear not: they’re planning to expand nationwide over the coming decade. When it does come to your area, do check it out, and see just how good virtue can be!

Eons ago, during the SuperBowl, Old Spice premiered a commercial which became an instant hit. Among the reasons, I think, is because it’s a great example of virtue. Here’s the commercial:

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.

Tim Burton appears to have lost his imagination.

He’s come a long way since the joy of “Beetlejuice” and the genius of “Edward Scissorhands.” Even his adaptation of “Batman” brought an originality to the superhero movie that had been sorely lacking.

But at least since “Sleepy Hollow” his films have followed a steady trend away from character and plot and toward a desperate attempt to recreate the curlicue atmosphere of the classic “The Nightmare Before Christmas”. He hasn’t bothered coming up with interesting stories, relying instead on twisting other people’s tales to suit his vertiginous vision. He’s put Johnny Depp in all sorts of white makeup (none of which matches the beauty of Edward) and he’s papier-mached or CGI-ed trees imitating the Mandelbrot set or the Golden Ratio (depending on his mood). And he’s sacrificed some truly beautiful stories to these visual allusions to his own better work.

“Alice in Wonderland” is no exception. Naturally, he had to start by making Alice older – nineteen – in order to add a touch of sex appeal and to develop a loose and unconvincing coming-of-age story in an attempt to add depth. (As if a story about a girl falling down a mile-deep rabbit hole needed to go any deeper!) He then gives Depp some erratic antics, and his muse Helena Bonham Carter (does anyone else cast her anymore?) her standard sneer-pout-sneer-pout, and his special effects department a blank check to put as many curlicues as they can into the set dressing.

To their credit, Depp as the Mad Hatter and Mia Wasikowska as Alice turn in solid performances, almost covering over the unwarranted shifts in character and the gaping plot holes. Anne Hathaway, on the other hand, was unable to transcend the absurd role of the White Queen with humanity or believability. Or maybe it was just frustration with Burton’s demand that she keep her hands constantly in the air.

Ultimately, the film fails on the level of imagination. (And yes, this is where I make the virtue connection.) Imagination requires a freedom of mind, as well as a solid grounding in reality – neither of which Burton seems able to muster any more. The closest to reality he comes is the idea that international trade is a way to get rich. But his grasp of courtship, of the tension between social expectation and personal expression, and of the nature of authority all fail to consider the human person anything other than a plot-point to be manipulated into a special-effects sequence.

Ultimately, he has no notion of the difference between good and evil. The Red Queen is arbitrary and unpleasant. The White Queen is arbitrary and (so we’re told) pleasant. But the White Queen also brews a witch’s potion without moral qualm – though she’s made some vague vow against taking life; and she shows no virtue or reason she should merit Alice’s loyalty any more than the Red Queen. Well, except that she is albino and her body is not distended by CGI.

Mr. Burton would have done much better had he taken the time to meditate on Lewis Carroll’s works, rather than mutilating them.

I read books three or four at a time, often at starts and stops, and I take forever to get to the end of one. But I read this book in about a month and a half – which is lightning speed for me. Part of that is due to Kreeft’s simple, even homey writing style. Part is due to his straight-forward organization. And part, I admit, is due to my frustration with his approach: I just wanted to get the durned thing done with.

A Christian morality

Now, I’m a Catholic myself and I have no problem with a book on a Catholic approach to the moral life, using scripture as its structure and stories of saints for examples. It’s just not quite what I’m most interested in, so I found myself growing impatient. I wanted a deep treatment of classical (i.e., Greek) virtue ethics; instead I got a comparison of the Beatitudes with the seven deadly sins.

That’s fine. I learned (I hope) a little patience, and I also learned a little more clearly what my own interest is and where I focus. I’m interested in the basic human side of ethics or morality. I’m focused on what fundamental assumptions are necessary for people to live morally with one another.

Or, at least, I’m focused on what fundamental assumptions I need to change in myself so that I can live morally in this world.

Kreeft, however, has practicing Christians as his target audience. His main purpose is to encourage, and also to give context to the struggles that Christians face in their personal and public lives. And that brings me to the two aspects of his book that I absolutely loved.

Virtue in the public sphere

The entire first section of the book describes the relationship between personal virtue and social morality. Granted, he does so in more melodramatic terms than I would choose, but he was writing in the mid-eighties, when the threat of nuclear annihilation loomed large. Still, he connected the dots between a virtuous person and a virtuous culture, and that is no mean feat.

He gives a four-part analysis of any ethical system. All approaches to human behavior follow the same pattern:

1. The problem – what is wrong with the world?
2. The cause of the problem
3. The solution – what the world ought to be like
4. The cause of the solution – that is, the way to make things better

This structure applies to individuals as well as to the human race as a whole, and to communities of any size in between. He then contrasts various philosophical and religious systems, pointing out the limitations of each. Essentially, an error in the first, second or third stage leads to problems in the fourth.

Virtue can be fun!

The other point he makes is that a virtuous approach to life should be, well, lively. It’s not about dour or tedious “thou shalt not’s.” Rather, it’s about finding the fulness of life, the expression of human nature in its entirety.

In other words, virtue leads to freedom, joy, peace, and happiness. If it didn’t, well, what would be the point?