Edward Feser's Blog, page 15

The vice of insensibility

Temperance ormoderation is the virtue governing the enjoyment of sensory pleasures.  In particular, and as Aquinas says,“temperance is properly about pleasures of meat and drink and sexual pleasures.”  These pleasures reflect our bodily nature(which is why angels, unlike us, neither need the virtue of temperance norexhibit the vices opposed to it). Specifically, they reflect our needs for self-preservation and forpreservation of the species.  Eating anddrinking exist in order to meet the first need and sex exists in order to meetthe second.  The pleasures associatedwith these activities exist in turn so that we will be drawn to carrying themout.  And temperance is needed so that thepleasures will perform that motivating task successfully.  In short, temperance exists in order that wewill be drawn to the right kinds of sensory pleasures and to the right degree;those pleasures exist for the sake of encouraging eating, drinking, and sexualintercourse at the right times and in the right ways; and those actions exist,in turn, in order that the individual and species will carry on.

It goeswithout saying that it is extremely common for people to seek these pleasures toofrequently, or at the wrong time, or in the wrong way.  In doing so they exhibit the vice of intemperance or licentiousness.  But mostvirtues are means between extremes, one of excess and one of deficiency.  And that is true in this case.  Intemperance is the vice of excess where sensorypleasure is concerned.  The vice ofdeficiency in this area – of being toolittle disposed to seek sensory pleasure – is known as insensibility.  Becauseintemperance is far and away the more common vice, especially today,insensibility is rarely discussed.  But,precisely because intemperance is more common, it is important to understandinsensibility, because those rightly concerned to avoid the first vicesometimes overreact and fall into the second.

Aquinas sumsup as follows the reason why insensibility is a vice:

Whatever is contrary to the naturalorder is vicious.  Now nature hasintroduced pleasure into the operations that are necessary for man's life.  Wherefore the natural order requires that manshould make use of these pleasures, in so far as they are necessary for man'swell-being, as regards the preservation either of the individual or of thespecies.  Accordingly, if anyone were toreject pleasure to the extent of omitting things that are necessary for nature'spreservation, he would sin, as acting counter to the order of nature.  And this pertains to the vice ofinsensibility.  (SummaTheologiae II-II.142.1)

Hence, hegoes on to say, it is an error to think that avoiding pleasure altogether is agood way to avoid sin.  On the contrary,“in order to avoid sin, pleasure must be shunned, not altogether, but so thatit is not sought more than necessity requires.”

Now, doesthis entail that it is always andinherently wrong to avoid a certain kind of sensory pleasurealtogether?  And what does it mean for akind of pleasure to be “necessary”?  Let’s address these questions in order. First, Aquinas acknowledges that there are cases where it is good toshun sensory pleasure.  In the samearticle, he writes:

It must, however, be observed that itis sometimes praiseworthy, and even necessary for the sake of an end, toabstain from such pleasures as result from these operations.  Thus, for the sake of the body's health,certain persons refrain from pleasures of meat, drink, and sex; as also for thefulfilment of certain engagements: thus athletes and soldiers have to denythemselves many pleasures, in order to fulfil their respective duties.  On like manner penitents, in order to recoverhealth of soul, have recourse to abstinence from pleasures, as a kind of diet,and those who are desirous of giving themselves up to contemplation and Divinethings need much to refrain from carnal things. Nor do any of these things pertain to the vice of insensibility, becausethey are in accord with right reason. 

Endquote.  Similarly, Aquinas says thatforsaking marriage (and thus the pleasure of sex) for the sake of the highergood of complete devotion to the contemplation of God is not only lawfulbut superior to marriage. 

However, ineach of these cases, sensory pleasure is forsaken for the sake of some specialsituation or state in life.  Absent suchcircumstances, it can be vicious to eschew the pleasures in question.  For example, suppose a person is married, anddesires to abstain from sex altogether for the sake of complete devotion tospiritual things, but his spouse has not consented to this.  Then, as Aquinas says,it would be wrong to refuse sexual intercourse with the spouse.  In the typical case, sexual pleasure issimply a normal part of married life, and ought no more to be shunned than thepleasures of eating and drinking that are also a normal part of life.

What, then,of the other qualification Aquinas makes, to the effect that “pleasure must beshunned, not altogether, but so that itis not sought more than necessityrequires”?  Some readers might assumethat he is saying that we ought to indulge in those pleasures that simplycannot be avoided (such as the minimal pleasure that accompanies any normal actof eating or having sexual relations) but should avoid any pleasure that goesbeyond that.

But that is notwhat he is saying.  To see why, considerfirst what more he says about the nature of the pleasures associated witheating, drinking, and sex, in the context of defending his view that sensorypleasures have primarily to do with the sense of touch.  He allows that there are secondary pleasuresassociated with these activities that involve the other senses:

Temperance is about the greatestpleasures, which chiefly regard the preservation of human life either in thespecies or in the individual.  On thesematters certain things are to be considered as principal and others assecondary.  The principal thing is theuse itself of the necessary means, of the woman who is necessary for thepreservation of the species, or of food and drink which are necessary for thepreservation of the individual: while the very use of these necessary thingshas a certain essential pleasure annexed thereto.  In regard to either use we consider assecondary whatever makes the use more pleasurable, such as beauty and adornmentin woman, and a pleasing savor and likewise odor in food. (Summa Theologiae II-II.141.5)

In otherwords, with food and drink, though what is absolutely inseparable from them arepleasures known through touch (such as a pleasing texture, temperature, and thelike), there are also secondary pleasures of taste and smell.  Nor are these somehow pointless, for as hegoes on to say, they “make the food pleasant to eat, in so far as they aresigns of its being suitable for nourishment.” Similarly, though the pleasure of sex involves primarily the sense oftouch, the activity is made “more pleasurable… [by] beauty and adornment inwoman,” and these pleasures are associated with sight more than touch.

Now, itwould be absurd to suppose that Aquinas thinks that temperance allows for theenjoyment only of what is “necessary” in the strictest sense of beingabsolutely inseparable from food, drink, and sex – for example, that it istemperate to enjoy the texture of food but intemperate to enjoy its taste orodor, and temperate to enjoy the feel of sexual intercourse but intemperate tofind pleasure in one’s wife’s beauty. For one thing, these pleasures, despite being “secondary” in Aquinas’ssense, are obviously as naturally associated with food, drink, and sex as thepleasures of touch are.  Nature makesfood taste and smell good for the same reason it makes eating it feel good,namely to get us to eat.  And the beautyof the female body, no less than the pleasures of touch associated withintercourse, is obviously also part of nature’s way of getting men togetherwith women so that they will have children.

For anotherthing, Aquinas explicitly says elsewhere that temperance allows for theenjoyment not only of pleasures that are necessary in the strictest sense, but alsothose that are necessary in a looser sense or even not necessary at all:

The need of human life may be takenin two ways.  First, it may be taken inthe sense in which we apply the term “necessary” to that without which a thingcannot be at all; thus food is necessary to an animal.  Secondly, it may be taken for somethingwithout which a thing cannot be becomingly. Now temperance regards not only the former of these needs, but also thelatter.  Wherefore the Philosopher says(Ethic. iii, 11) that “the temperate man desires pleasant things for the sakeof health, or for the sake of a sound condition of body.”  Other things that are not necessary for thispurpose may be divided into two classes. For some are a hindrance to health and a sound condition of body; andthese temperance makes not use of whatever, for this would be a sin againsttemperance.  But others are not ahindrance to those things, and these temperance uses moderately, according tothe demands of place and time, and in keeping with those among whom onedwells.  Hence the Philosopher (Ethic.iii, 11) says that the “temperate man also desires other pleasant things,”those namely that are not necessary for health or a sound condition of body, “solong as they are not prejudicial to these things.” (Summa Theologiae II-II.141.6)

So, sensorypleasure can in a relevant sense be “necessary,” for Aquinas, not only when itis strictly unavoidable in order for eating, drinking, and sex to exist at all,but also when it is simply “becoming” in relation to these things.  And temperance allows for pleasures as longas they are not a “hindrance” or “prejudicial” to health and soundness of body,even if they are not quite necessary either. One need merely consider the “demands of place and time, and [what is]in keeping with those among whom one dwells.” 

Aquinas doesnot think, then, that temperancerequires a meal or sexual relations to be quick and businesslike, such that anypleasure beyond the bare minimum associated with that would amount tointemperance.  And that is, of course,just common sense.  It is normal forhuman beings simply to get on with eating, drinking, or lovemaking withoutscrupling over whether they are taking too much pleasure in it.  Indeed, apart from cases where someoneclearly has disordered appetites (alcoholism, hypersexuality, or the like) itwould ordinarily be neurotic and spiritually unhealthy to fret over such things– to worry that one is guilty of sin for eating an extra slice of bacon, orkissing one’s spouse with great passion, or what have you.

That is notto deny that there can be excess short of addictions like the ones mentioned.  For example, Aquinas notesthat one manifestation of the vice of gluttony is evident in those preoccupiedwith “food prepared too nicely – I.e. ‘daintily.’”  I would suggest that the sort of thing he hasin mind is evident today among people who call themselves “foodies” – alwaysgoing on about food in an embarrassingly overenthusiastic way, endlesslyseeking out new culinary adventures, and so on. Similarly, even people who are not quite sex addicts can develop anunhealthy preoccupation with it.  Whenfood, drink, or sex becomes, not just a background part of normal human life,but a fixation, that is an indication that someone has fallen into hedonism andthus the vice of intemperance.

Then thereis the fact that one might now and again forego the pleasures of food, drink,or sex not because enjoying them would be excessive or in any other waydisordered, but simply in a spirit of sacrifice – that is to say, not out of ajudgment that they are bad, but rather out of a judgment that they are good butthat it would be better still to do without them for the sake of some higherend (to do penance, to develop self-discipline, or whatever).

However,supposing that one is neither engaged in such occasional asceticism nor proneto hedonism, then, as I have said, it would be neurotic and spirituallyunhealthy to fret over the minutiae of everyday eating, drinking, and maritalsexual relations – to try to ferret out subtle sins, in oneself or others,relating to these things.  A person whotends to be overly suspicious of such pleasures is often characterized as aprig, killjoy, or “stick in the mud,” and I’d suggest that this character typeis one manifestation of the vice of insensibility.  Specifically, it involves insensibility of akind related to scrupulosity, the obsessive tendency to see sin where it doesnot exist.  It can arise as anoverreaction to the opposite extreme vice of intemperance, either in oneself orin the larger society around one.

However,that is not the only source of the vice of insensibility.  Some people are simply “cold fish,” eschewingsensory pleasures of one kind or another not because they suspect them of beingsinful but rather because they just lack much if any interest in them.  Of course, there is a normal range ofvariation in appetites for food, drink, and sex, just as there are normalranges of variation with respect to all human traits.  But just as some people have extremely strongappetites for one or more of these things and thus are in greater danger thanothers of falling into intemperance, so too do some people have extremely weakappetites and are in greater danger of falling into insensibility. 

Whatever thepsychological factors behind a given person’s insensibility, it is truly a vicerather than a mere variation in temperament, because it can harm both theperson himself and those with whom he lives. In his 1953 dissertation TheThomistic Concept of Pleasure, Charles Reutemann explains the individual’sneed for pleasure as follows:

The conscious suppression of pleasurewithout some form of sublimation can have very harmful effects, since therebyan appetitive tendency is frustrated in its natural movement.  Not only would the appetitive movement tend tobecome atrophied, but the whole man would be reduced to a state of sorrow anddepression…

Inasmuch as [intellectual] activitieshave constant recourse to the ministrations of sense, there must be a restingto relieve the attendant “soul-weariness.”

If pleasure is necessary as a curefor “soul-weariness,” it must be more necessary for the body, since even“soul-weariness” is reductively attributed to the body.  For two reasons the body demands pleasure: asa remedy against pain, and as an incentive to its own activity which isgenerally laborious.(p. 22)

And on thenecessity of pleasure to human social life, Reutemann writes:

Pleasure contributes mightily to theestablishing and facilitating of harmonious relations among men.  For, just as society would lose its integrityif men did not respect and manifest the truth to one another, so it would loseits intrinsic dynamism if pleasure were not used as a “lubricant” to facilitateinter-personal relationships.  Givingpleasure and living agreeably with one’s neighbor is considered by St. Thomasto be a matter of natural equity. (p.23)

Reutemannhas pleasure in general in mind here, but let’s consider, specifically, thepleasures governed by temperance.  Inhuman beings, eating is not mere feeding, but the having of a meal, which iscommonly a social occasion.  Drinking,too, is something people prefer to do together – in a bar, at a party, whilewatching a game together, or what have you. Routinely to have to eat or drink alone is commonly regarded assad.  Breaking bread or having a drink togetheris commonly thought to foster peace and understanding between people who mightotherwise be at odds.  What all thisreveals is that the pleasures of food and drink are typically shared pleasures, and the more intensewhen they are shared.  We take pleasurenot just in the meal, but in the fact that our family, friends, oracquaintances are taking pleasure in it too, and taking pleasure in it with us. Food and drink thereby reinforce social bonds, and all the goods thatfollow from having those bonds.  A personwho, due to the vice of insensibility, is insufficiently drawn to such pleasuresis thereby going to be less fulfilled as a social animal – lonelier, moreself-centered, less able to contribute to or benefit from the social orders ofwhich he is a part.

Sexualpleasure too, when rightly ordered, is inherently social in nature insofar asit functions to bond the spouses together via the most intense sort of intimacyand affection.  The vice of insensibilitymanifests itself in this context when, due either to priggishness or a colddisposition, one refuses sexual relations to one’s spouse, or participates inthem only grudgingly and unenthusiastically. The frumpish wife or boorish husband can contribute to an atmospherewherein this vice is likely to take root. When it does, sex is likely to become a source of marital tension ratherthan amity.

Temperance in sexual matters, specifically, isknown as the virtue of chastity, andit is a large topic of its own.  Needlessto say, for Aquinas and Catholic moral theology, the fundamental principle hereis that sexual intercourse is virtuous only between a man and a woman married toone another, and when not carried out in a contraceptive manner.  Within these constraints, there is much inthe way of lovemaking that is consistent with chastity.  I have spelled out the details in my essay “InDefense of the Perverted Faculty Argument,” from my book Neo-Scholastic Essays.  And I’ve said a lot more about sexualmorality in a number of other articles and blog posts, linksto which are collected here.

Whenaddressing matters of sexual morality, Thomist natural law theorists andCatholic moral theologians have much to say about the vice of intemperance inthis area.  This is quite natural andproper, given the extreme sexual depravity that surrounds us today.  Sins of excess related to matters of sex areby far the more common ones, and the ones modern people are most resistant tohearing criticism of.  All the same, thisis only part of the story, because there is an opposite extreme vice too, evenif less common.  Marital happiness, andthe good of the social order that depends on it, require avoiding that vice aswell.

Pilkington responds

Philip Pilkington sent me a responseto myreply to his American Postliberalarticle. I thank him for it and am happy to post it here:

Feser'sresponse to my piece is a welcome effort at clarification. We need suchclarification if postliberalism and related thought is to move from theabstract to the concrete. Here I will address the key points, as best I can.

Regardingthe base versus superstructure distinction, we should probably better determinewhat we are talking about. When Marxists discuss them – typically in thebroader context of their ‘science’ of ‘dialectical materialism’ – they appearto be engaged in something in between metaphysics and political economy. AsFeser says, for them the economy truly determines all – and it does so on an apriori basis.

I wouldsuggest that, to the extent that postliberals choose to use this terminology,they completely abandon any a priori conceptions beyond the terminology itself.Base and superstructure should be seen as metaphors – rather loose metaphors inmany ways – to organise thinking on political and policy issues. Feser'sterminology of spheres is probably, as he says, less loaded. On the other hand,the base and superstructure terminology plugs into decades of political economydiscussion.

Moreimportantly is the question of cause. Here we truly descend into the realm ofthe practical. Yes, the norms that we may seek to set are groundedmetaphysically in the natural law tradition. But beyond this, everything isempirical. The problem, of course, is that social science cannot reallydetermine cause in any meaningful sense. The best that can be done is toestablish correlation – and, perhaps, in the best case correlation at a lag(econometricians call this ‘Granger causality’. In such questions, we are allHumeans whether we like it or not.

Feser hintsthat I may be emphasising economic causality over cultural in my initial essay –and I think he is correct. Some of this is rhetorical – I want to shakeconservatives into seeing these connections. But some of it is not. I doincreasingly think that many of the developments we are seeing in our cultureare being driven primarily by liberal economic relations being pushed past thepoint where they yield anything positive.

Take theexample of birth rates in Islamic countries that Feser references. It is nodoubt true that birth rates in Muslim countries are higher than inpost-Christian countries, but this is only true on a diminishing basis. ManyMuslim countries simply remain economically undeveloped. In these countries,people live for most part as they have for centuries. In the countries thathave made efforts in the direction of economic development – most notably Iran –birth rates have fallen precipitously.

In 1978,when the Iranian Revolution was launched, Iran's fertility rate was just above6.3. Recall, this was the fertility rate in an Iran run by the famously rathersecular Shah. Today, after years of economic modernisation, the fertility rateis well below replacement at 1.7. Recall, in contrast to the Shah's secularstate, this is Iran under the Mullahs – complete with its infamous moralitypolice. If we look at indicators of economic change, this starts to make sense.At the time of the Revolution less than 5% of Iranian women were enrolled intertiary schooling. Today this number is around 60%. Iran is a fascinating casestudy because it is a model in tension with itself. The revolutionaries wantedto modernise society but maintain an Islamic state. The results have been,shall we say, mixed.

But let usthink about this in positive terms. Imagine if we could run a successful familypolicy that pushed the fertility rate back up to around 3 (similar to whatexists in Israel today, but we would hope one more spread out and lessconcentrated amongst the Haredi). In such a society, the average family wouldhave three children and the state would be promoting this as something great.Could this possibly not drastically change the culture? It seems highly unlikelyto me that a nihilistic, hyperconsumer culture that we have today would fit insuch a society. People would simply not have time to be interested in suchfrivolities and much of it would be driven back underground, the province ofbohemians and oddballs.

On the otherhand, do we really think that a conservative cultural turn would vastly impactthese trends? We had a conservative revolution of sorts in the late-1970s. Andeven though the 1980s and 1990s were far more culturally conservative than the1960s and 1970s, none of the fundamental forces were reversed. Divorcecontinued to rise, family formation fell, birth rates fell – and so on. As withIran, the packaging can look as conservative as you please, but it matterslittle if people are not living it out.

A few yearsago I visited Croatia. On Sunday the churches were full. I expect that attendancerates were around 80-90%. All over the towns were spontaneous Catholic shrines.The air was thick with conservative sentiment. And yet, for all that, therewere few families. People were just sort of milling around aimlessly. While onthe beach I looked up the fertility rate on Google. It was 1.5.

Postliberalism, economics, and culture

I commend toyou economist Philip Pilkington’s fine essay “Towardsa Postliberal Political Economy,” at The American Postliberal.  Itis in part a response to my recent PostliberalOrder article “InDefense of Culture War.”  Itseems to me that we are essentially in agreement, and that for the most partthe essays complement rather than contradict one another.  But there might be some differences overdetails, or at least of emphasis.  Let’stake a look.

Liberalism and postliberalism

First, letme address a terminological matter that will not throw off readers who havebeen closely following the recent debate over postliberalism, but doessometimes confuse those who are not familiar with it.  Pilkington frequently refers to the “liberalconservative” approach to cultural and economic issues.  American readers who use the word “liberal” toconnote views of the kind associated with the Democratic Party are liable tomisunderstand him.  They may find the phraseoxymoronic, or perhaps will suppose that Pilkington must be referring tosocially liberal Republicans or the like. But “liberal conservative” is not intended to refer to such people (ornot them alone, anyway), and the phrase is perfectly sensible when properlyunderstood.

In politicalphilosophy, the word “liberal” has a broader sense than it has in contemporaryAmerican politics.  It refers to a broad traditionthat goes back to thinkers like John Locke, Adam Smith, and John Stuart Mill,and that has among its fundamental themes individualism, the thesis thatpolitical authority is the product of a social contract, and the principle thatthe state ought to be neutral between competing religious doctrines.  Secondary themes would be an emphasis on themarket economy and limited government, though these are not per se liberal.  (To be sure, doctrinaire or ideologicalversions of market economics and limited government are essentially liberal, but my point is that a non-liberal couldfavor non-doctrinaire or non-ideological policies of a free market or limitedgovernment sort.)  In the twentiethcentury, thinkers like John Rawls took liberalism in a more egalitariandirection, and thinkers like Robert Nozick took it in a more radicallylibertarian direction.  In the Americancontext, the word “liberalism” has come to be associated with egalitarian liberalismin particular.  But in reality, that kindof liberalism is just one specieswithin a wider genus.

Now, manymodern conservatives are liberals in the broader sense in question.  They are not egalitarian liberals and they are not libertarian liberals, but they are still liberals in the sense that they regard the work of thinkers likeLocke and Smith as foundational to a sound political philosophy, and more orless take for granted liberalism’s commitment to individualism, the idea ofpolitical authority as deriving from contract, and state neutrality on mattersof religion.  This is especially true ofconservatives influenced by the “fusionism” of Frank Meyer, which came to beassociated with William F. Buckley’s NationalReview.  Fusionism is essentially theidea that a commitment to individual liberty as understood in the Lockeantradition can and ought to be “fused” with a commitment to traditional moralityas enshrined in the Judeo-Christian tradition. 

“Liberalconservatives” in this sense are, accordingly, as prone as libertarians are toargue for market-based approaches to social problems, and to see governmentaction as itself part of the problem rather than a possible solution.  Accordingly, they deploy the rhetoric of“freedom” as often as, or even more often than, they appeal to tradition,family, or religion.  That they would putEdmund Burke alongside Locke and Smith in their pantheon of early modernthinkers, and prefer F. A. Hayek to Nozick or Ayn Rand among contemporaryfree-marketers, is what makes their liberalism “conservative.” But, again, itis still a kind of liberalism in thebroad sense.

Now, the postliberal Right is defined by itsrejection of liberalism in this broad sense no less than in the narrow sense,and thus by its rejection of fusionism and any other attempt to marryconservatism to the liberalism of Locke, Smith, and Co.  For postliberals, the paradigmatic politicalphilosophers are thinkers like Plato, Aristotle, Augustine and Aquinas.  For theoretical articulation and defense ofthe foundations of political morality, they would look to Thomistic natural lawtheory (or something in that ballpark) rather than Lockean natural rightstheory.  They take the family rather thanthe individual to be the basic unit of society, and regard the state as anatural institution rather than the product of a social contract.  In addition, Catholic postliberals tendtoward the “integralist” position that it is preferable at least in theory forthe state to favor the Church rather than to remain neutral on matters ofreligion.  (Whether it is better in practice, and exactly what it would looklike for the state to favor the Church, are complicated matters that Ihave addressed elsewhere.)

Naturally,the views of individual thinkers of either a liberal conservative sort or apostliberal sort are bound to be more complicated than this summaryindicates.  A liberal conservative might countAristotle and Aquinas as influences too, and a postliberal might acknowledgethat there are insights to be drawn from a Burke or a Hayek.  What I am describing here are the generaltendencies and basic commitments that differentiate the two points of view.

I wouldn’twant to put words in Pilkington’s mouth, and perhaps he would disagree with orqualify some of what I’ve said so far. But that is how I understand liberal conservatism and postliberalism,and I am supposing that that is more or less how he understands them too.

From culture to economics and backagain

In my ownessay, I discussed the famous Marxist distinction between the economic “base”of society and the political, legal, and cultural “superstructure” constructedon that base.  The distinction providesthe organizing theme of Pilkington’s article, and he appeals to it in order tocharacterize the different approaches to economics and culture represented byMarxism, liberal conservatism, and postliberalism.

The Marxistposition, of course, is that the economic base determines everything else.  Law, politics, and culture merely function tokeep in place the prevailing economic order and its ruling class, and have noother significance.  By contrast, liberalconservatives, says Pilkington, take the economic and cultural spheres to beautonomous.  They take the market economyto be a neutral wealth-generating mechanism that can and should be left toitself or at most tinkered with slightly so as to improve its output.  They take the real action to be at the levelof culture, and they think that advancing their goals in that sphere is simplya matter of convincing people to adopt them by making good arguments (asopposed, say, to changing basic economic structures).

Postliberalism,says Pilkington, rejects both of these positions.  Like Marxism and unlike liberal conservatism,it holds that economics influences culture. But, unlike Marxism, it holds that culture also influenceseconomics.  Hence, like liberalconservatism and unlike Marxism, it rejects economic reductionism and takesculture and argumentation to enjoy some independence of economic factors.  But it also rejects the liberal conservativeview of the economy as a neutral mechanism that should largely be leftalone.  Securing cultural goals requires economicchange, and not just making good arguments. In short, economics and culture significantly affect one another, sothat policy cannot focus just on one to the exclusion of the other.

So far I warmlyagree with Pilkington, though there is a terminological difference between us,albeit one which is – probably – merelyterminological rather than substantive. Throughout his essay, Pilkington retains the Marxist jargon of economic“base” and cultural “superstructure.” Again, he rejects Marxism’s claims about their relationship, andemphasizes their mutual influence.  Butto keep referring to economics as the “base” leaves the impression that it isstill somehow more fundamental.  Iimagine that Pilkington does not intend this, and that he retains theterminology merely for ease of exposition. But I would prefer to speak of economic and cultural “spheres” (or somesuch term) rather than maintain the loaded terminology of “base” and“superstructure.”

On the otherhand, some of what Pilkington says might at least give some the impression thathe does indeed take economics to be fundamental.  In particular, he discusses several examplesof phenomena that might at first glance appear to have purely cultural significance,but where, he argues, closer inspection will reveal underlying economicfactors.  To be sure, his point may bemerely that economics and culture interpenetrate in these cases, without eitherbeing the more fundamental.  And Isuspect that that is indeed his view. But it seems to me that even in the cases he discusses, the culturalfactors are indeed the more fundamental ones, even if he is right to note thatthere are crucial economic factors as well.

Hence,consider what Pilkington has to say about modern changes in familystructure.  Liberal conservatives, hesays, attribute this mainly to moral decline, and in part to the welfarestate.  But he notes that other crucialfactors are the dramatic decline in the birth rate and the entry of women intothe modern workforce.  Pilkington emphasizesthat while women worked in earlier ages (for example, in agriculture) what is distinctiveabout modern women’s workplace is that it has separated work from home andfamily life.  Now, these changes areeconomic in nature.  Hence, it seems, wehave a clear case where economics has driven cultural change.

That is fairenough as far as it goes.  But I’d pointout that the story doesn’t end there. For why have birth ratesdeclined, and why have women entered the modern work force in such largenumbers?  The answer, in large part, hasto do with the legalization of birth control and the rise of modern feminism,with the political and legal changes that went along with it.  And those factors, in turn, were the resultof cultural changes.  Notice too that, despite the tremendousinfluence of Western capitalism on the rest of the world, the birth rate andthe economic situation of women has not changed nearly as radically in Muslimcountries.  Why not?  Because of legal, political, and culturalfactors.  So, as I argued in my earlieressay, we see once again that lurking behind economic factors are deeper culturalpreconditions.

Somethingsimilar can be said even of the most seemingly crudely material offactors.  For example, it is often claimedthat the birth control pill changed sexual mores more than all the propagandaof sexual revolutionaries could have. And the pill is a drug that directly affects body chemistry, not people’sideas.  But the birth control pill didnot fall from the sky.  It had to beinvented, produced, and marketed.  Andits mere existence doesn’t force anyone to take it.  Tobacco also still exists, but the number ofpeople using it has dramatically declined. Nor does the fact that tobacco poses health risks entirely explain that,because alcohol and marijuana also pose risks, yet alcohol use has not greatlydeclined, whereas marijuana use has increased. 

The reason,of course, is that there has been vastly greater cultural pressure against tobacco use than against alcohol use, andalso cultural pressure in favor ofmarijuana use.  And cultural pressuresare also responsible for the development and use of the pill.  It was precisely because of changes in sexualattitudes that the pill was developed, marketed, and used in the first place,even if this in turn went on to accelerate the changes in sexualattitudes.  Hence even the pill is not apurely material factor, nor indeed even primarily material in nature, allthings considered.

Pilkingtonalso argues that changes in economic policy can improve the health of thefamily, and that improving the health of the family will in turn bring aboutcultural changes.  For example, “studiesshow that strong families tend to vote more conservative than atomisedindividuals.”  Hence, he suggests, “itmay not be too much of an exaggeration to say, given how integrated personaland economic life are in today’s intensive consumption-production economy, theonly way to engage in meaningful reforms is to tackle them first at an economiclevel.”

But here toothe idea that economic policy is more basic than culture, or even equallybasic, collapses on closer inspection. For suppose we were to try to follow Pilkington’s advice and focus for atime just on the economic question of what sorts of policies would contributeto strengthening the family.  What countsas “family”?  And what counts as a“strong” family?  Woke ideologues willhave answers to those questions, and they will be very different from theanswers a postliberal would give.  Andthe difference in the answers will reflect different assumptions of a moral andphilosophical nature – in short, of a culturalnature.  Yet again, lurking behindpurportedly purely economic considerations are deeper cultural issues. 

Similarpoints can be made in response to Pilkington’s other examples.  And then there is the fact that, no matterhow important some specific economic reform is, actually to achieve it willrequire political action, whichrequires changing minds.  That, in turn, will require convincing acritical mass of people of the importance of such-and-such economic factorsrelative to other considerations.  Andthat is an essentially philosophical task rather than an economic one.

Pilkingtonmay well agree with this.  Indeed, asI have discussed elsewhere, Pilkington is well aware of the philosophicalassumptions that underlie economic lines of argument.  Again, there may at the end of the day be lessof a substantive difference between our views than there is a difference ofemphasis, or perhaps at most of short-term strategy.  And I certainly do not deny that economics isa crucial part of a complete postliberal program.  But that is not because economics is morebasic than culture, or even because it is equally basic.  It is because culture works in part through economics,and indeed because economics is itself a part of culture.

In defense of culture war

FromMarxists on the left to former House Speaker Paul Ryan on the right, manyvoices in the political discussion assure us that the “culture war” is a distractionand that what matter most are economic issues. But economic order has cultural prerequisites, and indeed economicphenomena themselves cannot even be conceptualized apart from cultural presuppositions.  I make the case for the priority of cultureto economics in my essay “InDefense of Culture War,” which appears this week at Postliberal Order .

The associationist mindset

WhenAristotelian-Thomistic philosophers say that human beings are by naturerational animals, they don’t mean that human beings always reason logically(which, of course, is obviously not the case). They mean that human beings by nature have the capacity for reason, unlike other animals.  Whether they exercise that capacity well isanother question.  Human beings are oftenirrational, but you have to have the capacity for reason to be irrational.  A dog or a tree doesn’t even rise to the levelof irrationality.  They are non-rational, not irrational.

Rationality,on the Aristotelian-Thomistic account, involves three basic capacities: tograsp abstract concepts (such as the concept of being a man or the concept of beingmortal); to put concepts together into complete thoughts or propositions(such as the proposition that all men aremortal); and to reason logically from one proposition to another (as whenwe reason from the premises that all menare mortal and that Socrates is a manto the conclusion that Socrates is mortal).  Logic studies the ways concepts can becombined into propositions and the ways propositions can be combined intoinferences.  Deductive logic studies,specifically, inferences in which the conclusion is said to follow from thepremises of necessity; and inductive logic studies inferences in which it issaid to follow with probability.

Any adequatephilosophical or psychological theory of the human mind has to be consistentwith our possession of these capacities. Many such theories fail this test, but might accurately describe somenon-human creatures.  For example,Skinnerian behaviorism is hopeless as a theory of human nature, and isn’t evenplausible as a description of many of the higher animals.  But asDaniel Dennett suggests, it might be true of simple invertebrateslike sea slugs.  (It is also possible fora theory to do justice to our rational capacities, but still fail in some otherrespect accurately to describe human nature. For example, Cartesian dualism does so insofar as it wrongly takes the humanintellect to be a complete substance in its own right stocked with innate ideas.  But this is at least an approximation of whatangelic minds are like.)

Then thereare theories which get the human mind wrong, but nevertheless afford an approximatedescription of what a certain kind of disorderedthinking is like.  Consider the disputebetween voluntarism and intellectualism. For the intellectualist, the intellect is prior to the will in the sensethat the will is of its nature always directed at what the intellect judges tobe good.  Voluntarism, which comes indifferent forms, seriously modifies or denies this claim. Like other Thomists,I take intellectualism to be the correct view. But asI have argued elsewhere, with a certain kind of irrationality it is as if the person’s will floated free ofhis intellect.  (I’ve labeled this “thevoluntarist personality.”)

Anotherexample, I want to suggest here, is afforded by associationism.  Associationisttheories attempt to account for all transitions from one mental state toanother by reference to causal connections established via experience.  For example, David Hume famously positedthree principles of association: resemblance,contiguity in time or space, and cause and effect.  Resemblance has to do with how one idea mighttrigger another because of some similarity between the things represented bythe ideas.  For instance, seeing anorange might cause you to think of a basketball because they are similar inshape and color; smelling the marijuana smoke wafting from a nearby apartmentmight call to mind a skunk because the odor is similar; and so on.  Examples involving contiguity in time orspace would be the way that thinking about World War II might bring to mind thesound of swing music (since it was popular at the time of the war), or the waythat seeing the White House might generate an image of the Washington Monument,since they are in the same city. Examples involving cause and effect would be the sight of a puddle onthe ground triggering the thought of rain (since that is often a puddle’scause) and the thought of a gun generating a mental image of a dead man (sincethat is often a gun’s effect).

Notice thatall of these relations are sub-rational.  Suppose that, by way of the operation ofHume’s three principles, some particular person somehow developed a strongtendency to have the thought that it’sraining in Cleveland every time it occurred to him that it is now five o’clock just as heremembered that Charles is the currentking of England.  Obviously, thatwould not entail the validity of the following argument:

It is now five o’clock

Charles is the current king of England

Therefore,it’s raining in Cleveland

That is tosay, the causal relations by whichone thought might come to generate another are not the same thing as the logical relations by which oneproposition might entail another.  As aresult, associationist theories, even if they might provide plausible accountsof the mental processes of some non-human animals, simply cannot account forthe rational powers that set human beings apart from other animals.  For the causal relations they posit do notsuffice to guarantee that the right logicalrelations will hold between the thoughts governed by those causal relations.  

This is alongstanding problem for associationist theories.  In contemporary philosophy of mind, cognitivescience, and artificial intelligence research, the most influential variationon associationism is known as connectionismor the “neural network” approach.  It hasbeen vigorously criticized by thinkers like Jerry Fodor and Zenon Pylyshyn forits inability to account for the rationality of thought.  What connectionist models (and the AI builton them) are good at is patternrecognition.  But sensitivity topatterns is not the same thing as a grasp of the logical relationships betweenconcepts and propositions.  If all we didwas pattern recognition, we would not be capable of the valid inferences thatwe carry out all the time.

Likevoluntarism, though, associationism is not a bad approximate description ofcertain disordered habits of thinking.  For many people’s minds seem to operate as if they were governed by purelyassociationist principles.  Inparticular, those chronically prone to fallacious reasoning are like this.  For many logical fallacies involve a kind ofjumping to conclusions on the basis of an association between ideas that seems tight but is in fact too weak to grounda deductively valid or even inductively strong inference.

The mostobvious example involves a fallacy that happens to go by the name of “guilt byassociation.”  Suppose someone reasons asfollows: “Chesterton criticized capitalism, and communists criticizecapitalism, so Chesterton must have been a communist.”  The premises are true but the conclusion isfalse.  The speaker is assuming thatbecause communism is associated with criticism of capitalism and Chesterton isassociated with criticism of capitalism, it is reasonable to associateChesterton with communism.  The reasonthis is fallacious, of course, is that though all communists are critics ofcapitalism, the converse is not true – not all critics of capitalism arecommunists. 

Sometimeswhen people commit this fallacy, they give it up immediately once it is pointedout to them.  That is a good indicationthat the psychological source of the error is simply that they made theinference too quickly or inattentively, nothing more.  But sometimes people are very reluctant togive up such an argument even after the error is explained to them.  For example, suppose someone argues: “Racistsare opposed to illegal immigration and you are opposed to it, so you must be aracist.”  The fallacy here is exactly thesame.  Even if all racists are opposed toillegal immigration, the converse is not true, so the conclusion does notfollow.  But people can be very reluctantto give up this argument even though it is a straightforward case of thefallacy of guilt by association.  That isan indication that there is more going on here than merely too hasty aninference.

I’d proposethat an additional factor is a further association in the speaker’s mind.  It’s not just that the speaker associates theidea of opposition to illegalimmigration with the idea ofracism.  There are, in addition, strong emotional associations at work.  The speaker has a strongly negative emotional reaction to opposition toillegal immigration, and one that is similar to the strongly negative emotionalreaction he has to racism.  Hence eventhough there isn’t the needed logical connection to make the inference frompremise to conclusion valid, the emotionalconnection between the ideas makes it hard for the speaker to give up theconclusion that you must be a racist.  Thisassociation is merely psychologicalrather than logical, so the inference remains fallacious, but the strength ofthe association makes it nevertheless difficult for the speaker to see that.

Otherfallacies too involve jumping to conclusions on the basis of an associationthat seems logical but is in fact merely psychological, rendering the inferencefallacious but easy to fall into. Consider the “straw man” fallacy, wherein the speaker attacks acaricature of his opponent’s position rather than anything the opponent has actuallysaid.  For instance, suppose you express theview that the Covid lockdowns did no net good but caused grave economic andpsychological harm, and in response someone accuses you of being a libertarianwho puts individual freedom ahead of the lives of others.  The speaker is misrepresenting your position,making it sound as if your view is that even though the lockdowns saved lives,your right to do what you want trumps that.  But that is not what you said.  What you said is that they did not save lives and in addition causedgrave harm, and you made no appeal to any libertarian premises.

Here too itis psychological associations rather than logical connections that account forthe error.  The speaker associatesopposition to lockdowns with libertarianism (perhaps on the basis of a furtherfallacy of guilt by association, or because the lockdown critics he’s dealtwith before happen to have been libertarians, or for some other reason).  The one idea simply happens to trigger the other one in his mind, andthus he supposes that you must be a libertarian and attacks the straw man.  The causalconnection between the ideas makes the inference quite natural for him, but itdoes not make it logical.

Yet other fallaciesare plausibly generated by such associationist psychological mechanisms.  Take the “circumstantial ad hominem” fallacy, also known as the fallacy of appeal tomotive.  This involves rejecting a claimor argument merely on the basis of some suspect motive attributed (whethercorrectly or incorrectly) to the person advocating it.  For example, suppose some writer gives anargument to the effect that cutting taxes would promote economic growth, andyou dismiss it on the grounds that it reflects mere self-interest on his part,or because the writer works for a think tank which is known for advocating suchpolicies.  The problem with this is thatwhether the argument is sound or not is completely independent of the motivesof the person giving it.  A person withbad motives can give a good argument and a person with good motives can give abad argument.

However,motives are not alwaysirrelevant.  For example, they areimportant when evaluating the reliability of testimony or expert advice.  If the sole witness in a murder trial isindependently known to be hostile to the suspect, then that gives at least somereason to doubt his testimony implicating the suspect.  If a salesman assures you that the product hesells is the best on the market, the fact that he has a motive to sell it toyou gives you reason to doubt him despite his expertise regarding products ofthat kind.

In a fallacyof appeal to motive, what no doubt often happens is that, on the basis ofexamples like these, the person committing the fallacy forms a psychologicalassociation between having a suspectmotive and being untrustworthy.  Then, when he encounters an argument given bysomeone he suspects of having a bad motive, he goes on to associate being untrustworthy not just with theperson in question but with the argumentthe person gives.  But again, thesoundness or otherwise of an argument is independent of the character of theperson who gives it, so that this transference is fallacious.  Once again, the causal connection between theideas makes an inference seem natural, despite it’s not actually being logical.

There areyet other kinds of irrationality that can plausibly be said to reflectassociationist psychological mechanisms. ElsewhereI’ve argued that “wokeness” can be characterized as “a paranoid delusionalhyper-egalitarian mindset that tends to see oppression and injustice where theydo not exist or greatly to exaggerate them where they do exist.”  An example would be the way that mild or evenentirely innocuous language in some vague way related to race is frequentlyshrilly denounced by wokesters as “racist.” For example, the well-known market chain Trader Joe’s sells a Mexican beerlabeled “Trader Jose’s,” and Chinese food products labeled “Trader Ming’s.”  To any sane mind, there is nothing remotelyobjectionable about this.  In particular,there is nothing in these labels that entails the slightest degree of hostilitytoward Mexican or Chinese people.  Butthe woke mind is not sane, and, unsurprisingly, therewas a call a few years back to drop these labels (which, wisely, the chaindecided to ignore).

What seemsto be going on is that in the mind of the wokester, labels like these triggerthe idea of race, which in turntriggers the idea of racism, and thestrongly negative emotional associations of the latter in turn set up asimilarly negative emotional association with the labels.  There is no logical connection at all, but the strength of the psychologicalassociations makes the fallacious inference seem natural.  The woke mind is analogous to an overlysensitive smoke alarm, which blares out its obnoxious warning any time someonemerely breathes too hard.  (In the articlelinked to, I discuss some of the disordered psychological tendencies which leadto the formation of such bogus associations.)

Anotherexample of fallaciously associationist thinking would be the construction of fanciful“narratives” that seem to lend plausibility to dubious conspiracy theories ofboth left-wing and right-wing kinds.  I’veelaborated on this elsewhere and so direct interested readers to thatearlier discussion.

Naturally,since they are human beings, even people who exhibit what I am calling “theassociationist mindset” do in fact possess rationality, which is why they cancome to see their errors.  Their mindsare not in fact correctly described by associationist psychologicaltheories.  But reason is so weak in themand the mechanisms in question so strong that they can often behave as if these theories were true ofthem.  They seem to be disproportionatelyrepresented in social media contexts like Twitter.  And in fact such social media seem to fosterassociationist habits of thought, inways I’ve discussed before.

Reconsidering corporal punishment

Debatesabout crime and punishment today typically concern disagreements about thedeath penalty, or about the length, and in some cases the appropriateness, ofprison sentences.  Largely neglected isthe topic of corporal punishment – the infliction of bodily pain as a penaltyfor an offense.  No doubt many willregard the very idea as a relic of a less enlightened age.  But that is not a view shared universally.  And the practice made headlines in the Westwithin living memory, when, in 1994, the American teenager Michael Fay wascaned in Singapore for vandalism (specifically, for stealing road signs anddamaging a number of cars).

Vandalismmuch more grave than the kind Fay was punished for has become rife in Westerncountries in recent years.  The riots ofthe summer of 2020 saw widespread defacement and pulling down of statues andother monuments.  The riot of January 6,2021 saw the U.S. Capitol vandalized.  Environmentalistsfrequently deface or glue themselves to works of art, or block traffic bysitting in major roadways and refusing to move. That the physical damage caused by such acts is often worse than thesort of thing Fay was punished for is bad enough.  But these acts are worse in another way.  Fay’s actions were mere obnoxious hijinks ofthe kind boys are sometimes prone to. The political vandalism of recent years is much more sinister, being anassault on the social order itself and on works of art that are the heritage ofthe human race.

If relativelymilder vandalism of the kind Fay was caned for can merit corporal punishment –and I would argue that it can – then the political vandalism of recent yearscan hardly merit less.  It might seem anextreme way to deal with the current problem. But the current problem is itself extreme, and calls for a proportionateremedy.

To see whythis is a remedy worthy of consideration, let’s consider the natural law moraljustification of the use of corporal punishment, and also what the tradition ofthe Church has to say about it.  Beforedoing so, however, we need to put aside a potential red herring.

Not the same thing as torture

In thedecade or so after 9/11, a rather nasty debate arose in Catholic circles abouttorture.  Surprisingly, few seemed ableor willing to define it, including those who were extremely confident in theirpronouncements about its moral status. My own view is that the most plausible definition is along the linesendorsed at the time by Thomists like James Chastek, who definedtorture as “the use of physical pain to break the will of another”(though I’d alter this to note that the pain could also be psychological innature). 

The will isalso known as the rational appetite –that is to say, the power by which a rational being pursues what its intellecttakes to be good or avoids what it takes to be bad.  To break someone’s will is essentially tosubvert its operation, either by clouding the intellect so thoroughly that thewill has no target to aim at, or by preventing the will from locking on thetarget where it exists.  Torturingsomeone involves inflicting physical or psychological pain severe enough to disruptthe will’s operation in one or both of these ways.  It approximates reducing him to an animal bypreventing his rationality from functioning.

Oneadvantage of such a definition is that it both captures the paradigm cases oftorture – actions that pretty much everyone would agree count as “torture”whatever they go on to say about its moral status – while not including actionsthat most would not regard as tortureeven though they involve inflicting physical or psychological pain. 

Inparticular, no one would say that merelyhitting another person amounts to torture, even if this is done for a badreason and even if the blow is severe enough momentarily to distract themind.  For example, we don’t think of twoboys engaged in a schoolyard fistfight as torturingeach other.  For the pain they inflict isnot severe or sustained enough utterly to subvertthe will’s operation, even if it obviously can distract the intellect fromfocusing on what is reasonable. Inflicting physical or psychological pain can in some cases even help torestore the will’s proper operation,as when one slaps or yells loudly at a hysterical person in order to make him“snap out of it.”

Anotheradvantage of the definition, from the point of view of Catholic moral theology,is that it indicates why torture isinherently wrong, as the Church has taught in recent decades.  For example, in Veritatis Splendor, Pope St. John Paul II characterizes “physicaland mental torture and attempts to coerce the spirit” as “intrinsically evil” insofaras they “radically contradict the good of the person made in [God’s] image”(80).  It is precisely insofar as we havereason and will that we are made in God’s image.  Hence to subvert these faculties is toattempt to destroy what is distinctive about us and God-like in us, and thusinherently contrary to our good.

It does notfollow, however, that all inflictionof physical or psychological pain is contrary to the good of the person made inGod’s image, or otherwise intrinsically wrong. In particular, it does not follow that an infliction of pain that does not break the will or subvert a person’srational faculties is inherently wrong. And these things cannot besaid to be inherently wrong, for such an extreme claim would contradict bothnatural law and divine revelation, as we’ll see presently.  In any event, to defend corporal punishmentis not to defend torture (which I most certainly am not doing and would notdo).

Corporal punishment and natural law

The naturallaw justification of corporal punishment is pretty straightforward.  Essentially it is just a further applicationof the same reasoning that justifies the harsher penalty of capitalpunishment.  Adapting the basic argumentfor capital punishment that I’ve presented in several places, the reasoninggoes like this:

1.Wrongdoers deserve punishment as a matter of retributive justice.

2. The moregrave the wrongdoing, the more severe is the punishment deserved.

3. Someoffenses are so grave that nothing less than corporal punishment would beproportionate in its severity.

4.Therefore, wrongdoers guilty of such offenses deserve corporal punishment.

5. Governingauthorities have the right to inflict on wrongdoers the punishments theydeserve.

6. Therefore,governing authorities have the right to inflict corporal punishment on thoseguilty of sufficiently grave offenses.

Theconclusions 4 and 6 clearly follow from the premises of this argument.  But obviously, a skeptic will demand justificationfor the premises.  I’ve defended premises1, 2, and 5 in ByMan Shall His Blood Be Shed: A Catholic Defense of Capital Punishment(the book I co-wrote with Joseph Bessette), and in my recent article “TheJustice of Capital Punishment” (in Matthew Altman, ed., ThePalgrave Handbook on the Philosophy of Punishment).  In the same places, I’ve also defended thepremise that some crimes are so grave that nothing less than the death penaltywould be proportionate in its severity. And if that is true, then it follows afortiori that premise 3 above is true. So, readers in doubt about any of the premises are directed to thoseother writings of mine.

Notice thatthe conclusion of the argument is notthat governing authorities mustinflict corporal punishment whenever it is deserved.  That is not my position (just as it is not myposition that the death penalty mustalways be inflicted where it is deserved). The claim is only that governing authorities have a right to inflictit.  But that one has a right to dosomething does not by itself entail that one ought to exercise that right.  And there can be good reasons, includingmoral reasons, for refraining from exercising a right. 

Thomisticnatural law theorists who defend the death penalty typically argue for using itonly where necessary (even if thequestion of why and when it would be necessary is itself a matter ofcontroversy).  That is my ownposition.  Similarly, I would not arguefor actually exercising the right to inflict corporal punishment wherever it isdeserved, but only where it is necessary. 

When wouldthat be?  The most obvious sort of casewould be the very mild corporal punishment we inflict on children when we spankthem.  Parents are in this case therelevant governing authorities (of the small-scale society that is thefamily).  Sometimes spanking is necessaryinsofar as some children are so unruly that they don’t respond to milderpunishments.  In my view, while spankingshould be used where needed, it is better to avoid it where it is not necessary.  And usually, even when it is necessary itneedn’t be done very often.  Evenunrulier children often “get the message” after one or two spankings.

But whatabout governments?  When would it benecessary for them to resort to corporal punishment, as a way of dealing with criminals?  I’ll come back to that.

Corporal punishment and Catholictradition

Sincenatural law theory has traditionally been central to Catholic moral theology,one would expect that the legitimacy of corporal punishment has been recognizedin the Church’s teaching.  And that isindeed what we find, from the very beginning.

Forstarters, the legitimacy of corporal punishment is repeatedly taught inscripture, which the Catholic Church says is divinely inspired and thus cannotteach error (particularly on matters of faith and morals).  Here are some relevant passages (alltranslations from the Revised Standard Version):

If there is a dispute between men,and they come into court, and the judges decide between them, acquitting theinnocent and condemning the guilty, then ifthe guilty man deserves to be beaten, the judge shall cause him to lie down andbe beaten in his presence with a number of stripes in proportion to his offense.  Forty stripes may be given him, but not more;lest, if one should go on to beat him with more stripes than these, yourbrother be degraded in your sight. (Deuteronomy 25:1-3)

He who spares the rodhates his son, but he who loves him is diligent todiscipline him.(Proverbs 13:24)

Do not withhold discipline from achild; if you beat him with a rod, he will not die.  If youbeat him with the rod you will save his life from Sheol. (Proverbs 23:13-14)

He who loves his sonwill whip him often, in order that he may rejoice at theway he turns out.(Sirach 30:1)

Of the following things do not beashamed, and do not let partiality lead you to sin… of much discipline ofchildren, and of whipping a wickedservant severely.(Sirach 42:1, 5)

In the temple he found those who wereselling oxen and sheep and pigeons, and the money-changers at theirbusiness.  And making a whip of cords, he drove them all, with the sheep and oxen,out of the temple; and he poured out the coins of the money-changers andoverturned their tables. (John 2:14-15)

Notice thatthe corporal punishment countenanced in these passages is in some cases prettysevere (and certainly more severe than anything I think appropriatetoday).  Notice also that it will not doto contrast the Old Testament passages with the purportedly gentler message ofJesus, since we are told that Christhimself inflicted a whipping on the money-changers!

Naturally,the legitimacy of corporal punishment is also upheld by the Church’s moraltheologians.  For example, here are somerelevant passages from Aquinas:

It is licit to inflict harm onsomeone only in the manner of a punishment for the sake of justice.  But no one punishes anyone justly unless thatindividual is subject to his authority.  Andso to strike or beat someone is not licit except for an individual who has somesort of power over the one who is being struck or beaten.  And since children are subject to the power oftheir father and servants are subject to the power of their master, a father can licitly strike or beat hischild – and a master can strike or beat his servant – for the sake ofcorrection and discipline. (Summa TheologiaeII-II.65.2, Freddosotranslation)

Vengeance is lawful and virtuous sofar as it tends to the prevention of evil. Now some who are not influenced by motive of virtue are prevented fromcommitting sin, through fear of losing those things which they love more thanthose they obtain by sinning, else fear would be no restraint to sin.  Consequentlyvengeance for sin should be taken by depriving a man of what he lovesmost.  Now the things which man lovesmost… [include] bodily safety… Wherefore, according to Augustine'sreckoning (De Civ. Dei xxi), “Tully writes that the laws recognize eight kinds of punishment”… [including] “stripes”… (Summa Theologiae II-II.108.3)

The virtuous – who of their own freewill comply with what is honorable – should be aroused to good by means ofpre-existing customs, by showing the goodness of what is proposed.  But theinsubordinate and the degenerate are allotted physical punishments likebeatings and other chastisements, censure and loss of their possessions… Itis this way because the virtuous man, who adjusts his life to the good, heedsthe mere counsel by which good is proposed to him.  But theevil man who seeks pleasure ought to be punished by pain or sorrow like a beastof burden – the ass is driven by lashes.  (Commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics,Book X, Lecture 14, par. 2151-2152)

Thisteaching was reiterated in manuals of ethics and moral theology in the periodprior to Vatican II.  For example, Fr.Thomas Higgins’s book Manas Man: The Science and Art of Ethics tells us:

Correction necessarily impliescorporal punishment.  For all authoritymust have the power of coercion, physical as well as moral.  The young child in many ways is inclined toact like an animal rather than a rational being.  When he persists in acting irrationally bycontinued disobedience, physical pain is the only effective corrective.  Spare the rod and spoil the child is as truetoday as it was in Solomon’s time. (p. 409)

Similarly,in volume II of their MoralTheology: A Complete Course, Fr. John McHugh and Fr. CharlesCallan write that “bodily harms (wounds, blows, restraint)” may be inflicted aspunishment if three conditions are met: the one inflicting them must have theauthority to do so (e.g. as parents or the state do); there must be sufficientreason for doing so (such as the public good); and there must be “moderation inthe harm or pain inflicted” (pp. 129-30). For example, “the father, or those who hold his place (e.g., teachers)may administer corporal chastisements that are not of an irreparable kind tohis children (such as beatings, whippings)” (p. 130).  Addressing what would count as excess, theysay:

While children should not be spoiled,nor prisoners pampered, the other extreme of maltreatment or torture must beavoided.  It is cruel to box childrensoundly on the ears, or to push them roughly about, or to tie them up in thedark, as they may suffer permanent injury from such methods.  Likewise, it is barbarous to send convicts toa place or prison so horrible that they lose their minds or fall victims tolingering disease, or to inflict excruciating punishments by rack, thumb-screw,prolonged scourgings, etc. (p. 130)

Recent popestoo have affirmed the legitimacy of corporal punishment.  In a 1957 address to Italian jurists, PopePius XII stated:

The penal justice of the past, thatof the present to a certain degree, and – if it is true that history oftenteaches us what to expect in the future – that of tomorrow as well, makes use of punishments involving physicalpain.  (Quoted in John McDonald, Capital Punishment (London: CatholicTruth Society, 1964), p. 15)

PopeFrancis, in 2015,affirmed that mild corporal punishment in the form of spanking can sometimes bea legitimate way to discipline children. 

This is byno means an exhaustive survey of the tradition, but it indicates how consistentthe Church has been in affirming the legitimacy in principle of corporalpunishment, and that this legitimacy is grounded in divine revelation no lessthan in natural law.

Caning vandals?

Let’s return,then, to the question of whether corporal punishment might be an appropriateresponse to the current wave of political vandalism.  Obviously, existing punishments for suchbehavior are not a sufficient deterrent. Now, as Aquinas and Higgins note in a couple of the passages quotedabove, one reason for resorting to corporal punishment is that the guilty partywill not listen to reason, and that the infliction of physical pain is morelikely to get his attention.  It ishardly implausible to suppose that at least many of those who are willing totopple statues, deface artworks, or block traffic when they think the most they’llface is some jail time might be deterred if instead they faced the prospect ofa caning like the one inflicted on Michael Fay.

TheSingaporean statesman Lee Kuan Yew noted that caninghas an additional benefit, which is that it is humiliating.  It isn’t justphysical pain that the offender faces, but public shame.  Now, this is an especially appropriatepenalty to inflict on political vandals. They evince a haughty contempt for the social order, the symbols thatrepresent its ideals, the decent feelings of their fellow citizens, and in somecases even the ability of those citizens safely to get on with their daily tasks.  Such vandals deserve to have contempt shownfor them in return.  And the prospect of public shame as well as physical painmay be necessary to counter the moralistic delusions that prod them even toconsider carrying out their public tantrums. If they act like spoiled children it is fitting to treat them as such.

There is astrong case to be made, then, that corporal punishment for political vandalismof the kind that we have seen in recent years would be deserved and may benecessary.  Of course, it is neverthelessunlikely that Western society in its current state would reconsider corporalpunishment any time soon.  The trend today,at least among the intelligentsia and governing elites, is in the opposite direction,toward ever greater discomfort with the very idea of punishment, let alonecorporal punishment.  Things will likelybecome much worse before Western societies are willing to do what is needed tomake them better.  Refraining frominflicting harsh punishments when they are not necessary is a mark of civilization. But refraining from inflicting them whenthey are necessary is a mark ofdecadence.

Hell and conditional prophecy

In a recenttalk at the Angelicum (which can be viewed at YouTube),Fr. Simon Gaine addresses the question of whether scripture teaches that somewill in fact be damned.  He notes thatcertain prophecies of Christ might seem to imply this, but suggests that theymay plausibly be read as conditional prophecies rather than descriptions ofwhat will in fact happen.  Let���s take alook at his argument.

First, though,a comment on terminology.  Fr. Gaine usesthe label ���infernalism��� for the view that at least some human beings will infact be damned, and ���universalism��� for the view that all human beings will ultimatelybe saved, or at least may be.  There isnothing necessarily wrong with this usage, but it seems to me that it does notcorrespond exactly to the way others have used these labels in recent online discussionof the topic of hell.  My impression isthat ���infernalism��� is usually used in a broader way today, to include even theview that some might be damned, andthat ���universalism��� is often used in a narrower way, for the view that all must be saved.  The view that we can reasonably hope that allhuman beings are saved but that it is nevertheless possible that some aredamned ��� commonly associated with Hans Urs von Balthasar ��� would in that casecount as a (more optimistic) version of infernalism.  The way Fr. Gaine uses the terms, though, itwould count instead as a (more pessimistic) version of universalism. 

The issue isperhaps essentially semantic, but the differences in usage are worth callingattention to so that the listener does not misunderstand what Fr. Gaine issaying.  Hence, when Fr. Gaine suggeststhat the scriptural passages he refers to leave the debate between infernalismand universalism open, this does not entail that scripture is compatible withthe view (put forward by David Bentley Hart and others) that the damnation ofanyone is impossible, so that all must besaved.  Fr. Gaine is claiming only thatthese passages are compatible with the weaker thesis that it might be that all are saved, even ifthey also teach that at least some might be damned.

Where thescriptural evidence is concerned, Fr. Gaine���s focus is on Christ���s propheciesabout the Last Judgment, such as his famous statement in Matthew 25:31-46 aboutseparating the sheep from the goats and consigning the latter to eternalpunishment.  Don���t such prophecies showthat some will in fact be damned?

Fr. Gaine notesthat there are two kinds of prophecy in scripture.  First, there is what he calls ���Mosaicprophecy,��� which flatly and unconditionally foretells that a certain event willoccur.  He gives the example of Christ���sprophecy that Peter will deny him three times. Second, there is what Fr. Gaine calls ���Jeremianic prophecy,��� whichstates only that a certain event will occur ifcertain conditions are met.  For example,in Isaiah 38 it is prophesied that King Hezekiah will die imminently.  But Hezekiah repents, and God adds fifteenyears to his life.  Another example isthe repentance of the Ninevites in response to Jonah���s prophecy of thedestruction of their city.  As Aquinas notes(in Summa Theologiae II-II.171.6),prophecies of this kind are not false even though the predicted event does notcome to pass, precisely because they are conditional.  Had Hezekiah not repented, he would have died very soon, and had theNinevites not repented, their city wouldhave been destroyed.

Fr. Gaineproposes that prophecies like Christ���s statement about the sheep and the goatscan reasonably be read as Jeremianic in character.  If that is so, then while they certainly teachthat it might turn out that some aredamned, they do not flatly and unconditionally teach that some will in fact be damned.  They teach only that some will be damned if they do not repent ��� just as the prophecyabout Hezekiah is to be understood as saying only that he would die if he did not repent, and the prophecyabout Nineveh is to be understood as saying that the city would be destroyed if its citizens did not repent.  Fr. Gaine also acknowledges that one couldinstead argue for reading prophecies like the one about the sheep and the goatsas Mosaic prophecies.  But his point isthat either interpretation is compatible with orthodoxy, so that such passagescannot be said to settle the dispute between infernalism and universalism(again, as he is using those terms).

What shouldwe think about this argument?  Since Fr.Gaine does not discuss most of the scriptural passages relevant to the issue, Iam not certain that he is claiming that scripture as a whole is compatible with either infernalism or universalism,or only that certain specific scriptural passages are.  But even if we were to grant for the sake ofargument that a passage like Matthew 25:31-46 might be Jeremianic orconditional in character, I think that that cannotplausibly be said of all the relevantscriptural passages.  And thus I thinkthat, taken as a whole, scripture clearly favors infernalism over universalism. 

I have assembledand discussed the main relevant scriptural passages in anotherarticle.  Here I will focus on a fewof them to show how Fr. Gaine���s argument is problematic.  First, there are a handful of cases wherescripture seems clearly to teach that certain specific people will in fact be damned, not merely thatamong people in general, some mightbe damned. 

For example,consider Judas, of whom Christ says: ���Woe to that man by whom the Son of man isbetrayed!  It would have been better forthat man if he had not been born��� (Matthew 26:24).  It is hard to see how it could be better forJudas not to have been born if this were a conditional prophecy.  For if Christ knew that Judas would in fact repent(which, being omniscient, he would have known if that is in fact what Judasended up doing) wouldn���t it obviously be good that Judas was born?

But even ifsomeone were to claim that Christ was here merely trying to prod Judas torepent by way of an especially frightful conditional prophecy, that cannot besaid of John 17: 11-12, where, praying to the Father, Christ says: ���HolyFather, keep them in thy name, which thou hast given me��� I have guarded them,and none of them is lost but the son ofperdition.���  Notice that Christ notonly flatly states that Judas is lost, but says this to the Father, and not to Judas or any other human being.  Now, the point of conditional prophecies,like the ones made to Hezekiah and the Ninevites, is to encouragerepentance.  And that requires that thosein need of repentance hear the prophecy. But in this passage, it is the Father alone who is addressed, andneedless to say, he needn���t have beenwarned about the need for repentance!

This bringsus to a second problem, which is that a prophecy can plausibly be read asconditional only when it is addressed to listeners who might benefit from it.  And as we���ve just seen, this is not the caseof all the relevant scriptural passages. For another example, consider Revelation 20:10, which states that thebeast and the false prophet of the end times will, together with the devil, betormented day and night forever and ever. Not only does this name specific people, but it does so in the contextof a book addressed, not to those particular people, but rather to Christianswho are being persecuted by those people, to reassure them in the face of the persecution.  Hence it cannot plausibly be said that thispassage is meant as a conditional warning to the persecutors, the way that theprophecies to Hezekiah and the Ninevites were intended as conditional warningsto them (and thus were addressed directly to them).

A thirdproblem is that in at least one case, people who were already dead at the timethe passage was written (unlike the case of Judas or that of the beast andfalse prophet) are said to be damned. Hence it cannot be characterized as a prophecy at all, let alone aconditional one.  Jude 7 states that ���Sodomand Gomorrah and the surrounding cities, which likewise acted immorally andindulged in unnatural lust, serve as an example by undergoing a punishment of eternal fire.���  It can hardly be said that this was meant toprod the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah to repentance (as in the cases ofHezekiah and Nineveh), since those inhabitants were long dead when Jude���sepistle was written.  To be sure, thelarger context of this passage plausibly contains a conditionally propheticelement, insofar as Jude���s readers are being warned what will happen to them ifthey follow the example of Sodom and Gomorrah. All the same, the statement that the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah suffered���a punishment of eternal fire��� is not itself a prophecy but the assertion of afait accompli.

A fourthproblem is that even in the case of conditional prophecies concerning hell, wecan reasonably hope that the people in question are not damned only if we canreasonably hope that they repented (as we know that Hezekiah and the Ninevites repented).  That means that we can reasonably hope thatall are saved only if it is reasonable to think that every single person who has died so far in human history repented beforedeath.  But it is not reasonable to think this. There are simply too many people who have died in what to allappearances is a state of grave sin unrepented of.  True, of any particular person, no matter howapparently hardened in evil to the bitter end, we cannot be absolutely certain that he did notsomehow find repentance in the nick of time. It is, considered in the abstract, theoretically possible.  But it simply doesn���t follow that it isremotely plausible that every singleperson who seems to have died unrepentant really repented in an unseen way. 

Now, if we���regoing to use uncontroversially conditional prophecies as our model for interpretingprophecies concerning damnation, then we should note, first, that the cases wherethe prophecy did not come to pass are cases where the people to whom theprophecy was directed clearly andexplicitly repented (as with Hezekiah and the Ninevites).  Meanwhile, cases where such prophecies didcome to pass (as with predictions about the punishment of the Israelites by wayof foreign aggressors) are cases where the people, to all appearances, did notrepent.  Therefore, where conditional propheciesconcerning damnation are concerned, the reasonable interpretation is that, withpeople who to all appearances did notrepent before death, it is highly probable that at least some of them aredamned.

All told,then, Fr. Gaine does not seem to me to have made a plausible case that the viewthat all human beings might be saved can be reconciled with the scripturalevidence.  At the very least, thetotality of the scriptural evidence clearly more strongly favors infernalism.

Relatedposts:

Howto go to hell

Does Goddamn you?

Whynot annihilation?

A HartlessGod?

No hell,no heaven

Hart,hell, and heresy

Nourgency without hell

Scriptureand the Fathers contra universalism

Popes,creeds, councils, and catechisms contra universalism

Geach onHell

Afallacy in Balthasar

Hell isnot empty

Capital punishment and the law of nations

What is thenature of Pope Francis’s 2018 change to the Catechism’s teaching on capitalpunishment?  Does it amount to a reversalof traditional teaching?  A developmentof doctrine that is consistent with that teaching?  A prudential judgment?  And if the latter, is assent to the newformulation binding on the faithful? Barrett Turner offers an important analysis in his Nova et Vetera article “Pope Francis and the DeathPenalty: A Conditional Advance of Justice in the Law of Nations.”  Let’s take a look.

The text ofthe revision, at paragraph 2267 of the Catechism, reads as follows:

Recourseto the death penalty on the part of legitimate authority, following a fairtrial, was long considered an appropriate response to the gravity of certaincrimes and an acceptable, albeit extreme, means of safeguarding the commongood.

Today,however, there is an increasing awareness that the dignity of the person is notlost even after the commission of very serious crimes.  In addition,a new understanding has emerged of the significance of penal sanctions imposedby the state.  Lastly, more effective systems of detention have beendeveloped, which ensure the due protection of citizens but, at the same time,do not definitively deprive the guilty of the possibility of redemption.

Consequently,the Church teaches, in the light of the Gospel, that “the death penalty isinadmissible because it is an attack on the inviolability and dignity of theperson”, and she works with determination for its abolition worldwide.

Endquote.  The crux of this passage is thestatement that “the death penalty is inadmissible because it is an attack onthe inviolability and dignity of the person.” Turner identifies three basic ways to interpret this.

Three interpretations

The firstwould be to read it as teaching that capital punishment is intrinsicallyimmoral.  This would amount to anoutright reversal of the traditional doctrine of the Church, and thus anendorsement of the position of “new natural law” theorists like Germain Grisez,John Finnis, and E. Christian Brugger, who have long argued for such areversal.  Turner rejects thisinterpretation.  In a letter announcingthe change to the Catechism, Cardinal Ladaria, Prefect of the Congregation forthe Doctrine of the Faith, stated that the revision was not in contradictionwith prior Church teaching and instead reflected a change in historicalcircumstances.  As Turner points out, hecould not have said this if the revision had been intended as an endorsement ofthe view of Grisez, Finnis, and Brugger that past teaching was wrong and thatthe death penalty is intrinsically evil.

(It is worthnoting that Finnis, despite his own view that capital punishment isintrinsically immoral, agreed that the revision did not change past teachingand wasvery critical of the reasoning behind it.  In any event, as Joseph Bessette and I showin our book ByMan Shall His Blood Be Shed: A Catholic Defense of Capital Punishment,the arguments of Grisez, Finnis, and Brugger fail, and their position cannot bereconciled with Catholic orthodoxy.  Turnerindicates that he agrees with us about this much.)

A secondinterpretation of the revision identified by Turner would be to regard it as anerroneous or at best imprecise prudential application of Catholicteaching.  As Turner points out, thisinterpretation cannot be dismissed out of hand, because the revision falls intothe category of non-definitive acts of the ordinary Magisterium.  Moreover, if the revision is not intended tocontradict past doctrinal principles and reflects instead a change in judgementabout how to apply those principles to concrete circumstances, then thiscurrent judgement could, in the nature of the case, hardly be more definitivethan the past judgments it replaces.

Toward theend of his essay, Turner identifies several respects in which Pope Francis’steaching on this subject is indeed problematic. However, the bulk of the essay is devoted instead to exploring a thirdpossible interpretation of the revision to the Catechism.  On this interpretation, the revision, on theone hand, does not reflect any change in the fundamental doctrinal principlesconcerning capital punishment.  Itremains Catholic teaching that the state has the right in principle to executeoffenders for sufficiently grave offenses. But on the other hand, the revision is more than merely a prudentialapplication of these fundamental principles to concrete contemporarycircumstances.  It is a prudentialjudgment of a deeper kind than that, one concerning what the Thomistic naturallaw tradition calls the ius gentiumor “law of nations.”

The law of nations

The law ofnations is a middle ground level of moral principles, coming in the between thefundamental and immutable principles of natural law on the one hand and thevarious local laws and customs of individual political communities on theother.  Its function is to mediate theapplication of the former to the latter. Like local laws and customs, it is contingent and changeable.  Unlike them, it has universal application,and a higher degree of durability even if it falls short of strictimmutability.  It is a kind ofconventional wisdom about how best to apply the principles of natural law, and widelyregarded as more or less settled even if not infallible.

Turneroffers a few examples, including the practically universal agreement today thatsubjecting those defeated in a just war to servitude is not morallyacceptable.  Even if such servitude weretheoretically justifiable as punishment of those guilty of unjust aggression,the moral downside of such a practice is so grave that it is better simply torule it out as beyond the pale in a decent society.  As Turner notes, a change in the law ofnations (such as the change from permitting this kind of servitude toabolishing it once and for all) can reflect not merely a change incircumstances, but a deeper application of distinctively Christian moralprinciples.

Now, thereis a further distinction to be drawn here, because as Turner also notes, thereare, within the Thomistic natural law tradition, two ways that the ius gentium has been interpreted.  On the first interpretation, the law ofnations is concerned with entirely man-made principles that are practicallyindispensable for applying the natural law. The ius gentium is, on thisview, essentially a matter of positive law rather than the discovery of anythingstrictly there in natural law itself. Turner associates this interpretation with thinkers like Francisco deVitoria, Domingo de Soto, Melchior Cano, and Domingo Banez.  On the second interpretation, the ius gentium goes a bit deeper than this,and involves the discovery of what justice strictly requires given certaincivilizational conditions.  Turnerassociates this interpretation with thinkers like Jacques Maritain and YvesSimon.

The basicidea here (as I understand it) is that on the second interpretation, theprinciples of the ius gentium are absolutely binding given certain conditions; whereas on the first interpretation, theyare never absolutely binding but cannevertheless be, under certain conditions, binding for all practical purposes (and to such an extent that it is as if they were absolutelybinding).  Either way, as Turner pointsout, the ius gentium reflects a moralconventional wisdom that runs so deepthat it can “feel” as binding as the natural law – even to educated people whoknow the difference, and certainly to the average person who does not.

Turner’sproposal, then, is that the revision to the Catechism reflects a prudentialjudgment about the law of nations,specifically.  In particular, it reflectsthe judgment that, in light of both the adequacy of contemporary non-lethalmeans of protecting society and the higher demands of the Gospel as applied tothe law, the principle that resort to capital punishment is never justifiablein practice ought now to be regarded as part of the ius gentium.  Turner alsoindicates, though, that this is better understood in terms of the firstinterpretation of the ius gentium(i.e. the one associated with de Vitoria, de Soto, Cano, and Banez) rather thanthe second, stronger interpretation (i.e. the one associated with Maritain andSimon).  For the latter interpretationmight give the impression that the Magisterium was teaching grave error priorto the 2018 revision.

Still a flawed prudential judgment?

As Turnernotes, though this interpretation attributes to the revision a deeper alterationto the Church’s teaching than most prudential judgments involve, it stillamounts to a kind of prudential judgment, and a non-definitive one that isarguably problematic in several respects. All the same, it is, in his view, the most plausible understanding ofwhat the revision intends –namely, something less radical than a doctrinalreversal or development, but more radical than other prudential judgments tendto be.

As aninterpretation of the pope’s and the CDF’s intentions, Turner’s view seems tome interesting and plausible.  And it maybe the only plausible way to read the statement that “the death penalty isinadmissible because it is an attack on the inviolability and dignity of theperson” in a manner that rescues it from the charge of doctrinal error.  For the appeal to “the inviolability anddignity of the person” gives the impression that the problem with capitalpunishment goes beyond merecontemporary circumstances – and thus involves some intrinsic evil.  The ius gentium interpretation opens thedoor to a middle ground reading, on which the problem does go beyondcontemporary circumstances but nevertheless does not entail intrinsic evil.

But even ifthis is indeed the Catechism’s position, it doesn’t follow that that positionis well-founded or unproblematic.  And infact it is neither.  Turner himself notesseveral problems with it.  One of them isthat the assumption that capital punishment is absolutely never needed today for the protection of society is undefended andopen to serious objections.  Turnernotes, for example, that without the deterrent effect of capital punishment,some prisoners are threats to the lives of fellow prisoners and of prisonguards.  In arecent article, I discussed other ways in which the total abolitionof capital punishment threatens innocent lives. In that case, though, incorporation of such an abolition into the ius gentium could hardly facilitate amore just society.

A secondproblem noted by Turner is that Pope Francis’s frequently reiterated positionthat life sentences should be abolished partially undermines the rationale forthe Catechism’s revision.  For the claimthat capital punishment is unnecessary today for the protection of societyrests on the idea that locking the most dangerous offenders up indefinitelyprovides an alternative way to incapacitate them.  (As Ihave argued elsewhere, there are also other serious problems withthis particular teaching of the pope.)

A thirdproblem identified by Turner concerns the revised Catechism’s appeal to “a newunderstanding… of the significance of penal sanctions imposed by the state.”  It is not clear exactly what is meant bythis.  Is the claim that retributivejustice is no longer among the considerations to be weighed when deciding whatpunishments are suitable?  Turner notesthat this would contradict the traditional teaching of the Church – and as JoeBessette and I show in our book, the teaching that retributive justice is amongthe purposes of punishment is also irreformable.

It is worthadding that Pope Pius XII, who taught more systematically and at much greaterlength about the topic of punishment and criminal justice than any other pope,explicitly addressed the view that modern times call for a new understanding ofpunishment that deemphasizes retribution and emphasizes instead the protectionof society and rehabilitation.  And he explicitly rejected this position ascontrary to scripture and the traditional teaching of the Church.  See pp. 128-34 of By Man Shall His Blood Be Shed, which quotes extensively from therelevant documents. 

If therevision of the Catechism is taking the opposite view, we would have acontradiction between Pius XII’s teaching and Francis’s teaching.  But Pius XII’s teaching is very clear, isexpounded and defended in detail, and is firmly grounded in scripture andtradition.  But Francis’s teaching on thepurposes of punishment – if indeedthat teaching is meant entirely to abandon retributive justice in favor ofrehabilitation and the protection of society (which is not obvious) – is notclearly expressed, is merely asserted rather than supported with arguments, andis difficult to reconcile with scripture and tradition. 

Theseproblems, which Turner himself acknowledges, are serious enough.  But there are yet other grave problems withthe view that the ius gentium shouldnow be understood as absolutely ruling out the death penalty in practice.  The revision to the Catechism says that“today… there is an increasing awareness that the dignity of the person” rulesout such a penalty.  But is contemporaryopposition to capital punishment in fact generally motivated by an increasedawareness of human dignity?  Does itreflect moral common ground between the Catholic faith and the secular world?

Some of themost influential contemporary Catholic opponents of capital punishmentthemselves acknowledge that that is the opposite of the truth.  For example, Finnis warns:

We should be under no illusions: theorgans of the European Council, the United Nations, and the European Union,unconcerned to exclude from human society all intent to kill, and disdainful ofGod’s lordship over life and death, are devoted to the opaque language ofdignity. They deploy it constantly, bureaucratically, to promote theirrejection of capital punishment but equally their indulgence towardseuthanasia, suicide, and the many forms of anti-marital sex, and the radicallyunjust promotion of gender fluidity and same-sex parodies of marriage.  And the educational institutions and programsthey promote are nearly unanimous in denying or ignoring the justice ofretribution, with its attention to the continuing and often justly decisiverelevance of past deeds to present entitlement and conduct, attention andrelevance essential to the truth of the Christian faith.

Similarly, CardinalAvery Dulles, who supported the abolition of the death penalty, acknowledgedthat most opposition to capital punishment today reflects, notdeeper moral insight but a move away from Christian morality:

Many governments in Europe andelsewhere have eliminated the death penalty in the twentieth century, oftenagainst the protests of religious believers. While this change may be viewed as moral progress, it is probably due,in part, to the evaporation of the sense of sin, guilt, and retributive justice,all of which are essential to biblical religion and Catholic faith.  The abolition of the death penalty informerly Christian countries may owe more to secular humanism than to deeperpenetration into the gospel.

Arguments from the progress ofethical consciousness have been used to promote a number of alleged humanrights that the Catholic Church consistently rejects in the name of Scriptureand tradition.  The magisterium appealsto these authorities as grounds for repudiating divorce, abortion, homosexualrelations, and the ordination of women to the priesthood.  If the Church feels herself bound byScripture and tradition in these other areas, it seems inconsistent forCatholics to proclaim a “moral revolution” on the issue of capital punishment.

Endquote.  Nor is the connection betweenopposition to capital punishment and hostility to Catholic morality a recentphenomenon.  As Brugger acknowledges,when the modern movement to abolish capital punishment got started amongEuropean intellectuals two centuries ago, it was closely associated withvarious doctrines at odds with Catholicism, such as utilitarianism andskepticism about the afterlife.  Hence,he writes:

The early organized public efforts toeliminate (or limit, with a view to eliminating) capital punishment, at leastfor ordinary or “lesser” crimes, were almost exclusively secularphenomena.  Early spokesman for the causeinclude Montesquieu, Voltaire, Robespierre, and Diderot in France, Hume andBentham in Britain, and Fichte in Germany – all harsh critics of the CatholicChurch and its orthodox teaching… [The] social movement to abolish capitalpunishment… became associated in the minds of many Catholic thinkers withopposition to orthodox belief and to the Church. (Capital Punishment and Roman Catholic Moral Tradition, pp. 130-31)

In short,while the increase in opposition to the death penalty in modern society doesindeed reflect a moral revolution, it is precisely a revolution away from the Catholic understanding ofhuman dignity, not a deeper appreciation of it.

Now, therevision to the Catechism offers three justifications for the change: (a) “anincreasing awareness [of] the dignity of the person,” (b) “a new understanding…of the significance of penal sanctions imposed by the state,” and (c) “moreeffective systems of detention… which ensure the due protection of citizens”without recourse to capital punishment.  Butas we have just seen, all three of these are seriously problematic. 

And there isyet another serious problem with the revision. Again, the statement that “the death penalty… is an attack on theinviolability and dignity of the person” seems,considered in isolation, to be saying that capital punishment is intrinsicallyevil.  To be sure, it need not be readthat way, and there are good arguments for not reading it that way.  But it takes theological learning andanalytical skill to see that.  To theaverage person, the statement seems to be lumping capital punishment in withabortion, euthanasia, and murder in general. Much of the other recent rhetoric of popes and bishops has the sameeffect.  And while popes John Paul II andBenedict XVI at least occasionally qualified these statements by explicitlyacknowledging that capital punishment is not intrinsically evil, Francis doesnot do so.  Indeed, he and other bishopshave ignored pleasfor clarification.

The problemwith this is that the Church now thus appearsto many people to be contradicting the teaching of scripture and of her ownpast Magisterium.  For orthodoxbelievers, this can cause a crisis of faith. Meanwhile, heterodox Catholics are emboldened, hopeful that a change inteaching on capital punishment will open the way to changes to othertraditional teachings.  Again, therevision does not actually have the implications that orthodox believers fearand that the heterodox welcome.  ButCatholics should not have to havespecial theological expertise in order to see this.  For a magisterial document to require suchexpertise in order to see its continuity with scripture and tradition is thus aserious defect.

As Ihave discussed in detail elsewhere, the CDF instruction Donum Veritatis and the tradition of theChurch acknowledge that non-definitive acts of the Magisterium can sometimes bedefective in this way, and may, accordingly, be met with respectfulcriticism.  I submit that the revision tothe Catechism provides as clear an example as there has ever been of a casewhere the norms of Donum Veritatisapply.

A binding prudential judgment?

There is onefurther question to address.  Again,Turner takes the revision to amount to a non-definitive prudential judgement,and acknowledges that it is problematic. Now, some prudential judgments require only respectful consideration bythe faithful, but neither assent nor obedience. Cardinal Ratzinger, acting as head of CDF, stated in a2004 memorandum that papal opposition to capital punishment was anexample of such a prudential judgment. But as Cardinal Dulles noted in his book Magisterium: Teacher and Guardian of the Faith, there can also beprudential judgments which “require external conformity in behavior, [even ifthey] do not demand internal assent” (p. 94). He gives as an example past Vatican instructions to theologiansconcerning which methods of biblical exegesis were permissible.  Some such restrictions, says Dulles, wereexcessive and later relaxed.  But thoughsome theologians even at the time may have had good reasons for disagreeingwith the restrictions, they were nevertheless obligated to abide by them intheir published work.  (For a detailedtreatment of the different kinds of magisterial statement and their levels ofbinding force, see pp. 144-57 of By ManShall His Blood Be Shed.)

Now, somemight argue that even if the revision to the Catechism is flawed, and even ifCatholics are permitted respectfully to raise criticisms of it, it neverthelessrequires “external conformity in behavior” (to borrow Dulles’s phrase).  In particular, it might be claimed that thepermission to support the actual use of capital punishment that CardinalRatzinger affirmed in the 2004 memo has now been rescinded.  Hence, it might be argued, every Catholicpublic official must now work to implement a policy of abolition of capitalpunishment, even if he is at liberty to think this policy mistaken.

It seemsthis might be Turner’s view, though this is unclear.  He notes that the precepts of the ius gentium, though they lack theabsolutely binding character of the precepts of natural law, are nevertheless“existentially indistinguishable from the precepts of the natural law to thecommon person in any given age” (p. 1047). That is to say, in practicethey are generally perceived as having the force of natural law, even ifstrictly speaking they do not.  AndTurner later goes on to say that with respect to the abolition of capitalpunishment, the pope “is within his office to make such a prudential judgmentand to enshrine that judgment in the Catechismas existentially binding” (p. 1049). This characterization of the revision as “existentially binding” seemsto imply that Catholics are obligated to conform their behavior to it even ifthey may raise legitimate questions about it – though again, Turner does notsay this in so many words.

In anyevent, there is a serious problem with this interpretation, which I spelled outin arecent article.  TheCatechism, in line with the traditional teaching of the Church, states that warcan be justifiable when necessary to protect citizens against violentaggression.  But it also states that theresponsibility for making a prudential judgment about when the criteria forjust war are actually met lies with public authorities.  The reason is that it is public authorities(and not churchmen) who have the duty under natural law to protect citizens,and it is public authorities (and not churchmen) who have the relevant expertiseconcerning how best to do this.

Now, whenaddressing capital punishment, the Catechism – both in the versions promulgatedby Pope St. John Paul II and in Pope Francis’s revision – states that whetherthe death penalty is ever justifiable depends on whether it is necessary inorder to protect society.  The differenceis that John Paul thought it was only rarely necessary, and Francis thinks itis never necessary.  But as in the caseof war, it is public authorities (and not churchmen) who have the duty toprotect citizens from violent aggressors, and public authorities (and notchurchmen) who have the relevant expertise. Hence, in the nature of the case, it is hard to see how the Church couldmake a binding prudential judgmentwhere resort to capital punishment is concerned, any more than she could make abinding prudential judgment where the application of just war principles isconcerned.  In the one case as in theother, to do so would be to usurp the responsibility that the natural law putson public authorities, not on theChurch.

An attemptto bind public authorities to abolishing capital punishment thus smacks of akind of clericalism – in particular, of an interference of the Church with the legitimatefunctions of the state, which the Church has otherwise been moving away from inthe period since Vatican II.  The Churchno longer calls upon the assistance of the state to safeguard people’s souls (since, it is said, the state hasno competence in that area).  What sensedoes it make, then, for the Church to interfere with the state’s right to protectpeople’s bodies (where, the Churchsays, the state does havecompetence)? 

Furthermore,the revision to the Catechism has been presented as just an extension of whatJohn Paul II already taught and of his reasons for teaching it (such as theadequacy of non-lethal means of protecting society and a better understandingof human dignity).  The difference,again, is just that John Paul thought the death penalty was rarely if everneeded and Francis thinks that it never is. But as Ratzinger’s 2004 memo makes clear, John Paul II’s teaching wasnot of such a nature that Catholics were obligated to behave in accordance withit.  So, how can Francis’s teaching,which differs from John Paul’s in degree but not in kind, impose any stricterobligation?

For thesereasons, then, it seems to me that the claim that Catholics are obligated toshow the revision “external conformity in behavior” is theologicallyproblematic.  All the same, this is, ofcourse, not my call to make.  Like theother difficulties I’ve described, it is ultimately a matter for theMagisterium of the Church to clarify.  Isuspect we will have to wait for a future pontificate before that happens.

Substance, teleology, and intentionality

There is anilluminating parallel between the traditional Aristotelian distinction between substances, artifacts, and aggregates,and the distinction John Searle draws between intrinsic intentionality, derivedintentionality, and as-ifintentionality.  This might seem oddgiven that the Aristotelian distinction is concerned with very general questionsabout the metaphysics of physical objects, whereas Searle is concerned with avery specific topic in the philosophy of mind. But on closer inspection the parallel is quite natural and obvious, andthe connecting link is the notion of teleology. Let’s first consider each distinction, and then we’ll be in a positionto see the parallels.

Aristotle on substance

In the Physics, Aristotle famouslydistinguishes between natural and artificial objects.  Some examples of natural objects would bestones, copper, trees, and dogs.  Someexamples of artificial objects would be tables, paintings, automobiles, andcomputers.  Or to take an example I liketo use, a liana vine (the kind Tarzan swings around the jungle on) would be anatural object, and a hammock Tarzan makes out of living liana vines so as tonap in the afternoon would be an artifact.

There aredifferent ways to explain the distinction. Aristotle characterizes natural objects as those whose principle ofchange and stability is internal to them, whereas artificial objects have theirprinciple of change or stability imposed from outside.  For instance, a liana vine’s tendencies tosink roots into the ground, draw water in through them, and grow upward towardthe forest canopy all arise from within it. But the hammock made from living liana vines will maintain the propershape, remain tied together, etc. only if Tarzan continuously maintains it byretying vines that have come apart, pruning them, and so on. 

Another wayto make the distinction is to note that natural objects have substantial forms, whereas artifactshave merely accidental forms.  The mark of a thing’s having a substantialform is the presence of properties and causal powers that are irreducible tothe sum of the properties and powers of its parts.  Something having a merely accidental form, bycontrast, has properties and causal powers that are reducible.  For example,the distinctive properties and powers of a liana vine cannot be analyzed asmerely a sum of the properties and powers of its parts (such as the cells,molecules, or atoms of which it is composed). But the properties and powers of a hammock can be reduced to the properties and powers of the vines it is madeout of, together with Tarzan’s intention of using the vines to function as ahammock.

A third wayto make the distinction is to note that natural objects have intrinsic or built-in teleology, whereasartifacts have merely extrinsic orexternally imposed teleology.  Thetendencies of liana vines to sink roots into the ground and to grow upwardtoward the forest canopy are intrinsic to them, whereas their tendency to functionas a hammock is externally imposed by Tarzan.

These threeways of making the distinction are closely related.  A natural object’s intrinsic teleologicalfeatures follow from its substantial form, and are manifested in the operationof its distinctive causal powers.  Forinstance, the substantial form distinctive of a liana vine manifests itself inthe vine’s being directed or aimed toward the ends of sinking roots into theground, growing upward toward the forest canopy, etc.  And the change and stability distinctive ofsuch a vine is manifest in the operation of the causal powers by which the vinerealizes these ends.

Similarly,the externally imposed end of functioning as a hammock determines whichaccidental forms Tarzan has to put into the vines (tying them this way ratherthan that, pruning them of these bits but not those) so that it will exhibitcausal powers facilitating that end (e.g. the power to support the weight of anadult human being).

A truephysical substance, for theAristotelian, is an object that has a substantialrather than merely accidental form; which, accordingly, exhibits certain intrinsic rather than merely externallyimposed teleological features; and which thereby manifests certain inherentpatterns of change and stability.  Artifactsare not true substances, precisely because they have merely accidental forms,externally imposed teleology, and patterns of change and stability that are notentirely inherent to them.  Hence a lianavine is a true substance and a hammock is not. (I say more about the distinction between the natural and the artificialin my recent essay “Natural and Supernatural,” in the Simpson , Koons, and Orrvolume Neo-AristotelianMetaphysics and the Theology of Nature.)

Being anartifact is not the only way to fail to be a true substance, though.  This is where aggregates come in.  SupposeTarzan ties a hammock between two trees, but later abandons and forgets about it.  Imagine the vines that make it up die, andthe whole thing comes loose and drops to the ground, forming a pile beneath thetrees.  Imagine that the vines comecompletely untied, dry out and fade, and take on the appearance of an amorphousmass or random tangle.  Since the vinesare dead and no longer exhibit the distinctive properties and powers of lianavines, they are on the Aristotelian view not strictly liana vines any longer at all. They are substances of some other kind instead – bits of fiber,say.  And since the pile no longer hasthe distinctive features of a hammock (and Tarzan no longer even intends to useit as such) it is no longer a hammock either.

What isit?  It is an aggregate of these new fibrous substances – a collection whosepowers and properties are reducible to the sum of the parts of thecollection.  It is like an artifact,except that an artifact has a teleology imposed from outside by some mind,whereas an aggregate does not.  This isso even if it behaves as if itdid.  For example, imagine that the pileof dead vines prevents water from flowing between the trees the hammock hadfallen from.  It functions as if it were a dam, but it is notstrictly a dam since it was not built for that purpose (either by human beingsor beavers, say).

Searle on intentionality

Let’s turnnow to Searle’s distinction.  Intentionality is a technical term forthe directedness or “aboutness” characteristic of mental states and oflinguistic and other sorts of representations. For example, your thought that theEiffel Tower is in Paris is aboutor directed towards a certain object– the Eiffel Tower.  The English sentence“The Eiffel Tower is in Paris” is also aboutor directed toward the EiffelTower, as is a painting of the Eiffel Tower. By contrast, a random string of letters like “gjaargrvma,” or thesplotches on the ground that form when you accidentally spill some ink, have nointentionality.  They are not about anything, but are mere meaninglessmarks.

Now, asSearle points out in several places (such as his book TheRediscovery of the Mind), these examples illustrate two different kindsof intentionality.  The string of lettersthat make up the sentence “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris” has intentionality,whereas the random string “gjaargrvma” does not.  But notice that the intentionality of thefirst string is not inherent toit.  Intrinsicallyor all on their own, the first set of letters is as meaningless as thesecond.  It’s just that, given the conventionsof English usage, the first conveys a sentence and the second does not.  Absent those conventions, the first would beas devoid of intentionality as the second or as an accidental splotch of ink.

Sentencesthus have what Searle calls derivedintentionality.  So too does adrawing of the Eiffel Tower, and representations of other kinds such as symbols(for example, the symbols making up a “No smoking” sign).  Now, the source of this derived intentionalityis the human mind.  The sentence “TheEiffel Tower is in Paris” has the meaning it does because it is used to expressthe thought that the Eiffel Tower is in Paris. Thoughts, however, do not in turn derive their meaning from anythingelse.  We use sentences to convey the contentsof thoughts, but nobody uses thoughts to convey the contents of thoughts or ofanything else.  Thoughts just are their contents, as it were.  They have their meaning in a built-inway.  They have intrinsic (or original) ratherthan derived intentionality. 

(The wayScholastic writers like John Poinsot put this is to say that sentences are instrumental signs whereas thoughts are formal signs.  An instrumental sign is a sign that is alsosomething else – a set of ink marks, a noise, an image, or what have you.  Its content is something additional to ordistinct from these other features, and that is why for such features to haveany content at all requires that the content be derived.  A formal sign is a sign that is nothing more than a sign, and in particularnothing more than its content.  It just is its content, which is why its contentis intrinsic rather than derived.)

Searle alsonotes that there are phenomena that do not have intentionality of an intrinsicor even a derived kind, but which it is nevertheless useful to describe as if they had it.  For example, when seeing dark clouds we mightsay “Those clouds mean that it will rain.” Naturally, the clouds don’t have such a meaning in the way that the thought that it will rain has meaning. For the clouds aren’t thinking. But neither do the clouds have meaning in the way that the sentence “Itwill rain” does or in the way that a drawing of rain does.  A cloud is not a sentence, or a picture, or asymbol, or a representation of any other kind. Rather, what is going on is that, since we know there is a causalcorrelation between dark clouds and rain, we infer from the presence of theclouds that there will be rain.  Themeaning (in the sense of the conceptual or semantic content) is in us, not in the clouds.  But describing the clouds as if they hadsemantic content is a useful shorthand. Searle calls this as-ifintentionality, but emphasizes that precisely because it is only as if thephenomenon had intentionality, it is not strictly a kind of intentionality buta convenient fiction.  Another examplewould be when we say that the water wantsto get to the bottom of the hill (as if water really wanted anything).

Naturally,intrinsic intentionality is the most basic of the three.  Derived intentionality exists only becausethere is intrinsic intentionality to derive it from.  And as-if intentionality is a matter ofspeaking of a thing as if it had the intrinsic intentionality that thoughtshave or the derived intentionality that words and the like get from theintrinsic intentionality of thoughts.

Teleology

Now, thereis a parallel between natural substances, artifacts, and aggregates on the onehand and intrinsic intentionality, derived intentionality, and as-ifintentionality on the other.  Considerfirst that natural substances are more fundamental than artifacts andaggregates, because the latter presuppose the former.  In particular, an artifact is essentially anatural substance or collection of natural substances that have been arrangedby someone to realize some end of his (such as Tarzan’s hammock).  And an aggregate is a collection of naturalsubstances that might superficially appear as if it were a natural substance oran artifact but is not, since it lacks the purposes of either (as in the caseof the pile of dead vines).

Analogously,intrinsic intentionality is more fundamental than either derived or as-ifintentionality.  Like an artifact,something with derived intentionality (such as words, images, or symbols)reflects the purposes of some agent. Like an aggregate, something with as-if intentionality can seem like itreflects such purposes but does not.

The reasonfor the parallel has primarily to do with the different kinds of teleological features exhibited by the differentkinds of physical objects.  Teleology essentiallyinvolves directedness toward an endor goal.  But intentionality alsoinvolves a kind of directedness, namely directedness toward an object ofrepresentation (whether representation in thought, in words, or whatever).  The key difference is that intentionalityinvolves directedness of a mental kind, whereas teleology need not (though itcan).  For example, the directedness of aliana vine to the ends of sinking roots into the ground, growing toward theforest canopy, and so on is in no way conscious or otherwise mental.  For a liana vine has no mental properties ofany kind.

If we thinkof directedness as the genericfeature that both physical objects and intentionality can possess in differentways, then what the members of the two sets of distinctions have in common isthis: natural substances and intrinsic intentionality both involve an inherent or built-in directedness;artifacts and derived intentionality both involve a borrowed or derivative directedness; and aggregates and as-ifintentionality both involve no genuine directedness at all, but at most onlythe appearance of it.

Theseparallels also manifest themselves in the way Aristotelians and Searle wouldobject to the notion that the human mind is literally a kind of computer.  The Aristotelian would say that rational animalsare substances of a kind, whereas computers are a kind of artifact.  The former have substantial forms, intrinsicteleology, and irreducible causal powers; whereas the latter have merelyaccidental forms, derivative teleology, and reducible causal powers.  So, it is just a category mistake to think ofthe mind as a kind of computer.  Similarly,Searle has argued that minds have intrinsic intentionality, whereas computershave only a kind of derived intentionality. (Actually, the relationship between Aristotelianism and Searle vis-à-viscomputers is somewhat more complicated than this.  I have discussed it in detail in my Nova et Vetera article “From Aristotle to JohnSearle and Back Again: Formal Causes, Teleology, and Computation in Nature.”)

An awarenessof the parallel I’m calling attention to is at least implicit in some commentsDaniel Dennett makes in his essay “Evolution, Error, and Intentionality” (fromhis collection TheIntentional Stance).  FollowingW. V. Quine and others, Dennett holds that the meaning or semantic content ofthoughts and utterances is indeterminatefrom the physical facts about human beings and their larger environment.  That is to say, if the physical facts are allthe facts there are, then there simply is noobjective fact of the matter about what any of our utterances mean or aboutthe content of any of our thoughts.  (RecallQuine’s famous “gavagai” example.)  Sincethese thinkers hold that the physical facts are indeed all the facts there are,they conclude that there is indeed no fact of the matter about what we meanwhen we say or think something.

Now, I haveargued (in my American Catholic PhilosophicalQuarterly article “Kripke,Ross, and the Immaterial Aspects of Thought” and elsewhere) that while thepremise about the semantic indeterminacy of the physical is true, theconclusion Quine, Dennett, and others draw from it is false, and indeedincoherent.  The right conclusion todraw, I submit, is that thought is not physical.  But for present purposes we can put thataside.  What I want to call attention tohere is that Dennett notes (at p. 321 of his essay) that (given hisnaturalistic assumptions) there can be no objective fact of the matter about natural functions any more than therecan be about the meaning or semanticcontent of thought.  That is to say,the same considerations that entail the indeterminacy of semantic content also entailindeterminacy about the teleological properties of natural objects.  Just as, for Quine, there is no objectivefact of the matter about whether “gavagai” means “rabbit” or “undetached rabbitpart,” so too there is no fact of the matter about whether the function of the heartis to pump blood.

Now thisposition too, as I argue in chapter 6 of Aristotle’sRevenge, is ultimately incoherent. Teleological notions simply cannot be eliminated from biology, and ifthat result is incompatible with naturalism, then that is just another reasonto reject naturalism.  But even if youdisagree with me about that, the point for present purposes is that Dennett’sposition reinforces the idea that there is a parallel between the Aristotelian’steleological notion of a natural substance and Searle’s notion of intrinsicintentionality.  For it is precisely becauseof this parallel that Dennett (who is no fan of either Aristotelianism orSearle) wants to reject both of them together.

A Festschrift for Gyula Klima

My essay “Truthas a Transcendental” appears in the Festschrift MetaphysicsThrough Semantics: The Philosophical Recovery of the Medieval Mind: Essays inHonor of Gyula Klima , edited by Joshua P. Hochschild, Turner C. Nevitt,Adam Wood, and Gábor Borbély.  Gyula’swork has contributed mightily to the revival of interest in medieval and Scholasticphilosophy, and this honor is most deserved and welcome!  You can check out the table of contents at JoshHochschild’s Twitter feed or at thepublisher’s website.