Can you tell if this artist is moral?

I’m not much of a sports fan, but I heard a story on the radio the other day about Michael Vick, the quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles who took a break from football in federal prison but now is a contender for MVP of the NFL. The story revolved around the question of whether it was okay to cheer for Vick and the Eagles, to acknowledge Vick’s incredible skill as a player, in light of his less-than-upright past. The reporters admitted to a certain pressure to portray great athletes as morally good people.

In a similar way, I have friends who tell me that they just can’t watch some actors in any movie or TV show because they know too much about that person’s private life.

Thomas Aquinas points out, however, that art and morality are distinct categories – and for the sake of argument I’m including “sports” as a kind of art. The difference is that art is good or bad specifically in the work itself, whereas moral acts are good or bad in the act of working.

In other words, at a certain level, it doesn’t matter who paints a picture or throws a touchdown pass; you can say, “awesome” or “lousy” about the picture or the pass itself. On the other hand, it’s a moral question whether it was a good thing for that person to paint this or to throw that pass. Moreover, no matter how amazing a painter or player someone is, it doesn’t necessarily make that person any better a person. Talent or genius are, in themselves, incapable of bestowing wisdom or happiness.

The problem of role models

So it makes perfect sense that someone who has some great gift might also be an alcoholic or drug addict, might blow all their money on gambling, or might be even be violent. There’s no necessary connection between genius and virtue.

But one of the ways human beings learn is by imitating others. So when I see someone doing something I really want to do myself, I tend to imitate everything about that person. I make that person an ideal, a model for the role I want to play. It’s easy to forget or overlook the difference between a person’s accomplishments and the actual person.

It’s even easier if that role model’s vices match with my own temptations. Someone who is promiscuous (whether apologetic, like Tiger Woods, or unapologetic, like James Bond) gives me an excuse to go easy on my own lust; someone who indulges greed, like Vick, or wrath, like Mel Gibson, lets me think that maybe I can get away with greedy or violent activity.

Now, if I want to throw a football, I can still learn a lot from Vick about how to excel at quarterbacking. If I want to be an actor, I shouldn’t ignore what Mel might have to teach. But I need to distinguish their skill at their arts from their virtue as human beings. I can learn tactics from Napoleon or rhetoric from Hitler, but I need to make sure I’m not imbibing grandiosity or insanity or inhumanity along with the expertise.

Putting art and life in right relationship

All that said, the question of whether it is good to throw a football or to attack an enemy or, for that matter, to do anything at all must come before that question of how to do it well.

When I’m watching others, I do my best to keep their work distinct from their person. I try to “judge not, lest I be judged.” I’m not perfect at this kind of detachment, but it’s my goal.

But when I’m doing work myself, whether it’s writing a book or talking with a friend, I do my best to do what is good and beneficial, and I try not to let fear or pride about how well I can do it interfere with the decision to do it or not.

As G.K. Chesterton famously said, “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.” But it is also worth doing as well as I can manage to do it.

For me? Aw, you shouldn't have!

I had one of those “a-ha” moments over the weekend. I was thinking about words, as I often do, and I was trying to find a way to articulate the difference between recognizing life (or a friend or a privilege or whatever) as a gift and taking life for granted. And I realized, the phrases look roughly identical.

A grant, after all, is a kind of gift. It is something given to me by someone else.

So I started exploring whether there are any words we use for that sense of entitlement we call “taking something for granted” that don’t in fact refer to receiving something from someone else. Even the word “entitlement” refers to the granting of “title” or ownership of something by whomever has the authority to give it. The only words I could think of are words like “possession” or “ownership”, which really don’t convey the kind of presumptuous attitude I’m trying to describe.

Maybe presumption is itself the word I’m looking for. It literally means “taking something before,” that is, before it is given. It is taking something as if it had been granted, even when it has not. And that’s where the problematic attitude lies: it’s a lack of recognition that something is genuinely a gift. It’s the idea that I am completely and independently capable of getting everything I want or need entirely on my own without any help from anyone else ever. Ultimately, that attitude is founded on falsehood.

Gratitude: recognition of my need for others

I’m concerned about this attitude because it’s one I struggle with all the time myself. I remember as a child needing to be told to say “thank you” at Christmas or on my birthday, and thinking that I didn’t really feel grateful. I felt like I deserved the toys, or maybe even deserved better loot than I’d got. So I went through the motions and held onto presumption in my heart.

But that led me to a bitter and lonely place. I alienated many of my friends. And then something rather odd happened: when a friend did show a kindness to me, even a tiny one, I found myself utterly overwhelmed with gratitude far out of proportion to their act. It was as if all that repressed recognition of others’ gifts to me came bursting out at once. So then I had friends saying, “Enough thank yous, already! It was really nothing!”

Well, it wasn’t nothing. But it also wasn’t the thing I was most grateful for: I was most grateful for the ability to acknowledge my dependence on other people.

My illusion of fierce independence had been (and still is, in parts of my life) a kind of cage that kept me from the real world as it actually is, and from connecting to the real people who live in it. So finding a way to relate – simply by acknowledging the relationship – was a tremendous good that I could never have simply acquired for myself. I am glad my mother taught me how to say “thank you” all those years ago.

Gratitude and justice

It’s interesting that Thomas Aquinas lists gratitude as part of the virtue of justice, while generosity or giving gifts is part of the virtue of charity or love. That is, even though gifts are given freely, the acknowledgment of the gift is something owed by duty.

At first, this seems odd, and a little bit like extortion. But my own experience shows me why it’s a matter of justice. To refuse to acknowledge the gift and the giver is to deny the reality that I have received something I could not have without that other person.

I could not have received life without my parents. I could not have received friendship without my friends. Even in relationships where there is a “business” aspect, there also is a gift; I could not have received my education without my teachers’ willingness to give what they also had received. Gratitude, giving thanks for what has been granted, is simply a matter of seeing reality for what it is.

I’ve mentioned before some of the principles I wish were more prevalent in political conversation. Here’s the list again, for those who hate clicking on links:

• Common good
• Subsidiarity
• Interdependence, aka, Solidarity

Many more good things worth talking about certainly belong on the list, but this is as far as I’ve gotten in trying to articulate some essential political principles.

However, while I generally like to focus on the positive, it’s important to recognize the genuine evils out there which undermine any possibility of real human life, liberty, and community.

Recognizing evil

A quick reminder: evil is not any thing in itself. Evil is the distortion or destruction of something good. So when my anger starts rising up, I have to remind myself to look for the good that’s being distorted. I have to remind myself that whoever is committing or supporting evil is actually trying to accomplish something good, albeit in a twisted way.

In other words, if there’s a way to achieve the good without distortion, then I have made my enemy into my friend.

A good thing, like a virtue, can be distorted in at least two ways: too much (excess) or too little (defect). There may be other dimensions of distortion out there, but I’m not wise enough to talk about the much. In any case, a good always falls into the category of evil if either A) there’s just not enough to actually be the good it’s trying to be, or B) it so overextends itself that it ceases to actually be that good thing.

An example: the dignity of the human person is perhaps the fundamental good that government exists to protect.

It is evil when the government fails to actually protect that good, in cases like physician assisted suicide or unjust war, or even in less clear cases like lack of enforcement of environmental or food health regulations.

It is also evil when the government extends the protections of human dignity beyond the human person, for example giving corporations “rights” under the First and Fourteenth Amendments, or giving teachers greater rights than parents over the education of children.

Support an imperfect good, but never support evil

Now, no law is perfect, just as no individual person is perfect. We all make mistakes. We disagree about what the best course of action is.

Thomas Aquinas notes that the moral obligation is to seek the good, not necessarily to seek the best. The best isn’t always possible, and the best isn’t always clear. But it usually is clear when a good is so minimized or so distorted that it ceases to be good anymore.

My friend Mark notes that “10% less evil than the other leading party” is still evil, and therefore not worthy of a vote or any other form of support. He writes in a candidate if both the major party candidates take positions in support of some evil: for example, a Democrat may support unlimited access to abortion while the Republican opponent may support the torture of prisoners. Both positions are distorted at their core: they reject the good of human dignity in favor of some lesser or dependent good – say, convenience or security; so these core distortions are called “intrinsic evils”. Therefore, he won’t consider voting for either of those candidates, and will seek someone who at least does not support some intrinsic evil, even if there’s not much else to agree on.

It’s the least we can ask of our public officials, that they do not promote anything intrinsically evil.

My evil list of evil

I’m putting out here a list of things that are absolute deal-breakers for me. These are things so obviously and intrinsically evil that, if a politician is in favor of them – or even not opposed to them – I cannot in good conscience lend them any support. Sadly, this leaves me with almost nobody in the major parties today that I can vote for. Like Mark, I fear I’ll be writing in most of the candidates I’m voting for this election.

• Abortion – it’s murder, and I can’t condone it; this includes IVF, and any research that takes a human life
• Physician-assisted suicide, aka, euthanasia – again, murder is unjustifiable, for any reason
• Unjust war – I follow the basic criteria laid out by Thomas Aquinas and others; the Iraq invasion was manifestly unjust; the current Afghanistan situation has only the slenderest chance of meeting Just War criteria
• Torture – they’re human beings, even if they’re our enemies

Again, this list is incomplete, but it’s as far as I’ve sorted out at this time. Feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments.

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.

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. Thomas is much smarter than I am, and I’m not going to cross him if I don’t have really good reason.

But it does raise the question whether, in his understanding, a non-Christian is capable of love at all.

Now, there are lots of kind of love, according to Thomas; there is the kind of love I have for chocolate or garlic; there is the kind of love I have for my garden or my pet; there is the love I have for my friends, the love of my family, the love I feel toward a benefactor, the love I feel for my home or my country, the love I feel for my spouse, and so on. All of these are natural loves, and what they all have in common is that they guide us toward something good.

Love always recognizes the good, seeks the good, enjoys the good.

What sets Charity apart, for Thomas, is that it seeks and enjoys a good beyond our natural capacity: it loves God, and seeks eternal union with him.

This is a love so great that it is impossible to achieve by human will or effort. This kind of Charity is utterly impossible for a mere mortal; it can only come as a gift from God. That is why Charity is a theological virtue rather than a natural or moral virtue.

Really impossible?

Let’s try a thought experiment: imagine eternity. Unless you’re a high-falootin’ philosopher, you’re probably thinking of an endless extension of time. Now, imagine hanging out with your best friend or your deepest love for all eternity. No matter how lovable that person is, the fact is that at some point you’ll get a little bored, you’ll want some variety, you’ll grow tired of telling and hearing those same old stories over and over again.

In other words, even the sort of heaven that we can imagine – and the Catholic idea of heaven claims that it’s ultimately beyond our imagination – runs up against limits in our ability to recognize and enjoy the good things that we have.

For Thomas, Charity is a new ability: the ability to love infinitely, not bounded by the limits of our time or attention or emotions. It is an ability that reaches its perfection only in heaven; on earth we strive to grow in Charity, by what Thomas calls “earnest endeavor,” knowing we will only find its fulfillment beyond this life.

Gift and giver

Now, a Christian is someone who seeks this gift in Jesus Christ, believing and following and taking up his or her cross, and so on. But a gift is not something anyone can demand. If God is the giver, none of us can force his hand.

The Catholic teaching is that God gives Charity (among other gifts) in baptism. But God is not limited to our rituals; God can give his gifts, including the gift of Charity, well beyond the visible confines of the Church. This is not a perfect Charity, but only for the same reason that no Christian’s Charity is perfect in this life. This life is not for perfection; this life is for growth and “earnest endeavor.”

I don’t expect non-Christians to necessarily agree with this definition or line of argument; but I hope that I’ve been able to express what Thomas is saying with enough clarity that we can discuss (or debate) about it without misunderstanding each other.

Friendship is the language of love

The very first thing Thomas Aquinas says about the virtue of charity is that it is friendship.

Now, when I hear the word charity, “friendship” isn’t the synonym that leaps boldly to the front of my mind, ready to spring from the tip of my tongue. The first words that come to mind, if I’m in a good mood, are words like “altruism” or “benevolence;” if I’m in a less, well, charitable mood, words like “handout” come to mind.

If I’m thinking more philosophically, I might come up with words like “care” or “good will” or “love, in a rather specialized and technical sense.”

But friendship? Nah, that’s just too … too what? Too personal? Too practical? Too simple?

Aspects of friendship

When it comes right down to it, it’s almost as difficult to define friendship as it is to define love itself. But there are a few clear aspects of friendship that Thomas draws on when he explains why charity is friendship.

First, friendship requires a good will toward another. That is, we want what is good for a friend, regardless of whether we get anything out of it ourselves. As Thomas puts it: “For it would be absurd to speak of having friendship for wine or for a horse,” because these are things we use to fulfill our own desires, rather than doing good to the wine or the horse.

Next, friendship has to communicate. We can’t just claim a friendship with someone we don’t have any real connection to; rather, our friends are the ones we actually interact with. This may seem painfully obvious, but it’s foundational to the idea that charity – because it is friendship – can never be simply one-sided.

Finally, that communication has to be mutual. Thomas isn’t talking about some kind of tit-for-tat equality of exchange; he means that friends have to be able to share something in common, to communicate the same kind of thing to each other. In other words, the reason we use wine and horses to fulfill our own desires is exactly because the wine and the horse is incapable of receiving or responding to friendship as an equal. A relationship with wine or a horse is necessarily one-sided.

This is the kind of friendship that describes the virtue of charity.

Yeah, but…

What about when one person is a better friend than another? Where’s the “mutuality” in that?

And what about that Christian command to love your enemies? An enemy, by definition, isn’t going to be your friend!

The answer, I think, is as close as our ordinary way of talking about friendship: so-and-so is a better friend, or is my best friend, or is not a very close friend. Sometimes this is because of circumstance: it’s harder to be friends with someone across the country than with someone I see all the time. But it’s also because of a person’s ability to be a friend.

Charity is a virtue, after all. It’s both a gift we receive, and a skill we need to develop. So the more I practice desiring and seeking my friend’s good, the “better” a friend I will become.

As for enemies, if they absolutely refuse to reconcile and become friends, then Thomas notes that we love them because God loves them, and if we love God we love also whatever and whomever God loves. We don’t have to be buddy-buddy with them, but at least we should avoid getting in the way of them loving in whatever way they are able to. And we still can and should do our best to defend ourselves and others from their attacks: they will never grow in love if they succeed in their acts of hate.

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.

No real blacksmith would go barechested!

The following is the article I mentioned below, originally printed in Gleanings in their September 2010 issue (.pdf). They’ve been kind enough to let me reprint it here. Legal notices at the bottom.

In the same way, phrases have “family histories” as well. The phrase, “strike while the iron is hot” comes from the fact that a blacksmith had to watch for the iron to turn just the right color — red hot, or white hot, or somewhere between — so that his hammer could have just the right effect. The phrase doesn’t mean just to take action; it means to take the right kind of action at the right time.

“Strike while the iron is hot” advises us to be diligent in all areas of life. And diligence, oddly enough, is another legere word: it means to collect information and select the right action in response. But it means even more than that.

Holy Diligence

St. Thomas Aquinas, the greatest theologian of the medieval Church, teaches that “diligence” refers to the same virtue as “solicitude,” which also refers to the same virtue as “vigilance.” To be diligent is to be watchful, to be attentive, to be careful about matters that are important. But there is even more meaning than that in this word. The Latin word Thomas uses, diligere, means “to prize, love, esteem highly.” So, when he explains why “diligence” is the same as “solicitude” (meaning attentive care or concern) he says, “the more we love (diligimus) a thing the more solicitous are we about it.”

In other words, diligence is a form of love: it is the kind of love that chooses something to be our own, and takes care of it. It is the love that pays attention to what we love, because we have taken responsibility for it.

This is, of course, one of the ways that God loves us: he chooses each one of us to be his own. He watches over us, and attends to our needs. He provides what is important to keep us safe and to show our value to him.

He gives us his Son, who chose to join himself to us “in the fullness of time” – that is to say, when the iron was hot – in our journeys and in our labors and even, ultimately, in agony and death. He did this because he prized us and chose us to be his own.

He gives us his Spirit, his very life, his own power of love, to watch over each one of us and to guide each of us toward the joy he has prepared for us.

How to Be Diligent

Because we have his Spirit, we also have his love. That means that, just as he does, we can love with diligence. We can choose someone to be our own — as we do in friendship, or in marriage. We can collect all those things good and necessary for the one we love — as we do for our children. We can watch for the right moment, for the opportunity to demonstrate our love — as we do when someone needs help or wants company.

And, as much as we love one another diligently, God calls us to love him diligently as well.

Of course, God doesn’t need anything from us; we don’t have to take care of him. But we do have to take care of our relationship; that’s how we choose him to be our own.

For example, I sometimes go to daily Mass after work. In the evening I’m usually tired and I have developed a bad habit of nodding off during the readings or the homily. But I’ve discovered that if I’m diligent, if I make sure I get a good night’s sleep and eat a snack in the mid-afternoon, I’m able to stay awake. I’m able to be attentive and present to my God, who is making himself available and present to me. And I keep from distracting the rest of the congregation with my snoring.

I’m a naturally lazy man, and I know I won’t find time to pray unless I set aside time in my daily planner, just as I would for any other important appointment. And, just like an important appointment, there’s some preparation that goes into getting ready for the meeting. So I remind myself to take time for spiritual reading — usually the Bible or some spiritual master. I know that if I want to see clearly what God is doing in my prayer and in my life, I’d better set up some reminders to be careful and attentive, to keep watchful, to make my choice active in every moment of my life.

The Danger of Negligence

The opposite of diligence is negligence. If “diligence” means “to choose for one’s own,” then “negligence” is the “neg”-ative of choice. Negligence is the refusal to choose, and therefore the refusal to love. Negligence says, “You are not worth my attention.”

Jesus tells many parables warning us against negligence. In the parable of the sower, what is the problem with the rocky or the thorny soil? They both neglect to fully receive Christ. Or, what would happen to the treasure in the field or the pearl of great price if the merchant neglected them? Their value and worth would never be found. And of course, what is the difference between the wise and foolish virgins waiting for the bridegroom? The foolish ones neglected to prepare their lamps with oil.

What is the point of all these parables? That if we treat God with negligence, if we refuse to put time and care into our relationship with him, we will miss him when he comes. We will not recognize him because we have neglected to get to know him. This means that we will neglect to enter eternal life with him in Heaven, as some of the parables make clear; but it also means that we will miss out on the gifts and joys and blessings he offers us every day. If we neglect the foretaste of Heaven now, we will not be able to taste and see his goodness then.

The Joy of Diligence

On the other hand, the time put into preparation and the effort of watching attentively pays off abundantly in those life-changing moments, those times when we must make a decision and make it now — to change a career, to enter a relationship with someone, to follow a call to priesthood or religious life — and we find ourselves ready. We have chosen God as our greatest good, we have collected the gifts and blessings he has given us, and we recognize the shape and color of his love in this moment. Like the blacksmith, we know when the iron is ready to be shaped, and we have the tools at hand to shape it according to God’s glorious design.

Merlin Advises Arthur - by Gustave Dore

The 1967 film version of “Camelot” formed a great deal of my childhood, and still stands close by me today. Indeed, I remember in the 1980′s seeing Vanessa Redgrave in a contemporary film and being shocked because I knew her as the lithe young Guenevere. And I dearly loved the hyper-emotional Richard Harris in every role he played (he was magnificent in “Gladiator” in part because of the resonance between young Arthur and ancient Marcus Aurelius).

But perhaps the most powerful scene, for me, is the one where Arthur goes hunting in the woods, and reminisces of his youthful training under Merlyn (played by Laurence Naismith). Arthur asks Merlyn, “What’s the best thing for being sad?” and Merlyn replies, “The best thing for being sad is to learn something!”

Now, I’ve discovered a number of other things that are good for being sad, and, although things like sitting and talking with a close friend and doing something productive are also very good when I’m sad, I’ve never found anything that would definitively displace Merlyn’s advice about the very best thing for sadness.

Sadness and learning

I’ve had to rely on all these methods over the past week or so. The cause of my sadness has been a number of small, personal events that don’t really need talking about (though it began with that car accident I wrote about last week). But when friends were not available and work was just too difficult, I could always learn something.

I’ve been reading voraciously in Thomas Aquinas’ First Part of the Summa Theologica, specifically what is known as his “Treatise on Man” in which he describes human nature.

What is wonderful about this is, not only was it good learning, but it helped me understand why learning is a solution to sadness.

According to Thomas, humanity stands at a crossroads of creation: we are both material and spiritual beings. That is, we are physical (like stones and shrubs and squirrels) and also intellectual (like angels and God). This puts us at a unique place in the universe, and this uniqueness extends to how we understand (intellegere, in Latin) and how we act.

We do not act in the same way that other animals do, because they are guided by sense and instinct, while we are guided by reason. And we do not understand in the way that pure spirits do, because they apprehend truths directly, while we move from known to unknown by reason. Reason is the unique feature of human nature that sets us apart from everything else in creation.

Sadness (as an emotion, not as the vice of sloth) is an indicator that something is missing from our nature. So when an animal is sad, it seeks something to heal or restore its body (including its emotions). I’m not sure if an angel can be sad, but if it were it would seek something to return it to its direct apprehension of truth and goodness and beauty.

If a human being is sad, the answer lies (at least in part) in reason. The core, the “heart” as it were, of being human is to understand things by coming to know what is unknown. So in sadness, we seek to understand why we are sad, and then to know what we can do about it.

In other words, we learn something.

Even when knowing the source of some particular sadness eludes us, even then learning something brings a kind of healing and restoration and even growth. This is because our nature is (in part) to learn, and any time we learn anything we are fulfilling our nature. We become more happy when we learn because we become more ourselves.

Beyond learning

I said that our nature is in part to learn; that’s because our nature is also to act on what we have learned, to put our knowledge into deeds.

That’s partly what I’m doing here: I’m attempting to share something that I’ve learned with others. But it also means taking action to work better, to play better, to love our friends and family and neighbors better. The more we learn, the better we can act toward others. And, as if in reward, the more we can learn from those we love.

Fireworks over Lake Union

I always feel awkward around the Independence Day holiday. I’m not by inclination a patriot, just as I’m not by inclination a church-goer. I am both these things because I’ve come to see that my own inclinations, or desires, or vices, have led me astray from reality.

So I recognize the honor that is due to the nation of my birth, and my own responsibility to be as good a citizen as I am able. I just have a hard time bringing any emotional *umph* to the celebration.

I also recognize that, while I’m inclined to focus on the naughtiness of my nation and my speculations on how it ought to change, there is a real need to celebrate what is good and true and virtuous in the United States of America. Perhaps it is especially important for someone like myself to participate in the celebration, exactly as a corrective to my own erroneous inclinations.

The virtue of patriotism

Thomas Aquinas does not list “patriotism” among the virtues, but he does note that all people are both subject to law and responsible for the good of society, and that Justice requires respect for authority and Charity requires action for the good of one’s fellows. As he puts it,

Consequently, this very act of loving someone because he is akin or connected with us, or because he is a fellow-countryman or for any like reason that is referable to the end of charity, can be commanded by charity, so that, out of charity both eliciting and commanding, we love in more ways those who are more nearly connected with us. (ST II-II q26 a7)

These are what make up the essence of patriotism: loving one’s country and fellow citizens exactly because they are one’s fellows. It is closely related to the love of family, whom we do not choose but whom we must love anyway, whether we like it or not. Family and country are, in a sense, a school of charity; they teach us how to love even when loving is difficult.

Ironically (given the whoop-de-do about Church and State in this particular country), it is the Catechism of the Catholic Church that, I think, states most clearly what patriotism is all about:

It is the duty of citizens to contribute along with civil authorities to the good of society in a spirit of truth, justice, solidarity, and freedom. The love and service of one’s country follow from the duty of gratitude and belong to the order of charity. (CCC 2239; emphasis in the original.)

What is critical, to me at least, about this approach is the balance it strikes: one’s country is to be loved, but not because it is better or stronger or more worthy than any other nation; rather, exactly because it is one’s own. I did not choose to be born an American; but I was, and it is as an American that I love the U.S.A. A Canadian or a Chinese might love the U.S.A. for some other reason. Perhaps they admire the American ideal, or perhaps they enjoy economic benefits from America, or any number of other reasons. But my own love of my country is founded simply on the fact that it is mine, or rather, that I belong to my country in a similar way that I belong to my family.

(I’m tempted to add a video of one of my favorite patriotic satires here, but instead I’ll just provide a link.)

American virtues

So, given that it’s not at all to my credit that I am American, what is it that I’ll celebrate with grilling and fireworks and other forms of pyromania today?

First off, I’ll celebrate the very good things I have myself received from the United States: a certain economic opportunity, even in difficult times such as these, to make ends meet without resorting to undignified or immoral work; a definite social opportunity to meet and converse with people from all walks of life and all regions of the country (and even the world), and to learn from their experiences; the English language which, thanks to American dominance following WW2 (augmenting the impact of English colonialism), has become a global language, giving me the advantage of communication with those I would otherwise have no connection; a political system that provides real opportunity (even if limited and corrupted by “special interests”) to contribute to and impact the governance of the society I live in.

I’ll also celebrate the genuine good that the United States has done in the world: through the citizens’ works of charity, of scholarship, of invention; and through the occasionally wise governmental policies, such as developing our highway system or contributing to the reconstruction of Germany and Japan after WW2.

Mmm... cheeseburger

Celebrating the good does not mean I stop critiquing the bad; it simply means I acknowledge that there is virtue to be found even among rampant vice. It means I extend to my country the same charity I extend to my neighbors and myself. I will celebrate my brother’s birthday, even if my brother is a criminal; I will celebrate my friend’s success, even if my friend is often a fool. So, although I am highly critical of many aspects of American politics and culture, I will celebrate America’s birthday with both gratitude and joy. In other words, I will practice the virtue of patriotism, trusting that both I and my country will grow toward greater virtue through practice.

And besides, who can pass up an opportunity for grilled meat?