Virtue Quest

A cop pulled me over the other evening as I was driving home from work.

I had to move into a turn lane so that I could make it to the freeway onramp, and there were a couple cars in the lane with just enough room for me to squeeze in between them. So I flicked my turn signal, checked my blind spot, and moved over.

Immediately, the car behind me – a black, unmarked sedan – flashed police lights and a spotlight right in my rear-view mirror. There was no shoulder, so I turned into a parking lot and the police car pulls behind me.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked. “You failed to signal for one hundred feet before changing lanes, and you cut me off so that I had to apply my brake to avoid a collision.”

After he let me go, I cruised on home. Driving along the freeway, I kept thinking how I’ve done the same maneuver a thousand times without an accident, and I was pretty sure he was actually accelerating to close the gap I had moved into, and didn’t this guy have anything better to do than pull me over?

But at some point it occurred to me that the officer was in fact correct. I had broken the traffic law. And he had every right, even an obligation, to pull me over.

For the record – or, thankfully, the lack of one – he let me off with a warning.

Now, this didn’t stop me from driving about five over the speed limit on my way home. And it didn’t make me call the police station to confess my every traffic violation. But it did remind me that I am not the standard by which the law should be set. I’m an ordinary schmoe, and I make mistakes, and I cut corners when I think I can get away with it.

Even so, the law reminded me that the road is a dangerous place, where I’m skimming the concrete at sixty-five, surrounded by two-ton juggernauts of aluminum and steel that are flying by at least as fast as I’m going. So I did drive a little more carefully.

And, meanwhile, I’m trying to be more open to correction in every part of my life. Because, just as on the road, I’m not always right. I make mistakes. I cut corners. I don’t always get away with it – and thank God! If there were never any consequences, I’d never learn from my mistakes, and I would hurt my friends much more often than I already do.

Aristotle says that the point of his book on ethics is to lay the groundwork for politics. He, like most of the Greeks from what I can tell, had a very State-centered view of the world.

But I think there are a couple important points here.

First, personal ethics really does have public implications. How I act in private cannot be separated from how I act in public and how the rest of society acts.

Second, Aristotle’s insight isn’t quite so anti-individual as it seems; after all, he sees that the human person is a social creature, that no man is an island, that it is not good to be alone. So, looking for the good life, he necessarily has to look at the life of the community.

Government and society

The poster I’m using to illustrate this post comes from a Conservative Party campaign in Great Britain. It’s a kind of retraction of a saying of Margaret Thatcher, the Conservative Prime Minister in the 1980’s. She once said, “There is no such thing as society.”

This poster turns that statement on its head by pointing out a distinction that we tend to blur in the 21st century – at least, in the English-speaking world. I can’t count the number of times when, in conversation, I’ve mentioned that “society” or “the whole community” has responsibility for some aspect of life – health care, to take a current example.

My interlocutors often would jump in with either, “No! The government should stay out of health care!” or “Yes! That’s exactly why we need a single-payer program!”

But government is not the same thing as the community.

Instead, it seems to me that people assume government will take responsibility for the problems and duties of the community. I’m not convinced that’s the case.

Neither right nor left

Here’s the thing: the so-called political right has a point in saying that a big government or “nanny state” tends to encourage irresponsible behavior by citizens by absolving them of personal responsibility for themselves and for one another.

And the so-called political left has a point in saying that government is the only entity which really comprehends the entire populace, and so can serve those who fall through the gaps in other social structures.

But while both of these “sides” see a real problem, neither seems to know where the solution lies. The right tends to want government to serve the “private sector”, meaning business; and the left tends to want the private sector to become a branch of government. But neither focus on the truly personal.

Personal virtue

It seems to me that any system, whether in government or business or anything else, is doomed to failure if it bases itself on a fantasy rather than on a reality. And one fantasy is that a system, in and of itself, will make the world better – no matter what quality of people are in the system.

But the fact is, human nature tends to find loopholes and gaps and ways to “work” any and every system it encounters. The answer is not a new system. The answer is to encourage each and every person to strive for excellence, for goodness, for virtue. The answer is to focus on the person.

Sometimes words can hinder clear communication as much as they help it.

I’ve seen many commentators, on this blog and elsewhere, object to the phrase “intrinsically evil” with reference to torture. So I’d like to try to translate and/or clarify what this phrase really means.

Evil

From a philosophical point of view, evil is not a thing itself. Rather, evil is the twisting or destruction or denial of a good thing. Evil must have a good thing to distort; it cannot exist as a separate thing, any more than “big” can exist without some thing to be large.

Keeping that in mind, when we call something “evil” or “bad” or “wrong”, what we really mean is that the thing is not what it ought to be. A “bad” apple is one that has rotted, or perhaps one that has not yet ripened. An “evil” deed is one that fails to enact the love or truth which it should.

Intrinsic

It’s understandable to me that some would consider the phrase “intrinsic evil” to be an oxymoron. After all, what’s wrong with the apple is not that it exists; it’s that it lacks the good that it ought to have.

This is also where we get the very sane requirement to love a sinner (because he or she is good, being a creature of God) and to hate the sin (because such actions distort or pervert the goodness of being human).

Now, some evils are accidental. If I step on my co-worker’s toe because I wasn’t watching where I was going, I harm the health of my co-worker and the camaraderie between us; but that is easily remedied by an apology and (if I was wearing my steel-toed boots) an ice pack.

But other evils are actions whose entire purpose is to distort the good. A deliberate lie, for example. Or, if I were to stomp on my co-worker’s toe out of spite. Whatever good thing I might be seeking (safety or advantage or even a vengeful kind of justice) is itself ruined because my action is itself meant to harm. The intention is to attack what is good, such as truth or health, in another.

And this is what “intrinsically evil” conveys: an act with the direct purpose of attacking, distorting, twisting, breaking down, or altogether destroying some good thing. That is, the evil is intrinsic (rooted inside) the action.

Torture

Now, just as human life and human dignity is perhaps the greatest good we have in this life, attacks on human life and dignity are some of the greatest evils.

This is why torture, which directly attacks the dignity of another by physical and mental and spiritual torment, is considered an evil so great that it is absolutely prohibited. It is not an act that one can commit accidentally. It requires someone to twist and distort some part of his or her conscience in order to do it. It is literally inhuman.

Now, I’m happy to concede that there are limits to the usefulness of the phrase “intrinsically evil”. But an objection to the phrase cannot be an excuse for a twisting of one’s conscience to the point that torture becomes an acceptable practice, under any circumstances.

Cross-posted from Coalition for Clarity.

Siobhan asked me if I was ever going to write about anything besides prudence. My short answer is, yes-and-no.

The long answer is that, the way I see it, writing about any one of the virtues really entails writing about them all. Every virtue implies every other, ultimately. The names are simply a matter of focus.

… from a certain point of view…

As far as I know, this approach to virtue is something I made up on my own, so I welcome anybody to correct or refine what I’m saying here.

It seems to me that the virtues are not exactly separate things from each other, but distinct aspects of a virtuous action.

So, any given action – for example, eating a bowl of ice cream (one of my favorite actions!) – can be seen from the perspective of prudence, or justice, or fortitude, or temperance. For that matter, you can look at it from the point of view of faith, or hope, or love.

My thinking is still a bit muddy, but I find the cardinal virtue / theological virtue distinction to be valuable here, showing two major lenses to use in looking at actions.

Cardinal virtues

So, in deciding about eating a bowl of ice cream, one can ask whether it is prudent. That is, is eating ice cream really a good thing for me in my current situation?

One can also ask, is it temperate? That is, are my desires within me in harmony with the truth and facts I’ve prudently discovered? Or, is it courageous? That is, must I overcome obstacles in order to achieve the good that I have prudently discovered?

Finally, one acts. And one asks, is this action just? That is, am I pursuing good in accordance with reality, opposing my false desires and overcoming obstacles?

So, prudence discovers the good; fortitude and temperance clear the way to pursuing that good, one by overcoming external obstacles and the other by opposing internal disorders; and justice acts to pursue the good. All the virtues collaborate in the process of taking action, and any given action is virtuous to the extent that it conforms to all the cardinal virtues.

Theological virtues

I see the theological virtues as a kind of parallel. Faith discovers the good – not merely relying on my own reason, but trusting in the testimony of others. Hope clears the path to the good by putting false desires and external obstacles in proper perspective. And love acts for the good, even by laying down one’s life for one’s beloved.

So the theological virtues build upon the cardinal virtues and express them, not merely from my own individual and human perspective, but from a higher perspective, even a divine perspective.

What about the ice cream?

I understand that the greatest question here may be, “Yeah, but did you eat the ice cream?”

How could you be in any doubt? Ice cream is a form of pure concentrated goodness.

Of course I ate the ice cream!

Tomorrow – today, already, in some time zones – is Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday, celebrated as a holiday in these United States. This coming week is also a big deal for the pro-life movement, with the national March for Life in D.C. on Friday the 22nd, preceded closer to my home by the Washington State March for Life on Tuesday the 19th.

Both these movements, civil rights and right to life, are movements of social justice that base themselves in the idea of human rights. They argue that basic human rights are (or have been) unjustly denied to human beings.

They both are political movements, asking for changes in the letter or in the application of law. They ask that the law conform to the ideal of justice. But they both also acknowledge that justice truly comes to life in the concrete actions of individual people.

Human law and Natural Law

Dr. Martin Luther King repeated a saying of St. Augustine’s on the relationship of legal justice to moral justice: “An unjust law is no law at all.” That is to say, there is a law higher than any laws that human legislators can pronounce.

This higher law usually goes by the name, Natural Law. Natural Law claims to be a universal moral and ethical code, rooted in human nature and common to every culture and creed in the world. Natural Law is the ideal of justice, the standard by which all human laws are measured.

The theory is that, if anyone from any culture gave a question sufficient thought, he or she would arrive at the same basic conclusion about what is right or wrong, what is good and what is evil. Freedom and equality are good, theft and murder are evil, for example. Therefore, these are principles that can be applied across national borders and religious differences.

This is the basis of fundamental human rights. Today, people largely agree that human rights belong to all people, regardless of racial, ethnic, or national background. In the U.S., at least, many people disagree about whether human rights belong to all people, regardless of their stage of biological development.

Legal justice, social justice, personal justice

So, the laws our government makes and enforces should not merely follow the will of the people; the law should reflect the justice of Natural Law, of fundamental and universal human rights.

But justice requires more than human legislation. It is not enough to permit people of different skin color to use the same drinking fountain or to attend the same schools. People are more than just citizens; they are members of a society, a culture, and justice requires that they be treated as fully human in that social context.

Regarding race and ethnicity, this remains a live question in the U.S. Should there be such a thing as “black identity” (or “Irish” or “Latino” or anything else)? If so, how do people of diverse “identities” treat each other with fairness and respect?

Regarding abortion and euthanasia, this question is almost forbidden. The social climate thrusts the entire matter onto the individual, the mother of an “unwanted” child – as if there are no social implications to children being “unwanted.”

Finally, justice appears properly as a virtue in the actions of individuals. Today, in this situation, facing this person or these people, how does one act with fairness and respect? How does one give to each person what is due to him or her?

Justice begins by recognizing the dignity of every human person, based simply on the fact of his or her humanity. And this becomes obvious in our actions in times of crisis: look at the response to the earthquake in Haiti. No one questions whether the Haitians are human enough, or are worthy. It is enough to know that they are human, and that their suffering is beneath human dignity.

Justice is acting to restore that dignity, wherever it is threatened.

James Chastek writes an intriguing post on how “rights” are not sufficient to provide true justice.

I’ve been watching “Monk” with my family for some time, and we all gathered around the tele last night for the series finale.

For those who don’t watch much TV, the show follows Adrian Monk (played by Tony Shalhoub), a former detective for the San Francisco Police whose OCD went into overdrive when he lost his wife twelve years ago. He’s been consulting with the department, because he has an uncanny insight into what “doesn’t fit” at a crime scene. Mostly, it’s a comedy hung loosely on a detective show with the running gag of how to set off Monk’s phobias or obsessions. Sort of an anti-Columbo.

The one case he’s never solved is his own wife’s murder. So, of course, the series had to end with the solution to this cold case. As with most episodes, the actual clues and mystery-solving aspect of the story are mostly incidental. The resolution is quick and neatly resolved. It’s all about the character quirks. But it surprised me by showing a dark side of Monk’s character that I did not at all expect from a normally light entertainment.

* * * Spoilers to follow! * * *

Monk has always been haunted by his inability to solve his wife’s murder, but when he discovers the killer’s identity, he has two very dark reactions: he grows vengeful, and he implies that his OCD derives from an inability to “breathe the same air” as Trudy’s killer.

Vengeance and Justice

You knew this had to get back to virtue at some point, didn’t you?

Justice is the act of giving to each person their due. This is obviously the principle behind civil justice: I sue someone who refuses to give me what they owe me. But it’s also the case in criminal justice. In committing a crime, the criminal owes the victim what belongs to them; and, a little less obviously but just as truly, the criminal “is due” the consequences and punishment that belong to the crime.

Vengeance, on the other hand, is the simple desire to harm someone who has harmed me. It belongs to the “misery loves company” class of motivations. Vengeance says, “I have suffered, and I want that person to suffer at least as much – maybe even more!” It’s not interested in restoring order or right; just in causing hurt.

Monk’s vengeful turn

Now, throughout the series, Monk has consistently sided with justice over vengeance. But then, he’s also consistently made an exception to all reason and logic wherever his wife was concerned. Even so, in a previous episode he was not willing to kill the person who planted the bomb that killed Trudy.

So I was surprised to see him, not only asking Stottlemeyer (Ted Levine) to kill the suspect without a trial, but actually stealing a gun and apparently threatening to kill the suspect himself. I was also surprised that he had no reaction other than “emptiness” that the suspect committed suicide.

If the show was willing to go into that area of wrath and revenge, I would have hoped that they would, well, do the topic justice. Show Monk struggle with his desire for revenge, his regret that he didn’t pull the trigger himself, and so on.

I also had hoped that, having set up that Monk didn’t want to “breathe the same air” that Trudy’s killer breathed, they might have resolved that with some idea of the world being “cleaner” now. But maybe there I’m reading more into the statement than it warrants.

Character welcome

Now, I know all too well that Monk is just a fun diversion, and is not intended to be high art or profound literature. Even so, I do wish it would reach a little higher – especially in episodes where it delves into some deeper aspect of a character. Frankly, I think any show is more entertaining – more funny, more exciting, more romantic, what have you – when it reflects the fullness of human life and motivation.

Monk’s series finale left me, unfortunately, with a rather flat character whom I just didn’t believe in anymore, much less care about or identify with.

Ah well. That leaves more time for my own writing.

For my small handful of international readers, this week the U.S. is celebrating its Thanksgiving holiday. It’s one of the few holidays on the national calendar that truly deserves the name: it is a day dedicated to a holy act – giving thanks for the good we have received.

The attitude of gratitude

I find it ironic that a festival for giving thanks has both taken deep cultural root in the U.S. and even has become a civil holiday. Why? Because “the American dream” is so rooted in self-reliance, in pulling oneself up by one’s own bootstraps, in the notion of independence. The American ideal is to take what one earns rather than to receive what one is given.

But I think most people – American or otherwise – are too wise to believe all that. I’m certainly aware of how much I have been given without a hint of deserving or earning on my part: my very life, to begin with; my education; the love of my friends and family; the benefits of growing up in the late twentieth century in the wealthiest nation on the planet.

I think there are two ways to show gratitude: first is to rejoice at the gift, and to celebrate the one who gave you the gift; the second way is to use the gift, to unwrap it and give it a place in your life. In other words, when Grandma gives you a sweater, you tell her “Thank you” and then you wear it the next time you see her.

Developing the virtue of gratitude

For much of my life, I felt guilty about all the gifts I’d been given. I actually hated my birthday and Christmas because I had done nothing to deserve the presents I received. I somehow felt like they weren’t actually mine if I hadn’t earned them.

In other words, I’d let the “American ideal” overcome the natural order of things in my life.

Needless to say, “Thank you” did not come easily from my lips – until I realized that gifts are the most natural thing in the world. I realized that gifts always come before accomplishments or “earnings”. And that almost all the anxiety and frustration in my life came from refusing to receive anything as a gift.

So, over the past few years, I’ve been practicing the virtue of gratitude. I don’t mean just saying “Thank you.” I mean pushing aside that feeling of unworthiness and focusing on the goodness of the gift. This is even true of gifts that I don’t want or that are useless to me: I can focus on the love that someone is expressing by giving me something.

And, like all virtues, it grows with practice. By receiving small gifts, physical gifts, I find it’s easier to see the less tangible gifts. I find it’s easier to rejoice in my family, my friends, even co-workers and colleagues. I find it’s easier to see what is good in my church, my country, my home. I find it easier to give thanks for my own life, and I want to use my life for a good purpose.

One of these days, I’ll have to write a post on procrastination. I’m not sure when I’ll get around to it. Probably as soon as I finish explaining all the virtues in copious detail, finish writing my novel, get to the weekend, or maybe just as soon as I finish lunch.

I’m not even including the stupid excuses, like: as soon as I finish this game of solitaire, or, as soon as I finish watching this TV show.

It’s always “as soon as I….” It’s like a disease. And, as I was describing it to my friend the other day, she came up with a name for the disease: assoonasitis – a chronic inflamation and swelling of “as soon as I” in one’s vocabulary, leading to gross inactivity, perpetual vegetative state, and ultimately death.

Is there a doctor in the house?

I’ve never found a cure, and I don’t claim to be an expert on treating this disease, but I’ve lived with it all my life and I’ve tried all sorts of ways to overcome it, or at least to manage it.

I have only found two methods that consistently work.

• Regular accountability therapy with a trustworthy friend
• Immediate application of action at the first sign of an “as soon as I” flare-up

These methods need to be used together. Holding myself accountable to a friend gives me a consistent sense of motivation, as well as feedback on what I’m doing well and where I need improvement. I have one friend that I call every week, on a schedule. I have another friend whom I usually run into at least a couple times a week, and we both take the opportunity to catch up with each other.

This reduces the “as soon as I” impulse, but it doesn’t eliminate it entirely. That’s why the second method is just as important: in the very instant I find myself making excuses, right away I need to start doing something active and productive and useful. It doesn’t necessarily need to be the exact thing I’m avoiding; but it does need to be on the list of tasks I need to accomplish that day. It can be as simple as taking a shower, or as complex as driving across town for a project. The important thing is that I stop thinking up excuses in my head, and start doing something good with my body.

Virtue: medicine for what ails you

The reason these work is that the best way to overcome a vice is to replace it with a virtue. So, in my case, the vice is sloth and procrastination. The virtue I need is actually prudence leading to justice: it’s seeing reality instead of my made-up excuses, and acting according to that reality.

If you have found ways of overcoming procrastination, please tell us about it in the comment box, or drop me a line. Thanks!

My friends will not be surprised to hear that I’ve been in a heated theological argument this past week. I was on a discussion forum, and someone said something I thought was just wrong, and I responded and he responded and I responded to his response and… you see where this is going.

It took up way too much of my time.

And, at certain points, I admit I lost my temper and wrote disrespectful things.

How to lose your temper

What happened? I mean, I’m the most friendly, even-keeled, rational guy I know … at least, of all the people who are typing on this keyboard right now.

What happened was that I took his critiques of my argument personally, as attacks against me. It’s a little ironic, because at times he did attack me personally; now, when someone says straight out, “You’re an idiot,” it’s easy to dismiss. The poor guy has obviously lost it.

But when he provided good evidence against my position, I said to myself, “You’re an idiot.” And a burning desire flared up in my belly: I wanted to shout back at him some incredibly sophisticated insult to put him in his place. Something like, “Oh yeah? Well you’re an idiot!”

My problem was that I was identifying a weakness in my argument with a weakness in myself. And, rather than acting to correct whatever weakness was there, I tried to blame the weakness on someone else.

Anger: vice? virtue? or passion?

I grew up thinking that anger was always wrong. I’d feel guilty just for feeling mad. Yet there really is such a thing as “righteous indignation”. The question is not so much what I’m feeling, as what I’m doing with those feelings.

Thomas Aquinas defines anger as “the desire to hurt another for the purpose of just vengeance.” (ST I-II q47 a1) By “just vengeance,” he means punishing someone for the harm they have done toward oneself. In other words, anger is the desire to punish a wrongdoer.

So, when I’m getting riled up, I have two questions I need to ask: first, what harm has been done to me? and second, what action would restore justice?

More often than not, I can stop at the first question. I could be imagining that the person is insulting me or means me harm. Or maybe the harm is completely unintentional, or worse, my own fault. The anger doesn’t always go away, but I know that I can’t take it out on someone else.

Calm anger with justice

On the rare occasion that someone really has harmed me unjustly, well, that’s when it’s tough. I feel like I simply want to hurt the other person. We all know that’s almost never the solution. The question is, can the harm be repaired? Can the person who hurt me make restitution? Can what is wrong be made right?

If so, then anger provides the energy and motivation to hold that person accountable – so long as I’m able to keep my anger focused on justice.

But if there’s nothing anyone can do to repair the damage, then the only thing to do is let go. Forgive, if the person apologizes. And accept the simple fact that life isn’t always fair.

Beating up a punching bag may be about as good as it gets. But it’s far far better than taking unjust vengeance. Two wrongs never equal a right.