MacIntyre’s emotivism in library and information science: A virtue ethics solution

Abstract

This study interprets a prevailing “Values War” paradigm in ethical discourse within Library and Information Science (LIS) through Alasdair MacIntyre’s discussion of emotivism in After Virtue, paving the way for an alternative moral discourse based in virtue ethics. The “Values War” paradigm represents a clash between “neutral” and “interventionist” perspectives, creating a moral impasse incongruous with the character of values identified in previous research. To address this, MacIntyre’s discussion of emotivism highlights a disconnect between theoretical arguments and their social origin. The values of neutrality and intellectual freedom illustrate this disconnect, with a defence that draws on the Enlightenment and criticism that draws on postmodern perspectives. Second, the current argument makes the case for an alternative discourse grounded in virtue ethics. MacIntyre lays the groundwork for this alternative, conjoining incommensurable perspectives through a shared narrative identity embedded in moral tradition. Seen this way, LIS becomes a practice where core values provide a shared moral foundation. Third, the argument draws on Christine Swanton’s Target Centred Virtue Ethics, developing a conception of virtue ethics that meets the demands of professional practice. Like MacIntyre, Swanton accommodates a social conception of virtue—understood as a disposition to honour core values—incorporating a particularism that caters for context in moral debate. The argument’s overall purpose, therefore, is to present a solution with potential to transcend a “Values War” discourse. By doing this, the profession may begin to transcend dogmatic difference and move towards a more empathetic understanding of ethical challenges.

Introduction

Ethical discourse within Library and Information Science (LIS) is often plagued by a “Values War” with two irreconcilable perspectives that pit a traditional “neutral” perspective against an “interventionist” agenda where core values are emotively discussed with proponents in a “for or against” camp. This predicament, evidenced throughout LIS literature and discussion of professional practice, creates a moral impasse incongruous with the reality of contemporary ethical challenges where core values have a salience that fluctuates with context (see Macdonald, 2022, 2023, 2024). This study’s contribution is threefold. First, it employs Alasdair MacIntyre’s discussion of emotivism in After Virtue to illustrate how rival perspectives within the “Values War” can be traced to incommensurable historical traditions that give rise to polarised normative attitudes. This diagnosis facilitates an awareness necessary to transcend the “Values War.” Second, building on this, a virtue-based framework has the potential to move beyond polarised discourse. Here, MacIntyre’s “practice” and “narrative identity” have the potential to unite incommensurable traditions through appreciation of the profession’s shared moral heritage. Third, the current study draws on Christine Swanton’s Target Centred Virtue Ethics which, moving away from a eudaimonistic conception, provides a realistic and less problematic alternative. The target centred approach, aligned with moral particularism, rejects invariant principles whilst preserving the salience of reasons based on core value. Right action hits the “mean” of relevant virtues, understood as dispositions to honour core value, anchored in shared professional purpose. Rather than converging on ethical agreement, therefore, the current argument provides a means of understanding and breaking free from the “Values War” paradigm, turning away from emotivism and towards a much-needed common rubric for debating ethical problems.

Ethical discourse in LIS: A “Values War”

To begin, this section frames emotive conflict within LIS which, since the middle of the 20th century, often represents a “Values War” where incommensurable perspectives are emotively traded. The current study argues that this feature of ethical discourse—influential in academic and professional practice—actively harms ethical debate. The definition of “Values War” discourse is twofold. First, values that promote social-intervention or non-intervention are pitted against each other in a “for or against” camp. Second, this polarisation is accompanied by a worldview which encapsulates attitudes to LIS and the role it should play within society. For the “neutral” perspective, the library is a child of the Enlightenment restricted to a “hands-off liberalism” (see Berninghausen, 1972; Greenshields and Zvyagintseva, 2024) or, for “interventionists,” a social institution that takes an active value stance (Brook et al., 2015).

Historically, “Values War” discourse is typified by a tension within the American Library Association (ALA), focusing on the contrast between passive “neutral” and “interventionist” perspectives where intellectual freedom is contested, epitomised by the “Progressive Librarians’ Council” which claims that social intervention conflicts “with . . . library ‘neutrality’” resulting in “fear that supporting . . . intellectual freedom [supports] anti-democratic ideology” (Samek, 2001: 32). Popowich (2024) characterises the response to the ALA’s “equal rights amendment” as “polarised between a neutrality perspective and an advocacy perspective” where a “transcendental” commitment to a laissez-faire intellectual freedom opens “space . . . for . . . groups . . . committed to . . . social justice” (pp. 200–201). Laissez-faire intellectual freedom was further enshrined by the ALA’s adoption of the “Library Bill of Rights” and a “professional ideology” opposed to censorship (Samek, 2001: 33). This commitment, however, became seen as a “hands-off liberalism” that neglected the library’s role as “an agent for social change” (p. 46), epitomised by the ALA’s Round Table on Social Responsibilities advocating engagement with social issues, including “female, minority, gay and lesbian librarians” (p. 77). This juxtaposition between a “neutral” intellectual freedom and “interventionist” social responsibility—reiterated by Knox (2020) who argues that “tensions between . . . intellectual freedom and social justice, have roiled the profession” (p. 1)—is crystallised in Berninghausen’s Social Responsibility versus The Library Bill of Rights, which argues that “social, scientific, or political issues” including “racial injustice,” risk severing the profession’s “common purpose” (Berninghausen, 1972: 3676). For Berninghausen, the ALA should only preserve “intellectual freedom within a pluralist society” (Samek, 2001: 128), whilst for others its remit extends to wider issues, epitomised by 19 essays published in the Library Journal, arguing libraries are “social institutions, created and sustained by . . . society” (Sellen, 1973: 27) with an egalitarian ethos that—rather than threatening intellectual freedom—sustains it (Robbins, 1973: 29).

The “Values War” paradigm has continued salience in contemporary debate. The way intellectual freedom, neutrality and social responsibility are conceived, however, fluctuates with a changing political landscape. Writing in the New York Times, Stanley Kurtz rearticulates the conservative case for upholding neutrality against the modern backdrop of the “war on woke”:

“librarians who allow their personal politics to control or curtail the provision of information violate neutrality and betray the public trust. A woke librarian, then, is a contradiction in terms.” ( Kurtz, 2022 )

He also advocates neutrality at an institutional level, arguing libraries should promote “the intellectual formation of . . . citizens, [which makes] liberal democracy possible” (Kurtz, 2022). A restatement of the interventionist position, by contrast, runs throughout “critical librarianship”—a movement arguing neutrality perpetuates oppression and inequality (Farkas, 2017). This is supported by Brook et al. (2015) who draw on critical race theory to examine “racism and . . . whiteness in academic libraries” (p. 246) and Greenshields and Zvyagintseva (2024), who argue that LIS is underpinned by an “idealist epistemology” making it ill-equipped to deal with social issues (p. 6). Rather than engage in an appraisal of each position, the current argument highlights the contemporary prevalence of the “Values War” in modern discourse, where a non-interventionist neutrality is juxtaposed against those who promote “progressive views on race, policing, [and] sexuality” (Kurtz, 2022).

The need for LIS to develop a framework that transcends “Values War” discourse is pressing as it grapples with a messy political landscape, epitomised by a populist rhetoric in the wake of Donald Trump’s re-election as US president, and, in the UK, by Nigel Farage’s Reform Party where libraries are faced with dilemmas centred on contested politics. In the UK, for example, the National Library of Scotland recently removed then readmitted “The Women Who Wouldn’t Wheesht”—a “gender critical book”—to an exhibition, reversing the interventionist concern it could cause “harm amid ‘polarising’ debates around trans rights” (BBC, 2025). In Australia, State Victoria Library faced criticism for cancelling “a series of writing events” on the grounds of “child and cultural safety” allegedly linked to organisers’ support of Palestine (Burke, 2024). In Canada, the Calgary Board of Education prepared a list of “34 books to remove from schools,” forcing school libraries to comply with “ministerial order” (French, 2026). In a US context, Richard Ovenden—Head of Oxford University Libraries—observes an “attack on libraries and librarians” referencing the “spurious” dismissal of the heads of the “National Archives” and “Library of Congress” along with the deletion of data incongruous with the Trump administration’s aims (Ovenden, 2025).

These contemporary issues bring into focus the need to replace a polarised “Values War” discourse with a context-sensitive framework—nuanced and subtle—that navigates situations where the library must decide whether to take a value stance or remain silent.

The problem with the “Values War” paradigm

Before doing this, however, the current argument further highlights the shortcomings of the “Values War,” arguing the homogeneous characterisation of core value belies the reality of professional practice. This is reflected by statements that neutrality “is . . . harmful to oppressed groups in . . . society” (Farkas, 2017), or a “fallacy” that supports a “status quo” (Blanke, 1989: 40; Gibson et al., 2017: 753). Rather than engage with these claims, the current argument draws attention to neutrality’s conceptualisation, with a singular value “polarised [against] an advocacy perspective” (Popowich, 2024: 200).

This homogeneous understanding, however, overlooks the concept’s fluctuating meaning within professional practice. In a study by the present author, neutrality was presented as a heterogeneous concept with distinct conceptions, illustrated by the contrast between a personal neutrality and an institutional neutrality (Macdonald, 2022: 587), and further underlined by the ability to view neutrality as a relative “downstream” concept that operates “within a wider value laden environment” (p. 581)—a distinction identified by Dudley and Wright (2023), who distinguish “value neutrality 1” representing an absolute stance that “one is purely objective” (p. 19) and “value neutrality 2” that represents a “reflexive awareness . . . values should not be imposed on stakeholders” (p. 19). Seen this way, neutrality is a heterogeneous concept that cannot be dismissed as a fallacy or a myth tout court. Instead, its grammar demands contextual appreciation.

These conceptions evoke distinct normative responses. In a cross-sector phenomenographic study, four distinctive conceptions of neutrality—“core value,” “subservient,” “ambivalent” and “hidden values”—represent different normative attitudes (Macdonald and Birdi, 2019: 342). The “core value” conception, viewing neutrality “in a positive light,” correlates with personal neutrality where “personal views [should not] interfere with professional judgement” (p. 342). The “subservient conception”—viewing neutrality as a negative value—gives way to “progressive values and community engagement” (p. 342). This heterogeneous reality, therefore, is incompatible with the homogeneous “Values War” paradigm. Put simply, this diversity exposes the structure of the concept, showing an incongruity between the “Values War” paradigm and the reality of professional practice.

Likewise, intellectual freedom is also a heterogeneous concept. The “negative conservative” conception constitutes a “laissez-faire” commitment to “unfettered physical access” (Macdonald, 2024: 720). The “negative progressive” conception, by contrast, balances collections to incorporate marginalised viewpoints (p. 721). A “content neutral” conception focuses on reader development and “autonomy through user education,” whilst the “freedom as moral action” conception promotes social responsibility (p. 720). Seen this way, intellectual freedom may be used to justify a range of positions throughout the political spectrum.

The “Values War” characterisation is further undermined by intellectual freedom and social responsibility working together, where social intervention (a form of positive liberty) enhances the negative liberty—seen as a “right to pursue their own good”—of minority groups (Macdonald, 2024: 724). Likewise, neutrality may support social engagement, with “core value” conceptions consistent with teaching “evaluative skills” (Macdonald and Birdi, 2019: 343). This further underlines the diversity of core value, illustrating a disconnect between the “Values War” characterisation, and applied practice. Before constructing an alternative, however, it is necessary to examine the source of this incongruity which is key to overcoming it.

Understanding the “Values War”: MacIntyre’s emotivism in modern moral discourse

To do this, the current argument draws on Alasdair MacIntyre’s discussion of emotivism in After Virtue which, whilst supporting the turn to virtue ethics that follows, represents a self-contained argument that illustrates how conflict between “neutral” and “interventionist” perspectives reduce to incommensurable outlooks within distinct traditions. Although those who participate in emotive discourse may be unaware of the historical baggage behind their assertions, the current argument contends this weight frames the discourse in which they participate. Seen this way, MacIntyre’s claim that moral language represents a clash between incompatible outlooks locates the source of conflict within the “Values War.”

In After Virtue, Alasdair MacIntyre argues that moral language is used emotively, with a force detached from its original context (Lutz, 2012: 53). To illustrate, he draws on a thought experiment where scientific language persists when the practice of science is lost; scientific terms such as “‘mass’, [and] ‘specific gravity’” could not be applied to science as a practice, as there could be no criteria to judge correct use (MacIntyre, 2007: 1–2) and “no logical examination” could adjudicate the correct use of scientific statements (Lutz, 2012: 55). MacIntyre argues that “the language of morality is in [this] same state of grave disorder” (2007, p. 3), criticising an “individualism” exposed by three features of moral debate (Pinkard, 2003: 181). First, moral conflict represents a “confrontation between . . . incommensurable moral premises” (MacIntyre, 2007: 39). Second, parties appeal to separate “objective standards” which are, third, drawn from a diverse historical origin (Lutz, 2012: 56). This historical context has, however, become lost in modern moral discourse where moral statements are emotively justified by reasoning alone. Seen this way, a morality that neglects a broader way of life is doomed to failure.

For MacIntyre, this failure—the divide between abstract reasoning and a wider social context—was brought about by the Enlightenment, a period in the 18th century where “human beings decide the truth for themselves . . . always subject to criticism and challenge” (Bivens-Tatum, 2012: 5). Seen this way, the Enlightenment rejected “truth based upon tradition” (p. 6), epitomised by Kant’s An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment?, representing “each person’s calling to think for himself” (Bristow, 2023; Kant, 1996: 59) where morality constitutes the rational discovery of “maxims which are . . . expression of the moral law” (p. 44), highlighted by the categorical imperative where rules of morality are the same “for all rational beings” (MacIntyre, 2007: 44). This approach, however, misdiagnoses the source of moral value which stems from a wider cultural Lutheran outlook committed to “promise keeping” and “truth telling”; “Kant is not . . . in any doubt . . . which maxims . . . [express] . . . the moral law; virtuous . . . men and women did not have to wait for philosophy” (pp. 43–44). Second, Kant’s thesis, whilst internally consistent, offers “no good reason” for treating agents as rational ends (p. 46). Egoism, where all exploit others, is equally consistent (p. 46). By doing this, MacIntyre argues Kant’s values cannot be compelled from rationality alone. Rather than target one specific thesis, he targets “general and unconditional” morality that neglects a social influence “intelligible in light of . . . history” (MacIntyre, 2007: 52).

MacIntyre argues that the Enlightenment mistakenly dismissed Aristotelian thought where morality moves towards an end goal. In this guise, “good” is a functional concept; “the watch is good if it keeps time accurately and the farmer is good if he farms well” (Lutz, 2012: 64). Here, value is guided by shared participation in a wider way of life. Seen this way, modern morality—construed via rational argument—neglects “roles, relationships and responsibilities” (p. 64). This predicament—with a rudderless rationality arbitrating moral debate—leads to emotivism where “ought” commands lack the social purpose that gives them meaning (p. 60). Moral philosophy “of the . . . twentieth century” represents “unsuccessful attempts to rescue moral agents from . . . the failure of the Enlightenment” (MacIntyre, 2007: 68). Instead, moral language is at an impasse with an older meaning divorced from an emotive use (Lutz, 2012: 70).

The enlightenment as a substantive moral tradition

The current argument transposes MacIntyre’s diagnosis to the “Values War” within LIS, arguing that “neutrals” and “interventionists” overlook the social origin of their claims. To do this, it examines the origin of both perspectives and diverges from MacIntyre’s understanding of the Enlightenment, acknowledging it, instead, as the bedrock of the “neutral” perspective. In this vein, the current section establishes the Enlightenment as a substantive moral tradition. Rather than hold it responsible for emotivism, it draws from MacIntyre’s wider insight that moral claims are intelligible in light of history. The importance of interpreting the Enlightenment as a substantive doctrine, therefore, will become clear in the subsequent argument.

The discrepancy between MacIntyre’s Enlightenment and the current argument hinges on the difference between rational and political liberalism. Rational liberalism does not distinguish “between comprehensive theories of justice and . . . political justice” (Wenzler, 2019: 70), affirmed by Piras (2008) who argues “equal respect for persons” is a substantive evaluative commitment (p. 3). Seen this way, liberalism is a non-neutral doctrine constituting an “attitude of tolerance” where “rights, equal respect . . . [and] . . . autonomy . . . form essential parts of liberal personal morality” (Peonidis, 1995: 45), a view echoed by Mason, who underlines liberalism’s substantive commitment to autonomy (1993, p. 230). Likewise, Hinchman (1989) defends a form of rational liberalism consistent with the wider spirit of MacIntyre’s thought where thinkers of the Enlightenment “reconstructed moral language in . . . accord with the world as they knew it” (p. 649). Seen this way, it is a historical period with a distinct morality.

The substantive interpretation is strengthened by MacIntyre’s observation that Kantian “freedom and equality” cannot stem from rationality alone. For MacIntyre, this demonstrates the arbitrariness of emotive discourse. Applied differently, however, it points towards a social consensus governing discourse during the Enlightenment. Instead of focusing on the differences between Kant, Hume and Kierkegaard, freedom and equality represent social norms within the Enlightenment. MacIntyre overlooks the societal consensus governing the free exchange of ideas. This is deepened by Blakely’s observation that MacIntyre overlooks how “institutions of liberal democracy” cultivate virtue as a form of perfectionism (2017, p. 10)—an insight strengthened by Bivens-Tatum’s suggestion that the Enlightenment represents a “telos” for libraries (2012, p. 186).

Seen this way, the current argument moves away from MacIntyre’s criticism of the Enlightenment and, instead, towards the wider insight that emotivism originates from a disconnect between morality and history. This understanding grounds the origin of the “neutral” perspective within the Enlightenment.

MacIntyre’s emotivism within library and information science

Having outlined the Enlightenment as a substantive source of tradition, this section uses the value of neutrality to illustrate emotivism in LIS. In doing this, it draws on MacIntyre’s insight that emotivism stems from a disconnect between moral discourse and wider social context. This understanding, it is argued, facilitates an awareness necessary to move beyond the “Values War” paradigm.

The emotive impasse within the “Values War” can be seen by examining two uses of neutrality. For the “neutral” perspective, neutrality is defended as a core value, characterised as a form of “hands-off liberalism,” construed by Wenzler as representing “the consensus New Deal liberalism of the post-World War II era” (2019, p. 58) and, in a UK context, by Foskett’s (1962) Creed of a Librarian where the librarian is immersed in the reader’s “politics . . . religion . . . [and] morals” (Foskett, 1962: 10, cited in McMenemy, 2007: 178). Neutrality defends intellectual freedom, minimising bias with a non-committal stance on social issues beyond the library (Berninghausen, 1972). Second, for the “interventionist” perspective, neutrality oppresses marginalised groups (Farkas, 2017) and fuels a “vacuum of [prevailing] political ideas” (Blanke, 1989: 40), becoming a byword for a “status quo” seen in the ALA’s Office for Responsibilities 1970 report, arguing that ignoring “racial tension and social unrest” is “the height of folly” (ALA, 1970: 33, cited in Raber, 2007: 685). Instead of rehearsing arguments within the “Values War” paradigm, however, the current argument draws attention to the origin of rival uses.

The origin of the defensive use stems from two sources. The first represents the library as a product of the Enlightenment, constituting objective detachment, “devotion to knowledge . . . and untrammelled research” (Wenzler, 2019: 48). Second, this commitment is closely connected to modern liberal thought, hallmarked by a Kantian rationality where agents “employ . . . intellectual capacities in determining what to believe” (Bristow, 2023). Whilst liberal neutrality is a diverse concept (Kymlicka, 1989), the Enlightenment is found in John Rawls’ A Theory of Justice, where neutrality represents the state’s silence on “which ways of life are . . . worth living” (Kymlicka, 1989: 883–884). Wenzler argues the modern library’s derivation from the Enlightenment leads to liberal neutrality (articulated in different forms by Rawls, Dworkin and Nussbaum) and represents the historical force behind assertions that “librarians should . . . maintain neutrality between . . . moral ideals” (2012, p. 64).

Wenzler’s claim is supported by the historical development of the library. To understand this, however, it is necessary to examine the religious culture the Enlightenment displaced—essential for contextualising the concept’s defence within professional practice. For the monasteries of the Middle Ages, the term “libraria” described “collections of books, which played a central role in . . . cultures of knowledge and literacy” (Summit, 2019: 16). The library’s mission centred upon “spiritual reflection” and the reproduction of religious texts (Rubin and Rubin, 2020: 32–33). Monastic libraries were supplemented by Cathedral libraries which supported the work of the Church (p. 34). The 14th Century saw the establishment of libraries at ancient UK universities—Merton College, Oxford in 1338 and Trinity Hall, Cambridge in 1350, with others founded at Oxford and Cambridge in the latter 14th and 15th Centuries (Summit, 2019: 16). Despite a broadened remit, the university’s mission had a religious underpinning, centring on a Scholasticism combining Aristotelianism and Christianity with “professors . . . [serving] . . . the Church . . . at the highest level” (Scott, 2006: 5–7; Proudfoot and Lacey, 2009: 361).

This connexion was encapsulated by 16th Century monastic houses at universities occupied by the “most talented monks” where books were exchanged for prayer to “repose . . . the souls of . . . donors” (Lovatt, 2006: 152–159) and seen elsewhere within Europe, typified by the Prussian government’s 1788 ban of “books attacking religion and the state” (Manley, 2016: 179). In the United States, Ferlier (2018) charts the establishment of libraries within early Quaker and Anglican communities where the religious mission drove early book publishing with labour hired at a “preferential rate” (p. 35). Rather than provide a detailed history of the western library’s religious origin (far beyond the scope of the present argument), the current argument draws attention to the academic library’s connection with Christian life.

This early mission is essential for understanding the library’s relationship with Enlightenment values. The transition from religion to Enlightenment can be traced to Bacon’s criticism of the religious library’s support of “authority over impartiality” (Bacon, 1606, cited in Nelles, 2006: 24). This criticism spread throughout the 18th and 19th Centuries, transforming the academic library into a product “of the Enlightenment” committed to “knowledge for its own sake” (2012, p. 48). For Bivens-Tatum, the modern US university stems from a German Idealism, encapsulated by a culture where “librarians . . . acquire, preserve [and] organise” (p. 91). This outlook moves emphasis away from religious teaching and practical fields such as “law . . . and medicine” (p. 52) towards a Kantian “philosophy faculty” embracing reason, reflected in Johns Hopkins University’s mission statement, which promotes freedom “from . . . ecclesiasticism or partisanship” (p. 80) and a wider “German model” of thought that influenced reforms at Harvard, Michigan and Cornell in the 19th century (p. 68). The new prerogative extended to “the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake” and “truth defined by reason, not revelation” (p. 81). With this paradigmatic shift, modern library values become core components of academic life. Free expression enabled the search for truth—a value closely associated with an impartiality focussed on intellectual merit rather than religious control (Nelles, 2006: 24). Rather than examine the transition in detail, the current argument sketches the backdrop that established neutrality as a core value. Its place as a “traditional” conservative value is challenged by its emergence as a progressive reaction against religious control embedded within the Enlightenment interpreted as a substantive moral doctrine.

Those who criticise neutrality, by contrast, evoke a postmodern culture stretching from the mid-20th century—a contrast summed up by Lovibond (2016), who argues postmodernism takes the Enlightenment as “a negative point of reference” (p. 5). For postmodern thought, ethical problems examine the relationship between “discourse and power” (Butler, 2002: 44). Rather than accepting a common path to “intellectual self-realisation,” it undermines “dominant discourse” and hegemonic structures (Handler, 1992: 697). This deconstruction, typified by Derrida and Foucault, argues that “truth is relative to differing standpoints” (Butler, 2002: 16) and represents a method of enquiry that rejects a “transcendent truth against which . . . achievement . . . could be measured” (Lovibond, 2016: 8).

Criticism of the liberal Enlightenment forms part of a wider postmodern argument attacking the status quo. Taking a feminist perspective, Nussbaum argues liberalism is “at best negligent of women’s concerns” (1997, p. 2). The liberal viewpoint presupposes a neutrality that cannot address “historical asymmetries of power” (p. 20) “rooted in the idea that both genders are equally oppressed” (Mackinnon, 1990: 12). Within LIS, Johnson (2016) draws on Foucault to criticise absolute neutrality, rendered impossible within a “web of power relations” (p. 28). This is affirmed by Sypnowich who argues neutrality is “unmasked” by prejudices inherent in “traditional ways of philosophising” (1996, p. 175). The postmodern “tacit value” argument notes neutrality is undermined by values working beneath the surface. Lamanna (2018), argues that neutrality presupposes an objectivity that overlooks power in knowledge creation. Likewise, Bales and Engle (2012) argue libraries are “ideological state apparatus,” supporting a freedom constrained by a hegemonic status quo (p. 19). Those critical of the dominant paradigm, often expressed as a neoliberal agenda, argue neutrality perpetuates a myth that collection development is “apolitical” (Iverson, 2008: 25), and reinforces structures biased towards “dominant white . . . society” (Stoffle and Tarin, 1994: 47), affirmed by Chiu et al. (2021), who argue that the library uses “institutional awe” to reinforce dominant attitudes (p. 49). Drawing on Critical Race Theory, they argue that racism underlies the “landscape of librarianship” (p. 50) criticising an equal treatment that overlooks pre-existing disparities (p. 49). Seen this way, the library “weaponizes vocational awe and neutrality to uphold White Supremacy and . . . marginalises communities of colour” (p. 51); a finding affirmed by Gillis (2023), who argues neutrality is a “perpetuator of anti-Black systems and discourses” (p. 22).

The “tacit value” argument mirrors developments within society. In a US context, Samek traces this change to the 1950s where “influential social critics [published] their analyses of America’s problems,” leading to an “effort to . . . redress social imbalance” (2001, p. 15). This aligned with the emergence of the civil rights movement, including the 1953 Baton Rouge Bus Boycott where the Black community boycotted public transport and Rosa Parks’ 1955 refusal to give up a bus seat (Riches, 2017: 33). Activism continued throughout the 1960s, with government “unable to solve problems surrounding race and poverty” with rises in “boycotts, countercultural education, and nonviolent demonstrations” (Samek, 2001: 14), reflected in the 1960 Greensboro Sit-in, where Black students occupied a Woolworth’s “whites-only” counter, and protests against the Vietnam War (Riches, 2017: 50). Throughout the 1960s, Samek charts wider societal events, including “anti-war, Black Power and gay liberation” which “gave way to new discourses on socialism, anti-capitalism . . . and world revolution” (p. 16) arguing that “the rise and fall of library activism took place within this social and political context” with librarians “socially aware . . . [of] causes and issues” (p. 19).

In this vein, the current argument sketches the traditions that underpin neutrality’s emotive use, showing that those who defend and criticise the concept draw on arguments from incommensurable cultures embedded within distinct social traditions. This cultural derivation of core value locates the source of emotive conflict and parallels MacIntyre’s observation that emotivism is a consequence of incommensurable traditions. By doing this, it draws attention to the historical development of the concept which mirrors wider societal change. For those who defend the concept, neutrality represents “devotion to knowledge . . . and untrammelled research” (Wenzler, 2019: 48), representing the emancipation from religious dogma. For those who criticise the concept, it masks a repressive status quo, exposed in 20th-century social upheaval.

By turning to history, the current argument suggests a source of emotivism within the “Values War” paradigm, explaining how a polarised moral discourse overlooks the term’s historical development. Put another way, the clash between emotive uses can be reduced to their reverence within contrasting cultures, traditions and discourses. Rather than favour or criticise, the current argument notes the “Values War” paradigm, blind to historical sensitivity, leads to emotivism.

Thus far, the present argument provides an explanation for emotivism within LIS, using neutrality to show how conflict between a “neutral” and “interventionist” perspective stems from the contrast between an Enlightened liberalism and a critical postmodern outlook. It draws on MacIntyre’s observation that emotivism stems from incommensurable outlooks within distinct social traditions, arguing that history shapes attitudes towards ethical concepts. Whilst those who use the concept may be unaware of the historical baggage their use connotes, the current argument contends this weight frames the discourse in which they participate. This emotivism may also represent attitudes towards a laissez-faire intellectual freedom which, in a “neutral” context, aligns with an Enlightened freedom, or, in an “interventionist” context, a passive concept that promotes a status quo. More broadly, this contrast—a juxtaposition between the Enlightenment and postmodernism—overlooked in existing debate, characterises emotive discourse within LIS.

Crucially, however, this emotivism cannot interpret core ethical concepts revealed in previous research where core values evoke distinct attitudes in different situations. This is illustrated by the difference between a personal neutrality and institutional neutrality or the contrast between neutrality operating as an absolutist concept or within a value laden environment and explains why the “Values War” characterisation of homogeneous concepts fails to interpret the reality of professional practice (Macdonald, 2022: 581).

Two practical examples illustrate.

• Example 1:

• A librarian hands out political leaflets during a general election, removing material promoting other similar liberal parties. The library manager intervenes, upholding a neutrality between mainstream political parties and defending a personal neutrality within the democratic norms of Western liberal democracy. Rather than advocating absolute neutrality, the concept operates within a wider value laden environment dominated by Western liberal values. Given this defence, how would the emotive “Values War” paradigm respond? Is the neutrality reinforcing a hegemonic inequality? Given the restriction to “mainstream parties,” this perspective has little relevance. Protests that neutrality is a myth, or “non-sensical” are cut off by a “downstream” concept that operates within a wider value laden environment. The current argument contends that the library manager’s intervention is meaningful, showing that the “Values War” paradigm is unable to interpret the situation.

• Example 2:

• Conversely, a library puts on a display supporting an obvious and mainstream anti-racist campaign. Here, neutrality is shunned in favour of social advocacy. In this context, it seems strange to criticise the decision by invoking enlightened liberal values; a “Values War” emotivism that pits enlightened liberalism against hegemonic power structures is, again, unable to interpret the situation.

• Rather than explore examples in detail, the present argument seeks to expose the disconnect between the “Values War” characterisation and professional practice. This is not to claim that emotivism always features in modern ethical debate, nor the possibility of examples where the emotive paradigm feels more relevant. In this vein, the present study draws attention to examples where the “Values War” fails to interpret neutrality’s heterogeneity, supporting, instead, an understanding of the concept’s application as granular and context specific. In response, the current argument turns to virtue ethics, constructing an alternative moral discourse that reflects the complexity of professional practice.

Overcoming emotivism: Virtue ethics

Virtue ethics refers to a broad genus of normative theory where emphasis switches from an algorithm of right action towards a study of virtue concepts (Russell, 2013a: 1). This general substratum contrasts with a deontological acceptance of a morality that consists of “rules that place limits on . . . pursuit of . . . the . . . good” (Davies, 1997: 205) or a consequentialism where right action promotes given value (Pettit, 1991: 231). This general point of difference, however, belies the diversity of virtue ethics and the task of defining it which, in Swanton’s words, is “difficult, complex and highly controversial” (Swanton, 2013: 315). Whilst the classic articulation of Virtue Ethics is Aristotelian, it is a broad family of normative theory that varies in form; Hume’s discussion of “virtue and vice” may be considered a form of virtue ethics (Russell, 2013b: 94; see also Taylor, 2002) with a strand grounded in the Chinese Confucian tradition (see Ivanhoe, 2013).

In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle is concerned with the central question “how should humans live?.” Whilst its structure was “imposed . . . by later editors” (Watt, 1996: x), the main argument is fourfold. First, Aristotle’s conception of ethics revolves around the concept of eudaimonia which can be understood as a metaphysical assertion about purpose—“every art and . . . inquiry . . . is thought to aim at some good” (NE, 1094a1–4). For Aristotle, this good is not contingent on other ends, but is desired “for its own sake” (NE, 1094a17–18). Crucially this eudaimonic flourishing unifies ethical and practical reasoning—the knife that cuts well fulfils its function in both practical and moral terms. Second, moving from eudaimonia, Aristotle employs his function (ergon) argument, asking what the function of a human being is. To this end, he differentiates humans from other species due to a capacity to “guide ourselves by using reason” (Kraut, 2022) arriving at a conception of human good as “activity of the soul in accordance with virtue” (NE,1098a17–18). Third, Aristotle examines virtue (arête) in more detail, describing it as a “state of character concerned with choice” (NE, 1106b36). There are two families of virtue; those that are “intellectual” and those that are “moral” (NE 1103a4–5). For the latter, virtues are dispositions or “states of character” (NE, 1105b25) that involve the exercise of a “golden mean” between two extremes; for anger we “stand badly if we feel it violently or too weakly, and well if we feel it moderately” (NE, 1105b25–27). Fourth, the cultivation of this virtue is developed, first, through “habit” and then in accordance with developed practical wisdom. This practical wisdom—known as phronesis—is an intellectual virtue that enables us to make judicious practical decisions.

For Aristotle, therefore, right action naturally flows from the disposition to move towards a telos, harmonising it with pursuit of the good. Seen this way, humans move biologically “towards a specific telos” (Achtenberg, 1992: 317) pursued “for its own sake” (van Zyl, 2015: 183). The notion that humans are “inclined towards the perfection of their being” (Madden, 2006: 25), however, translates poorly to modern professional practice. Whilst MacIntyre changed his views in his later work, After Virtue rejects Aristotle’s “metaphysical biology” in favour of a socially constructed telos (MacIntyre, 2007: 162). The current argument endorses this move, arguing that LIS already possesses socially grounded values capable of guiding practice. This social understanding, however, may be consistent with the wider spirit of Aristotle’s thought. Baker (2015) argues that Aristotle’s ergon may be a product rather than an activity; “while the ergon of the eye is seeing, the ergon of a sculpture is not sculpting but a sculpture” (p. 227). In the context of LIS, therefore, ergon may be construed as an outcome or idealised vision of the library. The current argument, however, contends that this product should be shaped by shared value. The importance of the social dimension is further underlined by Rawls’ (1993) concern with stability in Political Liberalism, where the justification of normative theory is grounded in collective understanding.

Constructing a common telos: Practice, virtue, narrative identity and tradition

Moving from a social understanding of core value, this section begins to construct a virtue ethics framework which, it is argued, has the potential to transcend emotivism in ethical debate. To do this, the argument returns to MacIntyre and his construction of a socially grounded telos, understood using four interrelated concepts. First, practices represent “socially established cooperative human activity through which goods internal to that . . . activity . . . achieve . . . excellence” (MacIntyre, 2007: 187), representing varied disciplines including “sciences, games [and] politics” (p. 188). Each practice has “internal goods” essential for their realisation (Achtenberg, 1992: 336) and external goods, such as wealth or fame, which may damage their integrity (Lutz, 2012: 119). Mastering a practice involves acceptance of “the best standards realised so far” (MacIntyre, 2007: 190)—the practice of portrait painting, for example, requires pursuit of goods internal to the art of painting, judged by “a painter or someone willing to learn” the painter’s craft (p. 190).

Second, virtue represents a “human quality . . . [that] achieve[s] . . . goods . . . internal to practices” (2007, p. 191). Virtue moves morality towards thick concepts where evaluative terms are “richer and more descriptive” than their thin counterparts such as “good and bad” (Dancy, 2004: 191). For a musician, virtues such as sight reading, listening, and concentration bring about internal goods that hallmark excellence. Defining virtue through internal goods, however, fails to exclude evil practices, such as torture, which grind uncomfortably against MacIntyre’s wider project (MacIntyre, 2007: 199–200). To counter this threat, MacIntyre introduces a third distinction—narrative identity—that supervenes over practices, ensuring human lives retain an “integrity and constancy” (p. 219). Narrative identity means virtues “sustain us in the relevant kind of quest for the good” (MacIntyre, 2007: 219). Viewed this way, practices are entwined with this wider goal. By understanding lives as a single narrative quest, practices are calibrated by pursuit of an overriding value (MacIntyre, 2007: 219).

Finally, this narrative pursuit is anchored within moral tradition. Recognising morality’s connexion with history, the narrative quest takes social identity as a starting point; cutting “myself off from the past . . . is to deform my present relationships” (2007, p. 221). Rather than interpreting morality as abstract rules, moral endeavours draw upon “socially established standards” (Pinkard, 2003: 185). In doing this, MacIntyre draws upon “a more substantive notion of reason” based on forms of life. This social point of reference allows for “criticism and invention” (MacIntyre, 2007: 222); in A Short History of Ethics, MacIntyre argues that “moral concepts change as social life changes” (MacIntyre, 2002: 1), emphasising how moral thought evolves in tandem with wider social change, drawing inference from “those well versed in the moral traditions of specific times and places” (Graham, 2003: 30).

MacIntyre’s four distinctions—practice, virtue, narrative identity and moral tradition—provide an account of morality where the force of moral terms stems from a wider cultural understanding that contrasts with a “bureaucratic individualism” (MacIntyre, 2007: 225).

Moving beyond emotivism in LIS: Narrative identity and moral tradition

Having outlined MacIntyre’s four concepts—practice, virtue, narrative identity and moral tradition—this section applies the latter two to LIS, arguing they provide the foundation for a virtue ethics response to the “Values War” by facilitating a shared awareness within professional discourse that ameliorates polarisation.

For MacIntyre, narrative identity is a personal endeavour, calibrating pursuit of the good; “in terms of the narrative unity of our lives” (Schneewind, 1982: 656). For McAdams and McLean, identity represents a person’s “internalised and evolving life story, integrating the reconstructed past and imagined future” (2013, p. 233). McMenemy underlines the importance of storytelling, where “we exist as products of . . . legacies . . . cultures, mores and values” (2021, p. 212). Storytelling results in “meaning making,” where an agent “gleans a message from an event” that contributes to self-identity (p. 234). This connexion between narrative and self-identity is emphasised by McLean, who argues that stories provide “an evaluation of past events in relation to the self and a sense of temporal continuity” (2008, p. 1686). Self-identity is established via “personal reflection” where “people think about themselves and the past . . . to construct a story” (p. 1690) and heavily influenced by Ricœur, whose Time and Narrative describes a process of “emplotment” where “contingencies of existence” are ordered into a “coherent whole” through historical continuity (Crowley, 2003: 2–3). Understood this way, narrative identity is constructed through “meaning making,” reflection and history. It may, however, also extend to the collective, explored by Brown, who argues that “organisations’ identities” are authored by participants (2006, p. 731). Collective narratives are fragmented with “stories . . . borrowing threads from each other,” with some narratives “deeply embedded” while others are “peripheral” (p. 735). This identity may be fluid, accommodating change (Taïeb et al., 2008: 992). In the context of LIS, Burgess argues that identity “introduces an ethical dimension” where “professional ethics” is a shared responsibility (2013, p. 88).

In this vein, the current argument points towards a shared ethical identity within LIS, grounded, à la MacIntyre, on moral tradition that ameliorates conflict between incommensurable positions and charts the narrative unity of LIS. Rather than embarking on a detailed history of the profession, moral tradition observes transitions of thought, starting with the religious control of Christian monasteries and the establishment of libraries at ancient universities (Summit, 2019: 16–17). Its expansion, mirroring cultural change, developed in the Protestant Reformation. The timeline develops into the Enlightenment where neutrality and intellectual freedom in LIS were born. Enlightenment and liberal democracy were challenged in the 20th century, by drawing attention to the dominant power structures that sustain inequality. Rather than engaging in a detailed history (beyond the scope of the present argument), the current argument draws attention to transitions of thought. To date, the transition from Enlightenment to a postmodern perspective, embraced by some and rejected by others, leads to two insular self-contained traditions. This dual isolationism, overlooking LIS’s narrative story, has created a discourse not fit for purpose.

The narrative approach, by contrast, interprets both perspectives within a shared history. Whilst disparate, both the liberal and postmodern perspectives are connected by their temporal place in the evolution of the profession. Crucially, the narrative approach does not attempt to eradicate ethical disagreement. Instead, ethical disputes draw on a collective consciousness. For the narrative approach, blanket statements that neutrality upholds “White Supremacy” (Chiu et al., 2021: 51) overlook the concept’s origin within professional practice—a progressive value representing emancipation from religious dogma. Seen this way, the concept may still be jettisoned, but with acknowledgement of its shared importance. Conversely, those who promote neutrality are aware of the concept’s shortcomings, appreciating its conflict with wider social issues.

A crucial implication of the narrative approach is its rejection of moral generalism where morality depends on “moral principles” (Dancy, 2004: 7), calibrated by an algorithm where “qualities of character . . . [are] . . . prized only because they will lead . . . to . . . the right set of rules” (MacIntyre, 2007: 119). This commitment, a feature of the “Values War,” cannot respond to “contextual variation within professional practice” and a morality built on history and identity which, motley and chequered, grinds against abstract rules (Macdonald, 2023: 52).

In summary, this section has argued that narrative identity, forged from tradition, moves moral debate beyond emotive impasse. This paves the way for an understanding of moral concepts that appreciates the heterogeneity of core values (Macdonald, 2022, 2024, 2026; Macdonald and Birdi, 2019). Having laid the groundwork for a turn to virtue, the next section develops the virtue ethics response further, applying MacIntyre’s practice and virtue to LIS.

LIS as a practice: Returning to virtue

To do this, the current argument interprets LIS as a practice where “goods internal to . . . [activities] are realised in . . . [achieving] . . . standards of excellence” (MacIntyre, 2007: 187). In this vein, LIS exhibits the complexity that MacIntyre demands, representing the ecosystem of the modern library, including collection development, user education, and specialist roles. This move has precedent in wider literature—in Virtue at Work, Geoff Moore outlines a conception of telos using MacIntyre’s internal goods pursued in the context of practices (Moore, 2017: 59). For Moore, the organisation is a “moral space” (p. 74) with a purpose that represents “products . . . services and the development of its people” (p. 57). By recognising this, however, he notes a tension between the internal goods “sustained for their own sake” and external goods (such as wealth and profit) necessary for functioning. Responding to this double need—criticised by MacIntyre (Hartman, 2013)—he constructs a modified “practice institution model” linking telos to both internal and external goods. Whilst beyond the scope of the present argument, Moore’s model may give a fuller account of the library’s external needs.

Second, the current argument builds on MacIntyre’s definition of virtue as “goods which are internal to practices” (p. 191) and takes Swanton’s understanding of virtue as representing practical dispositions to “respond to, or acknowledge, items within . . . [their] . . . fields” (Swanton, 2003: 19). Internal goods may be identified through a “bottom-up” study of core values in professional practice. To do this, an analysis of ethical codes would form a promising first step. Koehler and Pemberton (2000) analysed codes across library associations finding six core themes: “concern with the rights and privileges of patrons or clients,” “selection issues,” “access issues,” “professional practices and relationships,” “responsibilities to employers” and “social and legal responsibilities” (p. 35). CILIP’s (2018a) Ethical Framework, identifies seven principles including: “intellectual freedom,” “impartiality,” “confidentiality” and “public benefit,” through a “Big Conversation” on social media, and a survey with “1556 responses” (CILIP, 2018b).

Seen this way, values in LIS are built on collective understanding; whilst the notion of value and virtue are distinct, their relationship can be understood through Swanton’s discussion of the “basis of moral responsiveness” where “virtues . . . call for the value of objects to be promoted or honoured” (2003, p. 24). This relationship provides a feasible link between core values and virtues realised through action. The virtues of neutrality, intellectual freedom or social responsibility, for example, represent dispositions to act motivated by values’ reverence within professional practice.

To take stock, the current argument has sketched an alternative possibility for moral discourse in LIS, turning away from emotivism and towards a moral discourse based on virtues sensitive to shared value. The first step in this transition appreciates LIS’s history and the transitions of thought that underpin its development. This understanding, building a narrative identity, conjoins incommensurable perspectives within the “Values War”; LIS becomes a practice where virtues—representing dispositions to honour core value in practice—are sociologically discovered through their reverence in professional practice, allowing a more nuanced debate about their application. Having applied MacIntyre’s four distinctions to LIS, the next section draws on contemporary moral theory to develop a fuller framework of virtue ethics.

Virtue ethics in LIS: Target centred virtue ethics

This framework is found in Christine Swanton’s Target Centred Virtue Ethics which, it is argued, provides a feasible framework for conceptualising moral decision making within LIS. Before doing this, however, it is necessary to justify the current argument’s move away from the eudaimonistic conception of virtue ethics and its central claim that acting virtuously necessarily contributes to the flourishing of the agent, epitomised by Hursthouse’s claim that “a virtue is a character trait that . . . human [beings need] for eudaimonia, to flourish, or live well” (Hursthouse, 1999: 167).

Two arguments, however, are problematic for the eudaimonist. First, the link between virtue and living well is demonstrably contentious; exercising virtue in a world with “structurally induced burdens . . . [and] systemic injustice” may bring harm that is a feature of our reality (Swanton, 2021: 124). Within professional practice, for example, the library may act virtuously to honour core value or protect minority groups despite harmful repercussions (including political attacks or the withdrawal of funding). Within this “normal world”—evidenced by real examples—the library may act virtuously despite harms it accrues. Although it may be objected that virtue necessarily “benefits its possessor at least characteristically” (Swanton, 2021: 126), this reply cuts virtue off from “other regarding” action (p. 127). This opens a second problem for the eudaimonist—the “self-centredness” objection. If virtue necessarily benefits its possessor, eudaimonists must account for two strands of moral motivation—self-centred flourishing and the performance of “right and virtuous acts” (p. 152). In other words, by focusing on the final end of the agent, the eudaimonist either commits to a “self-centredness” where ethical action is carried for personal benefit (Swanton, 2018: 50), or, if the eudaimonist denies this, they create a “disconnect” between the end of virtuous action (the benefit to its possessor) and the separate motivation to perform “right and virtuous acts” (p. 152). This rejection of eudaimonism also has a practical dimension. The current argument contends that LIS already possesses stable values, expressed through ethical codes, capable of guiding practice. Seen this way, eudaimonia adds a complexity which could, perhaps, affect the stability and acceptance of virtue ethics within professional practice. Without getting dragged unnecessarily into a wider debate, however, the current argument steers away from the eudaimonist conception. To clarify, however, it is still possible to accept the weaker claim that virtues may generally benefit their possessor, and this is consistent with the present argument (Swanton, 2021: 129).

Moving away from the eudaimonistic conception, target centred virtue ethics provides an alternative model of application. Instead of focusing on the relationship between virtue and eudaimonia, the target centred view provides a criterion of right action where virtues themselves take centre stage. To get to this criterion, Swanton argues that morality has a distinct logos based on “thick concept centralism” and the “centrality of virtuousness.”

The notion of logos, taken from Heidegger, represents the “regulating structure” or nature of a discipline that “holds together that which stands within it” (Heidegger, 1982, cited in Swanton, 2021: 22). Put simply, a discipline has a nature through which it is accessed and discussed. Swanton argues that the logos of ethics is twofold. First, a “thick concept centralism” interprets morality through terms that are “richer and more descriptive than their thin counterparts such as ‘right and wrong’” (Macdonald, 2023). Seen this way, thick terms move ethics towards concepts such as “tasteless,” “charming” or “considerate.” Crucially, thick concept centralism represents a realism where “evaluative and normative facts” are part of nature, underlying an understanding where science “is not sufficient for our understanding of the world” and “aesthetic, creative, and emotional experience” occupy a metaphysical layer within our ontology (Swanton, 2021: 42). Put simply, ethical experience is incongruent with a scientific attitude that reduces ethical problems to a choice between “good and bad.”

The moral weight of thick concepts stems from narrative-identity within a shared tradition (p. 27). Ethical deliberation, therefore, takes place within a “traditional mode of thought” (p. 27), allowing for the development of knowledge “informed by our best sciences and other knowledge” (p. 40). Thick concept centralism turns away from thin concepts and rules, providing a fresh understanding of moral reasons; we should be “caring and helpful” to tired people and generous to those who need money (2021 p. 53). Ethical features are grounded in natural properties, forming a “resultance base” (p. 62)—a morally shapeless description of facts. Thick concepts engage with the resultance base, providing “moral shape” given by the “evaluative point” of concepts, including their “practical relevance” understood through narrative identity (p. 63).

The second component of ethics’ logos is the “centrality of virtuousness,” providing a link between thick concepts and right action. Thick concept centrality is guided by a commitment to “rightness and/or excellence” (Swanton, 2021: 5). This guiding principle caters for granular moral decision-making, acknowledging instances where distasteful and dishonest behaviour may be necessary and traditional virtues, such as “trustworthiness,” may be limiting. Seen this way, Swanton invokes “a second shaping” where thick concepts combine in situations to offer “standards of correctness, or rightness, and excellence” (p. 71). The logos of ethics, therefore, interprets morality through thick concepts and a commitment to overall virtuousness. First, ethical features are revealed through thick concepts, which have a shared evaluative point. Second, right action depends on a context-sensitive overall virtuousness, responding to morally salient features in the correct way.

Swanton draws on ethics’ logos to outline a target centred account of right action, where the “virtuousness of an act . . . depends on its meeting the contextually relevant and salient aspects of . . . target(s)” (p. 72). This constitutes knowledge of thick concepts’ “point and function”—a calculation that may be “complex and contested” (p. 72). Rather than focusing on the relationship between virtuous action and eudaimonia, right action involves hitting the “mean” of virtues relevant in any situation. The mean of virtue is multidimensional and involves “acting . . . in the right circumstance, in the right manner, at the right time, to the right extent . . . [and] . . . for the right reasons” (p. 137). Second, pursuit of the good is calibrated by a commitment to overall virtuousness that “depends on . . . meeting contextually relevant and salient aspects of . . . target(s) . . . to a sufficient extent” (pp. 72–152). In other words, right action involves a holistic calculation where salient virtues are weighed against each other, acknowledging conflict or partial realisation. Given this, right action meets the target of virtues to a sufficient extent in each situation. This calculation may involve, for example, balancing “LIS-centric concerns” with value sets local to specific institutions or professional sectors.

The target centred account is congruent with the current argument, grounding value within a social telos that emerges from narrative identity. This social dimension, developed through engagement with MacIntyre, aligns with Swanton’s account whereby “the features which make traits of character virtues are determined by their targets, aims, or point” (2021, p. 133). Second, the target centred account begins with “our existing conceptions of the virtues,” where core ethical virtues represent dispositions to honour values such as neutrality and intellectual freedom” (Hursthouse and Pettigrove, 2023; Macdonald, 2023).

It may be objected that a particularist ethics fails to guide action within professional practice or, put another way, “flatten[s] the moral landscape” (McKeever and Ridge, 2006: 48, cited in Swanton, 2021: 263). Seen this way, “moral education and . . . predictability” become problematic for a theory that moves away from generalism (p. 234). For Swanton, however, core value retains its importance through Hursthouse’s “v-rules,” allowing virtues to be “switched on” reasons. The importance of honesty, for example, is anchored by the evaluative function of its use, ensuring it is “switched on” by default (p. 264). “V-rules,” however, may be overridden or “switched off.” For the former, v-rules may be “rebutted” by an overriding reason or excluded by a pre-existing promise. For the latter, a “v-rule” may be switched off completely; the consideration taken to wipe “the torturer’s brow,” for example, loses moral relevance against the backdrop of the torturer’s work (p. 267). Seen this way, “v-rules,” switched on by default, give virtues a default moral force whilst retaining the granularity of particularism.

To take stock, this section has outlined a target centred virtue account of ethical decision-making. Two meta-ethical features, moral particularism and a logos (thick concept centralism and overall virtuousness) provide the framework to provide a target centred account of right action that constitutes “meeting the contextually relevant and salient aspects of [virtue’s] target(s)” (p. 72), calibrated by a commitment to overall virtuousness (p. 52). Building on this, we can now sketch an account of target centred virtue in LIS. Right action hits the multi-dimensional mean of professional virtues to a “sufficient extent,” calibrated by a commitment to overall virtuousness, where salient virtues are weighed against each other (p. 52). Core virtues—representing the disposition to honour values—represent “v-rules” switched on by default, under the proviso they may be overridden by wider contextual factors. Virtues stem from a shared understanding of narrative identity anchored in moral tradition, ameliorating incommensurable perspectives through temporal unity. The identity of core value is well developed in literature and expressed through ethical codes, where values such as “neutrality,” “intellectual freedom,” and “privacy” feature prominently. This context-specificity, opposed to emotivism and polarisation, captures the granularity of concepts within professional practice and aligns with the heterogeneity of concepts identified in previous research (Macdonald and Birdi, 2019 Macdonald, 2022, 2024). To clarify, the current argument contends that the moral foundation of the ethical code should accommodate the context sensitivity of our moral landscape. While it is beyond the present argument explore this, a particularist interpretation is advocated by van der Linden (2013) and explored in detail within LIS by the present author (see Macdonald, 2023).

Virtues within professional practice

Having sketched the target centred approach, this section sketches an example to illustrate how it may work in practice. First, each virtue has a field in which it operates, consisting of “those items which are the sphere(s) of concern of the virtue” (Swanton, 2003: 20). The disposition to honour intellectual freedom, for example, broadly interacts with situations concerning censorship. Neutrality, by contrast, is salient in dilemmas where LIS may take a value stance or remain silent. Second, “modes and bases of moral responsiveness” describe the type of action needed to bring virtue about, with the preceding argument advocating virtues as honouring or promoting core value (p. 21).

The following example shows how the target centred approach could be used in a “real world” scenario:

In February 2025, the UK’s Library and Information Association (CILIP) issued a statement inviting “examples of how content, reports, datasets, evidence, and tools” were “being removed by US authorities” (CILIP, 2025), responding to concern that the new administration was censoring published content. The US administration’s actions prompted a choice that can be analysed with the target centred framework. For simplicity, intellectual freedom and neutrality take centre stage (although other professional virtues may be salient).

Stage 1

Virtues are identified through knowledge of the fields in which professional virtue operates. The disposition to honour intellectual freedom is relevant for a problem that concerns censorship. The disposition to honour neutrality is also salient, with a response that represents a choice to take a value stance against the US administration.

Stage 2

The importance of honouring both values provides default reasons for action. In this instance, however, the disposition to honour neutrality is overridden by the wider threat of censorship. This decision, often complex and contested, represents the heart of ethical debate. Concluding that intellectual freedom should be promoted and honoured, a statement condemning censorship is issued. The disposition to honour neutrality, however, still operates as a virtue, perhaps preventing a bolder attack on the US administration. In calibrating this response, the organisation applies the target centred approach’s criteria for right action: first, by hitting the mean of each salient virtue to a sufficient extent and, second, calibrating a response through overall virtuousness—in other words, weighing virtues to gauge a response that best represents the profession’s ethical position. In doing this, decision makers take a considered approach (perhaps turning away from more extreme means of protest). For the target centred approach, ethics draws on the profession’s narrative identity over time, appreciating how core value concepts have shaped professional practice. By issuing a statement, other virtues come into play; the disposition to honour privacy, for example, ensures examples of censorship are submitted anonymously.

The above example illustrates how the target centred framework can negotiate ethical dilemmas, interpreting professional virtues as “v-reasons” switched on by default. Rather than drawing attention to the outcome, it focuses on the method of deliberation, including the ability to weigh values in primafacie conflict within a mutually supporting framework. To reiterate, the example could be less clear-cut, leading to contested discussion within professional practice. The target centred framework, however, moves beyond emotivism, drawing, instead, on a shared deliberative process where LIS is a practice with a narrative identity.

Target centred virtue in LIS: Future research

Rather than present a fully developed framework of target centred virtue within LIS (beyond the scope of the present argument), the current argument opens avenues for future research. First, virtue in LIS is “role differentiated” (Swanton, 2021, p. 190); a doctor’s role, for example, in giving an “accurate diagnosis” differs from the function of a caring friend (p. 189). Whilst still constrained by the broader remit of morality (i.e. not acting wickedly), moral reasons represent “v-rules” within professional practice. This involves knowledge of the technê of LIS—a Greek term that describes practical knowledge and “distinctive modes of activity” (Parry, 2024: 190). Second, virtue within LIS is neatly aligned with an epistemological “knowledge/ignorance” foundation honouring “respect for facts, open-mindedness . . . absence of bias and prejudice [and] intellectual humility” (Swanton, 2021: 298–301). Swanton identifies three branches of epistemological virtue: “virtues associated with the discovery of truth” including “intellectual curiosity” (p. 308), second “epistemic virtues” including “intellectual honesty” and, third, “conceptions of rationality” and dispositions not to arrive at conclusions based on “insufficient evidence” (pp. 308–309). Translated to LIS, intellectual freedom may be aligned with the “discovery of truth” (p. 298) whilst neutrality underlines an “absence of prejudice and bias” (p. 310). Seen this way, understanding the activities of LIS as role-based virtue within an epistemological framework provides a promising point of further investigation.

Third, deliberation within the target centred framework may also employ practical wisdom (phronesis). Although a core component of the eudaimonic account, phronesis can be discussed independently as a “meta virtue of holistic . . . practical reflection and adjudication about moral issues” (Kristjánsson et al., 2021: 240). Here, it is instructive to look at the concept’s development within medical ethics, where the good of the patient is broadly analogous to the good of the library user. Jameel (2025) observes differences between phronesis at an individual and collective level, and second, its grounding within empirical research (p. 120). This empiricism is epitomised by Boudreau et al. (2024), who develop a model of clinical phronesis drawing on “semi-structured interviews [with] physicians” (p. 167). Likewise, Kristjánsson et al draw upon “contemporary psychological research” (2021, p. 240) to develop a framework that represents the “cognitive ability to perceive” context specific features of moral situations (p. 246). Second, the “integrative function . . . checks and balances” competing virtues, adjudicating which considerations constitute moral reasons (p. 246). Third, this integration takes place within a “blueprint function” that refers to the socially construed telos of professional practice. This deliberative procedure—consistent with the current argument—could be developed as a guide for practical wisdom within LIS.

Conclusion and contribution to practice

To conclude, the present study employs MacIntyre’s description of emotivism within moral language to understand and transcend a prevailing “Values War” paradigm within LIS. This understanding, it is argued, explains why moral debate often ends in impasse and points to an alternative normative theory grounded in virtue ethics. The argument unfolded in three stages. First, the problem the study seeks to address is framed as a “Values War” paradigm where “neutral” and “interventionist” perspectives are pitted against each other in a binary “for or against” camp. This predicament, it is argued, is incongruous with research that indicates core ethical concepts are heterogeneous with meaning that fluctuates with context. Second, Alasdair MacIntyre’s emotivism in After Virtue provides a means of understanding the “Values War” and the disconnect between moral language that originates from distinct traditions; the value of neutrality, for example, illustrates conflict between an enlightened liberalism and a 20th century postmodern outlook. This emotivism leads to entrenched normative attitudes and belies the complexity of our moral landscape. Third, to move beyond this impasse, the argument returns to After Virtue, constructing a morality based on virtue ethics that is threefold. First, incommensurable traditions can be brought together through narrative identity and temporal continuity. This understanding, facilitating a historical awareness, locates core value within a shared understanding of the profession’s moral heritage. Second, MacIntyre’s concepts of practice and virtue can be transposed to LIS and third, Christine Swanton’s target centred virtue ethics, aligned with moral particularism, allows core ethical virtues—understood as dispositions to honour core value—to retain moral significance whilst determining right action holistically in each situation. Right action involves hitting the “mean” of relevant virtues with a commitment to overall virtuousness, guided by a shared professional understanding.

This approach has the potential to counter emotivism within professional practice and foster an empathy often missing in ethical debate. Second, the target centred framework aligns with the nature of moral concepts identified in previous research, where core values evoke differing normative responses depending on context (Macdonald, 2024; Macdonald and Birdi, 2019). The turn towards particularism facilitates this granularity, creating a moral maturity and discourse that may deepen understanding of modern challenges—including “big data” and “AI” —that the profession must grapple with. The test for a framework of ethical decision-making, however, lies not in its theoretical presentation, but its use in practice—a challenge it should be well equipped to meet.