Archive for the ‘Understanding Natural Law’ Category

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Aquinas and Natural Law Theory 2 – Edward Feser

May 1, 2013
As the neo-Scholastic natural law theorist Michael Cronin has summed up the Thomistic view, "In the fullest sense of the word, then, moral duty is natural. For not only are certain objects natural means to man's final end, but our desire of that end is natural also, and therefore, the necessity [or obligatory force] of the means is natural" (Science of Ethics, Volume 1, p. 222). Clearly, the "naturalness" of natural law can, as I have emphasized, only be understood in terms of the Aristotelian metaphysics to which Aquinas is committed.

As the neo-Scholastic natural law theorist Michael Cronin has summed up the Thomistic view, “In the fullest sense of the word, then, moral duty is natural. For not only are certain objects natural means to man’s final end, but our desire of that end is natural also, and therefore, the necessity [or obligatory force] of the means is natural” (Science of Ethics, Volume 1, p. 222). Clearly, the “naturalness” of natural law can, as I have emphasized, only be understood in terms of the Aristotelian metaphysics to which Aquinas is committed.

Given what was said earlier, human beings, like everything else in the world, have various capacities and ends the fulfillment of which is good for them and the frustrating of which is bad, as a matter of objective fact. A rational intellect apprised of the facts will therefore perceive that it is good to realize these ends and bad to frustrate them. It follows, then, that a rational person will pursue the realization of these ends and avoid their frustration.

In short, Aquinas’s position is essentially this: practical reason is directed by nature towards the pursuit of what the intellect perceives as good; what is in fact good is the realization or fulfillment of the various ends inherent in human nature; and thus a rational person will perceive this and, accordingly, direct his or her actions towards the realization or fulfillment of those ends.

In this sense, good action is just that which is “in accord with reason” (ST I-11.21.1; cf. ST I-11.90.1), and the moral skeptic’s question “Why should I do what is good?” has an obvious answer: because to be rational just is (in part) to do what is good, to fulfill the ends set for us by nature. Natural law ethics as a body of substantive moral theory is the formulation of general moral principles on the basis of an analysis of these various human capacities and ends and the systematic working out of their implications.

So, to take just one example, when we consider that human beings have intellects and that the natural end or function of the intellect is to grasp the truth about things, it follows that it is good for us — it fulfills our nature — to pursue truth and avoid error. Consequently, a rational person apprised of the facts about human nature will see that this is what is good for us and thus strive to attain truth and to avoid error. And so on for other natural human capacities.

Now things are bound to get more complicated than that summary perhaps lets on. Various qualifications and complications would need to be spelled out as the natural human capacities and ends are examined in detail, and not every principle of morality that follows from this analysis will necessarily be as simple and straightforward as “Pursue truth and avoid error.”

Particularly controversial among contemporary readers will be Aquinas’s application of his method to questions of sexual morality (SCG 1-II.122-126; ST II-I1.151-154). Famously, he holds that the only sexual acts that can be morally justified are those having an inherent tendency towards procreation, and only when performed within marriage. The reason is that the natural end of sex is procreation, and because this includes not merely the generation of new human beings but also their upbringing, moral training and the like, which is a long-term project involving (in the normal case, for Aquinas) many children, a stable family unit is required in order for this end to be realized.

Any other sexual behavior involves turning our natural capacities away from the end set for them by nature, and thus in Aquinas’s view cannot possibly be good for us or rational. This rules out, among other things, masturbation, contraception, fornication, adultery, and homosexual acts.

This is a large topic which cannot be treated adequately here. (I discuss Aquinas’s approach to sexual morality in detail in my book The Last Superstition.) But this much is enough to provide at least a general idea of how his natural law approach to ethics determines the specific content of our moral obligations. The method should be clear enough, whether or not one agrees with Aquinas’s application of that method in any particular case.

What has been said also suffices to give us a sense of the grounds of moral obligation, that which makes it the case that moral imperatives have categorical rather than merely hypothetical force (to use the distinction made famous by Kant). The hypothetical imperative (1) If I want what is good for me then I ought to pursue what realizes my natural ends and avoid what frustrates them is something whose truth Aquinas takes to follow from the metaphysical analysis of goodness sketched above. By itself, it does not give us a categorical imperative because the consequent will have force only for someone who accepts the antecedent.

But that (2) I do want what is good for me is true of all of us by virtue of our nature as human beings, and is in Aquinas’s view self-evident in any case, being just a variation on his fundamental principle of natural law. These premises yield the conclusion (3) I ought to pursue what realizes my natural ends and avoid what frustrates them. It does have categorical force because (2) has categorical force, and (2) has categorical force because it cannot be otherwise given our nature. Not only the content of our moral obligations but their obligatory character are thus determined, on Aquinas’s analysis, by the metaphysics of final causality or natural teleology.

As the neo-Scholastic natural law theorist Michael Cronin has summed up the Thomistic view, “In the fullest sense of the word, then, moral duty is natural. For not only are certain objects natural means to man’s final end, but our desire of that end is natural also, and therefore, the necessity [or obligatory force] of the means is natural” (Science of Ethics, Volume 1, p. 222).

Clearly, the “naturalness” of natural law can, as I have emphasized, only be understood in terms of the Aristotelian metaphysics to which Aquinas is committed. But it is also illuminating to compare the natural law to the three other kinds of law distinguished by Aquinas. Most fundamental is what he calls the “eternal law,” which is essentially the order of archetypes or ideas in the divine mind according to which God creates and providentially governs the world (ST I-1I.91.1).

Once the world, including human beings, is created in accordance with this law, the result is a natural order that human beings as rational animals can come to know and freely choose to act in line with, and “this participation of the eternal law in the rational creature is called the natural law” (ST I-II_91.2). The “natural law,” then, can also be understood in terms of its contrast with eternal law, as the manifestation of the latter within the natural order.

Now the natural law provides us with general principles by which individuals and societies ought to be governed, but there are many contingent and concrete details of human life that the natural law does not directly address. To take a standard example, the institution of private property is something we seem suited to given our nature, but there are many forms that institution might take consistent with natural law (cf. ST 11-11.66.2).

This brings us to “human law,” which is the set of conventional or man-made principles that govern actual human societies, and which gives a “more particular determination” to the general requirements of the natural law as it is applied to concrete cultural and historical circumstances (ST 1-11.91.3). Human law, then, is unlike both eternal law and natural law in that it is “devised by human reason” and contingent rather than necessary and unchanging.

Finally there is “divine law,” which is law given directly by God, such as the Ten Commandments (ST I-II.91.4-5). This differs from the natural law in being knowable, not through an investigation of the natural order, but only via a divine revelation. It is like human law in being sometimes suited to contingent historical circumstances and thus temporary (as, in Aquinas’s view, the Old Law given through Moses was superseded by the New Law given through Christ) but unlike human law in being infallible and absolutely binding.

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Aquinas and Natural Law Theory 1 – Edward Feser

April 30, 2013
Benozzo Gozzoli (c. 1421 – 1497) was an Italian Renaissance painter from Florence. He is best known for a series of murals in the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi depicting festive, vibrant processions with fine attention to detail and a pronounced International Gothic influence. This picture, the Glory of St. Thomas Aquinas, is now in the Louvre.

Benozzo Gozzoli (c. 1421 – 1497) was an Italian Renaissance painter from Florence. He is best known for a series of murals in the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi depicting festive, vibrant processions with fine attention to detail and a pronounced International Gothic influence. This picture, the Glory of St. Thomas Aquinas, is now in the Louvre.

After all our examination of natural law last week reviewing the David Bentley Hart articles and Edward Feser’s criticism of them, I thought it might be good to look at Professor Feser’s writings on Thomas Aquinas and Natural Law Theory. The man has, after all, written a book on Aquinas  and a wonderful one at that, “a clear, contemporary introduction (and defense!) of Aquinas’ thought which interacts with modern objections.” A sampling below:

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For Aquinas, knowing what is truly good for us requires taking an external, objective, “third-person” point of view on ourselves rather than a subjective “first-person” view; it is a matter of determining what fulfills our nature, not our contingent desires. The good in question has moral significance for us because, unlike other animals, we are capable of intellectually grasping what is good and freely choosing whether or not to pursue it. Aquinas identifies three general categories of goods inherent in our nature.

  1. First are those we share in common with all living things, such as the preservation of our existence.
  2. Second are those common to animals specifically, such as sexual intercourse and the child-rearing activities that naturally follow upon it.
  3. Third are those peculiar to us as rational animals, such as “to know the truth about God, and to live in society,” “to shun ignorance,” and “to avoid offending those among whom one has to live” (ST I-11.94.2).

These goods are ordered in a hierarchy corresponding to the hierarchy of living things (i.e. those with vegetative, sensory, and rational souls respectively). The higher goods presuppose the lower ones; for example, one cannot pursue truth if one is not able to conserve oneself in existence. But the lower goods are subordinate to the higher ones in the sense that they exist for the sake of the higher ones. The point of fulfilling the vegetative and sensory aspects of our nature is, ultimately, to allow us to fulfill the defining rational aspect of our nature. 

What specifically will fulfill that nature? Or in other words, in what does the good for us, and thus our well-being or happiness, ultimately consist? It cannot be wealth, because wealth exists only for the sake of something else which we might acquire with it (ST I-11.2.1). It cannot be honor, because honor accrues to someone only as a consequence of realizing some good, and thus cannot itself be an ultimate good (ST I-I1.2.2). For similar reasons, it cannot be fame or glory either, which are in any case often achieved for things that are not really good in the first place (ST I-1I.2.3). Nor can it be power, for power is a means rather than an end and might be used to bring about evil rather than genuine good(ST 1-11.2.4).

It cannot be pleasure, because pleasure is also a consequence of realizing a good rather than the realization of a good itself, even less likely is it to be bodily pleasure specifically, since the body exists for the sake of the soul, which is immaterial (ST I-II.2.6). For the same reason, it cannot consist of any bodily good of any other sort (ST I-II.2.5). But neither can even it be a good of the soul, since the soul, as a created thing, exists for the sake of something else (i.e. that which creates it) (ST 1-II.2.7). Obviously, then, it cannot be found in any created thing whatsoever; our ultimate end could only possibly be something “which lulls the appetite altogether,” beyond which nothing more could be desired, and thus something absolutely perfect (ST I-II.2.8).

And “this is to be found,” Aquinas concludes, “not in any creature, but in God alone … Wherefore God alone can satisfy the will of man … God alone constitutes man’s happiness(ST 1-1I.2.8). That is not to deny that wealth, honor, faille, power, pleasure, and the goods of body and soul have their place; they cannot fail to do so given that we are the kinds of creatures that we are.

Aquinas’s point is that it is impossible for them to be the highest or ultimate good for us, that to which every other good is subordinated. God alone can be that. In Aquinas’s view, what is good for us is, as I have said, something that remains good for us even if for some reason we do not recognize it as good. What is good for us is necessarily good for us because it follows from our nature. As such, even God couldn’t change it, any more than he could make two and two equal to five. Here we see one important consequence of Aquinas’s view that the intellect is metaphysically prior to the will, in the sense that (as we saw in the last chapter) will derives from intellect rather than vice versa.

The divine intellect knows the natures of things and the divine will creates in accordance with this knowledge. To be sure, the natures in question exist at first only as ideas in the divine mind itself, in this sense they are, like everything else, dependent on God. Still, in creating the things that are to have these natures, the divine will only ever creates in light of the divine ideas and never in a way that conflicts with what is possible given the content of those ideas.

Aquinas’s position is thus very far from the sort of “divine command ethics” according to which what is good is good merely because God wills it, so that absolutely anything (including torturing babies for fun, say) could have been good for us had he willed us to do it. This sort of view was famously taken by William of Ockham (c. 1287-1347), according to whom God could even have willed for us to hate him, in which case that is what would have been good for us. Such a position naturally follows from the “voluntarism” or emphasis on will over intellect associated with Ockham and John Duns Scotus (c. 1266-1308), which is one of the key features distinguishing their brands of Scholasticism from Thomism.

This difference between Aquinas and the voluntarists is related to the reasons for which Aquinas’s position is, as we saw in chapter 3, immune to the famous “Euthyphro objection” to religiously based systems of ethics. The objection, it will be recalled, is in the form of a dilemma: either God wills something because it is good or it is good because he wills it; but if the former is true, then, contrary to theism, there will be something that exists independently of God (namely the standard of goodness he abides by in willing us to do something), and if the latter is true, then if God had willed us to torture babies for fun (say) then that would have been good, which seems obviously absurd.

Ockham essentially takes the second horn of the dilemma, but for Aquinas the dilemma is a false one. What is good for us is good because of our nature and not because of some arbitrary divine command, and God only ever wills for us to do what is consistent with our nature. But that doesn’t make the standard according to which he wills something existing independently of him, because what determines that standard are the ideas existing in the divine mind. Thus there is a third option between the two set out by the Euthyphro dilemma, and it is one that is neither inconsistent with our basic moral intuitions nor incompatible with the claims of theism.

Natural Goodness To Natural Law
It is but a few short steps from “natural goodness” (as Foot calls it) to Aquinas’s conception of natural law. The first principle of natural law, as Aquinas famously held, is that “good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided. All other precepts of the natural law are based upon this,” where the content of those precepts is determined by the goods falling under the three main categories mentioned above (ST I-1I.94.2). That “good is to be done” and so on might seem at first glance to be a difficult claim to justify, and certainly not a very promising candidate for a first principle. For isn’t the question “Why should we be good?” precisely (part of) what any moral theory ought to answer? And isn’t this question notoriously hard to answer to the satisfaction of moral skeptics?

Properly understood, however, Aquinas’s principle is not only not difficult to justify, but even seems obviously correct. He is not saying that it is just self-evident that we ought to be morally good. Rather, he is saying that it is self-evident that whenever we act, we pursue something that we take to be good in some way and/or avoid what we take in some way to be evil or bad. And that seems clearly right.

Even someone who does something he believes to be morally bad does so only because he is seeking something he regards as good in the sense of worth pursuing. Hence the mugger who admits that robbery is evil nevertheless takes his victim’s wallet because he thinks it would be good to have money to pay for his drugs; hence the drug addict who regards his habit as wrong and degrading nevertheless thinks it would be good to satisfy his craving and bad to suffer the unpleasantness of not satisfying it. Of course, these claims are true only on a very thin sense of “good,” but that is exactly the sense Aquinas intends.

Acceptance of Aquinas’s general metaphysics is not necessary in order to see that this first principle is correct; it is supposed to be self-evident. But that metaphysics is meant to help us understand why it is correct. Like every other natural phenomenon, practical reason has a natural end or goal towards which it is ordered, and that end or goal is just whatever the intellect perceives to be good or worth pursuing. This claim too seems obvious, at least if one accepts Aquinas’s Aristotelian metaphysics. And it brings us to the threshold of a further conclusion that does have real moral significance.

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Edward Feser, David Bentley Hart, and Natural Law — Steven Wedgeworth

April 26, 2013
One can claim that religious faith goes all the way down and claim that basic reason is objective and capable of compelling public persuasion. This is because people do not have to know how or why something is true to still know that it is true. Most self-evident truths operate efficiently apart from self-reflection. The Christian natural philosopher and natural-law thinker is not denying the comprehensive nature of faith, but he is saying that this faith can be rationally demonstrated as a good and necessary thing. Additionally, he claims that basic morality is not only helpful and attractive but inescapable, and it is so on absolutely reasonable grounds.

One can claim that religious faith goes all the way down and claim that basic reason is objective and capable of compelling public persuasion. This is because people do not have to know how or why something is true to still know that it is true. Most self-evident truths operate efficiently apart from self-reflection. The Christian natural philosopher and natural-law thinker is not denying the comprehensive nature of faith, but he is saying that this faith can be rationally demonstrated as a good and necessary thing. Additionally, he claims that basic morality is not only helpful and attractive but inescapable, and it is so on absolutely reasonable grounds.

Yet another point of view I would like to feature here on the Feser/Hart dustup. So much of what the two have written is for master or doctrinal classes in theology and philosophy. Steven Wedgeworth is the editor of The Calvinist International. He is a graduate of Reformed Theological Seminary in Jackson, MS. A Presbyterian pastor and classical school teacher, Steven lives in Jackson, MS. He recently weighed in with an opinion that helps us interpret and learn from the exchange.

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Edward Feser administers a much-needed corrective on the subject of natural philosophy and natural law in this response to David Bentley Hart. Before Dr. Feser’s article, the original piece from Dr. Hart was mostly applauded by other noteworthy names like Rod Dreher, Alan Jacobs, and Peter Leithart. We will not reproduce all of Dr. Feser’s argument, but we will highlight a few key points to show how he demonstrates that these critics are actually confused about the basic points of the natural law position. And in their confusion, these critics end up furthering the modernist cause they seek to defeat.

Dr. Feser begins by pointing out the existence of two schools of natural law: the classical (or “old”) natural-law theory and the “new natural-law theory.” These two schools hold some ideas in common, but they disagree on some important fundamentals. Dr. Feser summarizes:

What the two approaches have in common is the view that objectively true moral conclusions can be derived from premises that in no way presuppose any purported divine revelation, any body of scriptural writings, or any particular religious tradition. Rather, they can in principle be known via purely philosophical arguments. Where the two approaches differ is in their view of which philosophical claims, specifically, the natural law theorist must defend in order to develop a system of natural law ethics.

The “old” natural law theorist would hold that a broadly classical, and specifically Aristotelian, metaphysical picture of the world must be part of a complete defense of natural law. The “new” natural law theorist would hold that natural law theory can be developed with a much more modest set of metaphysical claims – about the reality of free will, say, and a certain theory of practical reason – without having to challenge modern post-Humean, post-Kantian philosophy in as radical and wholesale a way as the “old” natural law theorist would.

Both sides agree, however, that some body of metaphysical claims must be a part of a complete natural law theory, and (again) that these claims can be defended without appeal to divine revelation, scripture, etc.

The problem with Dr. Hart’s critique, among other things, is that he conflates the two schools. He seems to affirm the truth of the “old” natural-law theory, but then he uses modernistic assumptions, those held by the “new natural-law theory,” to explain why the old theory, while still true, has no persuasive power. In doing so, however, he must grant that some of the new positions are also true, or at least true enough not to publicly contest, which is all very strange and self-contradictory.

Dr. Feser explains how Dr. Hart’s practical skepticism is itself incoherent:

[He] supposes that even if our nature directs us to certain ends that constitute the good for us, reason could still intelligibly wonder why it ought to respect those natural ends or the good they define. But this implicitly supposes that reason itself, unlike everything else, somehow lacks a natural end definitive of its proper function, or at least a natural end that we can know through pure philosophical inquiry. And that is precisely what classical natural law theory denies.

In the view of the “old” natural law theorist, when the metaphysics of intellect and volition are properly understood, it turns out that it cannot in principle be rational to will anything other than the good.  The fusion of “facts” and “values” goes all the way down, without a gap into which the Humean might fit the wedge with which he’d like to sever practical reason from any particular end. Hart simply assumes that this is false, or at least unknowable; he doesn’t give any argument to show that it is. And thus he has offered no non-circular criticism of the classical natural law theorist.

Here we see that so many of the new classicists, many of whom write for First Things and Pro Ecclesia, are themselves still thorough-going modernists. Individual reason, even if only for the sake of criticism, is the one thing privileged enough to critique contextualization.

Thus the criticisms of Hume and the alternatives of Kant are mostly accepted. But then, in modernism’s wake, classical philosophy and theology are held up as an aesthetically-attractive anchor to the subjectivist dilemma, but, importantly, one still subjective in nature. In other words, these Christian philosophers choose to hold to classical positions, but they acknowledge that this is a subjective value whose utility is only truly discernible after the fact.

This leads to very pressing problems, namely a basic relativism and its apocalyptic solution which is invariably utopian and violent. Dr. Feser explains how the first dilemma results from an equivocation:

Sloppy popular usage aside, “supernatural” is not a synonym for “metaphysical” – as Hart himself implicitly acknowledges with the phrase “supernatural (or at least metaphysical),” quoted above. What is supernatural is what is beyond the natural order altogether, and thus cannot be known via purely philosophical argument but only via divine revelation. Metaphysics, by contrast, is an enterprise that Platonists, Aristotelians, materialists, idealists, philosophical theists, atheists, and others have for millennia been engaged in without any reference to divine revelation.

The classical natural law theory asserts a specific metaphysical framework, to be sure. And it acknowledges that this is controversial, as Dr. Feser also does. But it does not acknowledge, and has not acknowledged, that the project of metaphysics itself is wholly “supernatural,” dependent on some sort of apocalyptic intervention into the normal order of things.

To do so would make metaphysics dependent upon special revelation, which would make it non-rational and subjective at bottom. Such a position fits perfectly within postmodernism, but it is directly at odds with the earlier tradition. That tradition said that certain metaphysical truths were self-evident and necessary for all other rational discourse. “The contrary” was, to borrow a phrase from other Christian transcendentalists, “impossible.”

Certain truths have to be the case in order for reason to be coherent, and since reason itself is necessary to dispute reason’s coherency, those truths’ existence is itself necessary or self-evident. Thus objective truth is itself self-evident and capable of being appealed to. For Dr. Hart to consign metaphysics to supernatural revelation is to forfeit this claim of objective reality.

Dr. Feser does not miss the fact that this postmodern Christian philosophy is itself a product of secularist advances. He writes, “Notice also the rich irony of a thinker who urges us to trust in divine revelation rather than natural reason, and who appeals to a secularist philosophical argument in order to make his case!”

Instead of defeating secularism, which Dr. Hart has claimed to at least attempt, the result is actually a furtherance of the secularist foundation. The practical result is actually more identity politics with the claim that “Christians” or “religious people” are a class-in-miniature who have something rich to offer the larger market of ideas.

One will see this same phenomenon replicated in Neo-Orthodoxy, Radical Orthodoxy, and certain forms of “worldview” thinking. Instead of argument, we will see appeals to “apocalyptic” transformation through a sort of event-metaphysics.

All of this leaves us with the hopeless contest of competing ultimate worldviews. While it is true that only persuasion will bring a person from one competing position to another, reason has traditionally been the vehicle, or at least one of the primary vehicles, which enables persuasion to be compelling. Apart from it, we are left with fideism or, worse, coercion. Dr. Feser illustrates the futility of the “apocalyptic” methodology:

And then there is the question of why anyone else should accept the revelation – of the missionary activity that, as I’m sure Hart would agree, the Christian is called to. If you are going to teach an Englishman Goethe in the original, you’re going to have to teach him German first. If you’re going to teach him algebra, you’d better make sure he already knows basic arithmetic. And if you’re going to preach the Gospel to him, you’re going to have to convince him first that what you’re saying really did come from God, and isn’t just something the people you got it from made up or hallucinated.

That’s why apologetics – the praeambula fidei, the study of what natural reason can and must know before it can know the truths of faith – precedes dogmatics in the order of knowledge, and always will. The theologian who thinks otherwise is like the Goethe scholar who screams in German at his English-speaking students, telling them what idiots they are – and deriding those who would teach them German as engaged in a “hopeless” task.

All one can say to this is Amen. John Warwick Montgomery made the same point in his essay “Once Upon an A Priori.” Without some inescapably common reason, call it what you will, all we are left with is a shouting match. Or perhaps, as in the current case, what we’ve got is simply marketing.

We will have much more to say about this topic in later essays. For now we will leave our Christian readers with this reassurance. One can claim that religious faith goes all the way down and claim that basic reason is objective and capable of compelling public persuasion. This is because people do not have to know how or why something is true to still know that it is true. Most self-evident truths operate efficiently apart from self-reflection. The Christian natural philosopher and natural-law thinker is not denying the comprehensive nature of faith, but he is saying that this faith can be rationally demonstrated as a good and necessary thing. Additionally, he claims that basic morality is not only helpful and attractive but inescapable, and it is so on absolutely reasonable grounds.

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Nature Loves to Hide — David Bentley Hart

April 25, 2013
It does not then represent some grave failure of natural reason that philosophy cannot achieve definitive moral demonstrations, or that true knowledge of the good is impossible without calling upon other modes of knowledge: the (ubiquitous) supernatural illumination of a conscience -- a heart -- upon which the law is written, Platonic anamnesis (of the eternal forms or of what your mother taught you), cultural traditions with all their gracious moments of religious awakening (Jewish, pagan, Christian, Hindu, Taoist, Buddhist, Muslim, Sikh, and so on), prayer, inspiration, the cultivation of personal holiness, love of the arts, and so on. Ultimately the world is a cruel and relentless place and we are not of it because we can interpret its moral fundamentals through the full range of our human capacities and senses, physical and spiritual.

It does not then represent some grave failure of natural reason that philosophy cannot achieve definitive moral demonstrations, or that true knowledge of the good is impossible without calling upon other modes of knowledge: the (ubiquitous) supernatural illumination of a conscience — a heart — upon which the law is written, Platonic anamnesis (of the eternal forms or of what your mother taught you), cultural traditions with all their gracious moments of religious awakening (Jewish, pagan, Christian, Hindu, Taoist, Buddhist, Muslim, Sikh, and so on), prayer, inspiration, the cultivation of personal holiness, love of the arts, and so on. Ultimately the world is a cruel and relentless place and we are not of it because we can interpret its moral fundamentals through the full range of our human capacities and senses, physical and spiritual.

I think Feser and Hart rather talked past each other, but the event of my two favorites being in some kind of disagreement with each other really became a learning experience for me. Feser is much more capable of defending and presenting purely philosophical arguments whereas Hart tends to fade into reveries that emphasize the being of the world: “To encounter the world is to encounter its being, which is gratuitously imparted to it from beyond the sphere of natural causes, known within the medium of an intentional consciousness, irreducible to immanent processes, that grasps finite reality only by being oriented toward a horizon of transcendental ends (or, better, “divine names”).” is a sentence Feser would never produce. I don’t think you need to choose sides here but can feel an allegiance to both the Christian natural philosopher (Hart) and a kind of natural-law thinker (Feser) Both advocate a  comprehensive nature of faith, and believe their faith can be rationally demonstrated as a good and necessary thing. Morality is inescapable, and it is so on absolutely reasonable grounds.

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Two issues back, I spoke ill of a modern form of natural law theory that unsuccessfully attempts to translate an ancient tradition of moral reasoning into the incompatible language of secular reason. Because of an obscurity I allowed to slip into the fourth paragraph, several readers imagined that I was speaking in propria persona [from Latin "for one's self," acting on one's own behalf, generally used to identify a person who is acting as his/her own attorney in a lawsuit.] from that point on, rather than on behalf of a disenchanted modern rambling among the weed-thronged ruins; and some were dismayed.

Edward Feser, for instance, issued a robust if confused denunciation, accusing me of numerous logical errors I did not commit and of being a Humean modernizer who doubts reason’s natural orientation toward the good. I suppose I should savor that as a refreshing change from the invective I usually attract; but, honestly, what most interested me about Feser’s argument were its fallacies, chief among them a notably simplistic understanding of such words as “revelation” and “supernatural.”

There is an old argument here, admittedly. Somewhere behind Feser’s argument slouches the specter of what is often called “two-tier Thomism”: a philosophical sect notable in part for the particularly impermeable partitions it erects between nature and grace, or nature and supernature, or natural reason and revelation, or philosophy and theology (and so on). To its adherents, it is the solution to the contradictions of modernity. To those of a more “integralist” bent (like me), it is a neo-scholastic deformation of Christian metaphysics that, far from offering an alternative to secular reason, is one of its chief theological accomplices. It also produces an approach to moral philosophy that must ultimately fail.

Before completing that thought, however, it might help to rehearse just a few of the conceptual obstacles our age erects in the path of natural law theory. So:

First. Finality’s fortuity. Most traditional accounts of natural law require a picture of nature as governed by final causality: For every substance, there are logically prior ends — proximate, remote, or transcendent — that guide its existence and unite it to the greater totality of a single cosmic, physical, moral, social continuum embraced within the providential finality of the divine. They assume, then, that from the “is” of a thing legitimate conclusions regarding its “ought” can be discerned, because nature herself — through her evident forms — instructs us in the elements of moral fulfillment.

In our age, however, final causality is a concept confined within an ever more beleaguered and porous intellectual redoubt. One can easily enough demonstrate the reality of finality within nature, but modern scientific culture refuses to view it as in any sense a cause rather than the accidental consequence of an immanent material process.

Within any organic system, for instance, ontogeny is fruitfully determined by strict formal constraints, but these are seen as the results of an incalculably vast series of fortuitous mutations and attritions, and therefore only the residue of an entirely stochastic phylogeny. Hence nature’s finality indicates no morally consequential ends (much less the supereminent finality of the Love that moves the stars), but is rather merely the emergent result of intrinsically meaningless brute events.

Second. Dame Nature, serial murderess. Even if final causality in nature is demonstrable, does it yield moral knowledge if there is no clear moral analogy between natural ends and the proper objects of human motive? After all, our modern narrative of nature is of an order shaped by immense ages of monstrous violence: mass extinctions, the cruel profligacy of an algorithmic logic that squanders ten thousand lives to fashion a single durable type, an evolutionary process that advances not despite, but because of, disease, warfare, predation, famine, and so on.

And the majestic order thus forged? One of elemental caprice, natural calamity, the mercilessness of chance — injustice thrives, disaster befalls the innocent, and children suffer. Why, our deracinated modern might ask, should we believe that nature’s organizing finality, given the kinds of efficient causes it prompts into action, has moral implications that command imitation, obedience, or (most unlikely of all) love?

Third. Elective priorities. Assume, however, that we can establish the existence of a moral imperative implicit in the orderliness of the world, as perceived by a rational will that, for itself, must seek the good: Does that assure that we can prove what hierarchy of values follows from this, or how we should calculate the relative preponderance of diverse moral ends? Yes, we may all agree that murder is worse than rudeness; but beyond the most rudimentary level of ethical deliberation, pure logic proves insufficient as a guide to which ends truly command our primary obedience, and our arguments become ever more dependent upon prior evaluations and preferences that, as far as philosophy can discern, are culturally or psychologically contingent. Consistent natural law cases can be made for or against slavery, for example, or for or against capital punishment, depending on which values one has privileged at a level too elementary for philosophy to adjudicate. At some crucial point, natural law argument, pressed to disclose its principles, dissolves into sheer assertion.

Fourth. Theory’s limits. The most gallantly errant of Feser’s assertions is that, because reason necessarily seeks the good, there exists no gap into which any “Humean” separation of facts from values can insinuate itself. But obviously the gap lies in the dynamic interval between (in Maximus the Confessor’s terms) the “natural” and “gnomic” wills: between, that is, the innate yearning for the good that is the primal impulse of all rational life and the particular acts of judgment and choice by which finite individuals live.

The venerable principle that the natural will is a pure ecstasy toward the good means that, at the level of our gnomic deliberations, whatever we will we inevitably desire as the good (for us); it does not mean that philosophical theory can by itself prove which facts imply which values, or that the good must naturally be understood as an incumbent “ought” rather than a compelling “I want.”

Feser asserts that “purely philosophical arguments” can establish “objectively true moral conclusions.” And yet, curiously enough, they never, ever have. That is a bedtime story told to conjure away the night’s goblins, like the Leibnizian fable of the best possible world or the philosophe’s fairy tale about the plain dictates of reason.

The question relentlessly left open in all of this is what “reason” really is. It is perfectly possible to believe that the whole natural dynamism of our reason and will is toward the good, and even to desire a true moral cultural renewal, and yet still to deny that natural law theory provides a sufficiently rich or logically coherent model of how the intellect can know moral truths. There is nothing scandalous in this unless one creates a false dilemma by imagining a real division between the discrete realms of supernatural and natural knowledge.

Feser thinks of revelation as an extrinsic datum consisting in texts and dogmas, and of the supernatural as merely outside of nature, and believes there really is such a thing as purely natural reason. From that perspective, one cannot deny philosophy’s power to demonstrate objective moral truth without denying reason’s intrinsic capacity for the good. Like a Kantian (the two-tier Thomist’s alter ego), one must believe that philosophical theory’s limits are also reason’s.

These divisions are illusory. What we call “nature” is merely one mode of the disclosure of the “supernatural,” and natural reason merely one mode of revelation, and philosophy merely one (feeble) mode of reason’s ascent into the light of God. Nowhere, not even in the sciences, does there exist a “purely natural” realm of knowledge.

To encounter the world is to encounter its being, which is gratuitously imparted to it from beyond the sphere of natural causes, known within the medium of an intentional consciousness, irreducible to immanent processes, that grasps finite reality only by being oriented toward a horizon of transcendental ends (or, better, “divine names”). There is a seamless continuity between the sight of a rose and the mystic’s vision of God; the latter is in fact implicit in the former, and saturates it, and but for this supernatural surfeit nothing natural could come into thought.

It does not then represent some grave failure of natural reason that philosophy cannot achieve definitive moral demonstrations, or that true knowledge of the good is impossible without calling upon other modes of knowledge: the (ubiquitous) supernatural illumination of a conscience — a heart — upon which the law is written, Platonic anamnesis (of the eternal forms or of what your mother taught you), cultural traditions with all their gracious moments of religious awakening (Jewish, pagan, Christian, Hindu, Taoist, Buddhist, Muslim, Sikh, and so on), prayer, inspiration, the cultivation of personal holiness, love of the arts, and so on.

There is no single master discourse here, for the good can be known only in being seen, before and beyond all words. Certain fundamental moral truths, for instance, may necessarily remain unintelligible to someone incapable of appreciating Bach’s fifth Unaccompanied Cello Suite. For some it may seem an outrageous notion that, rather than a collection of purportedly incontrovertible proofs, the correct rhetoric of moral truth consists in a richer but more unmasterable appeal to the full range of human capacities and senses, physical and spiritual. I, however, see it as rather glorious: a confirmation that our whole being, in all its dimensions, is a single gracious vocation out of nonexistence to the station of created gods.

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A Christian Hart, a Humean Head — Edward Feser

April 24, 2013
David Hume was a Scottish philosopher, historian, economist, and essayist, known especially for his philosophical empiricism and skepticism.

David Hume was a Scottish philosopher, historian, economist, and essayist, known especially for his philosophical empiricism and skepticism.

Edward Feser, the author of  The Last Superstition: A Refutation of the New Atheism and Aquinas, tells us the background to the Natural Law questions raised by David Bentley Hart: classic vs. new natural law theory and how they differ in approach. According to Feser, Hart appears to have confused the two and appealed to a theological position as untenable as the position he is criticizing.

The argument reminds me of a recent dustup between Bill O’Reilly and other conservatives over the former’s criticism of “bible thumpers” in the gay marriage debate. While O’Reilly was sympathetic to the biblical arguments against gay marriage, his advice was that they would not convince the public at large.

Hart is sympathetic to natural law theorists but feels that the harmony between cosmic and moral order, sustained by the divine goodness in which both participate, are not as precisely discernible as natural law thinkers imagine. Needless to say, bible thumpers and natural law theorists take high umbrage at such cavalier dismissal of their claims.

Feser explains what is really going on in the background.

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In a piece in the March issue of FIRST THINGS, David Bentley Hart suggests that the arguments of natural law theorists are bound to be ineffectual in the public square. The reason is that such arguments mistakenly presuppose that there is sufficient conceptual common ground between natural law theorists and their opponents for fruitful moral debate to be possible.

In particular, they presuppose that “the moral meaning of nature should be perfectly evident to any properly reasoning mind, regardless of religious belief or cultural formation.” In fact, Hart claims, there is no such common ground, insofar as “our concept of nature, in any age, is entirely dependent upon supernatural (or at least metaphysical) convictions.”

For Hart, it is only when we look at nature from a very specific religious and cultural perspective that we will see it the way natural law theorists need us to see it in order for their arguments to be compelling. And since such a perspective on nature “must be received as an apocalyptic interruption of our ordinary explanations,” as a deliverance of special divine revelation rather than secular reason, it is inevitably one that not all parties to public debate are going to share.

Now I have nothing but respect for Prof. Hart and his work. But this latest article is not his finest hour. Not to put too fine a point on it, by my count he commits no fewer than five logical fallacies: equivocationstraw manbegging the question,non sequitur, and special pleading.

He equivocates insofar as he fails to distinguish two very different theories that go under the “natural law” label. He also uses terms like “supernatural” and “metaphysical” as if they were interchangeable, or at least as if the differences between them were irrelevant to his argument.

These ambiguities are essential to his case. When they are resolved, it becomes clear that with respect to both versions of natural law theory, Hart is attacking straw men and simply begging the question against them. It also becomes evident that his conclusion — that it is “hopeless” to bring forth natural law arguments in the public square — doesn’t follow from his premises, and that even if it did, if he were consistent he would have to apply it to his own position no less than to natural law theory.

Let’s consider these problems with Hart’s argument in order. Who, specifically, are the “natural law theorists” that he is criticizing? He assures us that “names are not important.” In fact names are crucial, because it is only by running together the two main contemporary approaches to natural law that Hart can seem to have struck a blow against either.

So let’s name names. What we might call the classical (or “old”) natural law theory is the sort grounded in a specifically Aristotelian metaphysics of formal and final causes — that is to say, in the idea that things have immanent natures or substantial forms and that in virtue of those natures they are inherently directed toward certain natural ends, the realization of which constitutes the good for them. Accordingly, this approach firmly rejects the so-called “fact/value dichotomy” associated with modern philosophers like Hume.[Professor David Oderberg will walk you through this debate that is found at the root of empiricist philosophy.]

Classical natural law theory’s most prominent historical defender is Aquinas, and it was standard in Neo-Scholastic manuals of ethics and moral theology in the pre-Vatican II period. In more recent decades it has been defended by writers like Ralph McInerny, Henry Veatch, Russell Hittinger, David Oderberg, and Anthony Lisska. (In the interests of full disclosure — of which, regrettably, self-promotion is a foreseen but unintended byproduct, justifiable under the principle of double effect — I suppose I should mention that I have also defended classical natural law theory in several places, such as my book Aquinas.)

What has come to be called the “new natural law theory” eschews any specifically Aristotelian metaphysical foundation, and in particular any appeal to formal and final causes and thus any appeal to human nature (at least as “old natural law” theorists would understand it). It is a very recent development — going back only to the 1960s, when it was invented by Germain Grisez — and its aim is to reconstruct natural law in terms that could be accepted by someone who affirms the Humean fact/value dichotomy.

In addition to Grisez, new natural law theory is associated with writers like John Finnis, Joseph Boyle, William May, Robert P. George, and Christopher Tollefsen. (Once again in the interests of full disclosure, I should note that like other classical natural law theorists, I have been very critical of the so-called “new natural lawyers.” But it is also only fair to point out that Hart’s argument has no more force against the “new” natural law theory than it does against the “old” or classical version.)

What the two approaches have in common is the view that objectively true moral conclusions can be derived from premises that in no way presuppose any purported divine revelation, any body of scriptural writings, or any particular religious tradition. Rather, they can in principle be known via purely philosophical arguments.

Where the two approaches differ is in their view of which philosophical claims, specifically, the natural law theorist must defend in order to develop a system of natural law ethics. The “old” natural law theorist would hold that a broadly classical, and specifically Aristotelian, metaphysical picture of the world must be part of a complete defense of natural law. The “new” natural law theorist would hold that natural law theory can be developed with a much more modest set of metaphysical claims — about the reality of free will, say, and a certain theory of practical reason — without having to challenge modern post-Humean, post-Kantian philosophy in as radical and wholesale a way as the “old” natural law theorist would.

Both sides agree, however, that some body of metaphysical claims must be a part of a complete natural law theory, and (again) that these claims can be defended without appeal to divine revelation, Scripture, etc.

Now Hart characterizes natural law theory in general as committed to the reality of final causes, indicates that he affirms their reality himself, but then (bizarrely) appeals to Hume’s fact/value dichotomy as if it were obviously consistent with affirming final causes, uses it as a basis for criticizing natural law theorists for supposing conceptual common ground with their opponents, and concludes that it is only by reference to controversial “supernatural (or at least metaphysical) convictions” that natural law theory could be defended. This is a tangle of confusions.

For one thing, if there were a version of natural law theory that both appealed to final causes in nature and at the same time could allow for Hume’s fact/value dichotomy, then Hart’s argument might at least get off the ground. But there is no such version of natural law theory, and it seems that Hart is conflating the “new” and the “old” versions, thereby directing his attack at a phantom position that no one actually holds. The “new natural lawyers” agree with Hume and Hart that one cannot derive an “ought” from an “is,” but precisely for that reason do not ground their position in a metaphysics of final causes. The “old” or classical natural law theory, meanwhile, certainly does affirm final causes, but precisely for that reason rejects Hume’s fact/value dichotomy, and in pressing it against them Hart simply begs the question.

It seems Hart thinks otherwise because he supposes that even if our nature directs us to certain ends that constitute the good for us, reason could still intelligibly wonder why it ought to respect those natural ends or the good they define. But this implicitly supposes that reason itself, unlike everything else, somehow lacks a natural end definitive of its proper function, or at least a natural end that we can know through pure philosophical inquiry. And that is precisely what classical natural law theory denies.

In the view of the “old” natural law theorist, when the metaphysics of intellect and volition are properly understood, it turns out that it cannot in principle be rational to will anything other than the good. The fusion of “facts” and “values” goes all the way down, without a gap into which the Humean might fit the wedge with which he’d like to sever practical reason from any particular end. Hart simply assumes that this is false, or at least unknowable; he doesn’t give any argument to show that it is. And thus he has offered no non-circular criticism of the classical natural law theorist.

Of course such a non-Humean view of practical reason is controversial — though I defend it in Aquinas, and other classical natural law theorists have defended it as well — but the fact that it is controversial is completely irrelevant to the dispute between Hart and natural law theory. For no natural law theorist denies that some controversial metaphysical conclusions have to be defended in order to defend natural law theory. That is true of any moral theory, including secular theories, and including whatever approach it is that Hart favors. Certainly it is true of the Humean thesis about “facts” and “values,” which is just one controversial metaphysical claim among others. Having to appeal to controversial metaphysical assumptions is in no way whatsoever a special problem for natural law theorists.

It also has nothing whatsoever to do with claims about the supernatural order. Sloppy popular usage aside, “supernatural” is not a synonym for “metaphysical” — as Hart himself implicitly acknowledges with the phrase “supernatural (or at least metaphysical),” quoted above. What is supernatural is what is beyond the natural order altogether, and thus cannot be known via purely philosophical argument but only via divine revelation. Metaphysics, by contrast, is an enterprise that Platonists, Aristotelians, materialists, idealists, philosophical theists, atheists, and others have for millennia been engaged in without any reference to divine revelation. So for Hart to insinuate that its dependence on metaphysical premises entails that natural law rests on divine revelation, “supernatural” foundations, or “an apocalyptic interruption of our ordinary explanations” is simply a non sequitur.

On the other hand, if all Hart means to assert is that natural law theorists suppose that the metaphysical commitments crucial to their position are uncontroversial, then he is attacking a straw man. No natural law theorist claims any such thing. What they claim is merely that, however controversial, their position can be defended via purely philosophical arguments and without resort to divine revelation. And if its being controversial makes it “hopeless” as a contribution to the public square, then every controversial position is hopeless.

Including Hart’s. Which brings us to special pleading. For what exactly is Hart’s alternative approach to moral debate in the public square, and how is it supposed to be any better? Is a theological position like his — with its appeal to the supernatural, to “apocalyptic interruptions,” and the like — less controversial than natural law theory? Is it more likely to win the day in the public square? To ask these question is to answer them.

Nor could Hart plausibly retreat into a quietist position that refuses to engage with those who do not already share his fundamental commitments. For one thing, there is nothing quiet about his book Atheist Delusions, which was presumably intended as a contribution to the public debate over the New Atheism, not as a mere sermon to the circle of his fellow believers. That presupposes enough conceptual common ground with those who disagree with him for them to understand his position, controversial though it is, and in principle come to be swayed by his arguments. If Hart can do this, why can’t natural law theorists?

Here we see one of several ways in which Hart’s position is ultimately incoherent. Insofar as he applies his criticisms consistently he will find that they undermine his own view no less than the natural law theorist’s.

Suppose Hume’s stricture against deriving an “ought” from an “is” really were well-founded. It would follow that the purely theological ethics to which Hart seems committed, no less than natural law theory, cannot get off the ground. For statements about what has been divinely revealed, or what God has commanded, would be mere statements of “fact” (as Hume understands facts), statements about what “is” the case. And how (given Hume’s account of practical reason) does that tell us anything about “value,” about what we “ought” to do?

The most we can have are the merely hypothetical imperatives Hart rightly (if inconsistently) derides as insufficient for morality. If we happen to care about what God has said, then we’ll do such-and-such. But that tells us nothing about why we ought to care. Hart, like so many other Christian philosophers and theologians eager to accommodate themselves to Hume and other moderns, fails to see that he has drunk not a tonic that will restore youthfulness to the Faith, but a poison that will kill the modernizer no less than the traditionalist.

Notice also the rich irony of a thinker who urges us to trust in divine revelation rather than natural reason, and who appeals to a secularist philosophical argument in order to make his case. Here Hart recapitulates a muddle that one finds again and again in those who would absorb nature into grace, or otherwise do dirt on mere natural theology and natural law in favor of revelation alone. They inevitably appeal to premises that cannot be found in revelation itself, because there is no way in principle to avoid doing so.

For what is it in the first place for something to be revealed? How can we know it really has been? Why accept this purported revelation rather than that one? If the answers are supposed to be found in some purported revelation itself, how do we know that that was really revealed, or that its meta-level answers are better than those of some other purported revelation? And why wouldn’t such a patently circular procedure — appealing to a purported revelation in order to defend it — justify any point of view? It is only from a point of view outside the revelation — the point of view of our rational nature, which grace can only build on and never replace — that these questions can possibly be answered.

And then there is the question of why anyone else should accept the revelation — the missionary activity that, as I’m sure Hart would agree, the Christian is called to. If you are going to teach an Englishman Goethe in the original, you’re going to have to teach him German first. If you’re going to teach him algebra, you’d better make sure he already knows basic arithmetic. And if you’re going to preach the gospel to him, you’re going to have to convince him first that what you’re saying really did come from God, and isn’t just something the people you got it from made up or hallucinated.

That’s why apologetics — the praeambula fidei, the study of what natural reason can and must know before it can know the truths of faith — precedes dogmatics in the order of knowledge, and always will. The theologian who thinks otherwise is like the Goethe scholar who screams in German at his English-speaking students, telling them what idiots they are — and deriding those who would teach them German as engaged in a “hopeless” task.

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Is, Ought, and Nature’s Laws — David Bentley Hart

April 23, 2013

natural law theory

Natural law refers to the use of reason to analyze human nature — both social and personal—and deduce binding rules of moral behavior from it. But is it, after all, simply a fact that many of what we take to be the plain and evident elements of universal morality are in reality artifacts of cultural traditions. David Bentley Hart thought he was stating the obvious. Many took offense and the back-and-forth gave the rest of us a great opportunity to see what the fight was all about. First round to Mr. Hart follows. Some of the reactions tomorrow.

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There is a long, rich, varied, and subtle tradition of natural law theory, almost none of which I find especially convincing, but most of which I acknowledge to be — according to the presuppositions of the intellectual world in which it was gestated — perfectly coherent. My skepticism, moreover, has nothing to do with any metaphysical disagreement. I certainly believe in a harmony between cosmic and moral order, sustained by the divine goodness in which both participate. I simply do not believe that the terms of that harmony are as precisely discernible as natural law thinkers imagine.

That is an argument for another time, however. My chief topic here is the attempt in recent years by certain self-described Thomists, particularly in America, to import this tradition into public policy debates, but in a way amenable to modern political culture. What I have in mind is a style of thought whose proponents (names are not important) believe that compelling moral truths can be deduced from a scrupulous contemplation of the principles of cosmic and human nature, quite apart from special revelation, and within the context of the modern conceptual world. This, it seems to me, is a hopeless cause.

Classical natural law theory, after all, begins:

  1. From the recognition that the movement of the human will is never purely spontaneous, and that all volition is evoked by and directed toward an object beyond itself.
  2. It presupposes, moreover, that beyond the immediate objects of desire lies the ultimate end of all willing, the Good as such, which in its absolute priority makes it possible for any finite object to appear to the will as desirable.
  3. It asserts that nature is governed by final causes.
  4. And, finally, it takes as given that the proper ends of the human will and the final causes of creation are inalienably analogous to one another, because at some ultimate level they coincide (for believers, because God is the one source in which both participate). Thus, in knowing the causal ends of nature, we should be able to know many of the proper moral ends of the will, and even their relative priority in regard to one another.

So far, so good. But insuperable problems arise when — in part out of a commendable desire to speak to secular society in ways it can understand, in part out of some tacit quasi-Kantian notion that moral philosophy must yield clear and universally binding imperatives — the natural law theorist insists that the moral meaning of nature should be perfectly evident to any properly reasoning mind, regardless of religious belief or cultural formation.

Thus, allegedly, the testimony of nature should inform any rightly attentive intellect that abortion is murder, that lying is wrong, that marriage should be monogamous, that we should value charity above personal profit, and that it is wicked (as well as extremely discourteous) to eat members of that tribe that lives over in the next valley.

“Nature,” however, tells us nothing of the sort, at least not in the form of clear commands; neither does it supply us with hypotaxes of moral obligation. In neither an absolute nor a dependent sense — neither as categorical nor as hypothetical imperatives, to use the Kantian terms — can our common knowledge of our nature or of the nature of the universe at large instruct us clearly in the content of true morality.

For one thing, as far as any categorical morality is concerned, Hume’s bluntly stated assertion that one cannot logically derive an “ought” from an “is” happens to be formally correct. Even if one could exhaustively describe the elements of our nature, the additional claim that we are morally obliged to act in accord with them, or to prefer natural uses to unnatural, would still be adventitious to the whole ensemble of facts that this description would comprise.

The assumption that the natural and moral orders are connected to one another in any but a purely pragmatic way must be logically antecedent to our interpretation of the world; it is a belief about nature, but not a natural belief as such; it is a supernatural judgment that renders natural reality intelligible in a particular way. I know of many a stout defender of natural law who is quick to dismiss Hume’s argument, but who — when pressed to explain why — can do no better than to resort to a purely conditional argument: If one is (for instance) to live a fully human life, then one must . . . (etc.). But, in supplementing a dubious “is” with a negotiable “if,” one certainly cannot arrive at a categorical “ought.”

In abstraction from specific religious or metaphysical traditions, there really is very little that natural law theory can meaningfully say about the relative worthiness of the employments of the will. There are, of course, generally observable facts about the characteristics of our humanity (the desire for life and happiness, the capacity for allegiance and affinity, the spontaneity of affection for one’s family) and about the things that usually conduce to the fulfillment of innate human needs (health, a well-ordered family and polity, sufficient food, aesthetic bliss, a sense of spiritual mystery, leisure, and so forth); and if we all lived in a Platonic or Aristotelian or Christian intellectual world, in which everyone presumed some necessary moral analogy between the teleology of nature and the proper objects of the will, it would be fairly easy to connect these facts to moral prescriptions in ways that our society would find persuasive. We do not live in such a world, however.

It is, after all, simply a fact that many of what we take to be the plain and evident elements of universal morality are in reality artifacts of cultural traditions. Today we generally eschew cannibalism, slavery, polygamy, and wars of conquest because of a millennial process of social evolution, the gradual universalization of certain moral beliefs that entered human experience in the form not of natural intuitions but of historical events.

We have come to find a great many practices abhorrent and a great many others commendable not because the former transparently offend against our nature while the latter clearly correspond to it, but because at various moments in human history we found ourselves addressed by uncanny voices that seemed to emanate from outside the totality of the perceptible natural order and its material economies.

One certainly may believe that those voices in fact awakened us to “natural” truths, but only because one’s prior supernatural convictions prompt one to do so. To try then to convince someone who rejects those convictions nevertheless to embrace those truths on purely “natural” grounds can never be much more than an exercise in suasive rhetoric (and perhaps something of a pia fraus).

The truth is that we cannot talk intelligibly about natural law if we have not all first agreed upon what nature is and accepted in advance that there really is a necessary bond between what is and what should be. Nor can that bond be understood in naturalistic terms. Even if it were clearly demonstrable that for the majority of persons the happiest life is also the most wholesome, and that most of us find spiritual and corporeal contentment by observing a certain “natural” ethical mean — still, the daringly disenchanted moralist might ask: “What do we owe to nature?”

To his mind, after all, the good may not be contentment or even justice, but the extension of the pathos of the will, as Nietzsche would put it: the poetic labor of the will to power, the overcoming of the limits of the merely human, the justification of the purely fortuitous phenomenon of the world through its transformation into a supreme aesthetic event. What if he should choose to believe (and are not all values elective values for the secular moralist?) that the most exalted object of the will is the Übermensch, that natural prodigy or fortunate accident that now must become the end to which human culture consciously aspires?

Denounce him, if you wish, for the perversity of his convictions. Still, after all hypothetical imperatives have been adduced, and all appeals to the general good have been made, nothing would logically oblige him to alter his ideas. Only the total spiritual conversion of his vision of reality could truly change his thinking.

To put the matter very simply, belief in natural law is inseparable from the idea of nature as a realm shaped by final causes, oriented in their totality toward a single transcendent moral Good: one whose dictates cannot simply be deduced from our experience of the natural order, but must be received as an apocalyptic interruption of our ordinary explanations that nevertheless, miraculously, makes the natural order intelligible to us as a reality that opens up to what is more than natural. 

There is no logically coherent way to translate that form of cosmic moral vision into the language of modern “practical reason” or of public policy debate in a secular society. Our concept of nature, in any age, is entirely dependent upon supernatural (or at least metaphysical) convictions. And, in an age that has been shaped by a mechanistic understanding of the physical world, a neo-Darwinian view of life, and a voluntarist understanding of the self, nature’s “laws” must appear to be anything but moral.

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Tradition and the Natural Law

May 24, 2011

Allen: That’s quite a lovely Jackson Pollock, isn’t it?
Woman: Yes, it is.
Allen: What does it say to you?
Woman: It restates the negativeness of the universe. The hideous lonely emptiness of existence. Nothingness. The predicament of man forced to live in a barren, godless eternity like a tiny flame flickering in an immense void with nothing but waste, horror, and degradation, forming a useless, bleak straitjacket in a black, absurd cosmos.
Allen: What are you doing Saturday night?
Woman: Committing suicide.
Allen: What about Friday night?
Woody Allen, Play It Again Sam (1972)

No U.S. Supreme Court dictum in decades has faced such vilification as has poor Justice Kennedy’s 28 words in Planned Parenthood vs Casey 505 US 833 (1992):

“At the heart of liberty is the right to define one’s own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, of the mystery of human life.”

Interestingly enough, Kennedy’s words aren’t even original. Rather they reflect the dictum of another Supreme Court majority opinion written almost 50 years earlier, in which Justice Felix Frankfurter included his own “mystery” passage:

“Certainly the affirmative pursuit of one’s convictions about the ultimate mystery of the universe and man’s relation to it is placed beyond the reach of law.”

That case, Minersville v. Gobitis, (1940) was a decision by the Supreme Court of the United States involving the religious rights of public school students under the First Amendment to the United States Constitution.

The Court ruled that public schools could compel students — in this case, Jehovah’s Witnesses — to salute the American Flag and recite the Pledge of Allegiance despite the students’ religious objections to these practices. Happily they overthrew it three years later but then Justice Kennedy dusted it off for the feminists in the Casey decision. The point of all this being that when some issue is at stake there is a segment of the population (either left or right) who will say the law shouldn’t apply, that FREEDOM and our right to choose what that means, trumps all. Viva Guns, Abortion and Woody Allen’s girlfriend above.

Needless to say they are all wrong — in a secular blindness the court chose again to propound a universal moral right not to recognize the universal moral laws on which all rights depend.  As J. Budziszewski notes “Such liberty has infinite length but zero depth. A right is a power to make a moral claim upon me. If I could “define” your claims into nonexistence — as the Court said I could “define” the unborn child’s — that power would be destroyed.

What the Supreme Court tells us is that we need to have an understanding of nature as being designed according to its teleological purposes. The key definition concerning freedom (“a process of growing into the habits (i.e., virtues) that allow us to fulfill our end as human beings without the impediments of vice”) implies that we know what the end of human being to be. Saint Thomas has written that the “nature” of any particular thing is “a purpose, implanted by the Divine Art, that it be moved to a determinate end”. Provided that we haven’t been taught not to, this is the way we tend to think of things anyway. Part of the despair of modernity is that we have lost the will to distinguish not only what our purpose in life is, but the very notion that things (even us) possess an essential nature:

An acorn is not essentially something small with a point at one end and a cap at the other; it is something aimed at being an oak. A boy in my neighborhood is not essentially something with baggy pants and a foul mouth; he is something aimed at being a man. In this way of thinking, everything in Creation is a wannabe. We just have to recognize what it naturally wants to be. Natural law turns out to be the developmental spec sheet, the guide for getting there. For the acorn, nature isn’t law in the strictest sense, because law must be addressed to an intelligent being capable of choice. For the boy, though, it is. The acorn can’t be in conflict with itself. He can.

But there is something missing here. According to the old tradition of natural law, the human arrow is unlike all others because it is directed to a goal which its natural powers cannot reach. We have one natural longing that nothing in nature can satisfy. That boy on the corner is something that by nature wants to be a Man, and being a Man is hard enough. But a Man is something that by nature wants to be in friendship with God, and that, short of grace, is impossible.

God is not only the author of human nature, but the direction in which it faces and the power on which it depends, its greatest good. He isn’t just the most important good for me because of my faith commitments; He is the most important simply. Revealed religion concurs: “For [even] the Gentiles seek all these things; and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well.”
J. Budziszewski, What We Can’t Not Know

We appear to be running smack into what the detractors of Natural Law accuse it of being – a cover for divine law and a theocratic state. “Some natural lawyers assure us that the natural law would make perfect sense even if there were no God at all — forgetting that if there were no God there would be no nature either. On the other hand, some believers say that since we have the Bible to tell us what to do, we don’t need a natural law.”

Even though the elementary principles of the moral law are known by nature, they are elicited, elucidated, and elaborated by tradition. “Nature dependent on tradition” may sound inconsistent but it shouldn’t. Sound tradition works like a talented sculptor with a piece of marble: the artist liberates the object which is imprisoned in the block. In the same way, tradition gives voice to what in some sense we already know, but inarticulately. When tradition is silenced or forgotten, people are left to work out all these things out for themselves – a hit-or-miss undertaking at best. What is evident to the isolated tradition-less self is the repeatable human error sealed with the words “self-evident.”

Moreover, in tradition, intellect and moral character work together. As J. Budziszewski points out, if the mind is like the eyes, then the virtues are like the lenses which focus them. The classical Natural Law thinkers held that although there are broad moral truths which cannot be blotted out of the heart of man, there are others, more remote from first principles, which can all too easily be blotted out, usually by bad living.

The goods of fidelity, are plain and concrete to the man who has not strayed, but they are faint, like mathematical abstractions, to the one who is addicted to other men’s wives (think Arnold). The assistance of “second nature” is needed for nature to come into its own; the natural is brought to bear by the habitual. This is the source of all Eastern artistic teachings, copying the works of the masters over and over and over again. Americans are the bane of any Japanese art – they’re ready to fly and explore their inner selves after they think they’ve got the basics. Indispensable, then, is a living tradition that transmits not only teachings, but disciplines. How many American Catholics do you know who think of their faith as a discipline?

So when we require the assistance of tradition here, we are speaking of the assistance of a particular kind of tradition. Understand that clear vision of the moral law can be crushing. Because the first thing that an honest man sees with this clear vision is a debt which exceeds anything he can pay. Apart from an assurance that the debt can somehow be forgiven, such honesty is too much for us — it can kill with a deadly realization of our complete unworthiness. The sinners first reaction is what forgiveness, what salvation can there be?

Without a special revelation from the Author of the law, it is impossible to know whether the possibility of forgiveness is real. Therefore we look away; unable to accept the truth about ourselves, we may keep the law in the corner of our eye, but we cannot gaze upon it steadily. We are simply unworthy, our damnation more than reasonable.

Without a faith and salvation that is greater than our Natural Law tradition, one that settles the matter of forgiveness once and for all, our highest ethics would be littered with evasions and suicides. Although Natural Law was named by the pagans and is in some dim fashion known apart from the Bible, reflection about it has never gone far except within biblical revelation.

J. Budziszewski borrows a metaphor used by C. S. Lewis in another context, namely that our particular traditions are like the different rooms of a great house, and the public square is like the entrance parlor. The parlor is indispensable room; it is where everyone meets and goes in and out. But we learn even our parlor manners in the family rooms, the family rooms are where people actually live, and one of the chief topics of parlor conversation is — surprise! — our families.

Members of different traditions cannot always speak together, but sometimes they can, and in ways that tradition less people never can. The greatest insights into Natural Law coincided with the period during which they were intensely and simultaneously engaged with the pagan thought of Aristotle, the Jewish thought of Maimonides, and the Muslim thought of Averroes. A great leavening of all these traditions has occurred and all that is required of us is to cultivate the art of listening to each other to learn what the Natural Law teaches us.

The greater difficulty lies in speaking with people (relativists, atheists, et. al.)who have no traditions of unfolding the Natural Law, only “traditions” of evading or obscuring it. Budziszewski cautions us that although this kind of conversation is not impossible, it presents special difficulties: we can better teach speech to the mute if we have learned it among people who speak. So seek out the philosophical and the traditions on the issues of faith in the public square. Learn the vocabulary, understand the traditions of the Natural Law.

It is only in God and in light of God that we rightly know any man. Any “self-knowledge” that restricts man to the empirical and tangible fails to engage with man’s true depth. Man knows himself only when he learns to understand himself in light of God, and he knows others only when he sees the mystery of God in them.
Jesus of Nazareth – Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI)

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The Impenetrability of Natural Law

May 23, 2011

Rembrandt van Rijn, Christ Disputing with the Doctors a Sketch, 1652

One of the topics I found somewhat impenetrable for the longest time was “Natural Law.” I could never find a good definition of what it was, never mind a codification of it that everyone agreed upon. It wasn’t until reading J. Budziszewski’s What We Can’t Not Know that I was able to put a better grip on why some of these things eluded me.

Basically the point of the natural law is that there are some moral truths that we all know or that we should know if we are playing with a full deck. NOT knowing them gives you an entrée into the world of the sociopath. Yet even this simple assertion quickly breaks down. Remember those tribes that Colin Turnbull wrote about in the New Yorker years back, the Ik?

Turnbull was an unconventional ethnologist who rejected neutrality. He idealized the BaMbuti tribe he wrote about and reviled the Ik, describing the latter as lacking any sense of altruism, in that they force their children out of their homes at the age of three, and gorge on whatever occasional excesses of food they might find until they became sick, rather than save or share. They seemed to be candidates for a breed of people who were clueless to the Natural Law and reasons to view the assumption that “Everybody knows it” as proof the Natural Law lacks the universalism it claims for itself.

Well it turned out that old Colin was mistaken. Several anthropologists have since argued that a particularly serious famine suffered by the Ik during the period of Turnbull’s visit may have distorted their normal behavior and customs, and some passages in his book make it clear that the behavior and customs of the Ik during the period he describes were drastically different from what was normal for them before they were uprooted from their original way of life. They even turned out to have a to have a strong sense of mutual obligation, according to some scholars.

Still there is a lot to be said to contradict the assumption that Natural Law is universal. The defenders of Natural Law (of which I am one) point out that Natural Law, while as real and plain as abc’s and arithmetic, can be as elusive as Original Sin.

J. Budziszewski describes these basic natural moral principles and their elusiveness as follows:

They are a universal possession, an emblem of rational mind, an heirloom of the family of man. That doesn’t mean that we know them with unfailing, perfect clarity, or that we have reasoned out their remotest implications: we don’t, and we haven’t. Nor does it mean that we never pretend not to know them even though we do, or that we never lose our nerve when told they aren’t true: we do, and we do. It doesn’t even mean that we are born knowing them, that we never get mixed up about them, or that we assent to them just as readily whether they are taught to us or not. That can’t even be said of “two plus two is four”. Yet our common moral knowledge is as real as arithmetic, and probably just as plain. Paradoxically, maddeningly, we appeal to it even to justify wrongdoing; rationalization is the homage paid by sin to guilty knowledge.
J. Budziszewski, What We Can’t Not Know

We can go back to 1931 and the philosopher J. Cooper who innocently wrote a seemingly clear-cut definition here:

The peoples of the world, however much they differ as to details of morality, hold universally, or with practical universality, to at least the following basic precepts. Respect the Supreme Being or the benevolent being or beings who take his place. Do not “blaspheme.” Care for your children. Malicious murder or maiming, stealing, deliberate slander or “black” lying, when committed against friend or unoffending fellow clansman or tribesman, are reprehensible. Adultery proper is wrong, even though there be exceptional circumstances that permit or enjoin it and even though sexual relations among the unmarried may be viewed leniently. Incest is a heinous offense. This universal moral code agrees rather closely with our own Decalogue taken in a strictly literal sense.’
John M. Cooper, cited in Russell Hettinger’s The Natural Law

In our own culture rationalization is the homage paid by sin to guilty knowledge so even Arnold knows he did wrong fathering a love child and lying about it for ten years. But many would declare it a private matter and shy from declaring it an example of Natural Law at work. Libertarians focus on “rights”, relativists declare “it all depends” and, as Budziszewski points out, such poor moral philosophy always tries to connect the dots of what we seem to already know and blithely goes on to cook the moral data as the dishonest statistician cooks the numbers.

Hence if we like to feel pleasure, the utilitarian sort of cook ignores every datum but that: “we don’t want dinner, but the pleasure of feeling full; nor knowledge, but the pleasure of feeling knowledgeable; nor love, etc. etc.” Following that line of reasoning we should all become anorexic — eat, purge, and eat again, capturing all the joys and none of the negatives. But a life of constant vomit leads the rational side of us to figure out that (like Hefner’s Playboy Philosophy) it just plain doesn’t work out. That is, if we have a rational side.

Degenerate theories of Natural Law abound, none more pernicious than the relativist Justice Kennedy and the derivative Natural Law he invented in (Planned Parenthood vs Casey 505 US 833 (1992). It is here that the modern sense of freedom is most radically expressed and carried to its logical and ugly extreme:

 “At the heart of liberty is the right to define one’s own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, of the mystery of human life.”

In the interests of holding together a pluralist society, the justices leave the determination of the deepest and most important questions wholly to the whim of individuals, freedom having completely trumped truth or in the words of John Paul II, “freedom lapsed into arbitrariness and truth devolved to oppression.”

Christians can have no truck with this form of liberalism, for we do not think that Christ’s truth can be bracketed or set aside. We are convinced that authentic peace and liberty will be achieved only in correlation to the Word of God which appropriately grounds them. Paul can say, “It is for freedom that Christ set you free,” and he can proclaim himself “a slave of Christ Jesus” (Romans. 1:1), because he is not saddled with a modern conception of freedom. He knows that when we are enslaved to the truth that appeared in Christ, we are free to realize who God wants us to be. Long before the nitwits of our generation used “Freedom” to trump the will of God, our wiser medieval forefathers regarded it as a process of growing into the habits (i.e., virtues) that allow us to fulfill our end as human beings without the impediments of vice.

“In the Divine Comedy, the pilgrim Dante, having climbed the mountain of Purgatory and scoured away the effects of habitual sin, hears Virgil say that the fruit of joy once lost in Eden is now near. And so he fairly rushes into the freedom of being what he has been created to be:

Will above will now surged in such delight
to climb the top, that with each step I took
I felt my feathers growing for the flight.

Dante’s callow soul will soon be welcomed into the community of the blessed saints, for whom freedom means the grace-filled incapacity to will anything but the good for themselves and for one another. Thomas Aquinas steps forth from the constellation of the wise to express this freedom as the now utterly natural and supernatural virtue of love. Says he to Dante, who has been too stunned with wonder to ask his name:

When the radiance
of the Lord’s grace, which lights the flames of true
love and by love still grows in eminence,
With such multiplication shines in you
it leads you up these stairs no man may take
descending, without climbing up anew,
He who’d deny his flask of wine to slake
your thirst would not be free, would have such power
as rivers not returning to the sea!

Thomas cannot do other than love. In that very propensity, as of a rushing river, consists his freedom.

In his way, Dante has foreseen our modern notion of freedom — the notion expressed by Wilson and Kant — and he has rejected it. That is not because such false freedom is often directed toward evil, as when it becomes the license to snuff out the life of an unborn child. It is, rather, because any freedom that severs us from one another, from our memories of those who came before us, is built on a lie about being.

It is a misunderstanding of that Being whose essence is to exist. It is autonomy collapsing into antinomy [vocab: A contradiction between principles] the denial of law itself and of our created being. Dante knows both that there is an autonomy in accord with the structure of created existence, which is truly free, and that there is an autonomy that violates it, caught by its own snare.
Anthony Esolen, The Freedom of Heaven and the Freedom of Hell

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A reading selection: An Entry from The Original Catholic Encyclopedia on Natural Law

March 18, 2011

 

The Catholic Encyclopedia  was published in 15 volumes between 1907 and 1912 by the Robert Appleton Company. In 1913 the publisher, renamed as Encyclopedia Press, Inc., released a new edition. A year later (1914) a comprehensive Index was released as Volume 16. This entry by James J. Fox.

ITS ESSENCE
In English this term is frequently employed as equivalent to the laws of nature, meaning the order which governs the activities of the material universe. Among the Roman jurists natural law designated those instincts and emotions common to man and the lower animals, such as the instinct of self-preservation and love of offspring. In its strictly ethical application — the sense in which this article treats it — the natural law is the rule of conduct which is prescribed to us by the Creator in the constitution of the nature with which He has endowed us.

According to St. Thomas, the natural law is “nothing else than the rational creature’s participation in the eternal law” (I-II, Q. xciv). The eternal law is God’s wisdom, inasmuch as it is the directive norm of all movement and action. When God willed to give existence to creatures, He willed to ordain and direct them to an end. In the case of inanimate things, this Divine direction is provided for in the nature which God has given to each; in them determinism reigns.

Like all the rest of creation, man is destined by God to an end, and receives from Him a direction towards this end. This ordination is of a character in harmony with his free intelligent nature. In virtue of his intelligence and free will, man is master of his conduct. Unlike the things of the mere material world he can vary his action, act, or abstain from action, as he pleases. Yet he is not a lawless being in an ordered universe. In the very constitution of his nature; he too has a law laid down for him, reflecting that ordination and direction of all things, which is the eternal law. The rule, then, which God has prescribed for our conduct, is found in our nature itself. Those actions which conform with its tendencies, lead to our destined end, and are thereby constituted right and morally good; those at variance with our nature are wrong and immoral.

The norm, however, of conduct is not some particular element or aspect of our nature. The standard is our whole human nature with its manifold relationships, considered as a creature destined to a special end. Actions are wrong if, though subserving the satisfaction of some particular need or tendency, they are at the same time incompatible with that rational harmonious subordination of the lower to the higher which reason should maintain among our conflicting tendencies and desires.

For example, to nourish our bodies is right; but to indulge our appetite for food to the detriment of our corporal or spiritual life is wrong. Self-preservation is right, but to refuse to expose our life when the well-being of society requires it, is wrong. It is wrong to drink to intoxication, for, besides being injurious to health, such indulgence deprives one of the use of reason, which is intended by God to be the guide and dictator of conduct. Theft is wrong, because it subverts the basis of social life; and man’s nature requires for its proper development that he live in a state of society.

There is, then, a double reason for calling this law of conduct natural: first, because it is set up concretely in our very nature itself, and second, because it is manifested to us by the purely natural medium of reason. In both respects it is distinguished from the Divine positive law, which contains precepts not arising from the nature of things as God has constituted them by the creative act, but from the arbitrary will of God. This law we learn, not through the unaided operation of reason, but through the light of supernatural revelation.

We may now analyze the natural law into three constituents: the discriminating norm, the binding norm (norma obligans), and the manifesting norm. The discriminating norm is, as we have just seen, human nature itself, objectively considered. It is, so to speak, the book in which is written the text of the law, and the classification of human actions into good and bad. Strictly speaking, our nature is the proximate discriminating norm or standard. The remote and ultimate norm, of which it is the partial reflection and application, is “the Divine nature itself, the ultimate groundwork of the created order. The binding or obligatory norm is the Divine authority, imposing upon the rational creature the obligation of living in conformity with his nature, and thus with the universal order established by the Creator.

Contrary to the Kantian theory that we must not acknowledge any other lawgiver than conscience, the truth is that reason as conscience is only immediate moral authority which we are called upon to obey, and conscience itself owes its authority to the fact that it is the mouthpiece of the Divine will and imperium.

The manifesting norm (norma denuntians), which determines the moral quality of actions tried by the discriminating norm, is reason. Through this faculty we perceive what is the moral constitution of our nature, what kind of action it calls for, and whether a particular action possesses this requisite character.

THE CONTENTS OF THE NATURAL LAW
Radically, the natural law consists of one supreme and universal principle, from which are derived all our natural moral obligations or duties. We cannot discuss here the many erroneous opinions regarding the fundamental rule of life. Some of them are utterly false — for instance, that of Bentham, who made the pursuit of utility or temporal pleasure the foundation of the moral code, and that of Fichte, who taught that the supreme obligation is to love self above everything and all others on account of self. Others present the true idea in an imperfect or one-sided fashion. Epicurus, for example, held the supreme principle to be, `Follow nature”; the Stoics inculcated living according to reason.

But these philosophers interpreted their principles in a manner less in conformity with our doctrine than the tenor of their words suggests. Catholic moralists, though agreeing upon the underlying conception of the Natural Law, have differed more or less in their expression of its fundamental formulae. Among many others we find the following: “Love God as the end and everything on account of Him”; “Live conformably to human nature considered in all its essential respects”; “Observe the rational order established and sanctioned by God”; “Manifest in your life the image of God impressed on your rational nature.”

The exposition of St. Thomas is at once the most simple and philosophic. Starting from the premise that good is what primarily falls under the apprehension of the practical reason — that is of reason acting as the dictator of conduct — and that, consequently, the supreme principle of moral action must have the good as its central idea, he holds that the supreme principle, from which all the other principles and precepts are derived, is that good is to be done, and evil avoided (I-II, Q. xciv, a. 2).

Passing from the primary principle to the subordinate principles and conclusions, moralists divide these into two classes: (I) those dictates of reason which flow so directly from the primary principle that they hold in practical reason the same place as evident propositions in the speculative sphere, or are at least easily deducible from the primary principle. Such, for instance, are: “Adore God”; “Honor your parents”; “Do not steal”; (2) those other conclusions and precepts, which are reached only through a more or less complex course of inference. It is this difficulty and uncertainty that requires the natural law to be supplemented by positive law, human and Divine.

As regards the vigor and binding force of these precepts and conclusions, theologians divide them into two classes, primary and secondary. To the first class belong those which must, under all circumstances, be observed if the essential moral order is to be maintained. The secondary precepts are those whose observance contributes to the public and private good and is required for the perfection of moral development, but is not so absolutely necessary to the rationality of conduct that it may not be lawfully omitted under some special conditions. For example, under no circumstances is polyandry compatible with the moral order, while polygamy, though inconsistent with human relations in their proper moral and social development, is not absolutely incompatible with them under less civilized conditions.

THE QUALITIES OF THE NATURAL LAW
(a) The natural law is universal, that is to say, it applies to the entire human race, and is in itself the same for all. Every man, because he is a man, is bound, if he will conform to the universal order willed by the Creator, to live conformably to his own rational nature, and to be guided by his reason. However, infants and insane persons, who have not the actual use of their reason and cannot therefore know the law, are not responsible for their failure to comply with its demands.

(b) The natural law is immutable in itself and also extrinsically. Since it is founded in the very nature of man and his destination to his end — two bases which rest upon the immutable ground of the eternal law — it follows that, assuming the continued existence of human nature, it cannot cease to exist. The natural law commands and forbids in the same tenor everywhere and always. We must, however, remember that this immutability pertains not to those abstract imperfect formulae in which the law is commonly expressed, but to the moral standard as it applies to action in the concrete, surrounded with all its determinate conditions. We enunciate, for instance, one of the leading precepts in the words: “Thou shalt not kill”; yet the taking of human life is sometimes a lawful, and even an obligatory act. Herein exists no variation in the law; what the law forbids is not all taking of life, but all unjust taking of life.

With regard to the possibility of any change by abrogation or dispensation, there can be no question of such being introduced by any authority except that of God Himself. But reason forbids us to think that even He could exercise such power; because, given the hypothesis that He wills man to exist, He wills him necessarily to live conformably to the eternal law, by observing in his conduct the law of reason. The Almighty, then, cannot be conceived as willing this and simultaneously willing the contradictory, that man should be set free from the law entirely through its abrogation, or partially through dispensation from it.

It is true that some of the older theologians, followed or copied by some later ones, hold that God can dispense, and, in fact in some instances, has dispensed from the secondary precepts of the natural law, while others maintain that the bearing of the natural law is changed by the operation of positive law. However, an examination of the arguments offered in support of these opinions shows that the alleged examples of dispensation are: (a) cases where a change of conditions modifies the application of the law, or (b) cases concerning obligations not imposed as absolutely essential to the moral order, though their fulfilment is necessary for the full perfection of conduct, or (c) instances of addition made to the law.

As examples of the first category are cited God’s permission to the Hebrews to despoil the Egyptians, and His command to Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. But it is not necessary to see in these cases a dispensation from the precepts forbidding theft and murder. As the Sovereign Lord of all things, He Could withdraw from Isaac his right to life, and from the Egyptians their right of ownership, with the result that neither would the killing of Isaac be an unjust destruction of life, nor the appropriation of the Egyptians’ goods the unjust taking of another ‘s property. The classic instance alleged as an example of (b) is the legalization of polygamy among the Hebrews. Polygamy, however, is not under all circumstances incompatible with the essential principles of a rationally ordered life, since the chief ends prescribed by nature for the marital union — the propagation of the race and the due care and education of offspring — may, in certain states of society, be attained in a polygamous union.

The theory that God can dispense from any part of the law, even from the secondary precepts, is scarcely compatible with the doctrine, which is the common teaching of the School, that the natural law is founded on the eternal law, and, therefore, has for its ultimate ground the immutable essence of God himself. As regards (c), when positive law, human or Divine, imposes obligations which only modify the bearing of the natural law, it cannot correctly be said to change it. Positive law may not ordain anything contrary to the natural law, from which it draws its authority; but it may — and this is one of its functions — determine with more precision the bearing of the natural law, and for good reasons, supplement its conclusions. For example, in the eyes of the natural law mutual verbal agreement to a contract is sufficient; yet, in many kinds of contract, the civil law declares that no agreement shall be valid, unless it be expressed in writing and signed by the parties before witnesses.

In establishing this rule the civil authority merely exercises the power which it derives from the natural law to add to the operation of the natural law such conditions as the common good may call for. Contrary to the almost universally received doctrine, a few theologians held erroneously that the natural law depends not on the essential necessary will of God, but upon His arbitrary positive will, and taught consistently with this view, that the natural law may be dispensed from or even abrogated by God. The conception, however, that the moral law is but an arbitrary enactment of the Creator, involves the denial of any absolute distinction between right and wrong — a denial which, of course, sweeps away the very foundation of the entire moral order.

OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE LAW
Founded in our nature and revealed to us by our reason, the moral law is known to us in the measure that reason brings a knowledge of it home to our understanding. The question arises: How far can man be ignorant of the natural law, which, as St. Paul says, is written in the human heart (Rom., ii, 14)? The general teaching of theologians is that the supreme and primary principles are necessarily known to everyone having the actual use of reason. These principles are really reducible to the primary principle which is expressed by St. Thomas in the form: “Do good and avoid evil”. Wherever we find man we find him with a moral code, which is founded on the first principle that good is to be done and evil avoided. When we pass from the universal to more particular conclusions, the ease is different.

Some follow immediately from the primary, and are so self-evident that they are reached without any complex course of reasoning. Such are, for example: “Do not commit adultery”; “Honor your parents”. No person whose reason and moral nature is ever so little developed can remain in ignorance of such precepts except through his own fault. Another class of conclusions comprises those which are reached only by a more or less complex course of reasoning. These may remain unknown to, or be misinterpreted even. by persons whose intellectual development is considerable. To reach these more remote precepts, many facts and minor conclusions must be correctly appreciated, and, in estimating their value, a person may easily err, and consequently, without moral fault, come to a false conclusion.

A few theologians of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, following some older ones, maintained that there cannot exist in anyone practical ignorance of the natural law. This opinion however has no weight (for the controversy see Bouquillon, “Theologia Fundamentalis”, n. 74). Theoretically speaking, man is capable of acquiring a full knowledge of the moral law, which is, as we have seen, nothing but the dictates of reason properly exercised. Actually, taking into consideration the power of passion, prejudice, and other influences which cloud the understanding or pervert the will, one can safely say that man, unaided by supernatural revelation, would not acquire a full and correct knowledge of the contents of the natural law (cf. Vatican Council, Sess. III, cap. ii). In proof we need but recall that the noblest ethical teaching of pagans, such as the systems of Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics, was disfigured by its approbation of shockingly immoral actions and practices.

As the fundamental and all-embracing obligation imposed upon man by the Creator, the natural law is the one to which all his other obligations are attached. The duties imposed on us in the supernatural law come home to us, because the natural law and its exponent, conscience, tell us that, if God has vouchsafed to us a supernatural revelation with a series of precepts, we are bound to accept and obey it. The natural law is the foundation of all human law inasmuch as it ordains that man shall live in society, and society for its constitution requires the existence of an authority, which shall possess the moral power necessary to control the members and direct them to the common good. Human laws are valid and equitable only in so far as they correspond with, and enforce or supplement the natural law; they are null and void when they conflict with it.

The United States system of equity courts, as distinguished from those engaged in the administration of the common law, are founded on the principle that, when the law of the legislator is not in harmony with the dictates of the natural law, equity (aequitas, epikeia) demands that it be set aside or corrected. St. Thomas explains the lawfulness of this procedure. Because human actions, which are the subject of laws, are individual and innumerable, it is not possible to establish any law that may not sometimes work out unjustly. Legislators, however, in passing laws, attend to what commonly happens, though to apply the common rule will sometimes work injustice and defeat the intention of the law itself. In such cases it is bad to follow the law; it is good to set aside its letter and follow the dictates of justice and the common good (II-II, Q. cxx, a. 1).

Logically, chronologically, and ontologically antecedent to all human society for which it provides the indispensable basis, the natural or moral law is neither — as Hobbes, in anticipation of the modern positivistic school, taught — a product of social agreement or convention, nor a mere congeries of the actions, customs, and ways of men, as claimed by the ethicists who, refusing to acknowledge the First Cause as a Personality with whom one entertains personal relations, deprive the law of its obligatory basis. It is a true law, for through it the Divine Mind imposes on the subject minds of His rational creatures their obligations and prescribes their duties.

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Selections From Pope Benedict XVI’s Address To The Participants In The International Congress On Natural Law

July 9, 2010

Recently I have been discussing the topic of natural law and homosexuality and a derivative problem of gay marriage. I found the Pope’s address to be very helpful in figuring out what lex naturalis really is and how it would apply to the topic.

Discerning The Rational Structures Of Matter
There is no doubt that we are living in a moment of extraordinary development in the human capacity to decipher the rules and structures of matter, and in the consequent dominion of man over nature.

We all see the great advantages of this progress and we see more and more clearly the threat of destruction of nature by what we do.

There is another less visible danger, but no less disturbing: the method that permits us to know ever more deeply the rational structures of matter makes us ever less capable of perceiving the source of this rationality, creative Reason. The capacity to see the laws of material being makes us incapable of seeing the ethical message contained in being, a message that tradition calls lex naturalis, natural moral law.

A Concept Of Nature No Longer Metaphysical
This word for many today is almost incomprehensible due to a concept of nature that is no longer metaphysical, but only empirical. The fact that nature, being itself, is no longer a transparent moral message creates a sense of disorientation that renders the choices of daily life precarious and uncertain.

Naturally, the disorientation strikes the younger generations in a particular way, who must in this context find the fundamental choices for their life.

It is precisely in the light of this contestation that all the urgency of the necessity to reflect upon the theme of natural law and to rediscover its truth common to all men appears. The said law, to which the Apostle Paul refers (cf. Rom 2:14-15: When Gentiles, who do not possess the law, do instinctively what the law requires, these, though not having the law, are a law to themselves. They show that what the law requires is written on their hearts, to which their own conscience also bears witness; and their conflicting thoughts will accuse or perhaps excuse them), is written on the heart of man and is consequently, even today, accessible.

The Fundamental Message of The Lex Naturalis
This law has as its first and general principle, “to do good and to avoid evil.” This is a truth which by its very evidence immediately imposes itself on everyone. From it flows the other more particular principles that regulate ethical justice on the rights and duties of everyone.

So does the principle of respect for human life from its conception to its natural end, because this good of life is not man’s property but the free gift of God. Besides this is the duty to seek the truth as the necessary presupposition of every authentic personal maturation.

Another fundamental application of the subject is freedom. Yet taking into account the fact that human freedom is always a freedom shared with others, it is clear that the harmony of freedom can be found only in what is common to all: the truth of the human being, the fundamental message of being itself, exactly the lex naturalis.

And how can we not mention, on one hand, the demand of justice that manifests itself in giving unicuique suum (“To each his own”) and, on the other, the expectation of solidarity that nourishes in everyone, especially if they are poor, the hope of the help of the more fortunate?

In these values are expressed unbreakable and contingent norms that do not depend on the will of the legislator and not even on the consensus that the State can and must give. They are, in fact, norms that precede any human law: as such, they are not subject to modification by anyone. The natural law, together with fundamental rights, is the source from which ethical imperatives also flow, which it is only right to honor.

A Matter of Juridical Methodology
In today’s ethics and philosophy of Law, petitions of juridical positivism are widespread. As a result, legislation often becomes only a compromise between different interests: seeking to transform private interests or wishes into law that conflict with the duties deriving from social responsibility.

In this situation it is opportune to recall that every juridical methodology, be it on the local or international level, ultimately draws its legitimacy from its rooting in the natural law, in the ethical message inscribed in the actual human being.

Natural law is, definitively, the only valid bulwark against the arbitrary power or the deception of ideological manipulation. The knowledge of this law inscribed on the heart of man increases with the progress of the moral conscience.

The first duty for all, and particularly for those with public responsibility, must therefore be to promote the maturation of the moral conscience. This is the fundamental progress without which all other progress proves non-authentic.

The law inscribed in our nature is the true guarantee offered to everyone in order to be able to live in freedom and to be respected in their own dignity.

Regarding Marriage and Lex Naturalis
What has been said up to this point has very concrete applications if one refers to the family, that is, to “the intimate partnership of life and the love which constitutes the married state… established by the Creator and endowed by him with its own proper laws” (Gaudium et Spes, n. 48).

Concerning this, the Second Vatican Council has opportunely recalled that the institution of marriage has been “confirmed by the divine law”, and therefore “this sacred bond … for the good of the partner, of the children and of society no longer depends on human decision alone” (ibid.).

Therefore, no law made by man can override the norm written by the Creator without society becoming dramatically wounded in what constitutes its basic foundation. To forget this would mean to weaken the family, penalizing the children and rendering the future of society precarious.

Scientifically Possible May Not Be Ethically Licit
Lastly, I feel the duty to affirm yet again that not all that is scientifically possible is also ethically licit. Technology, when it reduces the human being to an object of experimentation, results in abandoning the weak subject to the arbitration of the stronger. To blindly entrust oneself to technology as the only guarantee of progress, without offering at the same time an ethical code that penetrates its roots in that same reality under study and development, would be equal to doing violence to human nature with devastating consequences for all.

The contribution of scientists is of primary importance. Together with the progress of our capacity to dominate nature, scientists must also contribute to help understand the depth of our responsibility for man and for nature entrusted to him.

On this basis it is possible to develop a fruitful dialogue between believers and non-believers; between theologians, philosophers, jurists and scientists, which can offer to legislation as well precious material for personal and social life.

Therefore, I hope these days of study will bring not only a greater sensitivity of the learned with regard to the natural moral law, but will also serve to create conditions so that this theme may reach an ever fuller awareness of the inalienable value that the lex naturalis possesses for a real and coherent progress of private life and the social order.

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