Virtue Quest

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: (more…)

It keeps going, and going, and going...

I’m working my way through Thomas Aquinas’s description of Charity, or Love as a theological virtue, and I’m fascinated by the way he distinguishes Charity from other forms of love. For example, he insists that Charity, properly speaking, is more than a natural virtue. It is not something we can achieve by our own power.

As stated above (Question 23, Article 1), charity is a friendship of man for God, founded upon the fellowship of everlasting happiness.

He later notes that Charity applies to other people because they share with us this fellowship of everlasting happiness in God. But God is always first, and is the source and reason for all Charity.

Now, it’s very important to me that my blog be accessible and welcoming to non-Catholics and non-Christians and non-theists even. This is because, even though I’m firmly convinced of the truth of Catholic teaching, I’m just as firmly convinced that I’m only able to understand and act on that truth in the concrete people and situations of everyday life. Even if the Catholic Church is one of the biggest religions on earth, it’s still only claims less than a quarter of all Americans, and less than one-sixth of the people on this planet. In other words, most of the people I meet and connect with and become friends with are not Catholic. And all these people are my teachers in the virtue of love.

Can non-Christians love?

That said, I’m not going to just reject Thomas’ idea that genuine virtuous love is fundamentally the love of God. (more…)

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!

Pure concentrated goodness?

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!

Some sectors of the web are astir over Brit Hume advising Tiger Woods to abandon Buddhism and embrace Christianity:

I don’t know Hume and have not followed Woods much. But I have had conversations with many of my friends about whether it matters which faith or religion one follows.

Faith as a noun and as a verb

Some of my friends think that the important thing is to have faith – any faith at all. They think that spirituality is a fundamental part of human life, and that it’s not healthy to neglect or avoid it. But the actual content of that spirituality, whether Christian or Buddhist or Native American or some mixture of anything one finds, doesn’t really matter.

What’s important is to have faith rather than what faith one has; the verb of faith trumps the noun.

At the same time, the recent controversies about politicians (such as Patrick Kennedy and Nancy Pelosi) claiming to be faithful to the Catholic Church while opposing some moral teachings of the Church indicate that content – at least by name – really is important.

In other words, the verb defines the meaning of the noun.

Meanwhile, traditional religions such as the Catholic Church teach that the noun should guide the verb. That is, one’s actions should be based on the content of one’s belief. And, moreover, the quality of one’s belief can therefore be discerned in one’s actions.

But don’t they all teach the same thing?

If the content of various religions was the same across the board, there would be very little conflict between religions, and almost none within religions. But this clearly is not the case. Content matters a great deal to a great many people, and for good reason.

I am a Catholic myself, and have done some academic theological study. I admit to being woefully ignorant about Buddhism or Islam or most other major world religions, but I do know that they differ from Catholic Christianity on a basic level.

Catholic teaching, for example, says that our ultimate destiny is communion in love with God. Buddhism, on the other hand, teaches that our ultimate goal is to end they cycle of rebirth through extinction of oneself. Islam sets forth a paradise including a vision of God, but that seems to maintain an absolute separation between God and the believer.

These different visions of ultimate destiny tend toward different attitudes toward morality: a Catholic approach emphasizes love and hope; a Buddhist approach stresses peace and equanimity; Islam sees morality as duty.

Learning from differences

Now, I’m convinced that no religion could have prospered for centuries on end without some insight into the truth of human nature and the world we inhabit. So I think there’s a great deal that the Catholic Church can learn from other religions, and vice versa.

I also know that, despite the differences, we hold many things in common. Most (if not all) world religions seek to draw the individual out of him- or herself to an attentiveness and care for others and for the world itself. This means we can collaborate on all sorts of philanthropic or environmental projects.

But in the end, reality is one; and different religions describe it in contradictory ways. It really matters whether we reincarnate, or whether we rise again in Christ Jesus. It really matters whether we are allowed to eat pork or any meat at all or only vegetables.

It is theoretically possible that all religions on earth are wrong; but at most, one is right. So I see nothing but good in sorting out exactly which one – if any – is true.

Vita breve, ars longa

I’ll admit it: I like my instant gratification to be both instant and gratifying.

It’s tough for me to recognize good things at much of a distance. And I’m often blind to the good in the things that are right in front of my face. Heaven and religion is a great example of my struggle with the virtue of hope.

Lacking the virtue of hope

When I was a kid, I didn’t think much about heaven. I considered it “pie in the sky” and figured I could always worry about it later. And, at the same time, I looked at religion (I was raised Roman Catholic) as a bunch of useless words and gestures that often involved men wearing dresses.

In high school, I took a turn as an atheist for a couple years. I started out by searching for “truth”, but eventually said that I was looking for “meaning” or “purpose” in life. Now that I’ve returned to the religion of my youth, I think a more proper word is hope.

The irony is that I’ve found hope in exactly the place that I could not find it as a child, in God, in Jesus and his Church.

This doesn’t mean I like everything about the Catholic Church. I find some parts of the Mass to be boring, and I find some priests to be embarrassments, and I find some devotions or aspects of spirituality to be silly.

But I’ve come to see that they all are directed toward the ultimate object of hope: union with God, aka, heaven. And I understand this clearly in my mind, even if my heart or my gut don’t like it or don’t get it.

I have two major obstacles to hope: I don’t recognize something as good, or I’m impatient and unwilling to work for something in the future. Both these obstacles show up in spades with regard to hoping for perfect union with God.

Is heaven really good?

I long ago dropped the childish notion of heaven as a kind of eternal amusement park or (worse) lounging endlessly in a toga on a cloud practicing the harp. But even the profound mystical descriptions of heaven: gazing on the face of God, intimate communion in Love, the glorification of my mortal body… all of these, well, kind of leave me cold.

I mentioned in another post that great hopes are built upon smaller hopes. It’s hard to hope for success in a career if one has no experience of success from a game or a musical instrument. And I think this is part of my problem: I tend to be hyper-critical of everything. Go ahead, ask my friends: I can find fault in a sunset or a view of the mountains.

So I’ve been practicing by reminding myself of how good things are around me: how delicious is this food, or how delightful is the time I spend with that friend, or how satisfying it is to get that bass lick down just so. I remind myself of these good things whenever I’m tempted to say that life just sucks and nothing is worth anything.

And I try connect those small feelings in my gut or my heart with the knowledge in my head that God is the ultimate source of all these undeniably good things. It’s an uphill battle, but (as with all virtue) it’s getting a little bit easier as I keep on practicing.

Why can’t I have it right now?

The dieter’s slogan, “A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!” strikes very close to home here. Ice cream and bacon are my particular weaknesses in the realm of gluttony. And overwhelming emotion – usually anger or sadness – is the fix I seek in the realm of “meaning” or “purpose.”

But the union with God that hope truly seeks, like the health of the dieter, means refusing to indulge in emotional fixes. It means overcoming my desire to feel … not so much to feel “good” as to feel intensely or “importantly.” Instead, I have to recognize that the true good, the true importance, is found in God rather than in the feelings I’m seeking.

By indulging myself now, I’m actually moving away from the source of what is good and important.

So, to practice hope, again I remind myself of how false and unnecessary these immediate pleasures are. And then, as soon as possible, I focus my attention on some good activity (like listening to my friend, or cleaning my room, or praying) that really will bring me more fully into union with God.

As I said, I’m definitely rowing upstream here. I fail far more often than I succeed. But I think I have an glimpse of what success looks like.

First off, welcome to all my new readers! I do appreciate your coming ’round. Please make yourself at home and check out the rest of the site. If you have any ideas on how I can improve it, let me know!

So, on to the regularly scheduled post, already in progress…

What Kind of Virtue Am I Seeking?

I’m pretty much working on the classical “cardinal” virtues, as well as the “theological” virtues, that have formed the cornerstone of Western ethical thought for the past two or three millennia. They are:

Cardinal Virtues, by Raphael

• Cardinal Virtues
• Prudence (sometimes called “practical wisdom”)
• Justice
• Fortitude (aka “Courage”)
• Temperance (sometimes called “self-control”)
• Theological Virtues
• Faith
• Hope
• Charity (aka, “Love” or “Agape”)

Now, I picked these because, frankly, they’re the most familiar to me and I’ve actually done some study on them. I know that lots of other people (from Confucius to Benjamin Franklin) have written about virtues, and come up with other lists. I’m hoping, as I keep writing this blog, to learn about some of those.

But for now, I’m going with what I know. And, since it’s held its own for several thousand years, I figure it’s a good enough place to start.

Where I’m Starting From

For me, at least, I think the main starting point will be Temperance. I’ve mentioned before that I’m less than perfect when it comes to my dietary habits. I also could stand to work on my sleep habits, and my time management, and so on. I’ll say more in the coming days.

What Is Temperance?

For now, I want to clarify a little how I understand Temperance. It’s not necessarily about cutting back; rather, I think it’s about putting the right things in the right place in my life. I should eat enough of the right kinds of food: not too much or too little, and not the wrong things (like an all chocolate diet, or a hemlock salad).

More than that, it’s about keeping my desires in line with reality. It’s about getting away from the fantasy that I can (much less, should!) feel absolutely fantastic all the time, that life should be a piece of cake, that what I want is the most important thing in the world.

It’s connecting to the reality that life has its ups and downs. It’s recognizing that some hard things are worthwhile, more worthwhile than some quick fixes.

And that’s what virtue is all about, as far as I can see: keeping in touch with reality.