Edward Feser's Blog, page 13

Cartwright on reductionism in science

In hersuperb recent book APhilosopher Looks at Science , Nancy Cartwright revisits some ofthe longstanding themes of her work in the philosophy of science.  In anearlier post, I discussed what she has to say in the first chapterabout theory and experiment.  Let’s looknow at what she says in her second chapter about reductionism, of which she haslong been critical. 

Reductionismdoes not have quite the same hold in philosophy of science that it once did, havingbeen subjected to powerful attack not only from Cartwright, but from PaulFeyerabend, JohnDupré, and many others.  (Idiscuss the anti-reductionist literature in detail in Aristotle’sRevenge.)  Still, the ideathat whatever is real is somehow ultimately nothing more than what can inprinciple be described in the language of a completed physics exerts a powerfulhold on many.  Cartwright cites JamesLadyman and Don Ross as adherents of this view, and AlexRosenberg is another prominent advocate.  As Cartwright notes, in contemporary writingabout science, the lure of reductionism is especially evident in discussions ofthe purported implications of neuroscience for topics like free will.

Cartwrightsets the stage for her discussion by quoting a famous passage from physicistSir Arthur Eddington’s book TheNature of the Physical World:

I have settled down to the task ofwriting these lectures and have drawn up my chairs to my two tables.  Two tables! Yes; there are duplicates of every object about me – two tables, twochairs, two pens…

One of them has been familiar to mefrom earliest years.  It is a commonplaceobject of that environment which I call the world.  How shall I describe it?  It has extension; it is comparativelypermanent; it is coloured; above all it is substantial…  [I]f you are a plain commonsense man, not toomuch worried with scientific scruples, you will be confident that youunderstand the nature of an ordinary table…

Table No. 2 is my scientific table…It does not belong to the world previously mentioned – that world whichspontaneously appears around me when I open my eyes... My scientific table ismostly emptiness.  Sparsely scattered inthat emptiness are numerous electric charges rushing about with great speed;but their combined bulk amounts to less than a billionth of the bulk of thetable itself…

There is nothing substantial about my second table.  It isnearly all empty space – space pervaded, it is true, by fields of force, butthese are assigned to the category of “influences”, not of “things”. (pp.xi-xiii)

Now, reductionismholds that in some sense the first table is really “nothing but” the secondtable – or even that the first table does not, strictly speaking, really existat all, and that only the second table does (though philosophers typicallycharacterize the latter sort of view as eliminativist rather thanreductionist).

Reduced reductionism

The firstconsideration Cartwright raises to illustrate how problematic reductionism isconcerns the way reductionists have, over the last few decades, repeatedly hadto qualify their claims.  The ambitionsof reductionism have, you might say, been greatly reduced.  Bold type-typereductionism gave way first to a weaker token-tokenreductionism, and then to yet weaker superveniencetheories. 

Type-typereductionist theories hold that each typeof feature described at some higher-level science can be identified with some type of feature described at alower-level science, and ultimately at the level of physics.  Perhaps the best-known theory of this kind isthe original mind-brain identity theory,which holds that every type of psychological state (the belief that it israining, the belief that it is sunny, the desire for a cheeseburger, the fearthat the stock market will crash, etc.) can be identified with some specifictype of brain process.  A stock examplefrom the physical sciences would be the claim that temperature is identical tomean kinetic energy.

AsCartwright notes, one problem with this sort of view is that it is difficult tofind plausible cases of successful type-type reductions beyond such stockexamples.  Another is that the stockexamples themselves are not in fact unproblematic.  “Reduction” claims seem really to be eliminativistclaims after all.  For example, given theso-called reduction of temperature, it’s not that what we’ve always understoodto be temperature is really just mean kinetic energy.  It’s that what we’ve always understood to betemperature is not real after all (or exists only as a quale of our experienceof the physical world, rather than something there in the physical worlditself) and all that really exists is mean kinetic energy instead.

A problemwith supposing otherwise is that the laws that govern the features of somehigher-level description and the laws that govern the features of some allegedlycorresponding lower-level description can yield conflicting predictions.  One way to think about this – though notCartwright’s own example – is in terms of DonaldDavidson’s view that descriptions at the psychological level are notlaw-governed in the way that the materialist supposes that descriptions at theneurological level are.  Hence, even if abrain event of a certain type is strictly predictable, the corresponding mentalevent will not be.  Given this sort ofmismatch, there is pressure on the type-type reductionist to treat thehigher-level description as not strictly true.

Anespecially influential consideration that led philosophers to abandon type-typereductionism is the “multiple realizability” problem – the fact thathigher-level features can be “realized in” more than one type of lower-levelfeature, so that there is no smooth mapping of higher-level types on tolower-level types of the kind an ambitious reductionist project aims for.  In the case of the mind-brain identitytheory, the problem is that the same mental state (believing that it israining, say) could plausibly be associated with different types of brainprocess in different people, or even in the same person at differenttimes.  Or consider how an economicproperty like being one dollar can berealized in paper currency, in metal currency, or as an electronic record ofone’s bank account balance. 

This ledphilosophers to embrace less ambitious token-tokenreductionist theories.  The idea here isthat even if types of feature at ahigher level cannot be smoothly correlated with types of feature at a lower level, nevertheless every token or individual instance of a featureat the higher level can be identified with some token or individual instance ofa lower-level feature.  For example, this particular instance of believing that it’s raining is identicalwith that particular instance of acertain type of brain process.

AsCartwright notes, however, token reductions in fact tend to yield, after all, typereduction claims of a sort.  An examplewould involve disjunctive types atthe lower level of description.  Forinstance, a token reductionist view of mind-brain relations may entail that atype of mental state like believing thatit is raining is identical to a “type” of neural property defined as being in brain state of type B1 OR being inbrain state of type B2 OR being in brain state of type B3 OR…  And this will, in turn, open up thepossibility of a conflict between what the laws that govern the higher-leveldescription entail and what the laws that govern the lower-level descriptionentail.

If it isobjected that disjunctive “types” of the kind just described seem artificial, thatis certainly plausible.  But the problem,as Cartwright notes, is that this illustrates how identifying what counts as aplausible type is going to require detailed metaphysical analysis, and cannotbe read off the science, as the reductionist supposes.

In anyevent, token-token reductionism gave way in turn to talk of supervenience.  The basic idea here is that phenomena at somehigher level of description A superveneon phenomena at some lower level of description B just in case there could not be any difference at what happens atlevel A without some correspondingdifference in what happens at level B. 

But exactlywhat this amounts to is not obvious, and debating the meaning of superveniencehas, Cartwright complains, been a bigger concern of philosophers thanexplaining exactly why anyone should believe in it in the first place.  (More on this in a moment.)  As its vagueness indicates, supervenience entailsan even weaker claim than token-token reduction.  Though, in recent years, there has been a lotof heavy going about “grounding,” which, Cartwright notes, is stronger thansupervenience.  The idea is that allfacts are “grounded” in the facts described at the level of physics, in thesense that whatever happens at the higher levels is “due to” what happens atthe lower, physics level.  But here too, why suppose this is the case?

Groundless grounding

Where theclaim that everything supervenes on the level described by physics isconcerned, Cartwright says, there are three basic reasons given for it, none ofthem well worked out or convincing. First, there is a leap from the fact that the lower-level featuresdescribed by physics affect whathappens at the higher levels, to the conclusion that those features by themselvesentirely fix what happens at thehigher levels.  This is simply a non sequitur.

Second,there is a leap from the supposition that successful reductions have beencarried out in a handful of cases, tothe conclusion that reductionism is ingeneral true.  But this too is a non sequitur (and on top of that, thepremise is questionable).  Third, thereis the claim that physicalistic reductionism is in fact the method appliedwithin science.  But this, Cartwrightargues, is simply not true to the facts of actual scientific practice.

“Grounding”accounts of reduction suppose that the level described by physics is the sole cause of what happens at the higherlevels, and also that it is in no way itself caused by what happens at thehigher levels.  These claims too, arguesCartwright, are not supported by actual scientific practice.

Here sheappeals in part to recent work in the philosophy of chemistry, in which twogeneral lines of anti-reductionist argument have been developed.  The first and more ambitious of them arguesthat chemistry as a discipline rests on classificatory and methodologicalassumptions that are simply sui generisand make the features of the world it uncovers irreducible to those uncoveredby physics.  The second does not rule outreductions a priori, but argues on acase by case basis that purported reductions have not in fact successfully beencarried out.  (I discuss this work inphilosophy of chemistry at pp. 330-40 of Aristotle’sRevenge.)

But it isnot just that chemistry and other higher-level sciences are not in fact “allphysics” at the end of the day.  AsCartwright emphasizes, “even physics isn’t all physics.”  For one thing, “physics” covers a range ofbranches, theories, and practices, not all of which have been reduced to the mostfundamental theories.  For another, eventhe fundamental theories themselves are not fully compatible with each other,the notorious inconsistency between quantum mechanics and the general theory ofrelativity being a longstanding and still unresolved problem.  She adds:

The third and to me most importantpoint is that in real science about real systems in the real world, forpredictions and explanations of even the purest of physics results, physicsmust work in cooperation with a motley assembly of other knowledge, from othersciences, engineering, economics, and practical life. (p. 110)

Cartwrightthen goes on to describe in detail the Stanford Gravity Probe Bproject as an illustration of the vast quantity of theoretical knowledge andpractical know-how that are necessary in order to apply and test abstract physicaltheory, yet cannot itself be reduced to such theory.  This recapitulates a longtime theme inCartwright’s work over the decades, viz. that the mathematical models and lawsof physics are idealized and simplified abstractionsfrom concrete physical reality, and do not themselves constitute or captureconcrete physical reality.

In short,reductionism, Cartwright judges, is poorly defined and poorly argued for.  Its lingering prestige is unearned. 

I’ve mainlyjust summarized Cartwright’s arguments here, since I sympathize with them andthey supplement those that I develop in Aristotle’sRevenge.  They give us, though, onlyher case against the views sheopposes, rather than the positive account she’d put in place of them, which isdescribed later in the book.  More onthat in a later post.

Relatedreading:

Dupréon the ideologizing of science

Scientism:America’s State Religion

Theparticle collection that fancied itself a physicist

Fallaciesphysicists fall for

One LongCircular Argument

Science andScientism

Rosenbergroundup

Thomism and the Nouvelle Théologie

My review of Jon Kirwan and Matthew Minerd’s important new anthology TheThomistic Response to the Nouvelle Théologie appears in the November 2023 issue of First Things.

A little logic is a dangerous thing

Some famousand lovely lines from Alexander Pope’s “An Essay on Criticism” observe:

A little learning is a dangerous thing;

Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.

There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,

And drinking largely sobers us again.

Think of theperson who has read one book on a subject and suddenly thinks he knowseverything.  Or the beginning student ofphilosophy whose superficial encounter with skeptical arguments leads him todeny that we can know anything.  A deeperinquiry, if only it were pursued, would in each case yield a more balancedjudgement.

Similardelusions of competence often afflict those who have studied a littlelogic.  ElsewhereI’ve discussed the phony rigor often associated with the application of formalmethods.  Here, however, what I have inmind is the abuse of a more elementary part of logic – the study of fallacies(that is to say, of common errors in reasoning).

The principle of charity

Beginningstudents of logic, when they first learn the fallacies, often start thinkingthey can see them everywhere – or more precisely, everywhere in the argumentsof people whose opinions on politics or religion they already disagree with,though not so much in the arguments of people on their own side.  (What are the odds?)  A good teacher will inform them thatknowledge of the fallacies must be applied in conjunction with what is calledthe “principle of charity.”  Thisprinciple tells us that, when an argument that could be read as committing a fallacy could also be plausiblyinterpreted instead in a different way, we should presume that the latter interpretationis the correct one.

The point ofthis principle is not merely, or even primarily, to be nice.  The point is rather that the study of logicis ultimately about pursuing truth,not about winning a debate.  If wedismiss some argument too quickly because we haven’t considered a more charitableinterpretation, then we might miss out on learning some important truth –perhaps a truth that we are reluctant to learn, precisely because it comes fromsomeone we dislike. 

But it’s notjust a failure to apply the principle of charity that can lead someone wronglyto accuse another of committing a fallacy. Sometimes people just don’t correctly understand the nature of someparticular fallacy. 

Ad hominem?

Let’sconsider some common examples, beginning with the ad hominem fallacy.  Whatmatters when evaluating an argument is whether its premises are true, andwhether the conclusion really follows from the premises, either with deductivevalidity or at least with significant probability.  And that’s all that matters, logically speaking.  The character of the person giving theargument is entirely irrelevant to that. Ad hominem fallacies arefallacies that neglect this fact – that pretend that by attacking a person insome way, you’ve thereby cast doubt on the argument the person has given or thetruth of some claim he has made.

There aredifferent ways this might go.  Thecrudest way is the abusive ad hominem,wherein, instead of addressing the merits of some argument the person hasgiven, you simply call him names – “racist,” “fascist,” “commie,” or whatever –and pretend that sticking such a label on him casts doubt on what he said.  Another common variation on the ad hominem fallacy is the circumstantial ad hominem or appeal to motive, wherein one attributesa suspect motive to the person and pretends that doing so casts doubt on whatthe person says.  Of course, it doesnot.  A good argument remains a goodargument, however bad the motives (or alleged motives) of the person giving it,and a bad argument remains a bad argument however good the motives of theperson giving it.

It iscrucial to emphasize, though, that calling someone a name, attributing badmotives to him, or in some other way attacking a person or his character is not in itself a fallacy.  It amounts to a fallacy only when what is at issue, specifically, is themerits of some claim he made or some argument he gave, and instead ofaddressing that, you change the subject and attack theperson.

But ofcourse, there are other contexts where the subject is the person or his character, rather than some argument he gave.  For example, if a jury is trying to determinewhether a person’s eyewitness testimony is reliable, a lawyer is not committingan ad hominem fallacy if he notesthat the witness has been caught in lies in the past, or is known to harbor apersonal grudge against the person he’s testifying against.  Or, when you are deciding whether to believea used car salesman, you are not guilty of an ad hominem fallacy when considering that his motive to sell you acar might bias the advice he gives you. Again, in cases like these, what is at issue is not some argument theperson gave, which might be considered entirely apart from him.  What is at issue is the credibility of theperson himself. 

Or supposeyou call someone a “jerk” precisely because he is acting like a jerk.  There is no fallacy in that.  Indeed, there is no fallacy even if he is not acting like a jerk, but you’re justin a bad mood.  Name-calling may bejustified in the one case and unjustified in the other, but it is not a fallacy if the context isn’t one wherethe cogency of some argument he gave is what at issue, and you’re distractingattention from that.

People areespecially prone to make the mistake of confusing attacks on a person with the ad hominem fallacy when the context is adebate or public exchange of some other kind – where, of course, one or bothsides may be making arguments.  SupposePerson A and Person B are engaged in some public dispute (on a blog, onTwitter, or wherever).  Suppose Person Aaddresses the arguments of Person B, but Person B refuses to respond in kind,resorting instead to ad hominemattacks, or mockery, or changing the subject. Suppose that Person A, appalled by this behavior, calls attention toPerson B’s personal failings – characterizing Person B as intellectuallydishonest, or as a sophist, or as a buffoon, or the like.  And suppose that Person B then objects tothis and accuses Person A of committingan ad hominem fallacy.

Is Person Aguilty of such a fallacy?  Of coursenot.  He has not attacked Person B as a way of avoiding addressing PersonB’s claims or arguments.  On thecontrary, he has addressed those claimsand arguments.  His negative estimation ofPerson B’s character is a separatepoint, and a correct one.  Person B – whether out of cluelessbefuddlement or cynical calculation – makes of the false accusation that PersonA is guilty of an ad hominem fallacya smokescreen to hide the fact that it is really Person B himself who is guilty of this.

In the caseI just described, a person is accused of committing an ad hominem fallacy when he is notin fact doing so.  But it can also happenthat a person pretends (or maybe even sincerely believes) that he is notcommitting an ad hominem fallacy whenhe is fact doing so.  To change my example a bit, suppose Person Aand Person B are engaged in some public dispute.  Suppose Person B never addresses Person A’sarguments, but simply and repeatedly flings terms of abuse, questions hismotives, and so on, with the aim of undermining Person A’s credibility with hisreaders.  Suppose Person A accuses PersonB of ad hominem fallacies, and PersonB responds: “I’ve committed no such fallacy! After all, using such terms of abuse is not by itself fallacious.  It’s only a fallacy when addressing anargument, and I haven’t beenaddressing your arguments.  I’m justtelling people what a horrible person you are.”

Is Person Bthus innocent of an ad hominemfallacy in this case?  Not at all.  He may not have committed this fallacy in a direct way, but he has still done so indirectly.  True, he has avoided addressing any specific argument Person A hasgiven.  Hence he has not in that way committed an ad hominem fallacy.  At the same time, though, he has, through ad hominem abuse, tried to poison hisreaders’ minds against taking seriously anyargument that Person A might happen to give. Hence he has deployed a fallaciously adhominem tactic in a general way.

The bottomline is this.  Is a speaker resorting to ad hominem abuse as a way of trying to avoid having to address some claim orargument another person has given?  Ifso, he is guilty of an ad hominemfallacy.  If not, then he is not guiltyof such a fallacy (whether or not his abusive language is unjustifiable forsome other reason – that’s a separatequestion).

Appeal to emotion?

An appeal to emotion fallacy is committedwhen, instead of trying to convince one’s listener of a certain conclusion byoffering reasons that provide actual logical support for that conclusion, oneplays on the listener’s emotions.  The strengthof the emotional reaction makes the conclusion seem well-supported, when in fact the premises do not providestrong grounds for believing it.

But here itis important to emphasize that the presence of an emotional reaction does notby itself make an argumentfallacious, not even if the speaker foresees such a reaction and indeed even ifhe intends it.  To take an artificial examplein order to illustrate the point, suppose some follower of Socrates, havingjust heard the fatal verdict, wants desperately to believe that his heroSocrates will somehow never die.  Youhope to bring him back to reality, and present him with the following argument:

All men are mortal

Socrates is a man

Therefore, Socrates is mortal

He contemplates this reasoning, sighs heavily and resignshimself to the cold, hard truth.  Theargument raises profound emotions in him, as you knew it would.  But have you committed a fallacy of appeal toemotion?  Obviously not.  The argument is no less sound than it wouldbe if someone with no emotional reaction at all had heard it.

Still, you might think, the reason there is no fallacy hereis that the emotions in question are not such as to incline the person to want to believe the conclusion.  Quite the opposite.  But suppose the emotions in question were of that sort.  For example, suppose one of Socrates’ enemiesfeared that the hemlock would not kill him, and worried that perhaps Socrateswas immortal and could never be gotten rid of. Suppose you present him withthe same argument just given.  He isreassured.  But have you now, in thiscase, committed a fallacy of appeal to emotion?

No.  Here too, theargument remains just as sound as it would be if some unemotional person who couldn’tcare one way or the other about Socrates had heard it.  But what if you not only know that the personwill be pleased by the conclusion, but intendfor him to be pleased by it?  What ifyou hope that his positive emotional response to the argument will make himmore likely to accept it?  Wouldn’t that make it a fallacious appeal toemotion?

No, it would not.  Forthe bottom line is that the premises are clearly true and the conclusionclearly follows validly from them.  Thepresence or absence of an emotional reaction, of whatever kind, does not changethat in the least.  Hence there is nofallacy of appeal to emotion.  Such afallacy is committed only when there is some logical gap in the support the premises supply the conclusion,which the emotional reaction is meant to fill. But there is no such gap – and thus no fallacy.

Indeed, an emotional reaction can in some cases get a personto be more rational, not less.  In the second example, the person’s fear thatSocrates might be immortal is unreasonable. He’s letting his fear of Socrates’ influence within Athens get the betterof him, and lead him to paranoid delusions. The argument you give him, preciselybecause it is pleasing to him, draws his attention away from these paranoidfeelings and back to reality.

Again, the example is admittedly artificial.  But there are many topics that dorealistically carry heavy emotional baggage, yet where this does not entailthat arguments having to do with them must be guilty of the fallacy of appealto emotion.  Matters of life and death –war, abortion, capital punishment, and the like – are like that.  No matter what conclusions you draw and whatpremises you appeal to, they are bound to generate emotional reactions of somekind in your listener.  But that does notentail that you are guilty of a fallacy of appeal to emotion.

The bottom line is this. Are the premises of the argument true? Do they in fact provide logical support for the conclusion (whetherdeductive validity or inductive strength)? Then the argument is not guilty of a fallacy of appeal to emotion,whether or not it also happens to generate an emotional reaction in thelistener, and whatever that reaction happens to be.

Slippery slope?

A third fallacy that is widely misunderstood is the slippery slope fallacy.  Someone commits this fallacy when he claimsthat a certain view or policy will lead to disastrous consequences, but withoutoffering adequate support for this judgement. It is an instance of the more general error of jumping to conclusions orinferring well beyond what the evidence appealed to would support.

For example, suppose someone criticized a proposed small taxhike by claiming that it would inevitably lead to a radically egalitarian redistributionof wealth.  It is hard to imagine howthis would fail to count as a slippery slope fallacy.  Is there a logical connection between raising taxes slightly and radicallyequalizing shares of wealth by way of redistribution?  No, and itis not hard to formulate principles that would both allow for some taxation while at the same time rulingout radically redistributive taxation.  Isthere nevertheless some strong causal connectionbetween raising taxes slightly and radically redistributing wealth?  Obviously not, since there have as a matterof historical fact been many cases where taxes were raised, but were neverfollowed by a radically egalitarian redistribution of wealth.

Notice that the problem here, though, is not that the argument claims that bad consequences wouldfollow.  The problem is that the argumentdid not back up this claim.  This is often overlooked by people who accuseothers of the slippery slope fallacy. They seem to think that anyclaim that bad consequences will follow from a certain view or policy amountsto a slippery slope fallacy.

In fact, there is no fallacy as long as someone explains exactly how the bad consequences aresupposed to follow.  If you can show thatA logically entails Z, or that itdoes so when conjoined with some other clearly true assumptions, then you havenot committed a slippery slope fallacy. Or if you can identify some specificcausal mechanism by which A will lead to Z, then you have not committed aslippery slope fallacy.  You commit such afallacy only when you jump from A to Z withoutfilling in the gap between them.

What if you are wrong about the claim that A logicallyentails Z, or wrong about the causal mechanism you claim links them?  You are still not guilty of a slippery slopefallacy.  True, you are mistaken, and perhaps guilty of someother logical error.  But you haven’tcommitted a slippery slope fallacy,specifically, if you at least proposed some specific means by which A wouldlead to Z.

There are other fallacies too that are often misunderstood,but that suffices to make the point. Knowledge of the fallacies is essential to reasoning well, but it is oflimited value if it is merely superficialknowledge, and may in that case even impede careful reasoning.  It can lead to seeing fallacies where they donot exist, and thus lead away from truth rather than toward it.  And if one’s knowledge of fallacies isdeployed merely as a further rhetoricalmeans of trying to make an opponent look bad, it constitutes sophistry rather than remedying sophistry.

Furtherreading:

Whatis an ad hominem fallacy?

Thead hominem fallacy is a sin

Self-defeatingclaims and the tu quoque fallacy

Meta-sophistry

Theassociationist mindset

Veryinformal fallacies

Themetaphysical presuppositions of formal logic

Michael F. Flynn (1947-2023)

It is withmuch sadness that I report that Michael F. Flynn, well-known science fictionwriter and longtime friend of this blog, has passed away.  Mike’s daughter made the announcement athis blog yesterday. 

That Mikewill be remembered for his work in science fiction goes without saying.  But it is worth emphasizing too that he wasan irreplaceable presence in the blogosphere, who showed the potential of themedium for work of substance and lasting value. I doubt he ever posted anything that didn’t reward his readers’attention, with writing that wore lightly Mike’s learning not only in the sciencesbut also in philosophy, theology, and history. He was for many years a regular and welcome contributor to the commentssection of this blog, raising the tone simply by virtue of his presence.  One of the things I most admired about himwas the calm and patient manner with which he would respond to even the mostobnoxious and ignorant interlocutors.  Henever had to say that he knew what hewas talking about, while his opponent didn’t. He simply showed it by typing up a few sentences.

I had thehonor and pleasure of meeting Mike in person only once, at a conference in NewYork City at which the esteemed Matt Briggswas also present.  The three of us “bloggersin arms” marked the event with aphoto.  (It was also an honor, and athrill, when Mike had a character cite me as an authority in his philosophicalSF short story “Places Where the Roads Don’t Go,” in his collection CaptiveDreams.  Thanks, Mike!)

Matt hasposted his own reflections about Mike at his blog. 

Though Iknew Mike mainly from our online interactions, I have to say it felt like a gutpunch to learn of his death.  Perhapsthat was for the usual selfish reason that all of us are sad at the death of aperson we like and admire – that we know wewill be worse off.  Thank you for yourwork, Mike, and may God bless and protect your soul.  You and yours are in our prayers.  RIP.

Aquinas on the will’s fixity after death

My essay “Aquinas onthe Fixity of the Will After Death” appears in New Blackfriars.  (It’sbehind a paywall, I’m afraid.)  Here’sthe abstract:

Aquinas holds that after death, thehuman soul can no longer change its basic orientation either toward God or awayfrom him.  He takes this to be knowablenot only from divine revelation but by purely philosophical reasoning.  The heart of his position is that the basicorientation of an angelic will is fixed immediately after its creation, andthat the human soul after death is relevantly like an angel.  This article expounds and defends Aquinas'sposition, paying special attention to the action theory underlying it.

This is atopic I’ve written about here at the blog, but this new academic articleexplores it more systematically and in greater depth.  I will also be addressing it in the book onthe soul and I have been working on for some time and hope to finish by year’send.

Augustine on false community

In anew article at Postliberal Order,I discuss the perverse forms of human community identified and criticized byAugustine in the Confessions, and howwhat he has to say applies to our times.

The Death Penalty and Genesis 9:6: A Reply to Mastnjak (Guest article by Timothy Finlay)

Genesis 9:6 famously states: “Whoever sheds the blood ofman, by man shall his blood be shed; for God made man in his own image” (RSV).This has traditionally been understood by Jews and Christians alike assanctioning capital punishment. In arecent article at Church Life Journal,Nathan Mastnjak has argued on grammatical grounds for an alternative reading ofthe passage, on which it does not support the death penalty. What follows is aguest article replying to Mastnjak by Timothy Finlay, who is Professor ofBiblical Studies at Azusa Pacific University and a member of the NationalAssociation of Professors of Hebrew.

In his article, Nathan Mastnjak writes,“The translation ‘by a human shall that person’s blood be shed’ is not strictlyimpossible, but given the norms of Classical Hebrew grammar, it should beviewed as prima facie unlikelyespecially since there is a much more plausible translation that iscontextually appropriate and grammatically mundane.” This has it completelybackward. It is Mastnjak’s claim that the ב inGenesis 9:6 be construed as expressing price or exchange that, while notstrictly impossible, flies in the face of Hebrew lexicons and grammars – incontrast to the standard translations (both Jewish and Christian) which arecontextually and canonically appropriate and grammatically mundane.

Mastnjak rightly examines bothgrammatical issues about the specific phrase translated in the NRSV as “by ahuman shall that person’s blood be shed” (Gen 9:6) and contextual issuesarising from its literary connection. Unfortunately, both aspects of hisargument are seriously flawed and completely ignore the mountain ofscholarship, Jewish and Christian, medieval and modern, which support thetraditional translations. The implications of the traditional translations, asMastnjak correctly diagnoses, install “the death penalty as a common principleof the Natural Law and thus would make it be applicable and theoreticallyusable by all human societies.” This includes recent Catholic scholarship thatexplicitly supports Pope Francis in his desire to abolish the death penalty butconcedes that the God who executed retribution for violence in the flooddelegated in Genesis 9:6 this power to humans created in the image of God. Andit goes at least as far back as the Toseftain the late second century. The Toseftaregards the establishing of human courts of justice to administer the deathpenalty as part of the Noahic code in Genesis 9.

Mastnjak’s central grammatical pointsare that “Of the hundreds of passive verbs in the Hebrew Bible, the grammarianscan find only a handful of possible cases where the agent of a passive verb isexplicitly expressed” and that a frequent usage of the Hebrew preposition ב is “toexpress price or exchange.” One problem for Mastnjak is that major lexicons andgrammars with entries on the Hebrew preposition ב are wellaware of both these facts and prefer to render the ב inGenesis 9:6 not as a ב pretii expressing price or exchangebut as indicating that humans are involved as the instrument through whichmurderers will be executed. These lexicons and grammars include GKC (the grammar byGesenius-Kautzsch-Cowley), BDB (thelexicon by Brown-Driver-Briggs), BHRG(the reference grammar by van der Merwe-Naudé-Kroeze), IBHS and HSTE (the syntaxgrammars by Waltke-O’Connor and by Davidson repectively) and DCH (Dictionary of Classical Hebrew,edited by David Clines, which does use a “perhaps” for Genesis 9:6 as anexample of the ב pretii but includes it straightforwardly as an example of ב ofagent). Other than a second option “perhaps” in DCH, the major grammars and lexicons discussing the relevant ב in Genesis 9:6 do not support Mastnjak’s contention.

Another problem for Mastnjak is thatthe construction need not be an agent of a passive verb for Genesis 9:6 toestablish the death penalty for murder as a standard judicial principle.Genesis 21:12, another construction with a passive and a ב plus nounsegment with human semantics, is plausibly translated “it is through Isaac thatoffspring will be named for you.” Although Isaac is not the direct agent here,without Isaac’s involvement the people of Israel as Abraham’s quintessentialoffspring would not have existed. Such a usage applied to Genesis 9:6 wouldhave emphasized humans not as the agents of execution but that it is throughhumans sentencing the murderer that the murderer’s blood would be shed. Thiswould still entail an establishment of capital punishment.

And this is precisely how two of the major targums (earlyAramaic translations, which often engage in elaboration) translate the verse.Targum Onqelos renders the clause, “He who sheds the blood of a human beforewitnesses, through sentence of the judges shall his blood be shed.” Moreextensive legal codes in Torah prescribe the presence of two or three witnessesas a necessary condition for a murderer to be executed. Targum Onqelosclarifies that Genesis 9:6 does not override this condition. TargumPseudo-Jonathan further expands: “Whoever sheds the blood of a human in thepresence of witnesses, the judges shall condemn him to death, but whoever shedsit without witnesses, the Lord of the world will take revenge of him on the dayof great judgment.” Targum Pseudo-Jonathan also provides a rebuttal toMastnjak’s second argument – that the context of the preceding verse, Genesis9:5, where God requires an accounting for human blood shed by animals orhumans, precludes capital punishment in Genesis 9:6. Pseudo-Jonathan clearlyincludes the context of Genesis 9:5 in its understanding of the followingverse; God authorizes capital punishment in circumstances of due legal processwhere the evidence is clear but will personally revenge the murder victimotherwise.

The third problem for Mastnjak on the grammatical side isthat the two resources he does cite do more to hurt his position than to helphim. His first resource is a paragraph in a four page book review of a Hebrewgrammar, not the type of source one would expect to carry the weight ofrefuting over two millennia of Jewish and Christian interpretation of Genesis9:6. His second resource, the Hebrew grammar by Joüon and Muraoka, has higherrenown but argues against Mastnjak’s position.

First, here is page 151 of Dennis Pardee’s book review involume 53 of Journal of Near EasternStudies (1994) of Waltke and O’Connor’s AnIntroduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax: “Occasionally they give in to thenorms of Indo-European syntax or do not indicate the rarity of a givenconstruction. For example, on p. 385, they state that ‘in the complete passive,the agent may be indicated by a prepositional phrase…’ (cf. also p. 213). Notonly have they omitted a statement regarding the rarity of the construction butmost of their examples can be explained, within the terms of the Hebrewprepositional construction, otherwise (bin Gen. 9:6 = b of price; bhm in Exod. 12:16 = ‘among them’).”Unfortunately, Waltke and O’Connor only cite three examples of passiveinvolving ב of agent (Gen 9:6; Exod 12:16; and Deut33:29), and I would go farther than Pardee and argue that Exodus 12:16 isbetter translated “among them” than “by them.” Exodus 12:16 is not construed byother grammarians as indicating an agent. Genesis 9:6 is the verse underdispute. Tellingly, even Pardee does not object (in this book review anyway) toregarding Deuteronomy 33:29 as a ב of agent or atleast some instrumental usage. But the list of plausible passive constructionswith a ב of agent extends beyond those mentioned byWaltke and O’Connor. Leaving the disputed Genesis 9:6 aside, the examples ofthe construction in question in at least one of DCH or BDB are “wascommanded by the Lord” (Num 36:2); “a people saved by the Lord” (Deut 33:29),“Israel is saved by the Lord” (Isa 45:17), “by a prophet he was guarded” (Hosea12:13), and “by you, the orphan finds mercy” (Hosea 14:3). In short, Pardee iscorrect that Waltke and O’Connor could have done a better job on thisconstruction, but if Mastnjak had consulted some lexicons in addition to a bookreview, he would have discovered that the construction is not as rare as he hadpresumed.

Things get much worse for Mastnjak in regard to his secondsupposed support, Joüon and Muraoka’s deservedly influential A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (Rome:Biblico, 2006). That resource (ON THE VERY PAGE MASTNJAK REFERENCES) explicitlyargues for the traditional translation of Genesis 9:6 that Mastnjak wants toreject! Mastnjak cites Joüon and Muraoka as follows, “In Hebrew (and classicalSemitic languages in general) the marking of an agent with a verbmorphologically marked as passive is rather limited in scope when compared withmany Indo-European languages” (page 454). True, but what really matters iswhether Genesis 9:6 is an example of an agent with a verb morphologicallymarked as passive. And this is what Joüon-Muraoka say about that on the samepage 454: “In Gn 9.6 ב is used and not מן because man ishere the instrument of justice (the exception to the law which forbids theshedding of blood, vs. 5): He who sheds aman’s blood, by (means of) a man shall his blood be shed(1).”2

Like Mastnjak, Joüon-Muraoka note the connection betweenverses 5 and 6 but draw a different conclusion to him. The footnote in thisquote mentions not only Ernst Jenni’s entire volume on the Hebrew preposition ב in his massive three volume work on Hebrew prepositions, butalso the medieval Jewish commentator Ibn Ezra. Ibn Ezra argues that Genesis 9:6obligates the descendants of Noah to execute a murderer. Radak (Rabbi DavidKimhi), perhaps the greatest medieval Hebrew grammarian, explains theconnection to Genesis 9:5 in similar manner as do Targum Onqelos and TargumPseudo-Jonathan: if there are witnesses, then the judges must ensure that themurderer is executed; but when there are no witnesses, God may personallyrequire the reckoning.

Other modern Hebraists see more examples of agential ב with passive than do Joüon and Muraoka, and the disagreementmay be more terminological than substantial. Joüon-Muraoka argue that themeaning in Deuteronomy 33:29 and Isaiah 45:17 is saved “through YHWH” ratherthan “by YHWH” but this is an exceptionally fine distinction given thatBrown-Driver-Briggs (on page 89) equates “through YHWH” with “by YHWH’s aid” asan agential subcategory of the more general ב of instrument or means. Even if one argued that Joüon-Muraokashould, by consistency with their understanding of Deuteronomy 33:29 and Isaiah45:17, have translated Genesis 9:6 as “through humans shall his man be shed,” withthe “through” designating witnesses and judges rather than the “by” ofexecutioners, i.e. along the lines of Targums Onqelos and Pseudo-Jonathan, thiswould not have helped Mastnjak’s case that Genesis 9:6 does not establishcapital punishment.

Mastnjak’s grammatical argument regarding באדם is a complete bust. His second argumentis likely worse. He states that context supplies the “implied agent responsiblefor shedding the blood the murderer. We need search the context no further thanthe immediately previous verse, Genesis 9:5: ‘But indeed I will seek your bloodfor your lives. From every beast I will seek it. From the hand of man, each manfor his brother, I will seek the blood of a man.’” And when Mastnjak says, “weneed search the context no further than the immediately previous verse,” hebacks this hermeneutical decision up by spectacularly ignoring the contexts of:the preceding flood narrative after which Genesis 9 represents a new beginning;the pattern of violence from Cain to Lamech through to the whole earth beingfilled with violence to which Genesis 9:5-6 is a new response; thehistorical-comparative context of other flood stories in the Ancient Near East;the historical setting of the author of Genesis 9 living at a time whensocieties including Ancient Israel had law codes prescribing capital punishmentfor murder; and the literary setting of Genesis 1-11 which is replete withetiologies of how present institutions and other realities originated.

In fact, in his contextual argument for how to translate thefirst half of Genesis 9:6, Mastjnak does not even consider the second half ofthe verse, whose discussion of the image of God clearly connects it back toGenesis 1:27-28. Genesis 9:6b looks like a narratorial comment within thedivine speech3 and certainly is a clause which purports to explainthe rationale for the prescription in the first half of the verse; surely atleast that context would have been germane! But all Mastnjak gives us is that“God commits himself in Genesis 9:5 to a mysterious mode of intervention in theworld in which somehow – he does not say how – he himself will intervene toavenge any creature, man or beast, that violates the sanctity of human life.This commitment to avenge the blood of any manslayer interprets the followingverse, Genesis 9:6, and provides the agent that the grammar does not specify.Who will shed the blood of the murderer? God himself.” In this interpretation,Genesis 9:6a adds basically nothing to what is said in verse 5, a weaknesscompared to the traditional translation which shows one manner in which Godpunishes the murderer (no one believes that all murderers are executed). VictorHamilton points out that reading Genesis 9:6 as “for man shall his blood beshed” entails that Genesis 9:5-6 exhibits a tautology; and Kenneth Matthewsargues, “Since the value of the victim’s life already is presented in v. 5, v.6a is best taken as building on this by adding that the divine means of God’s‘accounting’ includes human agency.”4

Mastnjak is entitled to offer counterarguments to Matthews,Hamilton, and others. What he is not entitled to do is give the impression thatthose who translate Genesis 9:6 in the traditional manner have not taken thecontext of the previous verse into account; they most certainly have and thatis part of why they reject seeing Genesis 9:6 as an example of ב pretii.

However much Mastnjak’s grammatical argument lackedengagement with the relevant lexicons, it did at least cite two resources (evenif one of them actually sunk his position). But in his contextual argument,Mastnjak’s audacity reaches new heights. He seeks to overturn the overwhelmingconsensus of Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant commentators and translators by acontextual argument that ignores almost all the contexts that responsibleexegetes take into account – and breathlessly does so without citing a singlescholar in making this argument.

Mastnjak is right thatthere is a certain vagueness concerning the agent of execution. But this fitswith a variety of agents, not just God himself. John Wesley comments, “That is,by the magistrate, or whoever is appointed to be the avenger of blood. Beforethe flood, as it should seem by the story of Cain, God took the punishment of murder into his own hands; but nowhe committed this judgement to men, to masters of families at first, andafterwards to the heads of countries.”5 Likewise, John Waltonwrites, “Accountability to God for preserving human life is put into humanity’shands, thus instituting blood vengeance in the ancient world and capitalpunishment in modern societies. In Israelite society blood vengeance was in thehands of the family of the victim.”6

Regarding the context of Genesis 9:6b, “Because in the imageof God he made man,” Gordon Wenham comments, “It is because of man’s specialstatus among the creatures that this verse insists on the death penalty formurder.”7 But it is also “man’s special status” as being in theimage of God – whether this refers to analogically shared attributes such asintellect and will or whether it is as God’s royal representatives to the restof creation – that befits humans to be instruments of divine punishment.8David vanDrunen comments, “The image of God carried along with it a naturallaw, a law inherent to human nature and directing human beings to fulfill theirroyal commission to rule over creation in righteousness and justice.”9

We now turn to the context of Genesis 9:1-7 as theconclusion and remedy episode to the Genesis flood narrative, comparing andcontrasting it with the flood account in the Atrahasis Epic. Tikvah Frymer-Kenskywrites, “The structure presented by the Atrahasis Epic is clear. Man is created… there is a problem in creation … remedies are attempted but the problemremains … the decision is made to destroy man … this attempt is thwarted by thewisdom of Enki … a new remedy is instituted to ensure that the problem does notarise again.”10 In Genesis, a similar structure occurs with lessemphasis on earlier remedy attempts and with God paralleling both the role ofthe main gods to destroy human beings and Enki’s role in providing a means ofescape for Noah/Atrahasis. Comparing these stories helps us focus on the reasonfor the flood and on the changes made so that the world after enabled thecontinued existence of human beings.11

In the Atrahasis Epic, the problem was overpopulation. Thisis emphatically not the case in Genesis. God’s speech in Genesis 9:1b-7 isstructured so that introductory commands to be fertile (Gen 9:1-b) andconcluding commands to be fertile (Gen 9:7) envelop instruction concerning animals(Gen 9:2-4) and concerning the shedding of human blood (Gen 9:5-6).

The instruction concerning animals includes an assertivethat animals will fear humans (Gen 9:2a), an exercitive granting humansdominion over animals (Gen 9:2b, linking back to Gen 1:28), a permission to eatanimals (Gen 9:3), and a restriction of the permission by prohibiting theeating of blood (Gen 9:4). If the Jewish understanding is correct that Genesis9:2-4 signals that prior to the deluge humans were forbidden to eat animals (Genesis1 contains a permission to eat plants, but no permission to eat animals orprohibition thereof is mentioned), then the antediluvian mandating ofvegetarianism might have been a contributing cause to the violence. Againstthis interpretation is that the distinction between clean and unclean foods ismentioned in the flood story, or in one of its sources, and that the text makesno link between human dietary habits and the divine decision to bring about aflood.

In any case, Genesis 9:5-6 which concerns human blood shedmust be read as the remedy to the violence filling the earth which Genesisexplicitly records as the reason for the divine decision to destroy all flesh(Gen 6:11, 13). As Frymer-Kensky observes, “Only three stories are preserved inGenesis from the ten generations between the expulsion from the Garden and thebringing of the flood. Two of these, the Cain and Abel story (Gen 4:1-15) andthe tale of Lemech (Gen 4:19-24), concern the shedding of human blood.”12Frymer-Kensky then discusses the remedy of Genesis 9:1-7, developed in laterJudaism as the Noahic Code,13 as “a system of universal ethics, a‘Natural Law’ system in which the laws are given by God” in which Genesis 9:6contains “the declaration of the principle of the inviolability of human lifewith the provision of capital punishment for murder.”14 Nahum Sarna,justifies rendering Genesis 9:6 as “by man,” indicating the instrument ofpunishment, similarly sees it as a remedy to the pre-flood situation: “Humaninstitutions, a judiciary, must be established for the purpose. Thisrequirement seeks to correct the condition of ‘lawlessness’ that existed priorto the Flood (6:11).”15 Sarna also makes a grammatical argumentabout the crucial clause, namely that a phrase containing “blood” and thepassive “shall be shed” always occurs in the Bible with a human agent (Lev 4:7,18, 25, 30, 34; Deut 12:17; 19:10), not a divine one. Jozef Jancovic is anotherscholar who makes the connection between Genesis 9:5-6 and the shedding of bloodin the Cain and Lamech stories as well as the violence in Genesis 6:11-13 thatwas the reason for the flood.16 Jancovic concludes, “God heredelegates humanity with the power to punish human blood-shedding, and just asin the creation story, this delegation of power by God is justified by thecreation of humanity in God’s image (Gen 9:6b).”17 He also connectsthe first plain poetry in Genesis 4:23-24 with the poetic structure in Genesis9:6a as indicating that the permanent problem of violence had been solved inthe lex talionis.18 Ofcourse, by the time Genesis 9:6 was written, the lex talionis was a part of many ancient societies, so Genesis 9:6can be seen as one of the many etiologies in Genesis 1-11.

None of these larger settings, which provide furtherevidence for the traditional translation of Genesis 9:6, are considered inMastnjak’s contextual argument. And only by neglecting to discuss what othercommentators have said about the grammatical considerations, the largersetting, and the immediate context in Genesis 9:5-6 can Mastnjak dare toconclude his article, “These observations on Genesis 9:6 do not, of coursesettle the question of the morality of capital punishment or how Pope Francis’srevision of the Catechism should be understood in relation to previous Churchteaching.  But they do entail that ifsupport for the death penalty is to be found in Sacred Scripture, it should besought outside the covenant with Noah in Genesis 9.” No they do not entail thatat all! The entire article is a bust.

Timothy Finlay, Professor ofBiblical Studies, Azusa Pacific University

Notes:

1 SeeJenni, Beth, 178–80, but so alreadyIbn Ezra ad loc.

2 PaulJoüon and T. Muraoka, A Grammar ofBiblical Hebrew (Roma: Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 2006), 454.

3 JohnSailhammer notes not only the conjunction , “because,” but the shift to the 3rdperson reference to God, and comments, “Already the narrative has become aplatform for the development of the biblical law,” in “Genesis,” The Expositor’s Bible Commentary:Genesis-Leviticus (Revised Edition) (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008), 132.

4 KennethA. Matthews, Genesis 1-11:26 (NewAmerican Commentary; Nashville: Broadman & Holman Publishers, 1996), 405.

5John Wesley, Explanatory Notes upon theOld Testament (Bristol: William Pine, 1765), 41.

6 John H.Walton, Genesis (NIV ApplicationCommentary; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2001), 343.

7 GordonJ. Wenham, Genesis 1–15, vol. 1 of Word Biblical Commentary (Dallas: Word,Incorporated, 1987), 194.

8 See David Novak, Natural Law in Judaism (Cambridge:Cambridge University Press, 1998) and Steven Wilf, The Law before the Law (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2008) who drawsfrom Maimonides’ Guide to the Perplexed.

9 David vanDrunen, A Biblical Case for Natural Law (GrandRapids: Acton Institute, 2008), 14. VanDrunen comes from a Calvinist tradition.Calvin, like Luther and Wesley, regarded Genesis 9:6 as establishing capitalpunishment for homicide. See also Gerhard von Rad’s commentary on Genesis. Radobserved that Genesis 9:6 holds in tension the sanctity of human life (murderdeserves capital punishment) and human responsibility to carry out punishment(executing a murderer is permissible). Similarly, Rusty Reno’s commentary onGenesis sees this tension as “the capacity to exercise authority for the sakeof a higher principle” Genesis (GrandRapids: Brazos Press, 2010), 125.

10 Tikvah Frymer-Kensky,“The Atrahasis Epic and its Significance for our Understanding of Genesis 1-9,”Biblical Archaeologist (1977), 149.

11 Frymer-Kensky, 150.

12 Frymer-Kensky, 152-53.

13 See for example Tosefta Abodah Zarah 8:4.

14 Frymer-Kensky, 152.

15 Nahum Sarna, Genesis (The JPS Torah Commentary;Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 62.

16 Josef Jancovic, “BloodRevenge in Light of the Imago Dei in Genesis 9:6,” The Biblical Annals 10 (2020) 198-99.

17 Jancovic, 203.

18 Jancovic, 199.

Hartshorne on the project of natural theology

Process theism denies some of the key attributesascribed to God by classical theism, such as immutability andimpassibility.  Charles Hartshorne (1897-2000)was among its chief representatives.  Asa Thomist, I am the opposite of sympathetic to process theism.  However, I’ve always found Hartshorne aninteresting thinker.  Many twentieth-centuryphilosophers had a regrettable tendency toward overspecialization, and alsooften ignored all but a handful of thinkers of the past.  Hartshorne, by contrast, was a philosopher ofthe old-fashioned stripe.  He addressed awide variety of philosophical problems, was deeply read in the history ofphilosophy, and that history informed his work on contemporary issues.  He was also old-fashioned insofar as histheism (flawed though it was from my point of view) was integral to his moregeneral metaphysics and ethics.  Like thegreatest thinkers of the past, Hartshorne knew that the question of God was atthe very heart of philosophy, not something that could be ignored by anyserious philosopher, or at best tacked on to an otherwise complete system.

Against fideism

Hartshornespells out his general approach to natural theology in his book ANatural Theology for Our Time. (You can read the book online here.)  Naturally, he addresses the divineattributes, and on that topic and others I deeply disagree with him.  But here I want to focus on some areas ofagreement – particularly in his second chapter, wherein he discusses the traditionalproofs of God’s existence.  He begins bynoting that hostility to the very idea of such proofs comes from twoquarters.  First, there is “the wish ofsome that theism should not find rational support because they prefer to go ondisbelieving it” (p. 31).  More on themin a moment.  But second:

[It] derives[s]… partly from the wishof others that it should not find rational support because, they think, beliefshould be independent of secular reason and thus remain in the hands ofpreachers and theologians, or to speak more generously, belief should be amatter of faith.   “Blessed are the pure in heart for they shallsee God.”  Never mind the reasoners, unlessthey too are pure in heart – and then their reason is not to the point. (Ibid.)

Thisfideistic attitude has been no less destructive of religious belief than theattacks of skeptics, and indeed has given aid and comfort to such attacks.  As Hartshorne goes on to write:

But how many persons are so very purethat they can believe even if they are aware that no reasoner thinks thatreasoning favors belief?  And ought theyto believe, on that supposition?  Iincline to think (with Freud, for example) that the impossibility of anyrational argument for belief, supposing it really obtained, would be a strongand quite rational argument against belief.  I suspect that most unbelievers agree with mehere.  And so, officially, does the RomanCatholic Church. (pp. 31-32)

WhatHartshorne has in mind in that last remark are condemnations of fideism likethose issued by the FirstVatican Council:

If anyone says that the one, trueGod, our creator and lord, cannot be known with certainty from the things thathave been made, by the natural light of human reason: let him be anathema…

If anyone says that divine revelationcannot be made credible by external signs, and that therefore men and womenought to be moved to faith only by each one's internal experience or privateinspiration: let him be anathema.

If anyone says… that miracles cannever be known with certainty, nor can the divine origin of the Christianreligion be proved from them: let him be anathema.

Endquote.  The skeptic might scoff,supposing that the Magisterium of the Church is here trying to establish byfiat that God’s existence, the reality of miracles, and the like aredemonstrable by reason.  But the Churchis not trying to convince the skeptic here. Rather, the Church is teaching the faithfulthat fideism is heretical.  And thereason is that fideism is destructive offaith, understood as believing something because it has been revealed byGod.  For unless we can know by reasonthat God really does exist and really has revealed something, how can we,without self-deception, accept it on faith? That does not entail that every Christian, or even very many of them,have to be capable of the sophisticated philosophical argumentation that goesinto establishing the rational foundations of Christianity.  But somehave to be able to do so.

To be sure,Hartshorne himself was not a specifically Christian philosopher, let alone aCatholic.  But that theology is and oughtto be no less rational an enterprise than any other field of inquiry is animportant piece of common ground.

The presuppositions of skepticism

Hartshornealso has important things to say about the other sort of critic of the veryidea of theistic proofs, namely the skeptic. He writes:

In considering proofs we must realizethat if proofs have premises, so – unless they are purely and trivially formal– do criticisms of proofs… [S]ince divinity is not religiously conceived as amere illustration of first principles but as somehow the first principle, the correlate of every interest and every meaning, itfollows that any metaphysical assumption implicitly either expresses orcontradicts theism.  It cannot be neutraltoward it if it is on the metaphysical level of generality.  Only empirical issues are thus neutral.  Hence no theistic view can be criticizedwithout at least implicit metaphysical commitments. (p. 32)

This is avery important insight, albeit one that needs unpacking.  Debate between atheism and theism oftenproceeds as if the burden of proof is all on the theist, and in particular asif the theist, but not the atheist, must make metaphysical presuppositions(about the nature of causation, teleology, the principle of sufficient reason,or whatever) that are likely to be as controversial as the conclusion he wishesto establish by means of them.  Bycontrast, the atheist, many seem to assume, proceeds from neutral ground andsimply finds the arguments for theism, and for the broader metaphysical thesesunderlying such arguments, unpersuasive in light of premises that both sideshave in common.

Hartshorne’spoint is that the dispute is not really like this at all.  Objections to first cause arguments likeAquinas’s first two Ways typically presuppose, either explicitly or implicitly,views about the metaphysics of causation that are no less challengeable thanAquinas’s own.  Objections to argumentsfrom contingency like Leibniz’s commonly make assumptions about the metaphysicsof necessity, or about the nature and limits of explanation, that are no lesscontentious than the arguments themselves. And so on.  Precisely because theism,properly understood, entails claims about ultimate explanation and thefundamental structure of reality, it is inevitable that the dispute betweentheism and atheism is going to entail broader metaphysical differences.  The dispute cannot be bracketed off fromthese broader questions, and the skeptic can no more pretend that his positionis neutral about them than the theist can. 

Hence, asHartshorne points out, Hume’s and Kant’s influential objections to thetraditional theistic proofs each rest on broader metaphysical assumptions thatare no less open to question than the proofs themselves are.  The same is true of contemporary objectionsthat take for granted the metaphysical and methodological assumptions of scientismor naturalism.  As Hartshorne writes:“Thus the procedure does what the proofs are accused of doing.  It reaches a controversial conclusion byreasoning from premises equally controversial… it is as question-begging as itwell could be” (p. 33).

Reasoning about God

A thirdtheme in Hartshorne that is at least somewhat congenial from the Thomist pointof view is his insistence on the need to avoid two extremes where reasoningabout the existence and nature of God is concerned.  On the one hand, we must avoid speaking ofGod in a way that essentially reduces him to one entity alongside the others increation, even if a very impressive one. Here Hartshorne is deeply influenced by St. Anselm’s conception of Godas that than which no greater can beconceived.  “God,” says Hartshorne, “mustnot be a mere, even the greatest, individual being; rather, he must also insome fashion coincide with being or reality as such or in general” (p. 34).

On the otherhand, insists Hartshorne, though God is morethan merely one individual entity alongside others, he is at least an individual, as opposed to anabstract universal.  And since “allrational argument presupposes rules, universal principles” under which thethings being reasoned about fall as specific cases, “God must… be a case under[these] rules, he must be an individual being” (pp. 33-34).  Otherwise we couldn’t say anything about himat all.  So, while we must avoid the oneextreme of implicitly reducing God to a creature by supposing that whatever istrue of creaturely perfections must be true of him, we must also avoid theother extreme of putting God so far beyond what can be expressed in humanlanguage that we can know and say nothing about him at all.

The Thomistwould, of course, make similar points. On the one hand, for Aquinas God is not merely a being alongside others – something which merely participates inbeing, as all created things do – but is Subsistent Being Itself, preciselythat in which all created beings participate. God can also not be defined in thestrictest sense in which other things can be, viz. by identifying a genusunder which they fall and a differentia which distinguishes them from otherspecies in the genus.  For as BeingItself, he falls under no genus.  Inother ways too, God is radically unlike any created thing – he is pureactuality rather than a mixture of actual and potential, is absolutely simpleor non-composite, and so on.

On the otherhand, we can certainly explain what we mean when we use the word “God” and whenwe ascribe various attributes to him (omnipotence, omniscience, perfectgoodness, and all the rest).  We candemonstrate his existence in a manner consistent with canons of logicalinference.  And once having done so, wecan validly draw further conclusions about the divine nature.  For the Thomist, the key to understanding howit is possible to speak of God in these ways despite his being so radicallyunlike the things of our experience is in theanalogical use of language, as Aquinas and his followers understand that.

A keydifference with Hartshorne is that from the Thomistic point of view, Hartshornedoes not follow out the implications of the difference between God and createdthings with sufficient consistency. Hence he models divine goodness and personhood too closely on the caseof human beings, with the result that he concludes that God suffers, changes, andso on. 

Theistic proofs

From theThomistic point of view, Hartshorne’s remarks about specific arguments for God’sexistence are a mixed bag.  He presentsan argument from practical reason, to the effect that “the idea of God isintrinsic to rational volition as such” (p. 48).  Though developed at some length, it stillseems to me very sketchy and I’m not sure what to make of it.  It seems to me that it might be interpretedas an “argument from desire,” and as I’venoted elsewhere, there is somethingto such arguments, even though I don’t think they are the most fundamental or powerful.

Hartshornevery briefly but sympathetically discuses arguments from contingency for adivine necessary being, though his approach is marred by his process theistposition that God is in part contingent aswell as necessary (differing from other things in that they are merely contingent).  Hartshorne is also well-known for defending aversion of Anselm’s ontological proof, and in A Natural Theology for Our Time he remarks that “since God’sexistence has an aspect of necessity, something like an ontological proof mustbe possible” (p. 50).  From a Thomistpoint of view, there is some truth tothis insofar as, if we had a penetrating enough grasp of the divine essence, wewould indeed be able to infer from it that God exists.  The trouble is that the human intellect does not in fact have such a grasp of thedivine essence, so that God’s existence cannot be known by us by way of an ontological proof.  (I’ve discussed Anselm’s ontological argumenthere,Plantinga’s ontological argument here,and Aquinas’s view of the argument hereand here.)

Hartshorneis also sympathetic to a variation on the teleological argument, and makes thefollowing interesting remark:

This may be thought of as a form ofthe design argument for theism, which Thomas Aquinas more nearly correctlystated in my judgment, than he did any of the others.  (It was, as he stated it, rather far from theform of this argument which Kant refuted. Here, as at not a few points, Kant was a rather ignorant man,considering the almost unlimited scope of his ambitions and claims as a criticof natural theology.)(pp. 49-50)

Hartshorneis referring here to Aquinas’s Fifth Way, and rightly distinguishing it fromthe sort of “design argument” critiqued by Hume and Kant and associated withWilliam Paley.  I have discussed thedifferences, and the superiority of Aquinas’s argument to Paley’s, in manyplaces, most systematically in this Nova et Vetera article.

About themore general question of how a theistic proof should proceed, Hartshorneremarks: “The bare question of the divine existence is purelynonempirical.  Hence empiricalexistential proofs in natural theology are bound to be fallacious.  Here I agree entirely with Hume and Kant” (p.52).  This may seem to put him at oddswith the Thomistic approach to theistic proofs, and odd given that, as I havejust indicated, Hartshorne is sympathetic to cosmological and teleologicalarguments.  But Hartshorne makes it clearthat he does not mean to rule out such arguments.  For they are by his lights “nonempirical” and“a priori” – terms he does not use in quite the way contemporary philosopherstend to do.

WhatHartshorne seems to have in mind is that the starting points for sound theisticproofs must lie in truths that go deeper than any that might in principle befalsified by observation or experiment. Here I think he is correct, but also that it is misleading tocharacterize such truths as “nonempirical” or “a priori.”  Consider, for example, the proposition that change occurs, which is the startingpoint for the Aristotelian proof from motion for the existence of a divineunmoved mover.  (This is not an argumentHartshorne himself could sympathize with given his rejection of divine immutability,but that is irrelevant to the present point.) That change occurs is not aproposition that is falsifiable by observation or experiment, because anyobservation or experiment would itself involve change.  All the same, the proposition is knownthrough experience, so that it is not plausibly characterized as “nonempirical”or “a priori.”  (Some Aristotelianphilosophers of nature have labeled experience of this kind “pre-scientificexperience,” because it involves knowledge that is genuinely experiential, butdeeper than the knowledge of empirically falsifiable propositions that is thehallmark of scientific investigation.  Idiscuss this in Aristotle’sRevenge, at pp. 6-7 and 129-30.)

Fastiggi on Capital Punishment and the Change to the Catechism, Part I

In 2018,Pope Francis revised the section of the Catechismof the Catholic Church dealing with the topic of capital punishment, sothat it now states that “the death penalty is inadmissible because it is anattack on the inviolability and dignity of the person.”  Flatly to assert that capital punishment is“an attack on the inviolability and dignity of the person” might be read asimplying that the death penalty is intrinsicallyevil, or immoral of its very natureand not just under the wrong circumstances. Such a claim would contradict scripture and two millennia of consistentmagisterial teaching.  For this reason,the revision has been criticized as at least badly formulated, even by someCatholic thinkers who support the abolition of capital punishment.  For example, after the revision wasannounced, an appealwas made by forty-five prominent Catholic academics and clergy to the cardinalsof the Catholic Church to call upon the pope clearly to reaffirm traditionalteaching on the subject.

In afour-part series of articles titled “CapitalPunishment and Magisterial Authority” at the website Where Peter Is, theologian RobertFastiggi criticizes those who have criticized the revision.  He cites the appeal, specifically, as amongthe criticisms that he objects to.  Inthis article and in a follow-up to come, I respond to Fastiggi’sarguments.  I apologize for the length,but Fastiggi’s series is itself quite long and addresses a variety of complexissues.  In this first part, I addresswhat Fastiggi has to say about the obligations of theologians and Catholics ingeneral vis-à-vis the teaching of the Magisterium.  In the follow-up, I will address what he saysabout scripture and the teaching of previous popes. 

I want tosay at the outset that while I think Fastiggi makes serious errors of judgment,I have nothing but respect for him as a scholar, a gentleman, and a loyalCatholic.  In my experience, too manydefenders of the revision refuse to address or even to bother reading what Iand other critics have written on the topic, but prefer to attack straw men andattribute bad motives.  Fastiggi is notguilty of that.  Too many defenders ofthe revision are also woefully ignorant of the history of the Church’s teachingon capital punishment and of the relevant theological literature.  Fastiggi, by contrast, knows it well, even ifI disagree with his interpretations of the relevant evidence.  I also admire Fastiggi’s loyalty to the pope,even though I think it blinds him to grave deficiencies in some of Pope Francis’swords and actions.  For I think thisloyalty is clearly motivated by love of the Church and the papacy.  I do not see in it any of theself-righteousness and lack of charity and basic fairness that is evident inthe work of too many of Pope Francis’s other defenders.  Finally, Fastiggi is a good sport.  He and I have tangled over this issue manytimes, and occasionally our exchanges have been somewhat heated.  But he has always shown an admirable even temper.

On toFastiggi’s series, then.  In partI, he writes: “Who has the authority to resolve the dispute?  The answer, of course, is the Magisterium,which consists of the Catholic bishops in communion with the successor of Peter.”  And again: “Who has the authority todetermine the context, meaning, and ongoing applicability of Scripture?  It is the Magisterium of the Church not agroup of scholars and clerics.”

So far sogood.  I know of no participant in thedebate over the change to the Catechism who denies any of this.  Furthermore, I know of no participant whodenies that “religious submission of mind and will must be shown in a specialway to the authentic magisterium of the Roman Pontiff, even when he is notspeaking ex cathedra,” in the wordsof LumenGentium.

The reasonit is nevertheless legitimate for Catholics to debate the revision to theCatechism is that the Church herself acknowledges a qualification on the dutyto assent to non-infallible magisterial statements, and it is a qualificationthat clearly applies in this case.  Thequalification is recognized in the instruction DonumVeritatis issued during the pontificate of Pope St. John PaulII, and it has also been affirmed repeatedly in the tradition of the Church,including in the teaching of St. Thomas Aquinas.  Indeed, Pope Francis himself has acknowledgedthe legitimacy of certain kinds of critical discussion of magisterialstatements.  I have discussed Aquinas’steaching on this matter at length inan earlier article, and the teaching of Donum Veritatis and the rest of the tradition inanother.  I have discussedPope Francis’s statements inyet another. 

The teaching of St. Thomas

I can’trepeat here everything said in those earlier articles, but a few key pointswill suffice for present purposes.  Let’sbegin with Aquinas’s teaching on the matter, the most important sources forwhich are the Summa Theologiae andhis Commentary on Saint Paul’s Letter tothe Galatians.  In Summa Theologiae II-II.33.4,Aquinas says:

It must be observed… that if thefaith were endangered, a subject ought to rebuke his prelate evenpublicly.   Hence Paul, who was Peter'ssubject, rebuked him in public, on account of the imminent danger of scandalconcerning faith, and, as the gloss of Augustine says on Galatians 2:11, “Petergave an example to superiors, that if at any time they should happen to strayfrom the straight path, they should not disdain to be reproved by theirsubjects.”

Commentingon this passage, Fastiggi says:

This passage of Aquinas is widelyused by papal critics to justify any resistance to the Pope, his teachings, anddecisions.  They forget that Paul’scorrection of Peter had to do with Peter’s behavior not his teaching.  In addition… this particular question of the Summa concerns fraternal correction in general.  It is not focused on the correction of popes.

However, itis not difficult to show that these assertions are mistaken.  First of all, Aquinas clearly takes Paul’srebuke of Peter to involve precisely his teaching,and not merely his behavior.  He characterizes the episode of Paul’s rebukeof Peter as a case where “the faith[was] endangered,” and says that Peter brought “danger of scandal concerning faith.”  In Chapter 2, Lecture3 of the Galatians commentary, he says that what Peter had doneposed “danger to the Gospel teaching,”and that Peter and those who followed his example “walked not uprightly unto the truth of the Gospel, because its truth was being undone” (emphasisadded).  Peter failed to do his dutyinsofar as “the truth must be preachedopenly and the opposite nevercondoned through fear of scandalizing others” (emphasis added).  Clearly, then, in Aquinas’s view the problemwas not merely that Peter actedbadly, but that he seemed to condonedoctrinal error and risked leading others to do the same.

Second,Aquinas is explicitly not commentingmerely on fraternal correction in general. The Summa article is about the correction of prelates, specifically.  Not only are popes prelates, but Aquinas usesthe example of a pope (Peter) to illustrate the legitimacy in somecircumstances of correcting prelates. Aquinas says that the episode of Paul’s correction of Peter “gave anexample to superiors… that theyshould not disdain to be reproved bytheir subjects.”  He is not making ageneral point about the faithful correcting one another, but a specific point aboutthe correction of superiors by their subjects.  In the Galatians commentary, Aquinas says ofPaul’s rebuke of Peter:

Therefore from the foregoing we havean example: prelates, indeed, an example of humility, that they not disdaincorrections from those who are lower and subject to them; subjects have anexample of zeal and freedom, that they fear not to correct their prelates,particularly if their crime is public and verges upon danger to the multitude.

Contrary towhat Fastiggi says, then, Aquinas clearly is teaching about the correction of prelates, including popes,rather than fraternal correction in general, and he is talking about correctionwith respect to their teaching, andnot merely with respect to their behavior. (There is a lot more to say about these passages from Aquinas.  Again, see the article linked to above for afuller treatment.)

Now, thosewho issued the appeal to the cardinals criticized the revision to the Catechismprecisely because it is formulated in such a way that it might be read asconflicting with scripture and tradition. In other words, they believe that “the faith [is] endangered,” thatthere is “imminent danger of scandal concerning faith.”  Accordingly, they are simply calling on thepope to reaffirm the teaching of scripture and tradition, just as Paul urgedPeter to reaffirm the teaching that had been handed on to him. 

Clearly,then, the appeal is perfectly in line with Aquinas’s teaching about thepossibility of subjects correcting prelates. Of course, Fastiggi would no doubt disagree with the judgement that therevision poses “imminent danger of scandal concerning faith.”  But thatis a different question.  If he wantsto defend the revision, fine, but he should not speak as if the critics have noright to issue such an appeal.  Rather,he should acknowledge that they do havesuch a right, and simply argue that in this case they were mistaken to thinkthe right needed to be exercised.

At least, heshould acknowledge this given that Aquinas’s position is correct.  But Fastiggi makes another remark thatindicates that he thinks it is not correct. He says:

What Aquinas says in this passage isoffset by Pope Gregory XI’s 1377 censure of various errors of John Wycliffe.  Among these censured errors, number 19 reads: An ecclesiastic, even the RomanPontiff, can legitimately be corrected, and even accused, by subjects and laypersons. (Denz.-H, 1139).

But thereare several problems with the assumption that this undermines Aquinas’steaching.  First, as Aquinas himselfemphasizes, “corrected” and related terms are ambiguous.  They could be referring to correction of ajuridical sort, which involves having the authority to direct another to dosomething and to punish him for disobedience. As Aquinas acknowledges, no one can “correct” a pope in that sense.  But “correction” could mean instead the merepointing out of an error, which Aquinas says amounts to a kind of fraternalassistance rather than the exercise of authority.  For Pope Gregory’s condemnation to conflictwith Aquinas’s teaching, he would have to have correction of the second sort in mind, not just thefirst.  But Fastiggi gives us no reason tosuppose that he does.  Moreover, theother condemned propositions from Wycliffe involve juridical power of some sortor another.  Context indicates, then,that Gregory is only condemning the thesis that subjects may juridically correct a pope, not thethesis that they may give fraternalcorrection of the kind Aquinas defends.

Second, ifGregory were condemning the latter sort of correction, he would not only be atodds with Aquinas.  He would be at odds with St. Paul, and indeed with scripture,which teach that Paul was within his rights to correct Peter, despite being hissubject.

Third, asFastiggi is well aware, blanket condemnations of large sets of propositionslike the ones from Wycliffe need to be interpreted carefully.  The condemnation does not necessarily implythat each proposition in the set is problematic in exactly the same way.  In a single condemned set, one propositionmay be heretical, another not strictly heretical but proximate to heresy, yetanother simply badly formulated or otherwise misleading, and so on.  So, the fact that the proposition fromWycliffe referred to by Fastiggi appears in the list condemned by Pope Gregorydoes not suffice to show that Gregory intended to condemn the position taughtby Aquinas.  Indeed, to my knowledge, noone before Fastiggi has even suggested that Gregory was condemning the positiontaken by Aquinas.

Fourth, ifGregory were intending to condemn that position, he would be contradicting theteaching of another pope, namely Pope Innocent III, who held that “only onaccount of a sin committed against the faith can I be judged by the church”(quoted in J. Michael Miller, TheShepherd and the Rock: Origins, Development, and Mission of the Papacy, at p.292).  Since the rest of the Church issubject to the pope, this would be a case of a pope being “corrected… bysubjects,” to use the language condemned by Gregory.  If we read Pope Gregory as condemning evenfraternal correction of a pope, then, we will have a conflict between twopopes.  That is further reason not to read him that way.

The teaching of Donum Veritatis

A fifthpoint is that Donum Veritatisacknowledges that respectful criticism of magisterial statements can belegitimate, which it could not have done if Pope Gregory had been condemningall such criticism.  So, let’s turn tothat document.  Here are the relevantpassages:

The willingness to submit loyally tothe teaching of the Magisterium on matters per se not irreformable must be therule.  It can happen, however, that atheologian may, according to the case, raise questions regarding thetimeliness, the form, or even the contents of magisterial interventions…

When it comes to the question ofinterventions in the prudential order, it could happen that some Magisterialdocuments might not be free from all deficiencies.  Bishops and their advisors have not alwaystaken into immediate consideration every aspect or the entire complexity of aquestion…

Even when collaboration takes placeunder the best conditions, the possibility cannot be excluded that tensions mayarise between the theologian and the Magisterium…  If tensions do not spring from hostile andcontrary feelings, they can become a dynamic factor, a stimulus to both theMagisterium and theologians to fulfill their respective roles while practicingdialogue…

The preceding considerations have aparticular application to the case of the theologian who might have seriousdifficulties, for reasons which appear to him wellfounded, in accepting anon-irreformable magisterial teaching…

If, despite a loyal effort on thetheologian's part, the difficulties persist, the theologian has the duty to makeknown to the Magisterial authorities the problems raised by the teaching initself, in the arguments proposed to justify it, or even in the manner in whichit is presented.  He should do this in anevangelical spirit and with a profound desire to resolve the difficulties.  His objections could then contribute to realprogress and provide a stimulus to the Magisterium to propose the teaching ofthe Church in greater depth and with a clearer presentation of the arguments…

For a loyal spirit, animated by lovefor the Church, such a situation can certainly prove a difficult trial.  It can be a call to suffer for the truth, insilence and prayer, but with the certainty, that if the truth really is atstake, it will ultimately prevail…

[T]hat public opposition to theMagisterium of the Church also called “dissent”… must be distinguished from thesituation of personal difficulties treated above.

Note thefollowing crucial points.  First, Donum Veritatis acknowledges that whilethere is a strong presumption of assent even to non-irreformable magisterialstatements, nevertheless it can in some cases be legitimate to “raise questionsregarding the timeliness, the form, or eventhe contents” of such statements, since they “might not be free from alldeficiencies.”  These deficiencies mightconcern “the teaching in itself, inthe arguments proposed to justify it, or even in the manner in which it ispresented.”  It can be that “the truth really is at stake.”  All of this makes it clear that it is notmerely the behavior of magisterial authorities or the manner of their teachingthat can in some cases legitimately be criticized, but the teaching itself.

Second, Donum Veritatis acknowledges that evenin the best circumstances, such legitimate criticism may lead to “tensions”with the Magisterium, but that this is not necessarily a bad thing.  The critic even “has the duty” to raise suchobjections, which “could… contribute to real progress” insofar as they serve asa “stimulus” to the Magisterium to present its teaching in a more adequate way. And it can even be that in such asituation, it is the critic who undergoes “a difficult trial” and thereby “suffer[s]for the truth.”  Donum Veritatis thus makes it clear that it can happen that when acritic finds himself in some sort of conflict with magisterial authorities,that does not necessarily mean that he is the one who is in the wrong.

Third, Donum Veritatis explicitly states thatwhat the critic in this sort of situation is engaged in “must be distinguished” from “dissent” from the Magisterium.  It is possible, then, respectfully tocriticize magisterial acts without thereby meriting the label “dissenter.”  How can this be?  Wouldn’t anyone who disagrees in some waywith a magisterial statement ipso factobe “dissenting” from it and thereby count as a “dissenter”?

The answeris No, because “dissent” in this context does not connote mere disagreement,but has a narrower, technical meaning.  Donum Veritatis goes on to identifyseveral marks of “dissent.”  It involves “attitudesof general opposition to Church teaching,” motivated by “the ideology ofphilosophical liberalism, which permeates the thinking of our age.”  For the dissenter, “freedom of thought comesto oppose the authority of tradition.” The dissenter “aims at changing the Church following a model of protestwhich takes its inspiration from political society.”  In defense of his rejection of traditionalteaching, he appeals to “the obligation to follow one's own conscience,” the “weightof public opinion,” “models of society promoted by the ‘mass media,’” and thelike.  These sources of opinion lead the dissenter toconclude, for example, that “the Magisterium… ought to leave matters ofconjugal and family morality to individual judgment.”  And so on. Obviously, then, “dissent” involves, specifically, rejection of traditional Catholic doctrine, of the kind associatedwith liberalism and modernism and represented by theologians like Hans Küng andCharles Curran.

Donum Veritatis does not say more about the precisenature of the legitimate sort of criticism that it distinguishes from “dissent.” But it is clear that if “dissent”involves the rejection of traditionalteaching, then a critic who upholdstraditional teaching, and does so in the respectful manner demanded by Donum Veritatis, cannot justly beaccused of “dissent.”  In particular,those who have respectfully criticized the revision to the Catechism for givingthe appearance of a rupture with tradition cannot justly be accused of“dissent.”  That does not entail thatFastiggi cannot justifiably disagree with them. The point is just that, whatever one thinks of their position, it is not comparable to criticism of the Magisteriumof the kind associated with the likes of Küng and Curran.

Sometimes itis claimed that Donum Veritatis doesnot allow the public expression ofeven legitimate criticism, on the basis of its remark – typically quoted out ofcontext – that “the theologian should avoid turning to the ‘mass media’, buthave recourse to the responsible authority.” But Donum Veritatis does not rule out public expression of suchcriticism, as is clear from several considerations.  First, we need to consider the completesentence from which this remark is quoted:

In cases like these, the theologianshould avoid turning to the ‘mass media’, but have recourse to the responsibleauthority, for it is not by seeking toexert the pressure of public opinion that one contributes to theclarification of doctrinal issues and renders service to the truth. (Emphasis added). 

Relevant toois Donum Veritatis’s other referenceto mass media, in a passage characterizing the tactics of liberal dissentingtheologians:

The weight of publicopinion when manipulated and its pressure to conform also have their influence.  Often models of society promoted by the "mass media" tend toassume a normative value.  The viewis particularly promoted that the Church should only express her judgment onthose issues which public opinion considers important and then only by way ofagreeing with it.

With thiscontext in mind, it is clear that what DonumVeritatis is criticizing is notthe mere publication of criticism in journals, magazines, or other mass mediaas such.  Rather, it is criticizing thetactic of using mass media to stir uppublic opinion against the Magisterium, as a means of trying to force theChurch to conform to the values that prevail in such media.

Second, Donum Veritatis also says that the theologianwho raises legitimate criticisms is obligated to “examine the objections whichhis colleagues might offer him.”  But thenormal way in which such debate is conducted is in theological journals and thelike, which entails publicizing one’s criticisms.  DonumVeritatis also states that “the theologian will refrain from giving untimely public expression” of hiscriticisms.  So it is only untimely or inappropriate public expression that is ruled out, not all publicexpression as such.

Third, afterDonum Veritatis was issued, CardinalRatzinger, as head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith,explicitly affirmed, when commenting on a hypothetical theologian who raiseslegitimate criticisms, that “we have not excluded all kinds of publication, norhave we closed him up in suffering” (quoted in Anthony J. Figueiredo, The Magisterium-Theology Relationship,at p. 370).

Now, in part4 of his series, Fastiggi addresses the relevance of Donum Veritatis to the controversy overthe revision to the Catechism.  He doesnot accuse the critics of being “dissenters.” Nevertheless, he does claim that those who issued the appeal to thecardinals did not satisfy the norms of DonumVeritatis.  In particular, he objectsthat they “do not simply raise questions… [but] manifest a spirit of oppositionto a papal teaching,” that they are “so cock-sure of their position” that they“present as a non-arguable conclusion that their opinion of the Church’steaching on capital punishment is definitive and infallible,” and so on. 

One problemwith such remarks is that they are aimed at a straw man.  No critics of the revision to the Catechismhold that “their opinion of the Church’steaching on capital punishment is definitive and infallible.”  Rather, they claim that the consistent teaching of scripture and two millennia of traditionis definitive and infallible.  Fastiggimay disagree with his opponents about what scripture and tradition teach, but heshould characterize their position accurately.  Another problem with Fastiggi’s remarks hereis that they rest on a misreading of a further passage from Donum Veritatis.  Addressing the manner in which respectfulcriticism of a magisterial statement should proceed, the passage in question says:

In the dialogue, a two-fold ruleshould prevail.  When there is a questionof the communion of faith, the principle of the “unity of truth” (unitasveritatis) applies.  When it is aquestion of differences which do not jeopardize this communion, the “unity of charity”(unitas caritatis) should be safeguarded.

Even if the doctrine of the faith isnot in question, the theologian will not present his own opinions or divergenthypotheses as though they were non-arguable conclusions.  Respect for the truth as well as for thePeople of God requires this discretion.

Now,Fastiggi seems to think that the second paragraph here entails that when atheologian raises even a legitimate criticism, everything he says must be presented in a tentative way.  But that is not what the passage says.  What it says is that even if a theologian isnot dissenting from a doctrine of the faith, that doesn’t license him intreating what are really just matters of mere opinion or hypothesis asnon-arguable conclusions.  But it doesn’tfollow that he cannot treat anythingas a non-arguable conclusion.  Forexample, the theologian is perfectly within his rights to treat the consistent teaching of scripture and ofthe ordinary Magisterium over two thousand years as a “non-arguableconclusion,” because the Magisterium itself holds that teaching of that sort isinfallible.  (I have discussed theconditions under which the ordinary Magisterium is infallible inanother article.)

Of course,Fastiggi may disagree with the claim that scripture and the ordinaryMagisterium really do teach that capital punishment is not intrinsicallyevil.  The point for the moment, though,is that Fastiggi is mistaken in thinking that a lack of tentativeness is per se problematic.

Moreover,there are several historical cases where popes were legitimately criticized,and their critics rightly presented their criticisms in a non-tentativeway.  Paul’s criticism of Peter was in noway tentative, but in fact extremely bold, and scripture tells us that Paul wasin the right.  Pope Honorius’s critics werenot tentative in criticizing him for giving aid and comfort to the Monotheliteheresy, and Pope John XXII’s critics were not tentative in criticizing him forfailing to uphold traditional teaching on the particular judgement.

Now, in part3 of his series, Fastiggi addresses these sorts of examples, andsays:

Some critics of the revised teachingof the Church on the death penalty claim that they can oppose the teachingbecause popes have taught errors in the past, and they usually bring up cases suchas Pope Honorius I (r. 625 - 638) and John XXII (r. 1316 - 1334).  What these critics don’t understand is that itwas the Magisterium itself that resolved the doctrinal issues involved in thesecases not the critics.  It is certainlypermitted for scholars to raise questions about non-definitive papal teachingsand to ask for clarifications.  It is notpermitted, though, for private scholars to assume the authority to correct thepopes.  

But thehistorical claims Fastiggi makes here are mistaken or at least misleading.  Honorius was condemned by a council (threecouncils, in fact), and councils are subordinate to popes.  It is true that popes then confirmed thesecouncils, but the point is that the first of these councils condemned Honorius before papal approval was given, and wasnot accused of insubordination or the like for doing so.  (I have discussed the case of Honorius indetail hereand here.)  John XXII was criticized by the theologiansof his day, and while the Magisterium did settle the issue (beginning with JohnXXII himself, who recanted) it was prodded to do so precisely because these critics pressed the issue. 

Fastiggiadds the remark that “if dissent from authoritative magisterial teachings canbe justified because of alleged errors of prior popes, then any magisterialteaching can be rejected.”  But that doesnot follow at all.  The reason thesepopes were criticized was only because they failedto affirm traditional teaching, and that is the only reason Pope Francis’srevision to the Catechism has been criticized. The theological principles that justify such criticism would by no meansentail that just “any magisterialteaching can be rejected.”  Rather, theywould only justify criticisms of failures to uphold traditional teaching.

The problemwith Fastiggi’s position is that he treats all criticisms of magisterialstatements as if they were of a piece, when they clearly are not.  He fails to take account of the teleology of the Magisterium, the reasonit exists in the first place, which is to preservethe deposit of faith, not to give popes and other churchmen carte blancheto teach whatever they feel like.  Andthis is something that the Church herselfhas constantly emphasized.  Forexample, the First Vatican Council teaches:

For theHoly Spirit was promised to the successors of Peter not so that they might, by his revelation, make known some new doctrine,but that, by his assistance, they might religiously guard and faithfullyexpound the revelation or deposit of faith transmitted by the apostles.

Similarly,the Second Vatican Council teaches:

[T]heliving teaching office of the Church… is not above the word of God, but servesit, teaching only what has been handedon, listening to it devoutly, guarding it scrupulously and explaining itfaithfully.

And PopeBenedict XVI taught:

The Pope is not an absolute monarch whose thoughts and desires are law. On the contrary: the Pope's ministry is a guarantee of obedience toChrist and to his Word.  He mustnot proclaim his own ideas, but rather constantly bind himself and the Churchto obedience to God's Word, in the face of every attempt to adapt it or waterit down, and every form of opportunism.

Thedevelopment of Catholic doctrine is thus like a ratchet, which only goes oneway.  The body of teaching found inscripture, solemn conciliar definitions, excathedra papal statements, and the ordinary Magisterium when it meets theconditions for infallibility, is locked in place forever.  New implications can be drawn out of it(which is what “development” in the proper sense involves), but it cannot be contradicted or reversed (which would not be a true development atall, but rather a corruption of doctrine or failure to preserve the deposit offaith).

Now, it isprecisely in order to assist the Magisterium in its function of preserving thedeposit of faith that the teaching of Aquinas, of Donum Veritatis, and of the tradition more generally allow thatthere can be cases in which respectful criticism of magisterial statements isjustifiable.  Like the Magisterium, suchcriticism has precisely the function of maintainingfidelity to tradition, not of allowing the critics to say whatever theylike.  In short, and to oversimply, the teaching of Aquinas and of DonumVeritatis can never be used to justify“progressive” criticism of magisterial statements, but only certain kinds of “traditionalist”criticism.  That is not to say that just anything of thelatter sort goes.  The point is that theprinciples underlying the teaching of Aquinas and of Donum Veritatis are not neutralbetween the different sorts of criticism theologians might want to raise.  They favor those who want to preserve pastteaching, and disfavor those who want to depart from it.  Hence, again, Fastiggi is just mistaken tosuggest that if you allow anycriticism of magisterial statements, then everythingis up for grabs.

The teaching of Pope Francis

Let’s turnfinally to a statement from Pope Francis that is relevant to the issue athand.  As I’ve noted, he has onseveral occasions said that he welcomes respectful criticism.  One of his statements is especially importantin this context.  In the exhortation Gaudeteet Exsultate, the pope writes:

In the Church there legitimatelycoexist different ways of interpreting many aspects of doctrine and Christianlife; in their variety, they “help to express more clearly the immense richesof God’s word”.  It is true that “forthose who long for a monolithic body of doctrine guarded by all and leaving noroom for nuance, this might appear as undesirable and leading toconfusion”.  Indeed, some currents ofgnosticism scorned the concrete simplicity of the Gospel and attempted toreplace the trinitarian and incarnate God with a superior Unity, wherein therich diversity of our history disappeared. In effect, doctrine, or better, our understanding and expression of it,“is not a closed system, devoid of the dynamic capacity to pose questions,doubts, inquiries…”

Now, thosewho have criticized the revision to the Catechism are doing exactly what Pope Francis here acknowledges to be legitimate.  They are raising “questions, doubts,inquiries” about the formulation of the revision, on the grounds that it“leav[es] no room for nuance” and ignores “the rich diversity of our history”and “the immense riches of God’s word.”  Inparticular, the revision focuses only on statements from the tradition thatseem unfavorable towards capitalpunishment while entirely ignoring the mountain of statements from scripture,the Fathers and Doctors of the Church, and previous popes that are clearly favorable to it.  The revision also entirely ignores theempirical considerations favoring the judgment that there are at least somecases where public safety would best be served by keeping the death penalty onthe books.  The revision thereby givesthe impression that capital punishment is intrinsically wrong, and that socialscientists are in agreement that it is never needed in order to save lives –neither of which is true. 

The criticsof the revision to the Catechism thereby respectfully call upon the Magisteriumto remedy these deficiencies.  And theyargue that reading the revision as a deficiently formulated prudential judgmentrather than as a change in doctrinal principle ought to be among the “legitimatelycoexist[ing] different ways of interpreting” it (to use Pope Francis’swords). 

If PopeFrancis’s words in Gaudete et Exsultateapply to centuries of established Catholic teaching, it is hard to see how theycan fail to apply also to a novel revision that is only five years old.  Accordingly, those who accuse critics of therevision of “dissent” are not only at odds with the teaching of Aquinas and of Donum Veritatis.  They are at odds with the teaching of PopeFrancis himself.

In thefollow-up to this article, I will address Fastiggi’s remarks about scriptureand previous papal teaching on the subject of capital punishment.

Aquinas and Nietzsche on the politics of envy

Recently, Ijoined Postliberal Order as a regular contributor.  Today, my essay “Againstthe Politics of Envy” appears at the site. It discusses Aquinas’s account of the nature and effects of the sin ofenvy, Nietzsche’s account of the nature and effects of ressentiment, and how woke politics is clearly an expression of enviousressentiment as Aquinas and Nietzscheunderstand it.