Ethics in Practice

Virtues

equal moral worth. That commitment is also fundamental within moral philosophy, and within Judaism and Christianity. But surely one could attribute modesty or humility to someone without at the same time attributing moral egalitarianism. One could even attribute these virtues to someone taken to be one's own superior or inferior, and who is aware of that status. Think, for instance, of slaves in the ancient world, who may have considered themselves intrinsically inferior to those they served. Could they not (occasionally) have thought of their masters and mistresses as humble or modest? Later I will suggest a different possibility for capturing this point: the modest person, the humble person, is not so much committed to moral egalitarianism as uninterested in competitive rankings. This is an entirely different kind of character trait: not a commitment to the truth of some proposition, but an attitude, a way of being. It is another way in which I hope to go beyond an intellectualized treatment of humility.

Several philosophers have looked to religious traditions for insight into this virtue: the world's major religions offer centuries of reflection about what makes life good. As one might expect, these traditions often resist the simplification sought by philosophers. Such untidiness, however, often provides a rich lode to explore. Richards looks primarily at Christian sources, especially medieval writers such as Bernard of Clairvaux, Thomas Aquinas, and Ignatius Loyola. Richards summarizes what he found:

[in this tradition] nothing that is good about you is to your own personal credit: such things are only the particular gifts god chose to give you ... on the other hand, everything that is bad about you is your own fault, a way in which you personally have failed ... [t]o have a high opinion of yourself would always be to ... take credit where none was due.4

Richards reforms this definition of humility by rejecting Christian metaphysics but retaining a commitment to accurate self-assessment. 5 He paid little attention, however, to what Christian thinkers have said about acquiring humility, and as a result failed to think about a fundamental

question: since self-knowledge is so different from scientific knowledge, what are its necessary conditions?

In Judaism humility has a somewhat different cast. Ronald Green is one of the few philosophers who have tried to present a Judaic view of humility to a secular audience. He finds that humility's greatest importance in this tradition has concerned relations to human beings rather than to god.

[while] the humble man is necessarily godfearing ... humility is believed important in other relations ... it is an attitude held necessary to orient the self in all moral relations, and in some rabbinic discussions it is compared to salt in being required to lend savor to all moral deeds and dispositions. 6

This suggestion is one I will investigate further. What makes this orientation so fundamental?

Green points out another element in the Judaic tradition, a particularly interesting piece of argumentation. Since god is the exemplar of all virtue, "god's holiness must be interpreted to include as its central feature his humility ... " ~ on the face of it, a difficult task. But "the humility of god is assumed to be shown by his solicitousness for human welfare ... " and especially a concern for the poor. 7 The idea is that god does not act in the way that rich and arrogant human beings do. "Accurate self-assess- ment" would seem to capture nothing of this; god's humility is not a matter of being correct about the divine status, but of indifference to it; or, more precisely, of not being preoccupied by it. Divinity does not keep god from caring about those who are suffering, however lowly they may be. This development of humility's implications reinforces my own thesis: clarity about oneself is a manifestation of humility rather than its essence.

One point needs to be emphasized. Although the word humility occurs in all these discussions, it does not mean exactly the same thing in each. The word has represented a variety of attitudes at different times and places, related to one another through what Wittgenstein would call family resemblance: it has meant self-abase- ment, a deep understanding of one's failings, a

lack of preoccupation with one's status, concern for others, and service to the poor. Current "ordinary language" - everyday secular speech - retains only some of this, and not always those aspects we might most wish. Humility continues to be contrasted with arrogance, to include respect for others, and to suggest lowliness and even abasement. It is not linked, at least in any obvious way, with concern for the poor.

If there is a difference between traditional meanings of the word and current usage, there is also a difference between both of these and the discussions within moral philosophy. Richards, the others, and I are trying to identify the threads which taken together would make a coherent and attractive moral ideal. We are searching for a kernel hidden within the history of the word deeper than the superficial contradictions and unattractive connotations sometimes present. Although I will retain the word humility for the trait which I am about to explore in more depth, I am suggesting a moral ideal rather than trying to explicate general usage. 8

The point of this essay is to argue that humility, described in a certain way, is a virtue of special help in living with fallibility while still struggling against it. What do these preliminary discussions tell us? They remind us that accurate self-assessment is a moral accomplishment, and overestimation the more common form of failure. Obviously, seeing our mistakes clearly makes us more likely to correct them, or correct for them. In addition the humble person as described here recognizes that other people can teach and assist her, another disposition that makes mistakes less likely.

But these characterizations of humility tend to make it an entirely instrumental good, and an entirely intellectual one. Humility becomes a matter of getting the facts right, useful in the way new glasses or a better microscope would be, rather than an essential quality of a fully moral human being. Most of these construals, in fact, do not treat humility as a virtue in a full Aristotelian sense. (The Jewish tradition may come closest to doing so.)9 A virtue is a disposition toward doing the right thing, because one understands and is attracted by what is good. A

Humility

virtuous person need not fight her feelings; on the contrary, a sign of the full possession of virtue is taking pleasure in doing the right thing. Virtues are acquired and practiced within a community. Exploring these points - the actions, emotions, and understandings that constitute humility, as well as the kind of community that supports it - will enrich our understanding of it. We will come to see it as a morally necessary stance toward human finitude, of which mistakes are one manifestation.

Humility as a Virtue: a Deeper Look

If humility is a virtue it will be a richer object of study than the current philosophical discussion suggests. I will argue that humility is morally desirable in itself (as part of a harmonious self which is capable of flourishing) and also for its results (as are most virtues, as they contribute to the well-being of the individual, the household or the broader community) ... humility makes mistakes less frequent and their consequences less dire. For these purposes I will define humility as the ability to recognize and be at ease with one's flaws. What is obviously new in this definition is the phrase "be at ease," and it needs explanation. What may seem less new is the term "recognize." In this context, however, it, too needs attention. I turn to it first.

Recognizing truths about oneself is different from other kinds of knowledge. It is not like knowing algebra or being able to recognize quattracento painting. Understanding human beings - subjects - is a different enterprise from understanding things that are only objects. Because this difference makes the social sciences markedly different from the physical sciences, it has been well explored. 10 Qualities of subjects - desires, intentions, emotions, knowledge, and so on - are intrinsically difficult to define, to describe, and to investigate. What counts as evidence for their existence is different than what counts as evidence about the physical world.

This is especially true in self-understanding; or, more precisely, understanding oneself is a different project from understanding other people. And the way that others help one learn is different in all three of these quests: in learn-

Virtues

ing about objects, learning about other persons, and learning about oneself. Knowledge of particular subjectivities cannot be attained just by instruction from an authority. In algebra or art history, a good teacher or book is essential. In the case of self-understanding others can also be of use, but in a different way. It is not a matter of their having clear and extensive knowledge of oneself and simply communicating it. Certainly a therapist, a spiritual director, a friend - even an enemy - can help one recognize things that otherwise would remain hidden: a habit or an emotional tone, for instance, that one has never recognized in oneself. But the knowledge gained by the subject will be different from that possessed by the onlooker. While this is true to a small degree in any field - no two people have exactly the same understanding of it - a far greater congruence is possible when people are studying some external object than when they are talking about themselves. There are things about oneself that can only be known with the help of others; there are things that only the person herself can know. And there are aspects of any human being that remain mysterious.

What can be gained through systematic instruction are skills of introspection. Growth in self-understanding demands not only attention to the reactions of others, but also attention to one's own inner life. Self-knowledge is an ongoing awareness - of one's own feelings and thoughts, of the reactions of other to one's words and actions - more than an accumulation of facts.

Because self-knowledge is so different from most of what we call knowledge, humility - partly constituted by self-knowledge - should not be treated as if it were an intellectual accomplishment. The fact that self-knowledge is more like a skill than like information brings us back to Aristotle's notion of a virtue: the habitual doing of the right thing for the right reasons, supported by the right emotions. My definition of humility emphasizes this last aspect with the phrase "to be at ease with one's mistakes and flaws." Clearly "ease" cannot mean indifference. On the contrary, unless one feels something like sadness about one's limitations, one has not seen them for what they are, and the degree of sadness (and related emotions) should

match the seriousness of the flaw. What I mean by "being at ease" is not indifference but something subtler. It is an emotional condition that recognizes and responds to one's failings in such

a way that the self regains harmony and finds strength and hence, among other things, is less likely to fail in the same way in the future.

The ease of which I speak is not separate from recognition but part of what makes it possible. It might seem that we often recognize and hate our inadequacies, so that "ease" is not essential to self-knowledge. It should be obvious, however, that such hatred is likely to interfere with clear sight. Here as elsewhere pain and fear interfere with understanding. Patients who are told that they are terminally ill generally hear nothing else for a while, may not even fully take in what they have been told. Students can freeze when called on, or in exams. Most of us who write professionally have sometimes reacted to unfavorable reviews with a sort of blindness; a month later we can re-read the comments and understand what was hidden by a haze of pain in the first reading.

The ordinary fact that pain blinds is often not recognized or taken seriously. Part of the reason, perhaps, is the truth in the proverb "once bitten, twice shy": sometimes pain is instructive. We do learn quickly to avoid simple sources of severe pain. But most sources are not simple; the various causes of mistakes are not simple. Lucien Leape, who has examined the sources of mistakes in health care, points out that the cause might be lack of knowledge, on the one hand, or on another a flawed system (too few doctors, too little sleep, too-similar labels on bottles). Still another possibility is the way the human mind works, setting up routines, responding to certain cues. Sometimes - and here I go beyond Leape - the cause is more personal: inattention to detail, an inner blind spot, a mistake in establishing priorities. When we ask, "why didn't I recognize this pattern, or listen to this patient; why did I rely on a single test?" useful answers demand a lot of thought. Learning from the answers - changing one's behavior in the future - takes still more. While a burnt child can avoid the stove, the sources of mistakes are not so concrete. They cannot simply be avoided. Some of them, in

fact, are unchangeable. So while a clinician's fear may make her want to avoid mistakes, it may also keep her from dealing with the ones she does make.

In another sense, however, the proverbial stove is relevant after all. Most of us cannot put our hands on a hot burner; we cannot force ourselves into such pain. For someone without the humility I am describing, recognizing her own faults may be as searing as a physical burn. Since there are degrees of pain, probably different in different domains, she may be fully cognizant of some faults, perhaps preoccupied and pressed down with them, while others she cannot afford even to acknowledge.

Clarity about oneself, then, demands not only skills of introspection but also a fundamental enabling attitude that might be called compassion toward oneself. Compassion is made up of an understanding that suffering is inevitable and of a simple sort of kindness. Since too much pain can interfere with self-knowledge, and compassion eases that pain, it follows that compassion toward oneselfis an essential component of clear sight.

This treatment of compassion helps contrast my approach with Richards's. When he discusses compassion it is as concern for the suffering of others; his only comment about concern for self is that it can be inordinate and block our recognition that others are worse off. As true as that is, it is superficial. It does not distinguish various ways in which one might be concerned about oneself, and various reasons for the self-absorption. Richards suggests that compassion is simply a matter of recognizing the proper proportion between one's own problems and those of others. In contrast, my point is that a sense of proportion is a consequence of more important things at the heart of humility, especially compassion toward oneself and skills of introspection. The self-absorption that Richards criticizes may be an overestimation of one's importance, as he suggests; paradoxically, however, it may also result from inadequate compassion toward oneself. It may be a fascination with what one cannot turn away from because it is so unsettling.

My central claim - that a morally appropriate understanding of one's strengths and weaknesses

Humility

depends upon certain attitudes toward oneself - is not unusual. Buddhists, psychotherapists, and many others take similar positions. For Buddhists, "loving-kindness" toward oneself (and others) is itself a skill, not just, as in my account, a condition for self-knowledge. For thousands of years they have practiced a guided meditation which fosters this attitude toward oneself~ gradually, over many months, expanding to include others. "The quality of loving-kindness is the fertile soil out of which an integrated spiritual life can grow. With a loving heart as the background, all that we attempt, all that we encounter, will open and flow more easily. ,,11 In contrast, the literature of psychotherapy treats self-love as an emotional configuration that results from either adequate parenting or good counseling. They speak of re-doing parenting, of modeling an attitude of acceptance which the client did not sufficiently encounter as a child, and which over time he or she will internalize. Psychologist Cynthia Morgan reports that early in therapy clients may be unable to entertain the slightest suggestion of having done wrong; later, as they learn self-acceptance, such discussions become easierY In "the fragility of the moral self: selflove and morality,,13 Laurence Thomas sums up the childhood experiences taken to be crucial: "the experience of others taking delight in [one's] accomplishments," learning that what one does matters, "that [one's] life has value independent of performances and physical appearances." I will say more about this paper in a moment. Here it should be noted that the causal framework assumed - inadequate parenting - is being vigorously debated. 14 We may eventually find that what forms us and what heals us are more diverse, that some causal factors, for instance, are cultural (think of the ways in which racism, sexism, constant competition, an emphasis on beauty and youth make self-love difficult). We may learn that peers are more important than parents. We will probably find that genes are significant (but not straitjackets: genes usually make things more or less likely rather than inevitable). And we will probably recognize that here, as in other parts of health care, a technique (like therapy or meditation) can heal even if its theoretical grounding is faulty.

Virtues

These are empirical issues, of course. I mention them as preparation for my argument that compassion toward oneself is a moral quality. Current controversies about child development are, I think, quite liberating: in suggesting different accounts of the self and its formation, they free us to take different stances toward the result.

Compassion toward the Self as a Moral Attribute

I have argued that compassion toward oneself is necessary for self-knowledge. I now want to extend that position and argue that compassion toward oneself is in itself a morally good quality, that it helps constitute humility, rather than simply being a means toward it. In so arguing I differ with one aspect of Thomas's paper mentioned earlier. Since so much of what he says parallels my position here, our differences are particularly revealing.

Let me begin by outlining the points on which we agree. Thomas argues that "persons with selflove value themselves appropriately; they are not disposed to undervalue themselves or their accomplishments, or to think more of themselves than the circumstances warrant."IS Self-love makes a moral life possible; its absence explains certain kinds of immorality: "persons without a full measure ofself-love will be much more easily threatened ... " a moral life demands a clear sense of other people, of their needs, their abilities, their trustworthiness, and so on. "Feelings of inadequacy can get in the way. A person with a very low opinion of himself will often be too consumed by his own inadequacies" to see others clearly.

In spite of this general similarity, Thomas's position and mine diverge, sometimes in subtle, sometimes in fundamental ways. The most subtle difference is in terminology: where he uses "self-love," I use "compassion for the self." Love, appropriate only towards what is good, emphasizes the intrinsic worth of the self. "Compassion" is a richer word, one that not only marks the worth of the self, but also calls to mind the suffering and limitations intrinsic to it. Compassion is more useful (and probably

more feasible) as we gaze upon our flawed selves.

Thomas and I may also differ about the moral status of how one treats oneself. He seems to share the blind spot found in much of contemporary moral theory.16 At least he talks only about the importance ofself-love for taking others seriously. He recognizes that one can fail to love oneself, but does not talk about the moral cost of not taking oneself seriously. Our most fundamental difference, however, is about the role of emotion in ethics. On this point Thomas is Kantian: "It is reason that tells each individual that she, herself, has intrinsic moral worth; and it is reason that informs her that all other persons likewise have intrinsic moral worth.,,17 As a result, self-love can only be a precursor to morality, not a constituent of it. Self-love is a necessary condition for the right working of moral reasomng.

I think we will be better served by thinking of self-love - or rather, of compassion toward oneself - as a constituent of morality. One reason we shy away from granting the emotions moral status is that some of our understandings of morality confine it to that over which we have control: that is, our choices. But Bernard Williams and Thomas Nagel have pointed out inconsistencies within that tradition: there seems to be an irreducible element ofluck in our moral standing. 18 In fact the point of Thomas's article is to describe still another way in which our moral status is not directly within our own control. (His title echoes Martha Nussbaum's the fragility of goodness, a work reminding us of what the Greeks understood about moral contingency.) I have argued elsewhere that the felt necessity to tie moral status solely to a person's choices derives in part from concepts ofa just and judging god. 19 If we broaden our understanding of morality to that which is admirable and that which should be emulated - to the ideals that should guide our child-rearing and policymaking - it is easy to see that we want not just people who choose rightly but those whose selves are integrated with those choices; that is, people who need not struggle against their emotions and need not rethink each situation as it arises. As Justin Oakley has argued, emotions "help constitute or undermine such central human goods

as understanding, strength of will, psychic harmony, love and friendship, and a sense of selfworth.,,20 As I have described it here, compassion for oneself does just that.

Furthermore, as many have argued recently, our emotions are to some extent ways ofknowing, and part of what it means to value something. 21 Compassion is a way of knowing and of valuing a self that is at once priceless and flawed. It is not just a precursor of morality; it is part of a fully moral self. It is part ofmany virtues; in particular, it is part of humility.

This analysis helps with some of the points philosophers have found puzzling: first, why should we call humility, defined as clarity about oneself, virtuous? Norvin Richards gives three reasons: that a person who is clear about her own merits and demerits will be more ready to forgive others, will have better judgment about others, and will have reasonable expectations of herself. 22 Since these are good things, the trait which produces them, he reasons, is probably also good. Some philosophers who deal with "modesty" rather than "humility" ground the former's goodness in a recognition of the equal moral worth of all human beings. Richards's explanation gives humility only an instrumental value. Philosophers of "modesty" rest their arguments on a debatable claim about necessary conditions for the trait. The position I defend in this paper gives humility intrinsic moral value. It is the ability to look inward with clarity and ease. A virtue is an excellence, a perfection, and a strength: humility is all of these things.

I can now explain some intuitions presented earlier in this essay: first, that humility is not so much a matter of accurately assessing one's comparative worth as something simpler and deeper: a person with humility is just not interested in these comparisons. Compassion and lovingkindness toward oneself eliminate the need to seek rank through comparisons. 23 Secondly, my agreement with the rabbinic tradition that humility adds savor to all human relationships. Humility as I have presented it here is an inner balance. Without it we will in various ways clutch and strike out at others. With it, we are free to see and value others as they are, neither desperate for their support nor distraught at the threat they may pose.

Humility

In summary: humility is a form of self-know- ledge that essentially demands compassion toward oneself. Since self-knowledge is not primarily an intellectual activity but more like a skill, since it is part of a complex of attitudes which crucially includes compassion toward oneself, and since it is a learned ability to look peacefully within and properly value what is seen - for all these reasons humility counts as a virtue. It is a disposition to recognize and respond readily to what is of value, just as courage is the disposition to recognize and respond when good things are in danger. Humility is a virtue which allows us not only to see our mistakes, but simultaneously to live with them and try to minimize them.

Finally, virtues are not purely personal, they are learned within a community. Hence, we must find ways to cultivate communities that best foster humility. If we can, we will create communities that are not only more moral, but also better for human life and growth.

Notes

David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature

(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), Book Iii, Part Iii, Section ii, p. 598.

2Norvin Richards, Humility (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1992), p. xii.

3Aaron Ben Ze'ev, "The Virtue of Modesty,"

American Philosophical Quarterly 30 (1993): 23546; Stephen Hare, "The Paradox of Moral Humility," American Philosophical Quarterly 33

(1996): 235-40. Hare looks at the further paradox of knowing that one is morally superior to another (more honest, generous, just, or whatever). He resolves the paradox by arguing that although one may act more morally, one's intrinsic worth as deserving of moral treatment from others remains equal.

4Norvin Richards, "Humility," Encyclopedia of Ethics, Lawrence C. Becker and Charlotte B. Becker, eds. (New York: Garland Publishing, 1992).

5He seems to be unaware of how close his own discussion is to contemporary Christian perspectives. Even forty years ago the Catholic schools I attended laid little emphasis on medieval texts about worthlessness, and a great deal on what Richards now calls "accurate self-assessment."

Virtues

6 Ronald Green, "Jewish Ethics and the Virtue of Humility," The Journal oj Religious Ethics

I (1973): 54.

7Interestingly, when Green goes on to ask what might make this attribute morally good from a secular point of view, he turns to the same egalitarianism as the other philosophers mentioned here. Referring to Rawls's contractarianism, Green writes "the whole enterprise of oral reasoning involves an abandonment of the knowledge of one's particular strengths and excellences in order to enter, as one human being among others, into the procedure of moral choice ... " because of the constraints of Rawls's "original position," one would also "pay particular attention to the effect [of principles endorsed] on the poor and disadvantaged" (pp. 59, 61; emphasis added).

8Others, of course, would argue that we cannot surpass the wisdom found in ordinary language, worked out as it has been over centuries and over millions of lives. That is a very strong claim. I believe instead only that we should pay the most serious attention to ordinary usage and to a word's history, but that we are not always and necessarily bound to accept the distinctions and values it encodes. The other objection that could be made is that philosophical attempts to redefine a word rarely work; language has a life of its own. As true as that is, some self-conscious attempts to reform language have worked: "woman" IS now used symmetrically with "man," and "he" is rarely used today when "he or she" IS meant. As noted earlier, Richards's reformative attempts are scholarly verSIOn of some twentieth-century religious treatments of humility.

9This is slightly paradoxical because the Greek and Hebrew traditions are in many ways quite different, and - since both are very important sources of contemporary Euro-American culture - contrasting them can be enlightening.

lO A classic source is Ludwig Wittgenstein's Lectures and Conversations on Aesthetics, Psychology and Religious Belief, Cyril Barrett, ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967).

11 Jack Kornfield, A Path with Heart: a Guide Through the Perils oj Promises oj Spiritual Life (New York: Bantam Books, 1993) pp. 19-21.

12Clinical psychologist Cynthia Morgan of Michigan State University.

13Laurence Thomas, "The Fragility of the Moral Self: Self-love and Morality," the Poynter Center, Indiana University, 1997.

14Malcolm Gladwell, "Do Parents Matter," New Yorker, August 17, 1998, pp. 54-64.

15Thomas, "The Fragility of the Moral Self," 3-6.

16See my "The equal moral weight of selfand otherregarding acts," Canadian Journal ojPhilosophy 17II (March 1987).

17Thomas, ibid., p. II.

18Thomas Nagel, Mortal Questions (Cambridge University Press 1979); Bernard Williams, Moral Luck (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1981).

19The point is that a just god could not punish or reward us for things we could not help doing and being. Judith Andre, "Nagel, Williams, and Moral Luck," Analysis 43/4 (October 1983).

20Justin Oakley, Morali~y and the Emotions (NY: Routledge, 1992), p. 78.

21An excellent recent example is Michael Stocker's "How Emotions Reveal Value," in How Should One Live? Essays on the Virtues, Roger Crisp, ed., (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), pp. 173-90.

22Richards, Humility, p. 18.

23lowe this insight to an article on a trait similar to humility whose Italian name seems to defy translation: la mitezza. Although the author translates it as "meekness," "gentleness" seemed to me closer. Norberto Bobbio, "In Praise of La Mitezza" Diogenes (English edition) vo\. 44, no. 4 (Winter 1996) pp. 3-38.

When discussing how much freedom an individual should have, there is no better place to begin than by reading John Stuart Mill. Mill's On Liberty is the classic defense of individual liberty. Arguably it is still the best. He clearly states the liberal credo: "that the sole end for which mankind are warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the liberty of action of any of their number is ... to prevent harm to others." Interfering with the liberty of a rational person, merely to prevent her from harming herself, is never legitimate. Put differently, on Mill's view there are no "victimless crimes." If an action has no victim, then it cannot be a crime.

Of course, as I noted in THEORIZING ABOUT ETHICS, we sometimes have difficulty deciding whether an action harms someone other than the agent. Virtually every action affects some others to some degree or in some fashion. If nothing else, someone may be bothered, upset, or offended by our actions. The bare knowledge that I eat meat might offend a vegetarian. Does that mean that my actions harm the vegetarian in ways the law and society should recognize? Should the state legally prohibit me from pursuing my preferred eating habits simp(y because some other person is bothered by my culinary practices? Should society criticize me ifI continue? Not according to Mill. In setting social policy we should give no weight to such reactions to others' behavior that causes not harm. Otherwise, we unduly stretch the notion of harm.

Arthur (FREE SPEECH) would agree. He claims that an action harms others only if it directly diminishes their long-term interests. That is why we should not have speech codes. Hate speech may annoy or upset someone, but it does not harm them. If Arthur is correct, many actions people consider harmful are not, in fact, harmful - at least not in any sense that should concern the law. Others, for example Altman (in the same section) and May and Strikwerda (SEXUAL AND RACIAL DISCRIMINATION) might agree about this particular case, but would nonetheless find Arthur's account of harm too restrictive. Clearly much is at stake. Exactly how we define "harm" has momentous practical consequences.

The issue, though, is not merely determining what counts as harm, but also we must determine who is harmed. Most of the essays in the book focus on harm to others. This section has two foci, both different from the standard cases discussed earlier. The first three essays in this section focus on harm to oneself, particularly harm caused by using chemical substances. The last two essays concern acts (in this case, owning guns) that are thought to be risky, that is, actions that are likery to cause harm. There is little debate about whether the results it purportedly causes (death and serious bodily injury) would be harmful when or if they occur. The debate is whether the mere likelihood that these actions cause harm is sufficient reason to prohibit them. Let me say a bit about each issue.