Cultivating Character: Justice
The collective canopy, moral blindfolds, tightening threads, and capturing hearts
Welcome back to the Cultivating Character series, where we explore the human virtues that interconnect and unify the world’s major religious and philosophical traditions. These consilient virtues include courage, humanity, justice, temperance, wisdom, and transcendence.
We last covered the virtue of humanity, wherein the threads of love and kindness were followed as they wended along our evolutionary timeline, first binding together the family before radiating outwards to connect the hearts of the community. These threads pierce through each of our hearts, tugging us tightly together. The strands of love pass directly through us; we can feel our way along the lines that connect us to those we love. The love we feel for family and friends is tangible.
As human groups have grown, however, so have the demands on these unifying threads. Connecting individual hearts becomes challenging when group populations exceed the thousands, let alone millions. So, groups have repurposed the threads of love and kindness, weaving them into large nets and casting them upon their constituents to capture their hearts. As constituents, we kind of know the canopy exists, but given its loosely draped nature it can be challenging to grasp.
The way we as individuals navigate, interact with, and reinforce this unifying fabric underpins the consilient virtue of justice. While the virtue of humanity tends to focus on relationships between, the virtue of justice involves relationships among. The differences between humanity and justice are nevertheless more of degree than kind; as groups shrink in size and become more personalized, the one-to-many strengths of justice converge with the one-to-one strengths of humanity from the previous post.
So, what character strengths constitute the virtue of justice?
We’ll first delve into our ability to judge the right from wrong—the helpful from harmful—as pertaining to the groups with which we identify: moral judgment. In aggregate, it acts to form a collective consciousness (that inhabits each individual’s conscience), protecting groups from internal rot and external threat. Morality is the net: it tells us who is worthy of our love (and our hatred). We’ll then touch on the strength that holds the unifying net together, keeping it tough and taut: citizenship, which includes the traits of teamwork, loyalty, and social responsibility. We’ll last uncover the strength of leadership, which elevates the collective canopy to new heights, casting it out even further and capturing more hearts.
Bind and Blind
The Cloak of Morality
The strands of love evolved to tie us to kin. Groups grew, and love diffused into kindness to tie us to nonkin. The adaptive advantages of love and kindness fueled our collective growth as a species, and we grew and grew until eventually we couldn’t see who exactly we were tied to! With intimacy threatened by continual growth, humans needed some common symbol to identify with to bind us together.
And so arose cities and states and provinces and nations who rallied around flags and rituals and myths and anthems. Groups arose within groups, bringing forth companies and religions and political organizations and sports fans. Membership to collaborative ventures provided security, so we collaborated; the well-being of me depended on the well-being of we.
To remain harmonious, human groups have respectively developed collective understandings of right and wrong, or, equivalently, what is helpful and harmful to group well-being. And so moral codes were formed, borne by the compromise among competing spheres of self-interest, each molding the code to their own ends. Morality is the aforementioned unifying net: a fabric that tells us who and what to love.
But the game-theoretic compromise inherent in the construction of moral fabrics makes defining moral codes tricky, because right and wrong are necessarily subjective.
First, let’s clarify the subjectivity claim with a simple example. Coprophagy, or the consumption of animal feces, is wrong (repulsive) from the perspective of humans, but right (attractive) from the perspective of flies and dung beetles. Here we find that the terms right and wrong can be misleading, because the notion of right and wrong are reifications—nothing is really right or wrong out there (the physical world), only in here (the abstractions created by our minds). In reality, things are just helpful and harmful based on subjective relevance. I’m not trying to make a strict moral relativist claim here, we (humans) clearly share common ground as to what values and principles better orient us towards good (as I’m trying to demonstrate with this project). Though, as we’ll get to, subjective creatures (us) making universal1 moral claims can get confusing.
“Because what is virtue?—answer me that, Alexei. I have one virtue and a Chinese has another—so it’s a relative thing. Or not?…I just keep wondering how people can live and think nothing about these things.”
The Brothers of Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky
Anyway, back to the poop example. We don’t have much skin in the game in the feces-consuming business, so this example kind of stinks. But what happens when the stakes are raised? For humans, the highest stakes arise in competition with other humans, since we compete for the same resources. And the higher the stakes, the less willing we are to entertain the nuance hidden behind moral transgressions. Take your pick of groups interlocked in conflict, and you’ll often find mutual inabilities to embody what the other side is feeling. This is because, as the moral psychologist Jon Haidt puts it, morality binds and blinds; once draped, moral fabrics act as a blindfold. Separating us from one another, moral blindfolds produce the bizarre scenes of humans jabbing their fingers at each other, while confusingly claiming that the other side is evil with absolute conviction.
Convictions of these sorts take root because the rights and wrongs prescribed by our moral codes feel like objective truths. I can’t gather support to punish a wrongdoer just because of my preferences, I have to point to something bigger, something…objectively true! Realistically, however, when we do this we subconsciously recruit (our conception of) our group to speak on our behalf, which really does feel like we’re touching some universal truth. And not only are we recruiting the opinions of our present group, but also the evolutionary history of tribal opinions that preceded us, for those opinions are deeply engrained into our genes and cultures. It is because of this monumental evolutionary precedent that we exist at all, and the monumental constraints this evolutionary process produces lay latent within each of us.
So, no wonder we find accounts of people experiencing divine revelation. Personal interests are tangible and close to home, but group interests (whether present or historical) feel more transcendent and ethereal. We’re making contact something greater, but can’t quite put our finger on how it’s brought forth. For instance, when questioned about why we think a moral transgression is wrong, we’re sometimes struck with a gut feeling followed by a claim that “it just is.” This “just is” are larger scale (i.e., group-level) pressures pulling our strings.
This helps put into perspective why it’s so difficult to change our minds, even when our arguments are utterly refuted. They aren’t our arguments—they’re our group’s. To change our minds means debasing ourselves from the group which, thanks to our evolutionary heritage, we believe our survival (and that of our offspring) depends on.
That being said, the stubbornness that blinds us to opposing views are also products of cowardice. When we lack the competency required to understand something, we experience a disequilibrium. This disorienting feeling can be addressed in two ways: one is to adapt our current competencies to better fit the circumstances; the other is to cognitively distort the circumstance to better fit our current way of knowing. In contentious discussions, when we’re fearful we tend to opt for the latter strategy, because cognitively distorting reality (e.g., telling myself that “I shouldn’t consider their opinions because they are evil”) is much easier than carefully reconsidering our claims (e.g., admitting that “perhaps they’re not evil, maybe there are more factors worth considering”). The easy path is a sure way to lose ourselves in a labyrinth of lies. Take the hard path.
The greater one’s struggle for survival, however, the more difficult it becomes to take the hard path—the more intense the binding and binding effects of morality. In his book The Righteous Mind, Jon Haidt suggests that tolerance for norm violations (such as whether it's okay to eat one's dead pet dog) can be explained as much from socioeconomic variation than cultural variation. In his doctoral dissertation, Jon found that, in both the United States and Brazil, people inhabiting less affluent regions tended to be less morally tolerant. For instance, they were less willing to tolerate a child breaking dress-code at school, someone cutting their national flag into cleaning rags, or a family eating their dog after it had been struck by a car.
But lack of tolerance doesn’t necessarily translate to daft cold-heartedness. Those who are more exposed to genuine struggles just tolerate less bullshit. When stressed, life yearns for certainty to help it navigate out of harm’s way, and nuance is cognitively expensive, messy, and risky. Increased intimacy with hardship means tighter margins and costlier burdens; hence those more exposed to suffering gravitate towards ethics of divinity—ethics defined by divine authorities that offer followers absolute claims regarding what is right and wrong, and thus simple rules to follow.
“The stupider, the clearer. Stupidity is brief and guileless, while reason hedges and hides.”
The Brothers of Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky
We all gravitate towards absolute claims of morality when situations are pressing. Take the Covid pandemic, where everyone curled inwards and become more conservative. More germophobic left-leaning urban centers demanded for conformity via vaccination, and more xenophobic right-leaning rural regions demanded for conformity via nationalism. Simple and homogeneous solutions were encouraged; nuanced and heterogenous solutions were ridiculed. We all wanted a simple way out of the mess we found ourselves in; so, liberal and welcoming attitudes took a backseat until the dust settled.
But, are there benefits to being more morally open-minded? Perhaps. The psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg observed that moral reasoning develops in stages as we mature, starting with an infantile egocentrism that relaxes over time to encompass larger and larger considerations of others. And while we all start at the same point, where we conclude in our development varies.
Colby et al. followed a cohort over 25 years to gauge the effect that different stages of moral development had on life outcomes. In conflict resolution, higher stage individuals were more likely to take serious consideration of opposing claims and were less likely to resort to shouting and demanding. Parents with higher moral reasoning emphasized autonomy and discussion-based resolution; whereas the lower were more likely to value obedience and resort to love-withdrawal as punishment. The researchers also found that people with higher stages of justice reasoning tended to hold higher status jobs, likely due to the socially complex demands inherent in such jobs.
Interestingly, higher stage subjects were no more pleased with their jobs or marriages than were lower stage subjects—a testament to life’s ongoing struggle against the hedonic treadmill. Nevertheless, evidence suggests2 that those more developed in justice reasoning report more fulfillment, indicating that the more we make room for others, the more profound our sense of purpose in life.
Fortify
Citizenship: Strengthening Connections
Citizenship reinforces the collective canopy upon which societies rest. And the common thread that connects good citizens is a willingness to forgo personal gain in support of longer-term group interests. Like a parent who sacrifices self-indulgent pursuits to tend to their children, good citizens shelf immediate personal gratification to promote the flourishing of future generations.
Good citizens typically possess three foundational traits. First, they cooperate towards a common purpose (Teamwork); second, they are trustworthy and faithful to their group, its principles, and causes (Loyalty); and third, they are other-oriented, regardless of personal gain (Social Responsibility).
The essence of these strengths lies within our sense of mattering to the whole. To harness these strengths means recognizing our social canopy and our place within it. The stronger the identification, the more we value the fabric and works towards fortifying the relational threads at our intersection; the weaker the identification, the more threadbare our intersection and the more burdensome we become.
When we find stable ground within our groups, we are more likely to embody a duty towards the common good. Good team mates set aside personal glory to support the group—not because they are forced to, but because it feels right. This dutiful dependability is what distinguishes a team mate from a mere team member. A team mate shows up rain or shine, not just when the boss is looking or donuts and coffee are being served.
A team member, on the other hand, views the groups to which they belong for their extrinsic values, that is, they tend to ask themselves “what can this group do for me?” A team mate, however, may concede that value lies beyond their personal interest, towards something greater than themselves—that, perhaps, there lies within the group some intrinsic value. Teammates instead ask themselves “what can I do for this group?”
Loyal teammates are valued, as loyalty is foundational to organizational trust. For example, each of the cells composing your body are utterly dedicated to you (thank you genetics). And although organizations of humans can’t quite leverage genetic cohesiveness to the extent that our bodies can, they certainly strive towards similar levels of dedication. Groups yearn for stability, cohesion, and certainty, and being able to trust one another is keystone for social harmony.
But even though an unwavering sense of commitment to a cause is generally seen as virtuous, it does not follow that the virtuous are blindly obedient. If we aren’t careful, mindless obedience can lead us to inadvertently harm those beyond our consideration; the same processes that benefit those within (strong ties, trust, loyalty) can restrict access to those beyond. A good citizen thus exercises judgment in the interests of the whole, which can involve challenging morally questionable laws.
Yet, knee-jerk disobedience is no more praiseworthy than blind obedience. If our default reaction is anti-conformity, we become just as predictable and easily exploitable. We need to be mindful of our reactions; pay attention. If whenever we’re told not to jump on the table, we proceed to jump on the table, who’s really in control?
Loyalty is only really commendable if it’s in service to something greater than oneself, and socially responsible citizens are those who embody a willingness to forgo personal gain to enhance the collective. Individuals with this trait tend to have a greater concern for social and moral issues, emphasize duty and self-discipline, have greater faith in humanity, and are more likely to follow the rules. Those lacking in this trait tend to be more cynical, hostile, and rebellious.
A study on American adolescents found that less socially responsible adolescents were more likely to contend that poverty, unemployment, and homelessness are the fault of individuals (e.g., for failing to work hard). While some onus lies within individuals, those with a larger sense of “we” are more likely to look beyond just the individual and search for systemic roots of issues. Low socially responsibility tends to stem from a too-narrow scope of love, which attracts us towards self-serving materialist values like wealth accumulation, consumerism, luxury, and status. We’re all materialists to varying degrees; there is a primal satisfaction tied to the pursuit, acquisition, and consumption of material goods—our collections of cars, cosmetics, and clothes. Unfortunately, these satisfactions are often self-serving, not others-serving, so when we get caught in the materialist trap we find can find ourselves amassing more and more things, yet feeling less and less joy.
Our things won’t love us back; people will3.
Elevate
Leadership: Acquire and Inspire
The last character strength of justice is leadership, a strength characterized by those who are best able to motivate collective action towards collective success.
Eastern and Western traditional philosophies diverge slightly in what is considered to be a good leader, though their differences are more in degree than in kind. In the East for instance, in Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching a good leader is considered as one who is unbiased and unassuming, nourishing followers indiscriminately like water. He also claims that when the best leader’s work is done, followers will claim that they did it themselves. This tendency towards selflessness and humility marks the holistic nature of Eastern philosophies, who believe that the best way to serve the whole is to humbly submit yourself to it.
Western traditions follow similarly, though placing slightly more emphasis on the individual. Plato’s Republic proposes lifelong assessment plans to identify and select good leaders, of whom would then eschew bias and recruit the faculties of reason and intelligence to govern wisely. Aristotle’s Politics emphasizes that we should first seek virtue and goodness for ourselves, so that we can act as a model to motivate others towards these same virtues. In Meditations, Marcus Aurelius believed in being strict with oneself and lenient with others, much like the Eastern insights presented in Analects, where Confucius urges us not to worry about failing to get recognition, and to instead be too busy doing the things that entitle recognition.
So, to consolidate these ideas, what makes a great leader? And how can we develop ourselves towards those ends?
Regardless of the tradition, unbiased judgment in service of the public is encouraged. We must first develop ourselves so that we can best serve others; rotten wood doesn’t make the best foundation.
A strong leader has logical, social, and creative competence; leaders grapple with complex logistics and messy relational webs, so they must be able to trace the patterns of material and energy that contribute to their organization’s sustenance and growth. This means understanding how to best acquire, organize, and utilize information, energy, material, and personnel for the betterment of the collective they represent. To develop these skills, we must (unsurprisingly) put in work to develop our cognitive and creative abilities.
Cognitive and creative acuity isn’t enough. The guiding light that nourishes a great leader is their faith in the cause towards which they climb—how much they love what they’re working towards. Without the enthusiasm that accompanies faith, a leader risks intellectual atrophy via lack of motivation. Wisdom depends on love, and without loving what they’re working towards, faithless leaders will fail to motivate the masses.
But if we aren’t developing ourselves with others in mind, personal development may come at the expense of those around us; me may come at the expense of we. Love per se isn’t enough, it must expand. If a leader’s love doesn’t extend beyond themselves—if they are unable embody humility and integrity in service of the greater good—both the leader and their group are bound for suffering.
An interesting contemplation arises out of the Taoist notion that true leaders are those who guide followers effortlessly (embodying what is called wu wei) to harmonize and coexist with the Way (tao). Taoists likely had the physical and natural laws in mind when devising these insights; the river banks effortlessly guide water and seasonal checks and balances impose constraints on food supply. The unbiased and unassuming nature of these biophysical powers provoke awe and persuade emulation. Personal pursuits of power, on the other hand, locally disrupt the Way, selfish pursuers privatizing their gains and burdening their surroundings with waste. Surplus waste is a natural consequence self-interested power-seeking, and Taoists wanted to steer clear of wastelands.
Though, one obvious question remains: How might a measly human lead without pursuing power?
This marks the end of our discussion on the virtue of justice. Sorry to leave you with a question, but, as Yuval Noah Harari put it, questions you can’t answer are generally better for you than answers you can’t question.
Throughout the series we’ve been learning that there seem to be some boundaries within which we live…and when we naively ignore them, we can inadvertently hurt ourselves. The positive traits that protect us from harmful excess underlie the next consilient virtue of the series: temperance. This virtue, as we’ll learn, protects us from hatred, arrogance, hedonic pleasure, and destabilizing emotional extremes. In a world that subtly (or not-so-subtly) urges us towards excess, the protective properties of temperance are as important as ever. Financial incentives keep temperance hush-hush; let’s find out what they’re trying to hide.
Even the claim of universal moral truths gets confusing. When people claim universal moral principles, they usually aren’t referring to the “as applied to the universe” sense of the word, but something closer to the “as applied to humans” sense, because, by design, we can’t help but feel that we’re the most important beings in the universe.
Paywalled :(
And pets :)