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The Oklahoma County Courthouse facade, facing Park Avenue in Oklahoma City, Okla. |
It
was family day for the faith
and character pods at the Oklahoma Department of Corrections’ Mabel
Basset Correctional Center. She had a tear tattooed in the corner of
her eye, and I had a feeling her...balogna...meter was finely tuned.
The
DOC had contracted with my then employer, Character First, to see
whether character-based programming could―in connection with
anger-management, cognitive behavior change, and other
programming―change the culture for long-term prisoners.
Apparently
it was obvious I didn't have much experience in prison.
But
her question triggered two questions in my mind. First, on
what basis can we talk about ethics? Because
we talked about various character qualities―aspects of personal
integrity―we had to give some rationale for what makes good
and bad behavior. Most of the other curriculum I’ve seen focused on
other variables.
“Thinking
for a Change” uses terms, such as "action plan―a chosen plan
for dealing with a particular problem" or "thinking
choices―different attitudes and thoughts I could have had." As
participants work through each unit of the curriculum, they add
additional vocabulary focused on the social and thinking skills
needed to change behavior patterns. These approaches have merit,
particularly when verified by research. And by defining goodness
essentially in terms of prosocial behavior, the writers avoid a lot of
philosophical debate.
But
avoiding a philosophical debate is not the same thing as avoiding a
philosophical position. Teaching people to relate to one another in
terms of prosocial behavior makes certain assumptions about what it
means to be human and how the individual relates to others.
These
approaches also involve assumptions about the nature of reality
overall.
Character First's approach seems to assume we live in a broken but ethical universe governed by a set of laws―something like the laws of physics―with which humans can be more or less in tune.
Character First defined faith as “confidence that actions rooted in good character will yield the best outcome, even when I cannot see how,” discernment as “understanding the deeper reasons why things happen,” and virtue as “the moral excellence evident in my life as I consistently do what is right.”
Character First's approach seems to assume we live in a broken but ethical universe governed by a set of laws―something like the laws of physics―with which humans can be more or less in tune.
Character First defined faith as “confidence that actions rooted in good character will yield the best outcome, even when I cannot see how,” discernment as “understanding the deeper reasons why things happen,” and virtue as “the moral excellence evident in my life as I consistently do what is right.”
But
there are always questions when desired results tend to benefit those who have power...employers or prison managers for example...and that brings up my second question: who
benefits from the ways we talk about character?
David Vishanoff, associate professor in the University of Oklahoma
religious studies program, has been one of my primary influences as
I've wrestled with these issues. As part of his
personal experience as a Christian believer in conversation with
secular academics and others in his field of religious studies, he has
articulated an approach based on the idea of loving one's neighbor rather than defending one's belief system.
He points out in the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus describes
the other not only as someone to whom his hearers can give, but also
as someone from whom his hearers can receive—not just someone whom
they can teach, but someone from whom they can learn. In conversations I've been privileged to have with him, he's stressed not studying books that tell how others think but studying others...and allow them to explain themselves, whether through
texts or in person.
Not
long after we started work on the Character First prison curriculum,
Character First hired Jeffery Boothe. He had been in prison for a
couple of years and was serving his remaining time in work release
when another client sent him our direction. We had
the obvious conversations―“Is this a realistic situation?” “Is
that even an issue prisoners struggle with?”―but the greatest
benefit Boothe brought to our team was the opportunity to know him,
to hash out the finer points of the “no snitching” culture, to
hear him wrestle with his experience.
In the “morality” chapter, he questions common rationalist assumptions about thinking and acting, and he points out the influence of the intuitive, subconscious mind in shaping the way an individual sees and feels.
Brooks
points out the sense of justice small children display. He stresses
how institutions teach people all kinds of little rules for getting
along. And he observes how conscious choices can nudge and shape the
direction of the subconscious mind.
In
“The Abolition of Man,” C.S. Lewis uses the word “Tao” to
refer to the traditional ethical standard found in various cultural
and religious traditions. And he answers both those who would seek
another basis for human behavior and those who would do away with
ethical standards altogether.
On
the surface, Lewis' argument appears similar to Brooks' argument, but
where Brooks sees a synthesis created by the sometimes contradictory
pull of various moral intuitions—sacrificing one's life for a cause
and preserving the species for example—Lewis sees evidence that
instinct is an inadequate basis for morality because a person must
appeal to some moral standard in order to weigh any synthesis.
The
difference can be more subtle than it first appears. Brooks leaves
open the question of whether human moral experience is capable of
infinite variation. Thus, we could argue Brooks merely describes the
origin of the “Tao.”
Lewis seems less concerned with how ethics come to be. So we might argue that a scientific description of how humans experience ethics isn't necessarily out of line with Lewis' “Tao”—or natural law as some call it.
But Lewis' fundamental objection remains—the variability of human “instinct” makes it a difficult basis for any idea of rightness. Brooks admits some contradiction between particular moral intuitions. But he argues these rational contradictions point to the inadequacy of the rational approach at least as a guide in daily decision making.
Lewis seems less concerned with how ethics come to be. So we might argue that a scientific description of how humans experience ethics isn't necessarily out of line with Lewis' “Tao”—or natural law as some call it.
But Lewis' fundamental objection remains—the variability of human “instinct” makes it a difficult basis for any idea of rightness. Brooks admits some contradiction between particular moral intuitions. But he argues these rational contradictions point to the inadequacy of the rational approach at least as a guide in daily decision making.
In the introduction, they write: “In our wide sense, a 'theory of human nature' encompasses: (1) a background metaphysical understanding of the universe and humanity's place in it; (2) a theory of human nature in the narrower sense of some distinctive general claims about human beings, human society, and the human condition; (3) a diagnosis of some typical defect of human beings, of what tends to go wrong in human life and society; (4) a prescription or ideal for how human life should best be lived, typically offering guidance to individuals and human societies.”
Parts
three and four of their analysis involve more specifically ethical
questions, but it also places ethical considerations in a context
that deals with what is real and what is human. Granted, some
“theories of human nature” might give ethics a stronger position within
their understandings of what is real and human, but this
approach gives us an opportunity to engage those ideas too.
He
takes as an example the Apostles Creed:
I
believe in God,
the Father Almighty,
Maker of heaven and earth;
and in Jesus Christ, his only Son, Our Lord,
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
and in Jesus Christ, his only Son, Our Lord,
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
born
of the virgin Mary,
suffered
under Pontius Pilate,
was
crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended into Hell;
He descended into Hell;
the
third day he rose again from the dead;
He ascended into Heaven,
He ascended into Heaven,
and
sits at the right hand of God, the Father almighty;
from
thence He will come to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the
holy Christian Church,
the
communion of saints,
the
forgiveness of sins,
the
resurrection of the body
and
the life everlasting. Amen.
In
just two lines, this ancient statement of belief brings together what
H. Porter Abbot in “The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative” calls the basic elements of a story—entities and events.
When
a person assents to this story, he or she is not making theoretical
statements but claiming a particular relationship to the story and
adopting a way of perceiving the world—in this case seeing God as
the ultimate entity and all things in the context of God.
Sire
also argues, “How we view life affects the life we live; it governs
both the unconscious actions we engage in and the actions we ponder
before acting.” As Sire quotes Wilhelm Dilthey as he's quoted by
David Naugle in “Worldview: The History of a Concept:” “Every
true worldview is an intuition which emerges from the
standing-in-the-middle-of-life.”
I
suggest this intersection of moral perception and lived
experience forms the narrative whereby we understand our ethical
obligations and is formed by the narratives within which we see
ourselves. Thus, examining these narratives can help us more
fully understand disagreements such as the one between Lewis and
Brooks and can help us interrogate our own ethical understandings.
Wow. You've posed some very good questions indeed. I have no answers to share, but I will definitely be thinking. :-)
ReplyDeleteThinking is a good thing. And if you ever want to share your thoughts... :)
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ReplyDeleteThis reminded me of a discussion(argument) back in college I had with another student (in an I.T. class of all places) over where our ethics and actions originate. At the time I argued the plethora of good examples we have to choose from throwing out excuses, he argued that it stopped at ones immediate environment. I'm not sure how strongly I'd argue the same now but I still wonder what it takes to get someone to look outside their own environment and seek something new.
ReplyDeleteI liked this post and that Chesterton quote is priceless.
Thanks for stopping by, man! That sounds like a fun discussion. So what have been the fruits of your wonderings?
DeleteGetting out of our own way is hard. In practical experience, what's outside ourselves and our accustomed environment has to break in on us or we have to reach out. The problem being that we prove remarkably adept at explaining everything in terms of what we already think...and ignoring what doesn't fit.