Are You As Good As You Think?

Christian B. Miller | A. C. Reid Professor of Philosophy at Wake Forest University, US, and author of The Character Gap

One summer day in the ocean off Panama City Beach, two boys out for a swim got caught in a rip current. When their mother heard their cries, she and several other family members dove into the ocean, only to be trapped in the current, too. Then, in a powerful display of character, complete strangers on the beach took action. Forming a human chain of 70 to 80 bodies, they stretched out into the ocean and rescued everyone.

Stories like this inspire me with hope about what human beings are capable of doing. Though we may face a daily barrage of depressing reports about sexual harassment, corruption, and child abuse, stories of human goodness help to give us another perspective on our human character. 

But, as we know too well, there is also a darker side to our character. Take, for example, the story of Walter Vance, 61, who was shopping in his local Target for Christmas decorations. It was Black Friday and the store was mobbed when Vance fell to the floor in cardiac arrest and lay motionless. The other shoppers did nothing. In fact, some people even stepped over his body to continue their bargain hunting. Eventually, a few nurses used cardiopulmonary resuscitation, but by then he was too far gone.

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The Incarnation's Appeal to Humility

Humility seems to be a lost spiritual discipline these days. If not completely lost, it is not practiced that often. Fast-talking, foul-mouthed, egocentric personalities seem to be elevated to the point of heroic status, possibly because those individuals are representative of those who take little flak from anyone or anything. Arguably, the antihero has risen to the status of the American ideal. But does this represent the nature of the One whose birth we celebrate every December 25th?

From the time of Thanksgiving until Christmas, the church enters the phase of the liturgical calendar called Advent. This is a time of preparation for Christmas when the birth of Christ is celebrated. Much ink has been spilled concerning the correct dating of Jesus’s birth.[1] Are we celebrating the correct date of Jesus’s birth, or should we celebrate in the spring or fall? To be honest, the older I get, the less importance I see in pinning down the exact date of Jesus’s birth, outside of academic interest alone. While theories abound, it may be impossible to know with any degree of certainty what the precise date of Jesus’s birth is.

The more important issue is to take time each year to contemplate the birth of Jesus and what it means for the Christian faith. In AD 335, Athanasius of Alexandria penned one of his most famed and endearing works entitled On the Incarnation of the Word of God. In his work, Athanasius writes, “For He became Man that we might be made God: and He manifested Himself through the body that we might take cognizance of the invisible Father: and He underwent insult at the hands of men that we might inherit immortality.”[2] Athanasius points to the humility of Christ as exhibited by the sacrifice that he would ultimately make.

The most remarkable aspect of Christ’s incarnation is that he left a state of perfect bliss to enjoin himself with humanity. Philippians 2:6–11 is an amazing passage of Scripture. Most likely, it is an early Christian hymn that predates the New Testament writings. The hymn makes the connection of Christ’s humility as exhibited through his incarnation. Before citing the hymn, Paul teaches that believers should “Adopt the same attitude as that of Christ Jesus” (Phil. 2:5).[3] What can we learn about humility from Christ’s incarnation? I argue that we can learn four spiritual principles from the humility in Christ’s incarnation. The first article will examine the first two, whereas the second will peer into the last set.

The Incarnation’s Appeal to Humble Authority (Phil. 2:6)

The hymn begins by noting that Christ, “who, existing in the form of God, did not consider equality with God as something to be exploited” (Phil. 2:6). The term aJpagmo;n (hapagmon), translated “exploited,” indicates something that is not held on to forcibly.”[4] The Moody Bible Commentary, in my opinion, rightly interprets verse 6 as saying that “Jesus does not exploit His equality with God for selfish ends.”[5] Jesus remained God, and his position did not change when he became a human being. Rather, Jesus humbly walked among humanity. Even though he had greater authority than any living human being ever had, or ever would have, Jesus continued to live a humble life. In like manner, believers must walk even more humbly, as we have far less authority than Jesus. Rather than being obsessed with power, authority, or prestige, believers would do well to remember their humble state when compared to the awesome authority of God.

The Incarnation’s Appeal to Humble Assistance (Phil. 2:7)

The hymn continues by noting, “Instead [Christ] emptied himself by assuming the form of a servant, taking on the likeness of humanity” (Phil. 2:7). Throughout his life, Jesus taught, led, and modeled servant leadership. Even though he held more authority than anyone ever could ever imagine, he led by serving. The text says that Christ “emptied himself.” Theories abound on what this means,[6] but all would agree that this is humility personified. Imagine this: The King of kings, who was in the highest court of all time (i.e., the divine council), allowed himself to be born in a dirty, stinky manger.

Compare this to the modern mindset that many hold today. I worked in an environment a few years ago, where the employees had been asked to assist the custodian with his duties, where possible. The custodian had suffered from some heart problems. His doctor had discouraged him from lifting anything heavy, including trash bags, which could weigh well over 20 lbs. To assist him until he could fully recover, leadership requested that we the employees help him by throwing away the trash bags into the trash bin. Most of the employees were more than willing to help the custodian. To assist the custodian, I grabbed a couple of the trash bags and loaded them into the cart so that they could be taken out. At the time that this occurred, I was still working on my bachelor’s degree. One employee looked at me and said, “I have earned a master’s degree. I don’t do things like that anymore!” This startled me. Did the individual take out their own trash? One would think so. Furthermore, does obtaining degrees in higher education remove the need for one to perform menial tasks? Now that I am working on the last phases of my dissertation for my Ph.D. program, I need to talk to somebody, because something has not worked out right for me. After all, I am still required to perform daily tasks like taking out the trash. (In case your sarcasm detector is broken, I am, of course, speaking tongue-in-cheek.)

The employee’s reaction is commonplace in modern society. Many people, myself included, have sought to obtain positions and statuses where others look up to us. I am, quite honestly, startled how social media has brought out our incessant desire to be seen, heard, and appreciated. Being seen, heard, and loved are not necessarily bad things, mind you. Such desires merely illustrate the needs of the human heart. However, the problem comes when these desires overwhelm us and become obsessive, to the point of exhibiting narcissistic traits, where others are cast down at the altar of our own ego. When we become infatuated with the number of likes our posts hold, the number of awards we have, and the standing we have among others, we are not focused on the virtues of Christ. Such actions stand directly opposed to the model that Christ afforded and expects from us.

Conclusion

Thus far, we have learned that Christ’s incarnation emphasized humility in his authority. That is, even though Christ had the highest authority that any could hold, he did not flaunt his authority and neither did he use his authority as a means to boast. Rather, he assumed the role of a lowly servant. By this point alone, we should all stop to consider how counteracts some segments of Western Christianity that appeals to the idea of domination by force. Secondly, we noted how Christ’s incarnation speaks to the need of humble assistance. That is, the believer should not seek to be served, but rather to serve. Already, the incarnation has challenged us to the core regarding humility—or at least it has me. In the next entry, we will investigate how Christ’s acceptance and assurance speaks to our need for humility.

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[1] I have written on the different possibilities of Jesus’s birth date at BellatorChristi.com. See Brian Chilton, “When and What Time Was Jesus Born,” BellatorChristi.com (12/19/2017), https://bellatorchristi.com/2017/12/19/when-and-what-time-was-jesus-born/.

[2] Athanasius of Alexandria, Athanasius: On the Incarnation of the Word of God, 2nd ed, T. Herbert Bindley, trans (London: The Religious Tract Society, 1903), 142.

[3] Unless otherwise noted, all quoted Scripture comes from the Christian Standard Bible (Nashville, TN: Holman, 2020).

[4] 57.236, in Johannes P. Louw and Eugene Albert Nida, Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament: Based on Semantic Domains (New York: United Bible Societies, 1996), 583.

[5] Gerald W. Peterman, “Philippians,” in The Moody Bible Commentary, Michael A. Rydelnik and Michael Vanlaningham, eds (Chicago, IL: Moody Publishers, 2014), 1861.

[6] Three theories provide a possible interpretation. 1) The kenotic theory holds that Christ emptied himself of his divine attributes while on earth. 2) The incarnation view asserts that Christ merely emptied his nature into humanity by assuming the form of a servant. 3) The Servant of the Lord portrait views the term “emptying” as a metaphor of the Servant of the Lord motif in Isaiah 53. As Hansen notes, the Philippians hymn could provide an interpretation that holds some elements of all three. Walter G. Hansen, The Letter to the Philippians, Pillar New Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI; Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans; Apollos, 2009), 146.

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Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, and the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics. Brian is a Ph.D. Candidate of the Theology and Apologetics program at Liberty University. He received his Master of Divinity in Theology from Liberty University (with high distinction); his Bachelor of Science in Religious Studies and Philosophy from Gardner-Webb University (with honors); and received certification in Christian Apologetics from Biola University. Brian is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has served in pastoral ministry for nearly 20 years and currently serves as a clinical chaplain.

https://www.amazon.com/Laymans-Manual-Christian-Apologetics-Essentials/dp/1532697104

© 2021. MoralApologetics.com.

Petrine Apologetics: 4 Things You Didn’t Know About 1 Peter 3:15

“Petrine” refers to ideas, words, teachings, or documents attributed to the Apostle Peter. This article uncovers several aspects of apologetics that Peter was concerned about in the course of his writing.

1. The context of the verse is persecution.

2. Peter is referring to Jesus as God (Yahweh).

3. Peter is moralizing “apology”—a legal term.

4. The case for rational apologetics is in verse 14.

The Context of the Verse is Persecution

Part of the appeal of using 1 Peter 3:15 as a prooftext for apologetics is its completeness as a thought—true apart from its context. But as any Bible scholar will tell you, the context of a statement constrains its meaning and determines the author’s intent. Few realize that the audience in 1 Peter is concerned with persecution.

First Peter is written around 60 A. D. by the Apostle Peter to Christian “strangers” (1:1) living in a Roman milieu of pagan systems (termed by Peter as “Babylon” in 5:13); particularly in Asia Minor. The following is an outline of 1 Peter is given by Donald W. Burdick and John H. Skilton.

I. Greetings (1: 1– 2)
II. Praise to God for Salvation (1: 3– 12)
III. First Response to Suffering: Creating a Holy Community (1: 13— 2: 10)
A. Call to Holiness and Love (1: 13— 2: 3)
B. Creation of a Vibrant Community (2: 4– 10)
IV. Second Response to Suffering: Winsome Witness in Society (2: 11— 4: 19)
A. Navigating Authorities in State and Household (2: 11— 3: 12)
B. Introduction: identity as foreigners and exiles (2: 11– 12)
C. Submission of all to rulers (2: 13– 17)
D. Submission of slaves to masters (2: 18– 25)
E. Wives and husbands (3: 1– 7)
i) Submission of wives to husbands (3: 1– 6)
ii)  Warning to husbands to respect wives (3: 7)
F. Conclusion: Seek good, not evil (3: 8– 12)
G. Suffering for Christ and as Christ Did (3: 13— 4: 19)
i) Good conduct despite possible persecution (3: 13– 17)
ii) Christ’s example of suffering and exaltation (3: 18– 22)
iii) Distinctive living among unbelievers (4: 1– 6)
iv) Exhortation summary: Love one another (4: 7– 11)
v) Doctrinal summary: Suffer for Christ (4: 12– 19)
V. Living Together in Christian Community (5: 1– 11)
A. Shepherding Role of Elders (5: 1– 5)
B. Exhortation for All to Be Humble and Alert (5: 5– 11)
VI. Final Greetings and Benediction (5: 12– 14)[1]

Chapter 3 verses 13-17 (ESV) reads:

14 But even if you should suffer for righteousness’ sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled,
15 but in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect,
16 having a good conscience, so that, when you are slandered, those who revile your good behavior in Christ may be put to shame.
17 For it is better to suffer for doing good, if that should be God’s will, than for doing evil.

John Walton states that in 1 Peter, every chapter has references to suffering and perseverance: 1:6-9; 2:19-25; 3:8-22; 4:1-2, 12-19; 5:6-10.[2] Thus, Peter is instructing Christians to follow Christ’s example and live virtuously, even amidst unjust suffering as a witness to society. When asked why one has hope that transcends their circumstances, Christians should be ready to explain (give an apologetic).

As Justin D. Barnard puts it, “The hope that the apologist possesses must be manifest in such a way that those in despair’s grip are compelled to ask. In other words, Petrine apologetics, as an activity, is a defense whose need is driven by an encounter with an alien form of life.”[3]

This gives new meaning to the quote, “Preach the gospel at all times and if necessary, use words.” Thus, Peter’s instruction is an urge to engage in a form of moral apologetics.

Peter is Referring to Jesus as God (Yahweh)

In Charles Kuykendall and C. John Collins’s treatment of 1 Peter 3:15, they argue that the first part of the verse should be rendered, “But in your hearts revere the Lord Christ as holy." This is done in order to make the directive of acknowledging Christ's holiness more explicit and to take the more nuanced view that "'Christ' further defines who the Lord is."[4] But what does “Lord” mean?

The Greek word for Lord (κύριος) denotes a master’s absolute ownership rights over some property. This is what Roman citizens would be accustomed to hearing. But for Jews, it has a greater semantic potential: LORD (יְהוָֹה), the proper name of the God of Israel—also known as the Tetragrammaton (meaning “four letters,” transliterated as YHWH). When biblical writers use other biblical writings, they are doing two things: (1) validating their source, and (2) supplanting it within a contemporary context. This signifies intertextuality—or a relationship between two or more texts.

In the case of verses 14-16, Peter is referencing Isaiah 8:12-14 (ESV) which reads as follows:

12 “Do not call conspiracy all that this people calls conspiracy, and do not fear what they fear, nor be in dread.
13 But the LORD of hosts, him you shall honor as holy. Let him be your fear, and let him be your dread.
14 And he will become a sanctuary and a stone of offense and a rock of stumbling to both houses of Israel, a trap and a snare to the inhabitants of Jerusalem.

Since verse 13 corresponds to 1 Peter 3:15, Peter is identifying the Tetragrammaton with Jesus.

Kuykendall and Collins note that Peter has no scruples about using the title Yhwh to describe Christ. They provide 1 Peter 2:3-4's allusion to Psalm 34:8 as a proof-text. Again, in 1 Peter 2:3-4, the ambiguous Greek term “Lord” is used, but Psalm 34:8 disambiguates it using the one-and-only Tetragrammaton. Similar moves are made by Paul’s use of the Shema (cf. 1 Corinthians 8:6; Deuteronomy 4:35) and the Gospel writers’ allusion to Isaiah (cf. Mark 1:3, Matthew 3:3, Luke 3:4, John 1:23; Isaiah 40:3).

Peter is Moralizing “Apology”—a Legal Term

1 Peter 3:15 has been called the locus classicus for apologetics—the classic place to look in finding prooftexts for apologetics.[5] Apologetics is a branch of theology that argues for the truth of Christianity. “Apology” (ἀπολογία), from which “apologetics” stems, in the ancient Mediterranean was used to refer to court defenses. For example, in Plato’s Apology of Socrates, Socrates gives a legal defense for which he should not be put to death for “corrupting the youth.”

In a similar way, Paul defended himself before the Jewish council (Acts 23), Felix (Acts 24), Festus and Agrippa (Acts 26), and Christians when defending the authority of his apostleship amidst accusations (1 Corinthians 9; 2 Corinthians 13). As a Jew, Jesus was likewise accused by three Jewish sects in Matthew 22, for which he gave judicious replies.

It is from these terms that we derive the Greek terms “apologesthai” (verb; to give an answer), “apologia” (noun; the answer given), “apologetikos” (noun; the skill of giving an answer), and of course “apologetics” (noun; the discipline that gives answers).[6] Though these terms are not always used, there is a number of instances of apologetic activity throughout the New Testament.

Given the context of 1 Peter 3:15, we see that Christians in Asia Minor are being instructed to prepare to explain their hope, even amidst unjust suffering. Their virtuous living in these circumstances will put their persecutors to shame. Such upright behavior would put them at a rhetorical advantage in court (a common practice among Greeks and Jews), with their accusers being embarrassed.[7]

However, as Craig Keener points out, “The present case is not bound to legal settings, nor is it a deliberate reversal of charges.”[8] Though the disciples may face legal persecution, the goal of the was to change the lives of the accusers in an honor-shame culture. It is in this sense moral instruction, rather than legal instruction. Even in our culture (which is less driven by honor and shame), we see how shame can be used to change behavior, for the better and for the worse.

For example, a study was done on patients whose physicians made them feel ashamed for unhealthy behavior.[9] One-third responded by avoiding future doctor visits while another third decided to change their health behaviors for the better. This may be while Peter says to give reasons for the hope in us with “gentleness and respect.”

The Case for Rational Apologetics is in Verse 14

Many contemporary apologists would say there is precedent for making positive cases for the existence of God, the coherence of theism, the reliability of the Bible, the resurrection of Jesus, and so on. But is there a precedent here in 1 Peter that makes these sorts of rational apologetics permissible? If there is a case to be made, it would be in explaining the content and method in which Peter is referring.

The hope that was in the early church was that they would be resurrected just as Christ had been (1 Thessalonians 4:14). This is the content that the early church was to be ready to defend. Implicit in this was the belief in God, the historicity of Jesus, and much more (though it is unlikely that these things would have been as relevant to defend at the time). So what about the method?

Again, verse 14 says, “But even if you should suffer for righteousness’ sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled.” As we saw, this is an allusion to Isaiah 8, which indicates that it is the LORD, God of Israel, we should fear rather than man. To Jews, fear of the Lord is not merely reverence but has an epistemic aspect as well.

It is the beginning of knowledge (Proverbs 1:7), the hatred of arrogance and pride (8:13), a fountain of life (14:27), humility (22:4), understanding (Job 28:28, Psalm 110:10), the whole duty of man (Ecclesiastes 12:13). These all hinge on wisdom (Proverbs 1:7, 9:10, 15:33; Psalm 110:10) by observing God’s instruction.

The semantic potential for wisdom includes technical skill, shrewdness in administration, and prudence in ethical and religious affairs in Hebrew (חָכְמָה) and generalized knowledge, acute experience, skill, discretion, craftiness, artistic awareness, rhetorical eloquence, and intellectual excellence in Greek (σοφία). Its diversity of use has made it difficult to pin down its exact definition. Recent developments in psychology and philosophy shed light on what is common among instances of wisdom.

In philosophy, wisdom is normative practical knowledge about the significance and priorities in life. In psychology, as delineated in the Berlin Paradigm, wisdom is expert knowledge and judgment of the "fundamental pragmatics of life."[10] This includes five qualitative criteria.

1. Factual knowledge: To what extent does this product show general (conditio humana) and specific knowledge about matters of life (e.g., life events and institutions) and the human condition, as well as demonstrate scope and depth in the consideration of issues?

2. Procedural knowledge: To what extent does this product consider decision and advice-giving strategies, whom to consult, how to define goals and identify means to achieve them?

3. Lifespan contextualism: To what extent does this product consider the past, current, and possible future contexts of life and the many circumstances in which a person's life is embedded?

4. Value relativism and tolerance: To what extent does this product consider variations in values and life priorities and recognize the importance of viewing each person within his or her own framework despite a small set of universal values?

5. Awareness and management of uncertainty: To what extent does this product consider the inherent uncertainty of life (in terms of interpreting the past and predicting the future) and effective strategies for dealing with this uncertainty?[11]

The first two criteria are described as "basic" while the last three are described as "metalevel," taken together to create a sort of metaheuristic for life. (Note that #4 is not referring to the technical definitions of relativism and tolerance, but the practical sense of deliberate organization and accommodation, respectively.)

In any case, the necessity of rational argumentation is implied. However, that is not the end of it. Petrine apologetics requires that one lives virtuously and contextualize rational argumentation within a greater understanding of wisdom in which the apologist can contextualize his or her knowledge.

[1] Burdick, Donald W. and John H. Skilton. “1 Peter,” NIV Study Bible, Fully Revised Edition. Edited by Kenneth Barker. Zondervan. Kindle Edition. Locations 8616-8617.

[2] Walton, John H., Mark L. Strauss, and Ted Cooper Jr. “1 Peter.” The Essential Bible Companion. Zondervan. 2006. 118-119.

[3] Barnard, Justin D. “Petrine apologetics: Hope, imagination, and forms of life. Review and Expositor. Vol. 111, Iss. 3 (2014). 274-280.

[4] Kuykendall, Charles and C John Collins. "1 Peter 3:15A: a critical review of English versions." Presbyterion. 29, No. 2 (September 2003). 76-84.

[5] Ibid., Barnard.

[6] Ramm, Bernard. “Brief Introduction to Christian Apologetics,” Varieties of Christian Apologetics: An Introduction to the Christian Philosophy of Religion. Baker Book House: Grand Rapids, MI. 1976. 11-12.

[7] Keener, Craig S. “Behave Honorably, Refuting Slanders (3:13-17),” 1 Peter: A Commentary. Baker Academic, 2021. 257-265.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Cohen, Taya R., Scott T. Wolf, A. T. Panter, and Chester A. Insko. “Introducing the GASP Scale: A New Measure of Guilt and Shame Proneness,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. Vol. 100, No. 5. (2011). 947-966.

[10] Konrad Banicki. "The Berlin Wisdom Paradigm: A Conceptual Analysis of a Psychological Approach to Wisdom," History & Philosophy of Psychology. Vol. 11, Iss. 2 (2009). 25-35.

[11] Staudinger, Ursula M., and Alan Law. "Wisdom." Encyclopedia of Mental Health, 2nd Edition. Edited by Howard S. Friedman. Elsevier Science & Technology, 2015.

No, Wormwood, Empathy is Not a Sin

Recently, the Desiring God community received public attention by claiming that empathy was not something to be desired (no pun intended), but rather it was in fact a sin. Mark Wingfield’s article “Have You Heard the One about Empathy Being a Sin?,” draws attention to the debate and notes the disdain that Rigney, Piper, and others hold for the practice of empathy.

The source behind Wingfield’s article is a piece written by Joe Rigney in 2019. Joe Rigney—the president of Bethlehem College and Seminary, teacher for DesiringGod.org, and pastor of Cities Church—uses the form of C. S. Lewis’s classic tale The Screwtape Letters to depict empathy as a sinful practice. He argues that compassion suffers with another person, while empathy suffers in them.[1] Rigney’s problems with empathy are further noted in a podcast with Doug Wilson where he notes, “Empathy is the sort of thing that you’ve got when someone is drowning, or they’re in quicksand, and they’re sinking. And what empathy wants you to do is jump into the quicksand with them…Problem is, you’re both now sinking.”[2] Sympathy, in contrast, is dragging the person out while safely standing on solid ground. James White later ignited Twitter with his comments, “When you start with man as image-bearing creature of God, you can understand why sympathy is good, but empathy is sinful. Do not surrender our mind to the sinful emotional response of others.”[3]

The question, however, remains unsettled: If Screwtape were to write to Wormwood, would he truly enlist empathy as a tool of Satan or a tool of God? I would argue that empathy is not only a tool of God, but rather empathy is the cornerstone upon which compassion and sympathy are built. To argue this point, first, we will define empathy as it is properly understood. Then, we will look at biblical references calling Christians to empathize with others. Finally, we will peer into Scriptures that show divine manifestations of empathy towards us.

Empathy Defined: What It Is and What It Isn’t

The first step in evaluating any logical claim is to define the terms. Peter Kreeft rightly says that if a “term is ambiguous, it should be defined, to make it clear. Otherwise, the two parties to the argument may thing they are talking about the same thing when they are not.”[4] This is especially true for our endeavor. The reason that Rigney, Piper, White, and others ascribe empathy as a sin is because they have not properly understood empathy, or at least the importance of the practice. Let us first define what empathy is.

Empathy is understood as sharing in one another’s emotional experience. But it is more than that. It means that you try to put yourself in the person’s shoes. You try to understand the argument that the person is making, or at least try to understand the person’s perspective. It sure seems like the world could use more of it. As one with slight genetic ties to the Cherokee Indian tribe of northwestern North Carolina, I often heard the phrase, “you never know what someone is going through unless you walk a mile in his moccasins.” The phrase actually originates a poem written by Mary T. Lathrap in 1895 entitled Walk a Mile in His Moccasins. The poem begins by saying, “Pray, don’t find fault with the man that limps, or stumbles along the road unless you have worn the moccasins he wears, or stumbled beneath the same load.”[5] Lathrap reveals the importance of empathy when interacting with those who experience trouble in life.

Empathy encourages us to make an emotional connection with the person in need. D. H. Stevenson defines empathy as follows:

Empathy is generally understood to mean sharing in another person’s emotional experience in a particular situation. To be empathic we must have the ability to step outside ourselves and into another’s private world. We can experience empathy at different times, in various places, and in many forms: when we get teary during a sad movie; when we feel elated or disappointed with the fortunes of our favorite team; when we enter fully into the meaning of a work of art; and when we imagine the deep hurt of another’s loss of a loved one. The term empathy has a long philosophical and psychological history. Some social and moral philosophers give this term preeminence as the basis for all human emotion.[6]

Empathy is further defined as “one human being sitting with another, being present in a time of darkness, offering a ministry of mercy while avoiding trite words of advice or comfort.”[7] Empathy attempts to understand the person’s physical, emotional, and spiritual state without making any judgment calls. It is to see the person as he or she exists. Now that we have defined what empathy is, let us now look at what empathy is not.

Empathy does not mean that difficult topics are never discussed. It does not indicate that the counselor never encourages the counselee to adopt a new path or better practices. As McMinn observes, it creates a “safe environment where [one can] feel as comfortable as possible before…[being] willing to consider his need to become psychologically naked in my presence.”[8] Before one opens up to another, trust and confidence must be built. Without empathy, such a task is impossible. Empathetic attitudes, while not condoning sin, identifies with the human condition, all of which is enshrouded in one’s awareness of God’s grace.[9] Using Rigney’s comparison of one finding another in quicksand, empathy realizes the importance and value of the person in the quicksand. It identifies with the person, realizing the dire state of the person in need. That is empathy. Empathy leads one to extend a hand to the person in need, while remaining on solid ground, to pull the person to safety. Empathy actualizes the rescue mission. Without empathy, the person would have been like the priest in Jesus’s Parable of the Good Samaritan, merely continuing one’s journey without taking time to help the quicksand’s victim. Empathy does not require losing one’s moral foundations. Rather, to assist one in need, empathy requires a strong moral mooring. Empathy that leads us not to action is not empathy at all.[10]

The Biblical Call for Empathy

Seeing that the gospel is built on the love of God, it is unsurprising that the Bible calls for Christians to exhibit empathy for their fellow man.[11] While many other biblical passages could be noted at this juncture, three particularly stand out.

In Matthew 22:39, Jesus notes that after the love of God, the greatest commandment that one could hold is to “Love your neighbor as yourself.”[12] He continues by saying, “All the Law and the Prophets depend on these two commandments. Loving neighbor as oneself epitomizes the nature of empathy. To love neighbor as oneself is to put oneself in another’s shoes. It sees outside oneself to elevate the status of his or her fellow man. Jesus’s expression of neighbor does not only apply to those like oneself. Rather, as shown in the Parable of the Good Samaritan, neighbor extends to every person encountered.

Peter writes in 1 Peter 3:8, “all of you be like-minded and sympathetic, love one another, and be compassionate and humble.” The Greek term translated as “sympathetic” is sympathes. The Theological Dictionary of the NT defines sympathes as one “who is affected like another by the same sufferings, impressions, emotions,” or “who suffers, experiences etc. the same as another,” later one “who has fellow-feeling, sympathy with another.”[13] While the term is translated as “sympathy,” the emotional ability to express empathy underlies one’s ability to show biblical sympathy.

In Romans 12:15-16, Paul exhorts the Roman church to “Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another.” Empathy is essential if one is to celebrate with the accomplishments of others and to carry the sorrow of those who weep. Yet this is another example of how empathy is foundational to exhibit Christian virtues—that is, as empowered by the Holy Spirit.

Divine Empathy Manifested

In three passages of Scriptures, Jesus himself is shown to manifest empathy for others. First, Jesus “felt compassion for [the people], because they were distressed and dejected, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matt. 9:36). He then told his disciples, “The harvest is abundant, but the workers are few. Therefore, pray to the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into his harvest” (Matt. 9:37b-38). Notice that Jesus was moved with compassion. What motivated his compassion? It was due to the empathy he felt for the people as he identified with their distressed and dejected state. Did Jesus sin due to his emotional connection with the people? Of course not! He was the sinless Son of God. Yet he was still moved with emotion as he identified with the needs of others.

Second, even though Jesus knew what the end of the story would be for Lazarus as he would raise him from the dead, Jesus was still caught in the emotions of the moment and wept (John 11:35). While the precise reasons for his weeping are unknown, more evident is his emotional connectiveness with Mary, Martha, and those who mourned the loss of Lazarus. Thus, we can still connect with the emotional state of others without giving up our theological convictions. For Lazarus’s family and friends, their sorrow turned to rejoicing due to Jesus’s empathy put into action.

Finally, the writer of Hebrews reflects on the life of Jesus. He notes that “we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has been tempted in every way as we are, yet without sin” (Heb. 4:14). Again, the word sympathes is used just as it was in 1 Peter 3:8. As was shown previously, empathy underlies a person’s sympathy and compassion. Thus, Jesus exemplified his empathy toward humanity to the point that he even faced the human experience by becoming part of it.

Conclusion

When I began chaplaincy work, a retired chaplain told me, “This is an emotionally draining job as you are helping those who are dying to find peace to cross over. You must guard your heart to keep from burning out. However, you must still maintain a sense of empathy for those you serve. Otherwise, you will never make a connection with them.” We often dissect the evangelistic and discipleship problems of the modern church. But perhaps our problem is not found in our strategies and tactic. Maybe it is much greater than that. Could it be that Christians have become so entrenched in their church work that they have forgotten what it was like to be lost? Could it be that we strive so hard to make a name for ourselves that we forgot the Name above all Names that empathized with our state? Empathy is the driving force of compassion. Without it, nothing that we do will make a connection with those in need. If I have learned anything in my year of chaplaincy work, it is that people desperately need to hear of the love and grace of our God—the God who is that “than which nothing greater can be conceived”[14]—and that this God empathizes with their state. With this in mind, if there were a real Screwtape, he would write to his demonic understudy, “No, Wormwood, empathy is not a sin. Therefore, show no empathy, and lead others to do likewise.”

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About the Author 

Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, and the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics. Brian is a Ph.D. Candidate of the Theology and Apologetics program at Liberty University. He received his Master of Divinity in Theology from Liberty University (with high distinction); his Bachelor of Science in Religious Studies and Philosophy from Gardner-Webb University (with honors); and received certification in Christian Apologetics from Biola University. Brian is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has served in pastoral ministry for nearly 20 years and currently serves as a clinical chaplain.

https://www.amazon.com/Laymans-Manual-Christian-Apologetics-Essentials/dp/1532697104

© 2021. MoralApologetics.com.

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[1] Joe Rigney, “The Enticing Sin of Empathy: How Satan Corrupts through Compassion,” DesiringGod.org (May 31, 2019), https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/the-enticing-sin-of-empathy.

[2] Doug Wilson interview with Joe Rigney, Man Rampant (March 18, 2021), https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6i9a3Rfd7yI.

[3] James White, “On the Sin of Empathy,” AOMin.org (March 13, 2021), https://www.aomin.org/aoblog/theologymatters/on-the-sin-of-empathy/.

[4] Peter Kreeft, Socratic Logic: A Logic Text Using Socratic Method, Platonic Questions, and Aristotelian Principles, Trent Dougherty (South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 2014), 26.

[5] Mary Lathrap, Walk a Mile in His Moccasins (1895), https://www.aaanativearts.com/walk-mile-in-his-moccasins.

[6] D. H. Stevenson, “Empathy,” Baker Encyclopedia of Psychology & Counseling, Baker Reference Library, David G. Benner and Peter C. Hill, eds (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1999), 397-398.

[7] Mark R. McMinn, Sin and Grace in Christian Counseling: An Integrative Paradigm (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2008), 70. Thanks goes out to Chaplain Jason Kline for directing me to this resource.

[8] Ibid., 50.

[9] Ibid., 45.

[10] In my field of work, I often associate with EMS workers. While the celebrate the lives they are able to save, they mourn the loss of those they couldn’t. Empathy drives these brave souls to action. It is the foundation behind their ability to do what they do.

[11] If one should contend this proposition, consider that the two great commandments espoused by Jesus are both focused on love—love for God and love for humanity (Matt. 22:36-40).

[12] Unless otherwise noted, all quoted Scripture comes from the Christian Standard Bible (Nashville, TN: Holman, 2020).

[13] Wilhelm Michaelis, “Πάσχω, Παθητός, Προπάσχω, Συμπάσχω, Πάθος, Πάθημα, Συμπαθής, Συμπαθέω, Κακοπαθέω, Συγκακοπαθέω, Κακοπάθεια, Μετριοπαθέω, Ὁμοιοπαθής,” Dictionary of the New Testament, Gerhard Kittel, Geoffrey W. Bromiley, and Gerhard Friedrich, eds (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1964), 935.

[14] Anselm of Canterbury, Proslogium 2, in Proslogium; Monologium; An Appendix, In Behalf of the Fool, by Gaunilon; and Cur Deus Homo, Sidney Norton Deane, ed and trans (Chicago: The Open Court Publishing Company, 1939), 7.

Making Sense of Morality: A Brief Assessment of MacIntyre’s Ethics

Editor’s note: R. Scott Smith has graciously allowed us to republish his series, “Making Sense of Morality.” You can find the original post here.

Some Contributions

What should we make of MacIntyre’s proposals? His ethics focuses on the importance of good character by embodying moral virtues and being authentic. He also draws attention to the importance of community. And, he emphasizes the need for living out the virtues, and not merely engaging in abstract theorizing.

Broad Concerns

As we have seen, MacIntyre and other authors writing in the light of the postmodern turn embrace nominalism. Yet, we have seen its disastrous effects, leaving us without any qualities whatsoever. So, there are no people, no morals (not even our core ones), no world, etc. But surely this is false, and it destroys morality.

We also have surveyed issues with historicism, which ends up with no way to start making interpretations. Yet, are we really so situated that we cannot access reality directly? Now, surely no human is blind to nothing, and we cannot know something exhaustively. Surely we have our biases, too.

Yet, from daily life, it seems we can notice that we do access reality. For example, how do children learn to form concepts of apples? It seems it is by having many experiences of them. Then they can notice their commonalities, and they can form a concept on that basis. Then they can use that concept to compare something else they see (e.g., a tomato) and notice if it too is an apple or not. Adults do this, too, when they use phones to refill prescriptions, or enter their “PIN” for a debit card purchase.

It seems to be a descriptive fact that we can compare our concepts with things as they are, just as in that apple example. We also can adjust our concepts to better fit with reality. I think we can know this to be so, if we pay close attention to what is consciously before our minds.

However, how we attend to what we are aware of can reflect patterns. We can fall into ruts, noticing some things while not attending to others. As J. P. Moreland suggests, “situatedness functions as a set of habit forming background beliefs and concepts that direct our acts of noticing or failing to notice various features of reality” (Moreland, 311). But these habits do not preclude us from accessing reality.

Specific Concerns

Now, MacIntyre rejects the soul as the basis for one’s being the same person through change. For one, it would be an essence, and he seems to think humans are just bodies (Dependent Rational Animals, 6). Can the unity of one’s narrative meet this need?

For him, a narrative does not have an essence; it is composed of sentences that tell a person’s story. At any time, the narrative’s identity just is the bundle of sentences that are its members. However, if a new sentence is added, then the set of members has changed, and a new story has taken the old one’s place. Sadly, then, someone cannot grow in virtue or rationality on this view, for they do not maintain their identity through change.

Moreover, can we really see that one tradition is rationally superior to another? MacIntyre in banking on our ability to become bilingual. However, on his view, a person at any time is constituted by his or her narrative, and that in turn cannot be pried off from the tradition on which it is based. When a person immerses him or herself into another tradition to learn its language, that learning always will be done from the interpretive standpoint of the first tradition, by which that person has been formed. Indeed, it could not be otherwise, since that person is narratively “constituted” by the first tradition’s conceptual/linguistic framework. But, as that person “learns” that second language, new sentences should be added to that person’s narrative. Yet, if so, that person no longer is the same! So it becomes impossible to see the rational superiority of another tradition on his own views.

For Further Reading

Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue, 3rd ed.; Dependent Rational Animals; and Whose Justice? Which Rationality?

J. P. Moreland, “Two Areas of Reflection and Dialogue with John Franke,” Philosophia Christi 8:2 (2006)

R. Scott Smith, In Search of Moral Knowledge, ch. 11

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R. Scott Smith is a Christian philosopher and apologist, with special interests in ethics, knowledge, and seeing the body of Christ live in the fullness of the Spirit and truth.

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Making Sense of Morality: Alasdair MacIntyre’s Ethics

Editor’s note: R. Scott Smith has graciously allowed us to republish his series, “Making Sense of Morality.” You can find the original post here.

MacIntyre’s Diagnosis

MacIntyre (b. 1929) observes people seem to speak from different moral standpoints, or languages. Some talk as though they are emotivists, while others are Kantians, utilitarians, relativists, Aristotelians, etc. But, it seems we no longer have a way to dialogue morally and come to agreements. These different ways of morally talking seem to presuppose objective standards to evaluate them. However, he claims that fails because they presuppose different evaluative concepts and frameworks.

This situation leads to shouting matches. This happened, he thinks, because the Enlightenment “project” dropped the idea of a moral telos (goal, end) from Aristotle and Aquinas. Without it, we seem left with just human nature as it is, and ethics as the tools to become moral. But, what should we be like?

With the different moral theories so far, MacIntyre thinks we lack how rationally to decide between them. He claims this is because no independent, rational standards exist to decide between them.

Without a cogent answer, Nietzsche wins – ethics is just about power after all. Or, perhaps we discarded an earlier moral tradition too quickly. MacIntyre thinks we should recover the Aristotelian moral tradition (and later, Thomism) to solve this dilemma.

MacIntyre’s Proposal

To recover Aristotle’s ethics, MacIntyre recommends several changes. First, while Aristotle depended upon the soul to ground a person’s identity through change (including growth in virtue), MacIntyre says we must reject the soul. In its place, he argues for the narrative unity to a person. One’s narrative is drawn from the narrative context of that person’s form of life (community), with its formative story and language.

While Aristotle’s virtues were universal properties present in one’s soul, MacIntyre needs a new basis for them. He appeals to practices, such as medicine, which are socially established, systematic, cooperative activities with goods internal and external to them. For a doctor, the internal goods include helping sick people get well, while an external good could be material prosperity. Practices have standards of excellence (virtue, or arête), and practitioners’ abilities to achieve those goals, and their understanding thereof, grow.

Instead of Aristotle’s context (the Greek polis), MacIntyre appeals to traditions, which are extended historically. They are socially embodied by particular peoples in their communities. A tradition is an argument “about the goods which constitute that tradition” (MacIntyre, After Virtue, 229). For example, Christianity could be a tradition, formed by many particular Christian communities down through time.

The telos of one’s life come from the intersection of that life with the master story of the tradition. Moral virtues enable the pursuit of a telos for the good of that person, to sustain the tradition, and help achieve the goods internal to practices.

MacIntyre and Language

MacIntyre draws heavily upon the later Wittgenstein’s (d. 1951) views of language. Each language is nominal and tied to a given form of life. Language does not have universal meaning. Instead, meaning is a matter of language use (verbal and nonverbal behavior) in that context, according to its grammatical rules and formative story.

Rationality is not some universal phenomenon; it is tied to a tradition with its master story (e.g., for Christians, the gospel story) and language. Though we always access reality through the interpretive lens of our tradition, MacIntyre still maintains there is a real world apart from our interpretations.

Yet, MacIntyre argues that we can rationally adjudicate which tradition is rationally better than another. How? It cannot be done as an outsider to a tradition; it has to be done from the inside. One learns the language of one’s own tradition, and learns to interpret and reason from under that “aspect.” But, that person also can immerse him or herself in another tradition and learn its language as a second first language. That way, by being able to reason and interpret in both ways, that person can “see” if a tradition can solve its own problems and that of another. If so, that tradition is rationally superior and deserves one’s allegiance. So, we can avoid relativism, even though rational standards are internal to each tradition.

For Further Reading

Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue, 3rd ed., and Whose Justice? Which Rationality?

R. Scott Smith, In Search of Moral Knowledge, ch. 9

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N. T. Wright on Virtue

(an excerpt from Wright’s After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters, pp. 18-22):

Thursday, January 15, 2009, was another ordinary day in New York City. Or so it seemed. But by that evening people were talking of a miracle.

After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters

By Wright, N. T.

            They may have been right. But the full explanation is, if anything, even more interesting and exciting. And it strikes just the note we need as we launch out on our exploration of the development of character in general and Christian character in particular.

            Flight 2549, a regular US Airways trip from LaGuardia Airport, took off at 15:26 local time, bound for Charlotte, North Carolina. The captain, Chesley Sullenberger III, known as “Sully,” did all the usual checks. Everything was fine in the Airbus A320. Fine until, two minutes after takeoff, the aircraft ran straight into a flock of Canada geese. One goose in a jet engine would be serious; a flock was disastrous. (Airports play all sorts of tricks to prevent birds gathering in the flight path, but it still happens occasionally.) Almost at once both the engines were severely damaged and lost their power. The plane was at that point heading north over the Bronx, one of the most densely populated parts of the city.

            Captain Sullenberger and his copilot had to make several major decisions instantly if they were going to save the lives of people not only on board but also on the ground. They could see one or two small local airports in the distance, but quickly realized that they couldn’t be sure of making it that far. If they attempted it, they might well crash-land in a built-up area on the way. Likewise, the option of putting the plane down on the New Jersey Turnpike, a busy main road leading in and out of the city, would present huge problems and dangers for the plane and its occupants, let alone for cars and their drivers on the road. That left one option: the Hudson River. It’s difficult to crash-land on water: one small mistake—catch the nose or one of the wings in the river, say—and the plane will turn over and over like a gymnast before breaking up and sinking.

            In the two or three minutes they had before landing, Sullenberger and his copilot had to do the following vital things (along with plenty of other tasks that we amateurs wouldn’t understand). They had to shut down the engines. They had to set the right speed so that the plane could glide as long as possible without power. (Fortunately, Sullenberger is also a gliding instructor.) They had to get the nose of the plane down to maintain speed. They had to disconnect the autopilot and override the flight management system. They had to activate the “ditch” system, which seals vents and valves, to make the plane as waterproof as possible once it hit the water. Most important of all, they had to fly and then glide the plane in a fast left-hand turn so that it could come down facing south, going with the flow of the river. And—having already turned off the engines—they had to do this using only the battery-operated systems and the emergency generator. Then they had to straighten the plane up from the tilt of the sharp-left turn so that, on landing, the plane would be exactly level from side to side. Finally, they had to get the nose back up again, but not too far up, and land straight and flat on the water.

            And they did it! Everyone got off safely, with Captain Sullenberger himself walking up and down the aisle a couple of times to check that everyone had escaped before leaving himself. Once in the life raft along with other passengers, he went one better: he took off his shirt, in the freezing January afternoon, and gave it to a passenger who was suffering in the cold.

            The story has already been told and retold, and will live on in the memory not only of all those involved but of every New Yorker and many further afield. Just over seven years and four months after the horrible devastation of September 11, 2001, New York had an airplane story to celebrate.

            Now, as I say, many people described the dramatic events as a “miracle.” At one level, I wouldn’t want to question that. But the really fascinating thing about the whole business is the way it spectacularly illustrates a vital truth—a truth which many today have either forgotten or never known in the first place.

            You could call it the power of right habits. You might say it was the result of many years of training and experience. You could call it “character,” as we have so far in this book.

            Ancient writers had a word for it: virtue.

            Virtue, in this sense, isn’t simply another way of saying “goodness.” The word has sometimes been flattened out like that (perhaps because we instinctively want to escape its challenge), but that isn’t its strict meaning. Virtue, in this strict sense, is what happens when someone has made a thousand small choices, requiring effort and concentration, to do something which is good and right but which doesn’t “come naturally”—and then, on the thousand and first time, when it really matters, they find that they do what’s required “automatically,” as we say. On that thousand and first occasion, it does indeed look as if it “just happens”; but reflection tells us that it doesn’t “just happen” as easily as that. If you or I had been flying the Airbus A320 that afternoon, and had done what “comes naturally,” or if we’d allowed things just “to happen,” we would probably have crashed into the Bronx. (Apologies to any actual pilots reading this; you, I hope, would have done what Captain Sullenberger did.) As this example shows, virtue is what happens when wise and courageous choices have become “second nature.” Not “first nature,” as though they happened “naturally.” Rather, a kind of second-order level of “naturalness.” Like an acquired taste, such choices and actions, which started off being practiced with difficulty, ended up being, yes, “second nature.”

            Sullenberger had not, of course, been born with the ability to fly a plane, let alone the specific skills he exhibited in those vital three minutes. None of the skills required, and certainly none of the courage, restraint, cool judgment, and concern for others which he displayed, is part of the kit we humans possess from birth. You have to work at mastering that sort of skill set, moving steadily toward that goal. You have to want to do it all, to choose to learn it all, to practice doing it all. Again and again. And then, sometimes, when the moment comes, it happens “automatically” as it did for Sullenberger. The skills and ability ran right through him, top to toe.

            Which is just as well. The other options hardly bear thinking about. Supposing they had been novice pilots simply “doing what came naturally”? Or supposing they’d had to get hold of a book with detailed instructions for coping with emergencies, look up the relevant pages, and then try to obey what it said? By the time they’d figured it out, the plane would have crashed. No: what was needed was character, formed by the specific strengths, that is, “virtues,” of knowing exactly how to fly a plane, and also the more general virtues of courage, restraint, cool judgment, and determination to do the right thing for others.

            These four strengths of character—courage, restraint, cool judgment, and determination to do the right thing for others—are, in fact, precisely the four qualities which the greatest ancient philosopher who wrote about such matters identified as the keys to genuine human existence.

Train Up Your Wizards in the Way They Should Go (Part III)

Photo by Jack Anstey on Unsplash

It’s a memorable moment, but again, Neville—like Hermione—has been prepared for such a time as this; the courage he displays here has been built through earlier decisions and courageous acts. Even if the stakes were smaller then, they were nonetheless challenges to be overcome. A memorable training ground for Neville’s stand against Voldemort, for example, was his earlier stand against his friends stopping them from leaving the common room in order to prevent punishment to the whole house. For this act, he is rewarded with ten points for Gryffindore, as Dumbledore announces, “There are all kinds of courage. . . . It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but just as much to stand up to your friends.” Crucially, Neville challenges his friends out of a pure heart, not for selfish reasons. Courage is not to be confused with rash and dangerous action; it is instead principled action in the face of fear. For this reason, C. S. Lewis elevates courage above other virtues: “Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point.” Neville stands up to his friends because he loves them. Love being the motivating virtue for all the others and the most important of all the virtues practiced by the characters and taught by the series.

I think, in fact, that what most attracts readers, what accounts for the Harry Potter phenomenon is this simple yet profound truth: that love will, in fact, save the world. But, and here’s the kicker, love costs. Love is no insubstantial, sentimental thing; it is tough as nails and powerful—it requires force and a humble, courageous act of will. For, as Plato has argued, the virtues truly are unified—they support and reinforce one another to enable us to become the people we ought to be. The education Harry Potter offers is to recognize the value of humility, courage, and most importantly love and to steel us to embrace the cost and to impress deeply upon us that that cost is worth the reward. This pattern—of a desperate situation, a dramatic self-sacrifice, and a hope affirmed through that sacrifice—runs throughout the book and appears both in the overarching narrative and the smaller stories that make up the whole. Through these depictions, Rowling is training her readers to see beyond the immediate and to recognize the even deeper reality of a world ruled by justice and redeemed by love. Individual enactments of humility, courage, and love are inseparable from justice and love’s ultimate triumph. In the soil of Rowling’s books the reader’s moral imagination can grow alongside those of the central characters. Not only is love what is being taught to these characters (and readers) as they grow up; it’s the catalyst for their learning.

In this summer’s popular documentary, Fred Rogers reminds us that “love is at the root at everything, all learning, all relationships, love or the lack of it.” The arc of Harry’s story highlights this deep truth. As powerful as the series’ climax is—where Harry surrenders himself to Voldemort to save his beloved friends and professors—it could never have happened if it weren’t for his mother’s sacrificial act to protect him from Voldemort as a child. And I don’t mean this in the obvious way—that Harry would not have lived were it not for his mother’s protection. I mean it in the way the book makes clear—Lily Potter denies herself in favor of her son, finds courage to stand up against an implacable enemy despite the overwhelming odds that he will prevail, and plants deep within her son a knowledge of love’s power that cannot be shaken; Harry loves well because his mother first loved him. As Dumbledore explains to Harry: “Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realise that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign ... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin.”

Even still, Harry must grow into that love, step by step and choice by choice. He does so with the encouragement of loving mentors and pseudo-parents. Dumbledore, especially. As a precursor to Harry’s self-sacrifice in Deathly Hollows, Dumbledore allows Snape to kill him. That Dumbledore took this step gave force to the encouragement and support he offers Harry at King’s Cross Station. Pottermore elaborates on this important scene in the following commentary that’s helpful for underscoring how Dumbledore’s character is simultaneously formed and revealed through his actions:

[D]espite the faults, despite Dumbledore perhaps not being the perfect wizard Harry thought he was, never before has Dumbledore seemed more heroic. For men and women are not born great. They learn greatness over time – from experience, from mistakes. Dumbledore looked at his deeds, at his flaws, and he had the wisdom to confront and overcome them; he fought the greatest nemesis there was: himself. . . . Who better to teach the next generation of wizards? Who better to face Lord Voldemort? Who better to send Harry on his way from King’s Cross station, with one last piece of wisdom: “Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.”

The wisdom Dumbledore offers Harry is wedded to his practice; more importantly, it has grown out of that practice. And Harry has learned well, as he goes out to surrender to Voldemort. It’s a beautiful picture of someone who has embraced and embodied the moral education of these many years. It’s one that resonates with readers, as sales and the popularity of the books and its ancillary products shows. But what readers do with that story matters just as much as the story itself. Have we embraced our own moral education inspired by these books? William James reminds us that without putting what we learned through literature into practice, the experience is the opposite of educative; it is utterly self-indulgent:

The weeping of a Russian lady over the fictitious personages in the play, while her coach-man is freezing to death on his seat outside, is the sort of thing that everywhere happens on a less glaring scale. . . . One becomes filled with emotions which habitually pass without prompting to any deed, and so the inertly sentimental condition is kept up. The remedy would be, never to suffer one's self to have an emotion at a concert, without expressing it afterward in some active way. Let the expression be the least thing in the world -speaking genially to one's aunt, or giving up one's seat in a horse-car, if nothing more heroic offers - but let it not fail to take place.

Rightly read, good literature—the enchanted and non-enchanted varieties alike—habituates our hearts and minds outwardly, to practice humility, bolster our courage, and embrace love. We can—and I think should—lament our current state of affairs, how the worst of times are at present being instantiated: the bitter rivalries, the no-holds barred angry rhetoric, and the general sense of despair. We also can—and dare I say must—fasten our present hopes to the eternal verities that will not disappoint. Good stories can show us the way.

Train Up Your Wizards in the Way They Should Go (Part II)

Photo by Roland Lösslein on Unsplash

Humility is an apt starting point in talking about education of any kind—moral or otherwise. Without humility, a student is unteachable, thinking themselves better than another or self-sufficient. The arc of Hermione’s story exemplifies both the challenges a lack of humility poses to real intellectual and moral growth and the possibilities of further moral development that can stem from embracing this important habit of heart and mind. In that way, humility truly is what Edmund Burke calls it: the “firm foundation of all virtues,” making way for the full flowering of a person’s spirit and soul. It’s important, however, to distinguish between humiliation and humility. Humility is not to think terribly of oneself, but to think rightly. It is to know one’s strengths and weaknesses. As Mother Theresa once explained, “If you are humble nothing will touch you, neither praise nor disgrace, because you know what you are.” Humiliation, on the other hand, is debasement without respect. Hermione first tasted this humiliation in The Chamber of Secrets, standing out as a Muggle-born among the mostly pure-blood wizards that make up the Hogwarts student body. Draco exploits this vulnerability, angrily dismissing her defense of the Gryffindor Quidditch team with, “[n]o one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.”

Understandably, as the story progresses, Hermione responds poorly to these slights, by flaunting her strengths (her book learning and firm grasp on class material). Errors come in pairs, as C. S. Lewis has noted, and Hermione swings wildly from the degradation she experienced to an outsized pride, manifested at the expense of Ron. As he struggles in class to cast the prescribed spell, Hermione presumes to lecture him: “You're saying it wrong. . . . It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.” Unsurprisingly, Ron doesn’t take kindly to this condescension and later says, within Hermione’s earshot, that “it's no wonder no one can stand her. . . . She's a nightmare, honestly.” While this is admittedly not the best start for their relationship, the education enabled by Hermione’s overcorrection and Ron’s candid admission plays out well for all involved and eventually forms the beginning bonds of a strong and life-giving friendship.

We know the details—Hermione, hurt, isolates herself in the girl’s bathroom. When a troll gets loose in the castle, Ron and Harry take off to find her and, after many missteps, rescue her from the troll’s rampage. Through this experience, Hermione modulates her view of herself and others. Friedrich Nietzsche may have thought humility a vice, a trait unworthy of the “overman” because it keeps one beholden to others, but the Harry Potter series, through scenes like this one, demonstrates humanity’s interdependence and the importance of recognizing and honoring our interconnections. The value of humility is highlighted by Hermione’s acknowledgment of the debt she owes to Harry and Ron:  "I'm not as good as you,” Harry tells her. To which Hermione responds: “Me! . . . Books! And cleverness! There are more important things – friendship and bravery.” Hermione has learned well the essential lessons of humility, which Flannery O’Connor has captured in this insight: “To know oneself is, above all, to know what one lacks. It is to measure oneself against Truth, and not the other way around. The first product of self-knowledge is humility. . . .”

And upon the humility Hermione develops in book 1 is built much good work. Her advocacy for the house elves, who have historically been poorly treated and ill-thought-of, stems from her own self-acceptance and humble service. Rather than rejecting her precarious social position as a mud-blood on the margins, Hermione embraces it and finds solidarity with others who find themselves similarly maligned. Out of that solidarity, S.P.E.W. (the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare) is born, a gesture reminiscent of the kindly acts of Hagrid toward magical creatures, especially those that were unwanted or thought dangerous. Humility, these stories teach us, breeds compassion and empathy, essential components of a strong community.

Two things are important to keep in mind here: First, humility does not come upon a person unbidden; it is a discipline, instilled and strengthened through one’s choices. In the excruciating spot that Hermione found herself in, smarting from Malfoy’s earlier insult and confronted by her own prideful treatment of Ron and the barrier it put between them, she had to test her true self against these extremes—and to recognize that the reality of who she is lay somewhere in between. She is neither the lowly outcast Draco marks her as nor the all-important bigshot she has presented herself as in class. She is intelligent and clever, book-smart and logical, yet she needs others to keep her weaknesses in check and to complement her strengths.

Second, humility, compassion, and empathy—to make a positive difference—must be made manifest in one’s actions and interactions with others. Doing so, especially when the stakes are high and there’s a price to pay, requires courage, a virtue that animates much of the plot of the series. Most of the major characters are afforded an opportunity to demonstrate courage. These opportunities come when something or someone they value is in jeopardy and they must act to protect them. Some characters, like Peter Pettigrew, choose cowardice to preserve themselves rather than defy their fear and risk themselves for something or someone more important. Sirius Black acknowledges that Peter was in a difficult spot—caught between Lord Voldemort and a hard place: betray the Potters or die. But the fear Pettigrew felt was no excuse for his infidelity. To borrow a line from Nelson Mandela, courage is not the absence of fear but the “triumph over it.” Sirius puts the lie to Peter’s sniveling excuses: “What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed? . . . Only innocent lives, Peter!” Peter stubbornly clings to his fear to vindicate himself: “You don’t understand! . . . He would have killed me, Sirius!” Black is having none of it; the right choice in such a situation is as chilling as it is clear: “THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED! . . . DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”

That sounds incredible for anyone to have done such a thing, to have faced the Dark Lord with the prospect of certain death. But Professor McGonagall does what Pettigrew fails to. She revolts against the Death Eaters who have taken over Hogwarts, with the final straw being Amycus Carrow’s willingness to allow children to take the brunt of Voldemort’s fury in his invasion of the castle. In a phrase reminiscent of Pettigrew, Carrow asks, “Couple of kids more or less, what’s the difference?” McGonagall, like Sirius, realizes what’s at stake: “Only the difference between truth and lies, courage and cowardice, . . . a difference, in short, which you and your sister seem unable to appreciate. But let me make one thing very clear. You are not going to pass off your many ineptitudes on the students of Hogwarts. I shall not permit it.”

At least one Hogwarts student takes to heart the lesson in courage McGonagall and the other faculty teach, Neville Longbottom. Neville, to put it mildly, is an unlikely foe for Voldemort but one who nonetheless dares to oppose him. Rowling vividly captures Neville’s panic as Voldemort uses him as an example—pinning him down with the sorting hat and setting it on fire. Once Harry breaks him free, Neville moves quickly, and in one of the most dramatic scenes of the books, takes out the children’s greatest enemy: “The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd, or the sounds of the clashing giants, or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke, Neville sliced off the great snake’s head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, and Voldemort’s mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake’s body thudded to the ground at his feet.”

John Hare’s God’s Command, 7.1 “Maimonides”

In Chapter 7, Hare explores the tensions between divine command theory and Jewish thinkers. Hare suggests that though there are important differences between the Abrahamic faiths, they nevertheless all “wrestle with the question of how divine command relates to human nature.”

In the first of three sections, Hare concerns himself with the thought of Maimonides, especially as he has been interpreted by Marvin Fox. One of the difficulties with understanding Maimonides is due to the esoteric nature of his work. On the surface, it seems that Maimonides presents and affirms many contradictory positions. Maimonides’ approach can sometimes obfuscate or confuse his meaning, so the first step to understanding his insights about the connection between natural law and divine command will be to determine how to interpret his The Guide for the Perplexed.

Hare considers three different hermeneutical approaches. The first approach comes from Leo Strauss. Strauss suggests that the seeming contradictions can be untangled by taking whatever position is least frequently mentioned as Maimonides’ actual view. But Hare thinks this approach is not well supported and leads to some awkward interpretations. Second, Fox argues that Maimonides wants his readers to hold the opposing views at the same time, but that these views are not actually contradictions. Fox thinks that this strategy is didactic; it is meant to ease the reader into deeper and deeper truths about God. Hare, however, thinks that such a practice will leave Maimonides’ thought forever in a fog and is uncharitable; therefore, Hare thinks we should adopt a third way. Hare thinks we should Maimonides as presenting opposing statements as only appearing to be contradictory and the right set of qualifications and context will dissolve the tension.

With a principled method for interpreting Maimonides in hand, Hare applies it Maimonides’ doctrine of the mean and account of the virtues. Hare takes Fox and his interpretation of Maimonides as a foil as he provides his own account. Fox thinks of Maimonides’ understanding of the virtues as deeply influenced by Aristotle. Even though Maimonides and Aristotle disagree, they both have a “doctrine of the mean.” Fox tries to show that Aristotle’s account of the virtues was established by appeal to nature. Supposedly, Aristotle determined what the virtues were and their character by grounding them in facts about human nature.

Hare thinks Fox’s analysis of Aristotle goes wrong in two ways. First, the doctrine of the mean does not only seek to find the balance between human activities, like courage being between foolhardiness and cowardice. Often, virtue is correlated with a “peak” which might vary depending on context instead of a balance. The best number of calories to eat, for example, will depend on the activity and physiology of a particular person. There is no set number of calories that is exactly in the middle of two extremes which all people should eat. Secondly, Hare says that Aristotle never makes the connection between nature and the specific character of the virtues. Aristotle does, broadly, ground happiness in human nature and its proper function. But his specific characterization of proper function is primarily influenced by his own tradition, especially as it comes from Homer. Thus, Aristotle does not ground the specific requirements of the moral life in facts about nature and, therefore, Fox’s understanding of the disagreement between Maimonides and Aristotle is mistaken.

Hare thinks there are two fundamental differences between Aristotle and Maimonides. First, Maimonides is conscious of his use of sources outside his own tradition and argues for their legitimacy. This is important because it helps to demonstrate that Maimonides recognizes the cognitive value of philosophy in thinking about ethics. Aristotle, on the other hand, has his own sources but they come from within his tradition and he offers no argument for their use. The second difference has to do with the sources internal to their tradition. Aristotle says that God does not give commands, but that he serves the role of grounding what reason can determine. Maimonides, on the other hand, thinks God has given commands and that these commands have ontological and epistemic priority, but they can be shown to be consistent with proper human reason and nature. However, moral obligations are only obligatory because they are command by God. Man can see often that they are good, but their rightness supervenes on the divine command.

Hare’s final aim in his discussion of Maimonides is to correct the idea that he was a moral non-cognitivist. One motivation for the non-cognitivist view comes from Maimonides’ comments on the effects of the Fall. Prior to the Fall, Maimonides say that Adam could make “true judgments” and afterwards, he could only make judgments about what is “beautiful or ugly.” Fox argues, on the assumption that aesthetic judgments are non-cognitive, plus Maimonides’ relative pessimism about human ability to discern the moral law, that this makes Maimonides a non-cognitivist.

Hare disagrees for two reasons. First, he thinks it is anachronistic to apply the label to Maimonides. Second, he argues that it is simply not true that aesthetic judgments are non-cognitive. But then what did Maimonides mean in his comments about the Fall? Hare suggests that possibly Maimonides was merely indicating that human epistemic capacity is limited by the effects of the Fall. Maimonides intends for the move from truth to beauty to be a deterioration and Hare thinks that this deterioration has to do with man’s capacity to discern rightly objective truths. Without the proper relation to God, man can only judge from his perspective. These judgments will be based on convention and be provisional. However, God in his revelation of himself in the Torah, makes accommodation to man’s position while also providing them with moral truth. An example of this accommodation and restoration is the animal sacrifices. The moral truth is that God should be worshiped, but God accommodates this truth to man by allowing them to continue their “natural” practice of worship through sacrifice, but only when it is directed to him.

In this section, Hare wants to emphasize that Maimonides did not think that morality and reason are totally isolated; they are complementary. But this does not mean that the moral law can be discovered by reason, even if it can be shown to be rational after it is revealed.

Image: "Maimonides" By Unknown - Psychiatric News, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=26202333

TThere Ain’t Nothin’ Like Love

The title above reflects a sentiment that has for centuries been ubiquitously expressed in the popular songs and literature of Western societies.  But the "love" referred to is associated much more with Cupid than with God.  Love as the world defines it has to do overwhelmingly with the exhilarating whirlwinds of sexual attraction and desire, whereas God's love, magnificently presented in I Cor. 13, addresses the totality of human experience.  After 1 Cor. 12, on the misuse of God's gifts of the Spirit, Paul launches into a concise, almost poetic meditation on Transcendent Love (agape), saying, "I will show you a more excellent way" than the petty competition to prove who is most spiritual (1 Cor. 12:31).

He begins his beautiful poetic-prose meditation on Divine Love with a comprehensive catalogue of spectacular spiritual gifts that are of no profit without the enabling grace of that Love.

If I speak in the tongues of me and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.  And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but I have not love, I am nothing.  If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.  (I Cor. 13:1-3)

No humanly willed virtue, nor even the exercise of a divinely granted gift has significance within itself, but can draw its value only from being grounded in the Love of God.  The carnal Corinthians have been emphasizing uses of their gifts that draw attention to themselves, but Paul wants to show that no matter how spectacularly "successful" they are in the exercise of their gifts, that success is empty unless its purpose is to be a transmitter of the transcendent Love that Jesus showed supremely in His death on the cross.

How are we to recognize this love that trumps the most notable good deeds that can be imagined?   Paul follows up on his astounding statement by (1) giving a down-to-earth picture of what Love does and does not do and (2) showing that of all virtues, only Love endures past this world into eternity.  The characteristics of Love are catalogued in verses 4-7.  The first two items are overarching, comprehensive qualities (patience and kindness) that rule out six specific negative behaviors and cultivate a vital positive one.  The six negative behaviors are all self-centered and injurious to others: arrogance, rudeness, selfish insistence, irritability, resentment, and fault-finding. The vital positive behavior generated by patience and kindness is rejoicing in truth.  This might not seem at first to be so very important, but it springs from a key attitude of the Christian mind, that is, seeking and embracing truth even when it is painful to know and accept, in contrast to cherishing falseness and error when it is to our advantage.

The statement in verse 8 that “love never ends” begins Paul’s assertion that the day will come when all of our experience of God, even faith and hope, will be folded into His Love, just as the Son will one day, at the end of God’s work with this world, yield back to the Father the authority given Him through the Incarnation, so that “God may be all in all”  (I Cor. 15:28).  Faith and hope in that day will find all that they looked forward to has become eternal reality and they will no longer be necessary.  But Divine Love, which is the very nature of God, will never find its limits, for it will continue forever to be the quality that binds all beings together in a fellowship that will never be broken.  All purposes since the Creation of the world have been leading toward the participation of God’s children in that state of Eternal Love.  We will then know truly that “There ain’t nothin’ like love.”

Summary of Part 2 of Robert Adams’ “Moral Faith” chapter of Finite and Infinite Goods: Faith in Moral Ends.

Finite and Infinite Goods

The second kind of moral faith we need pertains to the value and attainability of what we might call “moral ends.” Kant saw that moral commitment must set itself a certain end for whose attainment it aspires or hopes, yet that this end is only to a very limited extent within our power, so the possibility of the result for which the moral agent must hope depends on there being a moral order in the universe, which can only be reasonably supposed to exist through the action of a God, in whom we are therefore rationally obliged to believe, if we seriously aim at the end that morality sets as the comprehensive goal of our striving.

One place to begin thinking about faith in moral ends is with the question of whether human life is worth living. Whether your life is worth living. It’s morally important for morality to believe that other people’s lives are worth living. If your friends are going through hard times, they may or may not be tempted to despair. Either way it’s likely to be important to them to have your support as a person who believes in them and in the value of their lives. Having that faith might be essential to being a good friend, and not having it might be letting the other person down in a particularly hurtful way.

What does it take to have faith that a friend’s life, or one’s own, is worth living? It’s closely connected with caring about the person’s good, the friend’s or one’s own. It’s caring the person should be spared suffering pain. Caring more constructively about a person’s good involves taking that person’s life as a project that one prizes. If I care about your good, I add myself as a sponsor of the project. And this I can hardly do without believing that your life is worth living. To have faith that a person’s life is worth living will involve a certain resistance to reasons for doubting the value of that person’s life. Few judgments are more dangerous morally than the judgment that another person’s life is not worth living, or not worth living any more.

It’s also important to believe that distant lives, such as those that are lost to famine in Somalia, or to genocide in Bosnia, are worth living, or would be if they could be preserved.

Other instances of a need for faith in moral ends may be sought in connection with the question of whether the moral life is worth living. It’s hard to deny the moral importance of believing that the moral life will be good, or is apt to be good, for other people. For it is part of moral virtue to care both about the other person’s good and about the other person’s virtue. Morality requires that we encourage each other to live morally. But while few doubt that it is generally advantageous to have the rudiments of honesty and neighborliness, it is notoriously easier to doubt that some of the finer fruits of morality are good for their possessors, when all the consequences they may have are taken into account.

Another question about the value of the moral life is whether it is better for the world, or at least not bad for the world, and not too irrelevant to be worth living—that devotion to justice won’t result in futility. This trust is severely tested by both the failures and unforeseen consequences of moral efforts. Yet it does seem important for morality to believe that living morally is good for the world, or if not, then to believe that the moral life is of such intrinsic value that it is worth living for its own sake.

In these questions Adams has assumed that we can at least live moral lives. But that too can be doubted. Who, after all, emerges unscathed from a morally rigorous examination of conscience? We all have real moral faults, and yet it’s crucial for morality that we believe that moral effort can be successful enough to be worth making. For one can’t live morally without intending to do so, and one can’t exactly intend to do what one believes is totally impossible. Moral philosophers, with the notable exception of Kant, have paid less attention to this problem than they ought.

Adams mentions one more item of faith in a moral end. We might call it faith in the common good. It’s a matter of believing that the good of different persons is not so irreconcilably competitive as to make it incoherent to have the good of all persons as an end. If we can manage to view the problems of fairness and conflicting interests within the framework of a conception of human good that is predominantly cooperative, then we may still be able to take a stance that is fundamentally for everyone and against no one. What we must resist most strongly here is an ultracompetitive view of the pursuit of human good as a sort of zero-sum game, in which every good that anyone enjoys must be taken away from someone else. With such a view it would be impossible to include the good of all persons among one’s ends. It’s probably more tempting to endorse such a view more with nations or groups than with individuals.

Much of the temptation to doubt or abandon our beliefs in moral ends arises from the fact that these beliefs are concerned not only with ideals but also with the relation of ideals to actuality, the possibility of finding sufficient value in the lives of such finite, needy, suffering, ignorant, motivationally complex, and even guilty creatures as we are. Even if there’s a good philosophical answer to evil, it’s unlikely to silence the doubts.

This is the point at which Kant connected morality with religious belief. A belief in a moral order helps, but Adams rests content to have argued just that we have a moral need to believe in more particular possibilities of moral ends, as proximate objects of moral faith.

Adams then mentions a few objections to his argument, just one of which I’ll summarize here. It’s this: that the beliefs Adams demands are more high-flown than morality needs. It may be suggested that our beliefs about actuality will provide sufficient support for morality as long as we believe we’re doing pretty well within the moral system, that honesty is the best policy, that laws will be enforced against us, and so forth.

Adams responds like this: such low-flown beliefs may sustain minimal moral compliance, but won’t sustain moral virtue. Adams’ concern is with moral faith as a part of moral virtue. The attitudes of mind that morality demands are surely not limited to those involved in minimal moral compliance. Morality could hardly exist, indeed, if all or most people had no more than the attitudes of minimal moral compliance. There must be many people who have more virtue than that, for the morality of the merely compliant is largely responsive to the more deeply rooted morality of others. True virtue requires resources that will sustain it when society is supporting evil rather than good, and when there is considerable reason to doubt that honesty is the best policy from a self-interested point of view. Thus virtue requires more moral faith than mere compliance may.

Image: The Portals of Paradise by L. OP. CC License. 

"Good Persons, Good Aims, and the Problem of Evil," A Lecture by Linda Zagzebski

Photo by Joe Gardner on Unsplash

Philosopher of  religion, Dr. Linda Zagzebski, gave a lecture at the Contemporary Moral Theory and the Problem of Evil Conference held at the University of Notre Dame. In this lecture, Dr. Zagzebski analyzes the nature of the problem of evil and how it is usually framed. She discusses what makes some state of affairs intrinsically evil and suggests that perhaps we should use a virtue theory to explicate goodness and badness instead of considering states of affairs in isolation from the agents that bring them about. It's a very creative and insightful lecture; well worth your time if you're interested in the problem of evil or the application of virtue ethics.  

Contemporary Moral Theory and the Problem of Evil Conference held at the University of Notre Dame on November 15-16, 2013.

Humility, Naturalism, and Virtue

Can we make sense of the virtues in a world without God? Let’s consider the virtue of humility as a way of addressing this question. In his Value and Virtue in a Godless Universe, Erik Wielenberg develops a naturalized account of humility.[i] This account is worth considering given Wielenberg’s explicit aim of constructing a naturalized version of a virtue that is commonly thought to be uniquely Christian. Wielenberg constructs an account of humility grounded in the assumption that we know that naturalism is true. In order to do this, he first discusses a Christian account of humility. He then explores some of the similarities and differences of such an account with a naturalistic version of this virtue. After discussing these points, I offer several criticisms of Wielenberg’s view.

On a Christian analysis, according to Wielenberg, the humble person neither underestimates nor overestimates her own value or abilities, but instead recognizes that these are gifts from God. She also acknowledges her dependence on God, and knows that much of what contributes to her flourishing is not within her control, but God’s. Hence, the humble theist is grateful for her flourishing in light of this dependence, and gives credit to God. On naturalism, however, Wielenberg claims that there is also room for an acknowledgment of dependence on something outside of ourselves, because so much of what contributes to our success—psychological constitution, physical health, family background, where and when we are born, and economic factors—is outside of our control. On naturalism, these factors are not under God’s control; they are under no one’s control. Given this, no one gets the credit. Sheer chance and good fortune should receive the majority of the credit. As Wielenberg puts it, “It is the dependence of human beings and their actions on factors beyond their control—dependence that is present whether God exists or not—that makes humility in some form an appropriate attitude to have.”[ii]  In either kind of universe, naturalistic or theistic, “...taking the balance of credit for one’s accomplishments is foolish.”[iii] Like the humble theist, the humble naturalist can and should acknowledge her dependence on something outside of herself, substituting good fortune for God.

Wielenberg may be right that there is space within a naturalistic view of the universe for an attitude of humility. Perhaps we should generally expect that there will be somewhat plausible naturalistic versions of many particular virtues if Christianity is true. This is because according to Christianity, the structure of reality reflects aspects of God’s nature. Given this, even if one seeks to remove God from the picture, as it were, there will still be latent theistic features of reality which can make sense of the virtues. However, if Christianity is true then a Christian account of the virtues will be superior to any account available to naturalists, and the virtues themselves will ultimately possess better metaphysical fit with our understanding of the rest of reality, both of which we should expect if Christian theism is true.

For example, and as a way to compare naturalistic humility with theistic humility, consider the relationship between humility and gratitude. Of course the Christian can be humbly grateful to God and other people, for what he and they have done on her behalf. But the naturalist, given that dumb luck and blind chance are the ultimate causes of most of the factors contributing to his success—psychological constitution, physical health, family background, where and when he was born, and economic factors—has no good reason to be grateful for these things because there is no one to be grateful towards. Even the other human beings who have benefitted our fortunate naturalist only do so primarily and perhaps solely because of dumb luck and blind chance. On naturalism, no person, human (or, of course, divine), is ultimately responsible for anything, and so it becomes very difficult to see what reasons exist for gratitude towards persons, at least. Moreover, what it means for one to be grateful towards dumb luck or blind chance is at best quite mysterious, and at worst incoherent.

As a second way to critically compare naturalistic humility with theistic humility, consider the following thought experiment. Imagine you have suffered from a serious illness for many years. The treatments are quite expensive, and your insurance company will no longer cover the treatments because the policy’s coverage has been exhausted. Consider two distinct scenarios:

Scenario 1:  You are desperate to come up with the money to pay for continued treatment, and by sheer luck you find a large diamond buried in your back yard, worth enough to pay for your treatment indefinitely.

Scenario 2:  A wealthy benefactor gives you the money you need to pay for your treatments indefinitely. You know this benefactor because you cheated her in a business deal many years ago.

Which scenario is more conducive to humility?

In the first scenario you are very happy and feel very fortunate at such a stroke of luck. And of course you would have no reason to be proud of what occurred, because you would deserve none of the credit for finding the diamond or for being able to pay your medical bills. Perhaps the whole situation engenders some humility, because you realize you are receiving a great benefit that you did nothing to earn. On scenario 2 you again have no reason to be proud of being able to pay for your treatment, nor do you deserve the credit for being able to pay your bills. On this scenario, however, there are reasons to be more—and more deeply—humbled. First, not only is it the case that you did nothing to deserve the money given to you, but you actually deserve not to receive the money, given the fact that you wronged your benefactor in the past and owe her money because of your own wrongdoing. Second, the action of your benefactor is magnanimous, and simply witnessing and benefiting from the act should foster humility. Third, there is the presence of rational gratitude in scenario 2, but not in scenario 1. In scenario 1, there is no one to direct gratitude towards, because no one gets the credit for your newfound wealth. However, in the second scenario you should feel deep gratitude towards your benefactor, because of what she has done for you in spite of the debt you owe her. Gratitude seems to both deepen the humility you have and provides more reason to be humble.

It will be helpful to make explicit the lessons from the above thought experiment. On theism, humans rely on a personal being who provides constant and intentional support in all aspects of our existence. In contrast to this, on naturalism we rely on mere chance and the laws of nature (or perhaps just the latter). Many of the contributing factors to individual success that are outside of our control are present because of mere good fortune. It might seem that this fact should engender humility, because we realize that we are mere recipients of good luck, so to speak. Granting this to the naturalist, the theist still has reason for a deeper appreciation of her dependence and so for a deeper humility, given her belief that we do not deserve the assistance that God gives to us. This makes the humility deeper and more profound, because while both the naturalist and the theist can accept that there are many factors that contribute to our success in life that lie outside of our control, only the theist can say that she is undeserving of this aid and deserves not to receive it because of her rebellion against God. The upshot is that while the naturalist may be able to give an account of humility, the theistic account is superior because everything that we accomplish is done with God’s active assistance. This assistance is not only undeserved, but is given even though we deserve something quite different. This in turn gives the theist a reason to be more deeply humble, even if the need and justification for this humility too often go unrecognized.

Lastly, I would like to emphasize that in a universe where the majority of the credit for any human accomplishment goes to “blind chance,”[iv] it becomes more difficult to give a sound and comprehensive analysis of any virtue and its connections to human accomplishments. It is not clear to me that any sense can be made of attributing credit to chance in this way.[v] What does it actually mean to ascribe credit to blind chance? In contrast to this, we have a clear understanding of ascribing credit to God, and there are several theistic accounts of moral development that are both coherent and cogent.

[i] Erik Wielenberg, Value and Virtue in a Godless Universe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 102-116.

[ii] Wielenberg, p. 112.

[iii] Ibid.

[iv] Wielenberg, p. 110.

[v] I owe this point to Doug Geivett.

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Michael Austin is professor of philosophy at Eastern Kentucky University. His research focuses on applied ethics, the virtues, and philosophy of religion. He has published numerous journal articles and ten books, including Being Good: Christian Virtues for Everyday Life, with Doug Geivett (Eerdmans 2012) and Wise Stewards: Philosophical Foundations of Christian Parenting (Kregel Academic, 2009). He is currently working on a book dealing with the virtue of humility. He also blogs at http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/ethics-everyone and is on Twitter @michaelwaustin. You can see more from Dr. Austin at his website: http://www.michaelwaustin.com.