Aquinas and Modernity: The Lost Promise of Natural Law (Modernity and Political Thought) 074252258X, 9780742522589

Citation preview

Aquinas and Modernity

MODERNITY AND POLITICAL THOUGHT Series Editors: Morton Schoolman State University of New York at Albany & Kennan Ferguson University of South Florida This unique collection of original studies of the great figures in the history of political and social thought critically examines their contributions to our understanding of modernity, its constitution, and the promise and problems latent within it. These works are written by some of the finest theorists of our time for scholars and students of the social sciences and humanities. Merleau-Ponty and Modern Politics after Anti-Humanism by Diana Coole William James: Politics in the Pluriverse by Kennan Ferguson The Augustinian Imperative: A Reflection on the Politics of Morality by William E. Connolly Emerson and Self-Reliance by George Kateb Edmund Burke: Modernity, Politics, and Aesthetics by Stephen K. White Jean-Jacques Rousseau: The Politics of the Ordinary by Tracy B. Strong Michel Foucault and the Politics of Freedom by Thomas L. Dumm Reading "Adam Smith": Desire, History, and Value by Michael]. Shapiro Thomas Hobbes: Skepticism, Individuality, and Chastened Politics by Richard E. Flathman Thoreau's Nature: Ethics, Politics, and the Wild by lane Bennett G. W. F. Hegel: Modernity and Politics by Fred R. Dallmayr The Reluctant Modernism of Hannah Arendt by Seyla Benhabib

Aquinas and Modernity The Lost Promise of Natural Law

Shadia B. Drury, FRSC, CRC

ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD PUBLISHERS, INC. Lanham • Boulder • New York • Toronto • Plymouth, UK

ROWMAN & LITILEFIELD PUBLISHERS, INC. Published in the United States of America by Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowmanlittlefield.com Estover Road Plymouth PL6 7PY United Kingdom Copyright © 2008 by Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Ine.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Drury, Shadia B., 1950Aquinas and modernity: the lost promise of natural law / Shadia B. Drury. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-7425-2257-2 (cloth: alk. paper) ISBN-lO: 0-7425-2257-1 (cloth: alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978-0-7425-2258-9 (pbk. : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-7425-2258-X (pbk.: alk. paper) 1. Thomas, Aquinas, Saint, 12251-1274. I. Title. B765.T54D68 2008 230'.2092-dc22 2007047911 Printed in the United States of America r,::;;:;-,TM

{!9; The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences-Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

For Gordon Schochet

Contents

Series Editors' Introduction Preface

xxi

Acknowledgments Chapter 1

Chapter 2

xi

xxvii

The Horrors of Theocracy

1

The The Historical Setting The Fanaticism of Faith Lost Promise of Natural Natural Law The Lost

1 5 8

The Subjugation of Reason

11

The The Intellectual Setting William of Saint~Amour Siger of Brabant Truth The Usurpation of the Double Truth and the Bible Aristotle and and Reason Faith and The The Authority of Scoundrels Weapon Against Modernity The Ann-Mozierrust Anti~Modernist Oath The

11 11 13 16 21 21 25 27 32 33 35

vii

viii

+

~

Contents

The Appeal of Fideism Is Faith Impervious to Reason? Chapter 3

The Politics of Salvation

Papal Supremacy and and the Two Two Swords The Pragmatism of Natural Law The Bigotry of Faith and Jews Heathens, Heretics, andJews The The Success and and Failure of the Mosaic Law Just Just War War and and Holy War Death to Heretics Aquinas and and the Inquisition Chapter 4

Chapter 5

45 45 46 46 54 54 56 57

64 64 66 66 68 68 71

Sin, Sex, and and Celibacy

75

Eunuchs for Heaven Argument The "Aristotelian" Argument Sharing the Agony Agony The Sex Life Life of Adam and and Eve Eve To Marry or To Burn? Bum? Carnal Pleasure Pleasure and the Contemplation of God Those Pesky Polygamous Patriarchs The Crimes of Celibacy The Vices of Celibacy: Abelard, Heloise, and and Augustine The

76 76 78 82 82

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

Christianity and and the Inquisition The Silence of Conscience The Separation of Church and and State and the Islamic Threat Threat Western Civilization and Freedom and and Licentiousness The New Averroist Menace The Disenchantment of Postmodernity Chapter 6

36 36 40

83 83 86 86 89 92 92 93 95 95 103 103

113 115 115 118 126 128 130

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

135 135

Natural Law and Nature and Human Human Nature A Minimalist Reading Abhorrence of Nature Nature

136 139

142

Contents

~

ix

Conscience Conventionalism Legal Positivism Natural Law and Divine Revelation Natural Conclusion

146 151 155 162 165

Notes

169

Bibliography

197

Index Index

203

About the the Author

209

Series Editors' Introduction

Shadia Drury's Aquinas and Modernity: The Lost Promise of Natural Law is volume 13 in Modernity and Political Thought, the Rowman & Littlefield series in contemporary political theory. Drury's work follows publication of Diana Coole's Merleau-Ponty and Modem Politics after Anti-Humanism and Kennan Ferguson's WilliamJames: Politics in the Pluriverse 1 (volumes 12 and 11, respectively), and the new editions of the original ten volumes in the series. 2 Initially designed to include only the latter ten volumes, Modernity and Political Thought has been expanded to include, in addition to the works by Drury, Ferguson, and Coole, forthcoming studies of Karl Marx by Wendy Brown, Aristotle by Mary Dietz, Thomas More by Peter Euben, Publius by Jason Frank, Sigmund Freud by James Glass, J. S. Mill by Kirstie McClure, John Rawls by Donald Moon, Friedrich Nietzsche by David Owen, David Hume by Davide Panagia, Carl Schmitt by Kam Shapiro, William Connolly by Kathleen Skerrett, Niccolo Machiavelli by Miguel Vatter, and Sheldon Wolin by Nicholas Xenos. Moreover, this list is expected to grow in the future. As those who are familiar with the previous works of these authors will expect, their studies adopt a variety of approaches and pose importantly different questions. As contributors to Modernity and Political Thought, their efforts also are commonly devoted to critically examining the contributions major political theorists have made to our understanding of modernity-its constitution and the problems, promises, and dangers latent within it. Shadia Drury is among the best known of contemporary political theorists for a broad range of distinguished scholarship in modem political

xi

xii

+

Series Editors' Introduction

thought. To be sure, her more recent studies of Alexander Kojeve and the philosophical and historical origins of postmodern politics (Alexandre Kojeve: The Roots of Postmodern Politics) and of the biblical roots of the conflict between the civilizations of Islam and the West (Terror and Civilization: Christianity, Politics, and the Western Psyche) have received considerable attention and continue to provoke new debates. 3 Yet, it is her highly controversial and, in the view of many, brilliant critical analyses of the political thought and politics of Leo Strauss and the "Straussians" (The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss and Leo Strauss and the American Right) for which she has become both famous and infamous. 4 Drury's studies of Strauss and his neoconservative political legacy have traveled beyond the academic community and become of interest to the public at large, not only in Canada and the United States, but also around the world where her books have been translated. s In this brief introduction, a consideration of Drury's studies of Strauss and his disciples will allow us to trace the intellectual path that led her to the problem of Aquinas, modernity, and the lost promise of natural law. To do so, we will rely primarily upon the updated edition of The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss, the argument that most clearly defines the problems on which Drury has focused. At the foundation of Drury's critique of the political thought of Leo Strauss and the politics of his disciples lie three sets of well-articulated, interwoven concerns. Drury belongs to that modern philosophical tradition having roots in classical political thought whose members have been troubled by those features intrinsic to democracy that make it vulnerable to tyrannies from above and below. Unlike many thinkers in that tradition, however, she has not rejected democracy but looks to liberalism for an antidote-albeit in her view it is a highly imperfect one-to democracy's weaknesses. Finally, Drury subscribes to a moral position that, while not also moralistic, stands above and chastens liberalism wherever it threatens to fall prey to certain intrinsic weaknesses of its own. Taken together, all three positions work to triangulate her critique of Strauss and the Straussians and lay a provocative groundwork for her study of natural law. From its very inception, modern democracy's allegiance to the majoritarian principle has been shadowed by the fear of the tyranny of the majority, which also had been a concern about democracy in its classical form first registered by Plato. This fear has deepened for many political theorists in the wake of the apparent power the media and the culture industry wield over democratic peoples, who under their combined influence seem too susceptible to the manipulation and collectivization of their interests and needs and wants. Drury shares this fear, although for her it is compounded by the ap-

Series Editors' Introduction

~

xiii

parent willingness of democratic majorities to relinquish their own rights and freedoms. Through their vulnerability to the influence of demagogues, she worries, majorities can be persuaded that their constitutional guarantees of rights and the rule of law paradoxically work to protect sources of moral licentiousness, or are mortal threats to their well-being and security because of the equal protection that law provides their enemies. Drury wishes that we modems would not take the goodness of democracy for granted. As evidence mounts of how easily democracy can be corrupted, she hopes that we would be more demanding of proof of its superiority over other forms of government. Standard democratic practices, such as the electoral powers vested in the majority and the policymaking powers vested in those chosen to lead, seem too easily to turn the democratic might of the majority and of the power governing in its name into tyrannical principles of right. For all of her skepticism of democracy, which she shares with such different thinkers as Plato, Madison, Tocqueville, Mill, and Nietzsche, among others, she subscribes to a liberalism largely informed by Mill, though unlike Mill she is neither progressive nor especially optimistic. Drury believes that democratic society is naturally inclined to be illiberal and that the tension between the liberal state and society is perennial. Nevertheless, Drury does possess some optimism. She believes that liberalism can moderate the shortcomings of democracy by insisting on the rule of law and the protection of individuals and minorities. Drury's cautiousness about democracy leads her to affirm a meritocracy based on the liberal principle of careers open to talents as the basis for intelligent democratic leadership. Drury does not endorse aristocracy. Rather, as a liberal who holds that total equality of opportunity is unattainable, she also recognizes that the inequalities created by an imperfect system of merit must be ameliorated through a graduated income tax and other such social policies. Democracy forces liberalism to transcend its tendencies to a narrow and protective elitism. Although Drury holds without compromise to the liberal principle of separation between church and state, this is no indication that she endorses the Machiavellian strategy of liberating politics from morality. On the contrary, her study of Aquinas is intended to show that "the politics of salvation" undermines the moral principles necessary for the state to provide a modicum of peace, order, and justice. Far from thinking that morality depends on religion, Drury shows how easily religion can embrace fanaticism and destroy any rational understanding of human decency. Rational moral considerations must be permitted to play a role in politics and in policy choices if grotesque ends or means are to be avoided.

xiv

Series Editors' Introduction

In the context of liberal capitalism, Drury recognizes that liberalism has its shortcomings. The self-understanding of liberalism as a universal culture leads to an economic and cultural imperialism. Human rights, Drury insists, cannot be universalized in their American form, which stresses the growth imperative and unbridled consumption, because one of the most egregious consequences of this cultural imperialism is a backlash from other Western and especially non-Western countries with negative repercussions for liberalism. Among the most serious of the repercussions of this backlash is the hostility toward the very idea of universal principles-the grounds on which America and the West promote human rights. For Drury, in other words, the imperialistic temptations of liberalism lead to the corruption of the very idea of universal principles. The non-Western experience with globalization ruins the virtual as well as the actual possibility for the universalism to which liberalism has always been committed. Once globalized, liberalism borders on selfdefeat and self-refutation. Drury's critique of the form taken by liberal universalism and her concerns about its repercussions for universalism in general is a fascinating aspect of her relation to liberal democracy, as it points to a quest for an uncorrupted universalism and the political role it could play among international actors whose differences are fundamental. While this aspect of her thinking no doubt is grounded pragmatically in a corresponding interest in avoiding international conflict, it must also proceed from a moral stance, as it points to the need for a true universal ism that can allow for the reciprocal accommodation of ethnic, cultural, national, and political differences, among others. Though contestable, this is a moral position permitted within a critical discourse that joins politics and morality together inextricably, as does Drury's. With this brief sketch of Drury's views on democracy, liberalism, and the relation between religion, morality, and politics as our background, her critique of Strauss and the Straussians comes into relief, as all three together form the borders of a problematic within which she examines the theoretical arguments and politics of Strauss and those he has most influenced. Drury shares Strauss's misgivings about democracy, not because she shares his devotion to the rule of the wise who are independent of law, but because of the value she places on liberty. Nevertheless, she thinks that democracy can be improved by statesmen who have respect for the common sense of ordinary people, and she repudiates what she argues is Strauss's inclination to undermine democracy from within. Drury argues that for Strauss, there are no natural rights, only the right of the superior to rule over the inferior-an order of domination inscribed in nature. And Strauss justifies his elite not only by the natural and irremediable inferiority of the many but also by the conviction

Series Editors' Introduction

+

xv

that the superior few transcend the domain of good and evil. In part, of course, Strauss's thinking in these matters was shaped by its historical setting. As was the case for many German Jewish emigre intellectuals who had to flee the Third Reich, Strauss's political theory was decisively influenced by the Nazi mobilization of mass society that followed in the wake of the collapse of Weimar democracy, though not all Jewish emigres believed to the same extent as he that the mass psychology of democracy was the source of Fascist power and domination. It is not Strauss's elitist response to the nature of democracy to which Drury is opposed. Indeed, Drury herself favors-and acknowledges the need for-a liberal democratic elite. Governing on the basis of talent and merit, the elite must be honest, she insists, respectful of the law, "grateful for its opportunities and privileges, mindful of the trust of its fellow citizens, and [have] ample regard for ordinary people." It is in all these respects that Drury finds Strauss's own defense of elitism wanting. Drury highlights the implications of Strauss's cynical and at times nearly paranoid attitude toward democracy that proceeds from his lack of respect for ordinary people and his fondness for a particular brand of elitism. On her reading, Strauss's elites are deceitful and manipulative; they use the rhetoric of democracy to give the illusion that their policies serve the interests of the people and are implemented with their consent. They believe themselves to be the inventors of "truth" and the shapers of reality. They justify their inventions as a means to rescue democratic peoples from drowning in an ocean of nihilism. This is not an effort to lead people out of the darkness of the cave but to confine them to the perpetual darkness that will make them easy prey for the manipulation of Strauss's elites. Through the invention of truths to guide democratic peoples through modernity's morass of values and norms, Strauss's elites would erect a protective barrier between it and the people whom it deceives and manipulates. What it fears is the rise of other elites who could likewise manipulate the mass to its own exclusive ends. At the extreme, Drury contends, Strauss's elite does not hesitate to invent lies that secure its power by demonizing others and turning them into the permanent enemies of the people as a means of uniting the people into a single collective consciousness. Hence, the inevitable consequence of Strauss's elitism is permanent war. As Drury puts it, "For Strauss, as for Machiavelli, only the constant threat of a common enemy can save a people from becoming soft, pampered, and depraved."6 In Drury's reading of Strauss, liberal democracy appears to Strauss as a potential fascist wolf in sheep's clothing. The Weimar Republic and its collapse into Fascism is Strauss's model of liberal democracy. Drury holds that Strauss

xvi

+

Series Editors' Introduction

ironically falls in with the very forces of evil from which he seeks to be protected. As she concludes: It is not liberalism, but Strauss's philosophy that invites the horrors of the Nazi past. Strauss's conviction that there is no disagreement among the wise, who instinctively recognize the truth and know what is to be done, mirrors Hitler's celebration of the genius who can learn nothing from the discussions and deliberations of others. Strauss's contempt for ordinary people, and for philosophical debate, mirrors Hitler's contempt for parliament as a useless debating society. 7

Drury famously traces the major tributary of Strauss's solution to the perils of liberal democracy to a long-standing interpretation of Plato. Strauss's elite appears as the latter-day incarnation of Plato's philosopher-rulers, whom Strauss installs as covert rulers within liberal democracy. The covert rule of the wise is intended to prevent what the liberal rule of law is supposedly unable to prevent: the sacrifice of those who are naturally superior to a democratic mob rule that cannot be held in check other than by deceit and manipulation. Moreover, for Drury it is not only that Strauss's covert philosophical elite rules by deceit. It is also that their laws are based on truths in which the elite does not believe any more than it believes in the gods on whom it rests its prophetic claims to truth. In Drury's estimation, Strauss is not a traditional conservative critic of democracy; rather, his atheistic rejection of truth and acceptance of covert tyranny places him in a new category of "postmodern conservatism" that she argues is driven by a Nietzschean nihilism. Strauss's elite would not hesitate to treat a democracy's most cherished sources of value, whether its religions, moralities, or families, as the instrumental means for generating the illusions it believes must be perpetrated to maintain social and political order. If Strauss's influence were confined to the academy, his political thought would not alarm Drury so, and her work on Strauss would be significant only for the bold challenge it poses to his scholarly reputation as an emigre German Jewish conservative historian of political philosophy. Quite to the contrary, however, in Leo Strauss and the American Right and the updated edition of The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss, Drury tracks Strauss's influence on American politics from the administration of Ronald Reagan through that of George W. Bush, focusing specifically on how his writings shaped the construction and development of American neoconservatism as an ideological movement that nurtured Republican domestic and foreign policies for more

Series Editors' Inttoduction

+

xvii

than the past quarter of a century. As Drury contends, "There is a clear link between theory and practice: there is a definite connection between the political ideas of Leo Strauss and the ruinous state of American democracy and its tragic foreign policy."8 Drury's analysis of the praxis of Strauss's ideas is compelling as she traces their dissemination from their most abstract formulations in his studies of major figures and concepts in the history of political thought down through his colleagues and students to the neoconservative politics of the American right. The evidence she amasses for Strauss's influence is startling, so that it becomes possible to draw a straight line from Strauss to the American war on Iraq while identifying all the formative links in between. These links include such notables in the academy as William Kristol, chair of "The Project for a New American Century," which promoted America as a global political and military power, and Paul Wolfowitz, one of the many signers of "The Project"-along with Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld-and the Bush administration's principal architect of the Iraq War. Whether it is Strauss's theory and its enthusiastic reception by his peers and students or the political practices of the students of his students that she examines, there are three themes that in various forms circulate throughout their political ideas and policies: the need to rescue America from the decadence of liberalism through the creation of foreign and domestic enemies, in opposition to which America unites around common values and tightens its common bonds; the secrecy, lies, manipulation of public opinion, and demagoguery required to do so; and the permanent war, violence, and death that must issue inevitably from such a misbegotten political crusade. Ultimately, it is the Iraq War that proves the intent of the Straussian-inspired neoconservatism to dupe the American people into accepting a tyranny of political measures that undermine America's constitutionalism. It brings about liberalism's ruin through democracy's exploitation by the covert "rule of the wise." While not all Drury's readers will be persuaded that "Strauss is the key to understanding the political vision that has inspired the most powerful men in America under George Bush," the resemblances she explicates between Strauss's political thought and American politics cannot be disputed. And if the ties of the living to the dead are then added to the mix, these resemblances appear to lose their accidental character. When we now recall our earlier discussion of Shadia Drury's relation to liberalism in the context of her critique of Strauss and the Straussians, the reasons for her interest in natural law emerge clearly. As we explained, though committed to the liberal rule of law and its protection of individual rights, indeed to liberal constitutionalism in fact, she nevertheless was deeply

xviii

"*"

Series Editors' Introduction

concerned about the ways that liberal universals-emphatically liberalism's rights-based affirmation of individualism-readily translated into practices at odds with many of the societies to which they are extended through Western, especially American, globalization. So long as the globalization of liberal individualism is driven by capitalism and consumerism, its universalization remains closely identified with economic and cultural forms of imperialism. As a consequence, it is not just liberal individualism that is often rejected by non-Western societies. It is the very idea of the "universal" in which American and Western economic and cultural particularism is packaged. Drury's deepest concern here is not primarily with Western imperialism, although its potential for precipitating conflict surely is one of her most serious concerns. Rather, her deepest concern is with the unbridgeable divide that opens between Western and non-Western societies when the latter-whose beliefs, values, institutions, and practices are far more tradition based than those societies whose traditions already have been rationalized by capitalism and possessive individualism-react with hostility to the possibility that there could be any universal values and norms they could have in common with the West. Put colloquially, Drury fears that the danger attached to an Americanled globalization is that societies whose cultures are essentially different from the West's will throw out the baby with the bathwater, the universal as such with current practices of universalization. Is it not obvious that this danger would be aggravated and immanent in global politics if, in addition to economic and cultural forms of imperialism, political and military imperialist policies were adopted by Western countries to either support their economic and cultural tendencies toward universalization or to guarantee their success when they are rejected by non-Western peoples and nations? The political theory of Leo Strauss and the politics and policies of those in leadership positions who may have been instructed and inspired by his thought would then spell the ruin, not only of liberalism and America's influence in the world, but also of the chance that any universal principles could be found that could serve as the basis on which Western and non-Western countries could unite in productive alliances. So destructive of different ways of life would they be, that by dressing the universal in a militant garb such foreign policies as those implemented by the Bush administration would precipitate a reaction hostile to all forms of universalism and facilitate the reactionary colonization of world politics by jingoisms, tribalisms, ethnocentrisms, nationalisms, provincialisms, and the like. Ultimately, of course, it is not only economic and cultural imperialism and its political and military sponsorship that undermine the possibility that nations and peoples could discover some universal common grounds on which

Series Editors' Introduction

+

xix

to live and work together peacefully and productively. All "thick" universals, to borrow a near term of art from Michael Walzer, do not accommodate differences, and as they deeply offend those to whom they are alien they also sow the seeds for conflict. As Drury writes, "If human beings from different cultures do not share the most elementary moral principles, then diplomacy is impossible, and all disputes must be settled through war."9 In opposition to all thick universals, and particularly in opposition to the imperialist forms they take, Drury's attention turns to the search for such "thin" universal moral principles as can be shared among those whose differences might otherwise create enmity and conflict and their worst consequences. The question for Drury now is whether natural law held promise as such a thin universal, and if so whether its promise is lost forever or can be recovered.

* * * Much of the incentive for Modernity and Political Thought (MPT) has been provided by an ever-expanding readership that finds its studies to be creative guides to how the history of political theory can be brought to bear on the problems of our modem world by contemporary political theorists, which is the raison d'etre for our series. Our heuristic approach to the history of political theory and dedication to represent a plurality of interpretive approaches to unlocking insights that can assist our understanding of our modem time has captured the interest and imagination of readers who look to the continuation of such studies in the future. With the many new volumes to which the series is now committed in response has come a good deal more work and the need for editorial assistance. As of this volume, consequently, as the founding editor of Modernity and Political Thought I am very pleased to announce that Kennan Ferguson will serve as series coeditor. Quite recently MPT published his book William lames: Politics in the Pluriverse, for which he is steadily gaining recognition, and his reputation as a fine scholar and political theorist has been established for his other works, as well. I am grateful to him for accepting my invitation to join MPT as coeditor, and I only hope he will not regret the workload and the interference in his work it will entail. We are both pleased to thank Michael McGandy, our editor at Rowman & Littlefield, for his conscientious guidance and hard work helping to make MPT possible.

Morton Schoolman, State University of New York at Albany Kennan Ferguson, University of South Florida

Preface

There is a suspicion that the study of political theory perpetuates the mindless worship of ideas that are old and moldy-ideas that are best forgotten for love of humanity. There is much truth in this suspicion. Political theory does focus on the study of old texts and it often collapses into mere antiquarianism. Unfortunately, antiquarianism is rarely harmless, for it is rarely inspired by simple curiosity about the past. More often than not, it involves a worshipful attitude to the past in comparison to the present. It elevates the authors of the past to the status of enlightened gurus, as if their writings had been dictated to them directly by God. The inclination to regard the writers of old with such mindless veneration has the effect of paralyzing the mind and robbing it of its critical faculty. But this intellectual paralysis is not the only vice of antiquarianism. In its more advanced stages the antiquarian disease becomes reactionary. It fills its victims with a deep loathing of the present state of modern civilization. So deep is that loathing that those who succumb to it are reluctant to describe modernity as a civilization at all. Instead, they wallow in nostalgia for an imaginary world erected on the solid foundation of truth and justice. They hearken to a world that they imagine to be infinitely superior to the barbarism of our time. Nothing pleases them more than the nihilism they adopt toward the present and the melancholy with which they long for the lost golden age. Politically speaking, the antiquarians become reactionaries; they become enemies of every invention that alleviates human pain and suffering, every new law that furthers social justice, every

xxi

xxii

+

Preface

hard-won liberty that the modern world has made possible, every delightful innovation, and every harmless pleasure. It is no wonder that the study of old texts has been repudiated so vehemently within the academy. What is the point of studying these dead white males? What do we learn from them except bigotry, the fear of women, the contempt for Africans, the denigration of democracy, and the vilification of liberty? What is the point indeed? After all, the point of higher education is to enlighten youth-to make them open-minded, openhearted, and, as a result, better persons and better citizens. It would seem that the study of these old and moldy ideas is not only useless but also positively harmful. I admit that the study of old texts is fraught with the dangers that invariably accompany antiquarianism: intellectual paralysis, inability to think critically, a mindless worship of the past, a thoughtless adoption of the most bigoted and treacherous ideas of old, and, in the worst cases, a politically reactionary stance that involves nothing short of the total rejection of life in the present. Nevertheless, it is necessary to acknowledge that for good or ill, the old texts have shaped our civilization and even our souls; they have defined the questions and issues of importance-not only in the past but also in the present. Nor have we inherited only the questions and concerns; we have also inherited a plurality of answers to questions and diverse solutions to sticky problems. The key is not to accept these answers or solutions slavishly-like the antiquarians. Nor should we reject the answers and solutions of the past tout court. It is necessary to recognize that the canonical texts have enriched as well as impoverished our world. We must engage them in an agonistic dialogue, a dialogue in which they are neither slavishly adored nor casually disparaged. The canonical texts are neither totally good nor totally wicked. They are our demons and our guardian angels at the same time. To study them properly we must pull them down from their pedestals and put them on an equal footing with ourselves, so that we can ask them the tough questions that they are so often reluctant to ask themselves. The first step is to recognize that the old texts are not a homogeneous lump. They are not all agreed on the right answers to the relevant questions. What we inherit from the past is what we choose to inherit. The Catholic Church chose to be the heir of the ideas of Saint Ambrose, Saint Jerome, Saint Augustine, and Saint Thomas Aquinas, but it rejected the magnanimous interpretations of Origen, Pelagius, Jovinian, Erasmus, and Arius. Waiter Kaufmann rightly argued that the church rejected the best-the most rational, imaginative, generous, and openhearted-while sanctifying the worst-the most fanatical, banal, bigoted, and mean-spirited. l It is useless to

Preface

xxiii

speculate what Christianity might have been had the church chosen its saints more wisely. A tradition defines itself by those it chooses to follow. A tradition does not impose upon us a single set of values. It confronts us with choices and alternatives. We are not passive heirs of our traditions, but active participants who choose what we are heir to. What makes things complicated is that the good and the bad are not always neatly organized in distinct and separate compartments. More often than not, we get some bad with the good and some good with the bad. We cannot have a dialogue with Aquinas on an equal footing if we are not willing to acknowledge the disastrous as well as the commendable aspects of his legacy. This book is not the usual reverential study of the thought of Thomas Aquinas. It is a critical dialogue with his thought-a dialogue that confronts his legacy, both for good and for ill. Aquinas's extraordinary position within the Catholic Church has made his ideas decisive in ways that have often caused much harm and continue to cause harm. But they have also brought forth some good. In this book, I will deal with both the harmful and the salutary aspects of his legacy. The adoring Thomists of our time-Etienne Gilson, G. K. Chesterton, R C. Copleston, A. P. d'Entreves, Jacques Maritain, Joseph Pieper, Fernand van Steenberghen, Anton Pegis, Yves R. Simon, to name a few-are uncritical admirers who are blind to the shortcomings of Aquinas's political philosophy. They fawn over his supposedly brilliant reconciliation of faith and reason despite its colossal inadequacies. They marvel at his political doctrine of the two swords of church and state, as if he were not an advocate of papal supremacy. They celebrate his theory of natural law, as if he were not a defender of the Crusades and the Inquisition. And they champion his affirmation of life in this world, as if he were not a defender of celibacy and its attendant mort ifications. Clearly, they are in awe of the philosophical edifice with which Aquinas has lent a semblance of elegance and rationality to Catholic doctrine, but they either deny or are oblivious to the most fundamental and most damaging elements of his thought: his subjugation of reason to faith, his defense of the Inquisition, and his praise of celibacy as a virtue second only to martyrdom. These noxious ideas have manifested themselves in the persecution of]ews, the torture of heretics, the burning of witches, the hostility to science, the hatred of women, and the vices of celibacy. In fairness, it must be admitted that the legacy of Aquinas has not been totally dark. Along with the harm wrought by his philosophy, he has also brought hope that a new and less gloomy version of Christianity might triumph. In this book, I argue that among the hopeful elements of his legacy

xxiv

~

Preface

was the potential of introducing the Christian tradition to a sunnier and healthier conception of nature, human nature, and the natural law. Aquinas's theory of natural law had the potential of transforming the church and saving Christianity from opprobrium. Unfortunately, this was not to be. The hope inspired by his naturalistic philosophy, and its potential to transform Christianity for the better, was lost. In this book, I examine the lost promise of natural law. In chapter one, "The Horrors of Theocracy," I begin with a brief account of the historical setting in which Aquinas lived-the Crusades, the Inquisition, torture, bumings, and other brutalities. The idea of natural law-that there are universal moral truths rooted in nature, accessible to reason, independent of revelation, and applicable to all mankind-was the needed antidote to the horrors of theocracy, in his time as in ours. The theory could have played a moderating role; it could have alleviated the ghastliness of ecclesiastical tyranny. It could have made the faith less irrational and more tolerant. It could have provided a more humane understanding of nature and human nature. But Aquinas betrayed the natural law on every count. As this book illustrates, he betrayed the rational, secular, and naturalistic elements of the natural law that he is so famous for defending. Instead of having a moderating influence, he contributed to the intolerance of the faith and the horrors of theocracy. In chapter two, "The Subjugation of Reason," I show that, far from reconciling faith and reason, Aquinas succeeded only in subjugating reason to faith. I focus on the intellectual crisis at the University of Paris in the thirteenth century: the rise of radical Aristotelianism (or Averroism). I challenge Gilson and Steenberghen's account of the Averroist doctrine of the double truth and show that Aquinas and his church have always accepted a version of this Averroist doctrine. Protestants from Martin Luther to Karl Barth condemn Aquinas for Hellenizing Christianity by introducing the faith to the ideas of Aristotle, or "Foolistotle," as Luther called him. But in my view, Aquinas is not the rationalist he is believed to be. I conclude the chapter with an effort to salvage a semblance of the reconciliation of faith and reason that Aquinas failed to accomplish. In chapter three, "The Politics of Salvation," I argue that Aquinas's political philosophy abandons all the sobriety of natural law and justice in favor of the politics of salvation and all the fanaticism it entails. I show that, contrary to received opinion, Aquinas is a passionate exponent of papal supremacy. I argue that faith, as understood by Aquinas, is the building block of the psychological pathology of the Dominican inquisitors who were vital to the success of the Inquisition. Aquinas's intolerance toward heathens, heretics, and

Preface

"*"

xxv

Jews is an illustration of his fanaticism and moral blindness. His recommendations on how to deal with Jews-isolating them in ghettos, forcing them to wear special clothing, and imposing a host of monetary fines and legal prohibitions on their activities--explains why the Nazis did not have to be too inventive. All this is not to say that the doctrine of natural law plays no part in Aquinas's political philosophy, but it is not the part that scholars imagine. In chapter four, "Sin, Sex, and Celibacy," I describe how the betrayal of nature and the natural law as a moral compass led Aquinas to defend celibacy as a moral ideal. Instead of transcending Augustinian gloom and affirming life in this world, Aquinas proved to be the quintessential ascetic. Far from being an Aristotelian virtue, as Aquinas contends, celibacy invites a host of institutional crimes. But even if we set these crimes aside, it remains the case that aspiring to the "ideal" of celibacy invites personal vices that pervert nature's most tender sentiments. I use the examples of Abelard, Heloise, and Augustine to illustrate what I mean. Chapter five, "Aquinas and Modernity," is largely a dialogue between Aquinas and an imaginary female personification of modernity. Modernity takes Aquinas to task, but Aquinas also manages to point out some of her foibles. Their discussion turns to the current conflict between the West and Islam. Aquinas relies on two recent popes (John Paul II and Benedict XVI) in his diagnosis of the modern predicament. Modernity rejects the papal analysis and its attendant cure, but she acknowledges her shortcomings. In particular, the failure of modernity to deliver on her extravagant promises invites the postmodern depreciation of reason, which threatens a return to the age of faith, superstition, and irrationality. I believe that recovering the lost promise of natural law is a way out of the philosophical paralysis into which philosophy has been plunged in the postmodern age. In chapter six, I conclude with an effort to recover the lost promise of natural law. I defend a minimalist version of natural law that is inspired by Aquinas. Our time is characterized by a cynicism about reason and nature. Nature is abhorred as a source of standards of human life, and reason is ridiculed as a scam of power. As a result, every justice is someone's justice and every truth is someone's truth. In this climate, there are no standards of universal justice that can serve as the foundation of civility, diplomacy, and cooperation between different societies, cultures, and traditions. While a certain skepticism regarding the appeal to nature is healthy, the radical rejection of nature is a denial of what is universally human, or what human beings share in common. I believe that natural law is as essential in our time as it was in the thirteenth century, because the horrors of theocracy are making a comeback.

xxvi

"*"

Preface

Religion has returned to prominence in politics and has infected the latter with its uncompromising radicalism. Despite its generality, obscurity, and other shortcomings, Aquinas's theory can provide the foundation for a political discourse that avoids both the autocratic absolutism of faith, on the one hand, and the relativistic cynicism of postmodernity, on the other. A note on my use of the feminine gender is in order. Throughout the manuscript I use the feminine gender to refer to reason. In so doing, I am following the Platonic tradition according to which reason has none of the attributes of masculine force and can only prevail the way that women prevail over men-by persuasion. I have no intention of romanticizing the feminine or suggesting that the feminine gender implies either a lack of power or a presumption of innocence. Accordingly, I follow the patristic tradition (as did Aquinas) by referring to the church in the feminine. I am inclined to believe that the conception of the Catholic Church as "the bride of Christ" gives the church the illusion of innocence and conceals the power and iniquity of this very human (and often subhuman) institution. But since I am under no illusion that the church's feminine status makes her powerless or innocent, I am happy to continue the tradition. As to the feminine personification of modernity in the dialogue with Aquinas in chapter 5, that is somewhat arbitrary. I chose to portray modernity as a woman mainly for dramatic reasons but also because, from the Catholic point of view, the triumph of the "modernist heresy" is such a disastrous event that it is comparable to the second Fall of man. Since the original Fall was due to woman, the Thomist psyche likely conceives of modernity as female.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Professor Morton Schoolman for his careful reading of the manuscript, his insightful comments, constructive criticisms, and astute suggestions. I am grateful to my colleagues at the University of Regina, who have provided me with an intellectually lively and stimulating environment of philosophical discourse and debate. I have had many occasions to present early drafts of the chapters at public lectures and departmental seminars. Faculty members at the University of Regina's theater department, especially Mary Blackstone and Kelly Handerek, inspired me with a performance of the dialogue between Aquinas and Modernity. I also owe a debt to three of my graduate students. Michael Jankovic read an early draft of the manuscript and made some excellent recommendations. Evan Maclntyre helped by scouring the journals in search of relevant essays. David Howland proof read the final draft. I am fortunate to have the knowledgeable and energetic assistance of Corrine Gogal, who facilitates my research by looking after so many details, big and small. I am indebted to Monica Nicholson, who spent part of her holiday in Victoria proofreading and discussing the manuscript with me. I have enjoyed the continued support and friendship of Gordon Schochet, Morton Schoolman, Margaret Ogrodnick, Ken Reshaur, and the late John W. Yolton, whose death in 2006 has been an enormous loss. My greatest debt is to Dennis Drury for his devotion, companionship, laughter, and encouragement.

xxvii

CHAPTER

ONE

The Horrors of Theocracy

Aquinas was born in the thirteenth century, when Christendom was besieged by external as well as internal forces. The external threat had its source in the military might and scientific appeal of Islamic civilization. But the internal threat was arguably the greater. It had its source in the spread of heresy, the decadence of the clergy, the insubordination of the secular powers, and the hunger for intellectual freedom at the universities. Aquinas played a significant role in the church's efforts to deal with these troubles. He was beloved and respected by every pope; he served in the papal courts; he was a trusted papal legate, traveling around Europe on papal assignments. His philosophy of natural law had the potential of blazing a trail of rationalism and reform, but it did not. Far from inaugurating a renaissance within the church, as scholars have maintained, Aquinas was a partisan of the establishment-a conformist who defended the nastiest ideas and most vicious practices of the age.

The Historical Setting The corruption of the clergy led to the disenchantment of the faithful, which inspired the spread of ascetic sects that challenged the moral and religious authority of the church. The Catharist and Waldensian heresies were the most significant. The Cathars believed in a radically dualistic universe-God versus Satan, and spirit versus matter. They were ascetic Christians who endorsed the absolute surrender of the flesh to the spirit in quest

2

+

Chapter One

of perfection. They denounced the hierarchy of the church for its pomp and its decadence. They thought of Rome as Babylon and the pope as the Antichrist. In short, they rejected the authority of the church and the validity of her sacraments. The Waldensians also challenged the authority of the church. They were followers of Peter Waldo, a merchant from Lyons who gave away all his property during a famine in 1176, and preached apostolic poverty. They were precursors of Protestantism insofar as they regarded the Bible as the only guide to life and therefore rejected Catholic ideas such as purgatory, indulgences, and the mass. They were egalitarians who maintained that all Christians could preach through the guidance of the Bible and the Holy Spirit. Accordingly, they had no use for the church's hierarchy and its pretensions. The Catharist and Waldensian heresies mingled to create the Albigensian movement (named after the city of Albi in the south of France). To combat the spread of heresy and insubordination, Pope Innocent III declared the disastrous Albigensian "Crusade" (1208-1226).1 This was a crusade against fellow Christians, especially the Cathars, whose stronghold was in Albi. The crusaders were promised the highest place in heaven and all the other privileges of the knights who fought in Jerusalem against the infidels (i.e., Muslims and Jews). In 1211, eighty Waldensians were burned in Strasbourg. In the same year, the city of Lavaur was captured and the heretics were stoned, burned, and crucified by the hundreds. 2 This was the beginning of centuries of persecution of Christians by the Catholic Church. Meanwhile, the absolute suzerainty over the domains of Christendom that Pope Innocent III insisted upon was under assault; the secular rulers were not as obliging or accommodating as the pope would have liked. Besides, the secular authorities did not like the idea of slaughtering their own citizens, especially when these citizens were good Christians, better Christians than the pope. In the battle of Bouvines (1214), a national king (Philip 11 ofFrance) challenged and defeated the pope's own Holy Roman Emperor (Otto IV). After the defeat of Otto, Frederick 11 was crowned by Innocent III as the Holy Roman Emperor.3 But Frederick 11 was not inclined to be the pliant instrument of the pope. As a Swabian emperor of the Hohenstaufen lineage, Frederick 11 represented not only a line of kings but also a spirit-the modern rational spirit that was beginning to stir and that would prove the ultimate undoing of the medieval order. Frederick longed for independence from papal control. He hoped to revive the Roman rule of law, and he commissioned jurists at the University of Bologna to help him. In this way, Frederick 11 became the sworn political enemy of the pope. Frederick also established a state university, the university of Naples, which openly flouted the

The Horrors of Theocracy

+

3

church's ban on the reading of Aristotle. Other universities followed suit, and the ban on Aristotle could not be sustained. Once the genie was out of the bottle, it would not return; the only thing that could be done was to tame it. And this is where Aquinas came in handy. Thomas Aquinas was born to Count Landulf of Aquino and Theodora of Theate in a castle at Roccasecca near Aquino, which is near Naples, in 1224 or 1225. His paternal grandmother was Francesca di Suabia, the sister of Frederick Barbarossa (Frederick I, German king and Holy Roman Emperor 1155-1190, son of Frederick Hohenstaufen). Thomas's noble family was allied with the Hohenstaufen emperor, Frederick Il, against the power of the pope. Landulf of Aquino was one of Frederick's barons. When Frederick was excommunicated by Pope Gregory IX (October 10, 1227) and papal and imperial armies confronted one another in the kingdom of Naples, Landulf remained loyal to the emperor. At least two of Thomas's brothers served in the imperial army.4 Frederick Il was excommunicated a second time in 1239 and for a third time in 1245, when the pope deposed him and threatened that anyone who obeyed or supported him would be excommunicated. s The family was compelled to abandon its loyalty to the emperor and was banished from Naples. As a result, one of Thomas's brothers, Reginald, was put to death by Frederick. 6 Unlike his family, Thomas was fiercely loyal to the church and her popes. In 1244, when he was barely twenty years of age, he decided to give up a life of wealth and privilege, embrace poverty, join the mendicant orders, become a Dominican friar, and serve the pope. When the Dominicans dispatched Thomas to Paris, his mother ordered his brothers to capture him (possibly with the help of the imperial forces) and lock him up in one of his father's castles, the castle of San Giovanni. Even though he was under guard for almost a year (1244-1245), Thomas was undaunted. He spent his time in the castle studying, reading scripture, and living as he pleased. Nevertheless, his Dominican friends were able to visit him and made sure that he had a proper Dominican habit to wear. Every effort was made by his family to make him reconsider his position; his brothers went so far as to send a voluptuous courtesan to seduce him into breaking his vows of celibacy, but to no avail. His mother, Theodora, appealed to the pope to offer her son a respectable ecclesiastical post. After all, she considered her son Reginald to be a martyr for the church, so it was not too much for her to ask Pope Innocent IV for an ecclesiastical post for her son Thomas. And although the pope was willing to oblige, Thomas had his mind made up. Eventually, his mother released him, and he went to Paris and Cologne to study with the Dominican scholar Albertus Magnus. 7

4

~

Chapter One

Thomas's conduct may seem like the rebellious conduct of youth, taking a political stand that is antithetical to that of his family. But Thomas never wavered from that decision, nor did he vacillate from his loyalty to the papal throne for the rest of his life. The Dominicans provided Thomas with a unique opportunity to serve his church and her popes. Thomas was deeply committed to an idealized vision of a Christian political order that he believed was mortally threatened by the peril of secularization. The Dominicans and Franciscans were two mendicant orders founded by Saint Dominic (in 1216) and Saint Francis (in 1223). 8 These evangelical youth movements were a reaction against a Christianity that had become worldly and decadent. The clergy had earned the contempt of the laity by their notorious vices. They were drunkards, usurers, fornicators, and fraudulent peddlers of salvation. The corruption of the clergy compromised the power of the church, which rested on the spiritual allegiance of her subjects. The mendicants abandoned all the worldly pomp and regalia with which the church was (and still is) associated. They represented renewal and a return to the evangelical spirit of}esus. Not surprisingly, the pope seized on this movement as an opportunity for both reform and persecution-reform of the prevailing licentiousness of the clergy and persecution of the heretical enemies of Rome. 9 From the moment of their founding, the mendicant orders were placed directly under the jurisdiction of the pope. Here was a group of devoted servants and mobile representatives who could travel across Europe doing the pope's bidding: preaching to laymen, teaching at the universities, and sniffing out heretics. They provided the pope with a new way of dealing with heresy and insubordination. Since they were not subject to local authorities, whether secular or ecclesiastical, they were resented and reviled by both. After almost twenty years of war and the indiscriminate slaughter of hundreds of thousands of innocent Christians in the Albigensian Crusade, the Catharist and Waldensian heresies remained undefeated. Since these heresies thrived on the licentious immorality of the clergy, the mendicant orders provided the church with a new image, less worldly and more evangelical, if not necessarily more merciful. In 1232, Pope Gregory IX established a system of "legal" investigationsthe Inquisition-to stamp out heresy. He published a bull, or papal edict, requiring heretics to be handed over to the secular authorities for burning; and he declared that it was the duty of every Christian to persecute heretics and the duty of the secular arm of government to carry out the punishment decreed by the church. In 1233, Gregory assigned the Dominicans the exclusive privilege of managing, overseeing, and conducting the Inquisition. The Dominican inquisitors were the pope's appointees and were subject to no one

The Horrors of Theocracy

~

5

but God and His "Holiness." This meant that they were outside the jurisdiction of bishops and of the civil law.

The Fanaticism of Faith For six hundred years, ruthless Dominican friars terrorized European towns and villages. When the inquisitors arrived in town, the local people were put on alert. They were given a period of time to confess or inform on their neighbors. The informers came under cover of darkness and were assured total anonymity. This was a golden opportunity for grudge informers, scoundrels, and villains of every stripe. If you heard a knock on your door in the middle of the night and you opened it to find a Dominican friar, the chief of police, and a few armed guards, then you knew that your luck had run out. The inquisitor was both the prosecutor and the judge. As the accused, you could not have legal representation-anyone who dared to represent you would be accused of heresy. Witnesses for the defense were prohibited; only witnesses for the prosecution were allowed. You had no right to ask what the charge was, no opportunity to see your accusers, or to discover their identity. As the accused, you had no right to a jury of your peers; hooded Dominican prosecutors were judge and jury. If you confessed, that was proof of your guilt. If you did not confess, you were tortured until you confessed. If the torture did not make you confess, you were deemed to have the assistance of the Devil-and that was also proof of your guilt. lO You might be promised a light penance for confessing; and if you confessed, you were indeed given a light penance-before you were burned. But if you remained stubborn, members of your family might be tortured in order to make them witness against you-and that included your children, since the inquisitors were allowed to torture boys of fourteen and girls of twelve years of age. In 1252, Pope Innocent IV made torture an official policy in his bull Ad extirpanda. ll And even before you were condemned, your property was confiscated to pay for the expenses of the "trial." There are no records of anyone being acquitted. Once found guilty, which was inevitable, you were handed over to the civil authorities for burning. Any monarch or civil authority who did not comply was guilty of an offense against the pope and was liable to be excommunicated. To be excommunicated was not simply to be deprived of the sacraments of the church and the opportunity for salvation but also to be barred from all human commerce and association. This was particularly serious for a prince or monarch. For example, when Pope Innocent III declared the Albigensian Crusade, he demanded the cooperation of the count of

6

Chapter One

Toulouse, Raymond VI, in the extermination of the heretics in his kingdom. But Raymond was unwilling to comply with a request that required the slaughter of most of his subjects, especially since the Cathars were pious, lawabiding citizens who were pale with fasting and prayer and known for their justice and charity.12 The pope excommunicated Raymond and advised his subjects that they no longer owed him allegiance. In fact, the pope promised anyone who would kill Raymond a special place in heaven. For a monarch, excommunication was almost a death sentence. To save himself, Raymond became cooperative, even zealous, in his persecution of heretics. 13 The pope declared that it was the duty of every Christian to wipe out heretics by denouncing them and surrendering them to the authorities. Children were encouraged to denounce their parents, and husbands to report on their wives. Bringing about the hideous death of a loved one was deemed to be an act of faith and devotion to the one and only true God. Every tender relation between human beings was trampled by the active endorsement of a fanatical zeal that was the basis of the spiritual despotism exercised by the church in these barbarous times. In 1239, when Frederick II was excommunicated for the second time, Monte Cassino, where the young Thomas had been sent for his early education, was taken over by Frederick and turned into a fortress in his own selfdefense. The monks were expelled, and young Thomas was sent home with a recommendation that he be sent to study at the University of Naples. And that is exactly where his parents sent him. Thomas was about thirteen when he arrived in Naples. 14 Thanks to Frederick Il, the University of Naples provided Thomas with an intellectually enriching Aristotelian environment. IS This is not to say that Naples was free of papal influence. The same year that Thomas arrived in Naples, a notorious Dominican, Robert le Bougre, known as "the Scoundrel," went to Champagne to investigate a bishop who was accused of allowing heretics to live and thrive in his diocese. In one week, the whole town was put on trial and 180 people, including the bishop, were murdered in the name of Jesus Christ. I6 Even in this age of superstition and credulity, the despotism of the Dominicans was met with considerable resistance. Catholic scholars admit that the Dominicans were objects of such loathing and contempt that they were met with hostility wherever they went. 17 There were good reasons why the Dominicans were reviled; the role they played in conducting the pope's Inquisition was not the least among them. Joseph Pieper tells us that the situation was so grim that by the time Thomas came to Paris, things had reached such a pitch that the preaching friars scarcely dared to venture out on the street for fear of insults

The Horrors of Theocracy

7

and physical attack. King Louis IX-Saint Louis-found it necessary to have royal troops guard the monastery at Saint Jacques. 18 Saint J acques is the Dominican monastery in Paris where Thomas completed his novitiate (1245-1248) and where he returned to teach (after completing his studies with Albertus Magnus in Cologne from 1248-1252) while pursuing his master of theology degree at the University of Paris. Aquinas could not have been blind to the nature of the order he was joining. He could not have been oblivious to the hatred and insolence of ordinary folk, or of the need for royal troops to defend the monastery. He must have known about the "trials" and the burnings, because the Dominican inquisitors were not ashamed of their activities and did not keep them secret. He must have known that the task of the Dominicans was to teach, preach, and persecute. But as we shall see, Aquinas did not object to the murderous activities of the church but went out of his way to defend them. The relationship between Aquinas and the Inquisition-the Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Inquisition-is not like the relationship of Rousseau to the French Revolution, or Nietzsche to the Nazis. Rousseau and Nietzsche were long dead before the events that they allegedly inspired took place. There is absolutely no evidence in Rousseau's work to suggest that he would have enthusiastically defended Robespierre's reign of terror. Nor is there any evidence in Nietzsche's work to indicate that he would have defended the Nazis. As I will show in chapter 3, when Aquinas wrote the Summa Theologica (1267-1273), he defended the Inquisition in no uncertain terms. In doing so, he provided the justification for the most universally reviled institution in human history-an institution that came into being shortly after he was born, became more established during his lifetime, and continued what can only be described as history's longest and most sustained assault on every principle of natural justice, every instinct of human decency, and every scruple of moral conscience. There were at least two options open to the church in dealing with her diminishing power and prestige. She could insist on her dominion and become more rigid and repressive, or she could retreat from the temporal domain and reinvent herself in accordance with her own spiritual and otherworldly rhetoric. By retreating from political power, the church might have become a genuinely spiritual force in society. She might have put an end to the Crusades and the Inquisition. She might have relinquished the persecution of Jews and granted them basic civil rights. She might have turned a blind eye to heresy. She might have improved the morals of her clergy by abandoning celibacy as a failed illusion. She might have turned away from Augustinian

8

Chapter One

gloom to a sunnier and more naturalistic approach to life in this world. But she did not. Much to her detriment, she chose to remain rigid, oppressive, militant, and uncompromising. She took desperate measures to prevent her political demise. She was determined to mount a charge and to reclaim her power. But the measures she took were counterproductive and contributed to her ultimate downfall. Aquinas was an invaluable asset in this counteroffensive. As we shall see, his work justified her egregious folly, especially where the Inquisition, the Crusades, the persecution of Jews, and the insistence on celibacy were involved.

The Lost Promise of Natural Law In the midst of so much depravity, superstition, and irrationality, Aquinas's rational philosophy of natural law had the potential of playing a moderating role. It was the sort of philosophy that could have rescued the church from opprobrium. It could have injected sanity into a world gone mad. It could have given Europe a measure of peace and tranquility. It could have saved Europe from the horrors of theocracy. But as I will show, Aquinas was blind to the horrors of theocracy. As a result, he failed to use his doctrine of natural law to restrain the excesses of faith. Instead, the natural law became a mere ornament to render the faith more attractive in the emerging age of reason. The law of nature is a moral law that has its source in reason and nature and not in God or any of his self-appointed representatives. It transcends the narrow and parochial and embraces what is common to all humanity. It transcends the claims to any particular revelation. It is rooted in this world and not in a fictive otherworldliness. And most of all, it is loyal to earthly life and happiness. As a result, it is particularly suited to the political domain, whose function is to enhance human life in this world. Whatever its shortcomings, it must be admitted that a secular and rational standard would have been a boon in a world condemned to the irrationality, capriciousness, tyranny, and superstition that are inseparable from theocracy. Unhappily, Aquinas could not reconcile the political principles of the natural law with his commitment to the popes. It was impossible for Aquinas to draw the logical political conclusions from his naturalistic premises without abandoning his commitment to papal power and supremacy. Instead of making the natural law the cornerstone of his political philosophy, he advocated a politics of salvation with its attendant atrocities. In so doing, he contributed to the church's criminal history, her worldliness, and her obscene arrogance. As a result, the promise of the natural law was lost.

The Horrors of Theocracy

~

9

It was almost four hundred years later that John Locke (1632-1704) and others began the process of reaping some of the fruits of the natural law. Locke managed to eke out the political implications of Aquinas's doctrine by insisting on the separation of church and state, the rule of law, the protection of civil rights, the freedom of religion, and rule by consent of the governed not by divine right. This was the legacy of modernity, but it was anathema to the Catholic Church and her popes-and still is. In this book, I will defend a minimalist version of Aquinas's theory. I will argue that the natural law can provide a rational basis for moral discourse and dispute that transcends particular religions and their unique revelations. This is particularly valuable in an age of faith when conflicting revelations threaten to destroy all vestiges of civilized life. In the twenty-first century, the primacy of faith over reason has experienced a revival. The forces of unreason are as much a threat to political life in our time as they were in the thirteenth century. Once again, faith threatens to rob the political domain of its autonomy. In the United States, Israel, and the Islamic world, the radicalism of religious forces is destroying political sobriety. Theocracy has new and powerful adherents. Iran has a theocratic regime, and Iraq insists that it is an Islamic republic. Throughout the Middle East, Ai Qaeda, Hamas, Hezbollah, the Islamic Brotherhood, and other radical groups are determined to replace secular law with sharia, or Islamic law. Meanwhile, the Catholic Church is enjoying a new vogue as Pope John Paul II dies and Pope Benedict XVI is installed in a media spectacle, in which the crimes of the church are all but forgotten by a secular age hungry for pageantry, ritual, and magic. There is a great deal of dispute and disagreement about Aquinas's theory of natural law. Even his admirers admit that the theory is sketchy and needs to be more clearly articulated and developed. 19 Others think that Aquinas waffled and was inconsistent.2° However, scholars are united in thinking that the natural law was the cornerstone of Aquinas's political philosophy. In what follows, I will show how Aquinas betrayed the natural law on every count. He abandoned its rationalism by subjugating reason to faith. He relinquished its universalism by advocating a politics of salvation based on a single revelation as interpreted by the pope. He repudiated its naturalism by denigrating marriage in favor of celibacy and a sickly asceticism. When the rationalism, universalism, and naturalism of the natural law are abandoned, its potential to reform and restrain the excesses of faith is lost. In the final chapter, I will make an effort to retrieve the lost promise of natural law. I believe that something akin to Aquinas's natural law continues to be as vital for political sanity and moderation in our time as it was in his.

CHAPTER

TWO

The Subjugation of Reason

Since the thirteenth century, the Catholic Church has been captivated by a strange and dangerous delusion-namely, that it is in possession of the one and only faith that is truly rational or compatible with reason. The source of that delusion is in the much-vaunted reconciliation of faith and reason by Thomas Aquinas. The delusion is clearly manifest in the writings of ]oseph Ratzinger, who is currently Pope Benedict XVI. Needless to say, this makes dialogue with other religions at best meaningless, if not altogether hypocritical. It also reveals that the pope's undiplomatic blunders about Islam being an irrational religion spread by the sword (supposedly in contrast to Christianity, which was spread only by love and reason) are a candid expression of his own position-the Thomist position. l In what follows, I will explain why Aquinas's celebrated reconciliation of Christian faith with reason was a failure. I will conclude with some reflections on the relation between faith and reason that are intended to retrieve a more modest version of Aquinas's original project.

The Intellectual Setting In the thirteenth century, the spirit of modernity came along like a fresh and unexpected breeze that woke reason from a sleep that was almost as deep as death. Reason had slumbered even longer than Sleeping Beauty, but when she began to regain consciousness, she shook the Christian faith at its core. The church's hegemony was being challenged not only politically but also intellectually.

11

12

"*"

Chapter Two

More than any other church father, Aquinas was equipped to deal with the challenge of modernity. In an age of reason, it would have been imprudent to call upon a saint who decried the optimism of reason and celebrated faith in all its gloom and irrationality. Not only did Aquinas maintain that reason was not incompatible with the faith, he also claimed that reason could lend support to the faith. This allowed the church to save face in the dawning of the age of reason. It is therefore not surprising that the Catholic Church regarded and continues to regard Thomist philosophy as an immutable treasure, without which she cannot face the enduring challenge of modernity. In 1256, Aquinas and Bonaventure (one a Dominican and the other a Franciscan friar) were given the license to teach by the chancellor of the University of Paris, Aymery de Ver.2 The chancellor of the university was a papal legate and had absolute power to grant or withdraw the license to teach at the university. Members of the faculty were unhappy to have more chairs going to the mendicant orders {i.e., Dominicans and Franciscans}, whose appointment they rightly regarded as an attempt on the part of the pope to acquire even more control over the intellectual life of the university. Despite the absolute authority of the chancellor, the masters in the Faculty of Arts tried to use their collective power to oppose his wishes. They appealed to the pope against the chancellor. But their efforts were futile. Thomas and Bonaventure were appointed by papal decree, and the Faculty of Arts was censured. Nevertheless, faculty members boycotted Thomas's inaugural lecture, and he had to contend with hecklers.3 Some Catholic scholars maintain that the universities in the thirteenth century were created by the popes as free and progressive institutions. 4 It is certainly true that the universities were free from the regulations of local powers, both secular and ecclesiastical. But they were directly under the control of the pope, since the chancellor was a papal legate with absolute power to decide who had permission to teach and who would be censured, banished, excommunicated, or prevented from teaching. The medieval universities were not institutions of free inquiry. As we shall see, those who obstructed the will of the church were destroyed. The history of the universities in the West is a vivid example of the close nexus of power and knowledge. The medieval universities were funded by the church to augment her authority. This was a clear case in which power generated institutions of learning intended to lend it support and give it legitimacy. But the intimate relationship between power and knowledge is no proof that knowledge always remains a servant of the power that made it possible. Faculty

The Subjugation of Reason

~

13

members at the University of Paris hungered for the unhampered pursuit of knowledge and the thrill of free inquiry. The same is true of the think tanks of our time. No one expects Canada's Fraser Institute to point to the shortcomings of unregulated capitalism. No one expects the American Enterprise Institute to criticize the policies of the administration of President George W. Bush. Everyone knows that these think tanks are the instruments of the special interests that created them. But when a think tank breaks the spell, when it turns against the power that gave it birth, when it points to the shortcomings of the order it is supposed to champion, it suddenly becomes more than just an instrument of propaganda. This is what happened to the University of Paris in what historians describe as the intellectual "crisis" of the thirteenth century.

William of Saint,Amour One of the staunchest opponents of the mendicant orders at the University of Paris was William of Saint-Amour. In his De periculis novissimorum temporum (On the Dangers of These Last Times), written in 1256, he outlined forty signs to identify the false prophets who will usher in the Antichrist at the end of time) In his analysis of scripture, the mendicants fit the Biblical profile of the ravenous wolves in sheep's clothing, the false prophets, Pharisees, and hypocrites described in the New Testament (Luke 18:9-14, Matt. 7:15, Matt. 23). They were clever and wily impostors, full of sophistry and learning, and were destined to destroy the church in the end of time. William was determined to defend the church against these fraudulent peddlers of salvation and urged the pope to eradicate these false prophets from every diocese. Despite the orthodoxy of his views, William was investigated by a curial committee and officially condemned by Pope Alexander IV on October 5, 1256 (the same year that Aquinas and Bonaventure were appointed by papal decree).6 The pope ordered William excommunicated, and his book was burned in the papal court at Rome. He was prohibited from continuing his teaching or administrative duties, and King Louis IX (Saint Louis), who was happy to do the pope's bidding, banished William from France. 7 William's followers and admirers were also censured. The mere possession of De periculis could lead to excommunication. s William pleaded for the chance to amend his work, if only he could understand its heretical qualities, but his pleas were ignored. In exile, William wrote encyclopedic replies to the mendicant critics of his work. He sent his replies to Pope Clement IV, but they were disregarded.

14

~

Chapter Two

William of Saint-Amour had some very legitimate concerns about the mendicant way of life. He argued that giving up all material possessions and relying on begging for survival opens the door to a plethora of vices; it encourages sloth, idleness, dependence, flattery of the rich, and other vices. And when survival is threatened, lying, stealing, and even homicide and suicide may become serious temptations. Contrary to Aquinas and Bonaventure, William denied that the mendicant life was apostolic. He denied that mendicancy was recommended by Christ when he counseled his followers to give all their possessions to the poor and follow him. William argued that those who wish to relinquish all their possessions and follow Christ should either enter a monastery where all the necessities of life are provided by communal property or live by manuallabor for sustenance. William thought that the reference to Christ's purse in John 12:6 was analogous to the communal property of the church, which provides the basic sustenance for those who have relinquished all their temporal goods. William also referred to 1 Thessalonians 5:12, where Paul recognized the dignity of those who labor, and 2 Thessalonians 3:6-12, where Paul warns his followers against disorderly busybodies who refuse to work, saying that those who do not work shall not eat. Contrary to Aquinas, Bonaventure, and other friars, William concluded that institutional monasticism, not mendicancy, is the true inheritor of the apostolic tradition. The mendicants are pseudoapostoli with no basis in scripture. Besides, mendicancy usurps the rightful alms of the affiicted and infirm, who alone are entitled to beg for their sustenance. 9 In spite of papal persecution, the antifraternal tradition continued to thrive at the University of Paris. William of Saint-Amour was succeeded by Gerard of Abbeville and Nicholas of Lisieux as the chief critics of mendicancy, while Bonaventure, Aquinas, and John Pecham defended the friars.1 o Bonaventure defended mendicancy as a voluntary acceptance of personal hardship through self-degradation. But William argued that self-degradation is not necessarily commendable but can be sinful-prostitution is a case in point. ll And surely, William was right: no one should become a prostitute for Christ. Aquinas took a different approach. Almost as soon as he was appointed to the Faculty of Arts, he responded to William in Contra Impugnantes, although he did not mention the banished William by name. 12 Aquinas focused on the primacy that William (following the New Testament) gave to simplicity and holiness as opposed to learning and sophistication. Aquinas tried to show that the "knowledge of saints is preferable to the holiness of simpletons,"13 but the best example he could find from the New Testament is the preference Jesus had for Mary, who listened, over Martha, who served (Luke 10:38-42).1 4 But Mary is hardly an example of higher learning, since

The Subjugation of Reason

15

she was a simple devotee of Jesus and her idleness relative to her sister is not easy to champion. Nevertheless, Aquinas rightly argued that just because false prophets use knowledge to mislead others is no reason to abandon the pursuit of knowledge altogether. Aquinas compared knowledge to good works and argued that abandoning good works because they may lead to puffery would be absurd.!S At the very least, those who preach should have knowledge of the Scriptures. But all this did not address William's claim that those who preach must be the regular clergy preaching in the name of the church and not mendicant friars preaching in their own name. William was concerned about the preaching of heretical doctrines, as was the case with Gerard of Borgo San Donnino, the Franciscan who followed Joachim of Fiore and proclaimed the advent of the third age, when Joachim's work would supersede the Old and New Testaments and the carnal church would be replaced by the barefoot spiritual men (Le., the Franciscans).!6 Contra Impugnantes was not Aquinas's last effort to address the objections of William of Saint-Amour. In the Summa Contra Gentiles and the Summa Theologica, Aquinas made a valiant-though not very convincing--effort to defend mendicancy against William's objections.!7 Again, William's name was not mentioned, but the arguments against mendicancy to which Aquinas was responding were unmistakably William's. Aquinas rejected Paul's insistence that those who will not labor should not eat.!S He made no effort to conceal his Aristotelian contempt for manuallabor. He argued that voluntary poverty is a means to acquiring the leisure necessary to devote oneself to God, which requires study and contemplation.1 9 Like Aristotle, Aquinas believed that the life of contemplation is akin to the life of God. But these arguments did not address William's point that monasteries with collective property are the appropriate means by which some can labor while others study and preach. Nor did Aquinas's reply address the vices to which mendicants were susceptible. Despite the fact that William was persecuted and silenced, his objections to the friars were echoed throughout the literature of the Middle Ages, and he is acknowledged by scholars as the single most important source of the antifraternal tradition, which continued to expose the arrogance, hypocrisy, worldliness, and rascality of the friars,zo Chaucer's Friar Huberd was one example of such friars-apparently, the only character in Chaucer's work with absolutely no redeeming qualities. In truth, the mendicants were rooted in the parasitic clerical culture. No one was more cognizant of the avarice and greed of the mendicants than the regular clergy, who were often deprived of the most lucrative aspects of their profession, especially burials of the rich. Some of the friars were known to be the most devoted visitors of the sick-especially if they were wealthy-so

16

~

Chapter Two

that when death came, the friars were ready to perform the burial services. The friars also usurped the confessional functions of the regular clergy. These confessions were (in some cases) the basis of gossip, scandal, and extortion. However, no amount of vice could explain the hostility to the Dominican friars better than the role they played in the Inquisition. This is a matter about which William said little. Only after the Reformation did the criticism of the friars become intertwined with the criticism of the pope and the Catholic Church. In this way, the medieval criticism of the mendicants inspired by William was absorbed into the antimonasticism of Luther, Wyclif, Eberlin, and other Reformation writers.2 1 Some Thomist scholars mention the silencing of William, but they do not find it reprehensible.2 2 Jacques Maritain claims that Thomas and the pope were advocates of intellectual freedom against the narrow-mindedness of the Faculty of Arts.2 3 Clearly, Maritain defines academic freedom as the triumph of Catholic truth against all contenders. Other Thomists insist that Aquinas had nothing to do with the condemnation of William, on the grounds that he does not mention it.24 In my view, there was no reason for Aquinas to mention it. The only reason for mentioning it would be to object to having his intellectual opponents banished, their books burned, and their careers destroyed. Clearly, he did not object. What harm would there have been in having William and Thomas debate the pros and cons of mendicancy? The medieval "disputations" would have provided an appropriate forum. What good are disputations without dispute? Would not genuine controversy have made the university a more interesting place, not to mention a more enlightened one? But clearly, genuine freedom of discussion and debate was no part of the pope's idea of what the universities were for. The universities were created as vehicles for the inculcation of truth. They were not intended to sow doubt, invite disbelief, or create controversy. Those with mischievous thoughts had to be purged. Only those who expressed opinions agreeable to the pope could survive-and as we shall see, their pronouncements had better sound sincere.

Siger of Brabant William and his followers were not the only source of trouble for the church at the University of Paris. There was also a burgeoning Aristotelian spirit, which challenged the faith. The introduction of Aristotle's work in the West was the work of Arabic philosophers such as Ibn Rushd (1126-1198), known by his Latin name as Averroes, who was so authoritative that Aquinas referred to him simply as "the Commentator." In the twelfth cen-

The Subjugation of Reason

+

17

tury, when the works of Averroes were translated into Latin, the church banned the study of Aristotle. After all, Aristotle-a pagan philosopher translated and introduced by Muslim scholars-was marked by a double taint of infidelity. Yet, the zeal with which the manuscripts of Averroes and other Islamic writers were being translated and copied by the scholars of Christendom was an indication that the hunger for knowledge and free inquiry was irrepressible. Universities such as Naples, which was not under papal control, defied the ban, and the church was forced to concede that her persistent ban on the study of Aristotle was futile. Banishing Aristotle was akin to banishing reason, and this was no longer possible. Once the works of Aristotle were admitted into the University of Paris, it was inevitable that some scholars would prefer his naturalistic account of the world to the religious dogmas of the church. The conflict between the ideas of Aristotle and those of the church was unavoidable. It was to handle this crisis that Thomas was sent back to Paris (after a nine-year sojourn in Italy) to resume his chair of theology at the University of Paris in 1269. When Thomas arrived in Paris in 1269, Siger of Brabant was the leading Averroist in the Faculty of Arts at the University of Paris. This feisty young scholar espoused several Averroist doctrines that contradicted the faith. He thought that maybe Aristotle was right that the world existed from all eternity and was never created. He also defended the idea that there was only one intellect, in which all human beings shared. This contradicted the Christian belief in individual souls. Siger also cast doubt on the suffering of the soul in the eternal fires of Hell. He wondered how the soul can experience the flames of Hell if it is immaterial. These were reasonable things for a philosopher to consider, but they got Siger into deep trouble. 2S On December 10, 1270, the bishop of Paris, Stephen Tempier, condemned thirteen propositions espoused by members of the Faculty of Arts at the University of Paris. Siger of Brabant was one of the main targets of the condemnations. In 1277, more condemnations were issued; as many as 219 propositions were condemned. Faculty members holding any of these propositions were to be excommunicated. The condemnations of 1277 were so sweeping that some contradicted others, making it difficult to reject both while remaining coherent. 26 Philosophy was a dangerous affair that made faculty members liable to excommunication, loss of livelihood, and loss of life. In this stifling atmosphere, it was impossible to think without risking one's life. Siger was accused of heresy and summoned before the Inquisition by the Inquisitor of Paris, Simon du Val. Siger realized that anyone summoned to appear before the Inquisition was doomed. But he was brash enough to think that he could appeal directly to the pope for protection. Siger fled to

18

Chapter Two

Italy to escape the Inquisition in France. But his efforts were futile. Even though the facts of his life are clouded in mystery, there is little doubt that he died under miserable circumstances, and his life was cut short in 1277 at the age of forty. On most accounts, he was stabbed to death by his "mad secretary." But his murder was never investigated. His supporters at the University were afraid for their own lives and in no position to protest. Thomist scholars report on Siger's miserable fate and his untimely death without finding it suspicious or deplorable. Why did he employ a mad secretary? Why did the mad secretary not kill him earlier? Why was he killed only after he was hounded by the Inquisition? What role did the pope play in his death? Suffice it to say that the mysterious circumstances of Siger's untimely death were extremely fortuitous; another intellectual opponent of Thomas and the pope was conveniently out of the way, so the truth could be inculcated without impediment. In an effort to save himself, Siger adopted the notorious Averroist theory of the double truth. According to the theory, something can be false according to reason or philosophy and true according to faith, and vice versa. For example, rationally and philosophically speaking, Siger rejected creation in favor of Aristotle's view that the world is eternal.27 Nevertheless, he maintained that even though creation was false in philosophy, it was true in faith. The same was the case for the idea of personal immortality. The double truth was a ploy to protect philosophy and philosophers from the persecution of the church. But as we can see from the case of Siger, it was not a very successful ploy. There has been much controversy over the doctrine of the double truth. Modern Thomists, such as Etienne Gilson, have maintained that the double truth theory is an enormity that was never espoused by any medieval master, because no medieval master was foolish enough to maintain that two contradictory propositions were simultaneously true. 28 Other Thomists have followed in the footsteps of this renowned medieval scholar. In Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, Fernand Van Steenberghen follows his venerable master in maintaining that the doctrine of the double truth is merely the invention of historians and that no medievalist, especially one familiar with Aristotle, could possibly have held such an intellectually incoherent doctrine. 29 Gilson and Steenberghen maintain that Siger of Brabant never held the double truth theory and that Siger was never a "free thinker" or a "rationalist" but was a devout believer all along. The evidence they provide for this original thesis is that Siger's writings after 1270 were very different

The Subjugation of Reason

+

19

from his writings prior to that time. Prior to the Condemnation of 1270, in a work entitled Questiones intertium de anima, Siger expresses opinions that were "clearly heretical," such as the eternity of the world, the eternity of the human species, the unicity of the intellect, the denial of a life after death, and the denial that the soul once separated from the body could feel the pain of the fires of hell. According to Gilson and Steenberghen, Siger "professes these heresies without any apparent concern for revealed truth. In fact, he closes his eyes to Christianity and thereby sidesteps any problem of reconciling faith and reason."30 When he compares Augustine with Aristotle, he clearly favors Aristotle. But in De anima intellective, a work written in 1273, after the Condemnation of 1270, Siger tells us that his goal is not to discover the truth of the matter but merely to determine what the philosophers thought. They surmise that Siger was now trying to conceal his heretical beliefs by posing as a mere commentator. But there is more. After explaining what the philosophers believe and giving the rational and compelling arguments by which they defend these beliefs, Siger concludes that since these beliefs conflict with the dogmas of the faith, which are true automatically and without argument, then all these well-supported views of the philosophers must be false. Instead of surmising that Siger was belatedly resorting to an esoteric style of writing in response to persecution, Gilson and Steenberghen are convinced that by the time he wrote his Questiones super librum de causis, Siger was a changed man who acknowledged the superiority of faith over reason. Now, Siger asserted that there is only one truth and that truth belongs to faith. Was Siger sincere? Gilson and Steenberghen are certain that he was. They believe that Siger had undergone a spiritual transformation-he saw the light and returned to the faith. He was now convinced that the truth was always on the side of faith. Moreover, they attribute this conversion to the influence of Aquinas. In his Questions on Metaphysics, Siger maintained that the divergence between faith and reason can be accounted for by the miraculous interventions of God, which alter the normal course of nature. Since this is a position taken by Aquinas, Gilson and Steenberghen conclude that Aquinas was a decisive influence in helping Siger overcome his crisis of faith. Steenberghen informs us that due to the incomparable stature of Gilson's scholarly authority, there is an "almost unanimous agreement in support of Gilson's views" on this matter among medieval scholars.3l In fact, Siger's new tactics did not fool anyone. They certainly did not fool the Inquisition. Siger was still in trouble with the authorities. He had to do more than assert the superiority of faith despite all evidence to the contrary,

20

Chapter Two

ifhe hoped to escape the flames. However, Siger seems to have fooled our intrepid Thomist scholars; Gilson, Steenberghen, and all their admirers are now convinced that after 1270 Siger was a changed man.3 2 At first blush, the views expressed by Gilson and Steenberghen seem to be tragically uninsightful. The double truth theory was never an affirmation of the simultaneous truth of contradictory claims. It was not about believing two opposite things at the same time. It was not a rejection of the fundamental principle of reason, the principle of noncontradiction. Far from being a rejection of rationalism, the double truth theory was a tactic intended to defend reason from the enforced irrationalism of the church. It was meant to provide philosophy with autonomy from religious authority and religious dogma-autonomy that was necessary if the basic principle of reason (i.e., the principle of noncontradiction) was to be respected. It was a ploy to protect philosophy and philosophers from the persecution of the church. But as we can see from the case of Siger, it was not a very successful ploy. But even more bizarre is Gilson and Steenberghen's claim that after the Condemnation of 1270 Siger of Brabant had undergone a spiritual transformation inspired by Aquinas. This peculiar account of events after 1270 can only be understood as a subtle effort to conceal the pernicious role played by the church in the events at hand. The whole point of this strange thesis is to maintain that these events-the banishment of William of Saint-Amour, the persecution and death of Siger, the impossibility of philosophizing in the shadow of the Inquisition-had nothing to do with the vicious oppression by the church. The point of the thesis is to deny that the intellectual crisis at the University of Paris was an historical event. These Thomist scholars want us to believe that the intellectual crisis at the University had nothing to do with the harassment, bullying, threats, and the heavy-handedness of a power that was losing its grip. They present the whole crisis as a psychological phenomenon, an event that took place at the level of the psyche of men, such as Siger of Brabant, who found their faith challenged by the new ideas and struggled to come to grips with their inner conflict. 33 Like Gilson, Steenberghen believes that Aquinas rescued the heterodox masters in the Faculty of Arts not only from intellectual error but also from spiritual damnation. Steenberghen admits that the Condemnation of 1270 (which is to say, the threat of the Inquisition) helped these lost souls find their way back to orthodoxy. Following Gilson, he is certain that the inspiration of Aquinas was decisive.3 4 This outlandish account of the events in Paris after 1270 is significant in revealing the attitude of modern Thomists toward the Inquisition. They believe that the Inquisition played a salutary role in helping lost souls overcome

The Subjugation of Reason

+

21

their crisis of faith. Steenberghen tells us that "Stephen Tempier's Condemnation of December 10, 1270, evidently opened the young Master's eyes."35 They believe that the masters at the University of Paris needed to be censured because they had lost their way, forgotten the proper role of reason vis-a.-vis the faith, and become the servile followers of pagan and Islamic thinkers. In contrast, they paint Aquinas as a fearless seeker after truth.3 6 They regard an "explicit profession of rationalism" as an "attack on the faith";3? they opine that the triumph of heterodox views would have caused a "tragic split within the intellectual unity of Christendom"38-a unity for which they are clearly nostalgic. In short, they are not opposed to the Inquisition as a mechanism for "rescuing" souls from perdition and avoiding "a tragic split" in consciousness. Nothing is more depressing than the nostalgia of modem Thomists for the world Aquinas struggled to preserve-a world they describe as "exemplary" and "paradigmatic," full of "serenity" and "classic fullness."39 These scholars openly long for the Middle Ages. They think that the Inquisition is a small price to pay for serenity and classic fullness. 4o

The Usurpation of the Double Truth Contrary to the claims of Gilson and Steenberghen, the double truth theory was not the invention of historians; it was a desperate response to the very real persecution of heterodox views by the church. Nor was the crisis at the University of Paris an inner conflict or a psychological phenomenon; it was an historical reality in which faculty members were condemned, banished, and hunted down by the Inquisition for their philosophical views. Unfortunately, the double truth theory failed to protect philosophers from the persecution of the church. It was transparent to Aquinas and the bishop of Paris, Stephen Tempier, that the theory was merely a ploy intended to conceal heretical views. 41 They both saw it as an insult to the faith. In his De unitate intellectus contra Averroistas, written in 1270, Aquinas railed against a master (he does not name him, but prior to the inventive thesis of Gilson, everyone assumed it was a reference to Siger of Brabant) who dared to refer to Catholicism as a "position," as if it were one point of view among others and not the truth incarnate. What riled Aquinas even more was the profession (on the part of the same master) of the doctrine of the double truth. Aquinas wrote: Even more serious is this subsequent remark: 'Through reason I conclude necessarily that intellect is numerically one, but I firmly hold the opposite by faith." Therefore he thinks that faith is of things whose contrary can be necessarily

22

+

Chapter Two

concluded; since the only thing that can be necessarily concluded is a necessary truth whose opposite is false and impossible, it follows from this statement that faith is of the false and impossible, which not even God can bring about and the ears of the faithful cannot bear. He does not lack the high temerity to presume to discuss what does not pertain to philosophy but is purely of faith, such that the soul suffers from the fire of hell, and to say that the teaching of the doctors concerning these things should be reprobated. By equal right, one could dispute concerning the Trinity, the Incarnation, and the like, concerning which he speaks only out of blindness. 42

Aquinas's clear reference to the double truth theory is a serious obstacle to the thesis defended by Gilson and Steenberghen. The fact that Aquinas refers to it is evidence that it is not the invention of historians. Nor is it a denial of the logical principle of noncontradiction. So, what does it mean? As I will explain, there are at least three possible meanings that the double truth theory might have within Christendom: soft Averroism, hard Averroism, and fide ism. The roots of the double truth theory are in the work of Averroes. But it is not clear whether Averroes held a soft or a hard version of the theory. A soft version of the theory amounts to the claim that there is more than one way to express and explain the truths of faith, for it would be unreasonable to use the language of metaphysicians and theologians to explain things to the simple and uneducated. On this version of the theory, there is only one truth, the same truth for the simple and the sophisticated; the same truth is expressed in different ways suitable to different abilities. Plato's myths are one example. On the one hand, the myths are simple stories, but on the other hand, they contain deep philosophical truths, which may be expressed in philosophical and metaphysical language. The two versions of the presentation reinforce and complement one another, even though they are not equally appropriate for every audience. Aquinas espouses this soft Averroism in his Prologue to the Summa Theologica when he tells his readers that because we are beginners, he intends to give us milk, not meat: Because the Master of Catholic Truth ought not only to teach the proficient, but also instruct beginners, (according to the Apostle: As Unto Little Ones in Christ, I Gave You Milk to Drink, Not Meat-1 Cor. iii. 1,2), we propose in this book to treat of whatever belongs to the Christian Religion, in such a way as may tend to the instruction of beginners.

Since Aquinas was himself a soft Averroist, he could not have been appalled that Siger or any other master held this view. What riles Aquinas is the ap-

The Subjugation of Reason

+

23

propriation of a more radical or hard Averroism by the secular masters at the Faculty of Arts. The hard Averroist position is the view that there are two different truths, one for the few and the other for the many; one for the elite, the other for the masses; one for philosophers and another for believers or simple folks. Philosophy, science, and reason are for the few, and faith, myth, and superstition are for the many. This is not a denial of the principle of noncontradiction, as Gilson and Steenberghen assume; it is the adoption of a radical elitism. There has been a revival of this radical elitism in our time by Leo Strauss and his swarm of fawning admirers. This new Averroism is not a response to persecution. it is born of the Nietzschean conviction that only the exceptional few are fit for the nihilistic truth, but the masses need faith.43 Since modernity is committed to veracity and democracy, the elitist posture of the hard Averroist seems reactionary. But in the context of the thirteenth century, there is prima facie no reason to object to the radical version of the doctrine of the two truths. After all, something very much like it was practiced by the church in the Middle Ages. The mass of humanity was ruled by an ecclesiastical elite who had a language, a wisdom, and a sacred text that were exclusively their own and to which the rest of the population had no access. The sacred text (the Bible) was not available in any of the vernacular languages, but only in Latin, the language of the church and its educated elite. People had to accept whatever the ecclesiastical elite said was required by the sacred text. Of course, the elite invented all sorts of things that were not in the sacred text but were convenient in enhancing the power and authority of the elite-confessions, penances, indulgences, and sacraments are some examples. In this way, the ecclesiastical elite ruled the gullible and ignorant masses. Therefore, the idea of one truth for the few and another for the many could not have been a new and shocking innovation in the thirteenth century. What was disturbing to Aquinas and the bishop of Paris is that some of the Aristotelians at the University of Paris wanted to practice this duplicity, not in the name of God, the church, and the faith, but in the name of reason and science. This was an appropriation by the secular masters in the Faculty of Arts of a posture that belonged to the ecclesiastical elite. It amounted to replacing the religious elite with a scientific elite. This pilfering of the double truth by a secular elite was totally alarming and unacceptable to Aquinas and his church. It was not only a usurpation of ecclesiastical power and prestige but also an insult to the faith and its custodians. By relegating faith to the domain of myth and falsehood, while bestowing truth on reason and philosophy, the radical Averroists demoted the ecclesiastical elite to the level of the illiterate masses

24

Chapter Two

who must be deceived. What is puzzling is why some masters at the University of Paris thought this ploy would succeed in concealing their heterodox views and saving them from the flames of the Inquisition. This leads me to the third possible interpretation of the double truth. It is possible that advocates of the double truth hoped that they could hide behind the long-standing fideist approach to faith. Perhaps they expected the double truth to be interpreted as part of the Christian contempt for reason, which is associated with the fideist approach. The fideist position was acceptable, even heroic, especially in early Christianity, and it has become fashionable again with the waning of the rationalist spirit. But in the context of the budding age of reason in the thirteenth century, the champions of Aristotle could not declare that the faith was unreasonable without being insolent. Only those who repudiate reason and regard it with contempt could be genuine fideists. But masters at the University of Paris, such as Siger of Brabant, who were well-known devotees of Aristotle, could not adopt a fideist approach to faith without insulting the church and provoking the Inquisition. Indeed, it was no longer respectable for the church to adopt the fideist position that had served it well in days gone by. That would have been a defeat in an age where reason had emerged as the source of authority and validity. Once the spirit of free inquiry had come to the fore, it was not possible to put the genie back in the bottle. The most prudent thing to do was to present the faith in a guise suitable to the blossoming of a new age. Here is where Aquinas came along like a knight in shining armor and rescued the church from her dilemma. Aquinas was the perfect antidote to Siger of Brabant because he set out to save orthodoxy without abandoning reason or Aristotle. He declared that there was no conflict between faith and reason, Aristotle and the Bible. On the contrary, he claimed that reason can lend support to the faith. The truth of faith and the truth of reason are one and the same truth. From the point of view of the church, this was the best of all possible worlds. Scholars continue to celebrate the success of Aquinas's grandiose project. Joseph Canning describes Aquinas as an "apostle of reason."44 Jacques Maritain tells us that Aquinas was sent for "the salvation of the intellect," which he accomplished by the "integration of Aristotle into Catholic thought."45 Joseph Pieper praises Aquinas for having accomplished "the conjunction of reason with faith."46 Etienne Gilson and Frederick Copleston also praise the success of this great venture. In what follows, I will challenge this assessment.

The Subjugation of Reason

~

25

Aristotle and the Bible There is a difference between saying that there is no conflict between the Bible and Aristotle and saying that there is no conflict between faith and reason. So, I will deal with these issues separately. I will give some glaring examples of the conflicts between Aristotle and the Bible, and of Aquinas's failure to resolve them, before turning to his effort to reconcile faith and reason. Interestingly, Aristotle does not necessarily lose out in the conflict between his vision and the biblical one. First, Aquinas's conception of God is a pagan mixture of Plato's view of the Good and Aristotle's idea of the unmoved mover. Aquinas's God is selfabsorbed, knowing only himself.47 He loves his creatures but only insofar as they partake in his goodness. All goodness is a participation in the goodness of God, who is the source of all movement, since the world revolves around him in love and desire. This vision of God is only minimally anchored in the Christian tradition. There is a gulf between the Aristotelian and Platonic conception of god and the Christian vision of a God who is not self-sufficient or self-absorbed-a God who loves, dies, and suffers for flawed creatures that are not like him. Second, Aquinas accepts the Aristotelian view that human nature is directed to the good and that no one does evil willingly but only out of ignorance, error, or some temporary suspension of judgment. 48 This is central to the Thomist philosophical edifice. It is precisely because everything seeks the good that it is directed toward God as the embodiment of goodness. Even though Aquinas's metaphysics revolves around this idea, he feels compelled to acknowledge the Christian concept of original sin, according to which human beings are so flawed that they are not capable of desiring or pursuing the good but are inclined to evil-so much so that divine intervention is necessary if they are to choose what is good, and God's grace is constantly required if they hope to "persevere" in goodness. 49 This Augustinian perspective is integral to orthodoxy, but it flies in the face of the Aristotelian elements of Aquinas's thought. Third, in his valiant effort to respond to the challenge of the Averroist masters at the University of Paris, Aquinas examines the claim that the world is eternal. His response is that the eternity of the world is compatible with creation because God might have created the world from all eternity and his creation of the world might have been coterminous with his own being. 5o This effort to reconcile Aristotle with the Bible contradicts the biblical view that God precedes his creation and is not coterminous with it. Moreover, the idea of an eternal creation is intellectually incoherent.

26

"*"

Chapter Two

Fourth, in response to Siger of Brabant, Aquinas tackles the Averroist doctrine of the unicity of the intellect-the idea that there is only one intellect in which all rational creatures participate. Aquinas rejects this view on the grounds that it was not held by Aristotle, is not philosophically defensible, and contradicts the Christian faith in individual salvation. Instead, Aquinas maintains that God creates a brand-new soul whenever copulation happens. Sl This thesis makes God very busy-and flies in the face of the vision of God as a serene and contemplative being. It also raises troubling questions. Does God collaborate with rapists and adulterers? And how is original sin transmitted if every soul is created anew? These are thorny issues, which Aquinas does not resolve. Fifth, there is a conflict between the Christian belief in equality before God and Aquinas's endorsement of the Aristotelian idea of radical human inequality. Aquinas tells us that since "certain intellectual creatures are higher than others,"s2 some are fit to rule and others are fit to be ruled. Apparently, what makes some higher and others lower is the proximity to God. s3 Abandoning all vestiges of Christian humility, Aquinas declares that a life devoted to contemplation is akin to the life of God. s4 It follows that those who are akin to God should rule over those who are inferior.5 s Aquinas explains that those who excel in understanding naturally gain contro\' whereas those who have defective understanding, but a strong body, seem to be naturally fitted for service, as Aristotle says in his Politics. 56 Aquinas is clearly endorsing Aristotle's concept of natural slavery-that is, that some people do not have sufficient reason to govern themselves and are better off being slaves who serve others.5 7 The Aristotelian conception of natural slavery flies in the face of the New Testament declaration that all are one in Jesus Christ and that the glad tidings of the new creed are intended to abolish the distinctions of master and slave, male and female. This is why the previous fathers of the church thought that institutions such as government, slavery, and even patriarchy were the results of sin and did not exist in Paradise. In contrast, Aquinas asserts that natural slavery as understood by Aristotle is compatible with, and existed in, the state of innocence prior to the Fall. s8 Aquinas is well aware that this view is at odds with the New Testament and the fathers of the church, but he argues that Subjection is twofold. One is servile, by virtue of which a superior makes use of a subject for his own benefit; and this kind of subjection began after sin. There is another kind of subjection, which is called economic or civil, whereby

The Subjugation of Reason

+

27

the superior makes use of his subjects for their own benefit and good; and this kind of subjection existed even before sin. For good order would have been wanting in the human family if some were not governed by others wiser than themselves. 59

Aquinas sees the relationship of Adam and Eve as paradigmatic of natural slavery.60 He tells us that "woman is naturally subject to man, because in man the discretion of reason predominates."61 Like Aristotle, Aquinas maintains that the female is a misbegotten male and that this inequality existed in the state of innocence and was not merely the result of the Fall, as other fathers have maintained. Aquinas believes that the inequality between the sexes was intended by God from the start because the female was created for no other purpose than for the work of procreation. Like Eve, women are intended only for procreation, and it is in their interest to be governed by the superior rationality of men. 62 So much for the glad tidings. In a hopeless effort to make his endorsement of Aristotle's view of natural slavery compatible with the Bible, Aquinas quotes Solomon: "The fool shall serve the wise" (Prov. 11:29). And also, "Provide out of the people wise men such as fear God ... who may judge the people at all times" (Exod. 18:21-22). But there is a world of difference between demanding that the wisest should be appointed judges and rulers and reducing some human beings to mere instruments, who are fitted only for service, because they are supposedly better off that way.

Faith and Reason It is important to point out that Aquinas did not intend to provide rational demonstrations for the doctrines of faith. His goal was somewhat more modest. He wanted to show that the doctrines of faith do not come into conflict with reason. The Summa Contra Gentiles is devoted to this task. The translation of this work as The Truth of the Catholic Faith perpetuates a rather more grandiose vision of Aquinas's undertaking. But even when his project is understood as modestly as I understand it, glaring contradictions between faith and reason are everywhere on display. God's providence is one example. In book 3 of the Summa Contra Gentiles, Aquinas argues that God's providence rules everything. 63 Yet, he is at pains to argue that even though God is in control of "everything that operates," and even though "predestination cannot be thwarted," prayer still makes sense. 64 Aquinas argues that if Stephen's prayer rescued Paul from reprobation, that is no indication that God's "decision" regarding Paul was

28

~

Chapter Two

changed, only that God's "verdict" was changed. 65 Clearly, Aquinas is reduced to speaking nonsense. The indissolubility of marriage is another example. Aquinas argues that the Catholic insistence on the indissolubility of marriage is rational because it is necessary for the upbringing of children, since the father is needed for their education because his rationality is superior to that of the mother. 66 The father is also necessary for discipline, in view of his superior strength to deliver the necessary punishments. 67 Of course, it can be argued that these are not very convincing reasons for the indissolubility of marriage. Fathers are not necessarily more rational than mothers, and the sort of punishment that requires physical strength is not necessarily the best way to discipline children. Moreover, children eventually grow up and do not need either parental care or discipline. The predicament of the soul in hell is another example. In response to Siger of Brabant, Aquinas tackles the immaterial nature of the soul. Siger had maintained that if the soul of man is immaterial, then, when it is separated from the body by death, it cannot experience the pain of the flames of hell, since that sort of pain can only be experienced if the soul is attached to a body. Siger's position was reasonable. In response to Siger's argument, Aquinas maintains that the soul is indeed immaterial but nevertheless experiences the burning of the fire. However, the souls of infants who die before baptism are an exception. The idea that these innocent children would burn in hell for all eternity seemed much too cruel to contemplate, so Aquinas declares that even though they will indeed go to hell, God will arrange it so they will not suffer. 68 Aquinas provides no explanations. He asks us to accept this on faith. The conflict between faith and reason is again vividly on display. Aquinas's contemporaries were rightly critical of his rationalist project. They thought that the conjunction of reason with faith was like mixing water with wine-it had the effect of diluting and degrading it. But Aquinas insisted that he was not mixing water with wine but turning water into wine. 69 This is an accurate metaphor for his intellectual activity. By a sleight of hand, he was making reason appear compatible with faith, making water look like wine. But for all his bravado about turning water into wine, Aquinas's position is much closer to that of his Franciscan friend and colleague, Bonaventure. For the latter, the cry of prayer and not the pursuit of study is the way to God. 70 Aquinas acknowledges the serious limitations involved in using reason to defend the faith. He adds that any arguments should be brought forth in defense of the faith only for the training and consolation of the faithful, and not with the idea of refuting those who are adversaries. For the very inadequacy of the arguments would

The Subjugation of Reason

+

29

rather strengthen them in their error, since they would imagine that our acceptance of the true faith was based on such weak arguments. 7!

This astonishing statement leaves the reader totally bewildered. Was the Summa Contra Gentiles not written for infidels? What is the point of writing the Summa Contra Gentiles if rational persuasion cannot play a role in conversion to the faith? Was the Summa Contra Gentiles written only for the consolation of the faithful? Why do the faithful need so much consolation? If they need to be consoled because their faith requires them to hold on to so many absurdities, then reason is but cold comfort, since, as Aquinas acknowledges, it is not much help in supporting the faith. So, what are we to do when faith comes into conflict with reason? Aquinas tells us that when philosophical reason comes into conflict with the dogmas of the faith, we can be sure that what we have is bad philosophy or the abuse of philosophy: "Whatever arguments are brought forward against the doctrines of the faith are conclusions incorrectly derived from the first and self-evident principles imbedded in nature."72 In other words, philosophy is true only when its conclusions do not contradict the dogmas of the faith. Faith trumps reason. If the reconciliation of faith and reason amounts to the achievement ofharmony between the two antagonists, then it has indeed been accomplishednot because reason has come to the aid of faith, but only at the expense of a complete surrender of rational autonomy. Aquinas tries to assuage rationalist concerns by saying that, even though the articles of faith are neither visible nor demonstrable, giving assent to them is not foolishness because they have their source in the authority of Holy Writ, which in turn has its source in the prophets, who are inspired by God. 73 Moreover, the authenticity of these prophets is confirmed by miracles. 74 These miracles are authenticated by other authorities. Needless to say, all this reliance on authority as the final arbiter of truth fails to diminish rationalist apprehensions. Aquinas is not oblivious to the fact that the word of God is in need of interpretation. This means that the submission to the authority of God is, in the final analysis, a submission to the authority of the church as the definitive interpreter of Holy Writ. Again, Aquinas tells us not to worry, because, luckily, the church is guided by the Holy Ghost and therefore cannot err.75 That would have been an amazing stroke of luck except for the fact that the church has erred and does err. Indeed, she has a long history of treachery, of which Aquinas could not have been totally oblivious. 76 She has used her power to put an end to all debate about the meaning of Holy Writ; and she has killed with impunity all those who disagreed with her interpretations and rejected her authority. In short, the reconciliation of faith and reason turns out to be the subjugation of reason to the authority of the Catholic Church. So, what Aquinas

30

"*"

Chapter Two

achieved was the reverse of what he set out to accomplish. Instead of bringing reason to the aid of faith, reason has been forced to submit to the authority of faith as interpreted by the Catholic Church. Etienne Gilson, the most celebrated Thomist of the twentieth century, turns Aquinas's project on its head. He writes as if Aquinas never intended to bring reason to the aid of faith, but the reverse. He claims that it is reason that needs the help of faith in her quest for truth. He is under no illusion that the alliance of faith and reason is a marriage of equals. On the contrary, he is fully cognizant of the fact that the reconciliation of faith and reason is accomplished by subordinating reason to faith, but he applauds it nevertheless. In other words, he treats Aquinas's failure as success. He thinks that by surrendering to faith, reason is acknowledging her own limitations'?? Gilson compares reason to the mountain climber and faith to the guide or sherpa who leads the climber to the summit,?8 Once reason comes to grips with her shortcomings, she will realize that she cannot attain the summit of knowledge without assistance. In following the road outlined by revelation, reason finds the truth that she might not have found otherwise, or might have mistaken for falsehood. Gilson insists that even though faith leads the way, the truth that is discovered now belongs to reason. By a sleight of hand, the articles of faith become subjects of knowledge. Resorting to the analogy of the traveler and the guide, Gilson writes: The traveler who has been led by a guide to the summit, is none the less entitled to the spectacle which unfolds itself from there, and the view is none the less true, because an external assistance has led him to it.79

Gilson compares Aquinas's entire intellectual edifice with the panoramic view seen by the traveler from the summit to which he has been guided by faith. In other words, Aquinas's philosophy is a product of reason guided by faith to a summit that is unattainable without supernatural assistance. This is the opposite of what Aquinas set out to accomplish, but it is an accurate account of what he actually achieved, and it deserves a response. It seems to me that the analogy of reason and faith with the traveler and the guide is seriously flawed. The guide leads the traveler to a summit that he could not have attained without assistance. But once he reaches the summit, the traveler can see the panoramic view for himself. In contrast, faith leads reason to a summit that she cannot see for herself and must continue to accept on faith. Reason is not an ordinary traveler; she has been kidnapped, blinded by bandits, and led she knows not where. Her captors convince her that blindness is her natural condition and that they are really her benefactors,

The Subjugation of Reason

"*"

31

who are determined to do everything in their power to compensate for her infirmity. They tell her that she has been led to a summit from which the panoramic view is breathtaking. She tries to imagine what she cannot see but can only accept blindly. If she is as insensible as she is blind, she will blithely accept as reality whatever her captors deem appropriate. Gilson also compares reason to a child, and this is a more appropriate comparison in view of his purposes. He writes: As a child understands what he could not have discovered himself, unless the master had taught him, so the human intellect grasps without difficulty a system, the truth of which is guaranteed by a superhuman authority. Hence the extraordinary firmness and certainty with which the intellect meets errors of all kinds, bred by unbelief or ignorance. It can always oppose conclusive proofs to its adversaries which will reduce them to silence and re-establish the truth. 80 Notice how those who dissent from the faith have fallen into "error" and must be "silenced" if the truth is to be reestablished. Notice how the child is taught to silence the errors that are the result of "unbelief or ignorance." Notice how the child is not taught to think and examine for herself. Besides learning deference to authority, the child also learns bigotry or intolerance of dissenting views. The analogy of the child and the master is a chilling revelation of what Thomists understand by education. It sheds a sinister light on Catholic schools and colleges. Gilson is merely following Aquinas who tells us that "presumptuous innovations arise from vainglory."sl Since vainglory or pride is the source of all sin, education must undermine it and replace it with the submissiveness and humility of faith. So understood, education is learning not to rely on one's own rational abilities, shunning all innovation as vainglory, and learning to respect authority no matter how irrational or superstitious it may be. In the final analysis, the reconciliation of faith and reason is a travesty. Reason is subjugated to flawed authorities posing as the vessels of the word of God. Moreover, the subjugation of reason is portrayed as its liberation. The most galling aspect of the whole project is that the articles of faith pose as iron-clad truths guaranteed by reason. This allows the authorities to pretend that they enjoy independent rational endorsement. In truth, Aquinas's effort to bring reason to the aid of faith was a failure. It is deemed a success only by those who understand the project as the silencing and subjugation of reason. The fact that Pope Leo XIII commends Aquinas not only for his wisdom but also for his "docile mind" is noteworthy.s2

32

~

Chapter Two

The Authority of Scoundrels In his rational defense of the faith, Aquinas gave unwarranted credence to the argument from authority. He not only relied heavily on that argument in his own work, he made it the supreme weapon of the "science of theology." But the argument from authority is seriously flawed. In the first place, it appeals not to reason but to feelings and emotions, in particular the feelings of awe and reverence toward particular individuals who are venerated by the culture or society in which the argument is made. The argument from authority does not lend any rational support to the faith. It merely creates an atmosphere of wonder, awe, and admiration that operates on the will rather than the intellect. It puts the will in a mood of submissiveness-more often than not, submissiveness without understanding. Moreover, the argument from authority falsely assumes that the authority in question is never mistaken. Since Holy Writ is the musings of fallible men about their experience of God, it may be mistaken. At the very least, it is often obscure and poetic and therefore lends itself to a multiplicity of interpretations. Aquinas responds to these objections by denying that Holy Writ is the musings of fallible men. On the contrary, he maintains that "the author of Holy Writ is God."83 It follows that Holy Writ contains the highest truth, which was revealed by God to the prophets and the apostles. 84 Their authority is paramount because they were the vehicles used by God to deliver his message to mankind. 85 Since God does not err, the objection that the authority may be fallible is dismissed out of hand. Let us assume that God is the author of Holy Writ and that God does not err. If I believe that God is the author of Holy Writ, then I might be more inclined to accept the authority of the Bible, although it does not mean that I understand it any better or can defend it to someone who doubts the divine authorship of the text. Even if it is the case that God is the author of Holy Writ, it does not follow that the latter is any less ambiguous or obscure. What God says is still open to interpretation. And it is human beings who are to interpret what God says. It follows that even if Holy Writ is authored by God, it is invariably interpreted by fallible human beings. Aquinas gets around this problem by making the church the final arbiter and the sole interpreter of Holy Writ. However, to make the argument from authority as powerful as Aquinas wishes to make it, he is forced to declare that the church-not just God-is also infallible. 86 In other words, to make the argument succeed, he is willing to elevate the church to the status of God. In an effort to secure the authority of the Catholic Church against all contenders Aquinas launches into a diatribe against Mohammed. In the Summa Contra Gentiles, he accuses him of being a false prophet and a fraud who "se-

The Subjugation of Reason

+

33

duced the people by promises of carnal pleasures" and was therefore obeyed by "brutal men, and desert wanderers, utterly ignorant of all divine teaching."87 Aquinas claims that Mohammed's success is a result of duping his ignorant devotees into spreading his religion by violence. His success was not due to divine inspiration or miracles, but to arms, "which are signs not lacking in robbers and tyrants."88 Aquinas is certain that Mohammed perverted the Old and the New Testaments with fabrications of his own. So, anyone who believes his words believes foolishly. Aquinas is certainly not being diplomatic in a work intended to convert "infidels." It would be much easier to win them over ifhe did not insult them but showed them that there is a close affinity between their faith and his, while pointing out that his faith is superior precisely because it pushes what is best in their faith to new heights. Pope Benedict XVI shares Aquinas's view of Islam; like Aquinas, he believes that only the Catholic faith is compatible with reason. 89 But as we have seen, the only argument in favor of the truth of the Catholic faith is the argument from authority. The Thomist defense of the faith amounts to nothing more than saying that our authorities are better than yours. But are they? Far from being infallible, the church contained very fallible men. Aquinas must have known that the history of the papacy has been a long story of ghoulish intrigue; the pontiffs were mostly scoundrels-and that means that the "science" of theology is based on nothing more than the authority of scoundrels. Indeed, everything Aquinas has to say about Mohammed and his followers has been said about the Catholic Church in the thirteenth century-its brutality, its force of arms, and its lack of divine inspiration are legendary. When it comes to duping ignorant masses, we cannot forget that Christianity could not have triumphed were it not for the receptiveness of the illiterate and superstitious barbarians who flooded into the Roman Empire in its declining years. Even Aquinas was not averse to borrowing Mohammed's stunts, which he did when he declared that God is the author of Holy Writ-a trick that Mohammed always used to enhance the authority of the Qur'an. And when it comes to carnality, even Mohammed could not surpass the carnal excesses of the clergy.9o

Weapon against Modernity Aquinas's relation to the papal throne is a phenomenon. In 1256, Aquinas was appointed professor at the University of Paris by papal decree and against the wishes of the Faculty of Arts. In 1259, he was called to Rome to serve Pope Alexander IV as a papal consultant. Three years later, Pope Urban IV called him to his court at Orvieto to provide the theological basis for the unity of Eastern and Western Christianity.91 The same pope commissioned Aquinas

34

Chapter Two

to compose hymns, which he produced in 1264. Then the new pope, Clement IV, asked him to be a consultant at his court in Viterbo from 1267 to 1269.92 In 1269 Thomas was sent back to Paris in the wake of the furor over the Averroist doctrines of Siger of Brabant, which threatened the church's control over intellectual life. When he died in 1274, Aquinas was heading to Lyons, on yet another papal assignment, for yet another pope. But Aquinas was not just the darling of all the popes in his time. Barely fifty years after his death, in 1323, Pope John XXII canonized Aquinas, declaring that his philosophy was a result of a miraculous intervention. 93 In 1567, he was declared "doctor of the Church." His popularity with those who occupied the papal throne continued to grow ever stronger, reaching its apotheosis in the nineteenth century when Pope Leo XIII launched a Thomist renaissance that continues to this day. In 1879, Leo XIII published his encyclical Aetemi Patris, in which he declared that Aquinas was not merely a doctor of the Catholic Church, as other teachers have been, but the eternal and universal doctor whose philosophy is to be the official philosophy of the Catholic Church. 94 A year later, in accordance with the pope's demands, Aquinas became the patron of all Catholic schools. In Doctoris Angelici, the encyclical of 1914, Pope Pius X demanded that the teachers in Catholic universities, academies, colleges, and seminaries use the Summa Theologica as the basis of their instruction and inspire in their students a special devotion to the "Angelic Doctor."95 In 1918, Pope Benedict XV made the teaching of Thomist philosophy part of the Codex}uris Canonici, so that the teaching of Thomism became part of the church's law. 96 This decision was reaffirmed by Pope Pius XI in 1923. In 1950, Pope Pius XII underscored the importance of Aquinas's philosophy in dealing with the errors of modernity, especially materialism, socialism, and relativism. 97 What is the reason for all this adulation? Why Thomas Aquinas? Why not Augustine, Anselm, Bonaventure? Origen, Erasmus, Pelagius, or Arius would have served the church better, but they were denounced. But that still leaves all the other hallowed fathers-so, why Aquinas? The answer has everything to do with the zeitgeist of modernity. In his encyclical of 1879, Aetemi Patris, Pope Leo XIII explains why the church must turn to Aquinas as the best weapon in dealing with the challenge of modernity. Leo was the first pope to be elected after the Italian revolution, the loss of the Papal States, and the establishment of the Italian state in 1870. In other words, he was the first pope since the middle of the eighth century who was not also a temporal ruler. Like popes before and after him, he blamed modernity for the loss of papal power and prestige. But unlike his predecessors, he eschewed the hostile, public denunciations of modernity and decided to take a different and apparently more conciliatory approach. 98

The Subjugation of Reason

~

35

In an obscene display of shameless arrogance and self-congratulation, Leo echoed Aquinas's conviction that the Catholic Church is the sole proprietor of an eternal and infallible truth on which the salvation of the whole human race depends. He declared that the duty of the church is "to teach the true religion and wage ceaseless war with error."99 He stated that the church must ensure that all "evil teaching" is rooted out and that the "darkness of error" is removed from the minds of men. 100 Most important of all, he announced that philosophy is the instrument that the church intends to wield in her effort to disseminate the truth and dispel error. Armed with this powerful weapon, Leo is certain that "Sacred Theology" can now assume the "character of a true science." Leo praises Aquinas for the brilliance with which he snatched the "weapons of the enemy" and hurled them back.l° l The angelic doctor is extolled as a "warrior" of the Catholic faith who has confounded error, exposed heresies, and liberated the world from "uncleanness and contagion."102 Leo describes how Aquinas managed to capture the weapon of the enemy and how he delivered to the church this powerful weapon with which she intends to destroy her enemies. Moreover, Aquinas has done it all with his wisdom, which flows like a copious spring. Leo understands exactly what Aquinas has accomplished. He convinced reason that the truth surpasses her natural understanding; accordingly, reason has agreed to receive the truth "in the fullness and humility of Faith" and reckons this to be her "greatest honor."I03 Thanks to the angelic doctor, philosophy can become the servant of the faith and may no longer pose a threat. Nothing has changed. Thanks to Aquinas, the Catholic Church imagines herself to be the custodian not only of faith, but of reason. Anyone who disagrees with the church is not only contravening the faith but is also being irrational. The current pope continues to display the same arrogance in relation to all other religions, including Protestantism. l04

The Antimodernist Oath The subtlety of Leo XIII was not matched by his successors. Pius X continued to use Aquinas as a weapon against modernity. But instead of recommending, beseeching, and admonishing, Pius resorted to the coercive methods of papal convention. In his encyclical Doctoris Angelici of 1914 Pius threatened that any institution that dissents from "this Our Order" would not be given the power to grant degrees and added that "nothing shall be suffered to gainsay" this command. l05 Pius was as good as his word. He reinstated the Inquisition and renamed it the Holy Office. He condemned

36

+

Chapter Two

sixty-five propositions in an effort to combat the heresy of "modernism." Priests, teachers, and college professors were required to take the "antimodernist oath." Pius established a network of secret spies and informers called Committees of Vigilance in every diocese to report on any advocates of modernism. Censorship boards were set up to oversee the literary output of every diocese. These papal legates and informers had the power to excommunicate Catholic authors, silence Catholic scholars, defrock devout priests, and ruin the careers of teachers at Catholic colleges and seminaries. Like the inquisitors of old, these "apostolic visitors" had free-ranging power to destroy anyone they disliked based merely on hearsay evidence. 106 Jacques Maritain's claim that no coercion was involved is belied by the facts. Anthony Kenny, a distinguished Catholic scholar, described his experience studying at a seminary in Rome during those years: As a student in a seminary in Rome, I grew accustomed to the fact that a large number of books on the library shelves bore red blobs: they were books on the index of forbidden literature, not to be read without special permission from the Holy Office. As a condition of taking any degree at the Gregorian University where I studied, one had to take an oath, the anti-modernist oath which obliged one to reject any modern theories; it went far beyond subscription to any Christian creed or church council. For my junior degrees, I took the oath with mounting qualms; when I had completed my doctoral examinations in theology, however, and been awarded my grades, I decided that I could no longer take it, and consequently was never allowed to proceed to the degree. I07 The Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) made an effort to reform the church, but with some minor exceptions, its resolutions have been ignored or snubbed. lOB Pope John Paul II and his grand inquisitor Joseph Ratzinger (now Pope Benedict XVI) have renamed the Holy Office as the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith and have revived the antimodernist oath in a new guise. The popularity of Aquinas with the popes from the thirteenth century to the present day has its source in the conviction that his rationalist approach is the best weapon against modernity. But how rational is his approach?

The Appeal of Fideism It is my contention that Aquinas was not the rationalist that he is reputed to be. On careful examination, Aquinas's view of faith turns out to be a version of fide ism-a fide ism without fear and trembling. The fideist approach to faith is a long and venerable tradition within Christianity. It consists of a repudiation of reason in matters of faith. In modern times it has been associated

The Subjugation of Reason

~

37

with the existential philosophy ofS0ren Kierkegaard (1813-1855), according to whom reason is impotent to guide human choice. There is no doubt that Kierkegaard has been the most dramatic exponent of the fideist view. But fide ism is not a newfangled form of religious existentialism. It has long been part of the Christian tradition. Tertullian (160-230) gave fide ism its supreme expression when he declared that faith is belief in what is impossible or absurd-and that is what makes it an achievement. The fideist position champions faith against all odds; it champions beliefs that are clearly at odds with reason. The fideist holds the irrationality of faith to be its crowning glory. The more irrational the belief, the more heroic is the act of faith. In short, fide ism champions irrationality where religion is concerned. The appeal of fideism in the Christian tradition is connected to the fantastic nature of the doctrinal claims made by Christianity: virgin birth, incarnation, resurrection, transubstantiation, damnation, and the like. The God of Christianity is a strange God-three gods in one, human and divine at the same time, loving and terrible simultaneously. None of these articles of faith are rationally demonstrable. This is why reason is a threat to the faith. It is therefore not surprising that Christian theologians from Tertullian to Augustine, Luther, Bunyan, and Pascal have repudiated reason. Augustine regarded reason as having been incapacitated by the Fall. Martin Luther denounced reason as a whore. John Bunyan repudiated his own rational objections to the articles of faith as the voice of the devil within. I09 Christianity insists on certain beliefs as necessary components of virtue. It is not satisfied with adherence to divine laws and commands; virtue requires faith.llo When choosing between a sinless heretic and a wicked Catholic, Augustine hesitated. A reasonable person would prefer a sinless heretic to the Godfather, Tony Soprano, Cesare Borgia, or any other mafioso who happens to be Catholic. The Christian conception of virtue explains Augustine's hesitation. Aquinas does not even hesitate-he chooses the wicked Catholic. The reason is that the concept of a sinless heretic is incoherent within the Christian scheme of things. Aquinas draws the logical inference when he says that "unbelief is the greatest of sins" because it leads to the "perversion of morals."lll So, the idea that a sinless heretic is an oxymoron involves a condemnation of all unbelievers. It assumes that unbelievers cannot be righteous. As Aquinas says, there is "neither true chastity nor any other virtue among unbelievers."lll The rationale Aquinas gives for this doctrinaire position is that virtue is not simply about the act but must be directed to the proper end, which is belief in, and desire for, the only true God, the God of Christianity. One can object that there is no reason for thinking that virtue must be directed toward any end

38

'"*"

Chapter Two

other than itself. Virtue can be understood as its own reward. It need not be directed to a reward in heaven. That is not the Christian view. The Gospels set the tone when Jesus declared, "If ye believe not that I am he, ye shall die in your sins" (John 8:24) and "Everyone which seeth the Son, and believeth on him, may have everlasting life: and I will raise him up at the last day" (John 6:40). If you do not believe that Jesus is the son of God or that he is the messiah sent by God to redeem the world, then all your righteousness and your good works are null and void. As Jesus said in the Gospels, "he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten son of God" (John 3:18). Paul echoed Jesus when he declared that "faith is counted as righteousness" (Rom. 4:5). The Christian emphasis on faith, coupled with the fantastic doctrinal claims made by Christianity, accounts for the appeal of fide ism and its separation of faith and reason. The fideist position is attractive because it dispenses with the need to show that any of the articles of faith are reasonable. It suffices that we believe them in the face of all evidence to the contrary. The more unbelievable they are, the more heroic and meritorious is faith. It may be objected that it is unrealistic to expect people to believe what they know to be impossible and therefore false, because there is an intimate connection between believing something and thinking that it is true or is very likely to be true. ll3 The fideist position is not about believing what one knows to be false. It is intended to cast doubt on reason as a genuine source of knowledge. The story of Abraham is an excellent illustration of the fideist perspective. Imagine making plans to kill your one and only beloved son for no reason at all. This is exactly what Abraham did. Supposedly, God told him to do it, and he was simply obeying orders. How did Abraham know that it was God who spoke to him? Reason could not have guided him to that conclusion. If God is good, then he could not desire or command what is evil; therefore, the command to kill Isaac could not have come from God. From a rational perspective, it could be argued that Abraham should not have been so docile and obedient. He should have challenged God, the way Moses often did. And if God was not willing to argue, Abraham should have ignored the voice as having an evil source. That's what a rational person would do, but that is not what Abraham did. Instead, he put all his faith in God and submitted to God's will regardless of the consequences. And that is precisely why he has become a towering hero in all three monotheistic faiths. In his dramatization of Abraham's plight, Kierkegaard depicts Abraham with more angst than the Bible reveals. Kierkegaard thought that Abraham

The Subjugation of Reason

"*"

39

must have taken a leap of faith in which he had to decide all by himself and without any guidelines whatsoever (let alone rational ones) that this was indeed the voice of God and not the voice of the devil. But if Abraham was wrong, then he alone was to blame. And whatever he did as a result of this leap of faith was entirely his responsibility.114 Therein lies the existential angst of man in a world without landmarks or signposts, without reason as a guide. It might seem surprising to say that, far from reconciling faith and reason, Aquinas adopts a version of fideism. The severe limits of Aquinas's rationalism are best illustrated in his response to the fideist objection in the Summa Theologica. Aquinas expresses the fideist objection as follows: It would seem that reasons in support of what we believe lessen the merit of faith .... [Alny kind of human reasoning in support of matters of faith, diminishes the merit of believing.l15

The fideist objection seems to strike at the heart of Aquinas's project. One would expect Aquinas to reject these claims about the nature of faith tout court. Instead, Aquinas agrees with the fideist that if human reason leads to faith, then it does indeed diminish the merit of faith because faith is about the willingness to believe "not on account of human reason, but on account of the Divine authority." Aquinas shares the fideist contempt for the man who has "no will to believe what is of faith, unless he be induced by reasons."116 Indeed, Aquinas asserts that the more opposition there is to faith, whether that opposition comes from persecution or from the rational objections of philosophy, the more meritorious is the faith. Unlike the fideist, however, Aquinas is not ready to give up on reason altogether. He claims that if we believe first, then use reason to defend what we already believe, that is very meritorious indeed: When a man's will is ready to believe he loves the truth he believes, he thinks out and takes to heart whatever reasons he can find in support thereof; and in this way, human reason does not exclude the merit of faith but is a sign of greater merit.1l7

Aquinas was convinced that reason's special talents could be harnessed in defense of the faith. Yet, in order to serve faith, reason can have no autonomous domain; she must be subservient to faith as the fount of truth. Aquinas is as suspicious of reason as any fideist. The only difference is that he is willing to take her on and subjugate and enslave her in the service of the faith.

40

"*"

Chapter Two

In Contra Impugnantes, Aquinas compares the lure of reason and secular wisdom in general with the lure of a seductive woman. Borrowing from Saint Jerome, he tells us just how to deal with her: If you love the captive woman, that is, secular wisdom, and are enthralled by her beauty, shave her head and cut off the lure of her hair and her bejeweled words as well as paring her nails, wash her with the nitrite of prophecy and then rest with her and say, "Her left hand is under my head, and her right hand will embrace me," and the captive woman will give you much offspring and she will become an Israelite instead of a woman of Moab. 118 This is an accurate description of the treatment that reason has received at the hands of Aquinas. He is willing to embrace her as a servant for his faith only after washing her with the nitrite of prophecy and robbing her of all her attractions. It seems to me that Aquinas harbors as much fear and loathing of reason as any fideist.

Is Faith Impervious to Reason? Although I am an unrepentant rationalist, I am not of the opinion that science represents undeniable truth whereas religion is nothing but nonsense, myths, and fictitious tales. There is a sense in which both science and religious faith seek the truth, but neither has a monopoly over it. Each has access to different dimensions of truth. Unlike science, religion seeks a truth that is not dependent on evidence or logical deductions. Religious faith is not about propositions and inferences. It is spiritual not empirical truth. It is poetic and metaphorical, not scientific. So understood, it would not matter at all that the Bible is a book full of fictitious stories that cannot be empirically verified. Whether the story of Adam and Eve is literally true is irrelevant. It makes no difference whether any of the stories in the Bible are literally true. It would not even matter if all the characters named from Abraham to Jesus never existed. What matters is the moral value of the stories. What kind of spiritual message do they convey? How noble is that message? Is it powerful enough to change our behavior? Is it a message that we should live by? Is it a message that elevates the human spirit? Is it a message that inspires us to be brave, kind, and good? Are we willing to live in a world where everyone else lives according to the wisdom enshrined in the stories of our sacred texts? What kind of world would it be if everyone were to live by the message conveyed in these texts? It seems to me that these are the relevant questions when it comes to spiritual truth. These are the questions we need to ask about the stories we read in the Bible.

The Subjugation of Reason

~

41

This is not to say that the Bible cannot be a subject of rational and intelligent debate. Faith is not impervious to reason, as the fideists maintain. We can discourse rationally about matters of faith, and we can reach rational judgments about them. The stories in the Bible must be subjects of moral debate and criticism. Biblical religion cannot simply be respected. It must be scrutinized. In the current conservative climate, there is much talk about respecting religion, and there are many efforts intended to enshrine that respect in law. But what could respecting religion mean? For those who do not respect religion, it means enforced hypocrisy. For others, it means allowing religion to escape all rational scrutiny and debate. That would be fine if religion were merely a collection of harmless nonsense, but that is not the case. More often than not, it is very dangerous nonsense. To allow it to flourish within our society without rational scrutiny is a foolhardy policy. The British have learned that lesson the hard way. At least one of the London bombers ofJuly 7, 2005, attended the mosque of Abu Hamza, the imam who was allowed to incite terror unmolested by the law. A misguided respect for religious faith can be as deadly as it is foolish. In Canada, evangelical churches are allowed to spew their message of hatred with impunity under the guise of religious freedom; they cheered Israelis on as they bombed civilians in Lebanon during the summer war of 2006. All this is not to say that religious people should not be respected. Of course they should-unless they incite the killing of innocent people, the bombing of government buildings, or the murder of gynecologists. In my view, the Bible needs to be subjugated to the sort of critical analysis to which Plato subjected the stories of Homer in book 3 of the Republic. What is the moral embedded in the stories? When Helen leaves her husband and runs off with Paris, causing the Peloponnesian wars, we are told that Aphrodite got hold of her head. When Hercules goes on a rampage and kills family members, the storyteller blames the gods for driving him mad. Plato surmised that these stories are not just lies in the ordinary sense of being fables, which are not literally true; they are lies in a much deeper sense. They promote the worst lie of all, the lie in the soul, which is self-deception. The stories perpetuate the illusion that we are not responsible for our actions. This is one reason that Plato rejected the Homeric tales and wished to censor them. I am not suggesting that Plato's criticism of Homer was valid or that he was right to censor Homer. I am merely suggesting that the rational scrutiny with which Plato approached Homer is the way we should approach our "sacred" texts. For example, we should debate the character of Abraham. Is he worthy of all the esteem and admiration with which he has been regarded in the Jewish,

42

+

Chapter Two

Christian, and Muslim traditions? Is Abraham's blind obedience to God's commands the sort of attribute we wish to develop in ourselves and our children? Should Abraham have made plans to kill his son just because God told him to? Besides, how did he know that he was not just having a bad dream? What if he had killed his son? Who would bear the responsibility for that? Surely, it would not be God. Or would it be? Can God command us to do evil? And are we duty bound to obey? What about Jesus? What did his life mean? How can someone so apparently meek and mild have inspired all the wars, massacres, and atrocities committed in his name? Is he as exemplary a figure as we often assume? What is the significance of his moral teaching?1l9 This is the sort of rational scrutiny to which our biblical heritage needs to be subjected. These are questions that we should be able to ask and rationally dispute without fear of being accused of heresy or being excluded from the community of believers.12o It seems to me that this sort of easygoing banter is integral to self-reflection and self-criticism, which is the main benefit of a spiritual life. The Christian tradition does not thrive on this sort of dialogue. Christianity is not satisfied with the literary approach to religion. It fancies that its sacred texts contain not only spiritual or moral truth but empirical and scientific truth as well. Aquinas was one of the architects of this delusion. In my view, religion does not lend itself to the cold rationalism with which Aquinas tended to approach it. This is clearly illustrated in the great difficulty he had in dealing with the story of Abraham.l2l Aquinas tells us that good is to be done and evil avoided, but he also tells us that God is to be obeyed. In the case of Abraham, these two principles come into conflict. Should Abraham do what is right or obey God? The voluntarist tradition in Christian theology solved the problem by saying that the good was identical to the will of God no matter what that was. It was in God's power to make murder right, as it was in his power to change the laws of gravity. But Aquinas was supposedly a rationalist who thought that God is good and rational by definition. It follows that God commands what is good because it is good and not just because he commands it. For Aquinas, God does not command what is evil. But it seems that he did command what is evil in the case of Abraham. Aquinas "solves" the problem by claiming that whatever God commands is good, even when he appears to command evil-because, despite all appearances, the evil demanded by God cannot be really evil; it is due to our limited intellectual capacity that we perceive it as such. For all practical purposes, Aquinas's view is indistinguishable from the voluntarist definition of the good as whatever God commands. Aquinas is unable to deal with the story of Abraham in a way that is coherent or edifying for two reasons. First, the Christian relationship with God

The Subjugation of Reason

+

43

is not the give-and-take relationship characteristic of the Judaic tradition where God is often reprimanded for his iniquities. The Christian relationship with God is one of total subservience to an infallible, irreproachable, and inscrutable God. Second, Aquinas's approach to the rationality of faith is far more ambitious than the literary approach I am espousing; the latter focuses on practical truths and not speculative ones. Aquinas is eager to show that the truth of faith is not just practical but also speculative. In other words, faith does not simply provide insights into good conduct and the good life but truth about the nature of reality. This is the sort of spiritual greed that leads to his failure-and perhaps to the failure of Christianity in general. In the final analysis, Aquinas's celebrated reconciliation of faith and reason is more ruse than reality. The price of this vaunted reconciliation has been the subjugation of reason and her abasement, not to the ends of the faith, but to the dubious authority of the Catholic Church and her ecclesiastical hierarchy. In so doing, Aquinas not only deprives reason of her independence, he also robs religion of its romance, its literary ambiguity, its charm, and its generosity of spirit. In the next chapter, I will show how Aquinas's subjugation of reason to faith sets the stage for his disastrous politics of salvation, which undermines one more element of the natura11aw.

CHAPTER

THREE

The Politics of Salvation

Christianity has provided Western civilization with two antithetical approaches to politics; one is active, while the other is passive. The passive view washes its hands of politics, grants the state total sovereignty, and insists that Christianity requires dutiful submission to the authority of the state and the secular powers, no matter how vile they may be. This version of Christianity is faithful to the apocalyptic spirit of the New Testament and is totally otherworldly. It expects the world to come to an end very soon, so it bids Christians bide their time and wait for their deliverance, since the kingdom of God is at hand. If perchance Christians find themselves in positions of power, they are not to use that power to change the world, or make incremental improvements, or even soften the harsh edges of a heartless world. Instead, they must accept the ways of the world as necessary to curb the evils of our fallen humanity. This sort of Christianity can offer no guidance to the world of politics. It offers absolutely nothing to a world that is not on the brink of annihilation. But as I have argued elsewhere, this view is not as benign as it appears.! As soon as Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire, it abandoned passivity in favor of militancy. Armed with the truth and representing God, Christian emperors were egged on by the church to persecute pagans and heretical Christians. Aggressive war became a legitimate means by which to crush the wicked and humble the proud. It is against this background of nihilism on the one hand and militancy on the other that Thomas Aquinas is embraced as a model of Christian sobriety.

45

46

+

Chapter Three

Aquinas supposedly eschews the nihilistic gloom of the Augustinians and presents us with a political vision that is moderate and attainable. He appears to offer a politics in which a tame Christianity lends support to civil life by promoting virtue, peace, and justice. His politics is reputed to work with the world and not against it; it is meant to create a community that is ready and fit for the grace and salvation of God, if and when he sees fit to bestow it. I will show that, contrary to received opinion, Aquinas abandons the moderate doctrine of natural law in favor of papal supremacy, the politics of salvation, and the fanaticism of faith. Aquinas is universally recognized as the quintessential exponent of the doctrine of the two swords, which is generally attributed to Pope Gelasius I (492--496). Pope Benedict XVI likes to blur the distinction between this doctrine and the modern separation of church and state, in an effort to prove that Christianity is the foundation of Western modernity.2 But the doctrine of the two swords, as understood by Gelasius and Aquinas, explicitly rejects the separation of church and state and insists on the subordination of the state to the church.

Papal Supremacy and the Two Swords In De regno, ad regem Cypri, Aquinas addresses the king of Cyprus in a work that belongs to the genre of the mirror of princes. The point of the book is to inspire the king to be the devoted servant of God) Aquinas tells the monarch that God grants power to kings so that they can be his "executors and ministers."4 The thesis of the work is that a good and virtuous king is one who executes the divine will as interpreted by God's earthly representatives and that God will handsomely reward a king who submits to the divine government wielded by the pope and his priests and will punish a king who does not. 5 The fact that Aquinas addressed this work to the king of Cyprus and not any other king in Christendom is significant. All Crusades into the Holy Land started in Cyprus. More than any other king, the king of Cyprus was critical to the continuation of the crusading spirit. Thomist scholars regard the book as a lament over the decline of the crusading spirit in favor of concern with trade and wealth. And they consider it a significant contribution to the "great and urgent cause of Christendom" (Le., the Crusades against the Jews and Muslims in the Holy Land).6 The work begins with a justification of monarchy as the best form of government-a monarchy limited only by the equally dominant power of the pope. Aquinas makes use of the Aristotelian typology of government, but he does not arrive at the same conclusions. Like Aristotle, he identifies three forms of government: rule of one, rule of the few, and rule of the many.7 He

The Politics of Salvation

47

agrees that each of these three forms of government has its healthy and its perverted manifestations. The healthy versions are monarchy, aristocracy, and polity (a mixed regime containing elements of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy). The perverted versions are tyranny, oligarchy, and democracy (understood as mob rule). Aristotle was not partial to monarchy, since it is highly unlikely that a single individual would be so preeminent that he deserves to rule over all others. Aristocracy, or the rule of the best, was for Aristotle the ideal regimein theory. In reality, aristocracy was inclined to be the rule of the rich and its concomitant exploitation of the poor. Since he dismisses democracy as mob rule, Aristotle concludes that the best attainable form of government was a polity, where the different elements would moderate the abuses to which each form was liable. 8 In contrast to Aristotle, Aquinas thought that monarchy was the best regime in theory as well as in practice. Some commentators believe that, despite appearances, Aquinas does not depart from Aristotle's view of the mixed regime. Aquinas gives that impression by saying that he prefers a monarchy in which "one is given the power to preside over all; while under him are others having governing powers," and in which those who govern are chosen from among the people or by the people. 9 The fact that ministers are chosen for their virtue (an aristocratic element) from among the people or by the people (a democratic element) does not mean that the monarchical element is limited in any way. The monarchical element dominates because those who participate in government (even if they are chosen by the people or from among the people) are not representatives of the people but are subordinate to the king and owe him obedience. So understood, the aristocratic and democratic elements could not moderate each other's abuses, let alone the abuses of the monarch. The fact is that Aquinas believed monarchy is natural, and "whatever is in accord with nature is best, for in all things nature does what is best," and "every natural governance is governance by one."IO To support this claim, Aquinas gives a multiplicity of questionable examples. In man, the soul rules over the body; in the body, the heart is the single moving principle; in the soul, reason rules over the irascible and concupiscible parts; among bees there is only one king bee (! };11 and in the universe there is only one God. All these observations lead Aquinas to surmise that the rule of one is better than the rule of many and is more conducive to the welfare, preservation, and well-being of the ruled. Aquinas compares the ruler to a pilot. Just as the pilot must "preserve his ship in the midst of the perils of the sea" and "bring it unharmed to the port

48

"*"

Chapter Three

of safety," the ruler must attend to the welfare, safety, and preservation of the multitude. Aquinas declares that the rule of one is most conducive to peace, which is to government what health is to medicine. 12 So, it is not even legitimate for him [Le., a ruler] to deliberate whether he will establish peace in the multitude subject to him, just as a physician does not deliberate whether he shall heal the sick man encharged to him, for no one should deliberate about an end which he is obliged to seek, but only about the means to attain that end. 13

It is important to emphasize what may seem like self-evident and mundane elements in Aquinas's political philosophy-peace, safety, welfare, and preservation-so we can recognize the extent to which he betrays the very principles that he insists upon vehemently. The idea that monarchy is most conducive to the attainment of the ends of government is a highly questionable assumption, especially when the ruler is cruel, unreasonable, and unjust. Aquinas realizes that monarchy was inclined to deteriorate into tyranny. And even though he acknowledges that the evils of democracy may be more tolerable than those of tyranny, the rule of the many seems too chaotic, disorderly, and antithetical to nature to be worthy of his serious consideration.l 4 As to aristocracy, he claims that it was even more prone to tyranny than monarchy-the collapse of the Roman republic into tyranny being a classic case. IS It is important to note that this historical chronology proves nothing, since the opposite chronology can also be observed. Early in their history, the Romans ousted their tyrannical kings in favor of republican government-and only then did they achieve grearness. When it comes to dealing with tyranny, Aquinas has absolutely no recommendations, and his politics on this matter are as gloomy as Augustine's. He tells us to put up with tyranny because in acting against the tyrant we are likely to be embroiled in "perils more grievous than the tyranny itself."16 For it may happen that those who act against the tyrant are unable to prevail and the "tyrant will rage the more."17 If perchance they succeed, they may turn out to be tyrants themselves-and every tyrant is likely to be worse than the one before. Aquinas tells the story of an old woman in Syracuse during the tyranny of Dionysus. When everyone in Syracuse was hoping for the death of the tyrant, she was praying that he outlive her. When the tyrant heard this, he asked her why she loved him so. She explained that when she was a little girl, she wished for the death of the tyrant. But when he was murdered, he was succeeded by one who was more vicious. Then she wished that the dominion of this second tyrant would come to and end, and when it did, the

The Politics of Salvation

+

49

third tyrant turned out to be even harsher-and "That was you," she said. "So, 1 am praying for you to survive because 1 don't think that 1 can withstand a tyranny that is any harsher." With this tale, Aquinas descends into a pessimistic gloom from which it is almost impossible to recover.18 Aquinas rejects tyrannicide as incompatible with the apostolic teaching, which bids us submit to tyrants, since "it is by divine permission that wicked men receive power to rule as a punishment for sin."19 The biblical God backs him up: "I will give you a king in my wrath" (Hosea 13:11). Aquinas admits that God sometimes decides to deliver us from tyrants by way of a successful tyrannicide (as in Judg. 3: 14ff); and at other times, God makes a cruel king suddenly virtuous, as he did with Nabuchodonosor, the king of Babylon. To get that kind of help from God, Aquinas tells us that the people would have to refrain from sin. 2o Good luck. Aquinas skates recklessly over the rather important distinction between a king's virtue and his obedience to God. Even if we accept Aquinas's outlandish assumption that the church is the truest, most righteous, and most faithful representative of God, it is still important to distinguish between a king's virtue and his obedience to God, since as Aquinas admits, God might require the king to inflict all sorts of horrors on his people to punish their sins and satisfy his vengeance,21 To make the virtue or excellence of a king identical to his obedience to God is perilous. But Aquinas is oblivious to the danger involved. The real problem for Aquinas is to persuade the king to focus on the goal of political order, which is salvation or "the proper end of man." This leads Aquinas to compare the state to a ship whose destination is "the harbor of eternal salvation."22 But since the task of leading men to their final end "does not pertain to human but to divine government," what is needed is a "royal priesthood" at the helm to guide the ship of state to its harbor,23 Thomas continues the ship analogy by saying that "the captain, whose business is to regulate navigation," must tell the shipbuilder what kind of ship would be suitable for the journey, just as the ruler tells the blacksmith what kinds of arms would be suitable for his next campaign. Naturally, the captain is the chief priest, who is the successor of St. Peter, the Vicar of Christ, the Roman Pontiff. To him all the kings of the Christian People are to be subject as to our Lord Jesus Christ Himself.24

This pompous and inflated claim has been integral to the history of the Western popes since Pope Gelasius.

50

Chapter Three

After the collapse of the Roman Empire in the West, the Western popes aspired to fill the power vacuum. They had no intention of being ruled by the emperors of the Eastern or Byzantine Empire, whom they regarded as heretics or monophysites (i.e., those who thought that Jesus was God incarnate and denied his humanity). To avoid subjection to Byzantine emperors, Pope Gelasius invented a political philosophy known as the "doctrine of the two swords." There is a common misconception that the doctrine advocates the separation of church and state. Pope Benedict XVI promotes this misconception to dupe people into believing that the modern separation of church and state is a Catholic invention.2s Nothing could be further from the truth. Gelasius and Aquinas make no bones about the fact that the doctrine of the two swords is a demand for papal supremacy. When Gelasius was elected pope in 492, he did not seek confirmation from the emperor, as his predecessors had done. Instead, he told the emperor in a letter exactly what their relationship was to be: There are, most August Emperor, two powers by which this world is chiefly ruled: the sacred authority of bishops and the royal power. Of these, the priestly power is much more important, because it must render account for the kings of men themselves before the judgment seat of God .... You must submit yourself in faith to those who have charge of divine things .... [I]t behooves you to be obedient to ecclesiastical authority,26

Gelasius makes it clear that the emperor should be subject to him, the bishop of Rome. Gelasius sounds arrogant, but he was modest in comparison to his successors. By the middle of the eighth century, with the help of the Frankish kings, the Western popes managed to carve out a large swath of the Italian peninsula (from the heart of the peninsula running north along the Adriatic almost to Venice) to create the Papal States. Despite the grumbling of the Eastern emperors, the Roman pontiff became absolute monarch, uncontested temporal ruler, and commander in chief of the Papal States. The acquisition of temporal power brought what some historians describe as "fresh horrors."27 With only very brief interruptions, this temporal power lasted until 1870, when the Italian nationalists liberated Italy from papal tyranny. In this way, the distinction between temporal and spiritual power (which is supposed to be distinctive of the West) was totally blurred. Moreover, the acquisition of absolute monarchy served only to inspire the popes with even greater lust for power. Gregory VII (1073-1085) and Innocent III (1198-1216) claimed to be supreme, not only over the Papal States and the Byzantine emperor, but also over all the temporal rulers of Western Europe-over "Christendom," any land where Christians happened to dwell.

The Politics of Salvation

~

51

Aquinas echoes the more radical claims of Gregory and Innocent. Aquinas was sensitive to the novelty involved in this doctrine and found it necessary to provide some justification. He acknowledges that in pagan times as well as in the Old Testament, the priests were subject to the kings and not the other way around. He explains that the worship of pagan gods as well as the worship of the God of the Old Testament by the Jews "existed merely for the acquisition of temporal goods," and that is why the pagan priests and the prophets of the Old Testament were subject to the kings.2s But "in the new law there is a higher priesthood by which men are guided to heavenly goods."29 The new law reverses the traditional order. Now, the life that men live here on earth is ordained to eternal beatitude. This is why the new law of Christ requires that "kings must be subject to priests."3o The lower end must be subordinated to the higher end, and those who minister to the lower end must be subject to those who minister to the higher end. For Aquinas, as for Gelasius, the two swords represent the two domains of life, the sacred and the secular. While the former ministers to the spiritual needs of man, the latter ministers to man's material needs. But there is no question about which one has dominion. F. C. Copleston rightly observes that Aquinas "could not say that the state cares for man's natural end and the church for man's supernatural end, since he believed that man has in fact only one final end and that this is a supernatural end."3! Copleston adds that it is not easy for Aquinas to state the exact relation between church and state because the close alliance between them reflects the close alliance of body and soul.3 2 This leads Copies ton to conclude that the relation between church and state is as complicated as the relationship between body and soul. Contrary to Copleston, Aquinas does not think that the relationship of body and soul is complicated at all. It is a relationship of inferior and superior, a relationship of subordination and mastery. Just as the soul should rule over the body, so the church should rule over the state. Aquinas is not advocating two independent domains, each with its own jurisdiction. His political doctrine is more accurately described as the doctrine of the one and only sword-a sword that is brandished by the state at the behest of the church or her highest priest or pontiff. Thomists continually deny that Aquinas was an advocate of papal supremacy; they prefer to think of him as a precursor of representative institutions and a proponent of limited government. They reject what Aquinas says clearly and insists on vehemently, because it does not fit their idealized picture of him. For example, Paul E. Sigmund writes that "a belief that faith and reason were both valid and divinely legitimated sources of human knowledge meant that neither should be considered as dominating the other."33 But he admits that "revelation acts as a kind of negative check on reason although,

52

~

Chapter Three

unless the pope is the sole interpreter of the divine law, this does not in itself argue for papal supremacy over the temporal order."34 As we saw in chapter two, the pope is indeed the final arbiter of what constitutes the truth of revelation. Sigmund is nevertheless more discerning than most, for he admits that Aquinas sometimes leans toward papal supremacy. On the other hand, when Aquinas says that the civil ruler is subject to the spiritual ruler only in spiritual matters, Sigmund accuses him of waffling)5 In fact, it is Sigmund who waffles; Aquinas's position is consistent, as I will explain. There is absolutely no conflict between papal supremacy and the claim that the civil ruler is subject to the spiritual authority only ih spiritual matters, because spiritual matters are so far-reaching that there are no limits to what they may require. They include crusading wars, privately held beliefs, interpretations of Scripture, attitudes toward the pope, and even sexual conduct between married couples. The power Aquinas demands for the church is so extensive that it surpasses all secular tyrannies. Some have argued that Aquinas was eager to limit the power of the monarch. 36 Lord Acton went so far as to call Aquinas "the first Whig." But it is laughable to suggest that by using the pope to limit the power of the monarch, Aquinas was a precursor of the Lockean idea of limited government. To live under a government that is subject to an authority that is unlimited in its scope and prone to irrationality and superstition is the antithesis of living under limited government. To be limited in any meaningful sense, a government must be limited by laws that are duly promulgated. To be subject to a power that trumps natural justice, a power that is absolute, mysterious, and inscrutable, is antithetical to the rule of law. To be subject to a power that reigns over thought, speech, beliefs, attitudes, and dispositions is to be subject to the terrors of totalitarian rule. For totalitarianism is the invention, not of modernity, but of the Catholic Church. The resurgence of totalitarianism in the modem world was a short-lived failure. Totalitarianism thrives best under priestly rule, fear of a vengeful God, and a multitude made gullible by ignorance. But Aquinas was blind to the nightmarish reality of a world in which the church had supreme power. Unlike a garden-variety tyrant, the Catholic Church was not satisfied with external conformity of conduct; she demanded to rule over the minds and hearts of her subjects. She demanded the killing of heretics, the persecution of heathens, and the segregation of Jews-all in the name of the defense of the faith, which was her spiritual domain. But these demands leave the state with no meaningful jurisdiction of its own. These demands make it impossible for the state to maintain peace and order, which are its minimal goals.

The Politics of Salvation

53

I am not arguing that Aquinas falls short because he is not a liberal. There is no reason for a thirteenth-century friar to be a liberal. I am objecting to the fact that he was not conservative enough to recognize the value of peace and order for civil life. I am objecting to the fact that he was so radical as to allow the church to trump natural as well as positive law in pursuit of the chimerical goal of human salvation. That is why he praised the Christian emperor Valerius Maximus for understanding that "everything should yield precedence to religion."3? What then is left for the secular domain? Why should everything yield precedence to religion, especially when the religion in question regards the world with such callous indifference and contempt? Why should those who see the world as a place from which we can only hope to be delivered be in charge of its happiness and well-being? How can those who have such a profound contempt for the world, and even for humanity, be entrusted with the preservation and well-being of life in this world? Those who share the contemptu mundi of Innocent Ill, those who share the Christian predilection for gloom, those who brazenly declare that life in this world is a vale of tears, and those who despise humanity as nothing but "fuel for the eternal fires, food for worms, [and] a mass of rottenness" cannot be trusted with the task of preserving human life and happiness,38 A policy that gives political power to such men is about as reasonable as making the fox the custodian of the safety and welfare of the chicken coop. For this sort of ecclesiast has a vested interest in making the world as miserable as it can be, since the proliferation of misery inspires humanity to cry out for redemption. Misery not only fills ecclesiastical coffers, it also provides tangible proof of the gruesome reality of existence. 39 I do not wish to suggest that all ecclesiastical authority is motivated by malice and inhumanity. Some ecclesiastics are no doubt guided by love and mercy. But in a universe where cosmic justice requires eternal torment without mercy,40 the suffering of human beings in this world is bound to seem infinitesimal if not altogether trifling. Since most of the human race is destined to eternal perdition, clerics may be tempted to make life in this world a prelude to the horror to come; in this way, humanity may be ready for the agonies that God has in store. It would not be surprising if religious authorities, in their mercy, were to surmise that misery in this world is preferable to happiness, since the former, unlike the latter, braces humanity for the dreadful future to which it is destined. In short, it is not clear at all why those in charge of the final end can be trusted to promote the good life here on earth. The fact is that from the moment that it wielded political influence under Constantine, the church has been a menace to peace. Aquinas was so wedded to the quest for otherworldly

54

~

Chapter Three

salvation, that he was oblivious to the disastrous consequences of papal supremacy. Like other utopian visions, the Christian utopia to which Aquinas was committed was a dystopia. Every effort to make it a reality, every effort to actualize it, was bound to turn into a nightmare.

The Pragmatism of Natural Law What Hannah Arendt said of Heidegger cannot be said of Aquinas-namely, that he was a hopelessly na'ive and unworldly philosopher with no political experience. It cannot be said that Aquinas's na'ivete led him to support the supremacy of the church in theory, but he did not know or condone its actual practices. Aquinas was not just defending a fictitious or theoretical version of papal supremacy; as a consultant at the papal court, he was a trusted insider. As an adviser to the powerful, Aquinas was very pragmatic. For example, although he was wedded to papal supremacy, Aquinas did not insist on it when it was unfeasible, that is, when the state was overwhelmingly populated by unbelievers. In these circumstances, Aquinas argued that the best that can be achieved is natural justice, and that we must accept the infidel's right of dominion. In the Summa Theologica, Aquinas tells us that unbelievers may rule justly and in accordance with natural law, and that they have a right to that dominion. But if circumstances change and the majority are Christian, then the church should by all means remove the infidel from power. The infidel's right of dominion or authority can be justly done away with by the sentence or ordination of the church who has the authority of God: since unbelievers in virtue of their un belief deserve to forfeit their power over the faithful. 41 In other words, the church trumps the rightful reign of infidels and should usurp their power, even when they govern according to natural law and justice. The same holds true for Christian emperors who have been excommunicated. Aquinas regards excommunicated kings as apostates who forfeit their dominion. He endorses the claim of Pope Gregory VII that under these circumstances the oath of allegiance owed to kings is null and void by apostolic authority.42 Aquinas admits that stripping infidels and apostates of their power is not always possible, but when the opportunity presents itself, the pope should seize the moment. In October 1268, such an opportunity presented itself. In that year, Pope Clement IV and his supporters orchestrated the beheading of the boy king,

The Politics of Salvation

~

55

Konradin von Hohenstaufen, duke of Swabia, on a scaffold in Naples. 43 Just sixteen years of age, Konradin was the last remaining heir to the Hohenstaufen throne. The conflict between the popes and the Hohenstaufen emperors had been going on for generations. The popes were riled by the insubordination of the Hohenstaufens and determined to destroy them. 44 Even though Konradin's father had entrusted him to the guardianship of the church, the popes pursued Konradin relentlessly. From the Thomistic point of view, the Hohenstaufens were bad monarchs because they were not sufficiently pliant instruments of the popes; therefore, they did not deserve their dominion. The church was therefore entitled to remove them from power if, or when, circumstances permitted. In October 1268, circumstances permitted. De regno is intimately connected to these events. Even though Thomist scholars rarely mention the murder of Konradin, the event makes sense of the vigorous dispute among scholars over the date of De regno.45 The work is assumed to have been written in 1269. If this is correct, then it was written just a year after the political events of 1268 and serves to justify them. Scholars who insist that it was written in 1267 silently imply that it could not have been written to justify the execution of the boy king. But to my mind, the date is not important. Regardless of when it was written, De regno justifies the actions of Pope Clement IV, either before or after the fact. The Hohenstaufen emperors did not fit the portrait of the good and virtuous king as defined by Aquinas. Their insubordination to the "will of God" justifies their punishment and removal from power, when the opportunity presents itself. There is a strong probability that Aquinas may have recommended the execution of the boy king, since, on most accounts, he was a consultant to the papal court in Viterbo at the time. 46 But even if Aquinas was not involved, he must have known about it. So, we must conclude that Aquinas was not just defending papal supremacy in theory but in full view of its criminal malignity. Like mafia bosses, the popes issued their murderous commands while pretending that their hands were "clean." But only the most gullible could be fooled by such tactics. Why was Aquinas so blind to the grisly reality of papal tyranny? The simple but shocking answer is his conviction that nothing bad can come from faith because faith is a gift from God. What follows is an examination of Aquinas's concept of faith, which will reveal why faith, as understood by Aquinas, can only be the source of bigotry, intolerance, and conceit. These vices are destructive of the ends of politics that Aquinas himself endorses, namely, peace, order, and justice.

56

+

Chapter Three

The Bigotry of Faith Aquinas believed that faith is a gift of God's grace that allows the intellect to assent to the authority of God and to believe in the unknown and the unseen. But he insists that no harm can come from faith because nothing bad or false can come from God. 47 That may be true, but the fact is that the surrender of the intellect is a surrender to authority-not just the authority of the prophets, the apostles, or Holy Writ, but the authority of the church. After all, in the thirteenth century, the bulk of the faithful could not read the Bible, since it was available only in a language that was known to the church and her clergy. Aquinas makes a valiant effort to distinguish between faith and opinionafter all, they both involve assent to the unknown. He argues that opinion is filled with doubt and fear, but faith is free of doubt or fear. Apparently, "demons believe and tremble," but they cannot be said to have faith.48 Demons have an opinion about God; they think he is both powerful and vengeful, and they tremble because they suspect a dreadful fate awaits them. They are also filled with doubt. One would think that an opinion that is tempered by doubt about eternal torment would dampen the fear involved. This does not seem to be the case. The demons tremble despite their doubt and uncertainty. In contrast to opinion, Aquinas tells us, faith is characterized by a fearless certainty.49 This accounts for the pleasure that faith gives to believers.50 Supposedly, the certainty of the faithful comes from their conviction that they are on the side of God, and like God, they are in possession of infallible truth. Their fearlessness comes from their belief that God will care for them and harm their enemies. Jesus promises the elect that God will destroy their enemies: "And shall not God avenge his own elect? ... I tell you that he will avenge them speedily" (Luke 18:7-8). The trouble with the Thomistic conception of faith is that it is not satisfied with the enjoyment of its own smug and fearless certainty. It is determined to define those who do not share the faith as evil. When Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father but by me" (John 14:6), he gave expression to the classic Christian doctrine that there is only one route to God, only one right way to love and worship him, only one manifestation of righteousness, only one set of correct beliefs, and only one faith that pleases God; all others are errors, abominations, and unrighteousness. It should not surprise us, then, when Aquinas tells us that there is only one true faith and many species of unbelief because there are so many errors and so many unbelievers)! Moreover, it should not surprise us to find Aquinas referring to "unbelievers" as the "unjust."52 After all, Jesus iden-

The Politics of Salvation

57

tified righteousness with believing in him and wickedness with not believing in him: "For if ye believe not that I am he, ye shall die in your sins" (John 8:24). Since Aquinas surmises that "unbelief is the greatest of sins,"53 not to believe what Christians believe is wickedness. Far from being a virtue, faith as understood by Aquinas was, and still is, a vice. Aquinas's account of faith is the clue to the psychic infirmity of the grand inquisitor, the sort of person whose conscience is untroubled and his sleep undisturbed despite the unspeakable horrors he inflicts on innocent human beings. The same psychology belongs to Islamic terrorists, Dominican inquisitors, and Christian crusaders in the twelfth as well as the twenty-first century. They are all intoxicated by that fearless certainty and self-righteous infallibility that Aquinas attributed to faith. Those in possession of a single, absolute truth are not disposed to compromise, diplomacy, or justice. When political opponents are defined as evil, they are legitimately deprived of all rights-they can be imprisoned indefinitely without charge, denied trial, tortured with impunity, and executed on mere suspicion. All these vices, now as in the thirteenth century, are the manifestations of the politics of faith, which is a menace to peace, order, and justice. I suspect that Christian intolerance is rooted in the fragility of the faith. Far from being characterized by fearless certainty, the faithful are full of doubt and fear--doubt about the extravagant dogmas they must believe to be saved, and fear that they will lose the faith at the slightest provocation. Like the devils, the faithful believe and tremble.

Heathens, Heretics, and Jews Aquinas concedes that not every act of unbelievers is a sin, because "some good of nature remains in them" even though they are "without grace." However, this natural goodness is of little account, since the only "meritorious works" are those that proceed from grace. 54 In other words, the good deeds of unbelievers do not merit any rewards from either God or man. Their natural goodness notwithstanding, unbelievers are destined to bum in Hell to all eternity. That is how God rewards their justice. When temporal power is in Christian hands, it mimics God by attending to the wickedness of unbelief. This exaggerated concept of sin (as unbelief) is coupled with an equally exaggerated concept of harm. Unbelievers "harm" the Christian community and "threaten" its chances of salvation by "contaminating" its faith. Therefore, the mere existence of unbelievers in the community is harmful to the faith. Their beliefs about God are not a private matter; they are a matter of public concern and public safety. As the defender of the faith, the pope is

58

+

Chapter Three

obliged to do something about the threat, if he is in a political position to do so. This bigoted logic trumps natural law and justice in favor of the supremacy of faith. This is the same logic that led the church to denounce the justice and charity of heathens, heretics, and Jews as being simulated and unreaL It is therefore not surprising that unbelievers were in for a very bad time the moment that the church wielded power. Aquinas provides detailed guidelines on how a Christian state is supposed to deal with error. He identifies three types of error and their adherents. He tells us that error increases the further it is from the truth, which is identical with the Christian faith. The hierarchy of errors and its adherents is as follows: • Pagans, heathens, or infidels • Jews • Heretics Heathens are furthest from the truth, heretics are closest to the truth, and Jews are somewhere in between. However, just because heretics are closest to the truth, we should not jump to the conclusion that, morally speaking, heretics are better than pagans. There is an inverse relation between error and wickedness. 55 Ironically, those who are closest to the truth are more wicked than those who are furthest away. The hierarchy of evil is therefore as follows: • Heretics • Jews • Pagans, heathens, or infidels The reason for this is that pagans, heathens, or infidels have never embraced the faith and may not have had the good fortune of being introduced to it. One could say that they are in a condition of blissful ignorance. In contrast, Jews and heretics have been introduced to the truth but have turned their backs on it. This makes them more evil than heathens. Heretics are the most evil of all because they accepted the faith at one time, and have subsequently turned against it: The unbelief of heretics, who confess their belief in the Gospel, and resist that faith by corrupting it, is a more grievous sin than that of the Jews, who have never accepted the Gospel faith. Since, however, they accepted the figure of that faith in the Old Law, which they corrupt by their false interpretations, their unbelief is a more grievous sin than that of the heathens, because the latter have not accepted the Gospel faith in any way at all.5 6

The Politics of Salvation

"*"

59

The whole point of categorizing unbelievers and situating them on a spectrum of error and a spectrum of evil is to set the stage for dealing with them differently. How should a Christian state deal with these different types of unbelievers? Aquinas provides two guiding principles: (1) Since the church is the voice of God on earth, furthering her interests and extending her power is the best way to serve God and promote truth, goodness, and justice. (2) Everything must be done to protect the Christian community from being "contaminated" by the errors and abominations of unbelievers. No one poses a greater risk of contamination than heretics, because they operate within the community itself. But other unbelievers also pose serious risks. Aquinas considers the following questions regarding heathens and Jews. Should unbelievers be tolerated? Should they be allowed to practice their religion and conduct their rites and rituals unmolested? Or should they be compelled to embrace the true faith? Should Christians engage in theological discourse with unbelievers and actively try to convert them by persuasion? Should Christians associate with unbelievers under any circumstances? Should Christians employ Jews or heathens as servants? Should Christians be employed by them or be subject to them in any way? Should Jewish children be abducted and baptized against the will of their parents? With the single exception of the last question, Aquinas's answers to all these questions are intolerant, hostile, and uncharitable. He displays vestiges of forbearance and humanity only when the church lacks the temporal power necessary to oppress and persecute. Aquinas recommends tolerance and persuasion only when political conditions make force and persecution impossible. He is adamant that heathens should not be allowed to practice their religion unmolested. He hesitates a little when it comes to Jews, even though he considers Jews to be more wicked than heathens. Nevertheless, despite the alleged wickedness of the Jews, Aquinas recommends allowing Jews to observe their feasts (most of the time). The reason is that human government must imitate God's divine government of the world: Now although God is all-powerful and supremely good, nevertheless, He allows certain evils to take place in the universe, which He might prevent, lest, without them, greater goods might be forfeited, or greater evils ensue. 57

Following Augustine, Aquinas asserts that if you do away with harlots, the world will be convulsed with lust. Despite the fact that "unbelief is the greatest of sins," and despite the fact that Jews sin in the observance of their rites and feasts, they should nevertheless be tolerated as harlots are tolerated. The

60

~

Chapter Three

analogy of Jews with harlots seems far-fetched. The idea is that although, taken by themselves, prostitution and the observance of Jewish rites are equally evil, they nevertheless have beneficial consequences. As Aquinas explains, since Judaism foreshadows Christianity, "our very enemies bear witness to our faith."58 This is the reason for tolerating their observances-a very vain reason, I might add. However, when it comes to the rites of heathens, Aquinas is totally adamant-even though heathens are not as evil as Jews-that their beliefs and observances are so totally false that they cannot conceivably be "profitable" or "bear witness to our faith." Heathen observances should "by no means be tolerated," except in circumstances where persecuting heathens would be politically unwise, as was the case in the times when "unbelievers were very numerous."59 Indeed, the moment that Christianity began to wield power in the Roman Empire, paganism was mercilessly persecuted. Constantine's Edict of Toleration (313) was followed by the Council of Nicaea (325), which put an end to religious freedom. Aquinas recommends the use of force against unbelievers when or "if it is possible."60 This amounts to saying that when conditions allow us to dominate and persecute other religions, we should take advantage of the power at our disposal to subdue "the forces of evil." When we are outnumbered and powerless, we should insist on natural justice. Aquinas's approach depends on the power relations at hand. The more power and authority the church has over secular governments, and the more numerous Christians are (relative to unbelievers), the more harsh and severe are the methods recommended by Aquinas to deal with error and wickedness. His response is a matter of political pragmatism and calculation, not moral principle. Is it not irrational to force people to believe? After all, coercion may lead people to say that they believe just to avoid persecution, without having faith in their heart. Aquinas entertains this objection, which is backed up by the authority of Augustine, who said that no one can believe who is not willing. However, Augustine changed his mind and decided that compulsion was a useful tactic after all. In response to the objection, Aquinas allies himself with Augustine's later position. Like Augustine, he relies on the authority of the Gospels, where Jesus says, "Go out into the highways and hedges; and compel them to come in" (Luke 14:23). Aquinas follows Augustine's interpretation of this passage as a justification of compulsion where faith is involved. 6t Aquinas realized that coercion can alter external conduct, but it cannot transform the heart. But he recommended it anyway. He hoped that if people are coerced into pretending to be Christians, they will eventually become Christian. It seems to me that this reasoning may work for conduct but not for

The Politics of Salvation

61

faith, especially where the first generation is involved. For example, you can make it illegal to smoke, so that smokers are compelled to give up the habit out of fear of being flogged, burned alive, or imprisoned. In view of the severity of the punishments, most people will be inclined to comply with the law. At first, they will crave their smokes, but in time they will become accustomed to not smoking and will no longer wish to smoke. A small minority will be reluctant to give up smoking. These smokers will be driven underground, and will continue to smoke in secret. Now and again they will be caught and prosecuted. Suppose that after several generations, a new government comes to power that regards the laws against smoking to be outmoded and ridiculous; and smoking is no longer prohibited. The hard core smokers can now smoke openly without consequences. Some members of the new generation of nonsmokers may take up smoking, though many will not. It seems to me that Aquinas treats faith as if it were comparable to smoking. Supposedly, Jews and Muslims who were forced to convert to Christianity on pain of death or exile will not become believers overnight, and the suppression of their "bad habits" will force them underground, so that the next generation may be truly Christian. The idea is analogous to Aquinas's view of how law can habituate people to virtue. Initially, the virtuous conduct will be motivated by fear of punishment, but eventually compliance with the law will come naturally. Unfortunately, this theory does not work well in practice, because faith is not like smoking or any other kind of conduct. For example, when Ferdinand and Isabella triumphed over the Moors in Spain and Christianity gained ascendancy over the Iberian Peninsula, Aquinas's policy was implemented. In 1492 Jews and Muslims, who had lived together in peace for generations, were forced to leave their homes or convert to Christianity. Those who did not wish to abandon their homes converted. They went to church, took communion, and baptized their children. Suspicions about them lingered nevertheless. Are they really Christian in their heart of hearts? Their Christian neighbors suspected that they were not; so they called them Jewish Christians and assumed that they were covertly Jewish. So, they were constantly on the lookout for telltale signs that would prove that their fellow citizens were secretly Jewish. The smallest thing could trigger suspicion, and the Jewish Christians would be accused of Judaizing (i.e., being secretly Jewish) and brought before the Spanish Inquisition with tragic results. What is significant is that these suspicions did not just plague the first converts; they plagued their descendants for generations. The infamous case of Elvira del Campo, who was tried at Toledo in 1567, is one example. Elvira was by all accounts a good Christian woman, but she had a mother with Jewish ancestry who got her in the habit of avoiding pork and changing her

62

+

Chapter Three

underwear on Saturday.62 These habits were considered proof of her covert Judaism. Once Christianity gained ascendancy, Judaizing was a crime punishable by death or life imprisonment. Elvira was with child when she was accused by the Inquisition of heresy. She was asked to confess, but she had no idea what she was guilty of. She was imprisoned for over a year, during which time she was stripped naked and tortured mercilessly; she was hung upside down with cords tightening around her limbs; she was given the "toca," or water torture and left in solitary confinement in a cold, dark dungeon until she lost her mind. No one knows what happened to her child. 63 Like Elvira, all those who were suspected of being Jewish at heart were brought before the Inquisition-tortured, burned alive, or imprisoned for life. These are the evils of enforced conversion. Aquinas realized that coercion does not work where faith is involved, but he recommended it because he did not much care whether those who are compelled are really converted. What mattered to him was that they are prevented from contaminating or "hindering the faith" by their "blasphemies, or by their evil persuasions."64 Fear of contamination also led Aquinas to warn against any friendship or close association with unbelievers. He advised against communicating with them or being on familiar terms with them unless it was absolutely necessary.65 Ordinary folk should under no circumstances have any close relations with unbelievers. Nor should they try to persuade unbelievers to adopt the faith; only those who have special training should attempt anything of the sort. For ordinary folk, any association with unbelievers is dangerous. Aquinas claimed that the most dangerous situations are those in which unbelievers may have authority over the faithful, as when the faithful are the employees or slaves of heathens or Jews. For a Christian to be in any way subservient to a heathen or a Jew would "provoke a scandal and endanger the faith" because "subjects are easily influenced by their superiors."66 This is why "the Church forbids unbelievers to acquire dominion over believers or to have authority over them in any capacity whatever."67 However, it is much safer for believers to have Jews and heathens as servants, since the servant is generally under the spell of the master, and not the reverse. But in the rare circumstance when this is not the case and a believer finds his servant or slave a threat to his faith, he should terminate the employment immediately. Aquinas uses Matthew 18:8 as his authority on this matter: "If ... thy foot scandalize thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee."68 Aquinas justified actual church policy and provided justification for centuries of persecution and injustice. As soon as the Catholic Church acquired dominion, she mercilessly persecuted the Jews. The Theodosian Code of 439 and the Justinian Code of 534 prevented Jews from holding civil offices, because that would entail exercising power over Christians. Laws forbade Jews

The Politics of Salvation

"'*"

63

from owning Christian slaves. Mixed marriages were outlawed; conversion to Judaism was defined as apostasy, which was punishable by death. 69 These punitive measures were endorsed again and again, and in some cases enlarged. In the Lateran Councils of 1179 and 1215, Christians were forbidden to work in the homes of Muslims or Jews, to eat with them, to trade with them, or to take care of their children. The penalty for disobedience was excommunication and the attendant confiscation of property. In 122 7, Pope Gregory IX decreed that Muslims and Jews must wear distinctive clothing and must not appear on the streets during Christian festivals. 70 Jews were compelled to live in ghettos, to which they were required to return by nightfall, and they had to wear a yellow hat or a badge of identification when they appeared in public. In 1555, Pope Paul IV restated these repressive measures. Jews could not even hire Christians to light their Sabbath fires. Despite these cruel measures, most of the Jews in Rome remained steadfast in their faith until they were liberated from papal tyranny by the Italian armies in 1870. 71 Aquinas believed that all these laws were necessary to defend the faith from "contamination." He also recommended imposing a heavy burden of taxation on Jews. He justified this by saying that they are notorious usurers 72 who are inclined to avarice; therefore, territorial rulers are justified in taking away their ill-gotten property.73 In other words, Jewish property was illegitimately acquired and so need not be respected. This sentiment was exploited by princes, such as Philip Augustus of France and other rulers, who began staging raids to seize Jewish property to augment their wealth. 74 The same reasoning led Aquinas to justify the law introduced by the church that required the slave of a Jew who became a Christian to receive his freedom "without paying any price."75 It was obvious to any slave with the slightest intelligence that converting to Christianity would be a sure path to freedom if his master was a Jew. In his advice to the Duchess of Brabant, Aquinas suggested that she impose on the Jews heavier legal fines as a penalty for their usury and leave them only enough to survive. He also advised her to force the Jews in her territory to wear distinctive clothing, as suggested by the Fourth Lateran Council (1215).76 In the Papal States, where the popes were the temporal rulers until the liberation of 1870, Jews were prosecuted for not wearing their identification badges well into the nineteenth century.77 Aquinas defended these harsh measures not only as a means of defending the faith from contamination but also because the "Jews are culpable" and therefore "destined to eternal slavery."78 Aquinas revealed his merciful side only in the case of abducting Jewish children and baptizing them against their parents' wishes. Aquinas opposed this practice as unfair, because, once the children were baptized, they were Christians, and the church (rightly, in Thomas's view) prohibited Christians

64

+

Chapter Three

from being subject to the authority of unbelievers. Therefore these newly minted Christian children could not be returned to their parents after baptism. As a result, Jews lost their children. 79 This is the only case in which Aquinas does not resort to Christian arguments to trump natural justice. Instead, he argues that the abduction of Jewish children is "against natural justice" because a child by nature belongs to its parents until it has the use of reason and free will. Until that point, a child is like an animal-a horse or an ox-property that belongs to someone. Abducting that child is akin to theft.80 This argument contradicts his earlier claim that Jewish property is ill-gotten and therefore does not deserve respect. Mercifully, Aquinas thought that the Jews acquired their children by legitimate means, and were therefore entitled to them.

The Success and Failure of the Mosaic Law In his masterful work Aquinas and the Jews, John Y. B. Hood argues that Aquinas displayed a deep ambivalence about the Jews. On the one hand, he thought that they were a holy people with a special relationship to God; on the other hand, he regarded them as dangerous infidels, pariahs, and Christ killers. Hood argues that on the one hand, Aquinas thought that the Mosaic law succeeded in inculcating virtue, but on the other hand, he thought it was a failure that did not improve the Jews at all, so they remained an accursed people destined for damnation. Hood regards Aquinas's contradictory view of the Jews as symptomatic of the incoherence at the heart of his intellectual enterprise. 81 Hood is one of the few scholars to recognize the incoherence of Aquinas's philosophy-an incoherence that is due to the impossibility of reconciling his rational Aristotelian proclivities with his faith. However, the example that Hood uses to illustrate this incoherence is not convincing. Aquinas's position on the Jews is coherent and consistent. The harsh policies Aquinas defends follow from his negative view of them. His positive assessment of the Jews has its source in the honor God bestowed on them and is not a result of their merits. They were chosen to be the people through whom Christ was to be born, sin was to be removed, and the salvation of mankind was to be accomplished. The fact that God chose these uncultured and primitive people is a testimony, not to their virtue or excellence, but to his humility. What makes the Jews evil in the eyes of Aquinas is that they were given a special honor that was granted to no other people, yet they turned their back on God's gift by crucifying his only begotten son. In his discussion of the Old Law in the Summa Theologica, Aquinas provides a narrative that resolves the alleged inconsistencies in his position. 82 After the

The Politics of Salvation

+

65

Fall, man was left by God to his own resources because the natural law of reason sufficed to guide him. s3 When God made his covenant with the people of Israel, they became, as a result of this special privilege, a holy people who worshipped the one and only God, while the rest of humanity turned to idolatry. But the spontaneous worship of the one true God in the age of the patriarchs soon gave way to sin, depravity, and the worship of idols. Since the natural law "was darkened by habitual sinning," it was necessary for God to provide the Jews with clear and unambiguous rules suited to their puerile, wanton, and dissolute condition. The Old Law (Le., the Mosaic law) was suited to the condition of the Jews at the time. It was designed to compel the conformity of external actions with the law, in the hope that this habituation to right action would make the people ready for the higher standard of morality that the new law of grace requires. Unlike the Old Law, the new law requires the inner conformity of the heart. Even though the Old Law was imperfect, it nevertheless disposed men to the new law that was to come through Christ, because it improved them so that they were ready for the higher law promulgated by Jesus. S4 Only the new law can prepare men for the friendship of God. Contrary to the Pauline view, Aquinas did not think that the Old Law was an obstacle to virtue, nor that it was irrational and meant simply to test the obedience of the Israelites, nor that it was purely symbolic of the coming of Christ. Instead, he argued that the Mosaic law is both rational and symbolic (or figurative). After all, the Mosaic law included the moral precepts of the Decalogue, which are specific conclusions or determinations of God derived from the first principle of natural law or reason. The laws against murder, theft, covetousness, and adultery are intended to habituate man to virtue, which is what all good laws are intended to accomplish. Aquinas follows Rabbi Moses Maimonides in suggesting that even the ceremonial aspects of the Mosaic law were rational. These laws were intended to teach the Israelites how to worship God, to remind them of his beneficence, and to curb their strong proclivity for idolatry. For example, circumcision was a physical sign that would make it difficult to forget the special covenant of Abraham and God. Aquinas suspected that it was also God's way of showing his disdain for pagan gods such as Venus and Priapus, who endowed that part of the body with special reverence. Since he believed that circumcision dampens lust, Aquinas thought that it was intended by God to promote sexual restraint. So understood, the practice was eminently rational, but it also prefigured or symbolized the removal of corruption from the world, which was to be accomplished by Christ. S5 As to the plethora of rules and regulations of the Mosaic law, Aquinas thought that they were intended to keep the Jews too busy to succumb to

66

~

Chapter Three

the worship of idols. Like Maimonides, Aquinas tried to give rational explanations for all the detailed rituals, feasts, and ceremonies. He tried to explain why a garment cannot be made of both wool and linen, why incense was to be used in the temple, why the bread of Passover must remain unleavened, why honey was not to be offered in sacrifices to God, why fourhoofed animals were to be sacrificed, why a lamb should not be boiled in its mother's milk, and why a baby boy should be circumcised precisely on the eighth day after his birth. The upshot of the matter is that the Old Law became obsolete once its corporal and external worship was replaced with the spiritual and internal worship of the new law. So, was the Mosaic law a success that made the Jewish people a morally superior people ready for the new law, or was it as a failure? Hood claims that Aquinas's position is ambiguous. But there is no ambiguity in saying that the Mosaic law succeeded in improving those Jews who accepted Christianity but failed to improve those who remained obstinate, turned their back on Christ, and clung to the Old Law-that is, it failed to improve all those who remained Jews. Supposedly, the most evil among them were the priests, because the matters relating to the mystery of Christ were known to them through their rituals and ceremonies but hidden from the people. 86 This led Aquinas to the conclusion that the Jews are a dangerous, depraved, and primitive people unfit for the truth, and the priests among them are culpable Christ killers. Far from moderating the excesses of his time, as Hood claims, Aquinas's position justifies the long-standing persecution of the Jews by the Catholic Church.

Just War and Holy War It may be argued that Aquinas's just war theory cannot justify aggressive wars of religion, such as the Crusades. 87 It may be argued that these unprovoked wars of aggression against unbelievers in the Holy Land, where Jewish synagogues were burned with the Jews inside them and Muslims were slaughtered indiscriminately, fly in the face of the concept of just war. According to the just war theory, there are three conditions for a war to be just. First, it must be waged by the authority of the sovereign, who is committed to the care of the common weal;88 in other words, war cannot be waged by a private person in order to redress a wrong. Second, there must be a just cause, which means that "those who are attacked, should be attacked because they deserve it on account of some fault."89 Third, the "belligerents should have a rightful intention, so that they intend the advancement of good or the avoidance of eviL"90

The Politics of Salvation

r.4-> 67

All these conditions are satisfied by the Crusades. The cause is just because those who were attacked were culpable. As we have seen, the Jews were "culpable" just for being Jews, and Muslims were culpable for being unbelievers. The end is just because the goal is to advance the good (defined as the Christian religion) and avoid evil (defined as unbelief). Once the concepts of good, evil, harm, and culpability are understood in theological terms, holy wars of aggression become legitimate examples of just wars. As Aquinas explains: It is for this reason that Christ's faithful often wage war with unbelievers, not indeed for the purpose of forcing them to believe, ... but in order to prevent them from hindering the faith of Christ. 91

Aquinas claims that it is the duty of the church hierarchy to counsel others to engage in holy wars.92 He points out that in the Old Testament the priests sounded the trumpets in battle. 93 Even though the end of a just war is peace, Aquinas warns us against accepting an "evil peace, which our Lord came not to send upon earth."94 At this point, Aquinas reminds us that Jesus said, "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I come not to send peace but a sword" (Matt. 10:34). From this it follows that aggressive religious wars are included in the definition of just wars. Those who interpret Aquinas too charitably link his doctrine of just war with the injunction against the killing of the innocent as well as with the theory of double effect. 95 According to Aquinas, it is never legitimate to kill the innocent. When applied to warfare, this means that even in a just war, the killing of the innocent is unjustified; a just war requires not only a just cause and a just end but also just means. 96 But as we have seen, Aquinas's conception of innocence and culpability is profoundly theological. He thought the Jews were culpable merely for being Jews. And he thought that slaying "sinners" for the common good was quite justified. 97 Aquinas's just war theory is profoundly belligerent because he understands innocence and culpability in theological terms. In my view, just war theory must be secularized if it is to be humane. Even when the theological interpretation of culpability is abandoned, the injunction against killing the innocent is worthless when coupled with the theory of double effect. According to that theory, an act may have two effects, one intended and the other unintended. For example, if in defending oneself against an assailant, the latter is killed, then the killing of the assailant can be considered the unintended consequence of defending oneself. 98 This doctrine is very pernicious when applied to warfare, where it has invariably been abused. Recently, the United States and Britain used the theory to justify their

68

t4->

Chapter Three

invasion of Iraq, the bombing of Baghdad and Fallujah, and the killing of tens of thousands of innocent civilians. Relying on the doctrine of double effect, they steadfastly maintained that the death of innocent civilians was "collateral damage," or the unintended consequence of their effort to destroy military and strategic targets (such as television stations) in "self-defense"--even though the Iraqi regime posed no credible threat to either the United States or Britain. The theory of double effect allowed the American and British aggressors to claim the moral high ground while dubbing the Iraqi insurgents criminals, thugs, or terrorists-even when those they killed were American soldiers, who were neither innocent nor unarmed. In defense of Aquinas, it may be argued that the theory of double effect cannot be used by the Americans and the British to justify their bombing of civilian targets because the killing of the innocent could not be deemed accidental or unanticipated. On the contrary, it was an obvious and predictable consequence of bombing targets in the middle of a city where large civilian populations reside. Accordingly, the theory of double effect cannot be used to distinguish between the organized terror of the great powers and the disorganized terror of the resistance. In reply to this argument, it is important to point out that Aquinas introduced the theory of double effect in response to the question of whether it is right for a private individual to kill another in self-defense. His answer was that it is never right to intend the killing of another, even in self-defense, unless the death is the unintended consequence of defending oneself. But he made it clear that this is not the case for a "public authority acting for the common good."99 The latter can kill anyone who threatens the common good. Alas, the concept of threat and culpability is extremely large and flexible in the context of the politics of salvation. So, the theory is heavily weighted in favor of state terrorism. As part of natural law and justice, the theory of just war is trumped when the "truth" (i.e., Christianity) dominates. In view of the oppressive and belligerent character of Christian rule, the most reasonable thing to do (for believers and unbelievers alike) is to pray for atheists or infidels to wield power, since they are more likely to have some respect for natural justice and a reasonable understanding of just war.

Death to Heretics Aquinas's intolerance toward heathens and Jews pales in comparison to his intolerance toward heretics. Even though they are closer to the truth than either heathens or Jews, heretics are much more evil. Aquinas is convinced

The Politics of Salvation

+

69

that heretics pose such a great danger to the power of the church, the Christian faith, and the salvation of the world that unless they sincerely repent and recant, he believes that it is not enough to excommunicate them or sever them from the church; they must be handed over to the secular authorities to be "severed from the world by death."lOo What is heresy? Why are heretics so evil? Why is heresy so dangerous? And why do heretics deserve death? Aquinas defines heresy as "a species of unbe1ief, belonging to those who profess the Christian faith, but corrupt its dogmas. IOI By following the suggestions of their own minds and by associating with "false prophets," heretics harbor false beliefs about Holy Writbeliefs that are contrary to what Christ really taught, what the Holy Ghost has revealed, and what the Catholic Church teaches. 102 Heretics remain within the community of the faithful and therefore have plenty of opportunity to corrupt it. That is what makes them more dangerous and more evil than apostates, heathens, or Jews. By remaining in the church, they pollute and contaminate the faith. By undermining the certainty of believers in the dogmas of the church, heretics threaten the salvation of the faithful, since the dogmas of the faith are the "fountain of life," without which there is no hope of pleasing God or attaining sa1vation. 103 Aquinas says that faith is to the soul what life is to the body. When life is removed, all the members become dysfunctional. By the same token, when faith is removed, the soul is disordered and corrupt. The disorder first appears in the mouth, which reveals the falsehoods and fantasies of the disordered mind; then the eyes betray the soul's infirmity; and eventually the will is corrupted and tends toward evil. In other words, those who believe things that are contrary to what the church believes are bound to be wicked. The trouble is that it is not just faith in God that the soul needs for its salvation. It also needs the right faith, the true faith. The church is the only custodian of the truth. By adhering to pernicious and deadly doctrines that are contrary to the dogmas of the church, heretics cut themselves off from God. In Aquinas's estimation, when you don't know God exactly as the church says you should know him, then your will is perverted and tends to evil. If you do not understand and interpret Holy Writ exactly as the church says you should, you are a wicked person and a dangerous source of contamination. It may be objected that Holy Writ is open to interpretation and that even the fathers of the church sometimes differ about its meaning, and they are not heretics. In responding to this objection, Aquinas claims that the fathers of the church differ on matters that are not of any consequence to the faith. Or they may differ on matters that are "not as yet defined by the Church." But if they were to hold different opinions on these matters after they are "defined

70

+

Chapter Three

by the authority of the universal Church," that would be heresy.t°4 It is no wonder that Aquinas was impressed by the example of Saint Jerome, who submitted his work to the pope, saying that if this work is "approved by the judgment of your apostleship, whoever may blame me, will prove that he himself is ignorant, or malicious, or even not a Catholic but a heretic."105 What Aquinas tells us about heresy makes it clear that heresy is first and foremost a form of insubordination. It is not a sin against God but against the Catholic Church. Of course, Jews and heathens are also insubordinate because they refuse to accept the authority of the church. But there is a difference. Heretics accept the faith but not the authority of the church. However, Aquinas refuses to separate the faith from the church. He defines heretics as those who once accepted the faith (i.e., the church) and then turned against it. He compares heresy to breaking a promise, and he thinks that it is much worse to break a promise than never to have made one. 106 Surely, heretics may reply that they have not broken their promise; they are still as true and as constant to the faith as they have always been. Their promise was made to God and not to the church, and they have not broken their promise to God to remain true and faithful. They may even maintain that it is the church that has broken her promise to God by her profligacy, decadence, and corruption. Aquinas cannot accept these arguments because he refuses to acknowledge any distinction between God and the church. For him, accepting the faith is the same as making a promise to accept the authority of the Catholic Church. Heretics break that promise and must be subject to "bodily compulsion" so that they may fulfill what they have promised. 107 Everything that Aquinas says about heresy revolves around the assumption that the Catholic Church is identical with the true, the just, and the good. God is on her side, and her enemies are allied with Satan. Accordingly, those who disagree with her are without faith, alienated from God, corrupted in their speech, and inclined to evil deeds. In defending the absolute and inviolable authority of the church, Aquinas contributes to the entrenchment of a tyranny that surpassed all others in the history of mankind. Ordinary tyrants seek dominion over the property and the public conduct of their subjects. But the church's ambitions were more far-reaching. In the case of ordinary tyrants, one could survive by not joining a resistance movement and minding one's own business, but this was not so where the tyranny of the church was involved. This was a tyranny over heart, mind, and soul. The most disturbing aspect of this psychic tyranny is that those who were accused of heresy by the Inquisition often had no idea what they were guilty of, and they were not allowed to ask. The nature of the totalitarian terror that engulfed Europe was captured in a "joke" about a simple peasant who

The Politics of Salvation

'"*"

71

encountered a Dominican friar on the road. "My good woman, what do you believe?" asked the Dominican. The sagacious peasant replied, "I believe what the church believes." Upon which the friar asked, "And what does the church believe?" "What I believe," said the woman. The peasant woman was astute enough to recognize the treacherous gravity of the question and the impossibility of giving a correct answer. If you did not believe whatever the church believed, you were in serious danger. But it was difficult to know exactly what the church believed since the doctrines were often obscure, inscrutable, contradictory, and always in flux, as one church synod after another struggled to define and redefine orthodoxy.

Aquinas and the Inquisition Aquinas's defense of the Inquisition is his darkest legacy-a legacy about which most of his Thomist admirers are deafeningly silent. !OB Those who dare to mention it dismiss it as a minor detail. Josef Pieper is a notable exception. He makes six apologetic arguments in defense of Aquinas that deserve consideration. First, Pieper argues that despite its colossal injustices, the Inquisition was nevertheless "a step forward in juristic theory," which explains why Aquinas did not object to it. 109 Supposedly, it was better than having the secular arm tracking down heretics or allowing unruly mobs to deal with them. 1lO This claim is a loathsome distortion of the facts known to any impartial historian. Far from defending heretics from the spontaneous violence of the populace, the church used her flamboyant ecclesiastical rhetoric to whip up the most barbarous ferocity toward fellow Christians. It is a matter of church record that the pontiffs insisted that the duty of every Christian was to assist the church in destroying the agents of Satan by exterminating heretics. Anyone who protected or harbored heretics betrayed God and was subject to his eternal wrath. When the church's efforts to incite hatred failed, her wrath fell on Catholics and heretics alike. This was the case during the Albigensian Crusade against the Cathars. Despite the church's best efforts, Catholic lynch mobs could not be found. In a famous case at Beziers, Catholics stood in solidarity with their heretical neighbors against the papal legates and crusaders who came to slaughter the heretics. Fearful of the ruthless plunder of the pope's crusaders, the temporal rulers made a pact with the aggressors: in exchange for handing over a list of known heretics, the crusaders would spare the city from ruin. The populace spurned the pact and refused to betray their fellow citizens. Catholics and heretics alike sought refuge in the Church of Mary Magdalene. When Arnaud,

72

"*"

Chapter Three

the papal legate who was leading the crusade, was asked if the Catholics should be spared, he replied, "Kill them all, for God knows his own." What followed was "a massacre without parallel in European history."lll According to papal estimates, twenty thousand people were killed, and the town was obliterated.l 12 In light of the moral depravity of their spiritual leaders and the iniquity of their church, it is a wonder that Catholics were capable of displaying such heroic moral courage. Such incidents are a manifestation of the innate decency of human beings, which belies the doctrine of original sin. Such moral courage is a vindication of the natural law inscribed in the heart of man; it is a testimony to the strength of the natural law, which can sometimes withstand the assaults of a culture designed to silence conscience and destroy every shred of humanity. When crusades were replaced with the Inquisition as a means of dealing with the spread of heresy, the inquisitors did everything in their power to whip up the zealous bigotry of the populace. But as natural justice would have it, the inquisitors were the ones who were more often subject to the legitimate wrath of the people. Pieper acknowledges the attacks on the Dominicans, but claims the hostility toward them was due to a campaign of slander, intended to rouse the "emotions of the rabble."ll3 But no slander was necessary, since the truth about the Dominicans (Domini Canes, or Hounds of the Lord), was enough to inflame the rightful indignation of decent folk. Far from being an advance in jurisprudence, as Pieper claims, the Inquisition was a shocking innovation, as the great historian Henry Charles Lea has maintained. It was an assault not only on every principle of natural justice and human decency but also on every principle of positive law. It had the trappings of a legal enterprise, but the so-called trial was a sham. The Inquisition was a complete sabotage of the rule of law as practiced by the Romans. The Hohenstaufen emperors, who sought to revive the principles of Roman law, were reviled by the popes as archenemies. The Magna Carta, which the English barons forced King John to sign in 1215, making the king subject to certain laws and limitations, was vehemently opposed by Pope Innocent Ill. After all, why would the pope want to handicap what he regarded as his instrument? In short, the church was an implacable enemy of the rule of law. Any suggestion that the Inquisition was an historical advance in jurisprudence is preposterous. Second, according to Pieper, Aquinas's support for the Inquisition is an incomprehensible aberration that is at odds with his political philosophy.l14 This argument comes into conflict with the previous argument, according to which the Inquisition was an "advance in jurisprudence"-but no matter. As I have shown, Aquinas's defense of the Inquisition is integral to his politics of salvation, which requires the extermination of anyone who threatens the faith-a fragile faith that is threatened by the mere existence of other beliefs.

The Politics of Salvation

73

Third, Pieper claims that we do not have enough "facts" to make an adequate judgment on the Inquisition. 1l5 Again, this contradicts his previous claim that it was "an advance in jurisprudence." There are indeed enough facts to make a judgment. There are enough church documents to reveal that the Inquisition was historically unsurpassed in malignity, superstition, cruel ferocity, and barbarous zeal. Fourth, in yet another apologetic posture, Pieper maintains that Aquinas defended the Inquisition only in "principle" and did not condone its methods.1I6 Pieper does not explain what he means by "principle," but I take him to mean that Aquinas advocated the killing of heretics but did not condone the arbitrary methods used by the Inquisition in ferreting out heresy. The fact is that Aquinas did not make a single critical remark about the activities of his fellow Domini Canes, even though he was fully cognizant of their conduct. Aquinas's analogy of heresy with communicable disease ensured that a presumption of guilt was inevitable and that killing a few innocent people was preferable to allowing a single heretic to go free. As Aquinas pointed out, it only takes one heretic to threaten the salvation of the whole community; Arius was just one man, and he nearly brought down the whole church. It follows that the motto of the Inquisition was that it is better for a hundred innocent people to be burned alive than for one heretic to go free.1 17 Therefore, the smallest "suspicion" that someone might harbor heretical beliefs was sufficient reason to charge and convict him or her. This is the logic of the analogy with disease and contamination. The "principle" Aquinas defended authorizes rooting out and killing every heretic on the flimsiest evidence and the slightest suspicion. As a result, many good Catholics were burned if they happened to have an unusual familiarity with Scripture, or had a pallor believed to be caused by too much fasting, or had a reputation for strict virtue. All these characteristics belonged to heretics and were therefore a cause for suspicion. Mere suspicion was enough to warrant death, since the fear of "contamination" made the presumption of guilt integral to "the principle." This explains the callous indifference of the inquisitors to the killing of the innocent. Since there is no principled way of killing the innocent, Aquinas cannot be said to defend the Inquisition only "in principle" or without condoning its crimes. In this case, "the principle" is inseparable from the enormities committed in its name. In short, Aquinas provides a theological and political justification of the Inquisition, a justification that has contributed to the silence of conscience in the face of the most cruel mockery of justice. lIs Fifth, Pieper suggests that we cannot object to the Inquisition on the basis of our modernity, because comparable atrocities were committed in modem times. But this effort to normalize the Inquisition will not work.1 19

74

Chapter Three

Every age has its atrocities, but not every age is blessed with a philosopher willing to justify its crimes. As I have already pointed out, Rousseau did not defend the terror of Robespierre, and Nietzsche did not defend the crimes of the Nazis. Sixth, Pieper suggests that Aquinas took the Inquisition for granted because he was a man of his time. 120 This claim is untenable, because Aquinas did not take the Inquisition for granted but was a zealous defender of it. Those who make this excuse on his behalf imply that no one in his time could have thought otherwise. 121 But this is not the case. In the course of defending his very harsh and intolerant position on heresy, Aquinas had to respond to very strong objections from his contemporaries, objections that reveal the extent to which alternative views were very much alive at the University of Paris and elsewhere. I will return to these objections and Aquinas's not-so-convincing responses in the context of the imaginary dialogue between Aquinas and Modernity in chapter 5. Suffice it to say that the Inquisition was not taken for granted but was reviled by many good Catholics in his time. The same is true for slavery and the subjugation of women. Aquinas was not a man of his time; he did not take any of these things for granted. He went out of his way to defend them against the opposition of his contemporaries. As we saw in the previous chapter, Aquinas affirmed the Aristotelian view of natural slavery; contrary to the church fathers (not to mention Stoic philosophers such as Seneca and Epictetus), he suggested that slavery is compatible with the state of innocence prior to the Fall. 122 When it comes to women, Aquinas insisted on their natural inferiority and the necessity of subjugating them to the superior rationality of the male sex. His position was a departure from the dominant view of the church fathers that women ought to be subjugated to men only in this world, as a punishment for the sin of Eve.123 All this reveals that Aquinas was not simply a man of his time who took the ideas of his age for granted. In short, all of Pieper's arguments are without merit. In what follows, I will show how Aquinas's enthusiastic defense of celibacy is yet another repudiation of nature and the natural law. Put differently, his reputation as the church father who rescued Christianity from Augustinian gloom by affirming life in this world is a fiction. One need not resort to the vicissitudes of Freudian psychology to surmise that there is a connection between the cruel brutality of the Inquisition and the sexual repressions of celibacy.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

When Aquinas declared that nature is good because it was created by God, he seemed to be making a revolutionary statement that was destined to transform the future of Christianity. At last, it seemed that there was a Christian philosopher who might transcend the Manichean hatred of the body and affirm life in this world. At last, it seemed that there was a Christian philosopher who did not fall on his knees and beg God's forgiveness for enjoying the beauty of the flowers on a spring day, as Augustine had done. At last, it seemed that there was a Christian philosopher who might rescue Christianity from its Manichean stupor. Sadly, this prince of light rejected nature in favor of a sickly asceticism. Nothing represents the Manichean hatred of nature and of life in this world more than the abhorrence of sexual love and the veneration of celibacy. All the fathers of the church, including Aquinas, sang the praises of the virginal life. They collectively declared that virginity is a virtue second only to martyrdom. And when it came to a comparison with marriage, there was no contest. Virginity was unanimously declared to be far superior to marriage. Anyone who disagreed with this assessment was condemned as a heretic, and his work was burned by the church. When jovinian, a fourth-century monk, dared to claim that virginity was not superior to marriage, that even the Blessed Virgin must have lost her virginity the moment she gave birth to Christ, that the Catholic preference for celibacy betrays a Manichean hatred of life, that a wife is as good as a virgin in the sight of God, and that abstinence is not better than partaking of food

75

76

Chapter Four

in the right disposition, there was an uproar against him.! Saint Ambrose (d. 397), the bishop of Milan and teacher of Augustine, used his political influence to convince the emperor Theodosius to have Jovinian "scourged with leaden whips and exiled to the island of Boa."2 J ovinian's work was condemned as heresy by a synod of bishops held in Rome under the direction of Pope Siricius in 390. 3 Catholic commentators tell us that his work was "lost," by which they mean that it was destroyed by the church. What we know of Jovinian is acquired only from the unanimous condemnations of Saint Jerome, Saint Ambrose, Saint Augustine, and Saint Thomas Aquinas. 4 In 1518, Erasmus wrote a treatise praising marriage and criticizing celibacy.5 He presented it in the form of a letter from one friend trying to convince another to get married and live happily instead of retiring to the life of a useless drone in a monastery. The church condemned the work as heresy.6 Louis de Berquin translated Erasmus's book into French in.1525 and as a result was executed for heresy in 1529. Despite the legendary debauchery of her celibate clergy, the Catholic Church still insists on the superiority of virginity to marriage and shows no signs of abandoning her policy of enforced celibacy. What sets Aquinas apart from other church fathers is that he defended celibacy by what he claims to be an Aristotelian argument. In other words, he defended it as a virtue in accordance with reason and the law of nature. In what follows, I will show that Aquinas's arguments do not differ from the ascetic arguments of other church fathers, who did not pretend to be Aristotelian. The Thomistic edifice merely allows an ascetic Christianity to triumph in the name of Aristotle. Before turning to Aquinas's argument, it is important to provide the biblical background that explains the church's obsession with celibacy. It is fashionable to blame the church for all the evils of Christianity. Friends as well as critics blame the church for the disastrous consequences of her insistence on mandatory celibacy, as if the church invented the idea all by herself and Jesus had nothing to do with it. In truth, the church's veneration for celibacy is intimately connected to what Jesus said and who Jesus was.?

Eunuchs for Heaven In contrast to Moses, Jesus claimed that monogamy was the only acceptable kind of marriage. Moreover, marriage was indissoluble except in cases of adultery (Matt. 19:11-12), since what God has joined together no man can pull asunder. The disciples were rather startled by the strictness of Jesus's

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

~

77

teaching on marriage. They were used to the laxity of the polygamous arrangements and the ease with which men could dispose of wives whom they no longer fancied. The new teaching on marriage struck them as so strict that they wondered if it was worth the trouble to get married at all. Jesus took this opportunity to remark casually that it was not a bad idea to become a "eunuch for the kingdom of heaven's sake" (Matt. 19:12). The church has followed Augustine in interpreting this remark as a reference to celibacy rather than a literal endorsement of self-castration. 8 But even though Augustine's interpretation is quite plausible, it does not follow that the words of Jesus can be used to justify the church's policy of enforced celibacy. It is important to note that Jesus did not say it was mandatory to become a eunuch for heaven's sake. He considered it optional: "He that is able to receive it, let him receive it."9 Nevertheless, Jesus makes it abundantly clear that the virginal life is superior to the married life. When Jesus was discussing life after the resurrection, he said that marriage does not exist in heaven. In heaven, people live like angels and they "neither marry, nor are given in marriage" (Matt. 22:30; Luke 20:27). The implication is that the virginal life is superior to marriage because it is akin to the heavenly life with God. It is not clear why virginity is the distinctive virtue of those in heaven. Why not some other virtue? Why not wisdom, generosity, moderation, or compassion? Why is virginity singled out? We cannot but conclude that there is more than a hint of asceticism in the religion of Jesus. When Jesus is led away to his crucifixion, he anticipates the day when "they shall say, Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bare, and the paps which never gave suck" (Luke 23:29). This is probably a reference to the spiritual kingdom to come, but it definitely betrays a hostility toward procreation, not to mention family life. It is not only what Jesus said that has focused attention on celibacy in the Christian tradition, equally important is who Jesus was. We have a God who is a Father and who begets a Son through a virgin without carnal intercourse. Mother, Father, and Son are all virginal. Although the virginity of Mary and even of Jesus is a matter of dispute among modern scholars, it was not disputed by any of the fathers of the church. Jesus set the example that led them to conclude that virginity is superior to marriage. Aquinas argued that Jovinian's error was "refuted above all by the example of Christ Who both chose a virgin for His mother, and remained himself a virgin."lO For Aquinas, virgins are possessed of a divine virtue "because they imitate Christ."!! In view of what Jesus has said, and who Jesus was, it is not surprising that the fathers

78

~

Chapter Four

of the church were led to conclude that celibacy has a kinship with the spiritual purity of life in heaven. If it is a fact that the trinity of Christian gods are all virginal, it does not follow that human virtue should be an imitation of the divine. The imitation of God has dreadful consequences for morality; people who imitate God are bound to behave badly. The Dominican inquisitors believed that they were as infallible as God and were therefore above every human law. As a result, they became bombastic, autocratic, vengeful, arbitrary, and brutal. When it comes to celibacy, it is legitimate to wonder if it is reasonable for human beings to imitate someone who could choose a virgin for a mother. Is it reasonable to imitate an omnipotent God who can beget a Son without carnal intercourse? And why should we? Is it good for us to try? Is it good for human beings to aspire to a totally virginal life? What is accomplished by it? Is it a choice worthy in the present life? Or is it merely a means of getting into heaven? Are there any rational arguments in its defense? Aquinas claims there are.

The "Aristotelian" Argument Before turning to Aquinas's argument, I need to define his terms. Virginity is the successful avoidance of all sexual pleasures, including autoerotic ones. Chastity regards the proper use of the organs of generation and is compatible with married life. Conjugal chastity is lifelong devotion to one spouse, or spouses in the plural, where Old Testament polygamy was practiced. Celibacy aspires to a totally virginal life as its ideal but does not necessarily achieve it. Celibates may have been married, or they may have led promiscuous lives, prior to embarking on the celibate life. Some of those who embark on the celibate life may be virginal, but not everyone who is celibate is virginal. Whatever their previous sexual history, all those who take vows of celibacy have decided to renounce all carnal pleasures for the remainder of their lives. Advocates of celibacy, such as Aquinas, have a special reverence for virginity. These differences notwithstanding, I will use the terms celibacy and virginity to refer to the renunciation of carnal love and pleasure. Like other church fathers, Aquinas regards virginity as "a virtue of high degree."12 Properly understood, virginity is a vow to renounce all carnal pleasures for love of God.!3 It is the "continence whereby integrity of the flesh is vowed, consecrated, and observed in honor of the Creator."14 According to Aquinas, any pleasure resulting from "resolution of semen" destroys virginity, whether copulation takes place or not. IS But if it happens in sleep or through violence and without the "mind's consent," then virginity is not destroyed. A woman's virginity is not destroyed by rape as long as her mind "holds to its purpose."16

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

+

79

Setting aside the perverse understanding of female sexuality implied in this statement, what Aquinas is trying to say is that virginity is not merely a bodily condition but also a mental one-a purposeful renunciation of sexual pleasure. Aquinas is certain that the virginal life is superior to the married life just as the divine is superior to the human, and the soul is superior to the body. This is particularly true of a virginity that is "consecrated to God" or focuses on the contemplation of God because it supposedly furthers the advancement of humanity in spiritual terms.!7 Marriage is not necessarily sinful, but virginity is "without doubt,"!8 superior to "conjugal continence" or marital chastity because it alone attains to "entire freedom from venereal pleasure,"!9 which interferes with divine contemplation. Aquinas does not shy away from the obvious objections: How can the veneration of the virginal life be compatible with nature or the law of nature? Does it not contradict the natural human instinct for procreation? Is it not the case that the determination to lead a virginal life flies in the face of the commandment to go forth and multiply? Besides, why is refraining from all carnal pleasures necessary for divine contemplation? And why is the virginal life more pleasing to God? After all, the polygamous patriarchs of the Old Testament-Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob-were pleasing to God, even though they can hardly be considered virginal. And finally, how can the extreme of total abstinence from sexual pleasure count as a virtue in the Aristotelian sense where virtue is closely connected to moderation? In an effort to respond to these objections, Aquinas maintained that, while the instinct for procreation is natural, procreation is not a precept of natural law, which is to say that it is not morally obligatory for each and every individual. Unlike eating, procreation is not necessary for the survival of the individual. It is necessary only for the continued existence of the human species taken as a whole. However, the human species needs not only to multiply in body, but also to advance spiritually. Wherefore sufficient provision is made for the human multitude, if some betake themselves to carnal procreation, while others abstaining from this betake themselves to the contemplation of Divine things, for the beauty and welfare of the whole human race. 20

To make his argument, Aquinas relied on Aristotle's hierarchy of ends or goods in which the lower goods are intended to serve the higher ones. The hierarchy is as follows: • • • •

Contemplative life (highest good of the soul) Active life (second-highest good of the soul) Bodily goods (health, vitality, beauty, etc.) External goods (wealth and other material goods)

80

~

Chapter Four

As I understand Aristotle, what is at the bottom of the hierarchy exists in order to serve what is above it. For example, material goods are intended to serve the goods of the body, and they should be used accordingly. Excessive riches, which lead to sloth and indolence, frustrate the proper end to which external goods are directed. But a certain degree of wealth is necessary for the health and well-being of the body as well as for the leisure necessary to cultivate the excellences of the soul. Health, vitality, intelligence, and other bodily goods are themselves intended to serve the goods of the soul, in its active as well as its contemplative capacity. In other words, the health and vitality of the body make possible the active life in which men aspire to the moral virtues of courage, temperance, magnanimity, and the like. This active life allows them to conduct themselves properly as heads of households: to treat their wives with dignity, educate their children, have friends, participate in politics, and defend the state when called upon to do so. However, the active life is not, in Aristotle's estimation, the best or highest life. The best life is the life of contemplation. Nevertheless, the active life, the moral and political life, creates the conditions in which the contemplative life is possible. For Aristotle, the contemplative life is not incompatible with the active life. Those who pursue the contemplative life need not renounce the active life or the material goods that make it possible. In Aristotelian terms, the life devoted to contemplation is not one that is devoid of family, friends, and pleasures. But, as we shall see, Aquinas tends to understand the Aristotelian hierarchy more severely; he tends to regard the lower goods as strictly instrumental to the higher goods, as if the lower goods had no independent value integral to a complete, fulfilled, and happy life. Aquinas used the Aristotelian hierarchy to make his case for the superiority of the virginal life. He argued that it is often necessary to abstain from external or material goods for the well-being of the body. Since doing so is not a sin, Aquinas argued that in like manner if a man abstain from bodily pleasures, in order more freely to give himself to the contemplation of truth, this is in accordance with the rectitude of reason. Now holy virginity refrains from all venereal pleasures in order to more freely have leisure for Divine contemplation. 21 This analogy is flawed. The Aristotelian hierarchy assumes that the moderate use of the lower goods is necessary for the promotion of the higher goods. There is no indication that a total renunciation of the lower goods enhances the pursuit of higher goods. On the contrary, the total renunciation of lower goods such as food and drink would be quite deleterious to bodily health and integrity. The lower goods, when used in moderation and not abused, are nec-

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

~

81

essary for attaining the higher goods. What is being renounced is not the goods themselves but abuse and excess. Aquinas's analogy fails. There is no reason why a total renunciation of all sexual pleasures, including the pleasures of conjugal love, is necessary for the contemplation of the divine. In the Aristotelian sense of the term, a virtue is a mean between extremes, just as courage is a mean between rashness and cowardice. Virginity is not a mean between self-indulgence and total abstinence, it is the extreme of total abstinence. It is therefore difficult to see how virginity could be a virtue in the Aristotelian sense of the term. Since it lies at one extreme where sexual pleasure is concerned, it would have to be considered a defect of character.2 2 Aquinas makes two responses to this objection. First, he argues that something can be a vice only if it is contrary to reason, and it is not contrary to reason to abstain from all sexual pleasure "in order more freely to have leisure for divine contemplation."23 To abstain for no reason would be the vice of insensibility, but to abstain for a reason is "a virtue which surpasses man's ordinary way of life, for it makes men share somewhat in the divine likeness; hence, virginity is said to be related to the angels (Matt. 22:30)."24 Second, Aquinas claims that virginity is a virtue by Aristotelian standards because the virginal life does not require the individual to refrain from all pleasures, only venereal ones; otherwise he would be as "insensible as a country lout," and that would indeed be a defect. 2s These responses are not convincing. In the context of the Christian tradition, celibacy is not choice-worthy in this life; it is only a means to another end, the hope of reaping "the choicest goods in the resurrection," as Augustine acknowleged.2 6 In what follows, I will make four objections to Aquinas's argument. First, I will argue that Aquinas's "Aristotelian" argument contains an ascetic subtext that is antithetical to Aristotelian philosophy. In my view, what makes celibacy a virtue in the Christian tradition is not that it is a life of moderation but that it is a life of self-immolation and self-abnegation. Far from being a mean between extremes, celibacy is the desire to share in the agony of Christ. Second, I will show that the Christian veneration of celibacy cannot be understood apart from the association of sexual love with sin and defilement. Third, I will give some reasons why, contrary to Aquinas's claims, the celibate life is not particularly conducive to contemplation in general and the contemplation of God in particular. Fourth, I will argue that celibacy is not a virtue but a foolish quest that invites a host of institutional crimes as well as personal vices. The crimes of the church have been well documented by historians, and I will not dwell on them too long. However, I will use the examples of Abelard and Heloise as well as Augustine and his nameless sweetheart to illustrate how the quest for celibacy promotes vices that incline

82

+

Chapter Four

one to be as "insensible as a country lout." It is important to note that in criticizing the case for celibacy, I am not endorsing the endless lasciviousness of contemporary commercial culture.

Sharing the Agony My first contention is that Aquinas's "Aristotelian" argument contains an ascetic subtext. In my view, what makes celibacy a virtue in the Christian tradition is not that it is a life of moderation but that it is a life of self-immolation and self-abnegation. Far from being a mean between extremes, celibacy is the desire to share in the agony of Christ. Gregory of Nyssa put it bluntly when he said that the goal of virginity is to unite oneself with God; and this unity "comes from being crucified with Him."2? Gregory exhorts his listeners saying, How can you listen to the Crucified One, the Healer of sin, when he orders us to follow Him and to carry the cross as a banner against the Adversary, if you are not crucified to the world and have not taken on the death of the flesh?28 Aquinas makes the same point when he claims that martyrdom is a greater virtue than virginity because it amounts to drinking from "the Chalice of the Lord," which means sharing his suffering. 29 The implication is that virginity involves suffering. This explains why Aquinas thought it was a virtue second only to martyrdom, which involves even greater suffering. The Christian admiration of celibacy is connected to the chastisement of the flesh. Origen is a good illustration of what I mean. Apparently, Origen had so many adoring female students that he came to the conclusion that the only hope of safeguarding his virginity was to castrate himself. Instead of praising his virginal zeal, the church balked and refused to ordain him. But if virginity is the queen of virtues, how could Origen's zeal in its pursuit count against him? I would like to suggest the following explanation. By castrating himself, Origen underwent a severe but short-lived mortification of the flesh. If, as a result of the castration, he no longer had any sexual desires to thwart, then by castrating himself, he circumvented the lifelong agony involved. After his self-castration, virginity might have come too easily and could not qualify as sharing in the "Chalice of the Lord." Augustine says as much when he ranks eunuchs as no better than the married, claiming that their virginity cannot count as a virtue because it is not achieved through a "virtue of soul, but through necessity of the flesh."30 Origen seems to have misunderstood exactly what makes virginity a virtue in the eyes of the church. It is not just a matter of withdrawing from sexuality; the withdrawal must be continually a source of anguish and mortifica-

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

~

83

tion. If the sexual urge is totally removed, one may return to the innocence of childhood, and celibacy may become effortless. Medically speaking, this may not be accurate; eunuchs may still have strong sexual desires but not the wherewithal to satisfy them. Nevertheless, I suspect that this is the sort of reasoning that may explain the church's hostility toward Origen, despite his zeal, his saintliness, and his genius)l Both the church fathers' animosity toward, and their fascination with, sexual pleasure had its source in their conviction that the pleasure was unsurpassed, excessive, and extravagant, and that the desire for it was overwhelming. Aquinas was convinced that fornication is by far the source of the "greatest sensual pleasure."32 He described it as "inordinate" and "vehement." He agreed with Augustine that "of all a Christian's conflicts, the most difficult combats are those of chastity," where the "fight" is a daily one and the chances of victory are small. 33 If sexual desire is such a powerful instinct, and if sexual pleasure surpasses all others in its intensity and sumptuousness, then its sacrifice is particularly praiseworthy. Aquinas was convinced that carnal lust makes man most vulnerable to the machinations of the devil: "Mankind is subject to the devil by carnal lust more than by anything else, because, to wit, the vehemence of this passion is more difficult to overcome."34 If sexual desire is closely linked to the temptations of the devil, total triumph over these desires is akin to a triumph over the devil himself. And just to make the battle more perilous and the victory more heroic, some celibate monks made a point of sharing the beds of lovely maidens to put their chastity to the test. 35 In the context of the Christian tradition, celibacy is first and foremost about extreme self-deprivation and self-torment. This is why celibacy cannot be defended on the Aristotelian ground that it makes the individual happier and more fulfilled)6 In the context of Christianity, the veneration of the virginal life is connected to the mortification and crucifixion of the flesh. It is an ascetic, gratuitous, and self-inflicted suffering. Its value rests in sharing the agony of Christ. The question is, to what end is all this self-inflicted anguish? What is the point of this ascetic self-deprivation? Who is benefited by this ordeal? Clearly it is meant to be witnessed by God. Otherwise it has no meaning. But why is it pleasing to God? Why would God enjoy the torments of those who love him? The whole matter casts serious aspersions on God. To suggest that God enjoys witnessing this spectacle is to impute to him a sadistic pleasure.

The Sex Life of Adam and Eve My second argument against Aquinas is that his position is incomprehensible without the identity of sexual love with sin. This is particularly well illustrated

84

+

Chapter Four

in his attitude to the sex life of Adam and Eve in Paradise. The sex life of Adam and Eve was a subject of much controversy among the fathers of the church. I suspect that this preoccupation with the sexual relations of Adam and Eve had a great deal to do with the prurience of a group of sexually frustrated men. But there is more to it. At the heart of the matter is the relation between sex and sin-sex and the Fall. There were those who believed with Gregory of Nyssa that sex was the cause of the Fall. Gregory was certain that prior to the Fall, Adam did not "know" Eve in the biblical sense of the term. It was this desire for knowledge, prompted by the prospect of pleasure, that initiated the Fall.3 7 Indeed, "the point of departure from paradise was the married state."38 Gregory assumed that since Adam was made in the image of God, he must have been free from the "passions of the flesh." Otherwise, the image cannot be considered a copy of the original in any meaningful sense of the word. 39 Sin had its source in pleasure and curiosity--curiosity about evil, which Gregory suspects is nothing other than curiosity about sexual pleasure. Adam became mortal and lost his resemblance to God only when he became subject to the passions of the flesh. 40 As a result of their sexual experience, Adam and Eve felt their nakedness and were expelled from Paradise, and death became their lot. The moral of the story is that sex and sin go hand in hand with death and destruction. Not all the church fathers accepted Gregory's version of the Fall, but none of them dissented from his view of sexual pleasure as an inordinate pleasure involving sin and defilement. In response to Gregory, Aquinas claimed that Adam and Eve must have had sex prior to the Fall because the commandment to go forth and multiply was given by God prior to the Fall. Therefore, there must have been procreation prior to sin. Second, if the Fall was a necessary prerequisite for procreation and the multiplication of the human race, then the Fall would be of great benefit to mankind, and this is unacceptable and unseemly.41 Besides, why would God have created Eve in the first place, if it were not for procreation? Aquinas balked at the idea that Eve was intended as Adam's helpmate. How could anyone take this idea seriously? What could Eve possibly help Adam with? Aquinas tells us that if God wanted to give Adam someone who could be really helpful, he would have given him another man: We are told that woman was made to help man (Gen. 2:18, 20). But she was not fitted to help man except in generation, because another man would have proved more effective help in anything else. 42

Aquinas could not imagine that Eve could be of use for anything other than procreation. He did not dissent from Aristotle's view of woman as a

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

+

85

"misbegotten male," but he was forced to concede that she was nevertheless indispensable for the task of generation. 43 Gregory anticipated these sorts of objections and suggested that there must have been some form of generation in Paradise that was not carnal. Had they remained in Paradise, Adam and Eve would have multiplied in the way angels do, by the power of God's will. The only reason that God created two sexes in the first place was that He foreknew that Adam and Eve would fall and so provided them with the equipment they would need to reproduce after the Fall. Aquinas was not willing to accept this view. He thought (I think rightly) that Gregory's view made Adam and Eve akin to the angels. But Aquinas explains that human beings were created somewhere between angels and animals. They were like angels in their intellectual faculty, but with animal life in their bodies. And this meant that generation by coition was intended for them from the start because of their animal life, even prior to sin. 44 Even though Aquinas rejected Gregory's answers, he did not dispute Gregory's alliance of sex with sin. Like all the church fathers before him, Aquinas could not imagine sex without sin. How then, did Adam and Eve have sex prior to the Fall? How did they have sex without sin? Augustine provided an ingenious solution. He claimed that the kind of sex that Adam and Eve had prior to the Fall was not sex as we know it. Sex as we know it is perverted; it is a product of the Fall and a function of sin. This idea has become the standard view and has been repeated again and again by the likes of Aquinas, Luther, and C. S. Lewis. 45 What evidence did Augustine have for maintaining that sex as we know it is perverted? Augustine found his proof in the movement of the male organ of generation. He thought that the latter was a symbol of the Fall and the "bondage" of the will to sin. Unlike other parts of the body, the male organ of generation does not move according to the command of the will. But Augustine surmised that in Paradise, Adam would have had command over this part of his body, so that sexual intercourse between Adam and Eve would have been a deliberate act of will, devoid of the lust and the pleasure that go along with it. It would not have been so mad, so bestial, so intense, or so immoderate. 46 It would have been within the bounds of reason-measured, moderate, and free from inordinate pleasure. Far from being "activated by the turbulent heat of passion," the male seed would have been "dispatched into the womb" by "deliberate use of mental power when the need arose," without compromising the wife's "integrity" or loss of her "maidenhead." In this way, the whole "task of generation" would have been a "deliberate act undisturbed by passion."47 Aquinas accepted this insipid account of the sex life of Adam and Eve. He found it to be a splendid solution to the dilemma. He particularly liked the fact that sex in Paradise did not undermine the "virginal integrity" of the parties.

86

t.4->

Chapter Four

He also liked the fact that it was an act of will and reason that was directed exclusively to procreation and not to pleasure. He echoed Augustine in declaring that in the state of innocence prior to the Fall, "the lower powers were entirely subject to reason."48 While in the state of innocence, "all the bodily members would have been equally moved by the will, without ardent or wanton incentive, with calmness of soul and body."49 Aquinas imagined that in this "state of innocence," when the body was subject to the soul, the sex of the offspring could be determined by the "mere will of the parent."50 So understood, the sex life of Adam and Eve in Paradise was a rational affair. After the Fall, sexual pleasure became so "excessive" and so "vehement" that it was no longer "subject to the command and moderation of reason."51 It became subject to the scorching heat and "deformity of excessive concupiscence."52 Aquinas defines concupiscence or sexual lust as an inordinate desire or pleasure that is so great that it is subversive not only of reason but also of the will's subjection to God. 53 Aquinas thought that sex in this world was always, or almost always, accompanied by the stupefying effects of concupiscence. This is why he delighted in Augustine's bizarre account of the sex life of Adam and Eve. We cannot understand the veneration of celibacy in the Christian tradition without the alliance of sex and sin. In the context of Christian civilization, it was impossible to imagine sexual love prior to the Fall; it was impossible to imagine Adam and Eve as lovers in Paradise. This is precisely what was startling about Milton's Paradise Lost-and it continues to be exceptional in the history of the West. Milton has the special honor of triumphing over the Christian identity of sex and sin. It may be one of the reasons that he is often considered a heretic. Even modern Christians such as C. S. Lewis object to his depiction of the sinless sexuality of Adam and Eve. 54 Milton portrayed Adam and Eve as participants in a full-fledged love affair-not the cold, ghastly, and disembodied sexuality of Augustine. It was a beautiful and sensual affair offering what was unimaginable to the Western psyche: sex without sin, sex without lasciviousness, sex without shame. Even Voltaire was stunned. 55 It was unthinkable. And it still is.

To Marry or to Burn? The identity of sex and sin explains why the church has always regarded marriage with some ambivalence. For the most part, its attitude to marriage is comparable to the attitude of secular authorities to prostitution. The church tolerates marriage as a remedy for sin and an insurance against fornication. Paul declared that "it is good for a man not to touch a woman" (1 Cor. 7:1).

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

"'*'"

87

He made it clear that lifelong virginity is the Christian ideal, but for those who cannot live up to this standard of virtue, let them marry, "for it is better to marry than to burn" (1 Cor. 7: 9)-to burn with lust, and then burn in the flames of hell, because fornicators will surely not enter the kingdom of heaven. As Tertullian rightly pointed out, just because something is better than something else, it does not follow that it is a good thing. Just because it is better to marry than to burn, it does not follow that it is good to marry. The church cannot condemn marriage altogether without joining the Manicheans, Gnostics, and heretics in condemning the whole creation as the work of demons. Like the heretics they denounced, Aquinas and the other fathers of the church regarded sexual love with a certain horror. They have difficulty showing how their view differs substantially from that of those they condemn as heretics. If sex is so closely allied with sin, how can marriage be recommended at all? The solution was-and still is-to endorse marriage without endorsing any of the sexual pleasures that go along with it. Augustine declared that the best marriage is one in which the partners have no sexual intercourse. 56 The only marriage that Gregory spoke of with approval is one free of sexual passion or pleasure. He gave Isaac's marriage as an example of the "moderate and measured use of the duty of marriage," because the patriarch did not marry at the peak of his youth, but "when his youth was already spent, he married Rebecca because of the blessing of God upon his seed."57 His marriage was therefore not an act of passion. Isaac continued in the marriage until his twin sons were born, and then he became blind. Gregory interprets the blindness metaphorically, as an indication that Isaac abandoned the domain of sexuality in favor of the realm of the intelligible, unseen, and incorruptible (Gen. 27: 1). The upshot of the matter is that marriage and sexual intercourse are exclusively for generation and not for pleasure. Therefore, the begrudging acceptance of marriage is not at the same time a begrudging acceptance of sexual pleasure within marriage. On the contrary, sexual pleasure continues to be allied with sin and defilement. Augustine made it clear that sex is itself evil and is rendered "pardonable" by marriage only when it is a means to procreation: "through this good, that evil [i.e. sex] is rendered pardonable."58 Aquinas follows Augustine. He tells us that one reason for getting married is to escape the temptations of Satan (i.e., fornication) that would lead to damnation. In short, marriage is little more than a desperate measure on behalf of the irresolute to avoid damnation. The trouble is that the perpetual presence of a ready and willing partner (as in marriage) may invite indulgence. Aquinas therefore recognizes that marriage is not without its hazards.

88

+

Chapter Four

As a result, he defends a myriad of restrictions-restrictions that the celibateclergy church succeeded and continues to succeed in imposing on married laity. He criminalized conjugal love under most conditions: with a pregnant wife, a menstruating wife, or a postmenopausal wife. It is prohibited on Sundays, the day before communion, and on all holy days. Aquinas denounces the use of contraceptives, including wasting or spilling semen, as a mortal sin (i.e., a sin that relegates one's soul to eternal damnation). In fact, he regards it as a sin second only to homicide: Nor, in fact should it be deemed a slight sin for a man to arrange for the emission of semen apart from the proper purpose of generating and bringing up children .... [Tlhe inordinate emission of semen is incompatible with the natural good; namely, the preservation of the species. Hence, after the sin of homicide, whereby a human nature already in existence is destroyed, this type of sin appears to take next place, for by it the generation of human nature is precluded. 59

This is not a credible argument, since it would follow that having sex with your mother or father is a lesser crime than resorting to onanism. Besides, what Aquinas says of spilling seed can be said of celibacy; through celibacy, the generation of the species is precluded. It seems to me that unlike the celibates, those who take it upon themselves to keep the species going are contributing to the human race, even when they avoid consecrating every seed emitted to the project of generation. Underlying Aquinas's objection to wasting seed is not concern for the species but ascetic disapproval of the pleasure involved. Aquinas makes it clear that if motivated by pleasure, the conjugal act is a sin, sometimes venial and other times mortaL Even when the conjugal act was necessary to avoid fornication (i.e., extramarital sex), it was a venial sin that required penance. However, it was forgivable for the partner who went along in order to prevent a greater sin on the part of the other partner. But what if one goes along with one's partner and then experiences inordinate pleasure? Is the act still excusable? Does it become a venial sin? Or does it become a mortal sin? These are the bewildering topics that Aquinas was determined to sort out. The upshot of the matter is that conjugal love is "excused" or "pardoned" only when procreation is the motive. But even when motivated by the desire for offspring, conjugal love is still a sin if enjoyed too much. Aquinas claims that the man who loves his wife too much is an adulterer. 6o Pope John PaullI never tired of warning men against adultery with their

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

89

wives. 61 One thing is clear: conjugal love is fraught with hazards that threaten one's immortal soul. Nothing could be more hypocritical than making marriage into a sacrament. As John Calvin rightly pointed out, if it were really a sacrament, why are priests excluded from it? Calvin surmised that the main reason for making it a sacrament was to extend the church's tyranny over the laity.62 Indeed, priests were instructed to inquire into the details of the sex lives of their flocks during confession. In this way, the church managed to exercise a tyranny over the intimate lives of married laity that is unsurpassed in history.63 It is hard to avoid thinking that the clergy must have been inspired by a malicious envy and determined to do everything in their power to poison people's love, destroy their happiness, and fill them with shame. The church continues to think of sexual love as sin, filth, and impiety. At the height of the atrocities in Bosnia in the 1990s, Pope John Paul II made a speech lamenting all the ills of the world. He listed contraception, homosexuality, extramarital sex, and abortion. He forgot to mention war, murder, terrorism, and ethnic cleansing. The identity of sex and sin had been so deeply rooted in his psyche that when he thought of evil, he could only think of sex. The close identification of sex and sin explains why the church has always preferred war, plague, and poverty to contraception. 64 Aquinas's defense of celibacy cannot be understood apart from this alliance of sex and sin.

Carnal Pleasure and the Contemplation of God My third argument is directed against Aquinas's claim that celibacy enhances the capacity for contemplating God. Aquinas claims that marriage is the greatest obstacle to the life of contemplation and counsels the wise man not to marry.65 The source of Aquinas's objection to marriage is not the responsibilities and obligations of married life. It would have been credible to argue that the time-consuming affair of making a living and supporting one's children leaves little leisure for contemplation. But that is not the argument Aquinas makes. The source of his objection to marriage is the "vehemence" and "intensity" of carnal pleasure. He quotes Saint Paul, who said that those who have wives should act as if they had none (1 Cor. 7:29), Aquinas understands this to mean that those who have wives should not take pleasure in them, even though they need not refrain from "using" them for the business of procreation. 66 Aquinas was convinced that the "pollution" involved in "venereal pleasures" debauches a man's mind 67 and hinders the contemplation of God. 68 If this were true, if sexual pleasure really debauched a man's

90

~

Chapter Four

mind, it would hinder a lot more than the contemplation of God. It would make it impossible for a man to live a decent and upright life. The danger to which Aquinas points is not just temporary; the "act in question" does not temporarily interrupt the rational contemplation of God---otherwise, going to sleep would be equally hazardous. 69 Sexual pleasure causes permanent damage to a man's rational capacity. Aquinas quotes Augustine with approval when he writes, "I consider that nothing so casts down the manly mind from its heights as the fondling of women, and those bodily contacts which belong to the married state."70 Conjugal pleasures not only debilitate the mind, they also pollute the body. Aquinas claims that only a total renunciation of "venereal pleasure" can ensure the "integrity of the flesh" and keep it free from "pollution."7l He tells us that virginity takes its name from viror, which means fresh and not scorched by sexual passion. It denotes a person who is "unseared by the heat of concupiscence."72 Total purity requires avoiding all "impure" looks, kisses, or touches. 73 Only when the body is free from pollution, is it worthy of being the "temple of the Lord."74 I would like to make two points about sexual pleasure and the contemplation of God. The first point is about the body and the second is about the mind. When it comes to the body, it seems that there is a certain ambivalence in Christianity that is reflected in Aquinas's work. On the one hand, the body is associated with the Fall, sin, and corruption. On the other hand, it is "the temple of the Lord." But on careful examination, there is no ambivalence. If you think of your body as the dwelling place of God, then you will be most reluctant to pollute or defile it with sexual pleasure. The body-nature's bodyis unfit for the presence of God. In my view, the descent of the spirit into the body is not a sanctification of the body, but a violent conquest parading as sanctification. When God enters the body and makes it his dwelling place, the body must stop being nature's body; it must be forcibly denatured. It must be free or "unseared" by the scorching heat and "pollution" of venereal pleasure. In other words, the body as it is must be rejected in favor of some angelic unnatural fiction that belongs to the foodless and sexless heaven of the New Testament. So understood, the Christian God insists that his creatures thwart their nature as a condition of consorting with him. 75 This is why making the body "the temple of the Lord" amounts to a hostile takeover by a God who is not willing to dwell within the body as it is or as he made it. As to the mind, far from thinking that carnal pleasure hinders the capacity for the contemplation of God, it is more reasonable to argue that the radical thwarting of this natural inclination is more likely to interfere with contemplation in general and the contemplation of God in particular.

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

91

Those who have totally shunned these pleasures tend to suffer from the greatest fascination with them-a fascination that clearly preoccupies their minds. Augustine, Aquinas, and other church fathers are supreme examples. Aquinas is busy contemplating the six different species of lust, defining lustfullooks and lustful kisses, distinguishing between sexual positions and motives, deciding when conjugal conduct is a mortal sin and when it is merely venial, making inferences about the venereal pleasures of the polygamous patriarchs, imagining the sex life of Adam and Eve, considering if there might have been a mode of generation other than coition in Paradise, wondering if the movement of the generative organs is not the symbol of the Fall and insubordination to the will, and worrying that the caresses of women might enfeeble the manly mind and threaten salvation. All this obsessiveness with sexuality is likely to interfere with contemplation in general, including the contemplation of God. Aquinas was under the impression that sexual pleasure was addictive and that abstinence would ultimately triumph and subdue all desire. He did not underestimate the struggle required, but he thought that the war would eventually be won if the individual refused to consent to desire. As a result, sexual desire would be weakened: In fact, the more a person indulges in pleasures, the more does the desire for pleasure grow in him. Thus concupiscent feelings are weakened by acts of abstinence and other corporeal practices . . . because the mind becomes very strongly attached to carnal things through the enjoyment of such pleasures, especially those of sex.7 6

There is no evidence that this triumph over nature was within the reach of the most determined saints. Far from silencing concupiscence, the life of the monk strengthened it. Augustine, Jerome, Francis, Benedict, and other monks were obsessed with sex. Some were so disturbed by their obsession that they took to continuous self-flagellation. Luther realized from experience and observation that celibacy gives the devil the upper hand. In his wisdom, he abandoned celibacy and married Katharina von Bora. 77 It may be argued that Aquinas was an exception to the rule. But there is reason to think that he was the recipient of some supernatural assistance, if what he said to his friend and secretary, Reginald Piperno, is to be believed. When he was locked up in his father's castle, his brothers sent a seductive courtesan to his chamber to undermine his vows. Even though he dispatched her rather violently-he grabbed a flaming log from the fire and hurled it at the door and then used it to make the sign of the cross on the wall-he nevertheless experienced such a disturbing inner struggle that he collapsed

92

~

Chapter Four

on the floor of his chamber, while imploring God to give him the gift of chastity. Apparently, he fell into a deep sleep from which he awoke with a loud scream. The scream was the result of a severe pain in his loins due to an operation conducted by two angels who "girded him tightly with a cincture" to make him capable of resisting all temptation of "impurity" for the rest of his life.78 But not every saint has two guardian angels with surgical skills.

Those Pesky Polygamous Patriarchs The idea that abstaining from all sexual pleasures enhances one's ability to contemplate God is contradicted by the example of the polygamous patriarchs of the Old Testament. For Aquinas and other fathers of the church, these pesky patriarchs were a troublesome counterexample. Clearly, these polygamous men were not prevented by the multiplicity of their venereal pleasures from consorting with God. The treatment of the Old Testament patriarchs by the fathers of the church has been rather comical. Augustine was certain that these holy men had sex with their wives only out of duty to God and "without libidinousness."79 Aquinas followed Augustine and was equally certain that the patriarchs did not engage in sexual intercourse for their pleasure. On the contrary, had God commanded total abstinence, they would have been ready and willing to comply. Augustine was certain that Abraham and Sara were continent "in their soul" and married only because they were required to do so.80 Aquinas repeats this fanciful bit of nonsense, without incredulity.81 The alleged absence of pleasure where the sex life of the patriarchs was concerned led Aquinas to the absurd conclusion that the patriarchs were spiritually virginal. There is something spurious about the concept of spiritual virginity. What the argument proves is not that the patriarchs of the Old Testament were virginal but that Aquinas (like Augustine) was unable to hold up a model of virtue that was not virginal. As a result, no ingenuity was spared in making the polygamous patriarchs of the Old Testament into virgins. It is my contention that the demonization of sexual love and the veneration of celibacy have led to such a plethora of institutional and personal vices that this form of "spiritual purity" cannot possibly count as a virtue. Contrary to what Aquinas claims, the church's preoccupation with celibacy has fostered a host of institutional crimes as well as personal vices. In my fourth and final argument against Aquinas, I will briefly mention the institutional crimes of the policy of enforced celibacy, before examining the personal vices that it promotes.

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

~

93

The Crimes of Celibacy The conviction that celibacy is superior to marriage has inspired the church's determination to embark on a policy of enforcing celibacy on a recalcitrant clergy. The result has been a long historical catalog of vile and atrocious crimes. Here are a few of the historical facts. s2 In the early history of the church, married men were ordained as priests. Indeed, the apostles were married men. The first effort to enforce celibacy came the moment that the church had some political power. In the First General Council of Nicaea (325) it was decreed that priests, bishops, and deacons celebrating mass were to refrain from intercourse with their wives and were to beget no more children, and that all those who acted contrary to this decree would be expelled. However, the attempt to impose these antimaritallaws on the entire church failed. But the church was not discouraged, and more efforts were made to move in the direction of celibacy. Pope Siricius (384-399) declared it a crime for priests to have intercourse with their wives after ordination. Pope Innocent I (401-417) decreed that bishops, priests, and deacons must be un mar ried. Yet canon law was not affected. Married men continued to be ordained. However, after ordination, they were not allowed to share the same bed or room with their wives. Needless to say, this was a difficult policy to enforce without a system of surveillance. A solution was ready at hand. Clerics were installed in the homes of married priests and required to sleep in the same room to ensure that no offenses were committed. Once he became bishop of Hippo, Augustine built a monastery and prevailed on ordained priests to abandon their wives and live in the monastery. In this way, the enforcement of celibacy was made more practical. The Synod of Lyons (583) again declared that married priests were not allowed to live with their wives. Despite the efforts to enforce celibacy in the Western or Roman Church, married clerics were still predominant by the year 1000. The fanatic monk Hildebrand, who became Pope Gregory VII (1073-1085), was an ardent champion of celibacy and was determined to put an end to married clerics. He outlawed clerical marriages under pain of excommunication. He appointed legates to travel all over Europe to enforce the new laws. Gregory's men met with opposition and violence everywhere. But Gregory was not discouraged, and neither was his successor, Pope Urban II (1088-1099). The church seemed totally oblivious to the moral callousness and faithlessness of married priests' abandoning their wives and children. Nor was the church troubled by the fact that these draconian laws were a flagrant violation of Jesus's doctrine of the indissolubility of marriage. The marriages of priests were casually annulled, and their wives were declared

94

+

Chapter Four

whores or concubines with no marital rights whatsoever. To enforce these dreadful laws, Pope Urban II asked secular authorities for assistance. Unless priests gave up their wives willingly, the prince was invited to take the women forcibly as slaves. Some bishops called on the secular authorities to enter the homes of priests, fetch their concubines (as the wives were now called), publicly flog them, and place them in custody. In 1231, a provincial synod of Rouen resolved that the concubines of priests should have their hair shorn and be humiliated during church services in the presence of the whole congregation. By 1139, the marriage of priests was totally prohibited. But some priests resorted to secret or clandestine marriages, as did Peter Abelard 0079-1142). The trick was not to be discovered. But the Council of Trent 0545-1563) denounced secret marriages as illegitimate and decreed that all marriages had to be public. Excluded from matrimony, priests resorted to concubines. It was not uncommon for priests to seduce their young housekeepers and then cast them out when they became pregnant. In many European towns, it was taken for granted that the proliferation of prostitutes and bastards was the doing of the parish priest. What is reprehensible is that these priests posed, and still pose, as morally superior to married men who support their children. The marriage of Martin Luther to Katharina von Bora (1525) was a grand and public revolt against enforced celibacy.83 Luther was convinced that Aquinas's lack of experience impoverished his understanding of scripture. Luther claimed that he was able to comment on "Abraham begat" in Matt. 1:2 only because he had slept with his wife. 84 Apparently, when he was taken to survey the beauty of Paris from the elevation of the Cathedral of Saint Denys, Thomas said that he would gladly give all the wonders of Paris for a copy of Chrysostom's commentary on Matthew. 8s In contrast, Luther did not care a whit about that "blabbermouth" but would give all of Paris and Venice for his Katie, the mother of his six children. This is not to say that Luther abandoned the age-old identification of sex and sin. What Luther finally realized is that the extreme of sensual deprivation succeeds only in giving the devil the upper hand, and that the temptations of Satan are at their most powerful in the monasteries. Luther concluded that a modest partaking in "sin" takes the sting out of the temptations of the devil. 86 Marriage was that moderate partaking in sin. But the Catholic Church would not budge. In our time, the molestation, sexual assault, and abuse of boys by a sexually repressed and dissolute priesthood have filled newspapers for several decades--criminal charges, investigations, lawsuits, bribery, extortion, and financial settlements. Nothing has led to more disillusionment and disgust

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

~

95

than the systematic efforts on the part of bishops ro conceal the criminal conduct of their priests by moving predatory priests from one parish to another ro escape the law. Cardinal Bernard F. Law was forced to resign when it was discovered that he was complicit in concealing the criminal conduct of his priests by shuffling them to unsuspecting parishes. Cardinal Law's obstruction of justice did not prevent Pope John Paul II from choosing him to head the basilica in Rome. He is now archpriest of Saint Mary Major Basilica, a church in the downtown neighborhood of Rome, which is under the jurisdiction of the Vatican. This is an insult to the victims and their families. It may be argued that the misdemeanors of a few bad priests should not cast a shadow over the whole priesthood. This objection is not plausible because the church's highest priests, including the current pope, are implicated in the cover-up. The scandal is not about a few bad priests, it is indicative of a pervasive culture within the church. 87 Despite the crisis of authority, the threat of financial ruin, and the radical decline in the availability of young men willing to enter the priesthood, Pope Benedict XVI refuses to acknowledge that enforced celibacy is at the heart of the trouble. In a state of willful forgetfulness of the church's long history of callous brutality, which has not subsided, we were treated to a media spectacle when Pope John Paul II died and Pope Benedict XVI was inaugurated in 2005. The world delighted in the marching bands, the sea of crimson cardinals, the bells, the smoking chimneys, the mystery of the Holy Ghost descending on the cardinals for inspiration, and all the magic on which the church has for so long relied to cast its spell. In the end, the whole spectacle was a grim reminder that human beings are utterly vulnerable to the sublime seductions of those who claim to have transcendental powers.

The Vices of Celibacy: Abelard, Heloise, and Augustine It is a tragic irony that the ethic of love inspired by Jesus has had the effect of replacing love and affection between the sexes with a selfish, cold, and callous inhumanity. The story of Abelard and Heloise is the best illustration of how the celibate ideal reduces love to something so lurid and lecherous that the lovers themselves shrink from it in horror and loathing. As told by Abelard, the story goes like this. At the age of thirty-seven Peter Abelard (1079-1142) was a famous cleric, scholar, and theologian. He was very popular in Paris, and students flocked to his lectures. In the account of his misfortunes, Abelard seems rather boastful. In my view, it is proper pride, since (as many scholars believe) Abelard brought the first rays of light into the darkness of the Middle Ages and was instrumental in the introduction of Aristotle to Europe.

96

"'*"

Chapter Four

Since nothing novel was tolerated in the medieval intellectual environment, Abelard had many enemies among his colleagues, who succeeded in bringing charges of heresy against him. ss Abelard was forced to throw his book on the Trinity in the fire with his own hand; he tells us that this caused him more pain than all the physical anguish he endured later. Abelard met Heloise when he was hired by her uncle and guardian to be her tutor. The eighteen-year-old Heloise was learned beyond her years, and her beauty was more than matched by her intelligence. Abelard and Heloise became lovers. It was only a matter of time before her uncle, Fulbert, discovered the affair. Fearing his revenge, Abelard fled. When he realized that Heloise was pregnant, he came back, abducted her, and married her in secret. While Heloise was hiding out in a nunnery, her uncle sent thugs in search of Abelard. One night, under the cover of darkness, they bribed Abelard's servant, entered his premises, and cut off his genitals while he was sleeping. Abelard interpreted this misfortune, along with his academic misfortunes, as a punishment from heaven for his guilty pleasures. He retired to a religious order and asked Heloise to do the same, for he could not bear the thought of her loving another man. They spent their celibate lives trying to conquer their passion and praying for salvation. Abelard built a chapel, dedicated to the Holy Ghost, under the name of Paraclete, which became a nunnery with Heloise as the abbess. Abelard and Heloise died as miserably as they had lived-longing for one another and loathing their longing as sin. Twenty years after Abelard's death, Heloise died and was buried in the same grave as Abelard. According to legend, when Heloise was lowered into the grave, Abelard lifted his arms to embrace her. S9 Abelard and Heloise lived at a time when the church insisted on imposing compulsory celibacy on clerics. Marriage was not approved, and married clerics were looked down upon, especially if they lived carnally with their wives. Pope Leo IX (d. 1054) is reported to have said, We profess openly that it is permitted to a bishop, priest, or deacon to neglect his wife for his religion, or to refuse to provide her with food and clothing; but it is his duty to refrain from living carnally with her.9o Abelard married Heloise in secret, since an open marriage would have destroyed his academic career. Heloise did not want him to ruin his prospects on her account, so she was reluctant to marry him but eager to live as his mistress. Defenders of the church portray the love of Abelard and Heloise as nothing more than a lecherous and lurid affair. This is how the church likes to portray sexual love in general; it makes it easier to condemn it as sin. De-

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

e.4-> 97

meaning the love of Abelard and Heloise also helps to obscure the contribution of the church's policy of celibacy to the tragedy. What makes these starcrossed lovers especially interesting is that they are also victims of their own conversion to the celibate creed. The saddest part of their story is the attitude they assumed toward their love for one another. Their letters to each other reveal that they came to see their love as sin, obscenity, and vice, which must be tom out of their hearts if they hoped to attain salvation. Abelard was first to repent. His misfortunes led him to see his love for Heloise as a crime for which he was being justly punished. He equates his love with "treachery, perfidy, and murder."91 He tells Heloise that his love for her spoils his devotion and fills him with horror.92 He tells her that his love is a series of chains that must be broken if his salvation is to be within reach. 93 He confesses to Heloise that he is "thoroughly wretched" because he has not tom from his heart "the deep roots which vice has planted."94 He tells her, "We are criminals whose repentance is late; oh, let it be sincere."95 He assumes a paternalistic attitude toward her, saying: "Deliver yourself, Heloise, from the shameful remains of a passion which has taken too deep root. Remember that the least thought for any other than God is an adultery."96 He advises "a mortification of body and mind, a strict fasting, continual solitude, profound and holy meditations, and a sincere love of God."97 He warns her that if she cannot conquer her love, she cannot be saved, and he trembles for her.98 On her part, Heloise wants to come and see him, but he replies that she will only be assisting the "evil spirits" that try to separate him from his God. He begs her to leave him alone if she cares to contribute to his salvation. He goes so far as to say that "it will always be the highest love to show none."99 He wants her to write no more. He asks only that she be buried near him and adds that "her cold ashes need then fear nothing" from his corrupting influence, his caresses, and his sinful passions. IOO Heloise is defiantly impenitent. If she has committed a crime in loving him, she will not repent. She has no regrets, save that she was not there the night that he was attacked, so she could have defended him, even with her life. She chastises him for his neglect and his coldness toward her-no letters, no visits. She accuses him of tormenting her by his decision never to see her again. She is only twenty-two years old, but she has agreed to be buried alive in a nunnery just to prove her undying love for him. She declares that she intends to be true to him forever. She makes it clear that in taking the veil she is not consecrating herself to God, but to Abelard. In defense of her love she argues that it is not carnal at all but spiritual"a love perfectly disengaged from the senses."lOl Only such a pure love, she

98

~

Chapter Four

maintains, could possibly have inspired the sort of sacrifice that she is capable of. Vice could not inspire anything of the sort. She insists that it is not the "man" she loves, but the "person." In my view, her argument cannot succeed in defending her love because she accepts the fundamental premise of the opposition. She is in the grip of the celibatarian dualism of flesh and spirit. She can defend her love only by denying any fleshly elements it may contain. She is not aware of just how spurious a distinction she makes between Abelard the man and Abelard the person. He may be missing some vital parts, but he is not a disembodied being. It is the embodied Abelard whom she knows and loves. In my view, she can defend her love only by refusing to separate the spiritual from the bodily. She must insist that the two are inseparable. It seems to me that the spiritual dimension of love-the emotional and intellectual intimacy-enhances the physical and sexual elements. This is probably the most troublesome fact for the celibatarian crowd. The capacity of love to enhance the pleasures of sex is either beyond their comprehension or a very worrisome fact that they would rather ignore. They can revile sexual love only by robbing it of all its spiritual, intellectual, and mystical dimensions and by reducing it to the most debased of animal pleasures. If it were indeed a simple animal pleasure, then any man would do. There would be no reason for Heloise to pine for Abelard, or to languish in a nunnery, just because she cannot have him. After a serious illness, Heloise reports a radical change of heart. Her passion and her love for Abelard, which have always seemed innocent to her, now appear "criminal" in her eyes. Death presents itself to her "as it appears to sinners." She explains: I began to dread the wrath of God now as I was near experiencing it, and I repented .... Those tender letters I wrote to you, those fond conversations I have had with you, give me as much pain now as they had formerly given pleasure. 102

Now, she says to herself: "Ah, miserable Heloise! ... [Cjonsider with terror the store of torments, and recollect, at the same time, those pleasures which thy deluded soul thought so entrancing."103 The triumph of monastic asceticism is complete when both lovers accept the criminal nature of their love. As a result, their letters become infrequent and deal strictly with the business of the Paraclete. No doubt, they believed that they had triumphed over the devil, conquered the temptations of the flesh, and begun their ascent toward spiritual purity and salvation. Unbeknown to them, it is their vices not their virtues that came to the fore as a result of celibacy. Far from being enriched by their conversion to monasticism, their characters were impoverished. They became more callous, indiffer-

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy 99 ent, selfish, and self-absorbed. Each was preoccupied only with personal salvation. In their misguided quest, they exorcised from their hearts every noble sentiment, every hint of affection, love, care, or concern for the other. Now they lived for themselves alone and not for each other. Prior to her monastic conversion, Heloise was selfless in her willingness to accept Abelard's misfortunes as her own; she did not abandon him because he was not every bit the man she fell in love with; she made it clear that his missing parts were no obstacle to her continued love and devotion. She wanted to caress and comfort him. But he rejected her love as an obscenity. Monasticism had turned him into a stone. 104 She reproaches him for his coldness and his neglect. But no sooner is she converted to his monastic creed, she becomes just as callous and inhuman. What is particularly obscene is their mutual neglect of their child. The little boy was abandoned to the care of Abelard's sister, Lucilla. He is not a subject of concern in his parent's letters. The neglect of the child is a function of their monastic conviction that he was conceived in sin. Far from elevating them to new heights of virtue, their quest for "spiritual purity" makes them more heartless and negligent toward their offspring than most beasts in the animal kingdom. The same callous inhumanity is manifest in the conduct of Augustine after his conversion to Christianity. When Augustine was about seventeen, he met a young girl from a Catholic family in his native African village. When the girl became pregnant, Augustine convinced her to forget about marriage and live with him. She agreed, but one can imagine that her Catholic parents were not too happy and may even have disowned her. In any case, she gave Augustine a son, named Adeodatus or God-given. In his Confessions, Augustine describes the relationship as a "bargain struck for lust."105 Yet, Augustine adored his son, even though he describes him as "born of my sin."106 Later he tells us that the woman with whom I had been living was torn from my side as an obstacle to my marriage and this was a blow which crushed my heart to bleeding, because I loved her dearly. She went back to Africa vowing not to give herself to any other man, and left with me the son whom she had borne me. I07 Augustine presents his dismissal of his beloved-we do not even know her name-as beyond his control. Surely, that is disingenuous. We know that Augustine's domineering mother, Monica, was arranging a marriage for her son to a woman more suitable to his status, so she was probably behind the expulsion of his African mistress. Augustine was a grown man, so he should take responsibility for allowing his mother to dominate him. The arranged marriage was postponed for two years because the prospective bride was not old enough. In the meantime, Augustine took another mistress because, as

100

Chapter Four

he tells it, he was a "slave oflust." But his "wound" showed "no signs of healing" and "began to fester." He missed the woman whom he was persuaded to expel. Then his conversion came, and he swore off women and sex altogether. Even when his beloved Adeodatus died in his teens, his mother was not called to his bedside. Nor is there any indication that the boy saw his mother during his growing years. It seems heartless to deprive the boy of his mother so totally, just to make sure that his father's spiritual purity was not threatened. It is a sad irony that the religion of love creates a personality type that is so cold and cruel toward those who are nearest and dearest. Augustine is quite aware of the fact that it was not just sexual pleasure that he missed; it was her. He finds this personal attachment particularly disconcerting, even treacherous, because it is a serious obstacle to his effort to triumph over all sexual desire. He is therefore forced to condemn the combination of love and sexual desire more than just plain lasciviousness. This explains why Adeodatus's mother is never mentioned and there is no effort to contact her after her rude dismissal, not even when her son lay dying. It also explains why he thought that the polygamous patriarchs, who supposedly thought of sex merely as a tool for procreation in accordance with the command of God, were more virtuous or better able to control their sexual drives than those who become emotionally attached to a particular woman, as he did. lOB Augustine's experience should have made him realize that women are not just interchangeable instruments for the satisfaction of lust. It was not just sexual satisfaction that he needed; it was a particular woman whom he longed for. But he could not admit that sexual love had a dimension that transcends the relief of purely physical needs. Sex has to be totally isolated from every other dimension of life, to be successfully demonized. It must be robbed of all human contexts to become the symbol of evil and the Fall. When sex is identified with sin in the minds of men, women generally bear the burden of this vilification. Perhaps the greatest vice of the celibate creed is that it cannot be sustained without actively cultivating hatred and antipathy toward womankind. Aquinas was a significant contributor to the vilification of women as witches. 109 He believed that women were more incontinent, morally inferior to men, and more likely to be seduced by the devil and to consort sexually with him. Like his teacher, Albertus Magnus, Aquinas was convinced that male impotence was caused by the operation of demons and witches. So much for his reputation as a paragon of reason. 110 Aquinas notwithstanding, celibacy is not a virtue in the Aristotelian sense because it is not a moderate mean between the extremes of abstinence and self-indulgence. It is an extreme. Aquinas's argument for celibacy is not an

Sin, Sex, and Celibacy

+

101

Aristotelian argument but an ascetic argument rooted in a desire to share the agony and anguish of Christ-a desire to "drink from the Chalice of the Lord." The praise of celibacy is rooted in a horror and loathing of nature, life, and the body. It is antithetical to any naturalistic morality or a morality based on the natural law, which works with and not against human nature and human inclinations. Far from tempering, curbing, or controlling sexuality, the determination to obliterate this natural instinct tends to augment it. Far from freeing the mind for the contemplation of God, the radical repression of sexual desire is apt to strengthen lust and interfere with contemplation. In truth, celibacy cannot count as a virtue at all. The church's fixation on celibacy accounts for her lurid obsession with sex, her demonization of women, her cold and callous inhumanity, her culture of cruelty, and a plethora of crimes, offenses, and misdemeanors. In private life, the celibate creed also inclines to vice. Far from inspiring virtue, self-control, or spiritual purity, conversion to the celibate creed poisons love and fosters personal vices. Far from enhancing human decency, the celibate creed is liable to make human beings selfish, callous, and inhuman, as it did to Augustine, Abelard, and Heloise.

CHAPTER

FIVE

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

I have argued that Aquinas betrayed the promise of natural law by abandoning his commitments to reason, justice, and nature, respectively. His subjugation of reason to the superstitions of faith set the stage for his repudiation of natural justice and his defense of the Inquisition and its atrocities. His defense of celibacy as a special virtue spelled the renunciation of nature and of life in this world. In this chapter, I will use an imaginary dialogue to examine what is at issue between Aquinas and Modernity. The conversation is divided into seven parts, each with a specific theme. My aim is not only to reveal how radical and uncompromising Aquinas was but also to show the continued threat that his ideas pose for the politics of our time. Throughout the dialogue, I will express the ideas of Modernity in my own words and those of Aquinas in his words. Where appropriate, I will allow Aquinas to reappropriate the ideas of the current pope, Benedict XVI (Joseph Ratzinger), who echoes Thomist ideas and uses them to understand the political predicament of our time. l

Christianity and the Inquisition MODERNITY: I am not objecting to your ideas because they were not modern enough for my liking. I am objecting to them for not being sufficiently Christian. AQUINAS: Since when are you the poster child for Christianity?

103

104

"*"

Chapter Five

MODERNITY: I am not. I am appealing to a natural law that has an affinity with a kinder version of your faith. Do you realize that more Christians perished at the hands of their own church in the so-called Albigensian Crusades than were killed by the Roman persecutions? Even after official combat was declared over, the reign of terror by the Catholic Church was continued for several hundred years by your fellow Dominicans, who presided over the Inquisition. The sadistic malice, arbitrariness, and injustice of that institution have never been matched in human history. AQUINAS: What hyperbole! What nonsense! On the contrary, the Inquisition replaced war with judicial investigations intended to establish the guilt or innocence of the accused. In fact, it was "a step forward in juristic theory."2 MODERNITY: What legal investigations allow the prosecutor and the judge to be one and the same? The tribunals were a travesty of justice and altogether at odds with Jesus's message of love and forgiveness. AQUINAS: This is no time to invoke love and forgiveness. Talk of love and forgiveness is inappropriate where matters of such gravity are concerned (Summa Theologica eST], 11-11, Q. 11, A. 3). MODERNITY: How can small divergences of opinion among Christians be a matter of such gravity? AQUINAS: Heresy is not a matter of irrelevant divergences of opinion. Heretics pose a grave danger to the Christian community. As Saint Paul said after pronouncing a sentence of excommunication, "Know you not that a little leaven corrupts the whole lump?" (ST, II-I!, Q. 10, A. 9). MODERNITY: So, why not follow Paul and expel the nonconformists from your midst? But for heaven's sake, be charitable enough to let them live! AQUINAS: It is not enough to excommunicate heretics; they must be "severed from the world by death." (ST, 11-11, Q. 11, A. 3). As Saint Jerome says: Cut off the decayed flesh, expel the mangy sheep, from the fold, lest the whole house, the whole paste, the whole body, the whole flock, burn, perish, rot, die. Arius was but one spark in Alexandria, but as that spark was not at once put out, the whole earth was laid waste by its flame (ST, Il-Il, Q. 11, A. 3).

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

105

MODERNITY: Arius was simply being logical. Jesus can't be God and the son of God at the same time. Arius's only crime was thinking. AQUINAS: The church has a duty to defend the truth and protect the spiritual community; so, it has every right to deliver heretics to "the secular tribunal to be exterminated thereby from the world by death" (ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 3). MODERNITY: I am not convinced that heresy is a sin. But let's assume, for the sake of argument, that there is only one true religion that is necessary for salvation. Should we not have pity on those who have fallen prey to the "snare of the devil" and give them a chance at repentance? AQUINAS: Of course we should give them a chance to repent. As the Apostle Paul says: "A man that is a heretic after the first and second admonition, avoid: knowing that he, that is such an one, is subverted" (Titus 3:10, 11; ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 3). Heretics should be given penance only if the church judges their repentance to be sincere. However, they cannot afford to lapse more than once; if they do, it does not matter how sincere their repentance is; they cannot be "delivered from the pain of death" (ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 4). MODERNITY: What if the third time the heretic repents is the time that he really sees the light, is truly sorry, genuinely sincere, and will never lapse again? AQUINAS: The church must assume that those who "relapse after being once received, are not sincere" (ST, 1I-1I, Q. 11, A. 4, Reply to Objection 1). The most that can be allowed is one relapse. After that, it is safe to conclude that such individuals are "inconstant in the faith." We have no choice but to have them killed. Then it is up to God to save them from damnation if they are sincere. MODERNITY: The idea that God will decide who is innocent is an outlandish excuse for arbitrary and capricious slaughter. Besides, God forgave Israel time and time again: "Thou hast played the harlot with many lovers; yet return to me, saith the Lord" (Jer. 3:1). If heresy is a spiritual form of prostitution, and if the church hopes to emulate God, whom she claims to represent, then she must accept relapsed heretics if they sincerely repent-time and time again. Does the Gospel not instruct us to forgive our brother seventy times seven (Matt. 18:22)? The church has an obligation to be charitable.

106

Chapter Five

AQUINAS: Not at all. "We are not bound by charity" to provide others with temporal goods-Le., life, worldly possessions, and good repute (ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 4). Temporal goods are secondary goods from the point of view of charity. Charity is about spiritual goods; so, we are not bound by charity to protect the life of the heretic (ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 4). The church provides heretics with spiritual goods by admitting them to penance, "whereby the way of salvation is open to them." In this way, the church does not "debar them from the way of salvation, but neither does she protect them from the sentence of death" (ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 4, Reply to Objection 1). MODERNITY: How charitable. Give them a chance to repent in the hope that God will accept their repentance, and then kill them? That's the trouble with you Christians. You preach the religion of love and forgiveness until you come to power, and then heaven help us! God the Son gives way to God the Father, and we are back to the Old Testament God of vengeance. It is very convenient to have more than one God. It allows you to use whichever one happens to be more advantageous. Killing heretics is vengeful, and vengeance is a vice, even when displayed by God. Some of the Hebrew prophets understood that. You Christians refuse to attribute any vices to God and are therefore forced to defend the indefensible. You not only defend a vengeful God, you are determined to imitate him when the opportunity presents itself. AQUINAS: God is altogether free of vice. "God is the highest good" and "there cannot be evil in God" (Summa Contra Gentiles [SCG], Bk. I, ch. 41, and ch. 39). God is merciful and just. His vengeance is a virtue, which is integral to his justice (ST, II-II, Q. 108, "On Vengeance"). MODERNITY: [Mockingly] On the contrary, I answer that vengeance is unlawful and vicious. Surely, there is nothing virtuous about the vengeful fits of anger that the God of the Old Testament was prone to. He bragged about being a jealous God "visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation" (Exod. 20:5).3 AQUINAS: "I answer that, Vengeance is lawful and virtuous so far as it tends to the prevention of evil" (ST, II-II, Q. 108, A. 3). You must look at punishment as a medicine, a small evil that is intended to remove a greater evil, and not the reverse. "Thus the medicine of the body never blinds the eye, in order to repair the heel: yet sometimes it is harmful in lesser things that it may be helpful in things of greater consequences" (ST, II-II, Q. 108, A. 3). Since spiritual goods are of the greatest consequence, God will sometimes inflict

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

"'*"

107

temporal punishments for the sake of our spiritual improvement, even when the person is innocent and has done nothing wrong (ST, II-II, Q. 108, A. 3 ).4 MODERNITY: You mean the way God destroyed the life of Job by visiting him

with gruesome afflictions and killing his children? AQUINAS: These were but temporal adversities intended for the spiritual im-

provement ofJob (ST, 11-11, Q. 108, A. 3). MODERNITY: The biblical God is a vicious God. That viciousness applies equally to the God of the New Testament. What kind of God requires the death and torment of his own son? What kind of God inflicts eternal torment without end? AQUINAS: These things are necessary components of God's justice. MODERNITY: I wish the church had adopted Origen's view of God instead of

yours. You see, Origen understood the Fall as our entrapment by the devil. Just as the father wanted to have his prodigal son back, so God wanted us to return home; he wanted us back; he wanted to restore us to our original station before the Fall. He could have smote the devil, but he wanted to do everything with all due respect for justice. That's why he paid the ransom required by the devil, to secure our freedom. Origen's view was ingenious; but the church denounced him and favored your hard-hearted view, Thomas. AQUINAS: But Origen's account has no basis in the Gospels. MODERNITY: That may well be; but it would have been a beautiful fiction,

which would have allowed the softer side of Christianity to triumph. Instead, the church accepted your view that the death and suffering of Jesus was required by God for his "satisfaction." I believe that was the word you used.

(ST,

rn,

Q. 46, A. 2, Reply to Objection 3; ST, Q. 47, A. 3, Reply to Objection 1).

AQUINAS: Yes, it was.

rn,

MODERNITY: What kind of father would require the death and torment of his

son for his "satisfaction"?

justice of God required it. Besides, the devil can make no legitimate claims on God! AQUINAS: The

108

Chapter Five

MODERNITY: Perhaps I'm being too hard on you, Thomas. Your God is no exception. Gods always behave badly. The trouble with religion is that it is invariably tempted to define virtue as the imitation of the gods, which is an invitation to vice. AQUINAS: My lady, you are being quite unreasonable. MODERNITY: On the contrary, you are a classic example. All those lovely things you said about virtue, justice, and the moral law seem to evaporate; and all that is left to guide humanity is the imitation of a vengeful God. The distinction you make between spiritual and temporal goods invites a callous brutality. This con temp tu mundi explains why ecclesiastical government is the worst tyranny known to man. Is Christian charity just a scam? AQUINAS: We are not bound by charity when the salvation of so many hangs in the balance. Out of charity, we must deprive the heretic of life for the sake of those whom he threatens, because "eternal salvation takes precedence over temporal good, and because the good of the many is to be preferred to the good of one" (ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 4). We cannot allow the "temporal good" of the heretic-that is, life-to be an "obstacle to the eternal salvation in many" (ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 4). MODERNITY: All that talk about modem human rights having their origins in the Christian tradition and its concern for the primacy of the person, the sanctity of the individual, the inviolability of human life, and the absolute value of human beings is so much nonsense. You are quite willing to sacrifice individuals for the specious good of collective salvation. I don't expect you to be a champion of modem individualism and human rights, but I hoped you would respect Saint Paul's edict that evil should not be done for the sake of achieving some good (Rom. 3:8). AQUINAS: My lady, this is not practical or reasonable when the spiritual life of so many hangs in the balance. We have to acknowledge the reality on the ground, as they say. MODERNITY: It is a callous and cruel church you defend, Thomas. She is a mean and malevolent mistress. AQUINAS: Nonsense. Just as Absalom had to be destroyed for the sake of the peace of the house of David, so heretics must be destroyed for the welfare of

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

+

109

the church as a whole. It is as hard for the church to sacrifice her own as it was for David to destroy his son Absalom. The church will suffer as a mother suffers on account of the perdition to which she is compelled to send her children. But she will "heal the sorrow of her maternal heart by the delivery of so many nations" from the agony of eternal damnation (ST, II-II, Q.10, A. 8, Reply to Objection 4). MODERNITY: Absalom killed his half brother for the rape of their sister Tamar but was subsequently reconciled with his father, David. Later, when Absalom incited a revolt against his father and was killed in the battle, David did not rejoice at the military victory but wept for the loss of his son (2 Sam. 18:33). 5 David did not require the death of his son for his satisfaction. In contrast, the church has no qualms about sacrificing her flock. Her maternal heart is made of stone, Thomas. AQUINAS: But heretics are not innocent. MODERNITY: Even if I were to grant your assumption that heretics pose a potential danger to the Christian community, it is still the case that distinguishing a heretic from a believer is a very tricky business. The church was giving fallible men more power than they had wisdom. Was the church not afraid to make mistakes? AQUINAS: Just because a few mistakes might be made is no reason to go soft on heretics. MODERNITY: You know as well as I do that more often than not there was no doubt about who the heretics were, and all this talk about sincere repentance was mostly immaterial. Most heretics were defiant and refused to repent. Joan of Arc preferred death to repentance and submission. Limoux Noir preferred to be flayed alive than believe in transubstantiation. As to the Cathars, they could not fathom how God could allow his body to be handled by these fornicating priests. 6 Most heretics had contempt for your church and preferred martyrdom to groveling before the pope and his inquisitors. I suspect that their doctrines did not give as much offense as their insubordination. The Cathars were a classic case that you know all about. AQUINAS: They were enemies of the church. They rejected Catholic rituals, relics, and Holy Communion. They read their own vernacular Scriptures,

110

"*"

Chapter Five

considered Rome to be the Whore of Babylon, and regarded the pope to be the Antichrist presiding over a profligate and debauched priesthood! MODERNITY: Their criticisms were well founded. But the church slaughtered them like animals. AQUINAS: Pope Innocent III did not slaughter them without warning. He gave them many chances to repent. In 1205, he sent Father Dominic to preach to them. But it was no use; Dominic's preaching had no effect. They were defiant. MODERNITY: It was a brilliant tactic! Dominic's poverty, simplicity, and spiritual purity were meant to impress the heretics. But it did not work. Dominic preached to them the same nonsense that you preach, Thomas-the church is the only custodian of the true faith; she is the mother of all believers; recant and repent sincerely with all your heart, and you will be accepted into the fold after serving the penance that you deserve. AQUINAS: The Cathars refused to repent or recant. Unrepentant heretics deserve death. MODERNITY: The pope ordered them slaughtered by the thousands! AQUINAS: The Albigensian wars were the tragic consequence of allowing heresy to fester for too long. The result was that entire communities were "infected." MODERNITY: Infect! Contaminate! Pollute! You talk as if ideas were dangerous germs, lethal viruses, terminal maladies, and communicable diseases. How is a community "infected" by a diversity of ideas and opinions? Why not regard new ideas or new interpretations of Holy Writ as enriching the community instead of infecting it? How do you know that the heretics set out to harm the community? How do you know that heretics contaminate and pollute the faith? Are they not also in search of truth? Surely, no one has a monopoly on the truth. Truth is not a thing that someone can claim to possess to the exclusion of all others. AQUINAS: This sounds like so much modern liberal nonsense-a recipe for disaster. How can you allow error the freedom to spread?

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

~

111

MODERNITY: Error? By prohibiting freedom of thought and discussion, you have allowed the silliest dogmas to be perpetuated as infallible truths. Meanwhile, you have silenced the voices of Arius, Marcion, Origen, Pelagius, Jovinian, Erasmus, and others. It seems to me that by silencing these great men, the church has rejected a kinder, gentler, and more rational understanding of Christianity. I will be delicate enough not to mention the banishment of William of Saint-Amour and the stabbing to death of Siger of Brabant, your intellectual opponents at the University of Paris. AQUINAS: I don't know what you are talking about. All I know is that your modern insistence on the absolute freedom of thought and belief destroys the shared values that make up a community of believers. MODERNITY: I confess to being more partial to individuality than to community. But I can't see how you can promote community by slaughtering those who disagree with you. You don't need homogeneous beliefs to have community. There was real community in the south of France between the Catholics and their heretical neighbors. Many good Catholics stood in solidarity with the Cathars as fellow citizens. And what did your church do? She slaughtered the Catholics who stood by their dissident neighbors.7 The papal decree went out to burn them all and let God save his flock. Even by your dim lights, these Catholics were innocent, and the papal order was nothing less than the conscious and knowing slaughter of the innocent. Surely, you would not endorse the slaughter of the innocent, would you? AQUINAS: That was a complicated affair. No one who is innocent is punished spiritually, that is, sent to hell, but temporal punishments of the innocent are legitimate under certain circumstances. One of these cases is when the innocent fail to condemn the sins of the wicked (ST, 11-11, Q. 108, A. 4, Reply to Objection 0. 8 This was clearly the case of the Catholics of Albi who allowed the heretics to thrive in their midst. MODERNITY: But, Thomas, this was not a complicated case. This was a clear case of the slaughter of the innocent by the command of the pope and his legates. AQUINAS: The Catholics who harbored the heretics were not innocent. MODERNITY: Your moral judgment has been severely impaired by your partiality to the Catholic Church. Christ anticipated the treacherous consequences

112

Chapter Five

of this sort of partiality in the New Testament parable where the master of the household tells his servants not to destroy the cockle in the field lest they also root out the wheat (Matt: 13:24-30). The master ordered his servants to let the wheat and the cockle grow together until the harvest, when the master will himself tell the reapers to gather the cockle, bind it in bundles, and bum it; then he will tell them to gather the wheat and bring it into his barn. If the heretics are the cockle and the true believers are the wheat, then Jesus was saying that it is for him to separate the wheat from the cockle in the day of the harvest, which is a clear reference to Judgment Day. AQUINAS: Nonsense. "Our Lord forbids the uprooting of the cockle when there is fear lest the wheat be uprooted together with it. But sometimes, the wicked can be uprooted by death, not only without danger, but even with great profit, to the good. Wherefore in such a case the punishment of death may be inflicted on sinners." When the Gospel parable says, "Suffer both to grow until the harvest" (Matt. 13:28), it means that we should wait until the time is right, when the wheat will not be pulled up along with the cockle (ST, II-II, Q. 108, A. 3, Reply to Objection 1) MODERNITY: So, are you saying that there are times when the authorities can easily distinguish the wheat from the cockle, and in these cases, there is no need to wait for Judgment Day? AQUINAS: That's right. MODERNITY: The Christian tradition was not on your side, Thomas. You were more strident and radical than most of your predecessors. John Chrysostom (347 -407), a most authoritative interpreter of Holy Writ, interprets this passage to mean that we should not slay heretics, because if we do, we will also slay many innocent people. Chrysostom rightly thought that "the harvest" refers to the Last Judgment, when God will decide. AQUINAS: When the Gospel talks about "the harvest," it does not mean the Last Judgment. It means when the time is right. MODERNITY: So, how do you know when the time is right? AQUINAS: This is a matter of prudence and sagacity. If the heretic in question has disciples, he should not be punished severely, lest this cause a schism. But if the heretic "has no defenders," if he is alone and helpless, then

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

t4->

113

the "severity of the discipline should not slacken" (ST, Il-Il, Q. 10, A. 8, Reply to Objection O. He should be quickly crushed before he accumulates converts and pollutes the faith. MODERNITY: Luckily, a heretic came along who had so many followers that it was impossible for the church to snuff him out. His name was Martin Luther.

The Silence of Conscience MODERNITY: By all accounts you were reputed to be a gentle soul, Thomas. Yet you never spoke up against the Inquisition. On the contrary, your philosophy contributed to the peace of mind of the inquisitors. Whatever happened to synderesis, that natural part of conscience that inclines man to the good (ST, I, Q. 79, A. 12)? You said that conscience accuses, torments, and rebukes (ST, I, Q. 79, A. 13). How can it be silent in the face of so much injustice? AQUINAS: The inquisitors acted in accordance with their conscience. To act according to conscience is not to sin; sin is acting contrary to conscience (ST, I-Il, Q. 19, A. 5). Therefore, the inquisitors did not sin. MODERNITY: You said that reason tells us what is right and wrong and conscience inclines us to the good according to reason. The failure of the will to act according to reason results in the torments and rebukes of conscience. But what if reason errs? AQUINAS: No one sins who acts according to conscience, even when conscience abides by erring reason. Sinning is one thing, and doing what is wrong is another. Sinning is acting contrary to conscience, regardless of whether the bidding of conscience is right or wrong. So, you can act wrongly without sinning, and rightly while sinning (ST, I-Il, Q. 19, A. 6). MODERNITY: I have seen how conscience can be perverted by a bad society. By some accounts, Adolf Eichmann, who was responsible for the transportation of tens of thousands of Jews to their death at concentration camps, was not troubled by his conscience. He thought he was simply doing his duty according to his conscience. So, on your account, he did not sin. Can the same be said for those who slew the apostles? Maybe they acted according to their conscience, which bid them to do what their erroneous reason demanded. Therefore, they did not sin.

114

+

Chapter Five

AQUINAS: I haven't the competence to judge Eichmann, but I can tell you that those who slew the apostles sinned-they were evil and culpable. An erring conscience does not excuse when the ignorance involved is voluntary. Such colossal ignorance is due to negligence-not bothering or caring to know what you should have known (ST, 1-11, Q. 19, A. 6).9 MODERNITY: You gave an amazing example, Thomas. You said that it was inexcusable for a man to commit adultery with a clear conscience because he did not know that sleeping with another man's wife is wrong but that a man who slept with another man's wife because he mistook her for his own made an excusable mistake (ST, 1-11, Q. 19, A. 6). Only a celibate man can conjure up such a comical example. AQUINAS: I'm glad that you were amused. No matter what you think of my example, it makes it very clear that those who slew the apostles cannot be excused. They should have known better. MODERNITY: Don't you think that a man should recognize his wife, and that such ignorance is inexcusable? AQUINAS: It might have been too dark, and he made an honest mistake. MODERNITY: No doubt. But the Dominican inquisitors were not making an honest mistake. Their wickedness is integral to a willful ignorance perpetuated by the Catholic Church-namely, that she represents the one and only truth and that all opposition to her power is wickedness deserving death. The assumption involves such monstrous conceit. AQUINAS: Quite the contrary, it is a humble submission to God. It is heretics who suffer from the sin of pride. MODERNITY: Those who think that they are in possession of the one and only truth are almost always the source of untold mischief and misery for humanity. That's what made your fellow Dominicans more treacherous than ordinary criminals. The latter are more often than not tormented by their conscience. But those who believe that they are in possession of God's truth regard their opponents as the children of Satan, who can be destroyed with a clear conscience. The result is not just immorality but also fanaticism and intolerance.

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

+

115

AQUINAS: Tolerance is not an unmitigated virtue, my lady. MODERNITY: You are quite right. No one should tolerate injustice, tyranny, or the slaughter of the innocent. The trouble is that you tolerate these quite well. It is freedom, moderation, and justice that you crush with a clear conscience.

Separation of Church and State MODERNITY: The current pope has condemned the Protestant churches of Europe for being too cozy with modernity. He shares your view that the church should have dominion over the secular realm and should not be subject to civil law, like everyone else. How is that conducive to political order and stability? AQUINAS: The church lives by a higher law. She does not threaten the temporal order. She has no temporal power; her power is strictly spiritual. MODERNITY: It is a strange sort of spiritual power that can raise armies and launch crusades. What you mean by spiritual power is the gullibility of the masses. It is thanks to that gullibility that the church managed to get the secular authorities to comply with her demands. I could never understand why the inquisitors were not booted out of town by the secular authorities. AQUINAS: In the days of old, when the church was "recently instituted, and had not, as yet, the power of curbing earthly princes," a prince could get away with snubbing her (ST, 11-11, Q. 12, A. 2, Reply to Objection 1). But that sort of conduct was not possible once the Christian faith had become widespread. In my time, a prince who defied the authority of the church would be excommunicated and would forfeit his dominion over his subjects. As Pope Gregory VII has rightly maintained, We, by our apostolic authority, absolve from their oath those who through loyalty or through the sacred bond of an oath owe allegiance to excommunicated persons: and we absolutely forbid them to continue their allegiance to such persons, until these shall have made amends (ST, II-II, Q. 12, A. 2).

MODERNITY: "We"? Listen to that plural pronoun of papal discourse. What pretension! It's not just me; it's me and Jesus and God and the Virgin and the

116

"*"'

Chapter Five

Holy Ghost. What a dirty trick. The popes knew exactly how to take advantage of the gullible masses to augment their power. to AQUINAS: The popes are servants of God. Their power derives ftom the authority that the faith enjoys. The doctrine of the two swords is the key; it is the very basis of your cherished separation of church and state. MODERNITY: That's what Benedict says. How so? AQUINAS: Pope Benedict XVI understands the true spirit of my doctrine, which follows the fine tradition of Pope Gelasius. As Benedict explained, separate spheres for church and state distinguish Western ftom Eastern Christianity.!! In Constantinople, the emperor was the head of the church. In contrast, Western Christianity separated the office of pontiff ftom that of head of state. MODERNITY: What a fanciful account of Eutopean history! It is true that the Byzantine emperor was head of the church, but no one confused him with its spiritual leader. By the same token, the queen of England is head of the Anglican Church, but she is not its spiritual leader. The confusion of spiritual and temporal power is originally a Roman phenomenon.!2 Caesaropapism is the invention of the Roman pontiffs, who have never had any aversion to temporal power. On the contrary, ever since the collapse of the Western part of the Roman Empire, they have insisted on dominion and managed to get it. They were absolute sovereigns over the Papal States until Napoleon deprived them of their power temporarily. But once Napoleon was defeated, they went back to exercising absolute and arbitrary power-summary executions, decapitations, and other abominations. No sooner did Garibaldi's armies liberate the Italians from papal tyranny in 1870 then Mussolini came along and made a pact with the pope (the Lateran Accords of 1929). In exchange for $105 million and cooperation with the Fascists, Mussolini established Vatican City as a sovereign state on 108 acres of land with the pope as its temporal ruler. Since when does Mussolini have the power to create sovereign states? And why does anyone respect the Lateran Accords anyway? It boggles my mind. AQUINAS: Vatican City gives the church the freedom it requires and deserves. The whole point of the doctrine of the two swords is to ensure that the church is free from interference by the state. As Benedict explained, this principle was violated after the Reformation with the rise of the Protestant "state churches." These churches were not free; they were subject to the state.

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

+

117

MODERNITY: True to Catholic tradition, Benedict considers a church free only when she is mistress over the secular powers. I have serious doubts about freedom of religion. It is too dangerous a thing to give it carte blanche. England in the sixteenth century and Turkey today have the right idea. The churches and mosques must be supervised by the state to prevent insurrection and terrorism. AQUINAS: As Pope Benedict explained, the Protestants made a colossal error in relinquishing the freedom of the church. At the end of the day, the Reformation "provoked the counteroffensive of the free churches that gave rise to the United States."J3 These free churches were not subject to the state; that is why Christianity was able to thrive in America.1 4 These churches transcended all denominational distinctions to create a consensus that amounted to a Christian civil religion in the United Sates. This explains the "country's sense of a special religious mission toward the rest of the world."15 It explains why that nation is willing to fight for its Christian values in the face of the Islamic threat. In contrast, Europe has descended into nihilism and indifference. MODERNITY: Benedict is right to think that America is more Christian than Europe, which explains why it is more aggressive. But why is the pope so enthusiastic about the evangelical churches? AQUINAS: The traditional Protestant churches were too closely allied with modernity and were destroyed by it. In contrast, the evangelicals, like the Catholics, refuse to compromise with modernity. They refuse to succumb to the pressures of secularism. 16 Pope Benedict is encouraged by the freedom and power of the evangelicals. MODERNITY: What Benedict calls freedom is not simply freedom to practice one's religion unmolested by secular powers. Benedict admires the acquisition of political clout by the Christian Right in America. It forms an irresistible lobby, a pressure group, a large faction, which can exercise power over the state. Like the Catholic Church, the evangelical churches will settle only for dominance. The pope is a master of doublespeak. AQUINAS: You are a master at heaping abuse on the church, my lady. Anticlericalism is the most distinctive and despicable aspect of modernity. It is only by the grace of God that the church has managed to survive despite being the powerless victim of the modern world.

118

+

Chapter Five

MODERNITY: If the church were powerless in the modem world, Benedict would be in jail for his collusion in the sexual-abuse scandals. As the grand inquisitor of Pope John Paul 11, he ordered bishops to conceal the offending priests, punish victims who spoke out, and under no circumstances cooperate with law enforcement in any of the countries where the crimes were committed. 17 The doctrine of the two swords is a sham. There is no separation of church and state as long as the pope has a jurisdiction in which he is the temporal ruler. The temporal power of the pope enables him to reward his accomplices in crime with plum positions in Vatican City, as John Paul 11 did with Cardinal Bernard F. Law of Boston. Despite the church's loss of power in the modem world, her legendary impudence shows no signs of waning. The Vatican continues to be the Guantanamo of the Catholic Church, where the pope is beyond the reach of law. AQUINAS: You are assuming that secular law is always just. MODERNITY: I am assuming that it is more likely to be based on reason and natural justice, which the church clearly does not respect. And those who have no respect for natural justice have no business wielding temporal power. I am waiting for the great day when the World Court will put the pope on trial, or when the United Nations will declare Mussolini's Lateran Accords null and void and deprive the pope of his status as the sovereign of Vatican City. AQUINAS: That would accomplish nothing. You fail to comprehend the power of faith, my lady. It will be your undoing.

Western Civilization and the Islamic Threat AQUINAS: The church was once a spark of eternity in time. It was an anchor that linked man to the source of life. Now the truth has been banished from the world. But man cannot go on living without truth. The result is nihilism, meaninglessness, and spiritual entropy, which threaten Western civilization. In the absence of truth, your modem world is homeless and adrift-a sea without a shore. MODERNITY: Being homeless and adrift is the pejorative description of the freedom of the modem world by nostalgic reactionaries. How can a civilization be threatened by nothingness?

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

'"'*"

119

AQUINAS: Europe is in dire straits. The death of God is a very real process that has penetrated the heart of the church. Now, the church is totally mired in finitude and history. The church is now just a political entity. Pope Benedict understandably laments that the church has become nothing but "a collection of all human sicknesses besmirched and humiliated by a history from which no scandal is absent."18 Anyone listening to this sad tale "can only cover his head in shame."19 In truth, the church is a spiritual presence, not an historical entity. Like the moon, the church is a reflection of a light that is not her own. She is a symbol of "humanity as represented by woman, who is passive and fruitful from the power of what she receives."2o Europe needs the church now more than ever. MODERNITY: All these passive feminine images create the illusion of innocence. They are equally disingenuous for women as for the church. The idea that the Catholic Church is a spiritual presence is a scam that allows the church to escape her long and sordid history. AQUINAS: Granted, the church has made mistakes. John Paul II has begged the world's forgiveness for the sins of the church. He has even ordered an investigation to inquire into the extent of the church's complicity or responsibility for the slaughter of millions of Jews during World War II. MODERNITY: John Paul apologized for the sins of the sons and daughters of the church, as if the fathers of the church and her highest officials and pontiffs were not culpable. The Vatican Commission for the Religious Relations with the Jews that he commissioned turned out to be a whitewash! After eleven years of soul-searching, the report was finally released in 1998, declaring the innocence of the church on a technicality. The commission made the spurious distinction between the ancient anti-Judaism of the church and the modern anti-Semitism of the Nazis.n AQUINAS: The church gave Europe its soul. In the absence of the defining power of the church, Europe has become hollow and soulless. It has reached such heights of nihilism and self-loathing that it is incapable of the most elementary self-affirmation. As a result, it is depopulating itself so rapidly that it cannot secure its future. 22 MODERNITY: Why, pray, is this happening to Europe?

120

Chapter Five

AQUINAS: Relativism is the disease that ails Europe. Relativism has paralyzed Europe and rendered it defenseless. The relativist creed teaches that all values, civilizations, religions, and opinions are of equal worth. As a result, Europeans are unable to affirm their heritage. They are unwilling to declare the superiority of their own civilization over other civilizations. Hobbled by relativism, Europe does not have the courage to declare that its civilization is better than Islamic civilization, that a civil society is better than an umma, that a liberal constitution is better than sharia, or that a sentence by an independent tribunal is better than a fatwa. The disease is so pervasive that it has infected Christian theology. Protestant theologians regard Jesus as one prophet among others, and Christianity as a religion equal to other religions. Even Catholics are not immune from the disease. The Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) revealed just how eager some Catholics are to compromise with modern relativism. Even though Vatican II acknowledged the principle that Christ is "the way, the truth, and the life," it stopped short of saying that he was the only way. Instead, it invoked parallel roads to salvation.23 MODERNITY: I am not a relativist, but it seems to me rather progressive to think of Christianity as one religion among others, and not the only custodian of truth and righteousness. AQUINAS: On the contrary, this "widespread indifferent ism," as Pope John Paul II called it, is a serious symptom of disease.24 MODERNITY: What do you mean? AQUINAS: As John Paul explained, "the theory of the limited, incomplete, or imperfect character of the revelation of Jesus Christ, which would be complementary to that found in other religions, is contrary to the Church's faith."25 This is happening at a time when relativism has undermined European self-confidence, which explains why Europe has failed to acknowledge its Christian roots in its Preamble to the European Constitutional Treaty.26 In refusing to acknowledge its Christian heritage, Europe has committed what the pope called a "silent apostasy." MODERNITY: If Europe is guilty of apostasy, then I applaud it. AQUINAS: You have no understanding of the gravity of the situation. Europe suffers from deeply pathological guilt and self-hatred about its past,

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

~

121

which make it totally incapable of defending itself against the looming threat. As Pope Benedict XVI has pointed out, the Islamic migrations threaten Europe's Christian identity. And Europe is too weak to assert the universality of its values. MODERNITY: There is a huge difference between asserting the universality of rational principles of law and justice and asserting the singular, universal, and exclusively redemptive message of Jesus Christ. One has its source in reason, while the other is based on a culturally specific revelation. I am partial to civil society and liberal constitutions. But I am not ready to launch a crusade against the Islamic world in the name of these principles. Nor am I claiming that these principles are necessary for salvation, only that they contribute to human happiness in this world. It makes no sense to bomb people to secure their happiness. Like the West, the Islamic world must come to its own realization that theocratic rule is odious and should be transcended in favor of more rational principles. These principles are genuinely universal and have nothing to do with Europe's Christian heritage. AQUINAS: European Christians and secularists cannot afford to bicker while the future of Europe is at stake. MODERNITY: Is the pope suggesting a crusade against Islam? AQUINAS: Europeans are in no mood for crusades. The faithful are not numerous enough. Pope Benedict has an excellent plan that is appropriate for the times. MODERNITY: What does Benedict have in mind? AQUINAS: Pope Benedict thinks that what Europe needs is a united front of European Christians and secularists to tackle the Islamic menace. MODERNITY: Assuming that Muslims are more of a menace than the pope, how can he forge such an alliance? AQUINAS: By making secularists and Christians aware that they share an interest in preserving the heritage of Europe. Once secularists understand that the identity of Europe that they cherish has its roots in Christianity, they will realize that their only hope of securing Europe against the threat of Islam is to affirm Europe's Christian heritage.

122

+

Chapter Five

MODERNITY: So, the alliance between Christians and secularists would stem the tide of the Islamic migrations and prevent Turkey, or any other Islamic country, from becoming a member of the European Union. AQUINAS: Exactly. MODERNITY: Unfortunately, the whole plan is premised on a false assumption. AQUINAS: What false assumption is that? MODERNITY: The assumption that Europe's identity is Christian. AQUINAS: That's not a false assumption. As Pope John Paul II has stated, "the identity of Europe is incomprehensible without Christianity."27 MODERNITY: There is no denying that Christianity is part of the history of Europe, but it is no longer integral to its identity. AQUINAS: As Pope Benedict XVI has explained, all the defining principles of Europe-human rights, democracy, equality before the law, and the separation of church and state-are the legacy of Christianity. Your cherished principles would be unthinkable without Christianity. MODERNITY: Are you serious? The idea that all the achievements of modernity are the result of Christianity is a serious case of historical amnesia. The church has been, and continues to be, an implacable enemy of the rule of law. Give me one European achievement for which Europe is indebted to the church. And don't tell me about the separation of church and state. AQUINAS: All right, then, take the equality of all before God. That's the basis for equality before the law. MODERNITY: If the church was so passionate about equality before the law, why did the church not use her power and influence to end slavery? She did not even object to the most brutal aspects of the institution, the castration of young boys to create the infamous "castrati" who were such a valuable commodity in the slave trade. The boys who survived the brutal castration were much sought after, not only as guards for large harems in the Ottoman Empire, or as sopranos in the Italian opera, but also for the church's choirs. The church's irrational antipathy to women explains her enthusiasm for the

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

"'*"

123

castrati as a way of avoiding the phantom dangers that the proximity of women to the blessed alter might involve. Far from objecting to the most brutal elements of the slave trade, the church participated in that enterprise. The antislavery movement was launched by people inspired by the utilitarian and rationalist ideas of Jeremy Bentham and James Mill. The rule of law and the abolition of slavery in the West were accomplished in spite of the church and not because of it. Any impartial historian can see that the church has been an obstacle to the realization of the defining principles of modem Europe. Now, the pope wants to take credit for them. What gall! AQUINAS: Your vanity knows no bounds, my dear lady. MODERNITY: It's the pope whose conceit knows no bounds. Benedict has reprimanded Turkey and other Muslim countries for not granting religious freedom to Christians. His church has been an implacable enemy of the freedom of religion, and every other kind of freedom, for that matter. Yet he has the nerve to lecture others. AQUINAS: Turkey is impudent enough to restrict Christians from building churches, while Muslims are free to build their mosques in the West. MODERNITY: Benedict has learned a lot from you, Thomas. When the infidels are in power, he follows your example and appeals to freedom of religion and other principles of natural justice, but when the church has the upper hand and the numbers are on her side, then freedom and tolerance are out the window. It is obscene for the pope to pose as a champion of religious freedom and tolerance. From the moment the Catholic Church wielded political influence in the fourth and fifth centuries, the building, or even the repairing, of a synagogue became a crime. 28 The Council of Nicaea (325) ended the religious freedom granted by the Edict of Toleration (313). Pope Clement VIII condemned the Edict of Nantes (1598) for granting equality of citizenship to all regardless of religion. Pope Innocent X denounced the Peace of Westphalia (1648) for granting toleration to all regardless of religion. Pope Leo X condemned Luther for saying that burning heretics is against the will of God. Pope Gregory XVI condemned every modem achievement that was wrenched from the tyrannical power of the church-freedom of religion, freedom of worship, freedom of the press, freedom of assembly, freedom of education-as so much "heretical vomit."29 Rome condemned the American Constitution for its separation of church and state, which explains why American Catholics were debarred by their government from high office, lest

124

Chapter Five

they undermine the Constitution. John F. Kennedy was the first Catholic to be elected president because he distanced himself from the Catholic Church and declared without a shadow of a doubt that he did not speak for his church and his church did not speak for him. AQUINAS: The point is, as Pope Benedict pointed out, a war against the West has been declared. But Europe does not have the stomach to defend itself. Moreover, the decline of the birthrate in Europe, coupled with the migration of Muslims into Europe, will tip the scales so that Christianity will no longer be the dominant religion of Europe. MODERNITY: It is no wonder that Benedict is so pleased about the Hispanic migrations into the United States. The prohibition of contraception is a multifaceted policy: it poisons the sexual lives of the laity; it promotes poverty and pestilence, so that people will cry out for salvation; and it keeps the numbers of the faithful high enough to ensure the dominance of the church. How brilliant! AQUINAS: There is no denying that there is power in numbers. This is why the Islamic migrations into Europe are a matter of serious concern. MODERNITY: The Islamic migrations into Europe do not constitute a threat as long as the immigrants respect the secular laws of the countries that welcome them. But if they follow your example and insist that religion trumps secular law, then Europe's peace and stability are threatened. If religious leaders such as Benedict and the ayatollahs continue to incite the faithful to violent jihad against modernity, then we are in trouble. What we stand to lose is not Christian values but peace, order, justice, and security. AQUINAS: Benedict is right, an alliance between Christians and secularists is the best hope against the Islamic threat. MODERNITY: An alliance between Christians and Muslims is much more plausible. Stephen Harper of Canada understands this. Like other neoconservatives, he wants to turn the clock back on liberal modernity. He has the sagacity to court the Muslim population of Canada because he knows that they are the ones who are likely to support his opposition to abortion, same-sex marriage, and the like. The Muslim migrations to the West are part of a general religious resurgence that threatens the secular state. It is the alliance of Islam and Christianity against the secular state that poses the greatest challenge.

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

125

AQUINAS: Despite all your gloating, you admit that you are vulnerable after all. MODERNITY: Ah, if truth be told, I am terrified. There are unmistakable signs of retrogression all around. All my efforts to banish religion from the political domain notwithstanding, the twenty-first century seems to be degenerating into religious strife. The conflict between Islam and the West has all the elements of a holy war: intransigence, resolve, and a determination to fight to the death. Islamic radicals are preaching jihad against the West; suicide bombers and airplane hijackers abound. They have targeted modern cities and innocent civilians in New York, Madrid, Istanbul, and London. They are convinced that they are martyrs fighting for Islam against the decadence of Western modernity, and they believe that they will be awarded a special place in heaven for their martyrdom-the same prize that the pope promised the crusaders in the Holy Land and the crusaders against the Cathars. Just like your popes, these radical Muslim clerics denounce all Muslims who disagree with them as apostates deserving only death. They kill their opponents, Muslim and non-Muslim, with impunity. Like your fellow Dominicans, they have no conscience, no remorse, and no sense of guilt. It is all too disturbingly familiar, Thomas. AQUINAS: I neither appreciate nor recognize the comparison with infidels. MODERNITY: In the thirteenth century, the infidels tended to be more decent and more moderate than Christians. But in my time, a radical strain has emerged within Islam and is taking full advantage of modern technology for its murderous ends. What is worse, the West is losing confidence in its modernity. America, once the poster child of modernity, is experiencing a revival of Christianity in the form of Rapture culture. These Christians are expecting the "Rapture" by which Jesus will snatch his chosen few from the world, while those who are left behind suffer the most excruciating agonies. 3o They think that the apocalypse is at hand, that the Jews in the Holy Land will be converted, and that the unbelievers will be smitten. They regard America's "war on terror" as a war against infidels. AQUINAS: I was never a champion of the apocalypse. So, you can't blame me or the Catholic Church. MODERNITY: Despite the sexual-abuse scandals, the Catholic Church also seems to have a new lease on life. All the disenchantment with modernity and all the violence of Islam have given her a reason to feel smug and

126

+

Chapter Five

superior. She has become puffed up once again. She imagines herself to be mistress of the earth; she threatens to darken the world once more with her power. She has lost her authority but not her conceit. She still has the audacity to threaten Catholic politicians. Bishop Henry of Calgary has threatened the Canadian prime minister, Paul Martin, with excommunication if he supports social policies that the church rejects-gay marriages, abortion, and the like. In the United States, Democratic presidential candidate John Kerry was also censured by the Catholic Church for supporting liberal policies. These are idle and laughable threats in the context of modernity. Nevertheless, the spectacle of the inauguration of Benedict planted the seeds of terror in my heart. The whole world seemed mesmerized by the ritual, pomp, and ceremony-the drama of crimson robes, black and white smoke, and elaborate processions. The modern world seems hungry for the sort of mystery and magic that I cannot provide. AQUINAS: Don't expect me to give you a shoulder to cry on! MODERNITY: I wasn't expecting any sympathy.

Freedom and Licentiousness AQUINAS: It seems to me that your liberalism is the source of all your troubles. You deny that liberalism is relativism, but for all practical purposes, it is. You imagine truth to be so mysterious and elusive that it might as well not exist. And in the absence of truth, everyone has an equal right to their opinion. You allow the pernicious and murderous ideology of Islamic terrorism to thrive in your midst and then wonder why your society is racked by arbitrary violence and terror. MODERNITY: I agree with you that liberal society errs when it pushes the ideal of free speech beyond its intended limits. The freedom of speech to which I am committed does not include incitement to criminal violence. Those radical Islamic imams and ayatollahs should not be allowed to exploit the freedom of England, Canada, or the United States and spread their venomous hatred from their pulpits. Incitement is the sort of speech that borders on action. Absolute freedom of action is no part of liberalism. AQUINAS: Nevertheless, your veneration of freedom is a tragic error. It accounts for the appalling licentiousness of your world, a world that can only be described as an endless Pornutopia!

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

"'*"

127

MODERNI1Y: You have a point, Thomas. I have been guilty of excess. Television advertising, Internet pornography, and music videos permeate my oversexed culture, which understandably drives conservatives to distraction. But after hundreds of years of sexual repression by your church, what can you expect? AQUINAS: You are such a whiner! You blame all your shortcomings on the Catholic Church! MODERNITY: In fairness, I must admit that my sexual licentiousness is not the fault of the church alone. The combination of freedom with capitalism has unwittingly led me astray. For capitalism cannot resist the exploitation of sexuality in an endless quest for profits. My world does indeed resemble an endless pornographic merry-go-round. As a result, the distinction between freedom and licentiousness has become blurred. This has turned decent folk against liberty itself and made them long for the bad old days of religion and repression. The result is that the most powerful, prosperous, and modem nation of the twenty-first century has opted for the faith-based presidency of George W. Bush. Even though the president speaks the language of modernity and tries to elicit support by his rhetoric of freedom and democracy, he has wedded religion and politics once again. This can only hobble science and spell the demise of truth, freedom, and justice. Without freedom, all is lost; reason, science, and justice are impossible. Reason requires freedom in its quest for truth. Justice is impossible if the authorities are not bound by law or accountable to subjects who are free to question their judgments or put them to the test before clear and impartial laws. We have to put up with some vice, including some licentiousness, if we hope to have freedom. Besides, sexual licentiousness is preferable to the sexual perversity that your insistence on celibacy invites. AQUINAS: What perversity? How insolent! MODERNITY: If I were to write a psychoanalytic account of the Catholic Church, I would argue that there is a connection between enforced celibacy and the brutality of the Inquisition. The torture of women as witches assumed a form of sexual prurience. It unleashed a repressed violence on the forbidden objects of desire. Some women were stripped naked and tortured; others had inflatable objects inserted in their wombs. AQUINAS: This sounds like Freudian nonsense to me. Celibacy is a total devotion to God without distractions.

128

Chapter Five

MODERNITY: The policy of enforced celibacy has been an unmitigated disaster. AQUINAS: Nonsense. Celibacy is a condition of purity and virtue, which has the special blessing of the church. MODERNITY: The veneration of celibacy is a classic example of the Manichean hatred of life. AQUINAS: And what do you have to offer in the name of the affirmation of life? Mindless entertainment, depravity, and licentiousness? MODERNITY: Freedom requires responsibility and involves risks. Repression is not the answer.

The New Averroist Menace AQUINAS: It remains the case that you have an unreasonably exalted view of liberty. In truth, liberty is like fire. It is neither good nor bad; it all depends on what you do with it. In the absence of divine guidance, the soul cannot expect to use liberty well. You suffer from the modern conceit that imagines that maximum freedom for all will lead to truth. Truth is not the preserve of the many. The path to truth is arduous, and not everyone has the fortitude to attain the summit. That's where the Protestants were mistaken. Not everyone can read, understand, and interpret Scripture. The guidance of the church is necessary. MODERNITY: I daresay, you sound like those Averroists who think that the truth is the exclusive preserve of the few. AQUINAS: Are you mad? Have I not refuted that pernicious doctrine?3l MODERNITY: You will not be happy to know, Thomas, that the Averroists have not been defeated. They have made a stunning resurgence. Leo Strauss and his neoconservative followers are the Averroists of modernity)2 Destitute of faith but terrified of skepticism, they surmise that the solution to all the ills of modernity is to bring back faith-or the pretense of faith. The Straussians are closet atheists who advocate faith for the many and nihilistic truth for the few. They believe that truth is their exclusive domain and that ordinary folk need a brew of noble lies and pious frauds)3

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

+

129

AQUINAS: What's new about that? It sounds like the same old Averroism to me. MODERNITY: The new Averroists are great defenders of faith, not just as a means of saving themselves from the Inquisition, but also of saving society from the perils of modernity, especially secularism and nihilism. 34 AQUINAS: Why would atheists be concerned about the perils of secularism and nihilism? MODERNITY: The new Averroists are certain that secularism is the harbinger of nihilism, apathy, and sloth, which will erode national fervor and undermine the willingness of people to fight to the death for their nation. They are convinced that religion is the key to a strong and lasting nationalism because it makes people more inclined to accept death, war, sacrifice, and authority. They have dominated the academy for decades and have managed to maneuver their way into the corridors of power, where they have been exercising their influence over the leader of the world's only superpower. They have used lies, deception, and propaganda to promote an aggressive war on a backward and defenseless nation. They glorify war not only as a means to world domination but also as a remedy for the licentiousness that modern freedom and wealth invite.3 5 I am beside myself, Thomas. AQUINAS: It seems to me that they are putting the cart before the horse. They are making religion serve political ends, when in fact politics is a means to a higher end. It must serve the ends of faith. MODERNITY: I agree with you that politics is a means to higher ends. But a politics that serves the ends of faith courts disaster. Politics must create the peace necessary to pursue the good things in life-art, music, dancing, and poetry. AQUINAS: The arts cannot feed the soul, only God can do that. MODERNITY: All right then, include God among the good things in life; as long as religion does not reign over the state, we will be safe. The new Averroists package their imperialistic policies in the language of faith. They pretend that fighting to augment American interests around the world is the same as fighting for God's own justice, truth, and freedom against satanic foes.

130

+

Chapter Five

AQUINAS: Power is a dangerous thing in the hands of these artful liars. They imagine that truth is their own exclusive domain; it does not occur to them that all human beings long for truth. MODERNITY: I agree. But no one has a monopoly on truth. The truth is not singular; it is multidimensional. There is more than one right way to worship and love God, more than one way to live a righteous life. Reason needs the freedom to explore these possibilities. You cannot be a friend of reason or truth without also being a friend of liberty, Thomas.

The Disenchantment of Postmodemity AQUINAS: You never miss a chance to sing the praises of liberty. The liberation of reason from religious authority has led humanity to the brink of selfannihilation. Far from being the liberator of man, reason has teamed up with science to invent weapons of mass destruction that threaten human existence. Fancying herself the mistress of the universe, reason has embarked on the perilous project of the control of nature through science. She imagines herself better than God and has sought to improve on his creation for love of humanity. In a Promethean quest to improve the human condition, she has only succeeded in making it worse. Instead of being sheltered in the bosom of the church, man now finds himself defenseless in the face of technological innovations whose powers of destruction and mayhem are unprecedented. Modernity has liberated reason under false pretenses. Modernity promised ease and freedom. But the promised utopia has not materialized, and it is no wonder that the postmoderns are disenchanted with reason and all her false promises. MODERNITY: The disenchantment of postmodernity is very disturbing to me. So excessive is postmodern grief over the lost promise of modernity that postmodern writers cannot conceal their nostalgia for the dark ages. 36 In 1979, Michel Foucault celebrated the Islamic revolution of the Ayatollah Khomeini in Iran. It would be understandable to celebrate the defeat of the brutal dictatorship of Shah Pahlavi, who deposed the democratically elected prime minister of Iran, Mohammad Mossadeq. It would be understandable to rejoice at the overthrow of tyranny and the devolution of power back to the people. Since the military coup that installed the shah in power was orchestrated by the Central Intelligence Agency (under Eisenhower in 1953), it would be understandable to take pleasure in the defeat of tyranny as well as the defeat of American colonialism. But these are not the reasons that Fou-

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

+

131

cault celebrated the Iranian revolution. Foucault celebrated the return of "political spirituality," by which he meant the return of religion into politics.J7 He celebrated the Islamic, antimodernist, and reactionary dimensions of the revolution. 38 I am worried that Foucault's reckless antimodernism invites a return to superstition, magic, witchcraft, and clerical tyranny, not only in the Middle East, but also in the West. AQUINAS: It's your own fault. In your folly you have disenchanted the world by making reason sovereign. MODERNITY: When I liberated reason from the shackles of faith, she gave birth to science, which made possible the demystification of the natural world. The stars, planets, animals, and plants became the objects of rational exploration. In this way, modernity exorcized the devils, demons, and witches, which the church linked with floods, famines, storms, hurricanes, crop failures, male impotence, and other disasters. Reason discovered natural causes instead of blaming witches consorting with the devil. Science was a great benefactor of man. It sought out the secrets of nature not out of curiosity alone but also for the "relief of man's estate," as Francis Bacon put it. The misanthropy of the church that dominated European civilization for over a thousand years was finally replaced by a rational and scientific philanthropy. Instead of being a pilgrim in a hostile land, instead of being condemned to an earthly existence as a punishment for sin, man was seen as deserving of happiness in this world. AQUINAS: Thanks to your vanity and conceit, you banished faith and deified reason. Yet, nature managed to elude all of reason's efforts to rule the world. Floods, famines, storms, earthquakes, hurricanes, and tsunamis continue to ravage humanity. What is worse, man has fallen prey to his own inventionsthe inventions that were intended to alleviate his suffering. MODERNITY: Whatever her shortcomings, reason is all we have to guide us. To return to the subjugation of reason by faith is to exchange freedom with all its perils for tyranny with all its injustices. AQUINAS: What a fool you are. You imagined that reason could plumb the depths and arrive at truth without any supernatural assistance. So you insisted on absolute freedom of thought and speech. The result was that reason devoured itself and truth completely evaporated. And now that you have banished truth, you are left thrashing about aimlessly in your postmodernity.

132

~

Chapter Five

MODERNITY: It was not my intention to banish truth. My goal was to create a world that was more conducive to the search for truth. It was the search for truth and not truth itself that was my concern. AQUINAS: Nonsense! Science was your fount of truth. You thought science would provide a secular salvation. MODERNITY: Ah! Maybe you are right, Thomas. I was unconsciously seeking a secular salvation. But I have learned that to replace the heavenly salvation of the New Testament with an earthly salvation is merely to replace one set of delusions for another. In truth, there is no salvation. AQUINAS: Only Christ can deliver salvation, not science. You expected salvation from science. And what has science done for you? It has invented nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons that threaten the annihilation of the planet. You may well be responsible for bringing about the final apocalypse. MODERNITY: I have no regrets for rescuing reason from the shackles of your faith. Nevertheless, I must admit that my love affair with science was a mistake. I allowed science to become supreme. I was convinced that it could only be the source of good. I had no idea that science would threaten the very possibility of life on the planet. Go on, mock me. AQUINAS: The destruction of the planet can hardly be overlooked as a negligible error, my lady. MODERNITY: No doubt you think that the Second Coming is at hand! In your religion, disaster is always the harbinger of the best things. AQUINAS: Without the divine source of order and goodness in the soul, you can achieve nothing. Don't you think it is time for repentance? MODERNITY: I am not sure which one of us is in greater need of repentance, Thomas. We are both sinners. The difference between us is that you think you are a saint. AQUINAS: I played no part in my canonization. MODERNITY: Nevertheless, according to your confessor, your confessions were akin to those of a child. You believe in your innocence, Thomas.

Aquinas and Modernity: A Dialogue

"'*"

133

AQUINAS: I am certainly not guilty of the crimes you have heaped on my head. MODERNITY: The world is made up of good people who do good things and bad people who do bad things, but only religion can inspire good people to do terrible things-with a clear conscience. My problem is dealing with the alliance of this strangely innocent wickedness and the unprecedented power that technology confers. America has become a Christian crusader nation with unmatched technical skill-witness the unmanned aerial drones that bomb, kill, and maim with no risk to the aggressor. Her Islamic enemies lack her power, but they are not devoid of technical resourcefulness; and they have an appetite for martyrdom that rivals that of the Christians martyrs of old. This combination of religiosity and technical skill has unleashed a new barbarism. That is the real source of my troubles. There is no sense in offering your advice, Thomas, since you are part of the problem.

CHAPTER

SIX

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

The portrait of Aquinas that I have presented in this book flies in the face of the almost universal depiction of him as the most rational, politically moderate, and life-affirming of all the church fathers. I believe that this enduring image has its source in his rightly famous theory of natural law and justice. As we have seen, however, the theory plays only a minimal role in Aquinas's political philosophy. It is relevant only when infidels have dominion and is trumped when Christians have the opportunity to wield power. Nevertheless, the theory has promise, not only because it could have counteracted the politics of salvation in the thirteenth century, but also because it can moderate the political excesses of our time. Any effort to recover the lost promise of Aquinas's natural law must acknowledge the difficulties involved. First, the prevalence of relativism and conventionalism in modern and postmodern thought creates severe obstacles to any effort to recover a rational basis for human discourse or dialogue, especially among those who have different values and commitments. Second, Aquinas's theory of natural law is not only sketchy but was never fully disentangled from its Catholic legacy and from its reliance on divine law and revelation. In what follows, I will defend a secular version of natural law against the objections of modern and postmodern conventionalism in its many guises. In my view, the theory cannot be rationally defended unless it is disentangled from its religious moorings. I will conclude by giving reasons why the divine law cannot be the basis of political order and why the alliance of religion and politics is destructive of both.

135

136

+

Chapter Six

Natural Law and Human Nature Aquinas makes a point of telling us that in making human law, the state relies on natural reason and not on revelation. Human law is to be governed by what can be rationally known to be right and wrong. The question is, how does reason come to know what is right so that it can guide and direct the process of making human law? Aquinas gives us very few guidelines. He tells us that the first principle of natural law is also the first principle of practical reason from which all the specific or secondary principles are derived. Just as "being" is the fundamental idea of speculative reason, so "good" is the fundamental idea of practical reason. Just as the first principle of speculative reason is that something cannot both be and not be (the principle of noncontradiction), so the first principle of practical reason is that good is to be done and evil avoided. From these self-evident and indemonstrable first principles, secondary principles or conclusions are derived. All of human law must be derived from the first principle of practical reason (which is also the first principle of natural law) according to which good is to be done and evil avoided. This elegant formulation does not tell us how we can find out what is good and what is evil. As elaborate as it sounds, Aquinas's theory of naturallaw is vulnerable to the criticism that it is vacuous.! It may be objected that the theory invites the worst scoundrels to define good as they please and proceed to make repugnant laws that they claim are derived from the first principle of natural law. This objection to Aquinas's theory would be quite valid had he not provided some clues that give the natural law more substance. He tells us that the natural law must be somehow connected to human nature. And he gives a very definite account of what he takes to be the fundamental, enduring, and universal characteristics of human beings. He focuses on three characteristics: • Self-preservation • Procreation and the care of offspring • Knowing the truth about God, shunning ignorance, living in society, and not offending others We may quibble with some of these characteristics, but on the whole they are not unsound. If we attend to these important aspects of the theory, we will discover that the natural law is far from vacuous. The issue is, what exactly is the connection between these human characteristics and the moral law that is natural to all human beings? At least two

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

+

137

interpretations have been suggested. F. C. Copleston thought that "by examining man's nature and natural inclinations one can discern the good for man in the natural order" and that the natural law "follows from the order of natural inclinations."2 Copleston is led to believe that whatever is contrary to natural human inclinations is also wrong or contrary to the natural law. This interpretation has serious shortcomings. For example, since self-preservation is one of the fundamental inclinations, sacrificing oneself to save another would be contrary to natural law or natural justice. Clearly, sacrificing oneself for others is highly commendable and the furthest thing from being unjust. By the same token, living a celibate life would be contrary to the natural law because it flies in the face of the natural inclination for procreation and offspring. Surely, there is nothing wrong with living a celibate life either out of misfortune or as a voluntary sacrifice for God. And even though I am inclined to question what sort of God would delight in such a sacrifice, no one can find anything inherently culpable in the celibate life as long as it is not institutionally imposed. So this interpretation will not do. A more subtle and sophisticated interpretation of Thomistic natural law has been suggested by John Finnis and Germain Grisez. 3 According to this interpretation, the first precept of natural law is premoral-it does not refer to a moral law inscribed in the human heart. The precept "Good is to be done and evil avoided" is self-evident to practical reason because "good" is what we actually seek. We may be mistaken about the good; but whatever we seek, we seek it because it appears to be good. So understood, the first principle of natural law does not tell us what we ought to do regardless of what we naturally seek. This emphasis on the premoral nature of the first principle of natural law is important for counteracting the most common understanding of natural law, which belongs to Francisco Suarez (1548-1617) and John Locke (16321704). According to them, the natural law is a moral law inscribed by God in the heart of man. It is easy to know it but not to follow it. In the absence of a natural inclination to obey the moral law, God provided man with the rewards and punishments of the afterlife, by way of motivational support to obey the moral law. Despite its popularity, this version of natural law has serious shortcomings. It makes the natural law dependent on the fear of God and on belief in the rewards and punishments of the afterlife. This implies that the moral law is not integral to human nature and is therefore not natural at all but dependent on faith. The version of natural law provided by Finnis and Grisez highlights the connection between human nature or human inclinations and the good; it is therefore more in line with the original spirit of the Thomistic ethos.

138

Chapter Six

Finnis thinks that human inclinations provide a very specific list of natural human goods that are premoral, which is to say that they involve no moral obligations. They are merely a recognition of the goods that all human beings, regardless of time and place, acknowledge to be desirable. Finnis identifies seven basic goods: life, knowledge, play, aesthetic experience, friendship or sociability, practical reasonableness, and religion. 4 All other goods are either aspects of these basic goods or some combination of them. 5 Practical reason leads us to discover reasonable means by which we may enjoy and participate in these goods. But practical reason is not merely instrumental to the basic goods; it is constitutive of the goods in question. Practical reason tells us that moral virtues such as courage, generosity, moderation, and gentleness are qualities that fit individuals for the pursuit of, and participation in, the basic goods. No one needs to explain friendliness or curiosity; they are reasonable because they are well suited to our pursuit of the basic goods. In contrast, selfishness and cruelty stand in need of explanation. In distinctively Aristotelian fashion, Finnis suggests that evil has its source in the zealous pursuit of one basic good to the detriment of all others. As I have shown in this book, Aquinas was, ironically, a supreme example of Finnis's conception of evil. In his ardent desire to promote what he believed to be the untivaled good of human salvation, he was willing to defend the evils of the Inquisition and the Crusades. If they hope to be just, human beings must respect all the basic human goods. That is the work of practical reason, which proceeds from the first principle of natural law, according to which good is to be pursued and evil avoided. Some critics have alleged that on Finnis's account, what makes rape wrong is that it is unfriendly. This trivializes the violence and horror involved in rape, since being unfriendly is not a crime. But that is not the point. For Finnis, the point is that in the absence of friendship, the sexual act becomes an abomination. Friendliness is not something peripheral to the sexual act, it is integral to it. Trampling over friendship where the sexual act is involved is indeed what makes it a violation and a crime. By the same token, righteousness and justice are integral to the love of God. To kill innocent people for the love of God makes faith an abomination. Although I am inclined to endorse the general outlines of Finnis's account of Thomistic natural law, I do not share Finnis's confidence that the natural law can deliver detailed legal directives that would be conducive to human flourishing in all times and places. I doubt that such detailed directives could be free of cultural bias. I prefer a minimalist version of natural law that is compatible with the cultural variety and plurality of human life, which Aquinas recognized when he said that "the natural law cannot be applied to

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

+

139

all men in the same way on account of the great variety of human affairs."6 For example, Aquinas thought that the ceremonial elements of the Mosaic law were a set of specific conclusions from the first principles of natural law that God deemed appropriate for the Jewish people at a particular point in their history. Instead of dismissing the ceremonial laws as arbitrary rules intended to test the faith and loyalty of the Hebrews, Aquinas set out to discover the rational justifications for the rules. The rationality of the rules does not mean that circumcision, dietary rules, and sacrifices are universally required at all times and places. The natural law is compatible with considerable cultural and historical variety. It suffices that the rules promote some good, while avoiding evil.

A Minimalist Reading On a minimalist reading of natural law, we can, at the very least, recognize what is to be avoided. Human nature does not determine what is morally required; it merely sets limits on what can be reasonably demanded. If the naturallaw is compatible with human inclinations, then it follows that good human laws should not fly in the face of natural instincts and inclinations or the basic goods that they imply. For example, laws cannot force women to have abortions (as they continue to do in China), prevent people from learning to read and write (as Americans did to their African slaves), require people to sacrifice their lives for others (as is the case with military conscription), or force people to live a celibate life (as the Catholic Church has been doing for a few hundred years). All these would be contrary to nature, contrary to reason, and contrary to the natural law, which is to say, the moral law that is appropriate in view of our nature. These minimal directives would be compatible with a plurality of diverse arrangements suitable to different societies in different situations. For example, it seems to me that the natural law is equally compatible with several different institutions of marriage: monogamy, polygamy, and polyandry. In conditions where there is a severe shortage of women, polyandry is reasonable, which is to say, consistent with the law of nature. It makes more sense for several men to share a wife than to fight over scarce resources. In certain parts of Asia, polyandry continues to be practiced. Several brothers, nephews, or friends share a single wife. This is preferable to having many men with no wives at all. Besides, where food is extremely scarce, polyandry keeps the birthrate low and reduces human suffering as a result of starvation. There may well be a revival in the popularity of this institution due to the overwhelming preference for boys and the widespread use

140

Chapter Six

of abortions to discard female fetuses under the draconian Chinese laws that restrict every family to one child. By the same token, among the Arabian tribes of the sixth century, there was a shortage of men and an abundance of women (especially widows) due to continual tribal warfare. In such circumstances, polygamy was a reasonable institution. It is preferable for several women to share a single husband than for many women to have no husband at all. It is also more reasonable for women to agree to share a husband than to fight over scarce resources. Polygamy becomes irrational and unjust when some men (usually rich ones) amass so many wives that poor men are left without any wives whatsoever. If practiced in moderation, polygamy is reasonable under the circumstances in which women are available in greater numbers. Besides, when it is not abused, polygamy is conducive to the replenishing of populations devastated by warfare. From his Christian perspective, Aquinas was certain that monogamy is the only morally acceptable institution of marriage. He was troubled by the polygamous character of the Old Testament patriarchs. But he resolved the conflict between Old Testament polygamy and New Testament monogamy by an ingenious approach suggested by Jesus when his disciples challenged him on this issue, saying that Moses allowed them a plurality of wives. Jesus replied that polygamy has never been right and that Moses was merely cognizant of their weaknesses. Aquinas enlarges on Jesus' response by saying that human nature itself has been improved as a result of the law that God gave to the Israelites. And this moral progress made it possible for Jesus to insist on a higher and more demanding law. 7 This ingeniously Hegelian response saves the monogamous institution, though at the cost of making what is morally right quite rigid. There is no doubt that monogamy is superior to other alternatives from the point of view of fairness and equality between the sexes. But from the point of view of the very different and often less-than-optimal circumstances in which human beings must live, insisting on monogamy as the only acceptable marital institution is unreasonable and therefore contrary to natural law. The tendency to confuse the ideals of Christianity with what is reasonable or compatible with the natural law is as common with Christians in our time as it was with Aquinas. 8 If the theory of natural law is to recapture its truly universalistic inspiration, it must not only separate itself from the particularity of revelation but also acknowledge the universal human insistence on the deep connection between law and justice. No matter how much human beings may disagree about the good society-the society in which their dreams and aspirations

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

+

141

may flourish, the society in which they have a place, the society to which they can make a meaningful contribution, the society in which they find themselves at home, the society worth defending and even dying for-they nevertheless agree that such a society must be characterized by the rule of law and not by tyranny or fiat. Michael Walzer was quite justified in making the distinction between thick and thin conceptions of justice. 9 The latter are general and universal, while the former are specific and particular. Walzer's thin theory of justice is a version of the natural law. Even if we accept the view that nature contains no norms and that the world is not designed in accordance with our deepest needs and desires, we need not abandon the idea of natural law. Even if nature is totally indifferent to the human need for justice, even if nature is as immoral and as absurd as Albert Camus and Friedrich Nietzsche maintained, it does not follow that justice is an arbitrary human invention that differs from place to place according to the whims of the supermen who create the horizons of culture. Despite the variety of cultural norms and practices, human beings in all societies at all times have the same keen understanding of injustice. Were it not for this universal sensibility, the culturally specific tales of one civilization would not be comprehensible, let alone enjoyable, to readers from totally different cultures. The tales collected from the European experience by the brothers Grimm have been translated into innumerable foreign languages and enjoyed by children who will never set eyes on Europe. Children around the world can easily identify with the injustice inflicted on Hansel and Gretel not only by their parents' abandoning them in the forest but also by the old witch's readiness to boil them and dine on their flesh. The same can be said of the Arabian Nights. Even though the tales presuppose an Islamic and polygamous culture, Western readers are not unmindful of the injustice of the compulsory execution decreed by the legendary king of Samarkand on everyone of his maiden brides the morning after the wedding. This outlandish decree was meant to punish all womanhood for the infidelity of his first wife. By telling him one suspenseful tale after the next, Scheherazade manages to delay her execution by 1,001 nights, and in some versions of the story she brings the king to the acknowledgment and renunciation of his injustice. In "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves," we cannot but rejoice at the ingenuity of Morgiana when she single-handedly concocts a deadly plot (immersing the thieves in boiling oil) that leads to the deliverance of Ali Baba and the demise of the forty thieves. In a world where thieves can murder honest men such as Ali Baba with impunity, Morgiana represents the triumph of justice (albeit a harsh justice) in a world in which injustice is the norm.

142

Chapter Six

By the same token, when Camus dramatizes the capnClOUS rule of Ca ligula over his subjects, we recognize the idiocy of a man who thinks he can make his subjects happy by fiat and in the absence of the rule of law. The rule of law requires some connection between the natural human understanding of justice and positive law. Law cannot hope to create a modicum of order or tranquillity if it flies in the face of a minimalist conception of human justice, both substantive and procedural. In other words, a social order that is recognizable as a rule of law must not only contain laws that are substantively just, or at least not unjust, it must also be characterized by an impartial and equitable administration of law, which is to say that law must apply equally to all citizens, rich or poor, black or white, Christian, Jew, or Muslim. This minimalist theory of natural law is nevertheless susceptible to several objections: the abhorrence of nature, conventionalism, positivism, and religious fundamentalism. I will deal with each of these in turn.

Abhorrence of Nature The close alliance between natural law and human nature has led to a common complaint that the theory of natural law has fallen prey to the logical fallacy that modern philosophers refer to as the naturalistic fallacy. This fallacy can be understood in a narrow sense or in a broader sense. In its narrow sense, it means that from the fact that something is the case, it does not follow that it ought to be the case. Jeremy Bentham provided a classic example of this fallacious way of thinking when he declared in the opening lines of his Principles of Morals and Legislation that man is a creature with two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure, and it is for them to determine what he will do as well as what he ought to do. Let us assume for the sake of argument that Bentham's hedonistic psychology is correct and that human beings have a natural inclination to pursue pleasure and avoid pain. Let us also accept Bentham's empirical observation that human beings actually act in such a way as to maximize pleasure and minimize pain. From these facts, it does not follow that this is what human beings ought to do, unless we also believe that they have no choice and are impelled by these powerful masters. If that is the case, then all talk about morality and how we ought to behave is irrelevant. If we reject the subtle suggestion that we are never free to thwart our instincts and inclinations, then from the fact that we are inclined to pursue pleasure and avoid pain, it does not follow that we ought to give in to that inclination all the time or regardless of the circumstances.

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

143

Nevertheless, it makes sense to say that human beings are naturally inclined to pursue pleasure and avoid pain. That is a fact that must be taken into account by anyone who proposes to make laws or to pontificate on what human beings ought to do. This is all that natural law requires. It is merely the claim that whatever human beings ought to do, it must be the case that they can in fact act according to the moral law. "Ought" must imply "can." This may sound very basic, but it is a huge departure from the Augustinian view according to which human nature is so fallen and so wicked that there is a total disconnect between what the moral law requires and what human beings are capable of, so that only God's grace can bridge the gap involved. In other words, human beings cannot act according to the moral law without supernatural assistance. Aquinas has been rightly praised for transcending this Augustinian gloom, which makes it impossible to rely on human reason, desires, inclinations, or laws to promote the good and the just in this world. lo The naturalistic fallacy can also be understood in broader terms. On this broader understanding, the naturalistic fallacy is the claim that it is fallacious to derive norms from nature because nature is at best value free; it contains no norms. At the heart of this claim is a profound disenchantment with nature. This disenchantment has deep theological roots associated with the Fall and the resulting corruption of nature in general and of human nature in particular. Even though modernity is a break with the Christian tradition, it nevertheless clings to elements of Christianity in secularized forms. Modernity rightly rejects the Christian obsession with the depravity of human nature, which has been instrumental in justifying political tyranny and repression as the deserved punishments for sin. In contrast, modernity has embraced the pristine innocence of humanity and sought to liberate mankind from longstanding medieval repression. However, modernity's liberation of human nature did not extend to the rest of nature. On the contrary, nature continued to be regarded with a certain horror as something that needed to be tamed, dominated, or at the very least kept at bay. The result was the development of a great divide between man and nature. Nature came to be characterized by a cold ghastliness, a heartless world in which animals devoured one another without mercy. It was a world of perpetual carnage in which man could easily be devoured unless he was clever enough to thwart the designs of nature. So understood, nature is totally indifferent to the things that matter most to human beings: love, justice, kindness, and compassion. If human values are a matter of remote indifference to nature, then nature cannot serve humanity as a source of value or norms; nature cannot be a standard for human conduct; it cannot be the basis of what is good, right, or just. As a result, a

144

+

Chapter Six

sharp divide emerges between nature and the norms of human conduct. John Stuart Mill expressed the modem horror of nature in the most dramatic terms. In his essay "Nature" he wrote: In sober truth, nearly all the things which men are hanged or imprisoned for doing to one another are nature's everyday performances. Killing, the most criminal act recognized by human laws, nature does once to every being that lives .... Nature impales men, breaks them as if on [he wheel, casts them to be devoured by wild beasts, bums them to death, crushes them with stones ... starves them with hunger, freezes them with cold, poisons them by the quick or slow venom of her exhalations, and has hundreds of other hideous deaths in reserve .... All this nature does with the most supercilious disregard both of mercy and of justice.!l

There are three features of this argument that deserve our attention. First, the argument personifies nature; it assumes that nature has intentions and can therefore be the subject of moral censure or acclaim. Mill may have legitimate complaints against nature's floods, famines, storms, and venomous exhalations. He may even have a legitimate complaint about the inescapability of death. It is a fact that the world is not organized to suit human beings, their desires, inclinations, or concerns. But this fact has no moral significance. The violence of nature appears evil only because Mill personifies nature. Nature has no malice, no willful desire to harm, and no intention to torment. It follows that Mill's complaints are not moral complaints. They are complaints against the way the world is or the way that God made it. Mill rightly complains about those who regard the natural as automatically good. But Mill makes the opposite assumption. He assumes that what is natural is automatically wicked and depraved. Even though Mill is a secular thinker, he sees nature in much the way that Augustine saw it. Mill sees only the darkest and nastiest attributes of nature. But nature also has her softer side. There are ducklings, sunshine, and rainbows. And when it comes to kindness, there is the almost universal experience of maternal love. In itself, nature is neither good nor bad. It is full of some things that we regard with wonder, awe, and desire and other things that we regard with dread, horror, and aversion. Second, the argument appears to pit man's moral sense against nature's immorality. This stark contrast between the moral superiority of man and the murderous brutality of nature paves the way for the modern conquest of nature. It is as if to say that we are so good that whatever we do to nature will constitute an improvement, or that there is nothing that we could do that

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

""*"

145

would be considered a violation. The flaw in this posture is its forgetfulness. It makes us forget that as we proceed to ravage the planet, destroy the ozone layer, and exhaust the natural resources, we leave ourselves and our descendents destitute. It makes us forget that insofar as we are part of nature, we are also flawed and that we should proceed with greater humility than modernity inclines us to do. Nor should we remain oblivious to the fact that the instruments with which we conquer nature are the same instruments that enable some human beings to kill, conquer, and terrorize others. The conquest of nature is invariably the conquest of some human beings by others. Third, the argument assumes that "nearly every respectable attribute of humanity is the result, not of instinct, but of a victory over instinct."12 This implies that all decent sentiments and refined feelings are the product of a long and heroic effort on the part of society to mold human nature through education and other artificial means. Surely, no matter how artificial one assumes the process of education and socialization is, one must still acknowledge that there must be something in man that responds to the process of education and habituation to moral virtues, decency, and justice. This something is not itself the product of education and socialization. There must be something that is native to human beings-something that is antecedent to the process of education and socialization-which responds readily and eagerly to that process. Human nature must contain potentialities for good that can be developed by education and socialization. In other words, the assumption that nature is wicked and that all the refined sentiments are the artificial developments of society is untenable. When Hans Kelsen points out that nature cannot serve as a guide to human action because in nature big fish eat little fish, we must agree that the conduct of fish cannot serve as a moral guide for human beings. 13 However, from the fact that big fish eat little fish, it does not follow that big boys should eat little boys. The natural law that is applicable to fish is not applicable to boys. Kelsen thinks that this is simply wishful thinking. He thinks that "the outward behavior of men is not very different from that of animals," and that human beings are just as predatory toward each other as fish; and like fish, human beings are impelled to act this way by instinct. 14 He acknowledges that there is one significant thing that distinguishes man from animals, and that is his need to justify his conduct even when he is impelled by nature to act as other animals do: "It is a peculiar feature of man that he has a deep need to justify his conduct, that he possesses a conscience."15 As a consequence of this peculiarity, human beings are eternally in search of justice, and all the greatest minds have devoted themselves to the question, what is justice? In Kelsen's view, they have all failed to answer the question

146

Chapter Six

because the question cannot be answered. Every effort to answer the question has been either vacuous or mystical. It may well be the case that no one has provided a totally satisfactory answer to the question of justice. Nevertheless, it does not follow that there is no such thing or that the question should be abandoned. Every great effort to answer the question gives us a glimpse of our universal humanity. It tells us something about our nature, even though it does not provide conclusive solutions for all time. What it tells us is that the need for justice is integral to our nature. We are not indifferent to the justice of our actions, not only in the eyes of others, but even in our own eyes. This is not to say that we always act rightly or that we always intend to. But we invariably try to conceal our injustice even from ourselves. And this is a clear indication that justice is not a matter of indifference to human beings. Even if nature contains no norms to guide us, human nature is surely not without norms.

Conscience Conscience is one of the indicators that there is a law that is peculiar to human beings. It is a law that demands a certain kind of conduct. Even when they fail to conform to its demands, humans cannot totally ignore it. They go out of their way to justify their conduct; they make elaborate excuses to explain why the law did not apply to them in that situation. Even if they manage to commit the "perfect crime," the crime that succeeds in being totally undetected and unpunished by the established laws, their conscience will not leave them alone. Literature is filled with examples of this peculiarly human phenomenon. We can find it in Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment, James M. Cain's The Postman Always Rings Twice, Zola's Therese Raquin, and Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart."16 These are all stories about dreadful murders that are the incarnation of the "perfect crime," where the culprit or culprits could escape scot-free. What all these stories have in common is the insight that there is no such thing as the perfect crime. These individuals pay dearly for their crime, even when they go unpunished by society. Both Therese Raquin and The Postman Always Rings Twice are about lovers who conspire to murder the man who seems to stand in the way of the fulfillment of their love-the woman's husband. But once the deed is accomplished and the crime is completed without a trace, the result is not what the lovers expect. Their long-awaited union brings them no bliss; their love seems to evaporate. Mutual suspicions and dreadful nightmares disturb their happiness and eat away at their love and their lives.

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

+

147

All these stories testify to the primacy of conscience and the importance of justice in the human heart. They confirm the close alliance between justice, in the broad sense of righteousness, and human happiness or well-beinga connection that was defended by Plato but has come on hard times with the dominance of the Christian emphasis on human depravity. The latter has led to a gross misrepresentation of the choices before us: either we act morally and selflessly or we act immorally and selfishly. This stark and mutually exclusive choice does not capture the complexity of human experience. Christianity tends to simplify the moral universe by mimicking the view of Thrasymachus in Plato's Republic when he says that the just man is a benefactor of others. Of course, Thrasymachus thought that the just man was a fool to forgo his own interests, and that if he were a real man who was clever and wily, he would pursue his interests without restraint while managing to avoid detection and escape the penalties of the law. There is a sense in which the Christian tradition agreed with Thrasymachus that the righteous man is a benefactor of others and not also of himself. It dealt with this apparently troublesome situation by adding divine rewards and punishments that would make virtue worthwhile in this world. But the assumption that righteousness benefits only others is mistaken. Modernity secularized the Christian conception of ethics, but it did not change it substantively. Coercion continued to be regarded as the motivating force for moral conduct. Philosophers from Thomas Hobbes to John Austin emphasized the coercive force of law as the source of order in society. But the Leviathan was not as powerful as God and could not ensure the perpetual surveillance of all citizens at all times. Hobbes therefore appealed to self-interest as a rational motivator. He argued that unless we abide by the rules, all social order will collapse and we will find ourselves in the dreaded state of nature, where everyone has as much right as power, and life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. Hobbes's argument is flawed, because it does not provide the individual with motivation for obedience when there is opportunity to gain from a transgression without being detected or punished. Nor can it be said that the transgression in question, since it was hidden, has in any way undermined the general faith in the rules among the populace. It is also quite conceivable that those who transgress the laws secretly are also the most vocal champions of the rules of justice and fair play. The conception of society as the gunman situation writ large cannot explain why human beings obey the law even when there is no chance of being found out or punished. Nor can it account for the eagerness with which most citizens abide by the law in the absence of any threat or any apparent profit.

148

Chapter Six

Part of the explanation is to be found in conscience. Thanks to Friedrich Nietzsche and Sigmund Freud, conscience has been all but totally discredited as an indication that human beings are subject to a natural law that is not a product of any particular social order or convention. They maintained that conscience is not a natural phenomenon at all but a social construct. They set out to provide a psychological explanation for voluntary compliance with the law, but they merely succeeded in moving the gunman into the psyche. Their account was not in essence different from the account provided by Hobbes or Austin. Conscience became the internalization of the power and authority of society; Freud described it as a "garrison in a conquered city."17 The metaphor indicates that the process is not a natural one in which society allows our inherent gregariousness to come to its full fruition. Instead, Nietzsche and Freud describe the civilizing process as a process by which our natural humanity is violated, a process by which we are despoiled and domesticated. It is not a process by which the moral sense is awakened. It is not even a process by which social values are inculcated. It is a process by which our natural violence and aggressiveness are turned inward against the self. So understood, conscience is an alien, hostile, and repressive force-the internalization of terror, the terror of civilization. As I have argued elsewhere, this conception of conscience is a secularization of the Christian view of the descent of the Spirit into the soul of man and the ensuing struggle between the flesh (which is our humanity in its entirety) and the Spirit (which is a divine intruder).18 The cornerstone of the masochistic understanding of conscience is the idea of debt. In its religious form, it is the debt we owe to Jesus or God for dying on our behalf. In its secular form, it is the debt we owe to our society in general and to our parents in particular for our nurture and safety. Socialization is a process by which we are made to feel that any transgression of the rules of society is akin to raising our hand against our benefactors. Once we understand our transgression as a betrayal of those who have nurtured and protected us, then the transgression fills us with deep feelings of remorse and self-hatred. In this way, our aggressive instincts are turned inward, in the form of the self-immolating and self-censuring phenomenon of conscience. The genius of civilization rests in its capacity to turn our natural aggression against ourselves. It is not overt terror that succeeds but the covert terror that is internalized in the form of conscience-that is the secret of the success of civilization. 19 If we feel pangs of guilt on account of an undetected and unpunished crime, the Freudian explanation is that these feelings of guilt are a testimony to the efficacy of the civilizing process. If Freud is right, then callousness and hardness of heart would become heroic, because the absence of guilt would

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

+

149

be a sign of reclaiming one's true nature. If human wickedness is seen as natural and goodness is seen as an unnatural by-product of devious conventions that act on our psychic weaknesses, then morality is the denaturing of our being. In that case, the protagonist of Woody Allen's film Crimes and Misdemeanors, who killed the woman with whom he was having an affair in order to live happily ever after with his wife, would be truly heroic because he did not get caught and he apparently felt no pangs of guilt. The same could be said for Lafcadio, in Andre Gide's Lafcadio's Adventures. Lafcadio commits a crime for no reason at all, just to prove that he could do it and get away with it. In the Freudian scheme of things, characters whose undetected and unpunished crimes cause them no guilt or remorse must be deemed heroic because they have triumphed over the debilitating effects of the civilizing process; they have succeeded in thwarting the devious project by which our humanity is despoiled and debilitated. As I have argued elsewhere, the same logic applies to the Augustinian conception of morality, which has dominated the Christian tradition. 2o This explains why Lucifer emerges as the most interesting and most heroic character in Milton's Paradise Lost. Even though Nietzsche and Freud emerge as the great challengers of the Christian tradition, they unwittingly reproduce its most unsavory elements. As told by them, the story of conscience is as dramatic and as remarkable as it was when told by Augustine. Even though this spectacularly imaginative tale goes a long way to addressing the shortcomings of the theory of society as the gunman situation writ large, it fails. It cannot explain why those of us who are not psychopaths, those of us who have a conscience, nevertheless dare to raise our hand against our benefactors-our God, our society, and our parents-in acts of transgression. The masochistic theory of conscience as the internalization of terror cannot explain how these acts of transgression can be fully endorsed by our conscience. It cannot explain how we can raise our hands against our benefactors with a clear conscience and without denying the debt we owe. The simple explanation is that human beings have an allegiance to truth and justice that transcends their allegiance to their society, their parents, or their benefactors. Rabbi Arik Ascherman, the executive director of Rabbis for Human Rights in Israel, an organization of over one hundred Israeli rabbis from all streams of Judaism, is a good recent example. Rabbi Ascherman has spent years lying on top of Palestinian homes that were destined for Israeli demolition-not for security reasons, or because they were the homes of suspected suicide bombers, but just to limit the Palestinian population, confiscate their land, and build Jewish settlements. Ascherman denounced this

150

~

Chapter Six

gratuitous violence as immoral, unjust, and inhumane. So, he would climb on top of Palestinian homes to be demolished and read extracts of internationallaw to the Israeli forces. Not surprisingly, he was denounced as a traitor, attacked by club-wielding Jewish settlers, and put on trial. But he remained undaunted. He insisted that he was the true conscience of Israel and that nothing undermined the state of Israel more than its immoral conduct; the destruction of the homes of innocent Palestinians is not a retaliatory act, but a purely punitive one-cruelty for its own sake. Israel, he declared, is a country fighting for its soul, not for its survival. The dissident rabbis are the soul of Israel. But the Nietzschean and Freudian account of conscience cannot account for the likes of Rabbi Ascherman, because conscience is not just a conventional construct that preys on our feelings of debt to those who have nurtured and protected us. There is no doubt that our society does everything in its power to inculcate its values and to make us believe that its own interests are identical with truth, justice, and decency. And more often than not, it succeeds. That success can be tragic when the society in question is profoundly unjust. Aquinas was painfully aware of the limitations of relying on conscience as the final arbiter of morality. He was painfully aware that conscience can become corrupted by a bad society. And he was rather soft on human beings whose conscience had been silenced by the indoctrination they received. He argued that when they acted in accordance with their perverse conscience, they did not sin, even if they acted wrongly. Conversely, those who acted contrary to their perverse conscience sinned, even if they did the right thing. As we have seen, Aquinas was not able to sustain his position in the dialogue with Modernity in the last chapter. Nevertheless, a certain stupidity and gullibility goes hand in hand with immoral conduct. By distinguishing between sinning and doing wrong, Aquinas was pointing to the banality of evil, which was expressed so poignantly by Hannah Arendt in her portrait of the Nazi minister of transportation, in Eichmann in Jerusalem. She was severely criticized for not painting Eichmann as a monster and a visceral Jewhater. Instead, she painted him as a thoughtless man who was not reflective enough to transcend the ideas inculcated by his society.2! In Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, a boiler explodes and a black man is killed. When Aunt Sally asks if anyone was hurt, the reply is "No 'm. Killed a nigger." Aunt Sally replies, "It's lucky because sometimes people do get hurt." Her casual remark speaks volumes about the American South in which the black man was not a person whose death is perceived to be of any consequence. Even though Aunt Sally and others are oblivious to the injustice of that society, readers of the novel will not miss the signifi-

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

"'*"

151

cance of this casual remark or the injustice it epitomizes. But the injustice does not seem to register on the conscience or moral compass of Aunt Sally and her ilk. Aquinas was not willing to count those whose conscience was as debilitated as Aunt Sally's among the wrongdoers. Yet it is precisely these ordinary folks who make enormous crimes possible. H. L. A. Hart used the example of Aunt Sally to argue that a legal system need only promote the survival of some (not all) its citizens to be "viable"-that is, to elicit enough voluntary compliance so that the system can function, because no system can function if it has to coerce every last person. This assumes that people are motivated by self-interest alone and that as long as they are protected, they will go along with the system. 22 But that is not the case. Once awakened to the gross injustices of the system, even the beneficiaries can turn against it and join the insurgency. The fight against slavery in the United States was conducted mainly by the white population. This indicates that gross injustices, once recognized, become intolerable, even to the beneficiaries. This is why injustice invites instability and chaos. In the final analysis, the human sense of justice cannot be accounted for by self-interest, or the threat of punishment in this world or the beyond, or the internalization of terror, or the sense of indebtedness. It is the inherent and natural human love for the good and the right. As much as we love and seek the good, however, we also fail to achieve it, not only due to the weakness of will, but also because we fail to know what the good is. The Christian tradition has made it difficult for us to acknowledge this natural quest for the right and the good because it insists on human depravity. Aquinas went against the grain in rejecting the Augustinian gloom about human nature, and he recognized that the human love for the good is even more integral to our nature than our proclivity to fall into evil. Moreover, he rightly surmised that our wickedness is, more often than not, due to our intellectual errors and failures and not just to our weakness of will.

Conventionalism The conventionalist view rejects all talk of conscience as a natural human phenomenon. It also rejects as either irrelevant or fictitious all appeals to natural desires and inclinations. It tells us that human beings live in and are shaped by society. Whatever claims are made about nature cannot be verified. Since there are no test cases, there is no way of knowing what human beings would be like in the absence of particular traditions and conventions. There are no desires and inclinations that belong to human beings in virtue of their humanity. All human desires and inclinations are

152

"*"'

Chapter Six

constituted by conventions and traditions. In other words, nature cannot serve as a guide to action, nor can it provide premises from which moral assumptions can be derived. Conventionalism is as fashionable among postmodernists as it is among the staunchest conservatives. Although they might use a different language, both Michel Foucault and Alasdair MacIntyre are defenders of the same conventionalism. Foucault maintains that human beings are constituted by power and that there is no such thing as a self independent of power,23 Foucault uses the term "power" in such a broad and ubiquitous manner that it is entailed in every aspect of social life. He dismisses the whole liberal tradition and its naturalistic foundations as a fiction. The liberal tradition assumes that there is a rational individual who is not a function of social forces and who is symbolically a signatory to a social contract. But on the conventionalist view, the rational individual who consents to the conditions of political society is a fiction. There is no such thing as an individual who is antecedent to or independent of the "structures of power"-which is Foucault's very dramatic way of saying "social norms and conventions." There is no doubt that the liberal conception of civil society as a contract to which rational individuals consent is literally speaking a fiction; but it is a philosophical and instructive fiction with a meaningful and valuable message. Simply speaking, the message is not to accept subjugation and subordination as the normal or the natural human predicament. Instead, individuals must insist on freedom and allow governments only as much power as is absolutely necessary to maintain order-and that could never be an arbitrary or absolute power, no matter what Hobbes might say. The contractarian fiction is a pledge to cherish liberty. It is a resolution not to allow bullies to frighten us into submission or terrify us into willingly surrendering our freedom for an elusive security. Indeed, Foucault himself is steeped in this liberal conviction. It explains why his philosophy resonates so well in liberal society. In fact, his philosophy can be understood as a sounding of alarm bells over the loss of freedom of liberal modernity. And there is no doubt that some of his alarm bells are justified, even if seriously exaggerated. However, in the absence of individuals who cherish their liberty, Foucault's disquieting premonitions would fall on deaf ears. If it is the case that, as human beings, we are molded by the forces of power and these forces are lulling us into submission to hitherto unprecedented subjugation, then we would be deaf to Foucault's warnings. But we are not. It may seem surprising to say that a staunch conservative such as Alasdair MacIntyre begins with the same philosophical assumptions as does Foucault. Like Foucault, MacIntyre believes that human beings cannot be understood independently of the conventions and traditions that shape them. He denies

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

~

153

that there is such a thing as free inquiry; all inquiry is rooted in some tradition or other. And even though he claims that a tradition that is vital and alive is always a "tradition of inquiry," he nevertheless defends heresy as a useful concept in the preservation of tradition. He longs for the deference to theological authority that philosophers displayed in the Middle Ages. When Peter Abelard was accused of heresy by Bernard of Clairvaux, Maclntyre says, he "obediently accepted the condemnation," even though he held no heretical views. 24 Maclntyre admires Abelard because he understood the "limits imposed on the life of enquiry by the need for such condemnation" and accepted the necessity for authoritative interventions in the life of thought. 25 Like Aquinas, Maclntyre identifies independent thought with the sin of pride, which he defines as "elevating one's judgment above that of genuine authority."26 Abelard acknowledged his pride by his submission. There is a sense in which Maclntyre is right in saying that we all begin our philosophizing from a particular tradition or other. But in conditions where freedom of inquiry is possible, we may begin philosophizing from one tradition and end up embracing a different tradition or a different version of our tradition, because we are free to do so on the basis of the evidence as it presents itself to our intellect and inclinations. However, if our inquiry is conducted in a climate of fear, if our inquiry is carried out in the shadow of the Inquisition, where any dissent from orthodoxy is denounced as treason and any conclusions that depart from the tradition in which the inquiry began threatens the life or livelihood of the inquirer, then it is safe to say that the tradition in question is not conducive to free inquiry. Such a tradition is not a living tradition that grows, develops, and changes as it responds to objections and challenges from within and without. A tradition that has been preserved by the threat of heresy, the proliferation of forbidden books, the antimodernist oath, and other techniques to bridle the mind is a dead dogma, not a living truth. Maclntyre also denounces the claim that there are any self-evident first principles or any natural human inclinations untutored by culture as a modernist conceit. He writes: Wants, satisfactions and preferences never appear in human life as merely psychological, pre-moral items to which we can appeal as providing data that are neutral between rival moral claims .... To exhibit a particular pattern of emotions and desires ... is always to reveal a commitment to one set of justifying norms rather than anotherP

In repudiating natural desires and inclinations, Maclntyre thinks that he is following Aristotle and Aquinas. 28 He imagines that the teleological view

154

"*"

Chapter Six

supports his case. He argues that a thing can be understood only in terms of the good that it moves toward. By the same token, individual human beings can be understood by the good they seek, which is inculcated by the community to which they belong, not by nature. It is my contention that Maclntyre distorts the teleological view rather dramatically in an effort to make it fit his conventionalist position. But the teleological view is the very antithesis of the conventionalist outlook defended by Maclntyre. According to the teleological view, as understood by Aristotle and Aquinas, everything in nature has a telos, a natural condition of completion and fulfillment. The best way to understand any living thing is by knowing the end or goal toward which it moves under favorable circumstances. The telos of living things such as acorns or tadpoles is clearly apparent. But the telos of a human being is more complex because it does not consist of biological flourishing alone but includes moral and intellectual development as welL On the teleological theory, the function of society is to create the conditions in which human beings can flourish or reach their telos. While a diversity of situations are conducive to human flourishing, the latter is not itself defined by these circumstances. What constitutes flourishing is not determined by society. In other words, the telos is not itself a function of society. Objections to teleology have often been based on a confusion of the telos with function. The complaint is that the telos refers to function, so that the excellence of a thing is connected to its ability to function welL If cutting is the function of a knife, the latter will perform its function well if it is sharp. Sharpness is therefore the excellence a knife needs to perform its function well. If providing milk is the function of a cow, then the cow will perform its function well if it has large udders. The excellence of the cow is therefore connected to the large udders that allow it to perform its function well by providing lots of milk. In contrast to knives or cows, human beings have no discernible function; the teleological approach collapses unless we can assign human beings a function. So the argument goes. In response to this sort of objection, Alasdair Maclntyre has a ready answer. In his view, society provides each person with a function by giving him (or her) a place and a purpose. The trouble with modern society, according to Maclntyre, is that human beings are at a loss. They have no place and no function. They are expected to define themselves. As a result, they suffer from the angst of self-making and self-definition. But in traditional or premodern society, human beings were supposedly saner and not riddled with angst. In a traditional society, to be good as a human being is to be good at your allotted function in society. But in the absence of a so-

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

+

155

cial function, human beings supposedly suffer from anomie and other psychological complications. But surely we need not renounce all the advantages and pleasures of the modern world in favor of the unfreedom of the Middle Ages just to salvage the teleological argument. There is a better way of responding to the critics. In my view, the teleological argument is not about human beings having a function. There is absolutely no need to ascribe any function to humanity. Plato's version of the argument is the clue. At the end of the first book of the Republic, Plato provides the definitive account of what has come to be called the functional argument. But he does not attribute any function to human beings as such. Rather, he attributes a function to the human soul or psyche. He declares that the function of the psyche is to direct life toward happiness. And if the psyche is to perform its function well, then it needs to have the virtue of justice, without which he surmises that the soul will not perform its function well. He concludes that justice is the excellence of the soul because it allows the soul to perform its function well. What is true of the soul is true of all sorts of other mundane things. The excellence of a thing is what allows it to perform its function well. When the soul performs its function well, the human being can be said to have reached his or her telos, or condition of completion and fulfillment. This sophisticated version of the argument does not leave mankind at the mercy of society or the accident of birth to be assigned a function. Indeed, it does not attribute a function to human beings whatsoever. It attributes to them the natural capacity and desire to thrive and flourish. And it contends that certain attributes of the psyche are necessary for that flourishing. Unhappily, these qualities cannot be cultivated without favorable social conditions. So, we need not succumb to conventionalism in order to embrace the teleological view.

Legal Positivism Legal positivism is a species of conventionalism. It is a legal tradition that stretches from Thomas Hobbes to Jeremy Bentham, John Austin, H. L. A. Hart, and Hans Kelsen. This is not a totally homogeneous tradition, and it is difficult to identify it with a single core. But whatever their differences, legal positivists agree that the existence or validity of law does not depend on its correspondence with natural law. They object to the theory of natural law on the grounds that it is pernicious, abstract, and unrealistic. For example, Hobbes thought that the very existence of law is a reason for obeying it, regardless of its content. For Hobbes, law represents the existence of a sovereign power, which keeps the horrors of the state of nature at bay, and this is

156

+

Chapter Six

why it should be obeyed. Inviting individual citizens to decide for themselves whether the law deserves their allegiance would compromise the legal order and promote chaos. This deference to law simply because it exists and is backed by the power of the sovereign authority is extremely conservative. Natural law theory is more appealing because it promotes disobedience to morally abhorrent laws. Besides, the mere existence of a law is not a reason for endorsing it, respecting it, or obeying it. The fact that a law exists is not enough reason to endow it with value. Hobbes's claim that disobedience to law would destroy order and peace is not compelling. While I would readily acknowledge that order and peace are legitimate values, there seem to be no grounds for thinking that disobeying any given law within a legal system would be sufficient to topple the entire edifice and spiral the society into a state of chaos and anarchy. But it would be a mistake to think that we should disobey every law that displeases us or every law that we think is not as just as it could be. A conservative disposition is not without its merits, and every society can profit from the cautious reserve and sober expectations of a conservative spirit, because no legal system can hope to be perfectly just in every way. Aquinas, a man with a very conservative disposition, was eager not only to avoid chaos and lawlessness but also to avoid making a scene, giving offense, or becoming a public nuisance. He implored his readers not to break every bad law. On the contrary, he thought that bad laws should be tolerated. However, his theory of natural law requires some limits to his conservative disposition. When a law is morally abhorrent and dreadfully unjust, and when obeying such a law would contravene universal moral principles, then Aquinas counsels us not to obey. But when is the situation dire enough to warrant disobedience? That is up to individuals to decide. Some American soldiers have decided that what they are required to do in the course of the American occupation of Iraq-such as the bombing of innocent civilians and the torture of mere suspects-is profoundly immoral. So, they have decided to seek asylum in Canada. These defectors are not necessarily granted asylum, nor are they exempted from service on the basis of being conscientious objectors. Some of them may face a death sentence for defecting. Disobedience is never without a cost. Individuals must make the choice for themselves when they think it is of sufficient moment to warrant the risks involved. Another legal positivist, Jeremy Bentham, was famous for being a great reformer of laws and prisons. Like Hobbes, Bentham was reluctant to allow either citizens or judges to disobey a bad law, even when doing so might promote utility, or the greatest happiness for the greatest number. What is

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

157

one to do in the face of dreadful or morally abhorrent laws? Bentham's advice was to obey them, then criticize them in a quest for legal reform. After all, the law is meant to promote utility. However, it is up to the legislator to make the calculation. Bentham thought that citizens and judges are likely to get it wrong because the matter is too complex. This seems to be a reasonable reservation in view of the fact that utilitarianism is a calculus without arithmetic. In contrast to utilitarianism, natural law is less grandiose. Its conception of morality is not utilitarian. No complicated calculus that takes all sentient beings into account and calculates the sum total of pain and pleasure is necessary. The individual faced with a moral dilemma regarding a morally abhorrent law must weigh the risk of being found out and the cost to himself and his family against the pain of living with some dastardly deeds weighing on his conscience. The natural law tradition rejects the idea that law is to be defined primarily by its coercive force. It is not enough for law to oblige us by threats. Law must place us under an obligation. It must appeal to a deep need in human nature to live according to a good that transcends our own well-being-a good on which our well-being also depends. I am not proposing a theory of selflessness but of blissful goodness. It is the goodness of law that allows it to act on our conscience and to put us under obligation and not merely to oblige us by threats. Legal positivism tends to reduce life under law to the gunman situation writ large. For example, John Austin maintained that law is a command backed by threat. The only difference between the gunman situation and the legal system is that citizens are used to the racket and obey habitually. Not all legal positivists accept the view of law as commands backed by threat. H. L. A. Hart recognized that Austin's conception of law fails to account for the most salient aspect of life under law, namely, the voluntary compliance of most citizens to the law. As a result, Hart sought a compromise between natural law and legal positivism by declaring that natural law contains a core of truth so that law needs to have a minimal content in order to be viable or succeed as law. Hart argued that at a minimum, law must promote the survival of some if it hopes to elicit their voluntary compliance. In other words, because it is impossible to coerce everyone, one must elicit the compliance of some by appealing to their interests. This minimum content is compatible with slavery in the American South, apartheid in South Africa, and Nazism in Germany; all these are perfectly viable legal systems. As I have argued elsewhere, this hardly seems like a compromise with the natural law tradition. 29

158

+

Chapter Six

One reason for the unpopularity of natural law is that it is too vague. Hans Kelsen regards the natural law as an abstraction, a fiction, and a species of wishful thinking with no concrete reality in this world. On his view, as soon as you try to apply the natural law, as soon as you try to make it concrete in this world, as soon as you try to enact laws based on it, you are compelled to resort to human beings with their flawed judgments and thinking processes. As soon as the natural law is realized, it shares in the positivity of positive law and loses its general or abstract nature. 30 Kelsen is quite right, but this observation does not constitute grounds for rejecting natural law. Quite the reverse. It is an acknowledgment that the abstract principles of natural law are not phantoms relegated to a distant heaven but genuine principles that inform the project of creating a law-abiding society in quest of justice. Kelsen balks at the idea that the positive law contains the natural law on the grounds that such a claim is simply an effort to "legitimize" positive law and to "empower the norm-giving authority." In Kelsen's view, this tactic is intended to lend stability to an autocratic or aristocratic form of government. Surely, Kelsen is right in thinking that natural law does indeed lend legitimacy and stability to positive law. Appeals to natural law may indeed be spurious and unconvincing. But they may also be quite legitimate. To reject the natural law because it is general and abstract is to deprive us of the concepts we need not only to legitimize any established order but also to criticize it. Of course, criticism means dispute, and dispute could lead to conflict. Kelsen makes no secret about his preference for peace over justice. His strident defense of legal positivism is connected to its capacity to end disputes and replace them with an "order of peace."3! It is precisely this love for peace that is at the root of his endorsement of legal positivism. He assumes that peace and justice are at odds. He writes: With the principle of legal validity, the ideal of justice is replaced by that of peace. And this ideal of peace, whereby any given positive law can be defended against any given natural law, is directly opposed to the ideal of justice. This relationship has not hitherto been sufficiently scrutinized, since for obvious political reasons it has been carefully concealed. 32

It seems that for Kelsen, the validity of the positive law rests on the illusion that it contains elements of justice that are not established by the positive law itself or by any lawmaking authority. It is this illusion that allows the positive law to create the "order of peace" that Kelsen values so much. In other words, it is not the mere existence of the positive law that creates the order of peace. The simple fiat involved in the act of making a law cannot explain the order of peace that replaces barbarism and lawlessness. What allows the

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

~

159

law to create the order of peace is the capacity of positive law to partake of, share in, or manifest principles that are independent of the will or power of the lawmaker. That is the fundamental claim of the natural law theory. This means that justice is not as opposed to the order of peace as Kelsen assumes. On the contrary, justice is necessary for the creation of the order of peace that Kelsen values so much. As Kelsen admits, legal positivism alone cannot secure the order of peace without a degree of artful deception. Legitimacy rests on the ability to create the illusion that the powers that be participate in an abstraction called justice. However, this deception is much more difficult to achieve than is generally acknowledged. Witness the failure of the American effort to win the hearts and minds of the Arab world, despite the sophistication of the Madison Avenue propaganda machine and the effort to destroy the only free and credible media in the Arab world. 33 In short, the positivist ability to create an order of peace cannot rest on the positivist claim that legitimacy has its source in the monopoly over force. In truth, it is much easier to partake of that abstraction called justice than to create the illusion that one is partaking of it. Besides its abstract quality, Kelsen rejects the natural law on the grounds that it is both utopian and anarchic. It is utopian because it links law with the idea of an "inner necessity" by which a person obligates himself. This is supposedly utopian because it assumes that everyone is endowed with goodwill, has the cognitive capacity to know the truth, and will not be in need of any external or impartial "judge."34 According to Kelsen, this renunciation of an external judge makes natural law not only utopian but also anarchic, because it makes the coercion associated with positive law superfluous.3 5 In my view, these objections are an assault on a straw man. Natural law does indeed assume that there are some very fundamental laws-laws against murder, rape, assault, and the like. Under normal circumstances, the overwhelming majority of individuals are not inclined to commit these crimes, and the existence of the coercive power of law is, in their case, quite superfluous. But the positive laws forbidding these acts of violence are nevertheless necessary to oblige those who are not by nature inclined toward the law, either because they are flawed human beings or because they have been driven mad by dreadful circumstances or potent ideologies. There is nothing anarchic about the natural law. Nor is it intended to make positive law superfluous. It certainly does not anticipate a utopian world free of conflicts and disputes, a world in which everyone knows the truth and is endowed with goodwill. On the contrary, it is fully cognizant of the fact that definitive moral truth is humanly unattainable and that disputes about the right and the good will be endless. To say this is not to say

160

"*"

Chapter Six

that human beings are so totally ignorant about truth that the only reasonable thing for them to do is to throw up their hands in despair and declare that no modicum of order can be attained without the voluntary submission to an all-powerful will. Contrary to the claims of positivists from Hobbes to Kelsen, the existence of an all-powerful will does not guarantee peace. Moreover, it stunts human growth and development. It makes law a matter of will and fiat and not reason. This explains why legal positivism comes into conflict with the tradition of the common law, which still prevails in England, Canada (with the exception of Quebec), and the United States (with the exception of Louisiana). This is a system of law that has its source in the courts as represented by judicial decisions. This system of law requires judges to provide reasons for their decisions, which then set precedents for future cases of a similar nature. These precedents become part of the law. However, changing conditions make decisions in the distant past no longer applicable to the present, and therefore judges must eke out the principles applicable to the situation and provide reasons for departing from precedent while upholding the principles inherent in the law. Common law judges must interpret the law in its best light under the circumstances. They are part of a system that regards law as a common project in which courts and legislators cooperate in a common goal, namely, that of creating a more just society.36 Peace does not require a lack of disputes based on reasoned arguments; peace does not require all questions of justice and of legality to be settled once and for all. If human beings are to thrive, and if they are to pursue their appetite for justice, they need only enough order to create the conditions of endless dispute and deliberation about the subtle aspects of law and justice. In its quest for peace, legal positivism rejects the exercise of reason and the centrality of reasoned opinion in the legal quest for justice. Far from being an invitation to perverse ingenuity, the common law tradition has often displayed a degree of inflexibility and an inability to keep pace with social developments. This has made the enactment of more and more statutes necessary. In recent years, the enactment of statutes has all but superseded the common law. Nevertheless, judges within the common law system have the opportunity to interpret the law in its best light in view of the circumstances of the case. The rising power of the neoconservative ideology, along with its alliance with the religious right, has created a climate of hostility to the common law tradition and its emphasis on the importance of an educated elite of judges who can adjudicate cases and provide reasoned opinions for legal decisions. Neoconservatives and their allies among the religious right have denounced

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

~

161

the deliberative activity of judges as "judicial activism."3? The term implies that judges are usurpers of a power that does not belong to them, namely, the power to make laws. The new conservatives assume that the legislative authority-Congress or Parliament-is alone entitled to make law. And they imagine that the making of law is totally separate from its enforcement. The fact is that the function of judges is to interpret the laws made by the legislative branch, and this interpretive activity sets precedents that become an integral part of the law as understood by subsequent judges. But the neoconservatives would like to restrict the lawmaking activity to the legislative branch of government, which represents the will of the peoplea people under God. Supposedly, judges are liberal apostates who are not under God. What are judges to do? How can they do their job without being denounced as usurpers? The neoconservative reply is that judges must interpret the law in light of the intentions of the lawgiver. But when it comes to constitutionallaws drafted in the mists of time, the idea of looking to the intentions of the lawgivers becomes an arbitrary and highly ideological affair. Neoconservatives think that they alone understand the original intentions of the lawgivers, but clearly their intention is to wipe out the history of the liberal tradition in America. 38 Instead of bravely denouncing the American liberal tradition, they pretend that the original intentions of the founding fathers were not liberal at all and that a radical and devious judicial elite is to blame for what they regard as the liberal putrefaction of American culture. In this way, the judiciary becomes the scapegoat of the new ideologues. Accordingly, they set out to strip the judiciary of all its power and to restrict the lawmaking activity to the legislative branch. The judicial elite is not the only casualty of neoconservative ideologues. Legal reason is also one of the casualties. Instead of regarding law as a collaborative project of legislatures and courts toward a more just society, the new ideologues regard law as fiat-the will of the people and their representatives. But since the will of the people is a fiction that conceals the will of the majority, it behooves us to ask why the will of the majority is superior to any other will. Why should the will of the majority be decisive in the absence of reason or deliberation? Why should the inarticulate will of the majority be superior to the deliberative reason of an elite of judges? The answer lies in the demise of reason in our time and the quest for alternative sources of truth and certainty. The strange conjunction of populism and religion is the most prominent example. I consider them a strange combination because religious authority flows from the top down. The word of God as interpreted by his representatives is the source of authority and must

162

~

Chapter Six

be enforced, regardless of what the people think or desire. In contrast, populism is a radical form of democracy where authority flows from the bottom and depends on the will of the majority. Religion and populism can only be reconciled if the majority surrenders its will to the will of God or his selfappointed representatives. This is what Benedict and the ayatollahs pray for. When their prayers are answered, democracy becomes indistinguishable from theocratic tyranny.

Natural Law and Divine Revelation The apparent licentiousness of the modern world incites the religious sensibility; it leads religious folks to denounce secular society. They long for a source of certainty and truth that transcends the vagaries of a world that seems to them lacking all foundations. Thinking that reason is impotent in providing any moral foundations for society, they cling to faith and divine revelation as the only secure basis on which social order can be sustained. The trouble is that religion does not promote political peace and order. If Aquinas's theory of natural law is to be of any use for political life, it must be disentangled from its religious associations. Extricating the natural law from its Catholic origins need not distort the theory. On the contrary, the separation of natural law and human law from divine law was suggested by Aquinas himself. Aquinas regarded human law as part of a chain of law that flows from the most general to the particular. The divine law does not belong to the chainit stands apart. The chain consists of: • Eternallaw • Natural law • Human law Eternal law must not be confused with divine law. Eternal law is the wisdom of God as it manifests itself in the observable universe. The laws of gravity, the laws of thermodynamics, and even the teleological laws of nature that make a duck's egg hatch ducklings, not kittens, are all part of the observable order of the world. The eternal law denotes the order that permeates nature. It is Aquinas's conviction that this order has its source in divine wisdom. Nevertheless, the eternal law is not revealed by God; it is known only through reason and observation. The natural law refers to that part of the eternal law that is applicable to human beings, who come to know the natural law by the exercise of their

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

+

163

rationality. Reason allows human beings to observe and to understand the laws to which they are subject-the physical as well as the moraL Unlike inanimate objects, human beings are not blindly subjected to the laws of gravity as stones fall down a cliff. Nor do human beings follow biological instincts blindly as birds do when they sing and mate. They decide what is appropriate under different circumstances. Aquinas was convinced that human reason, by which we come to know the law appropriate to our nature, is a "participation" in divine wisdom or eternal law. This led Aquinas to describe natural law in the words "The light of Thy countenance, 0 Lord, is signed upon us."39 This light of nature is the source of human law. The chain of law, which culminates in human law, does not depend on divine revelation. Human law is derived from the natural law not the divine law. Indeed, Aquinas goes so far as to say that "if man were ordained to no other end than that which is proportionate to his natural faculty, there would be no need for man to have any further direction on the part of his reason beyond the natural law and the human law which is derived from it."40 Human and divine law serve different functions: one is directed to human happiness in this world, while the other is directed to happiness in the beyond. This naturalistic foundation of human law is important because it means that human well-being in this world is independent of faith. Nevertheless, Aquinas was unwilling to keep divine law totally separate from human law. He thought that the divine law can play the role of final arbiter in cases where there is disagreement about what is right in any given circumstances. He assumed that when reason fails to bring concord, people should look to divine law to break the deadlock. 41 This solution might work if there were only one revelation, one divine law, and one interpretation of the revelation in question. But this is never the case. It is certainly not the case in our time, and it was not the case in Aquinas's time. This is why Thomistic natural law must be disentangled from its religious moorings. Religion cannot act as a political umpire because it cannot break the deadlock between Jews, Christians, and Muslims. These revelations have a great deal in common, but they also come into conflict, not only with one another, but also each one with itself. Where conflicting revelations contend, each insisting that it is the repository of absolute truth, rational debate is impossible, and violent struggle is the result. In contrast to revelation, reason is flexible and pluralistic. It is willing to accept a plurality of policies and modes of life as good and reasonable in view of the circumstances. I have argued that Aquinas's politics of salvation illustrates why religion is destructive of political peace, order, and justice. I also believe that politics is

164

+

Chapter Six

destructive of the dignity and sublimity of religious life. I will use Christianity as my example. Aquinas tells us that the purpose of the divine law is to guide us to our eternal happiness in the beyond. To accomplish this, it cannot simply direct our actions but must also guide our "interior movement"our intentions, desires, sentiments, and dispositions. 42 This Thomistic view has its source in the New Testament. Jesus thought of virtue as an inner disposition of the soul. He rejected the view that virtue is the outward conformity of actions to God's rules-that was the rabbinic view he repudiated. In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus made it clear that thoughts, desires, and dispositions must be included in the category of sin. This is the difference between the law of Moses and the new morality. Jesus preached that the Old Law says, "Thou shalt not commit adultery: But I say unto you that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery already with her in his heart" (Matt. 5:28). It came as a shock to his disciples to discover that committing adultery in thought is a sin-whether that sin is equal to the deed or not is a debatable matter. The point is that divine law demands a standard that is not reasonable for human law to require. This conception of virtue (no matter how commendable we may find it) is not applicable to law or the state. 43 The latter can only require the outward conformity of actions; it cannot order the heart or coerce the mind. Law cannot demand particular sentiments; that would be as absurd as demanding love on pain of death. It would defeat the whole purpose of Jesus's morality. If the latter is really a morality of love, it must be spontaneous and free. It cannot be required or coerced without being destroyed. It may be objected that human law is not indifferent to inner dispositions. In most legal systems, the idea of mens rea, or guilty mind, is necessary to determine criminal intent. But, even though intention is relevant in determining guilt in courts of law, this is only the case after an act has been committed. In contrast, the divine law, as understood by Jesus, directs our inner dispositions in the absence of any misdemeanors. In this scheme of things, sins are not connected to acts and can exist quite independently of the latter. The Sermon on the Mount cannot be the basis of law and justice in this world because it sets a standard of morality that transcends what can be required by natural law or natural justice. For example, Jesus says: Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

~

165

law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain" (Matt. 5:38-41).

To be sure, this is not the sort of ethic that can be inscribed into the laws of the state. What state can sustain itself if it were to follow Jesus's words "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you" (Matt. 5:44)? No state has ever conducted, or can conduct, itself according to this principle. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus proclaimed that marriage is indissoluble, except in cases of fornication (Matt. 5:32). This has led to the view that conjugal love is an imitation of agape, which is God's love for mankind, a love that is altogether undeserved. The ideal of marriage is to love your spouse no matter how badly he or she treats you. Physical abuse would not be grounds for divorce. An abused wife should continue to love her husband in imitation of God's love, and also in the hope that her love may be as transformative as God's love has been for humanity. The hope is that the constancy of undeserved love is likely to transform the beloved. Such an exalted ideal was portrayed in the film, Ryan's Daughter, in which the husband rescues his adulterous wife from the wrath of the Irish women in the town who discover her affair with the English soldier. This exalted conception of marriage cannot be made the basis of a legal contract. A contract is null and void if one of the parties fails to fulfill his or her end of the bargain. The divine law as revealed to Jesus requires more than natural law or natural justice demands. The latter allows one to fight back, take revenge, and divorce an abusive or adulterous spouse. It does not require turning the other cheek, forgiving your enemies, or loving a cruel spouse. What Jesus demands is a heroic ethic that transcends what is required by natural justice, so it cannot be the basis of human law. Insisting on the autonomy of human and divine law is therefore critical to the preservation of the dignity of both.

Conclusion The natural law that I am defending does not belong to any particular weltanschauung; it is a common denominator of all weltanschauungs. Without this common denominator, philosophy would be nothing more than a display of conflicting and irreconcilable powers, preferences, and commitments. Meaningful discourse among those who do not share the same preferences, commitments, values, intuitions, ideals, hopes, or dreams would be unattainable. Human beings would be trapped in horizons and worldviews

166

Chapter Six

that they mistake for truth. Like airtight bubbles floating through space, these enclosed worlds cannot communicate. They can only collide and destroy one another. Aquinas and Modernity are clearly floating in different bubbles, different horizons, and different weltanschauungs. But they have no difficulty having a meaningful discourse. Despite Aquinas's dogmatic posture, the dialogue between Aquinas and Modernity is fruitful because each is able to criticize the other's point of view by appealing to principles whose validity the other recognizes. Modernity is able to criticize Aquinas not only on the basis of her modernity but also on the basis of his Christianity. The protagonists are not trapped in the horizons of their time or culture. If they were, they could not argue; they could only fight as animals fight. The fact that Aquinas and Modernity are able to argue and reproach one another illustrates how human beings can transcend their particular weltanschauung. They are not trapped in mutually exclusive worlds. Their dialogue is meaningful because there is a natural moral order that transcends time and place to which they can appeal and which makes discourse, diplomacy, and debate possible between different traditions or cultures. There is no doubt that the discussion between Aquinas and Modernity involves mutually exclusive preferences; but these mutually exclusive preferences do not exhaust the substance of the dialogue. Nevertheless, the dialogue illustrates that there are certain things that are not a matter of taste, things that both protagonists take very seriously and aspire to include in their worldviews. But choosing among worldviews is not like choosing a dress or a flavor. The choices are difficult and tragic because the world is not organized in a way that allows all the good, desirable, and admirable things to be stacked up on one side of the ledger, while the evil, unpleasant, and undesirable things are stacked up on the other side. If this were the case, then the choices in life, politics, and philosophy would be simple. We would all choose the good and avoid the evil. However, life does not provide us with simple choices because good and evil are almost invariably intermingled. The dialogue between Aquinas and Modernity illustrates that we cannot have a politics of salvation without persecution, pogroms, repression, and censorship. We cannot have a faith-based legal system without torture and the Inquisition. We cannot return to the age of faith without re-creating the Crusades. By the same token, we cannot affirm modern individualism without alienation and anomie, self-absorption, and selfishness. We cannot have freedom without licentiousness. We cannot make science sovereign without risking the annihilation of the planet and of humanity. If there were a worldview, an ideology, a weltanschauung that was totally free from all evil pitfalls,

Recovering the Lost Promise of Natural Law

~

167

it would be universally chosen and there would be no philosophy, because there would be no need for debate. But this is not the case. To retrieve the lost promise of natural law is not to end debate but to allow meaningful debate to resume. There is no doubt that the concept of nature is hazardous. Every culture aspires to appear as if it were an extension of the natural order of things. There will always be efforts on the part of society to co-opt nature and make it justify particular social practices and traditions. Philosophy must resist these endless efforts on the part of the social order. The task of philosophy is to create a perpetual wedge between nature and convention. In so doing, philosophy must unsettle the naturalness of the cultural order. In discovering nature beneath the veneer of culture, philosophy does not uncover a clear, unambiguous truth. Nature provides no recipes for social order. What it provides is a host of potentialities for good. It is these diverse potentialities that different societies set out to cultivate. But every society chooses its priorities. All the potentialities for good cannot be equally or simultaneously affirmed. Whatever it chooses, a society will be at fault, because it cannot equally affirm all the potentialities for good. At the very least, it must try to promote the good it chooses while avoiding the evils that all human beings wish to avoid. By nature, human beings desire peace not war, order not chaos, and truth not lies. How we go about creating a world that seeks some good while avoiding evil is a function of reason, art, creativity, and ingenuity. This is not an endorsement of the Nietzschean view that cultures are simply works of art created by creative geniuses out of whole cloth. Nature provides not only the raw materials but also the goals. Reason and art must figure out how to cultivate kindness not cruelty, veracity not mendacity, tolerance not bigotry, courage not cowardice, knowledge not ignorance, and self-control not self-indulgence.

Notes

Series Editors' Introduction 1. Diana Coo le, Merleau-Ponty and Modern Politics after Anti-Humanism (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2007); Kennan Ferguson, William James: Politics in the Pluriverse (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2007). 2. William E. Connolly, The Augustinian Imperative: A Rej1ection on the Politics of Morality; George Kateb, Emerson and Self-Reliance; Stephen K. White, Edmund Burke: Modernity, Politics, and Aesthetics; Tracy B. Strong, Jean-Jacques Rousseau: The Politics of the Ordinary; Thomas L. Dumm, Michel Foucault and the Politics of Freedom; Michael J. Shapiro, Reading "Adam Smith": Desire, History, and Value; Richard E. Flathman, Thomas Hobbes: Skepticism, Individuality, and Chastened Politics; Jane Bennett, Thoreau's Nature: Ethics, Politics, and the Wild; Fred R. Dallmayr, G. W F. Hegel: Modernity and Politics; Seyla Benhabib, The Reluctant Modernism of Hannah Arendt. All new editions were published by Rowman & Littlefield (Lanham, MD) in 2002 with the exception of Benhabib's book, which was published in 2003. 3. Shadia B. Drury, Alexandre Kojeve: The Roots of Postmodern Politics (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1994); Terror and Civilization: Christianity, Politics, and the Western Psyche (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004). 4. Shadia B. Drury, The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1988; rev. ed., New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005); and Leo Strauss and the American Right (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1997). 5. Drury's books and essays have been translated into many languages, including Chinese, Korean, Arabic, and Italian. Her most popular essays include "The Making of a Straussian," Philosopher's Magazine, no. 25 (1st quarter 2004): 24-25; "Leo Strauss and the Grand Inquisitor," Free Inquiry 24, no. 3 (June/July 2004): 20-22; "Leo Strauss

169

170

~

Notes

and the American Imperial Project," Political Theory 35, no. 1 (February 2007): 62-67, and "Reply to Smith," Political Theory 35, no. 1 (February 2007): 73-74; "Gurus of Endless War, New Humanist, May/June 2007: 24-27; "Gulliver in Lilliput," Free Inquiry 25, no. 5 (August/September 2005): 19-20; "Neoconservatism and Global Disaster," Free Inquiry, no. 6 (October/November 2005): 20-21; "Exterminating the Enemy," Free Inquiry 27, no. 2 (February/March 2007): 22-23; "America: Beacon or Bully?" a review essay on Francis Fukuyama's America at the Crossroads, Free Inquiry 26, no. 5 (August/September 2006): 59-62; "Which Fukuyama?" Open Democracy, 9 June 2006, www.opendemocracy.net/democracy-fukuyama/which_3623.jsp; "The Lost Sobriety of Conservatism," Free Inquiry 26, no. 2 (February/March 2006): 19-21; "Judicial Activism and the Conservative Revolution," Free Inquiry 26, no. 3 (April/May 2006): 22-23; "Noble Lies and Perpetual War," interview with Danny Postel, Open Democracy, 16 October 2003, www.opendemocracy.net/debates/article-2-95-1542.jsp. Available in Italian translation in Reset, no. 81 (February, 2004): 25-28; "Reading Leo Strauss," Claremont Review of Books 7, no. 3 (2007). Drury's many interviews on Leo Strauss, neoconservatism, lying in politics, civil society, and populism include those by Matthew Rothschild, editor of Progressive magazine and host of Progressive radio, and Michael Enright of Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. 6. Shadia Drury, "Straussians in Power: Secrecy, Lies, and Endless War," in The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss, updated ed. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), xi. 7. Drury, "Straussians in Power," xxi. 8. Drury, "Straussians in Power," ii. 9. Drury, Leo Strauss and the American Right, 95.

Preface 1. WaIter Kaufmann makes this argument in Critique of Religion and Philosophy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). This book is insightful, perceptive, and a delight to read. In a brief chapter on Aquinas, Kaufmann rightly argues that Aquinas was a stooge of the Catholic Church. He focuses on Aquinas's proofs for the existence of God and shows how seriously flawed they are. He compares Aquinas negatively to Amos and Isaiah, "who defied the religious institutions of the day, pitting their moral convictions against the age and attacking the conscience of the time like a storm that breaks down walls and exalts life and spirit above convention and belief."

Chapter 1 1. I am relying heavily on the classic work of historian Henry Charles Lea, A History of the Inquisition (3 vols., New York: Russell & Russell, 1955). This is a detailed, exhaustive, and impartial history of the Inquisition or "Holy Office" of the Catholic Church. Lea's work is a gift of truth, which is like a breath of fresh air in the midst of all the disingenuous and revisionist history to which Catholic scholars are disposed. It is written in a style that is detached and factual. No one who has the smallest inkling of the facts could fail to understand why the "Holy Office" is an institution

Notes

~

171

which has been regarded with universal horror and opprobrium, and why it remains unmatched in the history of human injustice, unreason, and inhumanity. 2. Even Catholic scholars are stunned by the "inconceivable cruelty" of the wars within Christendom. See Josef Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas (New York: Random House, 1962), p. 12. 3. "Frederick I1," Barbara A. Chemow and George A. Vallasi (eds.)., The Columbia Encyclopedia (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993). 4. For biographical information, I am relying on Simon Tugwell and Leonard E. Boyle, Albert & Thomas (New York: Paulist Press, 1998) and Jacques Maritain, St. Thomas Aquinas (New York: Meridian Press, 1958). 5. Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas p. 208. 6. Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas p. 208. 7. G. K. Chesterton says that his sister arranged his escape, and he makes much of Aquinas's fondness for his sister and her fondness for him. I suspect that Chesterton hoped that the warm relationship with his sister might undermine the plethora of misogynist statements in Thomas's work. See Chesterton, Saint Thomas Aquinas (New York: Doubleday, 1956). What is admirable about Chesterton is that he understands himself to be a hagiographer and makes no pretensions to impartiality. Chesterton paints Aquinas as a prince of light in the midst of darkness. Aquinas emerges as the saint who single-handedly rescued Christianity from Augustinian gloom, revealed the rationality of faith, and celebrated life in this world. No mention whatsoever is made of Aquinas's defense of the Inquisition, his endorsement of Aristotle's concept of natural slavery, or his insistence on the inferiority of women by nature, and not as a result of sin, as previous church fathers assumed. Thomist scholars adore the book; Gilson laments that all his scholarship notwithstanding, he has not managed to produce anything that captures the spirit of Aquinas as well as the majestic Chesterton. The reason may be that scholars are constrained by evidence. 8. Lea, A History of the Inquisition, Vol. I, ch. VI, "The Mendicant Orders." 9. Thomist scholars are inclined to believe that the popes in the thirteenth century were at the forefront of progressive reform against the decadence of the feudal order. See for example Marie-Dominique Chenu and Josef Pieper. 10. I am depending on Peter De Rosa, Vicars of Christ (London: Bantam Press, 1988) and Lea, A History of the Inquisition. 11. Lea, A History of the Inquisition, Vol. I, ch. VII, "The Inquisition Founded," pp. 337 ff. 12. Lea, A History of the Inquisition, Vol. I, p. 101: St. Bemard testified to the faultless and pious morality of the heretic saying that "he cheats no one, he oppresses no one, he strikes no one, his cheeks are pale with fasting, he eats not the bread of idleness, his hands labor for his livelihood." 13. Lea, A History of the Inquisition, Vol. I, ch. IV, "The Albigensian Crusade." 14. Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, p. 208. 15. The introduction of the work of Averroes to the Latins is arguably one of the most significant achievements of Frederick II. Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, p. 203

172

~

Notes

16. De Rosa, Vicars of Christ, p. 226; compare with slightly different details from Lea, A History of the Inquisition, Vo!. Il, ch. Il, pp. 113ff. 17. Josef Pieper, The Silence of Saint Thomas (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1957), p. 12. William of Saint-Amour, an Augustinian contemporary of Aquinas, found Aquinas's philosophy too rational; so much so, that he believed it deprived the human spirit of the dark mysteries of the faith. Pieper's book subtly responds to this criticism. Pieper emphasizes the "silence" of Aquinas in order to show that he did indeed testify to the mystery of existence. 18. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 66. Being an apologist for the church, Pieper blames the unrest on the ignorance of the masses and not the injustices of the Dominicans or the pope. See "Aquinas and the Inquisition," in chapter three, for my response to Pieper. 19. John Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Right (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980). 20. Paul E. Sigmund, "Law and Politics," in Norman Kretzmann and Eleanore Stump, eds. The Cambridge Companion to Aquinas (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 219.

Chapter Two 1. Pope Benedict XVI, "Faith, Reason and the University: Memories and Reflections." In that lecture, the pope quotes from a fourteenth century Byzantine Emperor (Manuelll) denouncing the wicked and violent nature of Islam. In the version available on the Vatican website, the pope prefaces the quotation from Manuel by saying that he does not agree with it. But anyone who reads the complete text of the lecture will realize that this disclaimer must have been added to the text as an effort to diffuse the furor that the lecture caused, especially in the Islamic world, where many violent threats were uttered and a nun in Somalia was killed. 2. Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, p. 214. Tugwell and Boyle's introduction to the selected writings of Thomas includes a very detailed account of Aquinas's life and travels. But they find none of the facts embarrassing or suspicious. 3. Thomas's inaugural lecture of 1256 was on the vocation of a theologian. The text of the lecture is included in Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, pp. 353-360. 4. See Marie-Dominfque Chenu, Toward Understanding St. Thomas (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1964). Father Chenu maintains that Aquinas was at the center of the only renaissance that has ever succeeded in the West. What he means is that his reliance on Aristotle was not a cult of the ancients intended to repeat and imitate them. The renaissance in which Aquinas was a central figure was one in which the ancients were transplanted in the new soil provided by a Christian civilization. This was not Aristotle as he was, but as he would be if he were to find himself in the new surroundings created by a Christian civilization. In other words, what we have in Aquinas is an Aristotle civilized and tamed by Christianity. Chenu is quite right. What Chenu does not ask is whether this project of taming and Christianizing Aristotle does not also involve subjugating his rational spirit, destroying his scientific curiosity, and turning him into a servile and pliant instrument of a faith that flies in

Notes

+

173

the face of his rational sensibilities. In Chenu's version of history, the church had nothing to do with the darkness of the Middle Ages. On the contrary, Chenu believes that the popes in Aquinas's time were progressive representatives of the new renaissance struggling against the crumbling feudal order defended by the imperial power of Frederick II. 5. Andrew Traver, The Opuscula of William of Saint-Amour (Munster: AschendorffVerlag, 2003). 6. Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, p. 216. 7. Maritain, St. Thomas Aquinas, p. 34. 8. Toward the end of his pontificate, Pope Alexander eased some of the sanctions against William's followers-by allowing Bishop Reginald the authority to absolve from excommunication those who had William's work in their possession. Previously, absolution from this crime could only come from the pope. See Traver, The Opuscula of William of Saint-Amour, p. 79. 9. Traver, The Opuscula of William of Saint-Amour. 10. John Pecham was a student of Bonaventure and later Archbishop of Canterbury. 11. Traver, The Opuscula of William of Saint-Amour, pp. 15-17. 12. Thomas Aquinas, Contra Impugnantes Dei cultum et religione, in Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, pp. 606-612. 13. Thomas Aquinas, Contra Impugnantes Dei culium et religione, p. 608. 14. Thomas Aquinas, Contra Impugnantes Dei cultum et religione, p. 612. 15. Thomas Aquinas, Contra Impugnantes Dei cultum et religione, p. 611. 16. William had some effect on Pope Innocent IV. On November 21, 1254, Innocent issued a bull (Esti animarum) restricting the freedom of the friars to preach and hear confessions. A few weeks later, Innocent died (some mendicants were convinced his death was a sign from God) and was succeeded by Alexander IV, a known supporter of the friars who nullified all the restrictions of Innocent's bull and made it illegal to set any limits on the number of chairs that the mendicant orders can hold in the Faculty of Arts at the University of Paris. See Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, p. 214. Nevertheless, Alexander IV had the work of Gerard of Borgo San Donnino investigated. The Anagni Commission reported its findings to the pope in 1255. Alexander demanded that the Bishop of Paris destroy the work and excommunicate anyone who had a copy of it. 17. Suma Contra Gentiles (hereafter, SCG), Bk. Ill, chs.130-135 contains a catalogue of William's objections to mendicancy (although William's name is not mentioned). For more arguments against mendicancy and Aquinas's responses, see Summa Theologica (hereafter, ST), II-II, Q. 188, A. 7. The case against mendicancy, even as summarized by Aquinas, is devastating. 18. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 132. 19. Contrary to William's claims, Aquinas thought that voluntary poverty is an imitation of Christ and his disciples, who were ministered to by others in exchange for preaching. 20. Penn R. Szittya, The Antifraternal Tradition in Medieval Literature (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986).

174

"'*"

Notes

21. Geoffrey Dipple, Antifraternalism and Anticlericalism in the German Reformation (Brookfield, VT: Scholar Press, 1996). Dipple argues that the medieval antifraternal tradition which has its source in William of Saint-Amour was absorbed into the Reformation, partly due to the prominence of the Dominicans among Luther's opponents and partly because the antifraternal tradition draws on familiar biblical typesfalse prophets, Pharisees, hypocrites, and harbingers of the Antichrist. 22. Tugwell and Boyle, Albere & Thomas, p. 216. See also Pieper, The Silence of Saint Thomas Aquinas, p. 12. Pieper is an outstanding defender of Aquinas. His account of Aquinas's thought is rich in historical texture and philosophical sharpness. He argues that Aquinas strikes a balance between the Augustinian elements and the Averroist ones. On one hand, Aquinas rejects the Averroist desire to separate reason from faith and to make reason independent. Instead, Aquinas regards theology as a philosophical inquiry that presupposes the truth of the faith and turns to reason in order to better understand and bolster the doctrines of the faith. On the other hand, Aquinas rejects the Manichean idea that the world is rooted in wickedness, as the Augustinians were inclined to believe. Aquinas's reason for rejecting the Augustinian view of the world is twofold. First, the world was created by God and cannot be considered wicked without also suggesting that God is wicked. Second, the fact of the Incarnation, the fact that the Word was made flesh, excludes the Manichean principle that the body is evil. As an Augustinian, William of Saint-Amour found Aquinas's philosophy too rational; so much so, that he believed that it deprived the human spirit of the mysteries of faith. Without saying so, Pieper's book subtly responds to this criticism. He emphasizes the "silence" of Aquinas in order to show that he did indeed testify to the mystery of existence. Pieper says casually that William was "banished." Pieper also reports that heretics were burned, stoned, and tortured, as if these were spontaneous acts, which were not commanded by the pope, or initiated, planned, and supervised, by Dominicans and other papal legates. Despite the forthrightness of Pieper's work relative to other Thomists, it is still in denial. 23. Maritain, S1. Thomas Aquinas, p. 34. In the first chapter, Maritain makes you feel that if you read and trust Aquinas, you will float on a cloud for the rest of your life. And if the whole world reads and listens to Aquinas, all our troubles would be over. This chapter is beautifully written and utterly persuasive for anyone who has not read what Aquinas has to say about politics, the Inquisition, Jews, infidels, heretics, or women. The rest of the chapters are overflowing with such effusive hyperbole that even the uninformed reader will risk nausea. 24. Tugwell and Boyle, Albere & Thomas, p. 216. 25. Thomas responded with his De unitate intellectus contra Averroista5 (1270), in Ralph Mclnerny, Aquinas Against the Averroists (West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 1993). 26. These are some examples from the list provided by Mclnerny, Aquinas Against the Averroists, p. 9. 27. Siger of Brabant, On the Eternity of the World (Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 1964).

Notes

175

28. Etienne Gilson, Etudes de philosophie medievale (Strasbourg, 1921), p. 59, as quoted by Fernand van Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1980), p. 95. 29. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, pp. 98, 109. This is a very important work-well written, and extremely knowledgeable, but tragically uninsightful. Steenberghen tackles the challenge that the radical Aristotelians, especially Siger of Brabant, pose for Aquinas and the Catholic Church. The first lecture discusses the eternity of the world; the second lecture discusses "monopsychism" or the idea that there is only one intellect in which all rational beings share; the third lecture discusses the relation between faith and reason and the Averroist doctrine of the two truths. 30. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, p. 81. 31. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, p. 95. 32. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, p. 90. 33. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, p. 109. 34. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, pp. 80, 89. 35. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, p. 80. 36. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, p. 87. 37. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, p. 81. 38. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, p. 77. 39. Pieper quotes Gilson and shares his sentiments, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 14. 40. Gilson and Steenberghen are not alone in their nostalgia for the Inquisition. Alasdair MacIntyre also longs for the deference to theological authority that philosophers displayed in the Middle Ages. See Alasdair MacIntyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry (Notre Dame, In: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988), p. 91. See also discussion of MacIntyre in chapter six. 41. Steenberghen, Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism, p. 108. Steenberghen is aware of the fact that the double truth theory was denounced by both Aquinas and by the Bishop of Paris, and that it constitutes an obstacle to the thesis of his beloved Gilson, whom he nevertheless follows assiduously. 42. Thomas Aquinas, De unitate intellectus contra Averroistas (1270), in McInerny, Aquinas Against the Averroists, p. 143. 43. Drury, The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss, Updated Edition and Leo Strauss and the American Right. 44. ]oseph Canning, "Aquinas," in David Boucher and Paul Kelly (eds.), Political Thinkers: From Socrates to the Present (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), p. 122. 45. Maritain, St. Thomas Aquinas, pp. 28,43. 46. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 117. In this book, Pieper argues that the synthesis between Aristotle and the Bible, achieved by Aquinas, has provided Western civilization with a distinctive character that is neither materialistic nor otherworldly. Aquinas regards existence as sanctified by the creator, especially because of his Incarnation into the world of the body. The book is extremely well written and almost compelling. However, the slightest acquaintance with Islam is enough to refute Pieper's thesis that this is a distinctive characteristic of the West. Islam also endows

176

"*'

Notes

existence in general and the human body in particular with special reverence as a testimony to the power, wisdom, and goodness of the creator. 4 7. SCG, Bk. I, ch. 48: "That primarily and essentially God knows only Himself." This was one of the condemned propositions. See also Bk. I, ch. 80, Bk. II, chs. 25, 47, Bk. Ill, chs. 18-21. 48. SCG, Bk. Ill, chs. 3---4, 16, 17, 19. 49. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 155: "That man needs the help of grace to persevere in the good." 50. SCG, Bk. II, chs. 32-38. 51. SCG, Bk. II, chs. 83, 87. 52. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 79. 53. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 79. 54. Thomas Aquinas, Contra Impugnantes Dei Cultum et Religionem, in Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas. See also SCG, Bk. Ill, chs. 130-135. Like Aristotle, Aquinas affirms the superiority of the contemplative life over any other kind of life, especially the life that involves manuallabor (SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 37). 55. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 79. 56. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 81. Aristotle, Politics, 1,5, 1254b 25. Trans. by Benjamin Jowett (New York: Colonial Press, 1900). 57. Aquinas did not simply defend a fictive or theoretical slavery; he also defended the conventional institution of slavery as compatible with the law of nature. In his discussion of natural law, he tells us that the natural law can be changed by the addition of slavery, if the addition is deemed beneficial to human life (ST, I-ll, Q. 94, A. 5). In his eagerness to reconcile Aristotle with the Bible, Aquinas ends up making contradictory claims, such as saying that all men are by nature equal, but adding that this does not mean that slavery as an institution is illegitimate; it means that men are subject to others only in their body, and quotes Seneca who says that the soul of man is his own, even if he is a slave (ST, II-II, Q. 104, A 5 and 6). But what makes slavery "natural" is the inequality of the soul that makes it necessary for the superior to govern the inferior because the latter has not sufficient reason to govern him or herself. 58. ST, I, Q. 96, A. 3 and 4. 59. ST, I, Q. 92, Reply to Objection 2. 60. It is worth noting that Aristotle distinguished between the relationship of master and slave and the relationship of husband and wife, but Aquinas conflates them. 61. ST, 1, Q. 92, Reply to Objection 2; see also ST, Supplement, Q. 52, Reply to Objection 2; and also SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 123. Like Aristotle, Aquinas is unable to sustain the argument regarding the inequality of the sexes and the need for the subordination of women. Like Aristotle, he tells us that marriage is based on friendship and that friendship requires and presupposes equality. See SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 124. 62. In "The Mariology of Saint Thomas," Aidan Nichols is rightly critical of Aquinas's view of women, but he does not recognize the difficulty he had in sustaining these views without self-contradiction. The reason is that the relations between the sexes are not characterized simply by casual reproductive encounters, but by deep

Notes

~

177

and abiding friendship. Nichols's article is in T. Weinandy, Daniel Keating, and John Yocum, Aquinas on Doctrine: A Critical Introduction (London: T and T Clark, 2004). 63. SCG, Bk. Ill, chs. 64-67. 64. SCG, Bk. Ill, chs. 64-67 and chs. 73-75. 65. Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones disputatae de veritate, Q. 6, A. 6: "Can predestination be helped by the prayers of the saints?" In Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas. 66. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 123. 67. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 122. 68. ST, Ill, Q. 46, A. 4, and ST, Ill, Q. 69, A. 2. 69. Thomas Aquinas, Expositio super librum Boethii De Trinitate (1255-59), Questions I-IV of Aquinas's commentary on Boethius, De Trinitate, in Armand Maurer, Faith, Reason, and Theology (Toronto: Pontifical Institute, 1987), Q. 2, A. 3, Objection 5, pp. 46, 50. 70. Bonaventura, The Mind's Road to God (New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1953), p. 45. 71. SCG, Bk. I, ch. 9. My italics. n. SCG, Bk. I, ch. 7. My italics. 73. SCG, Bk. I, ch. 6. 74. SCG, Bk. I, ch. 9. 75. ST, II-II, Q. 1, A. 10. 76. See De Rosa, Vicars of Christ, and Garry Wills, Papal Sin (New York: Doubleday, 2000). These books contain a depressing litany of the rapacity and depraved criminality of the popes of the Catholic Church. Both books are written by devout Catholics who believe that the scandalous immorality represented by the popes is the very opposite of everything that Christianity stands for. But in view of the staggering number of dissolute and degenerate men who have ascended the papal throne, one is forced to wonder: Is the church destined to attract the lowest stratum of humanity? Or, alternately, do decent men risk becoming morally depraved by embarking on a career in the church? 77. Etienne Gilson, The Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, trans. by Edward Bullough (New York: Dorset Press, 1948), p. 43. 78. Gilson, The Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, p. 45. 79. Gilson, The Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, p. 45. 80. Gilson, The Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, p. 47. 81. ST, II-Il, Q. 10, A. 1, Reply to Objection 3. 82. Pope Leo XIII, "On the Restoration of Christian Philosophy," printed as a preface by the Dominican Fathers to the English edition of Aquinas's Summa Theologica, p. xiv. 83. ST, I, Q. 1, A. 10. 84. ST, I, Q. 1, A. 8. 85. ST, II-II, Q. 1, A. 5, Reply to Objection 2. 86. ST, II-II, Q. 5, A. 3. 87. SCG, Bk. I, ch. 6. It is important to remember that Islamic civilization at the time was a threat because it was extremely vibrant militarily, culturally, philosophically, and scientifically, in comparison to the primitive character of Europe.

178

"*"

Notes

88. SCG, Bk. I, ch. 6. 89. See note 1 above. 90. On the carnal excesses of the clergy, see Lecky, History of European Morals: From Augustus to Charlemagne, 2 vols. (Honolulu, Hawaii: University Press of the Pacific, 1942). 91. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, pp. 19-20. 92. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, "Chronological Table," p. 112. As we shall see, these dates are significant because they indicate that Aquinas was a papal consultant in 1268 when the boy king, Konradin, the last Hohenstaufen, was executed on a scaffold in Naples. 93. Maritain, St. Thomas Aquinas, p. 129. 94. Pope Leo XIII, "On the Restoration of Christian Philosophy," in ST, vol. 1. 95. Printed in Maritain, Saint Thomas Aquinas, pp. 215-221. 96. Since the Second Vatican Council of 1962-65 (Vatican II), this rule has not been enforced as strictly. 97. These papal encyclicals are reprinted in Maritain, St. Thomas Aquinas. 98. It is worth noting that when Pope Leo XIII opened the secret archives of the Vatican to scholars, the records of the Roman Inquisition were missing. 99. Pope Leo XIII, "On the Restoration," p. ix. 100. Pope Leo XIII, "On the Restoration," pp. ix-x. 101. Pope Leo XIII, "On the Restoration," p. x. 102. Pope Leo XIII, "On the Restoration," p. xv. 103. Pope Leo XIII, "On the Restoration," p. xii. 104. Pope Benedict XVI, "Faith, Reason and the University: Memories and Reflections. " 105. Pope Pius X, "Doctoris Angelici," in Maritain, St. Thomas Aquinas, p. 221. 106. Thomas Cahill, Pope John XXIII (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2002), pp. 102 ff. 107. Kenny, "Enemies of Academic Freedom," in Anthony Kenny, The Ivory Tower (New York: Basil Blackwell, 1985). 108. Cahill, Pope John XXIII pp. 206ff, 260ff. 109. John Bunyan, Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners (London: Penguin Books, 1987) and Drury, Terror and Civilization, Part I, "Sin as Unbelief." 110. ST, Il-Il, Q. 2, A. 7 and 8. 111. ST, Il-Il, Q. 13, A. 3. 112. ST, Il-Il, Q. 151, A. 1. 113. On the philosophical problems of fide ism, see the excellent work of Terence Penelhum, God and Skepticism (Boston: D. Reidel, 1983). 114. S!Ilren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling and The Sickness unto Death (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). 115. ST, Il-Il, Q. 2, A. 10, Objection 1. 116. ST, Il-Il, Q. 2, A. 10, Reply to Objection 3. 117. ST, Il-Il, Q. 2, A. 10, Reply to Objection 2. 118. Thomas Aquinas, Contra Impugnantes, in Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, p.610.

Notes

~

179

119. On the moral teaching of Jesus, see Drury, Terror and Civilization, Part Ill, "Ethic of Love." 120. Aquinas's commentaries on scripture are extremely tame and dry. To my mind, these commentaries compare very unfavorably with Origen, who was ingenious and inventive in his approach to scripture. But Aquinas was critical of this ingenuity where the sacred texts were concerned. See Aquinas's Commentary on St. Paul's Epistle to the Galatians, trans. by F. R. Larcher (Albany, New York: Magi Books Inc., 1966) or his Expositio super Job ad litteram (The Literal Exposition on Job) trans. by Anthony Damico, with an interpretive essay by Martin D. Yafte (Atanta, Georgia: Scholars Press, 1989). The story of Job represents a certain challenge to Aquinas because he rejects the reality of evil. But Satan plays a large role in the story. In his interesting interpretive essay, Martin Yaffe points out that Satan is but the psychological shortcomings of Job. As a real person, Job is flawed; and for Aquinas, Satan is a manifestation of these flaws. Yaffe's interpretive essay compares Aquinas unfavorably with Maimonides on Providence. Maimonides is interpreted by Jaffe, as by Leo Strauss, as an Averroist who regards faith and reason as irreconcilable. Maimonides praises faith publicly but adheres to reason privately. For a critique of the Straussian (i.e. Averroist) interpretation of Maimonides, see Drury, Leo Strauss and the American Right, especially "Maimonides Reinterpreted," in chapter 2. 121. ST, II-II, Q. 64, A. 6, Reply to Objection 1.

Chapter 3 1. Drury, Terror and Civilization, "Treachery with a Clear Conscience," in Part II, "Politics of Terror." 2. ]oseph Ratzinger and Marcellow Pera, Without Roots, trans. by Michael F. Moore, foreword by George Neigel (New York: Basic Books, 2006), pp. 70, 108, 109. 3. Thomas Aquinas, De Regno, Ad Regem Cypri, translated by Gerald B. Phelan as On Kingship: To the King of Cyprus, with an Introduction by T. Eschmann (Toronto: Pontifical Institute, 1949). There is some controversy as to whether Aquinas authored all of the book or only Bk. I and Bk. II (chapters I-IV). I will refer only to the undisputed chapters. This work is often confused with De Regimine Principum (On the Governance of Rulers) by Thomas Aquinas and Ptolemy of Lucca. See Bibliography for details. 4. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. XI, 90. 5. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. IX, 73. 6. See Introduction to De Regno by T. Eschmann, p. xxxi. 7. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. 1. 8. Some American political scientists believe that the American form of government is based on this Aristotelian idea, with a monarchical element (the Presidency), an aristocratic element (the Senate), and a democratic element (the House of Representatives). But the analogy is flawed because the Senate does not represent the oligarchic class. The latter is not officially represented in the government. But it remains the case that under the Republicans, America is best described as an oligarchy, which is the rule of the rich in the interest of the rich and at the expense of the poor. 9. ST, I-II, Q. 105, A. 1, my italics.

180

+

Notes

10. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. 1I, 19. 11. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. 1I, ch. I, 94. Like Aristotle, Aquinas did not know that it was a queen bee; and like Aristotle, he could not imagine a feminine ruling principle. Had he known it was a queen, he would have dismissed it as an aberration, instead of regarding it as exemplary. 12. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. 1I, 17: Aquinas identifies peace with unity. 13. Aquinas, De Regno. 14. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. Ill, 25. 15. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. V, 39--40. 16. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. VI, 44. 17. Aquinas, De Regno. 18. Aquinas, De Regno. 19. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. VI, 52. Aquinas makes a similar point in his discussion of God's vengeance in ST, 1I-1I, Q. 108, A. 4. This raises the question of the justice of God. Is it just for God to punish the innocent with the wicked? Aquinas thinks it is, and this is a sad state of affairs because whatever it is just for God to do, it will be just for the pope to do, since he is the Vicar of God in the world. The tragedy of Biblical religion is that it begins with a pathological God who becomes the model of virtue for men in positions of power. 20. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. I, ch. VI, 45-52. 21. ST, 1I-1I, Q. 108. 22. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. 1I, ch. Ill, 105. 23. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. 1I, ch. Ill, 109. 24. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. 1I, ch. Ill, 110. 25. Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, pp. 70, 108, 109. See also "The Separation of Church and State," in chapter five. 26. Quoted in the excellent work by Cahill, Pope John XXIII, p. 17. 27. Cahill, Pope John XXIII, p. 30. 28. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. 1I, ch. Ill, 111. 29. Aquinas, De Regno. 30. Aquinas, De Regno. 31. F. C. Copleston, Aquinas (New York: Penguin Books, 1955), p. 242. 32. Copleston, Aquinas. 33. Sigmund, "Law and Politics," in Kretzmann and Stump (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to Aquinas, p. 219. This is an excellent collection of essays and a useful guide to Aquinas for students as well as specialists. It contains outstanding articles and a good bibliography. See especially Joseph Owens, "Aristotle and Aquinas," Ralph Mclnerny, "Ethics," and Mark D. Jordan, "Theology and Philosophy." 34. Sigmund, "Law and Politics," p. 219. 35. Sigmund, "Law and Politics"; see also ST, 1I-1I, Q. 60, A. 6. 36. See for example Canning, "Aquinas," in Boucher and Kelly (eds.), Political

Thinkers. 37. Aquinas, De Regno, Bk. 11, ch. Ill, 112, my italics.

Notes

+

181

38. Innocent III (Lothario Dei Segni), 1160-1216, De miseria humanae conditionis, trans. by Margaret Mary Dietz (New York: Library of the Liberal Arts, 1969), more popularly known as De contemptu mundi (contempt of the world), Bk. I, ch. II, p. 6. Innocent III sat on the papal throne from 1198-1216. This encyclical was written toward the end of the twelfth century. It was very popular and very widely read in the Middle Ages. As the title indicates, it is filled with contempt for the world, its power, riches, honors, fleeting pleasures, and allurement, which conspire to destroy the soul and rob it of its splendid reward in heaven. In a decisively apocalyptic tone, Innocent sees the world as approaching its dissolution and panting with its last gasp. He regards all the calamities of war, famine, and pestilence to be the signs of a world in its dotage with all the diseases and afflictions of old age. He anticipates that the last days are near, and urges his readers to be prepared for the final judgment. Innocent heaps contempt on pagan philosophy as nothing but false wisdom, vanity, and dissension, fit for swine and other unclean beasts. He beseeches the reader to take refuge in the haven of Christian faith, which contains infallible wisdom in comparison to the raging madness of the world. Innocent was convinced that the Roman Empire was a necessary prelude to the spread of the one true faith. He compared the effect of Roman power on the world to the effect of a medicine on the body; just as a medicine taken orally is diffused throughout the body, so, Roman power being diffused throughout the world has made the reception of the healing faith that much easier. Otherwise, it would have encountered numerous obstacles of language, powers, and customs. The Roman Empire was therefore a mechanism by which to spread the true faith, which emerged only in the fullness of time, when the world was ready to receive it. Innocent is convinced that the world is but a pittance of worthless crumbs in comparison to the enduring rewards of heaven. But neither his contempt for the world nor his apocalyptic state of mind led him to withdraw from the world. On the contrary, he was determined to be sovereign over the secular world and to subordinate it to the higher end of salvation. His reign was the zenith of papal power. Not only was he the temporal ruler over most of Italy, he managed to remove and install kings at will throughout Europe. Innocent was just as meddlesome in English politics, which enraged King John, so Innocent excommunicated him, and this forced the king to submit to the demands of the pope, which included paying annual tribute to the Holy See. But when the English barons forced King John to sign the Magna Carta, Innocent sided with the king against the barons and declared this venerable document to be null and void. The pope sent his legate, Pandulf, to England to assist King John's efforts in revoking the charter. But the darkest legacy of this pope was his initiation of the disastrous Albigensian Crusade of 1208. 39. In 1210, when the crusading armies of Innocent III captured the castle at Bram, they did not kill the prisoners. Instead, they had their noses chopped off and their eyes gouged, except for one man, who was allowed to keep one eye. With that one eye, the lucky man led all the others in a blind and bloody procession to the next town to inspire them with the fear of God. See De Rosa, Vicars of Christ, p. 223. 40. De miseria humaine conditionis, Bk. Ill, ch. xiii, p. 79. Innocent makes it clear that no matter how much the damned repent, there will be no mercy and no escape

182

t4-> Notes

from the eternal torments, which he describes in graphic detail. The idea that remorse and repentance might lead to forgiveness (after the requisite punishment is served) is totally abhorrent to him as to Aquinas. For both of them, the torments of hell must be eternal. See Aquinas, SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 144. See also Drury, Terror and Civilization, "Hell and Damnation" in Part 1. 41. ST, 1I-1I, Q. 10, A. 10, "Of Un belief in General." My italics. 42. ST, 1I-1I, Q. 12, A. 2, "Of Apostasy." 43. Also spelled Conradin. The event is mentioned in passing by Pieper, The Silence of S1. Thomas, chronological table, p. 111. But other Thomist scholars do not mention it. 44. Frederick Barbarossa (Frederick I) contemptuously rejected any suggestion that his kingdom was merely a papal fiefdom; he thought he owed his power to God and the princes who elected him. Frederick II called himself "lord of the world," and his admirers called him stupor mundi, or wonder of the world. The Hohenstaufen emperors did "take the cross" (i.e., lead Crusades), but only when it served their purposes. See "Frederick 1I," in Chernow and Vallasi (eds.), The Columbia Encyclopedia. 45. Gerald B. Phelan dates the work as 1269. See Phelan's introduction to an early edition translated as De Regimine Principum or On the Governance of Rulers (Toronto: St. Michael's College, 1935); this is a misleading title for reasons explained in note 3 above. Maritain, Gilson, and Eschmann think that De Regno was composed in 1267. See Maritain, S1. Thomas Aquinas, pp. 161, 164. 46. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, tells us that Aquinas was sent back to Paris to resume his chair at the University in 1269, which is after the events of 1268. He also tells us that Aquinas was a consultant at the papal court of Clement IV in Viterbo from 1267-1269. This means that Aquinas was a papal consultant in the year that Konradin was executed. Pieper is silent about any connection Aquinas might have had with the execution of Konradin; see his chronological table, p. 112. We know that Aquinas resumed the chair of theology in Paris in 1269. Jacques Maritain does not mention the events of 1268, but he joins other scholars in maintaining that Aquinas was in Italy from 1259-1268 and that during that time he was at the papal court in Anagni and Orvieto, then at Rome in the convent at Santa Sabina, and finally in 1268, at the Curia in Viterbo, see S1. Thomas Aquinas, p. 34. Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, admit that they do not know exactly when Thomas returned to Paris, but they surmise that he returned in September prior to the beginning of the academic year of 1268, even though he only resumed the chair in theology at the University of Paris in the academic years of 1269-72 (pp. 218, 225, 226). For some mysterious reason they think he must have arrived in Paris a whole year before he was scheduled to resume the chair. Tugwell and Boyle do not mention Konradin's execution, but I can see why they torment themselves so much over the exact dates. If Aquinas returned to Paris in September of 1268, then he would not be implicated in the murder of Konradin in October of that year. Since they cannot distance Thomas from the popes, they try at least to distance him from their crimes. 47. Aquinas has a difficult time trying to show that faith is a virtue when it is a gift of God's grace. His view is closer to Pelagius-that faith is an act of will. But

Notes

183

Pelagius was denounced as a heretic. So, Aquinas is compelled to denounce him, but in so doing, he becomes enmeshed in self-contradiction and hypocrisy. 48. ST, Il-Il, Q. 5, A. 2. 49. ST, II-II, Q. 1, A. 4. 50. ST, Il-II, Q. 4, A. 5, Reply to Objection 4. 51. ST, Il-II, Q. 10, A. 5. 52. ST, Il-II, Q. 10, A. 10. Aquinas quotes St. Paul (1 Cor. vi. 1), and assumes (I think rightly) that when Paul speaks of the "unjust" he means unbelievers. 53. ST, II-II, Q. 13, A. 3 54. ST, II-II, Q. 10, A. 4. 55. ST, Il-Il, Q. 10, A. 3. 56. ST, Il-II, Q. 10, A. 6. 57. ST, II-Il, Q. 10, A. 11. The thought that human government should imitate God is terrifying in view of Aquinas's own account of God's vengeance (ST, Il- Il, Q. 108). 58. ST, II-Il, Q. 10, A. 11. My italics. 59. ST, II-II, Q. 10, A. 11. 60. ST, Il-II, Q. 10, A. 8. 61. ST, II-II, Q. 10, A. 8. 62. De Rosa, Vicars of Christ, pp. 234 ff. 63. De Rosa, Vicars of Christ. 64. ST, II-II, Q. 10, A. 8. 65. ST, Il-II, Q. 10, A. 9. 66. ST, II-II, Q. 10, A. 10. 67. ST, II-II, Q. 10, A. 10. 68. ST, Il-II, Q. 10, A. 9. 69. John Y. B. Hood, Aquinas and the Jews (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995), p. 27. 70. Karen Armstrong, Holy War (New York: Anchor Books, 1988) and Muhammad (New York: HarperCollins, 1992), p. 28. 71. De Rosa tells us that when the Italian armies marched into Rome in 1870, the Jews were given the freedom that was denied them by papal decree for 1500 years; he compares the jubilation of the citizens to the joy that greeted the allied armies when they liberated France. He tells us that when the dungeons of the Inquisition were opened, the condition of the prisoners was said to be "indescribable." See also Cecil Roth, History of the Jews in Italy (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1946) and James Parkes, The Jew in the Medieval Community (New York: Herman Press, 1976). 72. It is important to note that for Aquinas, charging any interest was considered usury. 73. ST, II-II, Q. 78, A. 1. 74. Hood, Aquinas and the Jews, p. 24. 75. ST, Il-Il, Q. 10, A. 10. 76. Thomas Aquinas, De Regimine Judaeorum (1270-71), The Government of the Jews, written by way of advice to the Duchess of Brabant, quoted in Thomas

184

Notes

Aquinas, On Politics and Ethics, translated and edited by Paul E. Sigmund (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), p. 75, note 3. Some scholars such as Mark Johnson believe that the letter was written, not to the "Duchess of Brabant" (as many historians, and even the Leonine editors thought), but rather to Margaret, Countess of Flanders, who had a great interest in the Dominican Order. Johnson's translation of the complete text can be found at thomistica.net/margaret-of-flanders-online/ 77. David 1. Kertzer, The Popes Against the Jews (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2001), p. 9. In this lucid and candid account of the history of}ewish persecution by the Catholic Church, Kertzer uses the latest archival material to uncover the part played by the Catholic Church in the Holocaust-a part that she continues to deny. 78. Aquinas, De Regimine Judaeorum. See also the excellent work by Hood,

Aquinas and the Jews. 79. From the Christian point of view, Jewish children were in danger of everlasting death-abducting them and baptizing them was comparable to saving them from impending catastrophe, because baptism removed the stain of sin and opened the gates of heaven. So, how could Christians stand by and allow these children to be lost? In one famous case, during the reign of Pius IX in 1858, a Jewish boy, Edgardo Mortara, was secretly baptized by his Christian maid in Bologna when he was ill. The servant reported this to the Inquisition; and since Bologna was part of the Papal States, and therefore under the jurisdiction of the pope, the police were sent to the child's home and the child was seized and brought to Rome. The pope, who was genuinely fond of children, raised the child as his own, and justified his action on the grounds that Jewish parents were unfit to bring up a Christian child. The pope was deaf to the protests of the parents as well as to the protests of the whole world. World opinion turned against Rome. Allies, such as France, were embarrassed to support a regime that condoned the kidnapping of children. The pope believed that he was the legitimate father of the boy and that the world was trying to rob him of his child; he pampered and dazzled the little Edgardo by the splendor of the palace, and Edgardo grew up a Catholic and became a priest. The case is often seen as contributing to the loss of temporal power by the Vatican in 1870. In his effort to justify himself against the outcries of the "modem" world and the "modem" press, the pope argued that the fault rested with Edgardo's parents who had unlawfully employed a Christian for a servant-this was still illegal in the Papal States. As we have seen, it was a law that Aquinas defended, even though he did not approve of the abduction of Jewish children. For a brief account of the story of Edgardo, see Wills, Papal Sin, pp. 40ff. For a more complete account of the story, see David 1. Kertzer, The Kidnapping of Edgardo Mortara (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1997). 80. ST, Il-Il, Q. 10, A. 12. 81. Hood, Aquinas and the Jews. 82. ST, I-Il, Q. 98-105, "Of the Old Law." 83. ST, I-Il, Q. 98, A. 6, Reply to Objection 1. 84. ST, I-Il, Q. 91, A. 5, and Q. 98, A. 3. 85. ST, I-Il, Q. 102, A. 5, Reply to Objection 1. 86. ST, I-Il, Q. 102, A. 4, Reply to Objection 4.

Notes

+

185

87. Armstrong, Holy War. 88. ST, II-II, Q. 40, A. 1. 89. ST, II-II, Q. 40, A. 1. 90. ST, II-II, Q. 40, A. 1. 91. ST, II-II, Q. 10, A. 8. My italics. 92. ST, II-II, Q. 40, A2, Reply to Objection 3. 93. ST, II-II, Q. 40, A2, Reply to Objection 2. 94. ST, II-II, Q. 40, A. 1, Reply to Objection 3. 95. ST, II-II, Q. 64, A. 7. 96. On this ground, the bombing of German cities by the Allied Forces in WW II is deemed illegitimate, since it undermined the justice of a war that had a just cause and a just end. 97. ST, II-II, Q. 64, A. 6. 98. ST, II-II, Q. 64, A. 7. 99. ST, II-II, Q. 64, A. 7. 100. ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 3. 101. ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 1. 102. ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 2. 103. ST, II-II, Q. 12, A. 1, Reply to Objection 2. 104. ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 2, Reply to Objection 3. 105. ST, II-II, Q. 11, A. 2, Reply to Objection 3. 106. ST, II-II, Q. 10, A. 6. 107. ST, II-II, Q. 10, A. 8. 108. See for example, Gilson, The Phiwsophy ofSt. Thomas Aquinas and Chesterton,

Saint Thomas Aquinas. 109. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 38: Pieper is quoting approvingly from another Catholic historian. 11 0. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 37. 111. Lea, A History of the Inquisition, Vol. I, p. 154. 112. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas. 113. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 66. 114. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 37. 115. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 37. 116. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 37. 117. De Rosa, Vicars of Christ, p. 227. 118. Aquinas believed that conscience is not a totally reliable guide to doing the right thing. On the contrary, he believed that it can be corrupted by a bad society and bad habits, as well as by fallacious reasoning. 119. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 37. 120. Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 38. 121. This argument is also made by Copleston and Sigmund. 122. See SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 81, where Aquinas accepts the Aristotelian view of slavery as natural, and suggests that natural slavery as understood by Aristotle would have existed in the state of innocence prior to the Fall. In ST, I, Q. 96,

186

Notes

A. 3 and 4, he claims that the kind of slavery where one is dominated by another for the good of the master is a punishment that would not belong in the state of innocence. However, the kind of slavery where the superior rules over the inferior for the good of the inferior because the latter does not have sufficient reason to rule over himself (which is how Aristotle understood natural slavery) is quite compatible with the state of innocence. He makes the same point in ST, Q. 92, Reply to Objection 2, and in ST, Supplement, Q. 52, Reply to Objection 2. But in ST, II-Il, Q. 104, A. 5 and 6, Aquinas maintains that all men are by nature equal, but this does not mean that slavery as an institution is illegitimate, it means that men are subject to others only in their body, and quotes Seneca who says that the soul of man is his own, even if he is a slave. 123. Aquinas shared Aristotle's view that the female is a misbegotten male and that she is inferior by nature, and not as a result of sin. He makes a similar argument about women as he does about natural slaves, saying that because they are deficient in rationality, they need to be ruled by the male's superior rationality. See ST, I, Q. 92, A. 1, Reply to Objection 2. See also ST, Supplement, Q. 52, Reply to Objection 2.

Chapter 4 1. Many monks and consecrated women were convinced by Jovinian's reasoning to desert their monasteries and marry. See introduction to Augustine, De sancta virginitate (Holy Virginity), trans. by John McQuade, in Writings of St. Augustine, ed. by Roy J. Deferrari (New York: Fathers of the Church, 1955). For Augustine's critique of Jovinian, see De sancta virginitate, ch. 4, p. 146: Augustine insisted that Mary was a virgin when she conceived Christ, when she gave birth to him, and throughout her life. See also Augustine, The Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love, ed. by Henry Paolucci (Chicago: Regnery Gateway, 1961), ch. XXXIV, p. 43: "And if her virginity had been marred even in bringing Him forth, he would not have been born of a virgin." 2. Uta Ranke-Heinemann, Eunuchs for Heaven (London: Andrew Deutsch, 1988), p. 46. This is a brilliant and exhaustive history of celibacy in the Roman Church. It reveals the extravagant horrors of what she calls the church's "sexual pessimism," which is to say, the church's pathological preoccupation with sexuality. It is a richly documented account of the tyranny that a celibate clergy has exercised over married laity for two millennia. Ranke-Heinemann thinks that Albertus Magnus, Aquinas's teacher deserves to be dubbed the patron saint of rapists, on account of his conviction that the more reluctant women appear when men fondle them, the more desirous they are of such attention. She also recognizes the extent to which Aquinas was a great conformist who defended the worst doctrines of his time against liberalization (p. 200). 3. "Jovinian," in Catholic Encyclopedia (New York: The Encyclopedia Press, 1910). 4. Aquinas, ST, Il-Il, Q. 152, "Of Virginity," A. 4: "Whether Virginity is more excellent than Marriage." 5. Desiderius Erasmus, A Letter of Persuasion: In Praise of Marriage In Erasmus on Women, by Erika Rummel (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996).

Notes

+

187

6. All of Erasmus's books were placed on the Index of Prohibited Books by Pope Paul III in 1559. 7. Drury, Terror and Civilization, "More than a Hint of Asceticism," in Part Ill. 8. Augustine, De sancta virginitate in Writings ofSt. Augustine, Vo!. 15, ch. 23, p. 168. 9. Ranke-Heinemann, Eunuchs for Heaven. Ranke-Heinemann claims that Jesus was just being ironic, that this passage should not be taken literally. I think she is quite right in saying that the passage need not be taken literally, but it does not follow that celibacy is the invention of the church as Ranke-Heinemann suggests, and that Jesus did not recommend it. 10. ST, Il-II, Q. 152 "Of Virginity", A. 4. 11. ST, 1I-1I, Q. 152, A. 5, Reply to Objection 3. 12. ST, Il-II, Q. 152, A. 3. 13. ST, Il-I!, Q. 152, A. 3, Reply to Objection 4. 14. ST, 1I-1I, Q. 152, A. 1. 15. ST, Il-II, Q. 152, A. 1. 16. ST, II-Il, Q. 151 "Of Chastity", A.l, also Q. 152, A. 1. 17. ST, Il-I!, Q. 152, A. 4, Reply to Objection 3. 18. ST, II-Il, Q. 152, A. 4. 19. ST, II-Il, Q. 152, A. 3, Reply to Objection 5. 20. ST, 1I-1I, Q. 152, A. 2, Reply to Objection 1. See also SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 136. 21. ST, II-II, Q. 152, A. 2. 22. In his treatise "On Virginity," in his Ascetic Works, trans. by Virginia Woods Callahan (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1967), Gregory of Nyssa also pays tribute to the Aristotelian conception of virtue as a mean between extremes. Gregory associates virginity with "self-control," but his idea of self-control is perverse-he defines it as the "deadening" and "mortification of the body," and as offering one's body as a "living sacrifice to God," and disdaining "everything connected to the flesh" (pp. 61, 63). So, it is difficult to see how total abstinence from all the pleasures of the flesh can be a mean between the extremes of self-indulgence and self-mortification. 23. ST, 1I-1I, Q. 152, A. 2. 24. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 136, "On the error of those who attack perpetual continence." 25. ST, Il-II, Q. 152, A. 2. 26. Augustine accepts this as a fact. He admits that celibacy cannot be defended for the happiness it imparts in this life, but only in the next. See Augustine, De sancta virginitate, ch. 13, p. 15: Augustine makes it clear that "continence is valued for the future life," and claims that those who defend virginity because it frees you from cares in this life are "amazingly foolish." One cannot help suspect that the interest in celibacy was connected to the question of rank in heaven. Augustine was curious about the rank orders involved in the organization of the heavenly society of angels which the elect will join. He wondered what the differences in rank were between "archangels" and "hosts." See Augustine, The Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love, ch. LVIII, p. 69. Gregory is eager to deny that this is the case, see his "On Virginity," p. 51.

188

~

Notes

27. Gregory, "On Virginity," in his Ascetic Works, p. 74. 28. Gregory, "On Virginity," p. 74. 29. ST, ll-ll, Q. 152, A. 4. 30. Augustine, De sancta virginitate, ch. 23, p. 169. It is worth noting that eunuchs were not allowed to marry. Pope Sixtus V called them "lecherous eunuchs." Their right to marry was granted only in 1977. See Heinemann, Eunuchs for Heaven, p. 300. 31. Due to his lectures, his fame, and the power of his biblical interpretations, the bishops of Jerusalem and Caesarea agreed to ordain him, but his own bishop, the bishop of Alexandria, banished him. Despite his genius and his saintliness, he has never been canonized by the church. 32. ST, ll-ll, Q. 154 "Of the Parts of Lust," A. 3. 33. ST, ll-ll, Q. 154, A. 3. 34. Isidore, as quoted by Aquinas in ST, ll-ll, Q. 154, A. 3. 35. On these heroic trials of chastity, see Rattray G. Taylor, Sex in History (New York: Vanguard, 1954), pp. 103-4. 36. Augustine rightly rejected these arguments as utterly foolish. It was not for the sake of this world, but for the sake of the next that he embraced celibacy. See Augustine, De sancta virginitate, ch. 13, p. 155, and ch. 22, p. 166. 37. Gregory, Ascetic Works, p. 46. 38. Gregory, Ascetic Works, p. 46. 39. Gregory, Ascetic Works, pp. 42-43. 40. Gregory, Ascetic Works, p. 46. 41. ST, I, Q. 99 "Of the Condition of the Offspring as to the Body," A. 1. 42. ST, I, Q. 98 "Of the Preservation of the Species," A. 2. See also ST, I, Q. 92 "The Production of Woman," A. 1. 43. ST, I, Q. 99, A. 2, Reply to Objection 1. 44. ST, I, Q. 98, A. 2. This should have made Aquinas realize that the pursuit of the virginal life is itself an effort to become like the angels in heaven that Jesus describes, and this involves a self-deluding negation of the bodily dimension of human existence. 45. For a modem example, see C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York: MacMillan, 1943), p. 53. 46. Augustine, City of God, trans. by Henry Bettenson (London: Penguin Books, 1980), Bk. XIV, ch. 23. 47. Augustine, City of God, Bk. XIV, ch. 26. 48. ST, I, Q. 98, A. 2. 49. ST, I, Q. 98, A. 2. 50. ST, I, Q. 99, A. 2, Reply to Objection 2. 51. ST, II-II, Q. 153, A. 2, Reply to Objection 2. 52. ST, I, Q. 98, A. 2. 53. ST, I-ll, Q. 82, A. 3. Aquinas associated concupiscence with the pleasures of sex because they are the most intense. But strictly speaking, concupiscence applies to all the inordinate pleasures of touch, which include food as well as sex. In contrast to

Notes

"*"

189

the pleasures of touch, he thought that the pleasures of sight are allied with intellectual pleasures and therefore less problematic. 54. C. S. Lewis, Preface to Paradise Lost (London: Oxford University Press, 1942), ch 17. 55. Voltaire, Essay on Milton, ed. by Desmnod Flower (Cambridge: Folcroft Library Editions, 1970). 56. Augustine, De bono coniugali (The Good of Marriage), in Writings of St. Augustine, Vo!. 15, ch. 6, p. 17. 57. Gregory, Ascetic Works, p. 33. See also Genesis 27:1. 58. Augustine, De incompetentibus nuptiis (Adulterous Marriages), in Writings of St. Augustine, Vo!. 15, Bk. Il, ch. 12, pp. 115-16. 59. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 122. 60. ST, Il-Il, Q. 54, A. 8. 61. Speech of Oct. 8, 1980, in Der Spiegel, No. 47, 1980, p. 9, quoted by RankeHeinemann, Eunuchs for Heaven, p. 50. 62. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. by Ford Lewis Battles (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960), Bk. IV, ch. XIX, sec. 36-37. 63. In Papal Sin, Garry Wills describes the tormented conjugal love of a Catholic couple and the deterioration of their love as they struggle to govern their sexual relations by the rhythm method, which is the only birth control method approved by the Catholic Church in modern times, p. 90. 64. We are far from transcending the sexual obsessions of the church. President George W. Bush of the United States shares the pope's sentiments. In the first few days of his presidency, he cut off all funding from international aid organizations operating in Africa, Asia, and elsewhere, if their assistance to impoverished people included information about effective means of contraception. 65. ST, Supplement, Q. 4, "On the Sacrament of Matrimony as Directed to an Office of Nature," Art. 2. 66. ST, Supplement, Q. 41, Art 3, Reply to Objection 1. 67. ST, Il-Il, Q. 153, A.1. 68. ST, Il-Il, Q. 152, A.1. 69. ST, Il-Il, Q. 153, A. 2, Reply to Objection 2. 70. ST, Il-Il, Q. 151, A. 3. 71. ST, Il-Il, Q. 152, A. 1. 72. ST, Il-Il, Q. 152, A. 1. 73. ST, Il-Il, Q. 151, A. 4. 74. ST, Il-Il, Q. 153, A.3, Reply to Objection 2. 75. I have made this case more fully in Terror and Civilization, Part Ill, "Ethic of Love." 76. SCG, Bk. Ill, ch. 136. 77. Augustine complained of "nocturnal pollutions," St. Jerome beat his chest with a stone to drive away the desire for a dancing girl he saw in Rome, Francis cooled the lust in his heart by caressing figures made of snow, Benedict rolled naked

190

'"*"

Notes

in thorny bushes to punish his body for its lust, and Bernard was also driven to extremes of self-flagellation. See William H. Lazareth, Luther on the Christian Home (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1960), p. 9. 78. Pieper, The Silence of Saint Thomas Aquinas, p. 19. Tugwell and Boyle, Albert & Thomas, p. 206. 79. Augustine, On Christian Doctrine, trans. by D. W. Robertson Jr. (New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1958), Bk. III, sec. XII, p. 91. 80. Augustine De bono coniugali, in Writings of St. Augustine, Vol. 15, ch. 15, p. 31, and ch. 22, p. 44. 81. ST, II-II, Q. 152, A. 4. 82. I am depending heavily on the exhaustive history of celibacy in the Roman Church by Ranke-Heinemann, Eunuchs for Heaven. 83. For an excellent account of the circumstances of Luther's marriage, see Lazareth, Luther on the Christian Home. 84. Denis R. Janz, Luther on Thomas Aquinas (Stuttgard: Franz Steiner Verlag Wiesbaden, 1989), distinguishes between Luther's very harsh criticism of the scholastics in general and his criticism of Aquinas, which is not always as harsh. Nevertheless, Luther did refer to Aquinas as a sophist, a heretic, a blind cow, and a beggarly paunch. He certainly did not think he was a saint: "one smells nothing spiritual in him" (p. 6). He also refers to him as "Sanctus Thomas," "Beatus Thomas," and "Divus Thomas." Luther objected to Aquinas's view of purgatory, indulgences, justification, and transubstantiation (a doctrine that Luther was convinced was the invention of Aquinas). In my view, what is important is that Luther rejected the unassailable authority of the Catholic Church, denounced the pope as the Antichrist, and rejected the subordination of the state to the Church-and this, more than anything else, was the death blow of the Christian dystopia that Aquinas spent his life defending. 85. Janz, Luther on Thomas Aquinas, p. 10. 86. No one makes this case better than Kaufmann in his essay "Jesus vis-a-vis Paul, Luther, and Schweitzer," in Faith of a Heretic (New York: Doubleday, 1961). 87. For a comprehensive account of the scandals in the Catholic Church and a definitive response by the media to the accusation that it suffers from an antiCatholic bias, see Betrayal: The Crisis in the Catholic Church, by the Investigative Staff of the Boston Globe (Boston: Little, Brown, 2002). 88. See Maclntyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry, p. 91. 89. My account is based on Peter Abelard, Historia Calamitatum: The Story of Abelard's Adversities, trans. by J. J. Muckle, preface by Etienne Gibson (Toronto: Pontifical Institute, 1964). 90. Quoted in Peter Abelard, The Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1901), p. 119. 91. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 53. 92. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 54. 93. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 55. 94. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 20.

Notes

~

191

95. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 55. 96. Abelard, The Love Letters, pp. 55-56. 97. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 85. 98. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 88. 99. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 49. 100. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 37. 101. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 29. 102. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 74. 103. Abelard, The Love Letters, p. 75. 104. Erasmus is surely right in thinking that a celibate is akin to someone who has received a splendid gift and is unworthy of the gift because he is unwilling or unable to use it. See Erasmus "In Praise of Marriage," in Erasmus on Women, pp. 65-66. 105. Augustine, Confessions, Bk. IV, sec. 2. 106. Augustine, Confessions, Bk. IX, sec. 6. 107. Augustine, Confessions, Bk. VI, sec.l5. 108. Augustine, On Christian Doctrine, Bk. Ill, sec. XVIII. 109. The persecution of women as witches reached its apex with the publication in 1484 ofMa1leus Maleficarum or "The Hammer of Witches," by two Dominican inquisitors, Heinrich Kramer and Jacob Sprenger (New York: Dover, 1971). The book was prefaced by the infamous "Witch-Bull" of Pope Innocent VIII, to give it more authority. It was a manual on how to find, torture, and prosecute witches. The two Dominicans prided themselves on their success rate, and the pope urged others to follow their example. 110. Eunuchs for Heaven, p. 200. For an extensive account of Aquinas's role in the justification of witch trials, see Charles Edward Hopkin, The Share of Thomas Aquinas in the Growth of the Witchcraft Delusion (New York: AMS Press, 1940). This unique doctoral dissertation successfully punctures the rationalist aura of Thomas Aquinas, by pointing to the harm that his belief in demons, witches, and other irrational nonsense has had, especially in view of his canonical status. It is a much needed corrective to the adoring literature on Aquinas.

Chapter 5 1. Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots. It is important to note that all the views of Pera are totally endorsed by Ratzinger. Ratzinger says to Pera, "I agree with you completely on everything," p. 128. 2. This is the view of Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas, p. 38. 3. Aquinas has a very apologetic and improbable interpretation of this Biblical passage. He claims that it is a sign of God's mercy and patience that he defers his wrath for several generations; and when the children continue in the same vices, then, God has no choice but to take his revenge. This is Thomas at his most inventive. See ST, II-II, Q. 108, Art. 4, Reply to Objection 1. 4. See also Thomas Aquinas, Expositio super Job ad litteram (The Literal Exposition on Job).

192

Notes

5. For an alternative account of the story of David and Absalom, see Stefan Heym, The King David Report (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1972), Heym uses Biblical evidence to show that David was a usurper, a murderer, and a fraud. 6. Lea, A History of the Inquisition, Vol. Il, p. 109, on Limoux Noir; Vol. 3, pp. 340 ff., on Joan of Arc. 7. De Rosa, Vicars of Christ, p. 221, and Lea, A History of the Inquisition, Vol. I, p.154. 8. Aquinas also claims that it is just for God to punish the children for the iniquity of the fathers onto the third and fourth generation (Exodus 20:5), because where their body (or temporal life) is concerned, children "are a belonging of their father," just as "slaves are a possession of their master." 9. The same applies to heretics. Unlike infidels, they knew the truth; so, their departure from the church and the true faith is inexcusable. They cannot be described as people who acted according to erring conscience. They sinned and deserve death. 10. Pope Innocent III used it against Raymond VI of France during the Albigensian Crusade. See Lea, A History of the Inquisition, Vol. I, ch. IV. 11. Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, pp. 56 ff, 71. 12. It should be added that the Catholic ideal was mirrored in Calvin's rule over Geneva. 13. Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, p. 114. 14. Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, pp. 56-60. 15. Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, pp. 70, 108, 109. 16. Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, pp. 112-113. 17. "Sex Crimes and the Vatican," a British Broadcasting Corporation documentary, aired by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, November 13, 2006, provides conclusive evidence. 18. Joseph Ratzinger, "Why I am Still in the Church," in Hans Urs von Balthasar and Joseph Ratzinger, Two Say Why, trans. by John Griffiths (Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1971), p. 74. 19. Ratzinger, p. 74. 20. Ratzinger, "An Image of the Essence of the Church," in Two Say Why, p. 77. 21. For a criticism of the Commission, see Kertzer, The Popes Against the Jews. 22. This is the view of Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI) as expressed in Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots. 23. This is a reference to the declaration of Vatican Il, Nostra aetate (1965). Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, p. 144. 24. Pope John Paul Il, Redemptoris missio (1990), quoted in Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, p. 145. 25. Pope John Paul Il, Dominus Iesus (2000), quoted in Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, p.145. 26. Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, p. 35. 27. The statement was made by Pope John Paul Il on May 2, 2004, quoted in Ratzinger and Pera, Without Roots, p. 35. 28. Hood, Aquinas and the Jews, p. 27.

Notes

"*"

193

29. Pope Gregory XVI, Mirari Vos, quoted in De Rosa, Vicars of Christ, p. 202. 30. Tim E LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins, Left Behind: A Novel of the Earth's Last Days (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House, 1995). This is part of a series of best-selling novels in the United States. These novels highlight and endorse a harsh, vengeful, and apocalyptic Christianity. 31. See my discussion of "The Usurpation of the Double Truth," in chapter two. 32. On the connection between Leo Strauss and the neoconservatives, see Drury,

Leo Strauss and the American Right. 33. Drury, The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss, Updated Edition.

34. For a portrait of an imaginary Straussian in Washington, see Drury, "The Making of a Straussian," Philosopher's Magazine. 35. Drury, "Straussians in Power: Lies, Secrecy, and Endless War," in The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss, Updated Edition. On the dispute over tyranny and modernity between Leo Strauss and Alexandre Kojeve, see Drury, Alexandre Kojeve: The Roots of Postmodem Politics, ch. 10. 36. I have argued that Michel Foucault is nostalgic for both the Middle Ages and for absolute sovereign power. See Drury, Alexandre Kojeve: The Roots of Postmodem Politics, ch. 9. 37. See Kevin Anderson and Janet Afary, Foucault and the Iranian Revolution (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005). 38. It is no wonder that Foucault has been extolled by a Jesuit priest for his ability to snub the secularism of French politics. See Wesley Yang, "The Philosopher and the Revolution," Boston Globe, June 12, 2005.

Chapter 6 1. Kai Nielsen has made this objection in "The Myth of Natural Law," Sidney Hook (ed.), Law and Philosophy: A Symposium (New York: New York University Press, 1964). 2. Copleston, Aquinas, p. 223. 3. See Germain Grisez, "The First Principle of Practical Reason," in Anthony Kenny (ed.), Aquinas: A Collection of Critical Essays (London: Macmillan, 1969), and John Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Right (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980). For an application of the Finnis and Grisez version of natural law, see C. E. Harris, Jr., Applying Moral Theories (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1986), ch. V. 4. Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Right, pp. 9-92. Finnis assures us that there is no magic in the number seven. Straussians can relax. 5. Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Right, p. 90. 6. ST, I-ll, Q. 95, A. 2. 7. ST, I-ll, Q. 91, A. 5. 8. Many Christians are convinced that God disapproves of homosexual relations. And as a result, they vigorously oppose the legalization of same sex marriages. The objection to homosexuality was in the past based on its promiscuity. There are rational grounds for thinking that promiscuiry is destructive of individuals as well as society. Promiscuiry undermines family life and robs children of the stable conditions for their

194

Notes

growth and development. It also makes society more vulnerable to the spread of devastating social diseases. But with the dramatic improvement of methods of birth control, promiscuity is no longer the exclusive preserve of homosexuals. So, one cannot object to homosexual relations on the basis of their promiscuity. The very fact that homosexuals are eager to enter into stable and long-lasting relationships by embracing the institution of marriage should be regarded as a very positive trend. The refusal to regard it as such is due to the belief that everything required by the divine law is rational and must be applicable to all and backed by the coercive power of the state. It should be pointed out that the Bible condemns all sorts of things that no rational person would insist on (e.g. wearing a garment made of more than one kind of fabric). 9. In Thick and Thin (Notre Dame, In: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), Walzer is eager to defend both universalism and difference. He distinguishes between the thin and the thick dimensions of morality. He argues that there is a thin or minimalist morality that is applicable to all and universally understood and endorsed. In 1989 when the Soviet Union collapsed, people were seen marching in the streets of Prague carrying signs saying Truth and Justice, we all knew what they meant even though we did not live in their society or share their experiences. We understood that in demanding truth they were saying that they were tired of being lied to and in demanding justice they were saying that they have had enough of arbitrary arrests, special privileges of the party elite, and longed for the equal and impartial administration of the law. According to Walzer, this thin morality is "imbedded" in every thick morality, which is particular, detailed, rich, and maximalist. Every thick morality is idiomatic in language, particular in cultural reference, and historically dependent. Walzer's position seems plausible, but when he begins to describe the different culturally conditioned moralities-Greek, Christian, Liberal, it is not clear how the minimalist morality is imbedded in every one of them; it seems to be missing from most. But on the whole, Walzer is on the right track; and his work is rich in detail and historical knowledge-something that philosophers often lack. 10. Chesterton, Saint Thomas Aquinas. 11. John Stuart Mill, Nature and Utility of Religion, ed. by George Nakhnikian (New York: Library of Liberal Arts, 1958), p. 20. 12. Mill, Nature and Utility, p. 31. 13. Hans Kelsen, "What is Justice?" in Essays in Legal and Moral Philosophy, trans. by Peter Heath (Boston: D. Reidel Publishing Co., 1973), p. 8. In this brilliant and iconoclastic essay, Kelsen examines one account of justice after another-Plato, Jesus, Kant, and others-and finds them all pathetically vacuous at best. 14. Kelsen, "What is Justice?" 15. Kelsen, "What is Justice?" 16. James M. Cain, The Postman Always Rings Twice (New Yok: Vintage Books, 1978); Emile Zola, Therese Raquin, trans. by Leonard Tancock (London: Penguin Boosk, 1962); Poe, "The Tell-Tale Heart," in Selected Tales, ed. by Julian Symons (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980). 17. Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, trans. by James Trachey (New York: W. W. Norton, 1961), pp. 70-71.

Notes

195

18. Drury, Terror and Civilization, Parts III & IV. 19. Drury, Terror and Civilization, Parts IV & V. 20. Drury, Terror and Civilization, Parts III & IV. 21. Martin Heidegger was another matter-and his moral failings were more difficult to account for. 22. H. L. A. Hart, The Concept of Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961). This is a classic of modern legal positivism. By rejecting the command theory of law that is characteristic of earlier positivists such as John Austin, Hart is able to provide a more complex account of law. He rejects the idea that a legal system requires a sovereign unlimited by law, an idea that cannot account for constitutional law or international law. He distinguishes between primary laws that impose duties and secondary laws that confer powers. He recognizes what he calls the "internal aspect of rules," which goes beyond the idea of threat to explain voluntary compliance with the rules, even when the threat is not imminent. Hart also rejects the conception of a legal system as a closed logical system of norms (a conception associated with Hans Kelsen) in which correct decisions can be made by logical means alone apart from reference to social aims, policies, moral standards, or the choices and discretions of judges. 23. Michel Foucault, Power/Knowledge, trans. by Colin Gordon (New York: Pantheon, 1980), pp. 58, 117. 24. MacIntyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral ETI4uiry, p. 91. 25. MacIntyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral ETI4uiry, p. 91. 26. MacIntyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral ETI4uiry, p. 91. 27. MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality? p. 76. 28. Surely, this position amounts to interpretive license. Aquinas is unequivocal in asserting that there are self-evident first principles and natural human inclinations, independent of culture. 29. Drury, "H.L.A. Hart's Minimum Content Theory of Natural Law, Political Theory, Vol. 9, No. 4 (November, 1981), pp. 533-546." 30. Kelsen, "The Idea of Natural Law," in Essays in Legal and Moral Philosophy. 31. Kelsen, "The Idea of Natural Law," p. 47. 32. Kelsen, "The Idea of Natural Law," p. 57. See also Pure Theory of Law, trans. by Max Knight (Berkely: University of California Press, 1967), where Kelsen provides a version of legal positivism that tries to account for constitutional laws. For Kelsen, law is not a command or a fact but a norm, which is not derived from any facts but from other norms. Norms are neither true nor false; they are either valid or invalid. Norms are valid when they have been posited by a human act of will, as in law or custom. A legal system is a system of norms where all the norms are derived from the Basic Norm. Any given law in the system is valid if it is derived from the Basic Norm and is effective. Strictly speaking, law can have any kind of content and be valid, as long as it is derived from the Basic Norm, which is the highest norm in any system of law. The validity of the Basic Norm is posited and not derived from any other norm. The supreme authority in the legal system is not the sovereign but the Basic Norm, which differs from one community to the next. The Basic Norm is therefore compatible with cultural relativism, but is absolute within

196

Notes

its own sphere of authority. In the Kelsonian scheme, a sovereign can do something that is unconstitutional or contrary to the Basic Norm and therefore illegal. Only a successful revolution can change the Basic Norm. A revolution that is not successful is an act of high treason punishable by law. 33. For the first time in one hundred years, news is flowing from East to West. See Miles, Al-Jazeera (New York: Grove Press, 2004). Miles documents the efforts on the part of the Bush Administration to suppress any facts that are damaging to its image at home and abroad. Not surprisingly, AI-Jazeera has been very much a target of the administration in Afghanistan, Iraq, and even Qatar, the headquarters of this famous Arabic news channel. At the same time, the administration is conquering the world in the name of freedom and democracy. 34. Kelsen, "The Idea of Natural Law," pp. 32, 45. 35. Kelsen, "The Idea of Natural Law," p. 34. 36. I am indebted to David Dyzenhaus. See his discussion on the difference between judges with a positivist mentality and those with a common law mentality, in his "The Genealogy of Legal Positivism," Oxford Journal of Legal Studies 24, no. 1 (2004): 29-67. This outstanding essay is a definitive account of the shortcomings of legal positivism. Dyzenhaus argues that there is a conflict between legal positivism and the tradition of the common law in which it emerged. The reason is that legal positivism is uncomfortable with the conceptual space given to judges within the common law tradition. That tradition sees law as a collaborative process in which legislators and judges participate in an effort to reach a common goal-namely, a more just society. The conflict between legal positivism and the common law tradition was recognized by early exponents of legal positivism such as Hobbes and Bentham, and this explains why they were vocal opponents of the common law tradition. They felt that the common law tradition allowed judges to usurp too much legislative power. In contrast to Hobbes and Bentham, later advocates of legal positivism such as John Austin and H. L. A. Hart were eager to reconcile their positivism with the common law tradition. But Dyzenhaus argues that their efforts were not successful and tended to undermine their legal positivism. Dyzenhaus rightly identifies our own time with a resurgence of the old positivist suspicion of the judiciary. Dyzenhaus welcomes the new positivism merely for its clarity and consistency. 37. See for example, Robert H. Bork, Slouching Towards Gomorrah (New York: Harper Collins, 1996), ch. 6. See also my criticism of Bork in "Judicial Activism and the Conservative Revolution." 38. See Drury, Leo Strauss and the American Right. 39. ST, I-ll, Q. 91, A. 2. 40. ST, I-ll, Q. 91, A. 4. 41. ST, I-ll, Q. 91, A. 4. 42. ST, I-ll, Q. 91, A. 4. 43. I am not among those who find this conception of sin particularly commendable. See Terror and Civilization, Part Ill, "Ethic of Love."

Bibliography

Abelard, Peter. Historia Calamitatum: The Story of Abelard's Adversities. Trans. by J. J. Muckle, preface by Etienne Gilson. Toronto: Pontifical Institute, 1964. - - . The Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise (1128). London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1901. Anderson, Kevin, and Janet Afary. Foucault and the Iranian Revolution. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005. Aristotle, Politics. Trans. Benjamin Jowett. New York: Colonial Press, 1900. Armstrong, Karen. Holy War: The Crusades and Their Impact on Today's World. New York: Anchor Books, 1988. - - . Muhammad: A Biography of the Prophet. New York: HarperCollins, 1992. Augustine. De bono coniugali (The Good of Marriage). Trans. by Charles T. Wilcox, in Writings of St. Augustine, ed. by Roy J. Deferrari. New York: Fathers of the Church,1955. - - . City of God. Trans. by Henry Bettenson. London: Penguin Books, 1980. - - . Confessions. Trans. by R. S. Pine-Coffin. London: Penguin Books, 1961. - - . The Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love. Ed. with an introduction by Henry Paolucci. Chicago: Regnery Gateway, 1961. - - . De incompetentibus nuptiis (Adulterous Marriages). Trans. by Charles T. Huegelmeyer, in Writings of St. Augustine, ed. by Roy J. Deferrari. New York: Fathers of the Church, 1955. - - . On Christian Doctrine. Trans. by D. W. Robertson Jr. New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1958. - - . De sancta virginitate (Holy Virginity). Trans. by John McQuade, in Writings of St. Augustine, ed. by Roy J. Deferrari. New York: Fathers of the Church, 1955.

197

198

Bibliography

Balthasar, Hans Urs von and Joseph Ratzinger. Two Say Why "Why I am Still a Christian," by Hans Urs von Balthasar and "Why I am Still in the Church," by Joseph Ratzinger. Trans. by John Griffiths. Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1971. Bonaventura. (1221-1274). The Mind's Road to God. Trans. by George Boas. New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1953. Bork, Robert H. Slouching towards Gomorrah. New York: HarperCollins, 1996. Boucher, David, and Paul Kelly, eds. Political Thinkers: From Socrates to the Present. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Bunyan, John. Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners (1666). London: Penguin Books, 1987. Cahill, Thomas. Pope John XXIII. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2002. Cain, James M. The Postman Always Rings Twice. New York: Vintage Books, 1978. Calvin, John. Institutes of the Christian Religion. Trans. by Ford Lewis Battles. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960. Chenu, Marie-Dominique. Toward Understanding St. Thomas. Trans. by A. M. Landry and D. Hughes. Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1964. Chesterton, G.K. Saint Thomas Aquinas: The Dumb Ox. New York: Doubleday, 1956. Copleston, F. C. Aquinas. New York: Penguin Books, 1955. De Rosa, Peter. Vicars of Christ: The Dark Side of the Papacy. London: Bantam Press, 1988. Dipple, Geoffrey. Antifraternalism and Anticlericalism in the German Reformation: Johann Eberlin von Gunzburg and the Campaign against the Friars. Brookfield, VT: Scholar Press, 1996. Drury, Shadia B. Alexandre Kojeve: The Roots of Postmodern Politics. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1994. - - . "H. L. A. Hart's Minimum Content Theory of Natural Law." Political Theory 9, no. 4 (November 1981): 533--46. - - . "Judicial Activism and the Conservative Revolution," Free Inquiry 26, no. 3 (April/May 2006): 22-23. - - . Leo Strauss and the American Right. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1997. - - . "The Making of a Straussian." Philosopher's Magazine, no. 25 (1st quarter, 2004): 24-25. - - . The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss, updated ed. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. - - . Terror and Civilization: Christianity, Politics, and the Western Psyche. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Dyzenhaus, David. "The Genealogy of Legal Positivism." Oxford Journal of Legal Studies 24, no. 1 (2004): 39--67. Erasmus, Desiderius. A Letter of Persuasion: In Praise of Marriage. In Erasmus on Women, by Erika Rummel. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996. Finnis, John. Natural Law and Natural Right. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980. Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 19721977. Trans. by Colin Gordon. New York: Pantheon Books, 1980.

Bibliography

"*"

199

"Frederick H." Barbara A. Chernow and George A. Vallasi, eds. The Columbia Encyclopedia. Fifth ed. Columbia University Press, 1993. Freud, Sigmund. Civilization and Its Discontents. Trans. by James Strachey. New York: W. W. Norton, 1961. Gilson, Etienne. The Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas. Trans. by Edward Bullough. New York: Dorset Press, 1948. Gregory of Nyssa. Ascetic Works. Trans. by Virginia Woods Callahan. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1967. Harris, C. E., Jr. Applying Moral Theories. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1986. Hart, H. L. A. The Concept of Law. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961. Heym, Stefan. The King David Report. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1972. Hood, John Y. B. Aquinas and the Jews. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995. Hopkin, Charles Edward. The Share of Thomas Aquinas in the Growth of the Witchcraft Delusion. New York: AMS Press, 1940. Investigative Staff of the Boston Globe. Betrayal: The Crisis in the Catholic Church. Boston: Little, Brown, 2002. "Jovinian." In The Catholic Encyclopedia of Philosophy. New York: Robert Appleton Co., 1907. Janz, Denis R. Luther on Thomas Aquinas: The Angelic Doctor in the Thought of the Reformer. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag Wiesbaden, 1989. Kaufmann, Waiter. Critique of Religion and Philosophy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1958. - - . Faith of a Heretic. New York: Doubleday, 1961. Ke1sen, Hans. "The Idea of Natural Law," in Essays in Legal and Moral Philosophy, selected and introduced by Ota Weinberger, trans. by Peter Heath. Boston: D. Reidel, 1973. - - . Pure Theory of Law. Trans. by Max Knight. Berke1ey: University of California Press, 1967. - - . "What Is Justice?" In Essays in Legal and Moral Philosophy, selected and introduced by Ota Weinberger, trans. by Peter Heath. Boston: D. Reidel,1973. Kenny, Anthony, ed. Aquinas: A Collection of Critical Essays. London: Macmillan, 1969. - - . The Ivory Tower: Essays in Philosophy and Public Policy. New York: Basil Blackwell, 1984. Kertzer, David 1. The Kidnapping of Edgardo Mortara. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1997. - - . The Popes Against the]ews. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 200l. Kierkegaard, S0ren. Fear and Trembling and The Sickness unto Death. Trans. by Waiter Lowrie. Princeton, NJ: Prince ton University Press, 1968. Kramer, Heinrich, and Jacob Sprenger. Malleus Maleficarum (1484) (The Hammer of Witches). New York: Dover, 1971. LaHaye, Tim E, and Jerry B. Jenkins. Left Behind: A Novel of the Earth's Last Days. Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House, 1995.

200

~

Bibliography

Lazareth, William H. Luther on the Christian Home. Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1960. Lea, Henry Charles. A History of the Inquisition. 3 vols. New York: Russell & Russell, 1955. Lecky, W. E. H. History of European Morals: From Augustus to Charlemagne. 2 vols. Honolulu: University Press of the Pacific, 1924. Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity. New York: Macmillan, 1943. - - . Preface to Paradise Lost. London: Oxford University Press. 1942. MacIntyre, Alasdair. Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry: Encyclopedia, Genealogy, and Tradition. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990. - - . Whose Justice? Which Rationality? Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988. Maritain, Jacques. St. Thomas Aquinas. New York: Meridian Books, 1958. The appendixes contain the most important papal encyclicals regarding Thomas Aquinas, including Leo XIII, Aetemi Patris, Pius X, Doctoris Angelici, Pius XI, Studiorum Ducem, and Pius XII, Humani Generis. Maurer, Armand. Faith, Reason, and Theology. Toronto: Pontifical Institute, 1987. McInerny, Ralph. Aquinas Against the Averroists: On There Being Only One Intellect. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 1993. Miles, Hugh. Al-Jazeera. New York: Grove Press, 2004. Mill, John Stuart. Nature and Utility of Religion. Ed. by George Nakhnikian. New York: Library of Liberal Arts, 1958. Nichols, Aidan. "The Mariology of Saint Thomas." In T. Weinandy, Daniel Keating, and John Yocum eds., Aquinas on Doctrine: A Critical Introduction. London: T. & T Clark International, 2004. Nielsen, Kai. "The Myth of Natural Law." In Law and Philosophy: A Symposium, ed. Sidney Hook. New York: New York University Press, 1964. Parkes, James. The Jew in the Medieval Community. New York: Herman Press, 1976. Penelhum, Terence. God and Skepticism: A Study in Skepticism and Fideism. Boston: D. Reidel, 1983. Pieper, Josef. Guide to Thomas Aquinas. Trans. by Richard Winston and Clara Winston. New York: Random House, 1962. - - . The Silence of Saint Thomas Aquinas: Three Essays. Trans. by John Murray and David O'Connor. Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1957. Poe, Edgar Allan. "The Tell-Tale Heart," in Selected Tales, ed. by Julian Symons. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980. Pope Benedict XVI. "Faith, Reason and the University: Memories and Reflections." Lecture at the University of Regensburg, 12 September 2006, available at www.vatican.va. Pope Innocent III (Lothario dei Segni, 1160-1216). De miseria humaine conditionis. Trans. by Margaret Mary Dietz as On the Misery of the Human Condition. New York: Library of the Liberal Arts, 1969.

Bibliography

+

201

Pope Leo XIII. Aeterni Patris (1879). Trans. by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province in vo!. 1 of the Summa Theologica as "On the Restoration of Christian Philosophy." Westminster, MD: Christian Classics, 1948. Pope Pius X. Doctoris Angelici (1914), in St. Thomas Aquinas, by Jacques Maritain. New York: Meridian Books, 1958. Pope Pius XI. Studiorum Ducem (1923), in St. Thomas Aquinas, by Jacques Maritain. New York: Meridian Books, 1958. Ranke-Heinemann, Uta. Eunuchs for Heaven: The Catholic Church and Sexuality. Trans. by John Brownjohn. London: Andre Deutsch 1988. Ratzinger, Joseph, and Marcellow Pera. Without Roots: The West, Relativism, Christianity, Islam. Trans. by Micahel F. Moore, foreword by George Weige!. New York: Basic Books, 2006. Roth, Ceci!. History of the Jews in Italy. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1946. Siger of Brabant, On the Eternity of the World (De Aeternitate Mundi). Trans. by Lottie H. Kendzierski. Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 1964. Steenberghen, Femand, van. Thomas Aquinas and Radical Aristotelianism. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1980. Szittya, Penn R. The Antifraternal Tradition in Medieval Literature. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986. Taylor, Rattray G. Sex in History. New York: Vanguard, 1954. Thomas Aquinas. Expositio super librum Boethii De Trinitate (1255-1259). Questions 1-4 of Aquinas's commentary on Boethius's De Trinitate. Trans. by Armand Maurer as Faith, Reason, and Theology. Toronto: Pontifical Institute, 1987. - - . Contra Impugnantes Dei Cultum et Religionem (1256). In Albert & Thomas: Selected Writings. Trans. and ed. by Simon Tugwell and Leonard E. Boyle. New York: Paulist Press, 1988. - - . Summa Contra Gentiles (SCG) , (1259-1264). Trans. by Anton C. Peg is as On the Truth of the Catholic Faith (4 vols.) New York: Doubleday, 1955. - - . Expositio super Job ad litteram. Trans. by Anthony Damico as The Literal Exposition onJob: A Scriptural Commentary Concerning Providence. With an interpretive essay by Martin D. Yaffe. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989. - - . Summa Theologica (ST) , (1265-1267). Trans. by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province. 5 vols. Westminster, MD: Christian Classics, 1981. - - . De Regno, Ad Regem Cypri (1267-1269). Trans. by Gerald B. Phelan as On Kingship: To the King of Cyprus, introduction by T. Eschmann. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1949. This work is identical to bk. 1 and Bk. 2 (chaps. 1-4), of De Regimine Principum. - - . Commentary on St. Paul's Epistle to the Galatians (1269-1273). Trans. by F. R. Larcher, introduction by T. A. Murphy. Albany, NY: Magi Books, 1966. - - . De unitate intellectus contra Averroistas (1270). Trans. by Ralph Mclnemy as Aquinas against the Averroists: On There Being Only One Intellect. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 1993.

202

Bibliography

- - . De Regimine ] udaeorum (1270-71). The complete text as translated by Mark Johnson can be found at thomistica.net/margaret-of-flanders-online/. - - . On Politics and Ethics. Trans. and ed. by Paul E. Sigmund. New York: W. W. Norton, 1988. Thomas Aquinas, Siger of Brabant, and St. Bonaventure. On the Eternity of the World Trans. of De Aeternitate Mundi (1271) Lottie H. Kendzierski. Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 1964. Thomas Aquinas and Ptolemy of Lucca. De Regimine Principum. Trans. by James M. Blythe as On the Government of Rulers. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997. This book is often confused with De Regno. Indeed, Bk. 1 and Bk. 2 (ch. 1-4) are identical to De Regno and are the work of Thomas Aquinas. The rest of the book was completed by Ptolemy of Lucca, a pupil of Thomas Aquinas. Unlike Aquinas, Ptolemy does not endorse kingship. Quite the contrary: he is very critical of monarchy and regards it as incompatible with liberty. Traver, Andrew. The Opuscula of William of Saint-Amour: The Minor Works of 1255l256. Munster: AschendorffVerlag, 2003. Tugwell, Simon, and Leonard E. Boyle, eds. Albert & Thomas: Selected Writings. New York: Paulist Press, 1988. Voltaire. Essay on Milton. Ed. by Desmond Flower. Cambridge: Folcroft Library Editions, 1970. Walzer, Michael. Thick and Thin: Moral Argument at Home and Abroad. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994. Wills, Garry. Papal Sin: Structures of Deceit. New York: Doubleday, 2000. Zola, Emile. Therese Raquin (1867). Trans. by Leonard Tancock. London: Penguin Books, 1962.

Index

abduction of Jewish children, 64, 184n79 Abelard, Peter, xxv, 81, 94, 95-99, 101, 153 Abraham, 38--42, 65, 79, 92, 94 Adam and Eve, 27, 40, 83-86, 91 agony, 81, 82-83, 101 Albertus Magnus 3, 7, 100; as patron saint of rapists, 186 Ambrose, Saint, xxii, 76 America, xiv, xvii, 117, 125, 133, 161, 170n5, 179n8 American Catholics, 123-24 American Constitution, 123 Antichrist, 2, 13, 110, 174n21, 190n84 anticlerical ism, 117 antifraternal tradition, 14-15, 174n21 anti-Judaism, 119 antimodernist oath, 35-36, 153 antiquarianism, xxi-xxii anti-Semitism, 119 apartheid, 157 apostasy, 54, 63, 69, 120, 125, 161, 182n42

Arabian Nights, 141 Arabian tribes, 140 Arendt, Hannah, 54, 150, 169n2 Aristotle, xi, xxiv, xxv, 3, 15, 17, 18, 19,24,25-27,46,47,76,78,80, 81,82,95, 101, 153, 154, 172n4, 175n46,176n54n57n60n61, 180n11, 186nl22 Arius, xxii, 34, 73, 104, 105, 111 Arnaud,71 asceticism, 9,75,77,98, 187n7 Ascherman, Arik, 149-50 Augustine, Saint, xxii, xxv, 19,34, 37,59,60,75,76,77,81,82,83, 85,86,87,90,91,92,93,95, 99-101,144,149,186n26, 188n36, 189n77 Augustinian gloom, xxv, 74, 143, 151, 171n7 Austin, John, 147, 148, 155, 157, 195n22, 196n36 Averroes (Ibn Rushd), 17-24, 171n15 Averroism, xxiv, 17-24, 129; See also new Averroism, 128-30.

203

204

Index

Bacon, Francis, 131 Bentham, ]eremy, 123, 142, 155, 156, 157, 196n36 body and soul, relation of, 51 Bonaventure, Saint, 12, 13, 14,28,34, 173nlO Bork, Robert, 196n37 Brabant, Duchess of, 63, 183n76 Bush, George W., xvi, 13, 127, 189n64 Byzantine Empire, 50 Caesaropapism, 116, 50 Camus, Albert, 141, 142 Canada, xxii, 41, 124, 126, 156, 160 canonical texts, xxii-xxiii capitalism, xiv, xvii, 13, 127 castrati, 122-123 Catharist heresy, (see Cathars) Cathars, 1,2,6,71,109,110,111,125 Catholic Church, as feminine, xxvi, 119; complicity in the holocaust, 119; crimes of celibacy, 93-95; dangerous delusion of, 11; diminishing power of, 7-8; fanaticism of, 5-8; horrors of, 1-5; inventions of, 23; persecution of scholars, 15, 17ff; radical version of the double truth, 23; sexual abuse scandals of, 125 Catholics, innate decency of, 72 celibacy, crimes of, xxv, 93-95 Freudian aspects of, 74, 127; vices of, xxiii, xxv, 95-101 Central Intelligence Agency, 130 chastity, 37,78,79,83,92, 188n35 Chaucer,15 Chesterton, G. K., xxiii, 171n7 Christ, (see] esus) Christendom, 1,2, 17,21,22,46,50, 171n2 Christian Right, (see religious right) Christianity, two antithetical approaches to politics, 45

church and state, (see also two swords, doctrine of ); relation of, xxiii, xxiv, 46-54,55, 129; separation of, 9, 46, 50, 115-18 church fathers, 74, 76, 78, 83, 84, 85, 91, 135, 171n7 clergy, 15, 16,89,93, 186n2; corruption of, 1,4, 7,33, 76, 178n90 coercion in matters of faith, 59, 60-62 common law tradition, 160 Condemnation of 1270,19-20 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (see also Inquisition and Holy Office),36 conjugal love, 81,88,89, 165, 189n63 conscience, 73,113-15,146-51 Constantine, 53 contemplative life, 89-92 contemptu mundi, 53, 108, 181n38 contraception, 89, 124, 189n64 conventionalism, 135, 142, 151-55 conversion, forced, (see coercion in matters of faith) Copleston, F. c., xxiii, 24, 51, 13 7 Council of Nicaea, 60, 93,123 Crusades, xxiii, xxiv, 7, 8, 46, 66-68, 72, 104, 115, 121, 138, 166, 18 n44 crusaders, 2, 57, 71, 125 cynicism, xxv, xxvi Cyprus, 46, 179n3 damnation, 53, 88, 109 divine law, 52, 135, 162-65, 194n8 divine revelation, 162ff Domini Canes, 72, 73 Dominic, Father, 110 Dominicans, xxiv, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 12, 15, 16,57, 72, 78, 104, 114, 125, 172n18, 173n16, 174n21n22, 191n109 double effect, 67-68 double truth, xxiv, 18ff, 175n41; usurpation of, 21-24

Index Drury, Shadia B., critique of Joseph Pieper, 71-74; critique of religion in politics, 162-65; critique of Leo Strauss, xii-xviii, 23, 128; critique of Femand Van Steenberghen and Etienne Gilson, 18-24; defense of natural law, 135-167; ideas in general, xi-xix; on the relation of faith and reason, 40-43 dystopia, 54, 190n84 Dyzenhaus, David, 196n36 Edict of Toleration, 60, 123 Edict of Nantes, 123 Elvira del Campo, 61-62 Epictetus, 74 Erasmus, xxii, 34, 76, 111 eunuchs, 76ff,82,83, 187n9, 188n30 Europe, 4, 8, 50, 70, 93, 95, 115, 117, 118-26,141, 177n87, 181n38; silent apostasy of, 120 European Constitutional Treaty, 120 European Union, 122 evangelicals, 117 excommunication, 6, 13, 17,63,93, 104, 126, 173nS faith, and reason, xxiii, xxiv, 11-43,51, 175 n. 29, 179n120; fanaticism of, 5-8; bigotry of, 56-64 fatwa,120 feminine gender, xxvi, 119, 180nl1 fide ism, 22, 24, 36-40, 178nl13 Finnis, John, 137-138 Foolistotle, xxiv Foucault, Michel, ii, 130, 131, 152, 193n36; and Iranian revolution, 131, 193n37 Frederick II, 2,3, 6, 171n15, 173n4 freedom, xiv, xxii, 126-30, 152 freedom of speech, 126 Freudian psychology, 74

+

205

Gide, Andre, 149 Gilson, Etienne, xxii, xxiv, 18-24, 30-31, 171n7, 175 n40 God, death of, 119; nature of, 25-26; vengeance of, 49, 106, 108, 180 n. 19, 183n57 Gregory of Nyssa, 82, 84, 187n22 Grisez, Germain, 13 7 harlots, 59, 60 Hart, H. L. A., 151, 155, 157, 195n22, 196n36 heathens, xxiv, 52, 57-64, 68, 69, 70 (see also infidels) Hegelian, 140 Heidegger, Martin, 54 Hell, 17,53,56,57, 107, 109, 182n40 Heloise, xxv, 81, 95-99, 101 heretics, xxiii, xxiv, 2,4, 6, 45, 52, 57-64,68-71,73,87,104-13,114, 123, 174n22n23, 192n9 Hildebrand, (see Pope Gregory VII) Hobbes, Thomas, ii, 147, 148, 152, 155, 156, 160, 196n36 Holy Land, 46, 66, 125 Holy Office, 35, 36, 170 n.1 (see also Inquisition) holy war, 66-68, 125 Holy Writ, 29, 32-33, 69, 110, 112 Homer, 41 Hood, Y. B., 64-66 human nature, xxiv, 25, 88, 101, 136-39, 140, 142, 143, 145, 146, 151, 157 infallibility, 32, 33, 35, 43, 56, 57, 78, 111, 181n38 infidels, 2, 29,33,54,57-64,68, 123, 125, 135, 192n9 Inquisition, 4-8, 103-13; Aquinas and, 7,71-74; joke about, 70-71; parable of the wheat and the cockle, 112

206

+

Index

inquisitors, xxiv, 4, 5, 7, 36, 57, 72, 73, 78, 109, 113-15, 19 n109 Iran, 9,130 Iraq,xvii,9,68, 156, 196n33 Isaac, 38, 79, 87 Islam, xii, xxv, 11,33, 118-26, 172n1, 175n46 Islamic civilization, 1, 120, 177n87 Islamic threat, 118-26 Israel, 9, 105, 149, 150 Israelites, 64-66 Italy, 50,181, 183n71 Jerome, Saint, xxii, 40, 70, 76, 91, 104, 189n77 Jesus, 14-15,26,38,40,42,49,50, 56-57,60,65,67,76-78,95,105, 107,112,120,121,125,140,148, 164, 165, 179nl19, 187n9, 190n86, 194n13 Jewish settlers, 150 Jews, compared with harlots, 69-60; distinctive clothing, 63; ghettos for, xxv, 63; persecution of, xxiii, 7, 57-66; property of, 63-64 jihad against modernity, 124 Jovinian, xxii, 75, 76,111, 186n1 Judaizing, 61, 62 judicial activism, 161, 196n37 just war, 66-68 justice, 7, 52, 54, 60, 64, 68, 72, 106, 107, 108, 115, 118, 121, 123, 124, 127,129,137,140-67 Justinian Code, 62 Katharina von Bora, 91, 94 Kaufmann, WaIter, xxii, 170n1, 190n86 Kelsen, Hans, 145, 155, 158-60, 194n13, 195n32 Kennedy, John E, 124 Kenny, Anthony, 36 Kierkegaard, Syjren, 37-38 king bee, 47, 180n11

Konradin von Hohenstaufen, 55, 178n92, 182n46 Last Judgment, 112, 181 liberal tradition, 152, 161 liberalism, xii, xiii, xiv, xvi, xvii, xviii, 126ff Lea, Charles Henry, 72, 170n1 Lecky, W. E. H., 178n90 legal positivism, 155-62, 195n22n32, 196n36 Lewis, C. S., 85, 86 licentiousness, xiii, 4, 126-28, 129, 162, 166 liberty (see freedom and liberalism) Locke, John, 9, 52, 137 Luther, Martin, xxiv, 16,37,85,91,94, 113,123,190n84 Maclntyre, Alasdair, 152-54, 175n40 Magna Carta, 72 Manichean, 75,128,174 marriage, 86-89, 94, 96, 99, 124, 139, 140, 165, 176n61, 186n4n5, 189n65, 194n8 Maritain, Jacques, xxii, 16, 174n23, 182n46 medieval universities, 12ff mendicants, 3, 4, 12-16, 173n16n17 militancy, 45 mirror of princes, 46 modernity, xxi, xxv, xxvi, 9, 11-12,23, 33-36,73, 103-33, 143-45, 147, 150, 152; as "heretical vomit," 123 Mohammed,32-33 monarchy, 46-50,202 Monica (Augustine's mother), 99 monogamy, 76, 140 (see also marriage) Moors, 61 Mortara, Edgardo, 184n79 Mosaic Law, 58, 64-66, 139, 164 Muslims, 2,46,61,63,66,67, 118-26, 163 (see also Islam) Mussolini, 116

Index Napoleon, 116 natural law, xxii, xvii, xix, xxiv, xxv, 8-9,43,54-55,58,65,68,72,74, 79,101,103,135-67,176n57 natural slavery, 26-27, 74, 171n7, 185nl22 naturalism, 9 Nazis, xxv, 7, 74, 119 neoconservatism, xvi, xvii, 124, 160, 161, 170n5, 193n32 nihilism, xv, xvi, xxi, 45, 117, 118, 119, 129 Old Testament, 51, 67, 78-79,92, 106, 140 Old Law (see Mosaic Law) Origen, xxii, 34, 82-83,107,111 Ottoman Empire, 122 pagans, 45, 58ff papal states, 34, 50, 63, 116, 184n79 papal supremacy, xxiii, 46-55 Paul, Saint, 89, 104 Peace of Westphalia, 123 Pecham, John, 14, 173n10 Pegis, Anton, xxiii Pelagius, xxii, 34, 111, 182n47 Pieper, Josef, 71-74 Piperno, Reginald, 91 Plato, xii, xiii, xvi, 41,147,155, 194n13 Plato's myths, 22 polygamous patriarchs, 79, 91, 100, 140 polygamy, 77, 78, 79, 91, 92, 100, 139, 140,141 Pope Benedict XVI, 9, 11,33, 36, 46, 50,95, 103, 116, 121, 122, 172n1; and Islam, 11,33 Pope Gelasius, 46, 49-50, 116 Pope Gregory VII, 50, 54, 93, 115 Pope Innocent Ill, 2, 5, 50, 53, 72, 110, 181n38n39, 192n10 Pope John Paul II, xxv, 9, 36, 88-89, 118, 119, 120, 122

"*"

207

Pope John XXII, 34 Pope Siricius, 76 positive law, (see legal positivism) postmodernism, xii, xvi, xxv, xxvi, 130-33,35 pragmatism, 54-55, 59, 60 procreation, 27, 77, 79, 84, 86-89, 100, 136,137 Protestant churches, 115-17 radical Aristotelianism (see Averroism) Ranke-Heinemann, Uta, 186n2 rape, 78, 109, 138 Ratzinger, Joseph, (see Pope Benedict XVI) reason, as captive woman, 40; as a whore, 37; subjugation of, 11--43 relativism, 120, 126, 135, 195n32 religion, xiv, xxiv (see also faith) ; and politics, xii, 45-74; fanaticism of xiii, 45-74 religious right, 160 Robert le Bougre, 6. Roman Empire, 33, 45, 48, 50, 60, 72, 116, 181n38 Roman Law, 72 salvation, 35, 43; as final end of man, 49,51,53; politics of, xxiii, xxiv, 8, 9,43,45-74 self-preservation, 136-37 Seneca, 74, 186n122 sex, 75-101 sharia, 9, 120 ship of state, 47--49 Siger of Brabant, 16-24, 26, 28, 34, 111 Sigmund, Paul E., 51 Simon, Yves R., xxii slavery, 74, 122, 123, 151, 157; compatible with natural law, 176n57; natural, 26-27, 74,171 n. 7, 176n57,185nl22 Spain, 61

208

Index

Spanish Inquisition, 61 Steenberghen, Fernand Van, xxiii, 18-24 Stephen Tempier, 17,21 Strauss, Leo, xii, xvi, xvii ff, 23, 128-30, 169n4n5, 179n120 (see also Averroism) suicide bombers, 125, 149 synod of Lyons, 93 synod of Rouen, 94 teleology, 154, 155, 162 terrorism, 68, 126 theocracy, 8, 50, 55, 63, 70, 89, 108, 116, 131,162, 186n2 horrors of, 1-5,8 Theodosian Code, 62 Thomas Aquinas life of, 3--4, 91; advice to the Duchess of Brabant, 63; and cannon law, 34; and the courtesan, 3,91-92; and Dominican order, 3, 7; and the Inquisition, 7, 68-74; and modernity, 11-12,33-36; as a knight in shining armor, 24; as angelic doctor, 34, 35; as an apostle of reason, 24; as a soft Averroist, 22; as the first Whig, 52; canonization of, 34; debate over mendicancy, 12-16, 173n17; debate over the double truth, 21-24; on faith and reason, 27ff; on Jews, 57-66,69-64; on prayer, 27; on natural slavery, 26-27, 74, 171 n. 7, 185nl22; on reason as a captive woman, 40; on sin as unbelief, 56-57; on the Bible and Aristotle, 25-27; on the eternity of the world, 19, 25; on the nature of God, 25, 27; on the unicity of the intellect, 19,26; on usurping the power of infidels, 54; on women, 26, 27, 74, 84-85,176 n. 62, 186n123; politics of, 45-74; pragmatism of, 54,

60; Summa Theologica as milk not meat, 22 torture, xxiii,S, 62, 127, 156, 166, 191n109; as official policy of the Catholic Church,S totalitarianism, 52 trials,S, 6, 7, 72, 191n110 Twain, Mark, 150 two swords, doctrine of, xxiii, 46-54, 116, 118 tyrannicide, 49 tyranny, xvii, 47--49, 130, 141; and modernity, 193n35; as punishment for sin, 49,143; ecclesiastical, xxiv, 8,50,55,63,70,89,108,116,131, 162, 186 n. 2; covert, xvi; of the majority, xii universities (see medieval universities) University of Paris, xxiv, 7, 12-25,33, 74,111, 173n16, 182n46 Vatican City, 116, 118 Vatican Commission for the Religious Relations with the Jews, 119 Vicar of Christ, 49 Virgin Mary 75 virginity, 78-82, 87, 90, 92 Voltaire, 86 Waldensian heresy, 1--4 Walzer, Michael, xix, 141, 194 n. 9 war, (see just war and holy war) war on terror, 125 William of Saint-Amour, 13-16,20, 111, 172n17, 174n22 witches, xxiii, 100, 127, 131, 191 n. 109 women, 26, 27, 74, 84-85, 176n62, 186n123 World Court, 118

About the Author

Shadia B. Drury is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada. She is the Canada Research Chair in Social Justice and Professor of Philosophy and Political Science at the University of Regina in Canada where she is Director of the Masters Program in Social and Political Thought. Her most recent books are Terror and Civilization: Christianity, Politics, and the Western Psyche (New York: Palgrave Macmillan , 2004) and The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss, Updated Edition (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005).

209