After almost three years of law school, you grow accustomed to certain patterns. One of those patterns takes the form of a question that Professors employ to "teach" something about "intent." Because intent impacts tort law, criminal law, contract law, and so forth, the question comes up repeatedly throughout one's legal education. It has to do with ascertaining intent, and through gross misapplication of something they like to call the Socratic Method, professors will eventually spring the trap:

"Isn't intent subjective!?"

Here everyone gasps dramatically (well, maybe not dramatically, and maybe not gasps, but... well). Subjective!? Saints and angels preserve us! Them's fightin' words! Er... fightin' word!

I'm exaggerating a bit, but what you need to understand is that "subjectivity" is a big no-no in legal analysis. Occasionally a generous professor will hint at the correct response to this damning critique. Whenever you are asked, "How can we know his intent when we can't read his mind?" you must not answer that you could just ask him. Because of course he is going to lie about his intent if it's going to get him off the hook! Instead you must respond that you should look to the "objective manifestations of intent."

Well, that introductory paragraph sort of got away from me there; this is not an entry about intent, or about the law in any direct way. See, what I've started doing to really confuse my poor professors is answering instead that I would gauge intent qualitatively. That really gives them pause, which tickles me greatly.

Today's topic is, in fact, the notion of "qualitative betterness" as applied to our advice to other people.

I had an interesting conversation not too many weeks ago with my mother-in-law. We spoke of being "soothers," of desiring to help people "feel good" about their lives. We spoke of being "fixers," of desiring to fix the broken, to unite the needy with the object of their need. And we spoke of the conflict that can arise between one and the other, when part of a "fix" requires one to acknowledge that life is not, in fact, as it could (or should) be. At least some portion of my earlier entry on the unsavory was inspired by that conversation; after all, the "fixer" must grow well-versed in the unsavory.

But a soother can rapidly undo what a fixer has set in motion. Imagine if John Q. Public received from his "fixer" the good advice that he should quit going to neo-Nazi rallies--that it was an abnormal and extremely creepy thing to do, and that he might even feel better about himself if he purged some of this irrational hatred from his system. Now imagine John Q. Public has the following conversation with his mother, who observes that he is looking a little down.

"Now Johnnie, I haven't seen you so lethargic in months. Your mother knows! What's got you so moody?"

"Nothing, ma. Just, one of my friends told me I should quit going to these things, I don't know. I was kind of upset, but I been thinking, and... maybe he's right."

"What things?"

"Just these group things, they help me feel alive, they... give me a sense of purpose. But maybe I'm losing myself in the hype, you know? Maybe it's time for a change."

"Now just one minute. You know it's perfectly normal to crave a sense of purpose, and I know things haven't been great for you at work lately. If your friend doesn't like you just the way you are, maybe they're not such a good friend, did you ever think of that?"

"You think so?"

"Johnnie, I know so. You're perfect the way you are. Anyone who thinks you should change, they don't understand you. They haven't been through the things you've been through, Johnnie, and I wouldn't expect them to understand. You are perfect to me. Listen to your mother, you just ignore that Negative Nellie friend of yours, maybe make some new friends at your little get-together. People who just want to change you, they're not your friends, Johnnie."

"You know, maybe you're right. Thanks, ma."

Now, we Americans (maybe it's a global phenomenon?) like rhetorically unassailable examples, like the Nazi allusion I've employed. Logicians will sometimes call this the "reductio ad Hitlerum," a fallacy that creates a sort of guilt-by-association. It's a bit ludicrous to suggest that everything Hitler did was evil, I mean--"Breathing, huh? You know who else used to breathe a lot? Hitler."

But we like them because we're so accustomed to relativism. If John Q. in the example above was encouraged to quit drinking coffee, or to quit gambling casually, or to exercise and eat right? Casual "vices" like light stimulants or moderate obesity are barely recognized in our culture; after all, there are worse things in life! So you have to really stretch for something unassailably bad; Nazis, wife or child abuse, terrorism... that's probably half the list right there. Shift the example to a friend who encourages John Q. to get married, or have children, or get over himself and learn to communicate with normal people on an adult level... and maybe we're starting to think John Q.'s "fixer friend" really is the unaccepting, judgmental jerk Mrs. Public suggests.

Because everyone has an opinion, right? And no one's opinion is better than anyone else's, unless maybe they're a celebrity or high-ranking authority in this international megacorporation or that global religion. There is no "normal" so there is no "strange," there is no "worthless" so there is no "special."

Aside--I love Pixar's The Incredibles. Among many fabulous lines we see this gem:

Helen Parr: Everybody's special, Dash.

Dashiell Parr: Which is just another way of saying nobody is...

Remember my entry on being special? It's there, too... something just isn't quite right about insisting that there's no such thing as "betterness." Betterness is (often? always?) relative--I don't know that anyone is a "better person" than anyone else, when you phrase it like that, but it seems clear that it is better to be smart, it is better to be healthy, it is better to be kind. But better than... the alternative? Better for... me? My health? My future income? My family? Society?

Its even more difficult if we throw in the "judgmental" cases. What if I say it "is better to be married than not?" Better... for me? Better... for now? Better... for a woman? A man? A committed homosexual couple? For society? For the soul? For your health? For your posterity? If your spouse refrains from abusing you? If you feel the need to be married?

Not an easy question! There is a metaphor, common when discussing the LDS Church's imperative to proselyte, about orange juice. If you make a fresh pitcher of orange juice, and on pouring yourself a glass find that it is the best orange juice you've ever tasted, do you remark to a present friend that "this is the best orange juice I have ever tasted" without offering your friend a taste? And furthermore, would not your friend be a little silly to feel offended that you have offered them something you find quite good?

Well, the possibility always exists that your friend hates orange juice, I suppose, or is allergic. In those cases, should you have knowledge of either instance, gloating about the great orange juice and then offering a taste might make you a real jerk... unless, of course, your friend refuses to tell anyone they're allergic to orange juice, and simply laughs when it's offered. Regardless, under most circumstances, the polite thing to do is offer up a taste, right?

So what gives "soothers" the idea that they should paint you as a jerk regardless? What gives them the idea that they should tell their respective John Q.'s that nobody really likes orange juice, anyway? Why do we put so much energy into helping people feel better when we could be helping them be better?

Ah, but who are we to judge "better," anyway? Especially for someone else? People who think that, they're just prideful, right? Right?

This is where the whole argument just gets convoluted and frustrating. Boyd K. Packer once asked, "How can we give solace to those who are justified without giving license to those who are not?" I've been trying to answer that question for a long time, now. We know, because it has been empirically demonstrated, that the best environment for children is with their mother and father; how can we discourage single parenting without stigmatizing single parents? We know, because it has been empirically verified, that married people live longer, healthier lives; how can we encourage marriage without stigmatizing those who remain unmarried?

I can't even say that I "don't have the answers." I'm reasonably convinced that I have collected all the answers. The problem now is that I don't know which one is correct! d^_~b Seriously, though, I just don't know how to respond when people say things like "that's just your opinion" or "you haven't been through what I've been through" or "you just don't understand." They might even be right, but that doesn't make me wrong. It's not a refutation; it's a dismissal. It's a denial by fiat; a bald assertion that "people who don't tell me what I want to hear are wrong by default."

It doesn't work that way! Just because something qualifies as an opinion, that doesn't make it necessarily wrong.

Qualitative assertions are difficult, perhaps impossible to "prove." Causality is fickle, and association often masquerades in its place. Our gut instincts are often, simply, wrong. And yet without a qualitative sense of betterness, how could we possibly live in this world?

I don't think I'm making myself any more clear for belaboring the point, so I'll wrap this up. Do you employ relativistic arguments to portray well-intentioned qualitative advice as inappropriately judgmental condemnation? Have you ever said the words, "you can't understand, because you haven't had the same experience as me?" Would you comfort someone by telling them that they should not address their deficiencies, their incompatibilities, or their self-doubt, but instead content themselves with the status quo because "you are perfect (or normal) just the way you are?"

Have you ever wondered if, in doing so, you might in fact be prolonging their agony and hampering their stride?

I wonder.