Needs and Rights

We use the term rights far too promiscuously. We then argue about specifics without any agreement about the meaning of the term or its limits. Worse, we can’t seem to find any justification for the demands we base on them. If, for instance, I allow that some governmental action violates my “right to privacy,” I am still faced with two questions. First, what are the proper limits to the right? The answer to that question depends on a prior one: what is the nature and source of that right in the first place?

You might respond that privacy is specified in the Constitution or some other piece of positive law. Such things are called civil rights. But the Bill of Rights makes no mention of “privacy,” so any search for that right’s origin would require interpretation, perhaps of the Fourth Amendment. You say that is a judicial matter of interpretation, but of what? How do courts adjudicate the conflict? Considering the intensity of the debate about adding an enumeration of rights to the Constitution, not to mention those government chose not to include and others later added by amendment, we might consider the actual rights we’re granted to be a pretty piece of luck…. or high-flown nonsense.

Both views are popular today. Liberals seem obsessively focused on political rights– they seem very attached to the Fourteenth Amendment–while some conservatives question the whole notion, Second Amendment excepted. The exercise has the air of “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin” because it hangs on the skyhook of positive law, ignoring the essential question. Forget any particular argument about a particular right. Consider the reductio ad absurdum that rights are whatever we decide them to be. Whether that “we” is the majority, or tradition, or judicial fiat hardly matters. For if rights are reversible by political or social action, if they have no deeper root than whatever source we choose to legitimize them, they can never be appealed to as a warrant for a more fundamental legitimacy than any alternative. Gay marriage rights advocates can respond to those who defend traditional marriage that they favor a new tradition. Should their opponents argue that the states should have decided the issue in their legislatures, the reformers can point out that federal law now rules. Custom replaces custom. Law replaces law. Current values win. When rights are so reduced in their power to warrant public goodness claims, what foundational power can they exert?

This realization produces an incentive to go deep but a tendency to go shallow. In a search for a “higher authority,” religionists are out of luck. The root justification for their moral behavior is entirely inconsistent with any notion of rights. The system they admire does not confer rights; it imposes duties. This is easily explained by the justification that structures their moral universe (see “The Fragility of Religious Authority). Religionists must accept either revelation or authority as the warrant for their truth claims, and either is hobbled as a basis for rights. Revelation is intensely personal and cannot be used to justify a moral claim on another person (see “Religion and Truth). But authority has its own issues because its nature as warrant fractures in times of conflict, and these are precisely the moments when an appeal to rights would be necessary. But religionists face a more familiar problem: the source of their moral system is absolute, and even if rights were to be conferred, they would be reversible. What could be more sacred than the “right” of a father to protect his family? Yet the Bible rejects that right in the case of Abraham and Job. What defense are “rights” against an angry God? Rewards for good behavior are promised but as undeserved gifts rather than guaranteed prerogatives. This arrangement works with co-religionists as well as with God. Muslims are obligated to give alms. Recipients could never claim a right to receive them. It seems that any effort to root rights in the soil of religious belief is bound to fail. Confounded seekers of truth then get tangled in the relationship between right and liberty. Finding no clear source in their traditional reliance on authority, they confuse our freedom to act with the moral force imparted by the word “right.” By their rule, I have a right to walk but not to fly, a right to suicide, so long as the choice to do so is my own. Since the concept of rights cannot be found in religious texts, some seek it in circumstantial freedom (see Our Freedom Fetish). Their thinking may be that something not forbidden must be allowed.

Historically, the mushiness of such efforts has been recognized, but the alternative is no better. As thinkers in the seventeenth century found themselves forced to abandon authority as the basis of morality, they sought a replacement in reason and experience. This movement is modernism (see Modernism’s Midwives). But the nature of these replacement warrants for goodness claims was fundamentally different from authority. The new warrants were individual means of knowing truth and goodness, and so the locus of moral power shifted to the individual. The primary challenge was to reestablish a foundation for social order in the wake of the fifteen-decade bloodbath that was the Protestant Reformation (see “Premodern Authority), so early modern thinkers focused on finding some means to justify law without relying on authority. Their search was channeled by the ad hoc intellectual tools they had at hand to replace the timeless traditions of authority. Theorists settled on two replacements over the course of two bloody centuries: reasoning about the root of political affiliation based on an examination of experience. But this solution was twisted by the dismal conditions of its origins, for the cultural climate of war of all against all had formed the basis of these intellectuals’ experience. It is understandable that they cobbled together the justification they chose, but that makes it no less regrettable (see “Why Invent a Social Contract?). They fabricated a function for law out of whole cloth, one that gave due deference to the individual. More than due deference. The social contract theorists, born into a tradition of absolute authority now in chaos, chose to give absolute power to the individuals who now could rise out of the ruins and create a state from nothing more directive than their individual will and nothing more permanent than majority desire.

Now this myth, perpetuated through three centuries in all of the variations that reason and generational experience could bring to it, might have done little harm had it been taken as seriously as the Hellenistic Greeks took Mount Olympus. The sad truth, though, is that it was appealed to as a real source of government legitimacy, interrogated as a blueprint for both legal power and individual resistance to it. And it provided no space for rights. The results have been truly corrosive for our own times (see “Alienation of Civic Affection). The imaginary and almost instantaneous transfer of moral authority to political sovereignty has set up government as the final appeal of all moral conflict, but the source of that sovereignty has given government nothing beyond majority will to resolve dispute. No wonder Americans look to the Constitution as the ultimate fount of rights, at least when they are not piously repeating Jefferson’s pitiful enumeration of those more fundamental. Life, liberty, pursuit of happiness? Could anything be more vacuous? If these, the only nonpolitical “rights” most Americans can name, are so vague as to offer no hope in settling moral conflict, what can replace them?

I have discussed the answer to this question before and refer you to those comments for a more complete discussion (“Where Do Rights Originate?”). Political rights are merely one of a wider range of requirements that individuals need to live a full human existence, and it is solely that need that confers the status of right to any possible procurement.

If you have followed the story thus far, you might be justifiably suspicious of any set of needs handed down, as it were, from on high. Why accept them on authority? What about modernist warrants of reason and experience and the autonomy of the individual that allows each to choose for herself? That is a fair question, but its answer stipulates an appeal to your own reasoning for justification for common human needs rather than sacred dogma or cultural tradition. I have always objected to the truism, “Well, everybody’s different.” That is surely true in regard to their tastes and desires. But both reasoning and experience tells me that at a deeper level, everybody is the same, and just as that fundamental shared nature imposes common nutritional needs on us all, so too does it grant us a common reasoning faculty to make sense of varied experience and communicate it to each other. We have abundant proof of that contention, from ordinary language’s ability to communicate differing experience to mathematics’ claim to universal logic. But perhaps we might find sufficient proof by examining the ubiquity and power of simple choice in each of our lives. No one can rob you of your natural human freedom, the power to recognize choice in the welter of experience. That uniquely human ability forms the basis for the preferential freedom that assigns moral value to our options so as to prefer those we think best. The mental operation of recognizing options, weighing them, and choosing the best or least worst must always be profoundly rational (see “The Tyranny of Rationality”). This is the nature of moral autonomy, a peculiarly human process that relies on reasoning about experience for its power. It defines our humanity and shapes culture and government as conduits for fulfilling the needs it identifies.

Notice that the kinds of needs I am talking about are distinguishable from other human desires by their unique nature. They are invariably universal, transcultural, and timeless and they conduce to flourishing. Though they facilitate other desires, their satisfaction is also terminal: we want them for their own sakes. Since they derive from the species-specific nature of the human person, they have always existed in every culture for every human person. Their satisfaction is a matter of necessity, for failure substantially diminishes a complete human life. That does not mean, unfortunately, that persons invariably pursue their satisfaction successfully, for identifying their instantiation in the helter skelter of ordinary life requires both thoughtfulness and persistence and often a temperance to resist more immediate desires. It also requires a prudential and hypothetical arbitration of true goods so as to recognize a final quality of human needs: they are incommensurable. They cannot be ranked or ordered or long neglected, which means the prudential arbitration of preference must frequently say no to not only unwise desires but also quite needed ones in favor of others more necessary at the moment. Who hasn’t had to push through work when tired or study when called to play?  This pursuit of the totum bonum, the real goods that accrue to good choosing, is the essence of the universal moral system first sketched out by Aristotle over two thousand years ago called virtue ethics (“A Virtue Ethics Primer”). While you might think such a span of time and such a diversity of cultures might produce a list of needs too lengthy or too general to be of much help, the opposite is true once you strip away the cultural instantiations that we frequently mistake for the needs themselves. You could complie a list for yourself in short order by applying the criteria listed above. The totum bonum of human flourishing you might compile would look much like these:

 Bodily Goods: health

Economic Goods: economic security

Goods of “the Soul”: love (of others), awe

Intellectual Goods: knowledge, skill, judgment

Political Goods: justice

Character Goods: temperance, courage, prudence

 Let me anticipate your objection. If these are supposed to be universal, tanscultural, and timeless human needs, then why are they not universally accepted? Why these and not others?

My answer must begin with admitting that people value all sorts of pursuits, but then they must admit that many of these pursuits are contradictory and self-refuting, and therefore impossible to fulfill as a totality. It seems most of us simply cannot get out of our own way. If we are indeed homo sapiens, “wise men,” then wisdom must consist in ordering our lives so as to get what we think good as much as possible, and that entails having some sort of moral framework that lends consistency to our efforts. The goal of any ethical system is to find the Goldilocks position on the spectrum of human desires, neither ignoring nor surrendering to the temptations of what we do want while also establishing enough directive force to justify what we should want. Of the three universalist systems that appeal to close reasoning about experience as their warrant, one, utilitarianism, fails because it elevates what people do desire, making their varied choices the supposed object of morality. This effort is self-defeating (see “The Problem of Moral Pragmatism). The second system, invented at the same historical moment, fails because it overcorrects. Duty ethics pays too little attention to motivating persons to pursue its rigorous conception of moral obligation (see “Three Moral Systems”). Only the third, virtue ethics, gets it right, but its problem lies in according to its values sufficient directive force to convince skeptics that these are the goods they should value, rather than the varied desires modernism’s founders conceded to, especially in this postmodern epoch that views any moral system as an abuse of power (see What Do We Mean by ‘Morality’?”). So in looking at the list of needs posted above, we should ask a simple question: why these and not others?

I think the list works because it meets the definitional criteria of “needs.”

First, it is truly universal. In opposition to the contemporary denial of a common human nature, it takes a species-specific human telos as an axiom. It hardly matters whether such a directive force is divine or evolutionary. We are driven to seek certain goods, some instinctually and some by reasoning about our experience. The effort is a lifelong pursuit marked by intricate individual and cultural variations and confused by a rich variety of often competing desires. This competition proves decisive in limiting the list of needs to those that healthy cultures value as goods worthy of pursuit. They can be examined not only for their ubiquity, but also for their consistency.

That introduces the second strength of this enumeration: properly pursued, these goods in themselves are not self-refuting. This is a factor in their incommensurability. Whether a beneficent creator or a ruthless struggle for survival instilled our needs, we should not think them in conflict with each other. We cannot appeal directly to our desires for verification of their moral value because such an appeal would drive us to choose one over another, but that is not true of our needs, whose proper gratification involves no inherent conflict. Unlike the lower animals, we cannot trust our instincts either. Yes, we are instinctually driven to fulfill some needs. Try staying awake for twenty-four hours and your need for health will drive you to sleep. If only all needs were so obvious! Instead we are faced with instincts we are forced to deny: aggression, tribalism, egotism. So instinct only satisfies what are called “basic needs,” but as these only serve an animal existence, “higher needs” require the application of reason to experience. It is temperance, the disposition to resist desires that are toxic, that makes us close that bag of chips in pursuit of health rather than gratify our desire to gobble it all down.

I must clarify the point I made above about what constitutes “proper gratification” of our needs, for admittedly we might gratify any need to excess. How do we determine that? When our pursuit of one need interferes with the satisfaction of others. That determination relies on developing prudence, a very old-fashioned word for what is now often termed “life-balance.” It is this element of rational arbitration of not only our vicious desires but even of our admirable ones according to circumstance that gives virtue ethics great moral and directive power. Prudence acts as a secondary operation of reason, though. It does not operate upon determinations of truth, of grasping the reality of the situation we face. That is a prior act of discriminatory reasoning that mines an experience for options. This presentation of a perceived reality to reason ought to operate upon a set principle, an act of severance, that delays any operations of preference. For prudence must always concern preferential freedom, the weighing of options that can only come after natural freedom presents them to consciousness. Consider prudence the application of categorical reason to undistilled experience, the interpretation of unique context to considerations of desire and duty, to needs and wants, to love and justice. These categorical considerations must always act upon a prior determination of truth in experience, and it is only their operation that distinguishes a competent preference from an arbitrary one. Indeed, it is the mastery of fitting undistilled experience into such categorical boxes that we gain the habits that power virtue ethics. It is important that the act of severance operates independently of preference, for we are naturally moved toward our instinctual and animal desires that put them in conflict with higher needs, requiring an active rational commitment. That necessary endeavor to pursue a virtuous action even when difficult requires the development of courage.

These specifications demonstrate the list’s final advantage: these goods are not only not in conflict, they are mutually reinforcing. We use our defining human trait, our reasoning about experience, to build an understanding of what it means to live full lives and what detracts from that effort. Through repeated thoughtful endeavor we form our character so as to habituate ourselves to good choosing. This is the human quest, practiced through all cultures over the course of our existence. We can deny that quest but we cannot avoid it. Virtue ethics confronts it by requiring an intellectual virtue wherein reason comprehends the desirability of needs and moral virtue where will learns the habitual disposition to want them. The constant demand on our reason to recognize and our will to control our preferential freedom is simplified by the cultivation of habit, whose development underwrites the essential morality of preference. Even innocuous choosing reinforces or erodes habits, whether consciously attended or ignored. Again, preferential freedom becomes either the tool of virtue or its consistent enemy.

We are morally obligated to seek all of these things because they are true goods. That is what makes them the essential human needs. Other persons are morally obligated to abstain from hindering that pursuit. Cultures and polities must assist in it when just and necessary (as an example, I have explored the issue of justice in pursuit of economic goods in “Economic Justice). It is their necessity as well as their universality that confers on these human needs the status of human rights.

Allow me to give an example of needs/rights to ease further investigation. It is easy to see health as a requirement for a good life. Yes, we can live without it, but at a critical cost that cannot be repaired by other pursuits. To be fully human requires health. It has always been so in every culture. Its possession is partially a matter of chance but largely within our preferential freedom to pursue or ignore. This imparts a very heavy moral burden on us, for not to seek health is a moral evil. No one has the right to take it from us. The attempt would also constitute a moral evil.

I have made this example as anodyne as possible both to provide clarity on the relationship of rights to a larger moral system and to distinguish it from the legions of claims persons make that fail to meet the requirements of a right. These claims, all of which are tangential to the true nature of rights, are of four types: associative,  foundational, cultural, and intermediate. Call them pseudo-rights or proto-rights or rights light if you wish, but do not mistake them for the real thing. They lack the morally directive force of rights (“These you should choose if you wish to flourish!”), or they mistake the part for the whole.

Jefferson’s triad in The Declaration of Independence are not rights in themselves, but are associative with true rights or foundational for their pursuit.

It is true that “fulfillment of our human needs” is but a clarification of “pursuit of happiness.” We have all heard lots of nonsense deriving from the putative “right” to pursue happiness, but that term without further unwrapping is so nondirective as to be useless in resolving moral choosing, much less moral conflict.

A failure of a different sort attends Jefferson’s other two “rights.”

Yes, it is good to have life as a basis for living, no doubt. But “life” is simply associated with the pursuit of our rights/needs as an assumed condition. He might as well have mentioned “the right of thinking” or “breathing,” or other characteristics equally generic. Were we to even try to consider it as the real thing, the existence of a legal death penalty alone would violate this “right.” Remember that depriving one of a right is a moral evil and that it is the existence of actual rights and the universality attending them that legitimizes positive law and directs civil disobedience when positive law violates human rights (see “Preliminary Thoughts on Civil Disobedience: Natural Rights Issues”). Were “life” to be such a right, every citizen would be morally bound in justice to “alter or abolish” the government that violates it with a death penalty.

Jefferson’s terminology and indeed his entirely inconsistent view of the nature of rights stems from John Locke’s equally error-ridden acceptance of social contract theory, which I have previously explained as providing no space for pre-existent and non-political rights and fails to safeguard the rights of minorities. This error taints the culture in regard to Jefferson’s use of “liberty” as a right. It is not. Rather it is a necessary foundation for choosing, something so central to the human person that its exercise literally defines our existence. Seven of the twelve human needs listed above concern directing preferential freedom to moral ends since choosing well is our primary human responsibility. The rights that attend these needs justify education and civic participation and the political order that strengthens them. While freedom is a prerequisite for choosing well, it hardly assures it, so to call it a right is to misdiagnose its role. It isn’t a bad thing to call attention to the preconditions and process of choosing well, the machinery of virtue. But it is a grievous mistake to substitute the process for the finished product. That confusion attends the use of the term “natural rights,” which properly describes these kinds of preconditions for preference. Natural rights attend natural freedoms that set the table for the act of preference whose object is the securing of human rights.

We see a different and more understandable confusion in regard to the instantiation of needs within cultures. The wonderful variety of societies, geographic and historical and tailored to climate or ethnic tradition or fad, may blind us to the universality of the pursuits all cultures endorse. Regardless of what is for dinner, the squid or papaya or noodles must be so digested as to provide the necessary nutrients for the same kind of human body. Hay or nitrogen will not do. It is an understandable mistake that whatever local tradition serves to satisfy a universal human need must be the only means to satisfy it. Tradition alone is no guarantee that the culture has gotten it right, and appeal to cultural consensus, with its easy but diffused stamp of authority, must always bump against the obvious historical truth that cultures both differ and get it wrong.

This is the error of those who insist on the inviolability of their version of marriage on the basis of tradition (those raising religious objections have a different warrant). Marriage is one means of satisfying a human need for love. Since homosexual marriage is another way of satisfying that same need, both may be considered as cultural manifestations of a human right. Some might attempt to defend child marriage by the same means, but as that violates health rights and so produces contradiction of other needs in persons favoring it, it cannot qualify as a right for this reason: we identify moral error by seeking conflict among those things we take to be needs; finding it forces us to reexamine our values. Though our needs have remained unchanged since we first walked on two legs, our understanding of their nature is still evolving. Until 1973, opponents of homosexual unions could appeal to the expertise of the American Psychological Association to justify their position that homosexuality, like child marriage, was a disordered relational arrangement, but that position has since been reversed. Critics may charge that this reversal impugns the expertise of the APA and treats rights as just another cultural endowment, leading to the common view that “rights” are simply another name for social preference. That charge strikes me as a convincing one, but as it is aimed at the human sciences, themselves wholesale trespassers on the public trust, it denigrates psychology rather more than the conception of rights (see The Calamity of the Human Sciences”). Cultures and religions change, sometimes for the better, but their obligation to support the satisfaction of our needs remains constant.

Those that oppress women, endorse slavery, exploit or abuse classes or ethnicities or religions are all appealing to either positive law or the diffuse authority of tradition, but these practices fail when challenged as violations of rights. Positive law’s justifications collapse when confronted by the rights they violate since the rights form the moral basis of the law to begin with. And appeals to authority must fail when challenged by dissent (see “Authority, Trust, and Knowledge”). Of course, the culture can then appeal to intimidation or coercion, but such tactics are expedients that violate justice and generate disaffection to the degree that they repress rights. There is a reason we say we “hunger” for justice. The metaphor compares an instinctual need to a rational one: neither desire lessens with deprivation; both will always demand satisfaction.

More often, the various political and religious systems endorsed by cultures satisfy the true human needs of their members as individuals. No culture or government is of itself superior unless it more perfectly facilitates the satisfaction of the needs that make it necessary. We see studies of Japanese or Mediterranean diets that boost health in comparison to the American diet that encourages obesity. We may, and do, say that these diets are morally superior because they are nutritionally superior, meaning they better serve a true human need. If we could say the same thing about any religion or political or economic system, we should. We should not say it because it is ours. We hear plenty of boasting on this score: that ours is the best country on earth or that one nation enjoys an exceptionalism that makes it superior. Most persons who make such claims know little about life in other countries, but a recognition of the universality of needs gives us all a true basis for comparison, not only about political structures whose entire purpose is to further their satisfaction but also about economic systems. There seems to me a real flaw in economic metrics that gauge only the efficiency of the means of production rather than its effectiveness in furthering the broad array of needs they exist to satisfy. Current economic measures of success are like evaluating the internal workings of a motor without considering its function. It may be humming along perfectly without doing any of the work it was made for, wasting fuel and delivering nothing but heat and noise. GDP, GNP, and other metrics assure us the machine is running, but no quantitative analysis can guarantee that it is accomplishing its purpose. That judgment, like those that weigh other elements of the social machine, rests entirely on kind of justice the economic system delivers to its participants. No quantitative method can measure this, though the human sciences in their dismal quest for empirical status continue to denigrate human dignity by claiming the power to predict and direct moral preference.

A clear enumeration of needs facilitates more than these broad assessments. We may also use such specifics to test our understanding of a particular cultural practice and the rights affected by it. Privacy “rights,” for instance, are a cultural creation, not a human right. Proof lies in the various cultural practices that increase or decrease the degree of privacy considered appropriate by the culture. The variance forces the admission that privacy is a cultural concept subject to change. It cannot be claimed as a right, though the culture may still choose to value it as an innocuous custom like shaking hands. As much as we might defend such practices from our own perspective, they fail the test of universality that would mark them as real needs. It is these differences that give cultures their character. We say such things define a culture, but what we should say is that they differentiate one from the other. That appraisal only reinforces a realization that a deeper level, all cultures exist to facilitate the same goods for the individuals composing them. These goods are the often-invisible bulk of the cultural iceberg, nine-tenths out of sight, while we focus on the one-tenth of difference that we say defines each as unique.

But why cannot cultures also claim needs peculiar to each? Frankly, such an effort must fall victim to the law of infinite regress. “Culture” is not a definitive term as “human being” is. While humans differ in degree but not in kind– we all have, for instance, the same nutritional needs but require relatively minor differences in, say, caloric intake– “culture” is necessarily composite in form. We are soaked in cultures: cliques at the job, clubs after work, hobbies, friends, classes, sports, religious affiliations, websites. Every pursuit and project is a culture, every interest and passion, every skill and association. And each projects some set of values or goods. Every culture contains other cultures right down to the individual. Part of our confusion about the nature of rights involves claims by cultures, subcultures, and sub-subcultures to rights exclusive to their group. But since the only indivisible and yet universal component of any culture is the individual who forms its fundamental unit, isn’t it more appropriate to root rights in her nature rather than some composite corporate nature designed to satisfy some part of it? This claim is supported also by the foundational and associative conditions necessary to identify our needs, for we must use reason and experience to exercise judgment about how to proceed, and these are profoundly individual warrants for our truth and goodness claims. Only our common species-specific nature allows the existence of common needs and avoids the conflict that the invention of cultural “rights” would create. Imagine that we embraced their existence. How would competition among such “rights” be arbitrated, except by majoritarian vote, and then what would protect a minority culture? But if we root rights in the individual and the universal needs she must satisfy, we find more than sufficient cause to protect the human rights of each individual in a community or polity.

An example of how cultures grope toward this truth is the evolution of the term women’s rights. For all the post-Structuralist confusions and diversity of viewpoints inherent in third-wave feminism, its consensus on degendering and universalizing has moved it in the laudable direction of championing “women’s rights as human rights.” In the worldwide culture wars, the oppression of women by traditionalist societies has rightly provoked the ire of human rights activists who phrase their objections as needs/rights arguments. Champions of children’s and workers’ rights structure their protests against exploitative cultural practices in nearly identical terms.

These signs of progress are shafts of light in a wearying blur that retards progress and promotes moral ambiguity. We are far from a clear consensus of how identity is formed. A fog clouds our vision at the intersection of individualism, culture, and law. Its source is a tripartite historical disagreement discussed at the beginning of this essay. An ancient view sees culture as rooted in traditional community and justified by authority (see “Tao and the Myth of Religious Return). In this model, the individual is the recipient of moral tradition rather than its arbiter. In this view, the institutions of tradition are formative: the transfer of trust that authorizes authority to act as the agent for the individual requires that the authority directs moral choice, not the person who trusts it. As noted above, modernism rejected this view in favor of the moral autonomy of the individual, but it did us no favors in rooting legal power in the fiction of the social contract, thereby placing individuals in opposition to the communities an earlier age had considered their moral superiors and reducing natural rights to just another arbitrary item on that negotiation. In these efforts, the individual only provisionally extends trust to institutional authority, engaging in a yo-yo effort of constant re-examination of the extension of trust, a monitory practice of active sanction interacting with the authority’s moral choosing. This may be described as an informative interaction between moral agent and the authority she endows with a very tentative kind of trust. The historical arc of this process has eroded that trust as insitutional authorities continued to maintain their pre-modernist prerogatives in the face of their own hypocrisies, most obviously in the last years of the nineteenth century (see “The Victorian Rift”).The postmodernist revolution of the twentieth century layered on its own confusions sown by the human sciences over the last century and the self-contradictory theories cobbled together to reconcile them, finding identity created by subculture in opposition to an oppressive sociopolitical power structure (see “One Postmodern Sentence). The reaction may be called a performative one as postmodernists seek to clarify their utter independence from the power of the authorities they must confront. The manner in which individuals embrace these three poorly understood and contradicting theories of moral identity and culture will dictate their conception of their moral duties and rights vis a vis the larger community. What is clear about this mess is that no cultural consensus can derive from it to guide public morality to a clear articulation of rights.

Using a functional natural rights orientation, though, gives us a basis for judgment. Cultures have practices that may be morally good, innocuous, or malicious. Orthodox Jews avoid shellfish. Vegans avoid meat. Gang members avoid the law. We can easily discern which cultural practices satisfy human needs, violate them, or leave them alone. Community values should encourage the satisfaction of needs through customs for the real good of the individuals composing the community while also distinguishing which needs are solely the individual’s responsibility to satisfy. These distinctions recognize both just and unjust equalities and inequalities that operate within the society and attempt to mediate them, though never with complete success (see “The Riddle of Equality”). Cultural practices that frustrate the satisfaction of needs should be discouraged, for they constitute violations of human rights.

A final error involves mistaking the intermediate means we use to satisfy human needs for the needs themselves. Just as we see manifold cultural routes to their satisfaction, so do we see even more individual means within communities. Some are variable. My need for skill and a moderate level of wealth prompts me to seek employment and the means to travel to my work. How I get there is not the point, so any effective means will do so long as it proves reliable. In my pursuit of health, I attempt to eat well, neither too much nor too little nor the wrong kind. In satisfying this need, I also may choose among manifold options, all of which are matters of taste so long as all satisfy nutritional needs. And so it goes. Merely contemplating all the components of health and our self-regarding obligations involving them is exhausting. Like many needs, however, a societal obligation complements a personal one. A work-week sufficient to develop skill, work in safety, provide a living wage and allow the leisure to renew commitment is not within our individual power to command, perhaps. So we see laws regulating compulsory education, workplace environment, minimum wage, and length of the work-week. None of these intermediate means to the common end of health is set from outside the culture, but all transcend cultural standards in conducing to the health of workers. We don’t need to think too hard about the working conditions of diamond miners in South Africa or children in Victorian England to see the cultural manifestation of moral evil relative to this need. Similarly, medical care is partially self-administered and partially provided by the culture. It makes little sense to regard such provision as a free market operation: the need for health being non-negotiable, a just society must make it accessible to its citizens regardless of their ability to pay. Medicare and Medicaid in the U.S. are predicated on this recognition. The issue of whether taxpayers should sponsor or correct baneful personal behavior is thorny but soluble (see “Income Inequality”).

The task of meeting human needs is endlessly frustrating and always absorbing. It must occupy our full attention for the very simple reason that we simply cannot help seeing experience as an endlessly forking path. Each fork illuminates a choice presented to us by our natural freedom and requiring reason to exercise our preferential freedom to choose the better as we see it. That responsibility is inescapable and difficult, yet everyone who has ever lived has faced it, and so long as we are homo sapiens, we must continue to confront that unremitting sense of felt freedom (see “The Determinism Problem”). Rather than imagine civilization to be merely a convention restraining our barbarity, an understanding of the universality of needs and their satisfaction as natural rights moves us to recognize the true meaning of the common good (See “Two Senses of the Common Good). And rather than see government as a thief of freedom, we may see it as the bearer of justice: to each her due (see “Natural and Political Rights).