Moral decision-making requires best judgment, not perfection

Making sound moral judgments takes a variety of skills. Obviously, one must have a general sense of right and wrong and be able to apply that knowledge to the case at hand.
 
The world comes with many extraneous aspects that are irrelevant to moral judgment — for example, strong emotions and personal dislikes. These must be set aside.
 
Our knowledge is also limited. A physician will know the risks of an upcoming surgery and advise the patient accordingly, but a patient unfamiliar with the practice of medicine may not be able to assess the physician’s advice. This is why second opinions are valuable. To choose well, we must sometimes know what we do not know.
 
Much of morality plays out in the ordinary course of life. We do not need any special skill to understand that stealing is wrong. This is self-evident because it derives immediately from the rule that we should treat others as we would like to be treated. Yet innocent errors are always possible, and obviously these are not moral failures.
 
When one accidentally takes the property of another, this is an error about a matter of fact. No harm was intended. Yet even here we can be faulted for not knowing what we should. “I did not know it was yours” resolves an accidental taking, but “I did not know it was loaded” is hardly a defense against the careless use of a firearm. We have a responsibility to use exceptional care when there is the possibility of serious harm. We are rightly faulted when we fail.

Aristotle observed that a person who chooses correctly in life develops sound habits of moral judgment. That person chooses well because he has become accustomed to choosing well. Similarly, those who choose poorly become habituated to bad conduct. The virtues and vices are habits that, over time, gradually form our character.
 
There are some devout Christians who develop a habit of timidity because they are fearful that they will make a bad choice. Their unwillingness to choose can become a source of harm to themselves and others. They often fail to act at the right moment or tolerate wrongs for much longer than they should. A habitual failure to choose is a species of the vice of cowardice.
 
Negative precepts, such as that against stealing, are relatively easy to apply, but positive precepts, such as pursuing a sound plan of life, admit of great variation. Almost every moral dilemma involves some measure of the unknown. Our choices are made within a stream of events that are largely outside our control. The unexpected can drastically affect choices after they have been made. We cannot be faulted if, after due deliberation, something unforeseen spoils our aim. All we can do is thoroughly investigate the facts, seek counsel from others whom we trust, and then make the best judgment we can.
 
Aristotle offers a great metaphor about the degree of certitude that we can expect in ethics. He says that moral action is akin to carpentry, not geometry. When nailing trim into a corner, the carpenter does not seek to duplicate the exact mathematical angle of the geometer. He roughs out his work — and that is sufficient. The imperfection of his materials, his own limitations in using tools, and the space in which he must do his work do not allow for great precision.
 
Similarly, in ethics, we make our best judgment based on the given situation, the facts as they are known, and our own personal skills. We cannot expect perfection. We can only do the best we can.

EDWARD J. FURTON, PH.D.,
is director of publications for the National Catholic Bioethics Center in Philadelphia and is among its team of seven ethicists. He is editor-in-chief of NCBC’s award-winning National Catholic Bioethics Quarterly and Ethics & Medics.