According to the law of demand, the higher the price of the product, the less is consumed.  In his 1899 book Theory of the Leisure Class, progressive economist Thorstein Veblen tweaked the noses of his colleagues by suggesting that this isn’t always true.  Up to a point, the amount of prestigious items consumed by the wealthy may increase as the price goes up.  He called this “conspicuous consumption” – buying to show off.

Today we have a new twist on conspicuous consumption:  Buying to show off not just how fashionably wealthy you are, but also how fashionably virtuous you are.  Almost always the supposedly more virtuous products are more expensive too, so the two kinds of flaunting are combined.  Moviegoers in upscale theatres snack on edamame instead of greasy popcorn, showing how virtuously they take care of their bodies.  Drivers of upscale cars purchase all-electric vehicles, showing how virtuously they take care of the environment.  Activists who zip from engagement to engagement in jet planes buy carbon offsets, showing how virtuously they atone for their guilt.

In one of the ironies of history, progressivism has become a fetish of the comfortable, and the people who most conspicuously practice the new form of consumption are Veblen’s ideological heirs.

But it is all highly selective.  You won’t find many people spending money to show off their chastity, modesty, or humility.

That would be tacky.

Tomorrow:  A Dialogue on Natural Law, Part 6 of 10

All this talk about "conscience" is rot.  Moral beliefs are pumped in from outside.  Some people never acquire any at all.

You mean the famous "people without a conscience."  But there is a difference between guilty knowledge and guilty feelings.  Not everyone feels guilty for murder, but everyone knows murder is wrong.  Precisely because they have guilty knowledge, wrongdoers who lack guilty feelings show other telltales, such as depression, a sense of defect, a compulsion to rationalize, or a puzzling desire to be caught.  The suicide rate among sociopaths is also higher than in the general population.

So maybe we do all have conscience.  But I still think it's pumped in from outside.  If I want to teach Billy that hurting people is wrong, I just say "Billy, don't hurt people. It's wrong."

That's a very good thing to tell him, and I strongly recommend it.  But what do you say when he asks "Why is it wrong?"

I say "It just is."

So do I, but that's just my point.  The reason you can draw that fact to Billy's attention is that once his attention is drawn to it, he can see it for himself.  But suppose he didn't.  Suppose he didn't even know the meaning of wrong.  What would you do then?

I'd tell him "Wrong is what you ought not do."

By itself that would teaches him only that "wrong" and "what you ought not do" mean the same thing.  It wouldn't teach him what same thing they meant.  If he already knows what "ought not" means, then you've given him a synonym.  If he doesn't know what "ought not" means, then he doesn't know what "wrong" means either.

In that case I'll tell him "Wrong is what you'll be punished for."

Come now, you don't believe that yourself.  Generally speaking, wrong should be punished.  But if a wrong goes unpunished, does that mean it isn't wrong after all?

Point taken.  I'll teach him "Wrong is what you OUGHT to be punished for."

Then you've merely led him in a circle:  Wrong is what it would be wrong not to punish him for.  You've explained wrong in terms of wrong.  The explanation presupposes the thing you are trying to explain.

Then how do you teach him what wrong means?

We can teach first principles in a sense, but we can't "pump them in."  The mind is so designed as to acquire them on its own, as the eye is designed to see on its own.  What we call teaching only helps the process along.  When we instruct and discipline the child we are only calling his attention to the first principles, giving him words for them, building on them, extending them, and reinforcing them with praise and punishment.  Billy learns the meaning of the word "red" because whenever something is red, I say "red."  He learns the meaning of the word "same" because whenever two things are the same, I say "same."  And he learns the meaning of the word "wrong" because whenever something is wrong, I say "wrong."  But a child without the rudiments of synderesis could not be taught the meaning of the word "wrong" for the same reason that a child without sight could not be taught the meaning of the word "red" and a child without the power of comparison could not be taught the meaning of the word "same."  The child has to be able to see for himself what I am drawing to his attention.

A Dialogue on Natural Law, Part 6

Video of Marvin Olasky Interviewing Me

Comment from a student:  "The Pope is thought to be pretty progressive.  Has he softened the Church’s stance on moral issues?”

Pope Francis believes what the Church has always believed, but I think he may be trying too hard to say it nicely.  The problem is that true love desires our true good.  If what we want isn’t our true good, then what true love wants for us sounds harsh no matter how you put it.  If you overdo the soft words -- “Who am I to judge?” -- people think you have softened the doctrine itself -- “He’s saying it’s not wrong.”

A convert I know from the time of John Paul II’s papacy says that before her conversion, “I asked myself what the true Church would look like.  She would tell the truth, and the whole world would hate her for doing so.  When I looked at the Church, that’s what I saw.”

Tomorrow:  A Dialogue on Natural Law, Part 5 of 10

You speak of what we “can’t not know,” but surely children don't already know the natural law.

Correct.  When we speak of things we can't not know we have in mind people who have reached the age of reason.  That's why I've sometimes described the natural law as what we can't not know "or can't help learning."  Although I suspect that even children know more than you think.  When Billy steals Susan's cupcake, Susan knows enough to cry "Not fair!", and Billy knows enough to lie about it.

You mean so that he won't be spanked.

Right.

But doesn't that show he doesn't know he did wrong?

No.  It shows that violating one known duty gives Billy an immediate motive to violate another.

So you think even pretty young children know some of the natural law.

Yes.  Some of it.

But not all of it.

Not all.

But if children don't know all of it, then it isn't innate knowledge after all.

Who said it was?

Don't all natural law thinkers say it is?

No.  That's a common misconception.  When you say "innate," you mean something like "born with us."  How could the newborn baby know that gratuitously hurting people is wrong, when he doesn't even know that there are people?

But if the so-called first principles aren't innate, then how can you call them "first"?

They aren't first in the order of time, but in the order of reason.  They are the unprovables from which proofs are built.  The reason it takes a long time to know things like "Gratuitously hurting people is wrong" is that it takes a long time to form concepts of gratuitousness, hurting, people, and wrong.  Our minds are so made, however, that as soon as we do grasp these concepts, we immediately recognize that gratuitously hurting people is wrong.  The technical expressions are that although the precept is not innate, it's per se nota, "known in itself," "underived."

I don't buy that.  If everyone knows certain precepts, it's only because everyone is taught them.

In that case it's mighty strange that everyone is taught the same precepts.  How do you explain the fact that the same ones are taught everywhere?

The same ones aren't taught everywhere.  Christians restrict a man to one wife; Muslims permit up to four.

We were talking about basics, not details.  Show me a society that doesn't recognize the institution of marriage!

But that's only for the preservation of the species.

I thought you were trying to tell me that there isn't any natural law.  Now you're trying to tell me why there is.

No, what I mean is that I concede the reality of instincts.  All this talk of "conscience" is just mystification.

Morality is not an instinct.  If it were, we might think we should resist it, but we wouldn't be able to.  The facts are just the opposite.  We can and do resist it, but think we shouldn't.

So maybe it's not an instinct; call it a predisposition, or just prudence.  It's still about preservation.  We want our kind to survive.  Sometimes what is needed for survival goes against my personal wishes, that's all.

Who do you mean by "our kind"?  What helps a family to survive might not help the larger society to survive.  What helps society to survive might not help a particular family to survive.

I mean our species.  I'm talking about the human race.

That's a little arbitrary, isn't it?  Don't people want their families and their societies to survive too?  Besides, morality isn't about whether the human race survives, but about what kind of survival it gets.  We marry; guppies don't.  We don't eat our young; they do.  Yet neither species is in danger of extinction.

A Dialogue on Natural Law, Part 5

Mondays are my student query days.

Question:

I’ve been arguing with some of my friends about marriage and family.  When I bring up a certain scholar’s findings, they say “His data and inferences are worthless because he’s cooperated in a project of the Vatican.”  I don’t know how to answer that.  Has he really done work with the Vatican?

Reply:

So what if he did?  You will never gain your point by playing defense.  Whether the scholar has worked with the Church is the wrong question.

Turn it around.  Ask your friends, “Where do you get the nerve to ask make such a lazy and bigoted remark?  You haven’t identified any problems with his data or inferences.  You’ve merely revealed that you despise people who disagree with you.”

Evangelicals and Catholics are the last groups in America which one can insult without consequences.  Make it have consequences.

Tomorrow:  A Dialogue on Natural Law, Part 4 of 10