
The Underground Thomist
Blog
What Conscience Isn’tFriday, 03-13-2015For new readers:Introduction to the blog (2013)A loyal dog displays something that looks like shame at its master’s reprimand. Its ears droop, and its tail seeks the shelter of its legs. Is this conscience? No. The dog is merely signaling submission. Conscience is a privilege of rational beings, an echo of moral law. And mark this amazing fact: Even though it is my conscience that commands me to act and accuses me when I do wrong, it seems to speak to me with an authority greater than my own. It presents itself not just as a medley of attractions and aversions which I happen to have, but as an interior witness to moral truth, to a law that directs me and by which I am measured and judged, to a standard that I did not make up. It may seem that all this is error or delusion: That conscience could not be the interior witness that it seems to be. One group of deniers simply asserts that conscience is merely a social construct, meaning a set of desires and aversions we happen to have decided together that we will have. We’ve agreed to feel bad about stealing; tomorrow we may agree to feel good about it. Another group of deniers claims that conscience is a set of desires and aversions pumped in from the outside, an internal emotional residue of lessons taught to us when we were growing up. I don’t feel good about lying, but if only mother had taught me to lie, then perhaps I would feel good about it. A third group of deniers says that what we call conscience is simply instinct -- a subset of the desires and aversions common to high-order mammals. Guppies eat their young, primates don’t; but if primates had endured some of the same evolutionary events that guppies have, then primates would probably find it pleasant too. Although such views have the prestige of being called “objective” and “scientific,” they are really just materialist prejudices. Science and objectivity ought to mean following the evidence where it leads, and the evidence points elsewhere. Take the sort of denial that calls conscience a social construct: It doesn’t explain our sense that conscience has authority over us; it merely ignores it. Conscience speaks with a different voice than constructs. We can put on and take off our clothing styles, our architectural fashions, and even our religions and forms of government, but we cannot put on and take off our conscience. I dislike child sacrifice, but if you were to suggest that I might someday come to like rolling infants into heated furnaces to placate the powers of fertility, I would be profoundly disturbed. Why? Because it would be wrong. The content of a social construct is whatever we construct – it is all up to us. But the whole idea of conscience is that it binds us whether we like it or not, and amazingly, we think that it should. If we could make it up and change it to suit ourselves, then it wouldn't be conscience. Even when we change our minds about some detailed point of right and wrong, we do so in consideration of deeper principles about which our minds cannot change. The second sort of denial, which calls conscience a residue of upbringing, has a grain of truth because conscience is influenced by how we were taught. But conscience is more than that; in fact it may command us to go against our childhood teaching. Besides, the only way to teach anyone anything is to build on something already there. “Don’t pull your sister’s hair,” mother says to Johnnie, “You know better than that.” The whole force of her rebuke is that at some level he does know better. You might say, “That only shows that at some point along the line mother must have taught Johnnie the golden rule.” She may have; but how could she? The only reason the child can understand such a teaching is that he can see for himself that he shouldn’t treat others as he wouldn’t want to be treated by them. Finally, the evidence is against the third sort of denial, which calls conscience an evolved set of instincts. For purposes of argument, let us suppose that instincts themselves really may evolve. If you want to talk about kin selection as an explanation for why mammals help out their close relatives, go ahead. But tell me: Why should evolution have given me instincts, but then given me another thing that passes judgment on these instincts and can even override them? Wouldn’t a mind which had resulted from pure natural selection instead merely find me ways to satisfy my strongest instincts? Besides, if conscience really is just instinct, then why do we feel a need to dress it up as something else? Evolutionary psychologist Robert Wright says “It’s amazing that a process as amoral and crassly pragmatic as natural selection could design a mental organ that makes us feel as if we're in touch with higher truths. Truly a shameless ploy.” Philosopher Michael Ruse and sociobiologist E.O. Wilson write that “our belief in morality is merely an adaptation put in place to further our reproductive ends.... ethics as we understand it is an illusion fobbed off on us by our genes to get us to co-operate (so that human genes survive).... making us think that there is an objective higher code to which we are all subject.” The premise of such arguments is that by thinking that we perceive meaning in our lives, we will be more strongly motivated to do the things which enable us to live long enough to pass on our genes – including, of course, the genes that make us look for this meaning. These poor fellows are reasoning in a circle. The perception of meaning would strengthen the motive to do those things only if we possessed a preexisting need to perceive meaning – only if we lost interest in living if we didn’t perceive it. Now I ask you: What adaptive value could there possibly be in a need to perceive a meaning that isn’t there? Rather than first producing animals who lose their will to live unless they see what isn’t there, then making them think they do see what isn’t there, why didn’t natural selection produce animals who have a will to live without seeing what isn’t there? A reasonable person, not blinded by materialism, concludes that we seek meaning not because it helps smuggle our genes into our descendants, but because there is meaning – and we are made with a view to finding it. Tomorrow: Does Natural Law Require Democracy?
|
Is Conscience Really an Illusion?Friday, 03-13-2015My post "What Conscience Isn't" has been widely reprinted under the title "Is Conscience an Illusion?" To read it, click here. |
Is There Collective Responsibility?Thursday, 03-12-2015You may have noticed that I keep coming back to certain puzzles, like a dog chewing a bone. We often say that each person is responsible only for his own good and evil, but is that true? Obviously distinctions must be made, and I hardly know where to begin making them. Yet many of our moral judgments make sense only if there are ways in which guilt, amends, and merit can be shared. Most Germans think that their nation as a whole bears special obligations to the Jews, even though few of those responsible for the Holocaust remain alive, and many who were alive at the time opposed it. Lincoln argued that although it was necessary to put slavery to an end, the north could not afford to be self-righteous because the entire country was responsible for the sin of human bondage, even those who had never owned slaves. Martin Luther King held that although it was necessary to end racial segregation, the activists could not afford to be self-righteous either. Just by virtue of their shared humanity the oppressed and the oppressors are “caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny." The Catholic Church believes that the virtues of the saints can have effects in the souls of the rest of us – this is the much-maligned doctrine of the treasury of merits, which countless persons have found confirmed in experience. Protestants, who don’t believe in the treasury of merits, still believe in the Atonement, which makes no sense unless somehow, someone who is innocent of wrong can pay the price for someone else who is guilty but cannot pay it. And the reason for the Atonement is original sin, which makes no sense unless we are all somehow complicit in the rebellion of our first parents, all co-sufferers of the curse, or as the older writers put it, “all contained in Adam.” Before you say that’s a lot of theological hooey, consider: Wouldn’t every reasonable person be ashamed if his father had committed an unspeakable deed? Wouldn’t you? Tomorrow: What Conscience Isn’t
|
The Constitutional Meaning of FaithWednesday, 03-11-2015Sometimes people argue that the Framers couldn’t possibly have meant what they said when they guaranteed the free exercise of religion with no exceptions. The argument runs like this: 1. The “exercise” of a religion means not just believing what it teaches, but also acting as it teaches. 2. But some religions teach behavior that interferes with compelling state interests. 3. Therefore, when the Framers wrote that the free exercise of religion must not be prohibited, they must have meant that it must not be prohibited unless it interferes with such interests. The argument is tempting. Surely there is something wrong with demanding the liberty to go on a shooting spree in the name of religion, or with saying “My religion teaches survival of the fittest, so I don’t have to obey traffic laws.” The state has a compelling interest in keeping public order. But if we do accept the argument, then what is to stop the state from requiring evil acts? The state will always claim to have a compelling interest. Our rulers think “compelling interest” means “anything we want very much.” It seems that we are at an impasse. We aren’t. The problem is that we are treating the Framers as though they used the word “religion” to mean “anything people say they believe.” But that is not how they used the term. In fact it is not how the Western tradition of jurisprudence uses any general term. For example, our traditions have taken the maxim that the will of the rulers has the force of law to mean that the reasonable will of the rulers has the force of law (Thomas Aquinas). Similarly, the principle that law should be obeyed has been accepted with the proviso that an unust law is not truly a law, but an act of violence (Augustine of Hippo), and the dictum that custom interprets law has been interpreted according to the understanding that an unjust custom should be viewed not as a custom, but as a usurpation of custom (Edward Coke). In the same way, when the Framers wrote that the exercise of religion must not be prohibited, they expected us to grasp that a religion which demands behavior contrary to the natural law -- or to the common good understood in the light of the natural law -- should be understood not as a religion, but as a perversion of religion. That is not the same thing as a religion which happens to annoy the state. This understanding of the clause would work pretty well – if only our rulers still believed in the natural law. Tomorrow: Is There Collective Responsibility?
|
What the Twentieth Century Taught TotalitariansTuesday, 03-10-2015The twentieth century taught some of us that totalitarianism is evil. What it taught some totalitarians is that their methods had to change. Do people resist the compulsory destruction of their cherished institutions? Very well, then compulsion must be made to look like liberty. What our local totalitarians call “nondiscrimination,” “choice,” and “neutrality” are devices by which the coerced substitution of one moral judgment for another is disguised as the suspension of moral judgment. The state pretends that it is not making judgments about sexuality, just prohibiting discrimination. But discrimination includes merely disapproving of sexual deviance. So the government schools teach children that anything goes, and then the campaign begins to prohibit private schools, religious schools, and the Church from teaching any other view of sexuality. Or the state pretends that it is not promoting abortion, euthanasia, and assisted suicide, just allowing people choice. But once these acts are legal, the state says they are a right, so that nurses must be coerced to assist in them, pharmacists must be coerced to dispense drugs that cause them, insurance carriers must be coerced to reimburse for them, and taxpayers must be coerced to pay for them. Or (this is coming) the state pretends that it is not against monogamy, just neutral among monogamy and other arrangements. But to revise the marriage laws so that these other arrangements are legal forces those who believe in monogamy into a polygamous legal framework, so that if a man takes a second wife, the first wife has no recourse but divorce. The smoothest camouflage for evil judgment is pretending not to judge. Our local totalitarians learned this a long time ago. The rest of us have been slow to catch on. Tomorrow: The Constitutional Meaning of Faith
|
What Is this NNL Whereof You Speak?Monday, 03-09-2015Mondays are reserved for letters from students. This one is matriculating at Santa Clara University. Question: I was wondering if I could inquire more into the two types of natural law you talk about. I understand the concepts of natural law, but there's this other approach you mention -- the "basic goods" approach or NNL. How does that differ from a traditional approach to natural law as you see it? If you could let me know of any key differences, or point me in the direction of some reading material, I'd appreciate that a lot. Reply: There is only one kind of natural law (just as there is only one kind of gravity), but there is more than one theory of natural law (just as there is more than one theory of gravity). What I defend is the classical natural law tradition. The basic goods approach, which agrees with the conclusions of the classical tradition most but not all of the time, is also called the Grisez/Finnis theory, after Germain Grisez and John Finnis, and the new natural law theory, or NNL. Calling it “the new” theory is a little misleading, because the classical tradition, still alive and vigorously resurgent, is generating a lot of new work. But that’s how people speak. Since questions like yours come up so often, I included an appendix on the differences among the various theories of natural law in my books, The Line Through the Heart: Natural Law as Fact, Theory, and Sign of Contradiction. However, that appendix merely touches on the basic goods approach, so let me say a bit more. The main differences between the NNL and the classical tradition are as follows. (1) The NNL rejects natural teleology. For example, it refuses to reason about sexuality on the basis of the natural purposes and inbuilt meanings of the sexual powers -- on the basis of what they are for. This is such a huge departure from the classical tradition that many natural law thinkers would say the basic goods theory is no longer a “natural” law theory at all – there is no “nature” in it. I think that way of putting the matter is a bit overstated, since the NNL does rest on claims about one aspect of our nature, the deep structure of the practical intellect. (2) The NNL maintains what is called the incommensurability thesis – the proposition that none of the basic goods, the goods worth pursuing for their own sake, can be compared according to value. Here is one of the standard examples: Suppose you are playing golf, a child is drowning in the water hazard at the ninth hole, and you give up the game in order to rescue the child, press the water out of his lungs, and call an ambulance. Afterward, someone asks, “Why did you do that?” You reply, “Because life is more important than play.” The basic goods theorist would agree that you did the right thing, but say “That isn’t a valid reason.” (3) Instead of speaking of God as our greatest good, the NNL speaks of the “basic good of religion,” which means roughly having a connection with some source of meaning greater than oneself. Classical natural law theorists like me worry that this might mean anything. We also hold that there is no need to protect natural law theory from natural theology – from truths about God which are demonstrable by reason. (4) Finally, the NNL relies on a different analysis of the “object of intention,” of how to identify what an act is aiming at. For example, several years ago, a nun who was a member of the ethics board of a Catholic hospital in Phoenix was excommunicated for approving an abortion. At the time, her view was that the act was permissible because its object was not to kill the child but to save the woman’s life. However, the classical analysis holds that such an act is wrong, because its real object is to kill the child as a means of saving the woman’s life. In effect, the physicians were treating the child as the illness, not the illness, as the illness. Though NNL thinkers are generally pro-life, in this case they sided with the excommunicated nun (who subsequently conceded her error and reconciled with the Church). These are pretty big differences. Even so, most of the time classical natural lawyers and NNL thinkers are able to work on the same side of the fence, and consider themselves colleagues with disagreements. The situation does give rise to certain ironies. For instance, I have mentioned in previous posts that unlike some of my colleagues on the classical side of the table, I think Professor Finnis offers helpful insights about “one flesh unity” in the context of sexuality, and I have borrowed several of them, with modifications, in my own work. Even so, I am not altogether sure that he would be pleased by my doing so. The reason is that he makes these points in order to avoid natural teleology, whereas I find them helpful only in the light of natural teleology. Tomorrow: What the Twentieth Century Taught Totalitarians
|
I Can Never Be Thrown AwaySunday, 03-08-2015“God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission -- I never may know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. Somehow I am necessary for His purposes, as necessary in my place as an Archangel in his -- if indeed, I fail, He can raise another, as He could make the stones children of Abraham. Yet I have a part in this great work: I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good, I shall do His work; I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it, if I do but keep His commandments and serve Him in my calling. “Therefore I will trust Him. Whatever, wherever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him; if I am in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him; if I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. My sickness, or perplexity, or sorrow may be necessary causes of some great end, which is quite beyond us. He does nothing in vain; He may prolong my life, He may shorten it; He knows what He is about. He may take my friends, He may throw me among strangers, He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide the future from me -- still He knows what He is about.” -- John Henry Cardinal Newman, Meditations and Devotions
Tomorrow: What Is This NNL Whereof You Speak?
|