The old sort of liberalism thought the law should promote good character, but considered it unwise for the law to demand so high a standard that the demand for virtue backfires. This is a very ancient idea, and it is true.
The middle sort of liberalism said that the law should repudiate the aspiration to virtue, not even judging what is virtuous and what is not. This is an unstable position which cannot endure, because it is logically impossible for the law to suspend all judgment. To make a law is to make a judgment.
The new sort of liberalism turns the old sort on its head. It insists on a high standard of virtue -- but with virtue redefined so that what used to be called virtue is called vice. In the new dictionary, chastity is neurosis, innocence is naïve, and admitting to having a moral opinion is bigotry. Although the new liberalism hangs onto the pretense of repudiating moral judgment, it uses it as a cloak for imposing its own perverse moral judgments.
A note from Australia. Thomas Aquinas writes in the Summa that “the divine law commands certain things because they are good, and forbids others because they are evil -- while others are good because they are prescribed, and others evil because they are forbidden.”
I’m puzzled about this because I don’t want to fall into thinking that law is nothing more than a decree by someone more powerful, with no necessary relation to natural law, reason, or goodness.
The Angelic Doctor is galaxies away from suggesting that divine laws have no necessary relation to natural law, reason, or goodness. God is Law, Reason, and Good Himself, in person. So let’s take apart St. Thomas’s statement.
When he says that some acts are commanded because they are good and forbidden because they are evil, he is thinking of the acts commanded and forbidden by the moral precepts summarized by the Decalogue, for example “Honor your parents” and “Do not steal.” These express the very intention of God’s justice, and each of them is a precept of natural law.
Now to understand what he means when he says some acts are good because they are commanded and evil because they are forbidden, consider an analogy from the laws we humans enact. It isn’t intrinsically evil to drive on the left. On the other hand, it is intrinsically evil to neglect the safety of our neighbors on the roads. Now we might provide for their safety by requiring everyone to drive on the right, or by requiring everyone to drive on the left, but we can’t have it both ways, or we will collide with each other. Public authority has to make a choice, so it does. Now it is evil to drive on the left (in my country, anyway), just because this is how public authority has settled the matter. Driving on the right is now good because it is commanded. This doesn’t mean that the rule has no relation to natural law, reason, or goodness. On the contrary, the rule makes it possible to care for the safety of our neighbors, because now we aren’t working at cross purposes. So the thing that is good because it is commanded -- is commanded for the sake of the thing that is commanded because it is good. (Say that three times quickly.)
With divine law, matters stand just the same. Consider some of the precepts of the Old Testament. That the Hebrew people were to worship God together was commanded because it is good, but that they should do so on the seventh day was good because it was commanded. That they were to provide for the poor was commanded because it is good, but that they should do so by giving them the right to glean what the harvesters have overlooked was good because it was commanded. That they were to uphold justice was commanded because it was good, but that they should do so by requiring the thief to pay back four sheep for each sheep that he had stolen was good because it was commanded.
These details are called determinations of the basic moral precepts, which means that they fill in the blanks that the basic moral precepts leave unspecified. Only by filling them in can the purposes of the basic moral precepts be fulfilled.
In debates about right and wrong, selective relativists – I mean people who are relativists when it suits them – often use the question “Who is to say?” as a conversation-stopper. For example, we might be talking about whether some enactment violates the natural law. Eventually the other fellow asks “Who is to say?” In most cases the question functions as an implied statement. “No one is to say.” Or as an implied imperative. “Shut up.”
When I hear people shut up other people by asking who is to say, I sometimes riposte with another question. “You wouldn’t ask who is to say if the topic were whether people should be allowed to steal from you. If it’s a good question to ask in some cases, then why not in all of them?” My point is that it isn’t good in any of them. Shut up with the shutting up.
On the other hand, the question “Who is to say?” is not always used in this belligerent and obstructive fashion. It also has a perfectly good and honest use. If someone asks whether the legislature has violated the natural law, the person who asks “Who is to say?” may mean merely “I agree that this should be discussed. But who should have the authority to settle whether the legislature has done so? Only the legislature itself, or should courts also be able to weight in?” Taking the question this way, it isn’t skeptical but jurisdictional.
And it has an answer, if we are patient enough to find it. The answer is tough because it depends on experience and prudence. On the whole, does our body of laws conform to the natural law more closely if we let legislatures decide for themselves whether their enactments conform to the natural law, or if we divide the authority to decide this question between legislatures and courts? And if dividing the authority does work better, then when does it work best to let courts get into the act, and when not?
Unfortunately, the helpful, jurisdictional sense of the question and the unhelpful, conversation-stopping sense of the question are often confused. Like this --
Speaker one: “Do you think courts should be allowed to invoke natural law in explaining why their decisions are right?”
Speaker two: “Of course not. Who is to say what conforms to the natural law?”
Speaker two means that courts should not invoke natural law because no one knows what conforms to it. But if no one knows what conforms to it, then the question is bumped back to the legislature. And why are the legislature’s decisions about what conforms to it any better?
There are plenty of non-skeptical reasons for courts to defer to legislatures. For example, court are required to confine their judgment to the cases at hand, but a legislature can consider all sorts of hypothetical cases. Probably this doesn’t make legislatures any better at recognizing the general principles of natural law, such as “Punish only the guilty.” Everybody knows them. But probably it does make legislatures better at recognizing the remote implications of natural law, and that is what most legislative decisions are about.
But if we favor judicial deference for this reason, then we are not saying that courts should defer because who is to say, but because legislatures are better qualified to say. What we ought to be talking about, then, is when legislators are better qualified to say -- and when they are not.
Christianity, the religion of love, is condemned for being hateful; in the meantime, those who hurl this accusation are wholeheartedly embracing hatred, not least for Christianity. What is going on?
Well, many things. But one of them is that the Christian understanding of hatred, based on charity, is being replaced with another understanding of hatred, based on identity. For the Christian, to hate someone is to desire ill to him. That is wrong. One must desire good for him – which may in some cases require that he change his ways.
But for the person caught up in the ideology of identity, to think that someone needs to change his ways simply is to hate him, because it is a rejection of who he thinks he is. A person who holds this ideology may will all sorts of ill to those who do not celebrate the unchanged ways of others. Because they are haters, you see.
From a reader in Israel:
I read with interest your article on the early Christian teachings on tolerance. Unfortunately most of these words were not heeded. Nor were the primary teachings of Christianity -- “Love thy neighbor” and “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” One thousand years of Christian antisemitism in Europe prepared the way for Hitler's Final Solution. Indeed I must agree with one Spanish Christian writer that Jesus died in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. All the best and much future success.
Thank you for writing. I mourn desecrations of Christ’s love among some who have laid claim to His name, as I hate the abominations of the beasts of Auschwitz who despised the very thought of that love. In my house we remember the words of God to Abraham: “I will bless those who bless you, and him who curses you I will curse; and by you all the families of the earth shall bless themselves.” Peace be with you and your family.
You must remember that this is Texas.
On Easter morning, the children were going downstairs, ready to hunt for their Easter baskets before going to church. They are well instructed in the liturgy.
Spontaneously, their father said “Alleluia!”
Their mother replied, “The Lord is risen!”
The children replied, “He is risen indeed!”
Except for one little man, who added “Yeee-haw!”
If I twittered, this would be a tweet, because Jennifer Roback Morse has produced the best short definition of the sexual revolution that I have seen. She accurately describes it as three interacting elements: The separation of sex from babies, the separation of both of them from marriage, and the attempt to eradicate differences between men and women.
Some readers are thinking, “What’s wrong with that?”
On the same topic: