Motte and Bailey, VIII

One more “fallacy” that isn’t always, and then I’m done being obnoxious.  (I could keep on, you know.  There are actually very few “fallacies” that aren’t sometimes honest and rational argumentative moves.)

The appeal to authority.

Of course, there are silly versions of appeals to authority.

“Everyone know that …”

“Nobody does that …”

“The pope says …”

“The CDC says …”

“My dad told me …”

“Mom always used to …”

“Experts say …”

Actually, it depends, doesn’t it, on the context?  If you’re talking to a fallen-away Catholic and you preface with “the pope says,” you are committing a fallacy, at least from their point of view.  Fuggedabout what the pope said.  Ditto the CDC if you’re talking to a Rush baby.  Mileage of your mom and dad will vary depending on the audience.  I recommend staying away from “Everybody” and “Nobody” altogether, but maybe that’s just me?

On the other hand, if you’re in an argument with a fellow Catholic discussing an area of Catholic doctrine, then what “the pope says” is actually relevant, or at least potentially so.  The appeal to his authority, in the context of determining what his institution teaches, is reasonable.  And talking to a health-conscious progressive in modern America about what the CDC says about social distancing and masks is also reasonable.

“But but but but but,” you say, “these things are actually true or false.  The pope could be wrong!  The CDC could be wrong!  Doesn’t that matter?”

Yes, mon freres, it matters.  But if you happen to agree with the authority, and your interlocutor happens to agree, then you both agree that the appeal to the authority is legitimate, and it would be silly to pretend otherwise just because there are a cartload of other folks out there who find the authority illegitimate, n’est-ce pas?

This is quite different, of course, from saying that you should pretend to accept an “authority” or “expert” in whom you don’t believe because your interlocutor accepts them as legitimate, and the “authority/expert” happens to make a point that helps you in the moment.  That’s intellectually dishonest—and it may come back to bite you—but mostly it’s intellectually dishonest.  Don’t do that, s’il vous plait?

Motte and Bailey, VII

Slippery slope fallacies are another of my favorite not-always-fallaciousnesses.

“If you give a mouse a cookie …”

It’s actually true, if you give a child a cookie, they will want a glass of milk with it.  Past that point I make no guarantees, but there is a bit of a slope attached to most snacks.

If you allow contraception …

If you let anyone you want to own guns …

If women can wear pants …

If people keep throwing their fast food wrappers out of windows …

If you normalize gay couples …

If you let religious institutions use money for playgrounds …

Yeah, a lot of those slopes do turn out to be fairly slippery.  In some of these cases you might think that’s a good thing, in other cases you might not.  Most people will probably have problems with not all, but at least some of these slope bottoms. 

That’s why there are other names for the slippery slope “fallacy”: the frog in the frying pan, the Overton Window.

Of course, sometimes there is a fallacy in play.  “If we can manufacture cars so cheaply, we’ll have flying cars by 1980!”

There were inherent mechanical issues which, while they don’t quite rule flying cars out, making them at least rather more difficult than our grandparents hoped they might be.  The fallacy lay in not recognizing the bumps on the slope.

But not all slopes are so bumpy as we hope—and some are bumpier than they seem—and its really hard to tell until you’ve reached the bottom of the hill (or haven’t).

Motte and Bailey, VI

Another example of where the fallacy is not always so fallacious?  Ad hominems.  Oh yes, I think so.

Let’s say you accuse your opponent for dogcatcher of throwing bottles at the neighborhood cats.  Certainly this is an ad hominem in the strict sense: he may be perfectly good at rounding up stray animals, honest in his bookkeeping, keep an impeccable pound, etc.  But one may rightly counter that the ad hominem reveals certain truths about the would-be dogcatcher that suggest that he is not the best man for the job: cruelty to cats suggests the possibility of cruelty to other animals, and one would not want a cruel dog-catcher.  The ad hominem is relevant.

The devil of political races, of course, is that people have sometimes very different standards as to what hominibus are actually disqualifying—and those standards may also change from time to time and culture to culture.  Reagan’s divorce was considered scandalous by some (though I can’t think of a person or pundit who actually considered it disqualifying); that was then.

Motte and Bailey, V

When someone makes a move to distinguish their original claim, then, “motte and bailey” may be a justified assertion—from a moral or spiritual angle—but the distinction may yet be helpful and just.

What I mean by that is this.  Let us suppose that someone remarks “No mammals lay eggs.”  You bring in a platypus and demonstrate its mammalian and egg-laying capacities to them, and they are forced to reconsider their claim about the properties of mammals.  “No mammals law eggs, except for the platypus,” they say, making a distinction, “and,” they add carefully, “we may find a few other odd mammals like that too, so perhaps it’s safest to say, “Most mammals don’t lay eggs.”

That is a reasonable moderation of the original claim (which was false) to a new claim which (as far as I know) is true.  It may be that the person who made the false original claim did so in a spirit of illiberal haste and ought to be blamed for making assumptions.  They may, in other words, really be guilty of motte and bailey.  But it does not make their retrenchment wrong.

Motte and Bailey, IV

There’s another activity that sometimes gets labeled “motte and bailey” unfairly: the process of making distinctions.

Distinctions can sometimes be the last refuge of intellectual scoundrels.  “What I meant by ‘deadly’ is …”  “The meaning of ‘is’ is …”

But then there are distinctions that, as a Catholic, I find quite reasonable.  “‘Outside the Church there is no salvation’ doesn’t mean you have to be baptized in water to be saved …”  The term John Henry Cardinal Newman used for this sort of thing is “development of doctrine”: as people have more time to think about what the Bible and tradition hand down, and mull over what it means, and defend it against objections, they come to understand it better, and elaborations ensue.

Of course, it’s possible to have a system which turns out to be false—as elaborations pile up, one eventually realizes that there’s a simpler explanation for the phenomena.  This is essentially what happened as the Ptolemaic description of the solar system aged: physical observations kept requiring more and more elaborate additions to Ptolemy’s original picture with the earth at center, until eventually people decided it might be simpler to try out the math with the sun at the center.

But the existence of distinctions that ultimately fail to preserve a false theory (epicycles failing to preserve heliocentrism) does not invalidate any attempt at using distinctions to preserve a theory.

How Do You Like Your Numbers, Sir? (V)

There are probably details I’m overlooking in the number crunching that led to my one-out-of-230-people estimate for this area.  Every time I’ve had a discussion about coronavirus risks stats with another person—whether we tend to agree or not—I find that there are details I have thought to consider that they left out, and vice versa.

That makes questions like “Should we reopen schools?” exceedingly difficult to answer.  There is good data from other countries suggesting that the answer may be yes—see https://dontforgetthebubbles.com/evidence-summary-paediatric-covid-19-literature/ and, for an article on the topic, https://www.sciencemag.org/news/2020/07/school-openings-across-globe-suggest-ways-keep-coronavirus-bay-despite-outbreaks.  But the actual answer that different governors and districts give is going to depend on which countries they pick their numbers from, and how they serve up those numbers.

How Do You Like Your Numbers, Sir? (IV)

Of course, you’re really only in danger from your one-out-of-230-people if that person is someone who you get close up to for a while—if they breathe in your face.

Hence the reason why people have been avoiding public transport, bars, restaurants, etc. since this business began.  Oh, certainly, there have been government orders; and yes, some people are irrationally afraid of getting sick, or getting someone else sick.

But personally, it seems to me quite rational (at least living where I do now) to say (while I won’t stop going places where I need to go) that I’m not going to, er, lean in to shake any hands or give any hugs (not that I hug much to begin with).

How Do You Like Your Numbers, Sir? (III)

But there’s another way of putting those same numbers.

If there are 4,345 contagious cases in this metro area now, counting all the presymptomatics and the minority of asymptomatics who are likely to be contagious, and there are 1,000,000 people here all told, how many people would you have to meet on average before you met someone who has coronavirus and doesn’t know it?

If 4,345 x Q = 1,000,000, then Q = 230.15.

Round these parts, you have to meet an average of 230 people before you meet someone who’s sick, contagious, and doesn’t know it.

If you go to church, the grocery store, the post office, and the gym every day, you probably meet that many in a couple days—maybe even a day.

Suddenly 0.43% starts to sound bigger and 99.57% less safe.  It all depends on how you serve your numbers.

How Do You Like Your Numbers, Sir? (II)

But even when the numbers are correctly reported and tabulated, statistics can be tricky things.  Take an example from the metropolitan area where I’m staying.

The population of the greater metro area is just under 1,000,000.

The number of confirmed coronavirus cases in said metro area (total, since March 23) is just over 9,000.

How many of those people are sick now—or rather, how many are sick now, and don’t know it, and therefore aren’t isolating?

Unfortunately there’s a lag between when the data comes in and when it’s recorded in granular form, but the last week for which we have daily case counts is the week ending July 10.  If you assume that people are sick for about a week before developing symptoms, and assume that next week the reported cases will be the same as the week of July 4-10 (unlikely, since cases have been increasing; but one can always hope!), then that gives 385+221+420+773+575+795+662=3,831.  That’s how many presymptomatic, contagious cases there were (ish) in the last few days of June and the first few of July; and, since numbers are going up, that gives us a sense that a lowball number for presymptomatic, contagious cases right now would be about four thousand.

What about asymptomatic people, who never realize they were sick?  The CDC estimates this applies to 35% of cases.  WHO estimates 16% of those true asymptomatics can transmit the disease.  That means our supposed 4,000 current cases are actually only 65% of current cases.  If 4,000=65%, then 35%~2,154.  16% of 2154=345.  So there are about 4000+345=4,345 contagious cases in this metro area now, counting all the presymptomatics and the minority of asymptomatics who are likely to be contagious.

4,345 people out of 1,000,000 is 0.43%.

That’s actually quite a small number.

Another way of saying that is that if you walked around this metro area bumping into members of the populace at random, 99.57% of them would not have the virus.

Not bad, no?

How Do You Like Your Numbers, Sir? (I)

One of the more entertaining or debilitating aspects of following the present news is that one can find a statistic to support every argument.  Sometimes, the numbers flying past ducked heads are unreliable, inaccurate, false.  This is not necessarily an issue of bad faith.  For example:

 

WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. — The positivity rate of COVID-19 tests is a key metric for understanding how the virus is spreading, and how prevalent infections are in the community.

 

The Florida Department of Health reports the positivity rate of coronavirus tests each day -- which is supposed to show the number of positive tests compared to the number of total tests.

 

This week, the accuracy of the state's positivity reporting has come into question.

 

A review of state data shows many small, private labs have been reporting only their positive results to the state -- skewing the positivity rate higher.

 

Even after this issue came to light earlier this week, several dozen labs are still reporting 100% positivity rates, according to a review of Friday’s DOH data.

 

…

 

While Dr. Cole said the small labs reporting 100 percent positive tests are not likely to affect the overall state positivity rate in a huge way, it still undermines trust in the numbers.

 

“When you lose the confidence of the people, it ruins your message,” he said. “It’s very dangerous when the people don't trust what the government is telling them. It’s just a hot mess.”

 

(https://cbs12.com/news/coronavirus/dozens-of-florida-labs-still-report-only-positive-covid-tests-skewing-positivity-rate)

 

No kidding?

In all likelihood, there’s some sort of communication error going on here—some data entry peon (that’s not a slam; that used to be me) got a confused and confusing email from her boss (I’ve had these bosses) that did not make it clear she was supposed to enter ALL the test results.

But the result is that the state’s overall results are skewed—abiet “not likely … in a huge way.”

He Doesn't Look at Trifles as Much as You Think

“Thus, my daughters, strive to think rightly about God, for he doesn’t look at trifles as much as you think, and don’t lose your courage or allow your soul to be constrained, for many blessings could be lost.  Have the right intention, a resolute will, as I have said, not to offend God.  Don’t let your soul withdraw into a corner, for instead of obtaining sanctity you will obtain many imperfections that the devil in other ways will place before you; and, as I have said, you will not be of as much benefit to yourself or to others as you could have been.”—Teresa of Avila, The Way of Perfection, ch.41.

Towards the end of this book, St. Teresa talk about “fear of the Lord,” and offers typical advice to her religious sisters on avoiding bad conversations, etc.  But she closes the chapter with a few paragraphs warning against, essentially, scrupulosity and a fear of sinning by accident.  Rather than believing that the world can infect those who truly love God, she suggests that “a servant of God, without uttering a word, prevents things from being said against God.”  Essentially, social pressure works both ways: it can corrupt, and it can heal.

With great love comes great freedom.

Leo Strauss and Superman

“Meier’s claim that Strauss rejects ‘the illusory security of a status quo of comfort and of ease, in holding in low esteem a world of mere entertainment and the mere capacity to be interested’ is also a distortion of Strauss’s thought. Strauss consistently rejects the manner of thinking that holds comfort and ease to be at odds [with] depth and greatness. Strauss rejects, for example, the atheism from (secularized Christian) probity that rejects belief in God because it is comforting or provides ‘illusory security’. Against the existentialists, he questions the identification of Angst, unease, and discomfort with human seriousness and philosophical intransigence. He prefers the taste and sensibility of Jane Austen to that of Dostoevsky. And he appears to endorse the ancient perspective according to which the city at peace, or at rest, is more naturally human, and more conducive to order of human excellence, than the city at war.”—Robert Howse, “The Use and Abuse of Leo Strauss in the Schmitt Revival on the German Right—The Case of Heinrich Meier” (rough draft online).

The “Superman” in the title is, of course, not the superman of the Nazis and Schmitt (to whose thought, in the excerpt above, Strauss’s is being opposed), but the Superman of popular culture—the one generally maligned for being so good as to be boring.  Captain America might have done nearly as well.  And the only point of putting those “dull” superheroes together with Strauss—and apparently also Jane Austen—and, I would add, G.K. Chesterton—is the celebration of normalcy in which they all, in exceedingly varied ways, engage.

Vive la loi naturelle?

Motte and Bailey, III

One may, of course, deplore a culture in which seemingly irrational universal statements with epistemic import are deployed as emotive or connective rather than with logical precision.  But might one not equally deplore a culture of nitpicking in which attempts at finding common ground are routinely met with the equivalent of an academic “Says who?”

As an academic, naturally, I am prone to pursuing precision in language.  But is not such a pursuit in its own way as prescriptivist as insisting on the whom/who distinction?

Well, indeed, it is.  But while prescriptions for nearly-extinct pronoun case are about as important as a prescription for a grazed elbow, a prescription about precision in speech is about as important as insulin for a diabetic: one will not necessarily die without it, and there are ways around having to rely on it, but it sure helps to have some on hand.

Like so many other things, then, the issue of precision in speech is (or should be) a two-way street.  The more precise among us have an obligation in charity not to shout “motte and bailey” every time we’re dealing with more casual speakers, and the casual speakers have something of an obligation to ensure that, in tossing about their universals, they are in fact on the same wavelength as their present company.

Motte and Bailey, II

I have more reactions to the phrase “motte-and-bailey,” besides a faint amusement at the apparent uptick in its use.

My first would be to note that what appear to be motte-and-baileys from the viewpoint of an outsider are sometimes innocent shorthand used by those inside.

“Everyone who wears prisoner pants is a punk” is a statement which, rather than being intended as a slam dunk argument against associating with those so attired, may merely convey disapproval of the style, and expect to elicit agreement from the listeners.  Likewise the following statements:

“Anyone who drinks bottled water must not care about the environment.”

“Nobody really likes going to the movies.”

“Everyone in Hollywood hates America.”

“Only crazy people want to own guns.”

“Only an idiot [or Nazi, etc., etc.] could vote for X.”

“Everybody knows plastic is better than paper.”

“No one eats organ meat anymore.”

Some of those statements, obviously, will raise hackles because of their political—or perceived political—nature.  And if you think they really are political statements, and interrogate the speakers accordingly, you will find that they retreat from their indefensible motte to a more nuanced bailey.  (E.g., “I don’t mean everyone—just a lot of people.  Most of the people I meet—that sort of thing.”)  But it would be wrong to see this necessarily as dishonesty: oftentimes the universal statements about political matters are, like the statements about food and dress and entertainment, not primarily intended as logical, argumentative statements at all but rather calls for sympathy.

Wretched Humility, II

Teresa calls the false humility a “gross temptation.”  It may be tempting to read those words as a moral condemnation of anyone—surely most of us!—who experiences some degree of false humility.  There is something in the modern sensibility that looks upon temptation as pejorative in and of itself.  To confess to being tempted to do some evil is tantamount to confessing oneself a bad person; and so we tend to keep our secret thoughts carefully tucked away.

Teresa would have considered this a bit foolish.  Of course we are all bad people! she would have said, except for our Blessed Lady and her Son.  What a silly thing to have to state, as if it were not obvious!  And to think that we take the trouble to hide it from men, when it really only matters to God, and he knows it all anyway!

But Teresa would have denied (I think) the idea that we are somehow worse bad people for the fact of having been tempted.  Part of the reason is that Teresa has a solid notion of the demonic.  A good many temptations, her writings imply, come from sources outside of oneself, and thus one is not to be blamed for them—any more than a modern psychologist would blame a child raised in an abusive home for displaying certain phobias.

But there is a difference between displaying a phobia and engaging in destructive behavior; and Teresa would have insisted on a difference between being tempted to do something wrong and actually doing it.  The temptation, like the phobias, might decrease culpability; but ultimately as long as free will remains—as long as there is no actual insanity—there is choice.

Wretched Humility, I

“Consider carefully, daughters, the matter I’m going to speak to you about, for sometimes it will be through humility and virtue that you hold yourselves to be so wretched, and at other times it will be a gross temptation.  I know of this because I have gone through it.  Humility does not disturb or disquiet or agitate, however great it may be; it comes with peace, delight, and calm.”—Teresa of Avila, The Way of Perfection, ch.39, par.2.

There is a certain attitude within certain circles—religious and ex-religious—that looks at old-fashioned (I would avoid the word “traditional”) religious language as negative.  The many remarks by Teresa and other saints about their “wretchedness” sound like self-hatred—and so some religious people find themselves hating themselves—until, eventually, they escape this brand of religion, usually into no religion at all.

I know a few of those people personally, and know of many publicly.  You most likely do as well.  Enough that, as a religious person myself, I would be willing to wager that souls are lost through this conflation—not that being wrong means a person has lost their soul, but rather that certain types of intellectual mistake drive people away from precisely those things that they most need.  That’s common enough in the physical world, n’est-ce pas?

It matters, then, what one thinks it means to call oneself a “wretched sinner,” as Teresa often does.  But a good many of the explanations that purport to explain language about human wretchedness—to explain how it does not entail an unhealthy psychological attitude--fail, to my mind.  Teresa’s remarks here are helpful because they point to a distinction between a humility which is real and good and healthy, and one which is not.

Of Masks and Men, VI

It’s a bit worse than that, of course.  Frequently there’s a little salt of truth on both sides.

For example—I’ll put my cards on the table about the mask thing now—I suspect—steel yourselves for my highly uninformed guess on the matter of masks—I suspect that those who argue that masks make people sicker AND those who argue that they make society healthier are both right.

How would they make people sicker?  It’s been claimed, and debunked, that masks can reduce oxygenation of the blood.

Except the debunkings are … not 100% accurate either.  I think.  A little careful internet searching seems to indicate that some types of masks—the kind doctors wear for surgeries—do, in fact, with prolonged use, decrease oxygen.

https://news.stanford.edu/2020/04/14/stanford-researchers-reengineer-covid-19-face-masks/

chrome-extension://oemmndcbldboiebfnladdacbdfmadadm/http://scielo.isciii.es/pdf/neuro/v19n2/3.pdf

https://www.ucc.org/daily_covid_19_brief_issue_39

This is probably not a big deal—unless you are, say, asthmatic, or have some other preexisting lung condition.  If that’s not the case, most likely your run-of-the-mill cotton cloth mask that you wear for half an hour a day while doing your grocery run, your gym workout, and your post office trip does not pose a danger to your health.

And on the flip side, most likely, masks of the non-surgical type provide some protection from the spread of the virus, but not as much as one might hope.

https://www.healthline.com/health/best-face-mask-2#types

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7191274/

But now, depending on what side of the mask wearing question you’re on, it should be clear why the folks on the other side aren’t budging.

Of course, they may be not merely humanly fallible (as this series has argued) but also evil and/or stupid (“Why not both?”).  But that’s for another day.

Of Masks and Men, V

Naturally, then, when it comes to something that’s both a matter of life and death and a hot-button political issue, there will be a solid amount of disagreement on the ground.

With masks, some people seem to enjoy wearing them.  I’ve seen toddler girls who think they’re another fun accessory—and why not?  I’ve seen adults who feel safer wearing them, who feel protected.  Heck, you no longer have to worry about whether or not there’s spinach on your teeth!

But I’ve also seen people who feel gagged, smothered, bound by masks.  People who have trouble breathing in them.

Impressions are very personal.  Is your impression of wearing a mask one of claustrophobia?  Or is it like wearing armor?  Whichever it is, that impression is likely to form shape the data that you accept in support of your final position on mask-wearing.

You can give me experts all day long explaining how masks are bad for the wearer, or experts all day long debunking them; you can show me charts and graphs about how mask-wearing makes society healthier, and experts debunking them—and—guess what?  At the end of the day, I probably will still think what I thought before, because (a) I had an impression already about what wearing a mask is like; (b) I came across some experts whose sciencey explanations validated my opinion and disgraced opposing views; and (c) I’m not quite good enough at the science, or quite motivated enough by the truth, to seek any further.

Thus civil discourse degrades into expert clubbing.  You disagree?  Watch me club you over the head with my ExperClub!  You didn’t feel it?  You say that’s not an expert?  You what?  You just hit me with YOUR ExperClub?  I didn’t feel a thing!

ExperClubbing, America’s new socially-distanced sport.  Everyone wins, nobody loses, and the ball is never advanced.

Of Masks and Men, IV

Now we’ve established that people often act on the basis of impression rather than fact—but surely, Shirley, you say, people aren’t so foolish as to argue for their impressions after the facts are proven to be otherwise?

That depends.  Sometimes the facts themselves aren’t so clear.  There’s not a whole lot of disagreement (that I know of) about how to measure vitamin C.  There is, however, general disagreement in the nutrition community about other things—for example, whether fat or sugar is more implicated in heart disease, and whether alcohol calories actually “count” the way regular calories do.  In the science of exercise and weight loss you can find people arguing about whether weight lifting or aerobics are better ways to lose weight, and whether losing and gaining weight is a matter of calories in, calories out, or whether the deck is stacked in favor of stasis.  I have opinions about all of those debates, informed by reading of expert opinions; but the thing is—there are experts with different opinions.

Then we can start arguing about whether my experts or the opposing side’s experts have more respectable backgrounds and degrees.  The anti-fat expert are funded by X-entity?  Who could believe him?!  The anti-sugar expert got expelled from a conference?  Why would anyone listen to her?!

You can almost always find dirt about someone, and given enough time the opposition generally will.  Yes, even when it’s about something as trivial as what kind of life-stuff we decide to chew.

Haven’t You Seen This for Yourselves?

“I want also to tell you something else.  If it seems the Lord has already given us virtue, let us understand that actually it has been received and that he can take it away, as in fact often happens, but not without his wonderful providence.  Haven’t you seen this for yourselves, Sisters?  I have.  Sometimes I think I am very detached; and as a matter of fact when put to the test, I am.  At another time I will find myself so attached, and perhaps to things that the day before I would have made fun of, that I almost don’t know myself.  At other times I think I have great courage and that I wouldn’t turn from anything of service to God; and when put to the test, I do have this courage for some things.  Another day will come in which I won’t find the courage in me to kill even an ant for God if in doing so I’d meet with any opposition.  In like manner it seems to me that I don’t care at all about things or gossip said of me; and when I’m put to the test this is at times true—indeed, I am pleased about what they say.  Then there come days in which one word alone distresses me, and I would want to leave the world because it seems everything is a bother to me. And I am not alone in this.  I have noticed it in many persons better than I, and know that it so happens.”—Teresa of Avila, writing to her fellow nuns in The Way of Perfection, ch.38, par.6.

One doesn’t have to be a religious, or even particularly religious to recognize the phenomenon Teresa talks about.  The philosophical explanation (not wrong) of a virtue ethicist like Aristotle is that most people simply don’t have virtue, in the human sense of that word.  Human beings tend to be incontinent or at best continent: we know more or less what we ought to do, what is admirable—not to care about petty things, to be courageous and loyal on behalf of those to whom we belong, to let criticism slide.  But there are days when, though we know this, it is impossible to live it; and then one “would want to leave the world because it seems everything is a bother.”

This is why the secular world has its tricks and treats for getting along—its “life hacks” and “happiness boosters.”  And again—as with the secular philosophy—there is value in advice like “Have a small square of dark chocolate” or “Read a fun book, not Facebook.”  One can do all of that, and still agree with St. Teresa’s basic claim that most of us don’t have ownership of the good in our good nature.

That is not a reason not to strive for natural virtue—we should—nor is it a reason to abandon natural helps—we should use them.  But it is, for religious persons, a reason to hold out hope for ourselves and the rest of the world even in the days and months and years when one word alone distresses.