I'm hard pressed to answer this question (and I suspect I'm not the only one, seeing as it's been so long unanswered) without knowing more precisely what you mean by "tell the truth." A work of literature can be said to have various meanings, some of them mutually exclusive, and few (if any) constraints on viable interpretations. So in that sense, it would tell the truth, because the range of what it "tells" is so very broad. But it would be the same with the visual arts, wouldn't it? If "telling the truth" is understood to be some kind of correspondence with an external state of affairs, then it seems other areas of knowledge (mathematics, for instance) would "tell the truth" better. Aesthetics isn't my area, and so far I'm only dabbling in Phil of Literature; I'm afraid I can't do better than this for an answer. But it is an intriguing start to a conversation. I hope you pursue it.

Actually, the Catholic Church has always held that abortion -- understood as deliberately ending the life of an ensouled human being in the womb -- is gravely immoral. The changed view to which Andrew refers is the result of changed understanding of when ensoulment occurs. Remember that relative to the history of Christianity, biology has only recently revealed what happens in conception and gestation; Thomas Aquinas, for example, thought that life began at "quickening," or the mother's awareness of fetal movement -- typically after (what we now know is) 15-20 weeks of life and growth! As for your question, I'd refer again to Aquinas: everyone has a moral right to refuse to act against his or her conscience. To deliberately do what your conscience forbids would be morally wrong, always. (The converse doesn't hold, by the way: it is not always morally right to do what your conscience permits. Your conscience could be in error. But on the negative side, even if it is in error, if you do what it...

While it doesn't address the Equal Protection clause specifically, Tom Nagel's "A Defense of Affirmative Action" comes to mind here. It isn't so much the "minority" as the "insular" that calls for heightened scrutiny or preferential treatment. Nagel argues that a pervasive, deeply-rooted perception of the minority as an inferior social caste is the relevant factor. Thus when Nagel wrote in the 70s, African-Americans would be entitled to preference, but not women or, say, Asians. But in the 1930s, women would have been. Now, it might be Hispanics in the "lower caste" position. While a general perception of caste is about as vague as political handicap for use as a standard for interpreting a Constitutional clause, it seems to me that an important feature of both is the tendency to self-perpetuate in the absence of preference or at least heightened scrutiny.

To expand a little on Charles' answer, some theorists draw careful distinctions between "ethics of care," "feminine ethics" and "feminist ethics." An ethics of care is one in which the locus of moral goodness is in relationship; as such its emphasis is on particular, embodied individuals in concrete, historically-situated patterns of interaction. As Charles points out, it is generally taken to arise from Carol Gilligan's work in moral psychology (as opposed to ethical theory, and this is an important distinction also; moral psychology is descriptive -- saying how things are -- while ethical theory is normative -- saying how things ought to be). Gilligan observed that women are more likely to assign moral value to relationship, and so care ethics is often described as "feminine ethics," although it is certainly not the case that all or only females think this way. "Feminist ethics," as those who draw the distinction understand it, takes care ethics a step further, and focuses on lived relational...

I agree with Peter, that the right to have children -- or, as I prefer to frame it, the right to procreate -- is not a positive claim right. No one has the correlative duty to supply you with children, or even (I'd argue) with the means to have children. But it's a fascinating question. My own thinking is that there is a tendency to think of the right to procreate as a right of property or acquisition, when in fact it is a right of expression. Procreation is an activity (and as Peter points out, it is an activity that does not guarantee a product), and it is this activity the chance for which is ordinarily considered to be so fundamental to living a good human life that it is protected by a right.

There is no reason that a novel cannot be a work of philosophy; in fact, I would argue that many novels are exactly that. Philosophy broadly construed is "the love (study/seeking/etc.) of wisdom," which can certainly be pursued through fiction. A little more narrowly, a work in philosophy would employ a certain style of inquiry, methodical or systematic or logical. Even more narrowly, it would contain references to, or even excerpts from, the standard philosophical repertoire; Jostein Gaarder's Sophie's World comes to mind here. While I have never read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance myself, from what I have heard about it, I would consider it a work in philosophy broadly speaking -- that is, it gives you the impetus to ask the kinds of questions traditionally associated with philosophy.

None that I know (well, except MAYBE Nietzsche). Why would the moral philosopher have the Wish? If s/he's a philosopher at all, it will be for Reasons. It looks to me more like how a Straw Man works.

The only reasons I can imagine for it being wrong are consequentialist ones (i.e., the wrongness resides in the consequences such acceptances produce), and they strike me as weak reasons at that. First. the acceptance might encourage illegal or immoral activity, by creating a demand or outlet for such activity. Second, the acceptance could be interpreted by some as an endorsement of the activity -- drug or arms dealing, gambling, prostitution, etc. But you'd have to show (1) that the acceptance really is being interpreted as endorsement, and (2) that the perceived endorsement is causing something bad to happen. Now, in Mother Teresa's case, I'd have to say these reasons don't hold. Both of them constitute what Mother Teresa would have considered the serious sin of scandal, and I doubt that she would have willingly committed it. Most university administrations don't share those sensibilities, so whether (1) or (2) is a danger is something to consider. Perhaps, though, I'm overlooking some...

This sounds like a classic "Consequentialist vs. Deontologist" dilemma. A consequentialist defines morally right action as whatever produces the best consequences. In this case, you predict that the best consequences will be produced by keeping your infidelity to yourself and resolving never to do it again. But a deontologist defines morally right action as whatever is required by duty, and if someone has a right, then there is a correlative duty binding someone somewhere. In this case, you acknowledge that your girlfriend has a right to know, which would entail your duty to tell her. So the consequentialist "right thing" and the deontological "right thing" are at odds. Or are they? Perhaps your predicted consequences are incorrect. Your girlfriend may find out without you telling her, especially if several friends think she should know (things like this do happen, and not just in the movies). Then in addition to being crushed by your infidelity, she will be further hurt and alienated by your...

On balance, I think the habit of trying to find the most charitable explanation for another person's action is an admirable one. And empathy can be a valuable tool for understanding people, heading off prejudice, rash judgment, undeserved condemnation. It also can be a vigorous intellectual exercise; some actions are so questionable that you have to tell an outlandish narrative to justify them. You have to realize that although you can think up an ethically sound justification (and the more you practice, the better at making them up you're likely to become), that justification may not express the person's actual motivation or rationale. To the extent you forget this, and really believe the excuses you're imagining, then yes, I'd say you're being naive. Is it fair to be this way? On the face of things, it's heroically fair. But look deeper, and perhaps it is not. Your imagined justifications may preclude blame, but only at the cost of the person's responsibility. It may be more unfair to...