Tuesday, 7 May 2019

John Paul II Was No Defender of Capitalism

In his encyclical Centesimus Annus, Pope John Paul II wrote some controversial words on the subject of capitalism, the interpretation of which has been the subject of much disagreement among Catholics interested in the economy. A common reading of this encyclical portrays Pope John Paul as a run-of-the-mill free market liberal, even a moderate libertarian of the socially conservative stripe. Pope John Paul is claimed by this reading as the great papal defender of capitalism. But I want to propose that this reading is deeply mistaken, and is based upon that classical mistake of reading out of context. Upon closer reading, including some of his other encyclicals, I might very well have thought JPII a straight-up socialist — had he not made it quite clear that he condones neither capitalism nor socialism (these terms being defined a certain way — keep in mind how equivocal words are), and for quite similar reasons.

In the famous paragraph 42 of Centesimus Annus, the Pope writes the following words:
42. Returning now to the initial question: can it perhaps be said that, after the failure of Communism, capitalism is the victorious social system, and that capitalism should be the goal of the countries now making efforts to rebuild their economy and society? Is this the model which ought to be proposed to the countries of the Third World which are searching for the path to true economic and civil progress?  
The answer is obviously complex. If by “capitalism” is meant an economic system which recognizes the fundamental and positive role of business, the market, private property and the resulting responsibility for the means of production, as well as free human creativity in the economic sector, then the answer is certainly in the affirmative, even though it would perhaps be more appropriate to speak of a “business economy”, “market economy” or simply “free economy”. But if by “capitalism” is meant a system in which freedom in the economic sector is not circumscribed within a strong juridical framework which places it at the service of human freedom in its totality, and which sees it as a particular aspect of that freedom, the core of which is ethical and religious, then the reply is certainly negative.
Here the pope gives two definitions of capitalism. The first is basically the free-market/private-property form of economy, where people who own things make things and sell them, etc. Catholic defenders of capitalism will often point to this first definition as the definitive proof of JPII’s economic liberalism. But note how that sentence contains a qualification, that it would perhaps be more appropriate to speak of a “business economy”, “market economy” or simply “free economy.” In other words, “capitalism” is not JPII’s preferred word for the market economy, and so a market economy of private property and free exchange etc. is not his preferred definition of capitalism. Presumably, then, his preferred definition of capitalism is that which he gives in the very next sentence: a system in which freedom in the economic sector is not circumscribed within a strong juridical framework which places it at the service of human freedom in its totality, and which sees it as a particular aspect of that freedom, the core of which is ethical and religious. And this sort of economy he cannot condone.

One can assume from this that Pope John Paul II prefers an economic system in which economic freedom is circumscribed by strong juridical frameworks at the service of total human freedom (which, interestingly, is both ethical and religious in nature). JPII is explicitly advocating strong state regulation of the market, in the service of explicitly formulated ethical and religious ends (sounds like integralism). He will have none of the supposed individualistic neutrality of liberalism-libertarianism, which frees individual desires (specifically the desires of the wealthy) of all limitations.

Pope John Paul is known as the great pope of anti-communism, and indeed it shows in this encyclical. In the very next paragraph, he claims that Marxism failed to provide a solution to economic crisis — but, crucially, the pope acknowledges that there is a crisis, and what’s more, it appears very like the crisis which Marx himself once observed in capitalism (if understood now in a new way), namely alienation:
The Marxist solution has failed, but the realities of marginalization and exploitation remain in the world, especially the Third World, as does the reality of human alienation, especially in the more advanced countries. Against these phenomena the Church strongly raises her voice. Vast multitudes are still living in conditions of great material and moral poverty. The collapse of the Communist system in so many countries certainly removes an obstacle to facing these problems in an appropriate and realistic way, but it is not enough to bring about their solution. Indeed, there is a risk that a radical capitalistic ideology could spread which refuses even to consider these problems, in the a priori belief that any attempt to solve them is doomed to failure, and which blindly entrusts their solution to the free development of market forces.
Again, all the while opposing Marxism, the pope nonetheless rests firmly on the belief that, good as markets are, regulation by the state is something good and necessary, in order to solve the real problems of poverty and alienation caused by capitalism. He views libertarianism and unfettered market forces as insufficient to do this, and as being naive for distrusting the effectiveness of social and political solutions.

Alright then, a capitalist will respond; so maybe he just believes in a more regulated form of capitalism.

But there’s more to John Paul II’s understanding of what exactly capitalism is. He lays out in significantly more detail his understanding of capitalism in the earlier encyclical Laborem Exercens, where again — all while firmly criticizing communist Marxism as such—he applies seemingly modified “Marxian” insights to his analysis of capitalism, especially where he decries the separation and conflict of capital and labor, and the subordination of the latter to the former. In fact, in paragraph 7 he explicitly describes capitalism as such by exactly this perverse relationship between capital and labor, which he claims is an inversion of the proper relationship established in the book of Genesis:
In all cases of this sort, in every social situation of this type, there is a confusion or even a reversal of the order laid down from the beginning by the words of the Book of Genesis: man is treated as an instrument of production, whereas he — he alone, independently of the work he does — ought to be treated as the effective subject of work and its true maker and creator. Precisely this reversal of order, whatever the programme or name under which it occurs, should rightly be called “capitalism.”
In part 11, he goes on to recount and analyze the dimensions of the class conflict between labor and capital which emerged with the rise of industrial and exploitative capitalism:
Throughout this period, which is by no means yet over, the issue of work has of course been posed on the basis of the great conflict that in the age of, and together with, industrial development emerged between “capital” and “labour”, that is to say between the small but highly influential group of entrepreneurs, owners or holders of the means of production, and the broader multitude of people who lacked these means and who shared in the process of production solely by their labour. The conflict originated in the fact that the workers put their powers at the disposal of the entrepreneurs, and these, following the principle of maximum profit, tried to establish the lowest possible wages for the work done by the employees. In addition there were other elements of exploitation, connected with the lack of safety at work and of safeguards regarding the health and living conditions of the workers and their families.
These are only a few of the lines and passages which might be cited to indicate that Pope John Paul II, the great enemy of communism, was no friend of capitalism either, as he defined it. Moreover his definition of capitalism, involving the conflict of labor and capital and the unrestraint of economic freedom from juridical and political bonds, is more consonant with the understanding of capitalism put forward by the most prominent theorists of capitalism themselves, from Adam Smith down to Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman. And although he rejects the Marxist solution to the ills of capitalism, he is not loathe to use parts of the Marxist critique in his own critique and analysis of capitalism. JPII rightly observes that capitalism subordinated labor to capital, according to “the principle of maximum profit” — which is the effect of Marx’s own observation that capitalism subordinates use value to exchange value, i.e. the value of the actual product of labor to the value extracted by means of market exchanges (money).

Furthermore, simply because the pope does not adopt the Marxist solution as such, it does not follow that he refused to accept certain elements of a solution which might be called “socialistic” in some way. He repeats an old principle of Catholic social doctrine, which he traces back to St. Thomas Aquinas, namely the “universal destination of goods,” according to which all possession of property, even private possession, nonetheless has a use that is for the common benefit of all. The principle of the right to the acquisition of private property, though not per se the cause of conflict between capital and labor, becomes the cause of such conflict only once it is absolutized and exalted over the obligation to serve the common good. Thus, referring to the principle of private property, JPII writes in part 14:
The above principle, as it was then stated and as it is still taught by the Church, diverges radically from the programme of collectivism as proclaimed by Marxism…. At the same time it differs from the programme of capitalism practised by liberalism and by the political systems inspired by it.
Accordingly, in the same section, he lists a number of possible solutions that accord with the Church’s teaching on this subject. Economists and policy wonks will recognize some of these types of solution as those sometimes proposed by none other than socialists, especially so-called market socialists:
In the light of the above, the many proposals put forward by experts in Catholic social teaching and by the highest Magisterium of the Church take on special significance: proposals for joint ownership of the means of work, sharing by the workers in the management and/or profits of businesses, so-called shareholding by labour, etc.
JPII is obviously here in favor of various kinds of collectivization or socialization of the means of production, such as those envisioned by worker-cooperative models, or more broadly by social wealth funds — which take the mutual fund or index fund model and extend it to the whole nation by means of state ownership. In other words, social ownership cannot be ruled out of the vision of a healthy and humane economy — so long as it does not entail the eradication of any form of private ownership as well. In a cooperative model, or in a social wealth fund, individuals themselves participate in a pool of property rights so to speak, and the benefits of the means of production clearly go to them as individuals — even though the management of this property must be carried out cooperatively.

JPII contrasts this with other forms of socialism which effectively monopolize the control of property in the hands of a separate social group, namely the ministers of the state. His critique of this sort of socialistic arrangement is worth noting, first because it is remarkably like his critique of capitalism itself, as something which monopolizes and concentrates property in the hands of one group — even if that group claims to represent the whole society. Without means of ensuring the state’s accountability to society as such, including every person within its purview of care, this form of collectivization risks being not social enough:
Thus, merely converting the means of production into State property in the collectivist system is by no means equivalent to “socializing” that property. We can speak of socializing only when the subject character of society is ensured, that is to say, when on the basis of his work each person is fully entitled to consider himself a part-owner of the great workbench at which he is working with every one else.
Imagine that: state socialism is not social enough, because it monopolizes power in a way very similar to how capitalism does the same thing. This is also the basis of the contemporary distinction between “democratic socialism” and “totalitarian socialism.” The difference is not that one involves central state planning, while the other does not. They both do. Rather, the difference is that “democratic socialism” effectively shares and distributes power and ownership through a wide swath of the social landscape, so to speak, rather than concentrating it in the hand of an unaccountable authoritarian state institution. (In all probability JPII has the Soviet Union in mind here.) It might be better to describe such a democratic form of socialism as cooperativism or corporatism or distributism, accordingly, to make that distinction all the more clear. In any case, it involves genuine forms of social ownership and social use of capital, against any and all forms of individualism or liberalism that inspire the workings of capitalism.

Remarkably, this form of social ownership which the pope advocates is not incompatible with the market economy, as described by the looser definition of “capitalism” cited in Centesimus Annus. The pope envisions an economy where market forces play a genuine role in contributing to the development of industry and entrepreneurship, much in the way that market demand conditions the process of production, aiding in the refinement of the craftsman’s art. And insofar as things are bought and sold and exchanged in such a system, one person gives to another a commodity that was once his own, in return for a commodity that was once was the other’s: it is an exchange of private property. This is by no means incompatible with the structure of an economy where each man participates, as a member of some larger corporate and cooperative body, in the ownership of a common wealth, by which those commodities are produced in the first place. The market thus becomes an instrument of the social body’s act of distributing wealth throughout itself, thus contributing to the common good. The mechanisms of this market process are well known, but what is crucial to note is that they are independent of the key characteristics which JPII identifies in the definition capitalism: unrestrained pursuit of profit, and the exploitation of labor for capital. A non-capitalistic market economy is very much a possibility, and one which Pope John Paul II prefers.

Catholics who appreciate the work of Pope St. John Paul II should not do him the disservice of exalting him as the great defender of the capitalist system. He might have been the defender of markets and market economies, but he was by no means any defender of the unconstrained and exploitative economic freedom of the capitalist class.

Re-awakening of the Blog - Some Thoughts on Liturgy and Community

The common good is twofold: intrinsic to the community, and extrinsic to the community. The activity by which the community may enjoy its common goods is also roughly twofold: inward-directed and outward-directed. Both are necessary. But as the intrinsic common good is subordinate to, and merely the reflection of, the extrinsic common good, so is the inward-directed enjoyment of the common good subordinate to the outward-directed enjoyment of the common good.

Of the complete community (as opposed to those which, as such, are incomplete), I take the outward-directed activities to be the proper acts of religion, generically the acts of worship, specifically the liturgical act of sacrifice. Here the community is not directed towards itself. I take the self directed acts to be not properly religious acts, though they are extensions of religion and subordinate to it; e.g. acts of culture, e.g. the communal gathering of friends to enjoy each other’s company and sing music around the piano or enjoy food around the table.

Both of these kinds of acts, religious and “cultural,” are good; and they even have a certain continuity with each other. It is incredibly important to see acts of culture as inspired by acts of religion. But it is equally if not more important to see their distinction. If liturgical worship is conceived as if it were the community’s internal celebration of itself, it risks devolving into distraction from the truly extrinsic and transcendent common good, God, who is fearful and Other in his transcendence. Liturgy becomes comfortable, sentimental, homely, and a thing of this world, like gathering around the piano or the dinner table. No matter how beautiful the music one sings around the piano, if it is but the occasion of communal self-affirmation, it belongs nowhere in the act of worship. The liturgy is perverted, and the order of goods is distorted and disfigured.

This is, I fear, what many modern liturgical celebrations have become - even many that are relatively conservative and aesthetically tolerable. It is a sad state of affairs that most Catholics do not experience the really numinous.

Friday, 26 October 2018

The Nation-State as a Counterfeit of the Integrated State

The nation-state such as we know it now is a modern institution, its origins roughly traceable to the periods of the Protestant Reformation, the Enlightenment, and the French Revolution. Politics and state-craft mean something now which they did not mean in more traditional societies. Earlier on, in the 13th century, one sees a very different organization of political institutions, for example in France. In 13th century France, one does not see a whole and unified nation so much as a body of local regions governed by local jurisdictions with common boundaries. These jurisdictions may have been further unified under a higher, more universal jurisdiction, such as that of the king, but in a concrete sense the principle of subsidiarity manifested itself inasmuch as political activity occurred first and foremost in the context of the local jurisdictions. 

To the modern political theorist, this system appears disorganized, chaotic, and inefficient. Overlapping jurisdictions seems to give rise to the possibility of conflict; a lack of unitary governance and well-defined governance across the nation seems to give rise to procedural inefficiency and a lack of cooperation. In the 14th and subsequent centuries, indeed, what might be thought to be dissatisfaction with this chaotic and inefficient system gave rise to the birth of the nation-state, a unitary and far-reaching institution with universal jurisdiction and well-defined boundaries, within which it could exercise total control. Such a system was bound to be more unified and efficient; any political plan or strategy could be executed quickly and without delay by officers and managers deputized by the governing powers. Such a system appears, prima facie, much more integrated and well-ordered than the multiplicity of jurisdictions which characterizes, say, 13th century France under Louis IX.

The nation-state works on the model of a machine: a well-ordered system that operates automatically, when the right wheels are set in motion, and the parts are properly weighted and balanced against each other. Whether we are speaking of a monarchical nation-state or a democratic nation-state, this principle is the same: the state is a machine that manipulates bodies. At first blush, a monarchic state may seem to be something external to the bodies (the citizens) which it manages, while a democracy includes them as its parts; thus the common image of democracy as giving political power to the people. This may also be the image that characterizes Hobbesian versus Lockean political regimes: the Hobbesian Leviathan is something apparently transcendent, looming over the people, whereas Lockean democracy seems to reside in them. But this contrast of images is almost irrelevant to the very working of the nation state: even in a representative democracy, the neutral machine becomes inhabited by politicians who, though supposedly chosen by the people, effectively amass into a machine that manages bodies from on high, like Leviathan. The workings of the nation-state-machine are thus more or less independent of the difference between monarchy and democracy. A monarchy may be just as all-encompassing and efficient as a democratic state.

Thus, what characterizes the nation-state as such its is mechanical and totalizing efficiency, its capacity to bring all subjects under the umbrella of a single, unitary system, with pre-defined policies and programs to be imposed universally and univocally upon all, in all places and circumstances within the nation. As such, it appears integrated, well-ordered, a complete whole with universal causal power.

But this is almost all an illusion, based upon a fatal misunderstanding of the metaphysics of universal causality in creatures, and a misunderstanding of the metaphysics of wholes and parts and the order amongst them.

William Cavanaugh has an excellent article detailing how the nation state arose, not out of a concern for the true unity of societies around common goods, but out of a concern for a false unity ordered to the private goods of very specific classes of individuals, usually those who happened to have more power and money. But at a couple of points, he describes this nation-state as "integrated" in contrast to the earlier medieval "system" (hardly a system). I want to point out that, for the very reasons Cavanaugh gives for the rise of the nation-state, any appearance of "integration" in the nation-state is in fact an illusion. But as Cavanaugh essentially makes this point in a historical way - the nation-state did not arise out of concern for building real societies but for manipulative ease for private ends - I want to make this point metaphysically:

True integration presupposes a right metaphysics of wholes and parts, and a right understanding of teleology in the context of wholes and parts; and as a consequence, a right understanding of causality in the same context. The metaphysical doctrine of the common good, summarized by Aristotle at the end of Book 12 of the Metaphysics, sums up all of these things at once. According to this doctrine, the common good relates to the private goods in a way that is analogous to a whole and its parts; in fact, the common good is a good of some whole, while the private goods are the goods of its parts. But there is a crucial distinction to be made: the common good does not relate to the whole (whose good it is) in the way that a private good relates to the part (whose good it is). For example, a private good such as a meal relates to its consumer and only to its consumer in a simple one-to-one correspondence. There is nothing complicated about a meal; for every meal, there is one consumer at a time, in only one respect. But the common good is different: for the common good, there are many beneficiaries, at many times and in many respects. What is received is received in the mode of the receiver; but what is received might only be able to be received in a certain mode or number of modes. Food as such can only be received by one receiver, in the mode of one who eats. But a common good can be received by many, and in many modes. 

In other words, it is crucial not to confuse the kinds of unity or wholeness that characterize common and private goods. Common goods have a unity and wholeness that is equivocal, not univocal; a common good does not apply to its beneficiaries in all the same respects, but adapts itself to them according to their very multiplicity in time, place, and circumstance. A private good can only be applied once and in one way, in one circumstance. 

It is also crucial not to confuse the unity or wholeness that characterizes a common good with that unity or wholeness that characterizes universal concepts, such as a genus or a species, i.e. an abstraction. The common good is not an abstraction; it is something that is itself one in number, a real being, and moreover it is enjoyed by its beneficiaries according to their very concrete and multiple modes of being. It is common in a concrete sense, because as a good it embraces all things in their very diversity. A genus or species that is abstracted is not common or universal in this sense; it is common only in that it belongs univocally to many, not because it embraces that many as such, within itself. The concept of animal does not actually embrace men, dogs, cats, fish, beetles; it embraces only sensitive living being, because it is no more than an abstraction. But the common good is not an abstraction; it is a real thing, and it is common because it can be enjoyed by many men, even perhaps dogs, cats, fish, beetles - and even plants and rocks, in an ultimate sense. What is most common is somehow good for all; whereas a common genus has no real effect on any multitude, but only on the mind that conceives it, or on the artifacts of a common nature that are produced by that mind. 

The common good is a universal cause. It is a universal final cause. It extends its reach to the multitude, but not by abstracting from their inner diversity, as a genus or species, but by touching them in their very diversity. Causes are concrete beings that operate on concrete effects; abstractions do not do this except through the mediation of the practical intellect. And it is the common good, not any common species, that is the first principle of morality and politics. Morality derives its operation from its telos, which is ultimately one for all - and the all consists in many persons in many circumstances. The art of politics, i.e. the direction of all to their common good, consists somehow in unifying men, bringing them together, binding societies together, in common pursuit of this telos. The wielder of the art of politics is himself also a kind of universal cause - an agent, not a telos. His operation is to direct the many, as many and diverse, to the One. 

Accordingly, here are the two corruptions of totalitarian politics, which is that practiced by the nation state: 1) The political art does not therefore consist in making them all the same. That would be to confuse the universal final cause with the universal or abstract concept, the genus or species. To the extent that this is done, the political art falls into totalitarianism. This is to confuse the types of unity or wholeness that characterize universal causes and universal concepts. 2) The political art does not direct the many to what can only be the private good of an individual or group of individuals. That would be to confuse the types of unity or wholeness that characterize common goods and private goods. I claim that the nation-state which I described above is a perverse institution, because to a large degree it is characterized by precisely these two mistakes.

1) The nation-state is an institution within which political plans are pre-conceived in an abstract form and imposed a priori upon an existing multitude of real persons in an incalculable multiplicity of concrete circumstances. This multiplicity is all the more multiplicitous due to the sheer scale of most nation-states, which cover enormous swaths of land, and span enormous diversities of cultures and traditions that are conditioned by the circumstances of the people in those places. From the outset, such a system is totalitarian, since it pays no regard to existing order, tradition, and custom, the characteristics of existing peoples, and instead seeks to impose upon them unitary solutions conceived in the abstract. This is to confuse common species with common goods. The unity of a society around the common good is not identical to its specific unity as a group. Moreover, it is injurious to the common good, which is communicable to the diverse, to eliminate legitimate diversity which arises from real and concrete orders and circumstances.

2) The nation-state is an institution that favors the private goods of the men who wield it. It favors the private good of the powerful, at the expense of the private goods of those over whom they rule - and consequently, at the expense of the common good of all. The common good depends, in large measure, on private goods; but it depends on them insofar as it consists largely in the ordering and harmonization among them. The neglect of this order, by reason of the prioritization of one set of goods at the expense of all others, is de facto a neglect of the common good. It is also the very incarnation of tyranny, which is defined as rule for the sake of private rather than common goods. The mechanical model which I described above works well, as a machine - the problem is that it is inherently and structurally neutral with respect to the very ends for which it works well. The ends come and go; it is in itself no more than a neutral means for any and all ends that might be conceived by the individuals who operate it. 

I claim further that this system of the nation-state is anything but integrated, in a true sense, for it is based on a fundamental misunderstanding of the natures of the relevant kinds of wholes and parts. Integration connotes the right order of parts within a given whole; something is disintegrated when its parts are isolated from their context within the whole, and thus from each other - disintegration is the destruction of relations. Relations are context-based; individuals relate to each other according to the concrete modes of being and living which they inhabit. They relate by sharing common goods, and to this extent they are like each other; but they share those goods from different circumstances,  different places and times, different points of view, different spheres of subjectivity, etc. If all shared exactly the same circumstances, points of view, personalities, etc., there would be no need for community - no need for mutual support, for learning, for friendship. Each individual would be completely autonomous and thus self-sufficient, having nothing new to offer to his others, having nothing to receive from his others. But in fact this is not the case and can never be the case. Persons are constituted to need each other, because they are not self-sufficient; they are conditioned by infinitesimally distinct circumstances, in an infinity of ways. Consequently, they are perfected by entering into relations, into communities; they flourish as social beings, not as autonomous individuals. Accordingly, to the degree that sameness is imposed upon the multiplicity of individuals, society disintegrates. To the degree that circumstances are neutralized and subjected to pre-conceived systems of uniformity, relations fall apart. Of course, this can never work in a final sense; the only way that the totalitarian project could conceivably work is if it rid all people of diverse circumstances - of which there are infinity. People will always feel the need for society, because that is in their natures; to impose uniform political solutions upon them, without regard for the differing circumstances in which they flourish socially and relationally, is thus to do them a grave injustice - and it is to cause disintegration, under the mask of uniformity. 

Likewise, to the degree that the system of the nation-state favors the goods of those who hold institutional power, once again - perhaps in a more obvious way - it causes disintegration. Integration is caused by the many entering into community by enjoying the common good, according to their multiple capacities and circumstances. But to prioritize the private good of any person or persons over the common good is an act of tyranny which suppresses the ability of the people to enjoy the common good. This to sever those goods from each other which relate as parts and whole: it is to disintegrate the whole. As I have mentioned, the common good consists largely in the good of order among the private goods, for the sake of an external common good. Order requires that all parts receive their due, that they not be isolated from each other or from their proper place in the whole. That private goods of so many are not accorded them, on account of the private goods of the ruling classes, is an act of injustice, robbing the whole of some of its parts, and thus causing it to disintegrate. 

Thus, it is important not to be deceived by the bureaucratic efficiency and completeness of the modern nation-state. To the degree that it engages in an act of tyranny and totalitarianism, by privileging the private good of some over the common of the many and imposing uniform solutions upon a multitude that is not disposed for it, it is responsible for a grave society-wide injustice. As such, it must be resisted - peacefully, if possible, without needless revolution, and only as far as benefits the common good. Above all, for the common good, the nation-state should be converted. That is, after all, the purpose of all moral and political action. 

Saturday, 22 September 2018

Notes on Metaphysics and Politics

Politics and ethics must be resolved to metaphysics. The subject matter of political or ethical science is not properly metaphysical; yet, as all the lower sciences are resolved to metaphysics, so must politics and ethics be resolved. The subject matter of the natural sciences (i.e. physics and biology) is not properly a metaphysical subject matter; yet all things are metaphysically constituted, so even the object signified by the subject matter of physics may be studied metaphysically, considered under a different formality. E.g. man may be studied as an object of natural science insofar as he is a being of matter and motion; he may be studied as an object of metaphysics insofar as he is simply a being. Object and subject-matter are not synonymous: the same object (a being) may be studied by two different sciences, insofar as those sciences relate to it under distinct formalities, constituting it as a different logical subject matter for each science. 

Political science is not the same as metaphysics, for it has a different subject-matter and a different goal: it studies not being as being, but human action as such; yet insofar as human action is related to being, as such it does indeed pertain to metaphysics. This is not to identify politics with metaphysics, but to resolve politics to principles which can only be provided by metaphysics. The political or ethical philosopher knows how to act as man only because he knows what is the perfection of man’s being – the good by which his being expresses and fulfills itself. Meta-physics knows man as being, as a participant in being as such; consequently it knows what his perfection is, insofar as it knows being as such in relation to what is the perfection of being as such: the good itself. Metaphysics is the search for the causes of being as such: knowledge of the perfection of being is knowledge of its final cause. This, indeed, is how Aristotle culminates his pursuit of the metaphysical science.

Man is a being, because man exists; but he is man because his existence is conditioned and lim-ited by a certain mode of being, an essence, which is a peculiar potency with respect to the act that is existence, which together make him a being. Being is not univocal; it is analogous. Thus, although metaphysics differs from the lower sciences by considering being as such, it can only know being in its unity by simultaneously assimilating and separating from its knowledge of the particular modes of being. Metaphysics assimilates the particular and limited knowledge that has particular modes of being for its object, e.g. the knowledge gained by the natural sciences. This knowledge is not properly metaphysical, nor is metaphysical knowledge the same as natural science; yet natural science is resolved to metaphysics, and metaphysics must assimilate the knowledge gained by natural science – these are in fact the converse of each other. The study of human nature as one particular mode of being, a mode of being that is one-of-a-kind and not uni-vocally being with respect to (for example) mere physical being, is one such category of knowledge that can and must be assimilated and resolved to metaphysical knowledge. Accordingly, the theoretical study of human nature against the backdrop of which alone ethics and politics are possible is indeed relevant to metaphysics, and must be shown to receive its principles from metaphysics. Conversely, metaphysical knowledge itself is perfected in the degree that the metaphysician knows human nature as such in being as such. 

Knowing metaphysically what is the ultimate final cause of being, and knowing in relation to being what is the nature of the human being in particular, the philosopher may transition from speculative to practical intellect: the question for the practical philosopher, having transitioned from metaphysics, becomes how to attain the final cause of being, and more specifically, the final cause of the human being. These questions are related, because ultimately the final cause of being and the final cause of human being are the same thing: and the answer to the latter question can only be resolved in relation to the former. Ultimately, the perfection of man is only a moment, a stage, granted a highly significant stage, of the perfection of all being in the divine final cause of all things.

Metaphysics reveals what is the perfection of man, which is hierarchically manifold and ultimately one. Ethics and politics reveal what are the practical steps that a human being and a human society might take in order to attain that perfection. The ethicist and politician cannot perform their philosophical task without metaphysics: only through metaphysics do they know what is the perfection they seek; and they even gain remarkable insight into the ontological nature of the steps that must be taken, since metaphysics reveals not merely the ultimate goal, but also the intermediate goals, the many stages of metaphysical goodness and perfection in respect to being. Just as the perfection of man is itself an intermediate stage within a whole structure of perfections ordered to the ultimate final cause, so there are many intermediate stages between man’s proper perfections and the perfection enshrined in the ultimate final cause. Philosophical anthropology, especially one that is metaphysically guided, has much to say on the many kinds and grades of human perfection: perfection of his lower, middle, and highest faculties; the participation of his lower faculties in his higher faculties; the participation of his higher faculties in a mode of operation that is not even properly human (i.e. angelic operation); the various relations of his faculties to lesser and greater objects, i.e. external goods. Etc. Speculative or theoretical philosophy reveals not only the Good, but the goods of being, and of specific kinds of beings, and of human beings. To the ethicist, this store of theoretical wisdom becomes a guidebook, a map of goods to be acquired, of choices to be made, etc. He takes this wisdom and applies in the infinitesimal circumstance; he unites the universal principle with the contingent situation of factual, historical existence. He teaches and practices the virtue of prudence.

Monday, 27 August 2018

Back from Hiatus - And What a Hiatus!

After a two-month period of silence on this blog, I have much to report, but little energy or time to report it. These two months have been eventful in many ways - I have left Belgium to return to California, taking a gap year in the midst of my studies of philosophy at the University of Leuven. During this gap year - in little more than a month's time - I will be getting married, Deo Gratias. The plan is to be married in the Old Rite, of course, though the church space in which we are to be married is situated so that we cannot have the mass ad orientem. It is a loss to the traditional liturgy, but also a definitive improvement upon that which is normally experienced in this and the average parish. 

During these two months, I have become embroiled in several battles against liberalism, offering my voice on such sites as Twitter, Facebook, and the Josias, in defense of the Catholic traditional of social and political thought. That has been and will continue to be an adventure. This blog is a bit more esoteric, usually, than is accessible to the people who need to be engaged on pressing issues, from a principled standpoint. I have found that I can reach more people on those other social media platforms, as long as I do not let myself be trapped in the Web - and that itself is a struggle! Technology has many advantages, but many pitfalls as well. In our age, it is one of the most effective means of evangelization and witness; but it is also one of the most effective means of distancing souls from nature, and from other persons with whom they are more immediately connected. 

Before leaving Europe, I traveled to Rome and to Paris - I traveled far too little during my whole year in Europe, so in the last months I found myself obligated to see at least these two centers of  historic Christendom. I saw and learned much on these visits. In both cities I saw the ancient and huge monuments of the Catholic tradition, looming like giants amidst a sea of tourists. I went to Rome to see my faith, literally set in stone, concrete and immense in its presence. The Roman basilicas especially overwhelmed me with their mosaic images, in which the history of salvation seemed to come alive and shape the very atmosphere of the place. I witnessed the celebration of the ancient vigil of Pentecost at the parish of Santissima Trinita Dei Pellegrini, and the mass of Pentecost Sunday celebrated by Cardinal Raymond Burke at the parish of Gesu e Marie. The whole experience - not just these liturgies - was profoundly liturgical, even where there was no liturgy being celebrated in the churches I visited; even where I was not visiting churches, but standing in front of the profane monument of Vitorio Emmanuelle. Likewise, in Paris, not only was it a profoundly symbolic and even quasi-liturgical experience to walk into Notre Dame (or into Chartres Cathedral, on the one day when I could make an excursion from Paris). Even to see the Pantheon - temple of the Enlightenment - or the monuments to liberte, fraternite, and egalite, was a symbolic act of remembrance: on these sacred grounds have acts of profanity also been committed, yet the Church still stands in some places amidst the signs of pagan ruin. 

The juxtaposition of the City of Man and the City of God: this I witnessed especially in Paris, city of Saints and anti-Christs, heart of the eldest daughter of the Church, and center of the perversions of Enlightenment liberalism and modernism. France has spawned both the most staunch traditionalists and the worst modernists. The tense intimacy of these opposed domains has long been observed by the patriarchs and teachers of the Catholic tradition: Christ, St. Paul, and in the most detail St. Augustine, have observed this juxtaposition. It is a juxtaposition that comes in many forms: in times of Christian flourishing, the Church has set herself clearly above the world, in clear distinction and rulership. In other times, as can be seen in Paris, the City of Man exercises its dominion, yet the Church barely but steadily continues to breathe. Paris in this way represented to me the modern world as a whole, where the Church no longer appears to bear the sacred and revered authority which once was recognized in her. The Church - the People of God - has been exiled. 

In the Old Testament, there are countless tales of God's city being destroyed and resurrected - his people being exiled into the city of man, where they are surrounded by corruption, where they cannot worship in their age old traditions in the safety of their temple, with the freedom of their God-given ritual. The Babylonian exile represents the severance of God's people from their home, which is the entire body of their traditions of worship, law, custom, and morality. For several decades, we have been losing our traditional rites of liturgy as Catholics, the rigor of our laws and morals, the depth of our ancient identity. We do our best now, in this strange city where we cannot live or worship according to our own traditions; but our best is still poor compared to the life we lived in and surrounding the old Temple in Jerusalem. Every Sunday, I do my best to contribute to the liturgy by cantoring at the Novus Ordo, singing a little bit of ancient chant, and I consider this a sacred activity. But in the psalms I sing, I sometimes have to hold back tears of intense nostalgia; it is often like I am singing of my very inability to sing the songs of old Jerusalem: "By the waters of Babylon we sat and wept..." (Psalm 136). This past Sunday it was ever more poignant, in part because of the recent revelations of the moral decay in which the Church of today is so deeply immersed. It struck me again that we have been exiled to Babylon. We have seen our own city submitted to the destruction of the Chaldeans; we have lost our temples and their ancient rites of worship; we have followed false gods and false shepherds and suffered for it; we lived for generations in a place that is not our home.

But God always promises restoration. In Jeremiah 33, he promises to restore his people to their former joy, after they had been destroyed and desecrated by the Chaldeans. "They will be my people and I will be their God." He promises that they will once again sing his praise - I read this and I thought of the liturgy - and that the young brides and bridegrooms will join in this song of praise - I thought of my forthcoming marriage in just over a month - saying: "Give ye glory to the Lord of hosts, for the Lord is good, for his mercy endureth forever." (Jeremiah 33:11). The intense nostalgia for Old Jerusalem is accompanied by hope - hope for the restoration and rejuvenation of the right worship of God. Our Church desperately needs this restoration. The Church has died many times, but happily, as Chesterton quipped, she has a God who knows His way out of the grave.

Thursday, 21 June 2018

Note on Legalism

Legalism is a real problem. But it seems to me that many do not clearly perceive exactly what the problem of legalism is. The accusation of rigid legalism is bandied around without enough discernment or discrimination; it is often an all-too-easy way of dismissing traditional or conservative defenses of objective moral law, or defenses of traditional practice, etc., without adequate consideration of the merits of these positions in themselves. On the other hand, it is undeniable that there are legalists, and many of them are indeed traditionalists; although I think we might be surprised that many legalists of a far more dangerous sort are also found on the side of the spectrum that is quite opposite to the traditionalists. But before we start making such accusations, we ought to understand what law really is, and thus what the legalistic abuse of law really is - and what are the right parameters for legitimately making the accusation of legalism.

Law is a principle of order, insofar as it is a judgment of practical reason, promulgated by the right authority, for the sake of the common good. In classical philosophy, the common good is twofold: the extrinsic common good, which is ultimately God, and the intrinsic common good, which is the act by which a community or multiplicity possesses God, or ordains itself towards God as its extrinsic final cause. In a community, this act is inherently bound up with the hierarchical order of the multitude in relation to God. Another word for this order is peace, the right harmony of parts amongst themselves within a multitude. It is this order or peace of which law is the rational principle. Indeed, in a certain way order or peace almost consists of law, inasmuch as the order or parts entails the order of the lower to the higher, i.e. the order of all that is sub-rational by reason itself. The judgment of reason is a cause of order. This judgment, in practical matters, is generally what is called law. 

To follow the law with diligence, when it applies, is not legalism. Too often the accusation of legalism is thrown at those who advocate nothing more than diligence and fidelity to the law. The anti-legalist wishes to assert, to the contrary, that the law is not in any strict sense truly binding. On the contrary, law without its binding force is no law at all; a law is not merely a guideline or a rule of thumb: if it applies, it is binding.

However, a judgment of reason is a complicated thing, and the relationship between reason and practice is likewise complicated. A judgment of reason is something abstract and universal; but the more determinate it is made, the more is it capable of being subject to exceptions. Reason must therefore operate not at merely one level of universality, but at many: for at a lower level of universality, an abstract law will apply to fewer individual cases, even if it may be said to apply to many or even to most cases. But in those cases that occasionally arise which fall outside the sphere of such a lesser judgment of reason, appeal must be made to an even more universal law, precisely so that the particular case might be addressed more easily and with greater flexibility. But even this flexibility is always limited, because there is always some law, even a more remote and universal law, that has a bearing upon it.

In other words, laws are more or less universal, and more or less specific. Indeed, many laws are quite specific, especially in the case of human laws, civil or ecclesiastical. Framed as law, they are given the appearance of inflexible standards of practice; and yet precisely because they are more specific, in that proportion they must be more flexible. They are but determinations of a higher and more universal law; and this higher law, precisely in virtue of being more universal, is something relatively indeterminate - or rather, it is capable of many determinations. One aspect of legalism might be the failure to recognize that more a specific judgment of reason cannot be the one and only way of determining the more universal law; there are other ways to do so, and sometimes it is necessary to seek out those other ways, when extraordinary circumstances arise. The legalist is inflexible at a level of specificity where such inflexibility is inappropriate.

But how does one know when such inflexibility is inappropriate? Again, one must make a judgment of reason - not a judgment of desire. In other words, one must make a judgment that the application of this specific law to this particular circumstance is contravened by a higher law, which may call for another, or even an opposite, prudent course of action in that circumstance. But it is crucial that one can only make this judgment by appealing to a legitimately higher and more universal law. One cannot merely appeal to desire, or to love, or even to legitimately good things when their good is merely conditional upon a higher good. Since law is for the sake of the common good, and since goods are more or less common (which is why laws are more or less universal), one can only judge it right to contravene or disobey a specific law if it is truly in the interest of the greater good to do so. Legalism fails to recognize the interest of the greater good when it calls for a course of action that falls outside of the judgment of a particular law, though it does fall within the judgment of a more universal law combined with prudence. But equally, many who wield the accusation of "legalism!" fail to recognize that it is not just any good that may exempt from the obligation of a specific law, but only a good that is greater than that to which the specific law itself is ordered.

These distinctions are absolutely necessary in order to safeguard both law and legitimate exceptions to the law, so as to avoid both a rampant liberal disobedience on the one hand, and a rigid and overbearing legalism on the other hand. 

Thursday, 7 June 2018

Politics, Virtue, and Beauty

I am a firm believer in the inseparability of politics and ethics from aesthetics. Virtue and virtuous living are also a matter of living beautifully, for the good and the beautiful are convertible, even if they are different aspects of the same reality. Indeed, one of the many crises of modernity is that politics has been separated from ethics: we no longer look for virtuous men, in choosing those men who will be our leaders, but for clever and cunning men, or perhaps merely assertive and aggressive men, regardless of their virtue. Our politicians glory in their vileness. But another and less noticed aspect of this crisis is that both politics and ethics have been divorced from aesthetics - virtue itself has been divorced from beauty. I believe that this actually corrupts virtue itself, and makes it into a parody of itself. 

What do I mean by this? Everywhere one looks, on the modern political battleground, there is no concern for culture. On the side of the "liberals," culture is an appendage, perhaps a pleasantry to be enjoyed, though not really understood, by the elite who have time for such frivolities, but hardly anything that is substantially relevant to the politics and ideologies to which they are primarily committed. On the side of the "conservatives," concern for finer culture is practically non-existent now; the meaning of conservatism has strangely morphed from the preservation of culture to the defense of "free speech" and a blunt resistance to liberal bullying. The political battles themselves, as has become painfully evident in recent years, have quickly devolved into an ugly contest of vile persons against each other: no longer do the guardians care for virtue, wisdom, or the visible form of these things, which is beauty. Plato would be appalled by such a politics. 

Many will accuse me and my concern for beauty of mere sentimental superficiality: I seem to care not for substance, but merely for image, the external and transitory surface beneath which lies all that really matters. How does one respond to such an accusation? I can only respond that such persons have lost all sense of the integral unity of the fabric of reality. What is political order itself, but a ray of beauty manifested as the pleasing harmony of persons, societies, and institutions? What, indeed, is virtue itself but a form of beauty inhering in the person? What is physical beauty - which these puritans would dismiss as superficial and irrelevant - but another instance of the same perfection, a sister of virtue and social harmony (peace)?

Being is said in many ways; also the Good is said in many ways. The perfection by which Being becomes Good thus manifests itself in all beings capable of goodness. The metaphysically-attuned soul will not attend only to one or two of these many senses of being; being himself about being (dasein) he is about the whole of being. Plato identifies the philosopher as he who loves the whole of wisdom - not some part of it, i.e. a particular art or science. Even ethics is only one part of wisdom; even politics is only one part, though an architectonic part. But to be architectonic, indeed, means that this one part is still relevant to and affected by all the other parts. A metaphysical soul will not be concerned only with metaphysical truths; he will also be concerned with physical truths, since these have a bearing on metaphysics itself. The philosophic soul is not concerned only with being, or only with the good, or only with the truth - he is concerned with all of these together. He is of course therefore concerned also for beauty.

Being is a plurivocal whole - it is a whole, and thus a unity, but a unity with many voices. Discard any of these voices, and one has neglected the whole. To say that everything is connected, and everything is relevant to everything, is to utter something so true that one falls quite short of the very truth expressed in such a saying. The man who sins against prudence, a virtue, since against harmony, a property of beauty, and indeed a perfection of being. Such a sinner has silenced one of the voices of being, namely prudence; but thinking he could do so and go unnoticed, he silenced also the voice of beauty and goodness. Harmony is a property of beauty, and virtue is a good. He has also offended the truth: for prudence is wisdom, and wisdom orders things according to logos, the intelligible truth of being.

The political virtue is prudence, par excellence, practical wisdom - the virtue which puts things in order. Political prudence puts society in order, it is an organizing principle. The only good politician is the prudent man - just as the only virtuous man is the prudent man: the man who judges rightly concerning what it is fitting to do. In consequently doing, a man performs a human act. In doing so well, according to the direction of his prudence, a man acts virtuously; and in ordering other men to each other, as parts of society, putting them into their proper place in relation to the whole, the prudent politician leads other men to act well like him. The political leader's function is to lead others to virtue. There is nothing more obvious than this.

But his role is also to lead men to think rightly concerning beauty, as Plato says in the Republic. Plato is not typically concerned to make sweeping distinctions between when it is appropriate to speak of virtue and when it is appropriate to speak of beauty; or when, indeed, it is appropriate to speak of anything. Nearly all of the Platonic ruminations on questions of metaphysics occur in the context of trying to decipher the meaning of various activities, arts, and virtues - e.g. justice in the Republic, or love in the Symposium. These are also the contexts in which beauty appears as a subject of discussion. In many of these dialogues - Republic, Symposium, Phaedrus - the virtuous man, and/or the philosopher, is revealed as a kind of lover; and he is a lover of beauty itself, just as he is a lover of wisdom. The philosopher-king is concerned with perfecting the city, just as the philosopher is concerned with perfecting his soul - just as any virtuous man is concerned with perfecting the activity which is his, in accordance with the eternal archetypes of perfection which he contemplates by the philosophic act. Although there is certainly a movement of escape from mere images to the really-real, there is also in Plato a sharp movement of making the images themselves, of bringing them closer to their Forms, of making them more perfect. The philosopher is also an artist. He makes things beautiful by bringing them into communion with beauty itself.

The politicians of our day have no such concern; they do not wish to make things beautiful. They wish only to make affairs convenient for the attainment of very limited and individualistic ends - ends which necessarily and arbitrarily impede the ends of other individuals. Politicians have their own ends, and they have all the power; they care only to compete with other holders of power, and to limit the power of their subjects, to manipulate the great mechanism of the State in which persons are merely cogs in the machine. Politics is not a matter of beauty, but of "equilibrium" of powers - and equilibrium that is nonetheless only ever imposed by a power that stands outside that equilibrium, being greater than all other powers. All of this is painted with the colors of "personal autonomy" - it is modern liberalism - when really it dehumanizes persons, rids them of the capacity for virtue, and rather than allowing form to shine as something beautiful in things, merely forces things into a willed order by an act of violence. The modern politician, in other words, is none other than Thrasymachus, the unbridled "spirited man" of the Republic, the Leviathan of Thomas Hobbes. The modern political landscape is dominated by this figure of Thrasymachus the Leviathan. It matters not whether one looks to the "left" or the "right" of the political spectrum: it is all the same. A politics that is neither virtuous nor beautiful, nor even attempting to aim at these - one begins to doubt whether there is anything of the true finesse of the political art to be found in these times.