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I recently told my friend and neighbor that I have a graduate degree in theological ethics. He asked me to explain more about my field of study. I mentioned that ethics defines principles of behavior that help us distinguish between right and wrong. And I pointed out that religious principles often play an important part in ethical reflection. I went on to explain that ethicists take different approaches in providing guidance for difficult scenarios – and that I’m personally a fan of the perspective offered by character or virtue ethics.

My friend responded respectfully, but with some skepticism: “That sounds interesting. But do we really need ethics to understand the difference between right and wrong? Isn’t it really just about doing the right thing?”

I probably sounded a bit defensive as I explained how life presents some true ethical dilemmas that require thoughtful and extensive deliberation. After I recounted some examples from both medical and business ethics, he was still unimpressed: “But how many ethical dilemmas do we face in our everyday lives? Isn’t it just about doing what we know is right?”

I finally conceded that he had a fair point. In the vast majority of cases, we probably already know how we ought to behave. And if this is true, the good life calls – as much as anything – for a simple commitment to doing what’s right.

Of course Plato would disagree. He would insist that ignorance of the Good is the root of the problem – that when people know what’s actually good for them, they will necessarily choose it.

We don’t have time here to give Plato’s argument the attention it deserves,  but it seems to me that a number of different factors get in the way of my personal ability to do the right thing. Plato might say it’s all about ignorance – that I don’t truly understand what’s best. But I would say that selfishness and emotional instability are often better explanations for my bad behavior than a lack of knowledge.

If ethics does nothing more than recommend principles for determining right and wrong, its influence is too narrow. Moral principles ought to be sound enough to persuade us to act. But they should also incorporate practical suggestions to help us work through any opposition that might prevent us from doing the right thing.

This brings me back to my friend’s suggestion that the good life is more about finding the strength to do what we know is right than it is about agonizing over complex ethical scenarios. It’s about committing ourselves to doing the right thing: being kind when we don’t feel like being kind, taking a deep breath before lashing out at someone in anger, and showing gratitude for life’s blessings by sharing our time and resources with those in need.

As an educator, I’ve never been comfortable presenting historical facts and social scientific research as “the final word.” This can be difficult, especially since most students look to their teachers as experts who’ve mastered their field of study. They don’t want wishy washy, tentative expressions of truth. Student hunger for the reassurance that comes from facts stated clearly and authoritatively. They need anchors in their quest for truth.

Mathematics, engineering, and the hard sciences can and should be taught as definitive disciplines. But as Aristotle noted over 2,300 years ago, we should not expect precision in other fields of study, particularly those that attempt to describe human experience.

The social sciences provide theories and constructs to help us make sense out of human behavior, social movements, and political activities. These include abstract concepts such as race, culture, technology, and the desire for power. As we navigate interpersonal relationships, we learn to describe our feelings and experiences using terms such as love, happiness, loyalty, trust, compatibility, reciprocity, forgiveness, and emotional intelligence.

But personal experience can never be reduced to either empirical facts or abstract concepts. While these conceptual tools allow us to communicate rationally with each other, they can never plumb the depths of actual, lived experience.

In his 1972 book, The Present Revelation, Roman Catholic theologian Gabriel Moran observes: “The more intently one tries, the more one might set up an obstacle to getting at the full range of experience. It might be that people are not so desirous as they think they are to experience life. It may be safer to use one’s head all the time than to drop one’s guard and let experience flow in and out.”

As we interact with friends and family, as we encounter strangers and political opponents, it’s always a challenge to consider new concepts and opposing viewpoints. But we would also do well to simply open our hearts and minds a bit more to the mystery of human experience.