After reading over my comment on Nic’s post, I realize that I might be drawing his post into the sphere of my pre-occupation with virtue-ethics without due warrant. That kind of discussion is not very fair to Nic and the work he put into his argument; however, I genuinely believe that virtue-ethics has a place at the table, and my introduction to the topic is probably more a matter of kairos, or poor timing rather than irrelevance (That’s what she said). Let me give it another go, since I’ve already opened my imouth.
Daniel, your remark about the desirability of a middle ground seems apt. I generally lose excitement when the obvious answer to a problem begins to look like something in between to divergent opinions. I’m not sure where to go either, and we will probably have new and different lenses with which to ask the question within the next 20 years or so, so I’m not ready to subscribe to an answer to the whole foundation problem (The fact that I make that statement though, puts me in the layers camp. I still haven’t found out how to get out of my own situatedness). I can’t wait to read what you’ve got on that Eagleton lecture. I loved it and made everyone around me listen to it (much debate in the Doty household).
As a proponent of virtue-ethics, I must briefly touch on the idea of Wisdom, especially as articulated by theologian David F. Ford. First, let me define my terms so as to keep me honest, at least in my own system. When I think of virtue-ethics, I think of the body. I think of material and matter. One of the most hopeful promises I hold for virtue-ethics is that it is, or can be, a great destroyer of abstraction. Directly, it is the branch of ethics that is concerned with the development of practices and forms of living that shape a human life in such a way so that the whole of the human’s life becomes an example of the virtues he/she is striving for. Commitments are grounded in actions, and indeed the very body of the human. There are probably limits to what could constitute a virtue in this sense, but that I take to be a good thing. “Don’t listen to what it says, look at what it does” is a simple phrase that is a good example of what I’m trying to describe. If I claim to care about the plight of HIV victims in Africa, but my behaviors cannot corroborate this claim, then I in fact do not care about such matter. Right, right? Anyone care to critique/expand/narrow my definition thus far?
Wisdom, as I see it, is one of these virtues, which, as people who claim Christianity, should find expressions in our behavior and intellectual practices. Allow me to quote an extended passage from David F. Ford’s Shaping Theology:
[Wisdom] tries to embrace the imaginative, the intellectual, the passionate and the practical; it refers to the wisdom of God as well as to fallible human searching. Wisdom need not be competitive with the various other terms that describe theology, such as understanding, thought, knowledge, truth, reflective practice, dogma and doctrine. Yet it seems to me the most inclusive. While encouraging rigorous inquiry and thorough understanding it is also hospitable to the ethical and the aesthetic. Wisdom traditions are concerned with the long-term shaping of life in many dimensions, including the common good and the formation of the whole person (xvii).
Judging by this description, seeking wisdom is about asking different questions than those that create dichotomies and oppositions. When we seek wisdom, we entertain different consequences than just getting something right or wrong, we take heed of the common good and the consequences to our body and community. A good way to think of wisdom is as an inclusive theological category.
Nic’s post reminded us about the painful inaccessibility of our tradition; although he was quick to show us that our tradition is inaccessible only to those questions and pursuits that try to get it right and try to find an impervious ground to stand on. I introduced virtue-ethics to the conversations because I feel like the development of virtues is an appropriate way to do theology post-foundationalism. And here, more specifically, wisdom as an appropriate theological pursuit in this context, because the search for wisdom takes into account our fallible human searching and seeks to connect our theological pursuits to the way we live and the people and communities we form. That’s my case for virtue-ethics. Keep in mind that these thoughts come from a shameless dilettante, but that doesn’t give me the right to be lazy or make those who know more about this do my work for me. Any thoughts or reactions?
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I’m really interested in this idea and am excited to explore it with you all; although, I still need some convincing, which will inevitably require a bit of abstraction.
I think I agree with the general premise of the theory, as least as you present it. I like the idea that character—individual and communal—is the essential element of thinking and acting ethically. My initial hesitation probably just has to do with the manner in which the theory seeks to position itself against rival, principle ethics. I know this move is necessary for the sake of self-preservation, but it’s difficult for me to subdue my pesky inclination to synthesize—-I want to have my cake and sleep with it too.
It is highly probable that I’m misunderstanding and certainly oversimplifying virtue-ethics; I’m merely responding to ideas such as the “destruction of abstraction” and the “what I do, not what I say” suggestion. Don’t we justify action through abstraction? In virtue-ethics commitments come before actions, right—if we fail to justify our action, how will the action be performed collectively? This may just be a matter of semantics, but I don’t see how virtue-ethics offers us an alternative to or even reprieve from our malleable (post)foundationalism. I guess I think the relationship between metaphysical and physical is reciprocal, so I’m not sure why one should be privileged over the other. I’m not trying to engage in an impossible discussion of origins—our meta-narratives are likely extrapolated from our corporeal activity. However, now that they are constructed, our actions depend on them as much as they depend on our actions. I guess I don’t see how we can suspend or step outside our meta-narrative for the sake of performing ethically.
Is it necessary or even possible to eschew our semiotic, anti meta-narrative—-which is itself a sort of meta-narrative—-to ground our commitment in action? Language is performative, right? Even mentioning HIV victims in Africa is an action in itself—one that creates awareness. So how do we privilege action over language when they are mutually dependent.
I would also argue that Christianity has subscribed to a world-view grounded in semiotics since its appropriation of Neo-Platonism—“In the beginning was the Word.” The theory is fully developed by Augustine in the 4th century. While its application to Christianity has obviously evolved, I don’t necessary think we will have a completely new lens in 20 or so years. I guess I think its changing not fleeting.
Again, I like the general proposition of virtue-ethics; I just don’t see why it’s necessary to approach it as an alternative to progressive (post)foundationalism. I guess I don’t even see how it is possible to cultivate virtue apart from abstraction, which I know makes me a prisoner of this anti/actual meta-narrative. I hope this response is not received as a challenge of certain ideas for the sake of challenge, but as an expression of genuine desire to better understand how virtue-ethics might inform our performance of Christianity.
We justify our action not by or through abstraction, but through narrative. I might be mincing words and nit-picking here, but I think narrative holds more promise and is distinct enough from abstract or even rational commitments to make mention of it here. Our commitments arise on account of the stories that we hear and tell one another. The degree in which a story is reified in our actions is, I would argue, the very performative nature of language. I might be jostling around the idea of witness here, and it is this idea of witness which I believe offers a reprieve or alternative to foundation hunting. (keep in mind that, although I’m towing a hard narrative theology line here, that doesn’t mean I’ve nec. Subscribed). To read the Christian story, is to read the witness of a Christian. Ultimately, what vouchsafes the story, is not the foundation or lens that it is told from, but the habits, communities, and practices that it engenders. In this light “our malleable (post)foundationalism” can be viewed as an act of worship, or our communion with ineffable text. I see great value in theological and intellectual pursuits, especially with friends, because it is our opportunity to commune with mystery. The Christian story is extremely malleable, open to interpretation, and finally, open-ended within our narrow understanding. Theology’s task, as I see it, is to revel in mystery with the hope and promise that God will be glorified. And if slowly, we get to a more “truthful” or “accurate” version of the story, at least for our time, that’s not a bad thing either. But that is not the pudding. The pudding is the practice, which, again, is the witness or truthfulness of the story. If we take the original example sentence of virtue ethics, “don’t listen to what it says, look at what it does”, and apply it to the Christian story, does it sound something like: “don’t listen to, attempt to understand, or rationalize what it says, look at the practices that flow out of adherence to the story, and that is the better barometer of truthfulness.”
If I’m taking your comment correctly, I still haven’t addressed the problem that the practices of the Christian story are not a priori to the story itself. I haven’t quite figured out what I think about this. I’m not ready to concede the fact just yet, but I realize that the stated idea doesn’t make much sense right now. I’m certainly assuming that the practices the Christian story engenders are not very contestable, but I have arrived at that assumption based on my own dealings and interpretations of the story. I don’t know what to say, but I admit my shortcomings.
I’m surprised to hear you say that Christianity has been, and is, yoked to a world-view grounded in semiotics. I don’t disagree with you, but it seems to me that, now that you have admitted some kind of foundation, whether evolving or not, you are not that far away from creeds and doctrines. I realize that the lens in which I wrote that sentence, is a bastard know it all post-modern lens that does attempt to stand out-side itself while realizing the impossibility of such. So I’m not sure how qualified I am to make the statement in the first place. (when it comes down to it, all world-views really are bastard egos, I guess we wouldn’t subscribe if we didn’t believe them.) Which leaves me with a final thought, in a Stanley H. podcast I listened to awhile back, he argued that the Christian story requires subscription to an over-arching and superseding narrative. He says it like this, “We are not the people who have no story except the story we chose when we had no story. We are creatures that have been made part of God’s story prior to any decisions we made.” I have been thinking about that a lot lately. It gives me hope, because it sounds like a story that is strong enough to create a peculiar kind of people. Thanks for your response. I know I haven’t been direct, but I hope it cleans a little bit of this mess up.
This exchange has honestly increased my interest in and admiration for virtue-ethics. Your clarification is very helpful, and I think the application of this theory to our practice could prove to be extremely beneficial. This is my ultimate motivation for continuing the conversation.
I’m assuming—perhaps mistakenly—that narrative is a form of abstraction. Of course, I don’t take the terms to be synonymous, but—as both you and Nic have mentioned—our tradition is essentially inaccessible—there exists no “standard” narrative. Consequently, whatever form of the narrative we choose to be witnesses of is necessarily an abstraction. Again, the relationship seems to be reciprocal—the trajectory, cyclical—we move from story to practice and back to story (evaluating the practice to determine the story’s validity or “truthfulness”). Even if our witness “proves” the story, it’s still the story we’re ultimately concerned with. This syllogism keeps running through my head: our actions are justified by/through a shared narrative—narrative is a form of abstraction—thus, our actions are justified by/through abstraction (as if formulating it as a syllogism makes it objective truth). I don’t know, maybe this is a moot point—I wouldn’t even bring it up again except that the central question I have about virtue-ethics concerns, what seems to me to be, an artificial separation between thought and action. Is this separation (or “destruction of abstraction”) an absolutely essential element of the application of virtue-ethics to Christianity? Of course, it is very likely that I’m not correctly understanding the relationship between thought and action—physical and metaphysical—as you have presented it.
As for my comment about Christianity being rooted in semiotics, I’m afraid a fair attempt at explanation might require an entire post. If you don’t think it will take us down an entirely unrelated path, I’ll plan to do it for next week.
If I could try to squeeze a word in edgewise into this dense thicket of (superb) ideas, perhaps the liturgy is a way for the Christian community to work through this problem? We don't have a way out of this aporia (irreconcilable difference) of securing a starting point (whether action or proposition), but Communion and worship are the place where we hold these difficulties in suspension in light of the mystery of God. Before I get any further, though, I must warn that I am wandering dangerously close to cop-out territory. Of course we should rigorously pursue solutions to these problems. But what Christian worship does, however, is relieve us the burden of neurotically needing to arrive at answers for the sake of self-preservation. The liturgy is where action and proclamation come together, if only for a moment, and ground all (illusory?) foundations in a more profound reference point (even if it is a reference point that we haven't the slightest about).
Yet this is more than just a withdrawal from the problem. The liturgy re-configures the problematic in a new light, being itself a form of action and a form of proclamation. But what the liturgy inserts into the problem, and how, is a mystery that I haven't yet wrapped my mind around.
Sorry if I've reduced your arguments too much for the sake of my own analysis. I just wanted to step in for a moment, say something brief, step out again and let you continue. This is a great conversation, and I hope both of you will continue to work these ideas out more fully in future posts.
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