[From a student in my "Catholic Social Thought and the Law" seminar]:
On Consent, Consequences, and Christian Law Schools
In our culture, consent is the paramount moral criterion: the presence of consent is the ultimate blessing, while the lack thereof is the ultimate curse. This is readily seen in the way we think about the consequences of our actions. We believe that we should have free reign to act according to our whims and fancies (or deep principles and convictions, if you swing that way), and that any results of those actions can and should affect us only if we first consented to those costs. We certainly don’t think we should have to suffer the consequence of any unintended or unforeseen consequences—after all we didn’t consent to it, and thus it must not be our fault. And we definitely don’t think we should have to do so for someone else’s actions. We shun commitment because we fear that we won’t get to do what we want down the road; we are unwilling to pay the costs of what we believe in. Our culture likes to deny that principles and beliefs require consistent actions, and that actions have actual consequences. Our culture thus effectively denies the existence of natural consequences in favor of contractual costs.
But Christians don’t believe that. The Christian does not deny the existence of sin’s consequences; he affirms that all those consequences have already been paid by Christ. At the foundation of the Christian faith is the belief that we are sinful beings, but that the consequences of such sin were borne by Jesus Christ: “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith.” (Rom. 3:23-25) Actions have consequences, whether we like it or not, and someone must pay the price—even if we didn’t know the full price.
Now you may think that I am about to say how important it is to hold people morally accountable and how significant it is that we have a justice system which holds individuals responsible for their actions. And, in fact, that is certainly a significant aspect to the idea of actions and their consequences. But I think there is another aspect: our commitment to our principles may require us to bear more burdens and make more sacrifices than we had initially thought as consequences of our convictions. The idea that consent is crucial to the moral legitimacy of any given consequence is often introduced and cemented in post-secondary educational institutions; therefore the refutation that consent is not necessary for a morally legitimate consequence may and should also be introduced at that time.
Christian educational institutions, then, have a significant part to play in the formation of their students: in the midst of our cultural denial of consequences the Christian has an intimate understanding that consequences are real and their existence is not contingent on our consent. Christian law schools in particular have a unique role to play in training their students that in a discipline and field which places so much emphasis on contractual agreement—from the “social contract” to apartment leases—it is incumbent on the Christian lawyer to recognize that unintended and unforeseen consequences must and should be paid even if they have not been agreed on.
Lawyers, though, are entirely willing to tell others that costs must be paid; it is entirely another matter to apply that to themselves. Thus, the Christian law school faces another duty: to teach students that their faith, their convictions, and their principles will require them to make sacrifices. In a professional field which tends to measure success in terms of status (and the accompanying symbols), power, wealth, and creature comforts, students need to be willing to give them up as called in the course of living a life pleasing and glorifying to God. Professor John Breen encouraged the law students of Loyola University Chicago that “[t]he way our Christian faith defines success and the sign that represents it are radically different form the understanding of success prevalent in American society. According to the faith, success is to act with love in the imitation of Christ, and the sign that quite literally embodies this love is the Cross.” Christian law students are to be lawyers, to be sure, but they are also called to obedient to the living God with whom they have a relationship: “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord desire of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Mic. 6:8)
Of course, our law schools can make that unique character of the vocation easier or harder, and they can make their message more or less efficacious. One thing our Christian law schools might want to consider is that it may be difficult for students to accept a new hierarchy of what is worthy if the school itself does not follow its own teaching. For example, can students really take seriously the Christian message that worldly status is unimportant, if their school is unwilling to take risks to conform its students to the image of Christ for the sake of a U.S. News & World Report ranking?
The world we live in has natural consequences for our actions, quite independent of our consent to their existence. The reality of unintended consequences which must still be paid seems at odds with the legal preference for the “four corners of the contract,” but it is therefore that much more important for Christian lawyers to recognize and bear witness to in their vocation, from crafting policy to sitting on a judicial bench to advising clients. It is incumbent on the Christian lawyer to be mindful of how grace and mercy relate to justice and righteousness within the context of the rule of law. And it is the duty of Christian law schools to instill those values and convictions in their students not only through their teaching, but also through their example.
Some thoughts about the role of religious faith, believers, and claims in policy and political debates, from a student in my "Catholic Social Thought and the Law" class:
Inspired by the public debate that arose most recently during the Republican primary concerning whether and to what extent politicians should rely on their religious convictions when making policy decision (see Santorum’s comments on JFK’s speech and ensuing hoopla), I decided to write a short-paper on Catholic politicians’ support of abortion rights—specifically, the assertion that a Catholic can justifiably be “pro-life” in private while pro-choice when acting in the public sphere. This led me to Mario Cuomo’s famous speech at Notre Dame from 1984, which I decided to critique. One of his core arguments to justify his position was that the Church does not demand particular “political” strategies to achieving its public morality goals. As Cuomo explains: “I repeat, there is no Church teaching that mandates the best political course for making our belief everyone’s rule.” Thus, a Catholic politician can be justified in refusing to force his beliefs on others since there are other issues related to the protection of life that are equally viable political tactics to realize this principle that all life has intrinsic value.
Yet this argument misses a critical doctrinal distinction between the roles of the Church (in not providing political strategies) and that of the laity. Cuomo fails to appreciate the distinction between the Church, which has the role to participate through education and example in the shaping of the moral values of society, and the laity, who have the “corresponding moral responsibility…to hear, receive, and act upon the Church’s teaching in the lifelong task of forming his or her own conscience.” Thus the Church can and should be very reluctant to advocate for specific policies to achieve its goals, but the laity have the moral responsibility to take the Church’s teachings and apply them in their actions, both public and private. What Cuomo is dismissing as a particular “political course” for anti-abortion supporters is actually a tangible obligation, which flows from a principle claim that all life, from the moment of conception, has inherent human dignity and cannot be intentionally destroyed by man.
Some thoughts -- about a pretty big question! -- from a student in my "Catholic Social Thought and the Law" seminar:
“The Church’s social teaching argues on the basis of reason and natural law” (Pope
Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est).
Catholic Social Thought relies heavily on the natural law as a source of authority outside revealed theology. The natural law is “written on the heart” of all people; therefore normative statements by the Church on social issues may be accepted as true or right simply through the exercise of reason, without accepting the Scriptural authority of the Church through Faith. The natural law is a valuable foundation for moral reasoning, where Christians and unbelievers can meet and build agreement.
But does the natural law “work”? Does the natural law provide a stable foundation for moral agreement? Unfortunately, a quick look at natural law scholarship reveals a MacIntyrian post-Enlightenment landscape: disagreement abounds. “New” natural law scholars battle “Classical” natural law thinkers and any attempts to specify moral precepts break down into disagreement just outside the second half of the Decalogue. And all of this disagreement exists within the natural law tradition, among allies. Perhaps we can at least agree that we disagree?
In the face of all this disagreement, one may be tempted to say, “so what”? People always disagree about ultimate questions of right and wrong, good and bad. But Alasdair MacIntyre reminds us that, because of the premises of natural law reasoning, deep disagreement in practice creates real intellectual problems: “if the precepts of the natural law are indeed precepts established by reason, we should expect to find agreement in assenting to them among rational agents. But this is not what we find, . . . [m]any intelligent, perceptive, and insightful agents either reject what Catholics take to be particular precepts of the natural law or accept them only in some very different version, or, more radically still, reject the very conception of a natural law. And these disagreements seem to be intractable. How can this be?”
Perhaps the natural law has a proper use, and we have missed it. If the natural law does not exist to create agreement among reasonable minds on the requirements of morality for human action, then we should not be surprised when it does not.
But what is the purpose of the natural law? I believe the natural law exists to convict the sinful human heart. We can see this purpose in St. Paul’s letter to the Romans. Catholic Social Thought often quotes Romans chapter 2 for the proposition that “the law is written on the heart,” but Paul says much more about this law: “Now we know that whatever the law says it speaks to those who are under the law, so that every mouth may be stopped, and the whole world may be held accountable to God. For by works of the law no human being will be justified in his sight, since through the law comes knowledge of sin.” (Romans 3:19-20).
“Through the law comes knowledge of sin.” The Apostle Paul certainly “uses” natural law, but not to reach agreement on social policy. The Apostle Paul uses the natural law to demonstrate that we know right, yet do wrong. The standard is high and we fall short. He uses the natural law for eternal purposes, to crush any faith we may have built up in ourselves, so our faith may find rest in Christ. Is this the purpose of natural law? Can the natural law be used as a common foundation for moral reasoning, when no one lives up to the full extent of the law?
Can we expect people to consent to the rule of natural law, as a basis for State enforced social policy, when serious contemplation of the natural law illuminates our shortcomings? Or should we focus on pushing the sharp conviction of the law upon the human heart, so hard hearts are plowed, and the ground is made fertile for seeds of grace?
Some thoughts on the continuing importance (and responsibility) of Catholic universities from a student in my "Catholic Social Thought and the Law" seminar:
As much as some seem to be put off by the constant back and forth on various controversial issues at Catholic universities, and particularly at Notre Dame, I find it very reassuring.
On the one hand, after spending the bulk of my post-secondary education years in a state school it is refreshing to see that there are people within the institution on both sides of controversial issues who feel both impelled and empowered to speak out. It makes me realize that dialogue and the search for ultimate truth is still alive somewhere in academia.
On the other hand, and perhaps more importantly, it demonstrates that people recognize that the Catholic university still has an important and influential teaching role well beyond its confines. No one cares in particular who “Generic State University” invites to give an address, but the entire internet erupts in a frenzy when Obama or Ryan are invited to speak at a Catholic university. If Ms. Fluke went to a state school—or anywhere but a school publicly recognized as Catholic—you can bet no one would have raised an eyebrow over her testimony regarding the HHS Mandate. I wager she would not have even been invited to testify before Congress.
The fact that many still rage over the state of the Catholic university’s soul makes me believe that there is a great opportunity to be had for the authentic Catholic university: It must serve as a lamp of the truths of both faith and reason in stark contradiction to the darkness of the world about it.
I read Fr. James Schall's "Another Sort of Learning" in college, and it has enriched my life incredibly, by pointing me to, and helping me think about, so many authors and books that, say, East Anchorage High School didn't say much about. He is a treasure. Here are some reflections by him on "The Ending of an Academic Year."
A very moving piece by George Will, about his son, Jon, who has Down syndrome and who is celebrating his 40th birthday. A (sobering) bit:
. . . In 1972, people with Down syndrome were still commonly called Mongoloids.
Now they are called American citizens, about 400,000 of them, and their life expectancy is 60. Much has improved. There has, however, been moral regression as well.
Jon was born just 19 years after James Watson and Francis Crick published their discoveries concerning the structure of DNA, discoveries that would enhance understanding of the structure of Jon, whose every cell is imprinted with Down syndrome. Jon was born just as prenatal genetic testing, which can detect Down syndrome, was becoming common. And Jon was born eight months before Roe v. Wade inaugurated this era of the casual destruction of pre-born babies. . . .
Michael Sean Winters reviews enthusiastically the new book by my friend and colleague, Brad Gregory (I read the book in draft, and think it's outstanding):
. . . Gregory, who teaches history at Notre Dame, seeks to show how the changes wrought by the Reformation unintentionally led to the ideological, social, political, intellectual and economic consequences that still shape the world in which we live today, and, especially, how the internal contradictions of our current world appear incapable of resolving themselves unless we reacquaint ourselves with the historical context, and the historical choices, from which those contradictions emerged. . ..
Tim Cantu, a student in my "Catholic Social Thought and the Law" seminar, shared these thoughts, prompted by Judge Posner's recent lecture at Notre Dame Law School:
Judge Richard Posner recently spoke at Notre Dame Law School to a Law & Economics Seminar and addressed the failure of the modern schools of macroeconomics to adequately predict or react to the 2008 financial crisis. The talk did not touch directly or indirectly on Catholic Social Thought—as a classics major, I’m not entirely sure what it was about—but an offhand remark by the Judge caught my attention. “The tone of political discourse,” he said, “is worse than I have ever seen it in this country.” The Judge has certainly lived through some trying times in this country, and it was notable to me that he believes our national attitude has never been as bad as it is now.
I agree with the Judge, though as a fresh-faced 23-year-old college graduate who has never written a book on Law and Economics or decided a Federal Appellate Court Case, no one cares particularly about my opinion. But the Judge and I are not alone in this opinion; indeed, there seems to be a growing national consensus that the tone of political discourse is that nasty and vitriolic. This is hardly to say it has never been worse, or that there have not been isolated incidents worse than (almost) anything said or written today (to my knowledge, no one has recently written of an opponent, as John Adams did of Alexander Hamilton, that “He’s the bastard brat of a Scotch peddler. A man devoid of every principle.”). But generally, each side of the political divide believes the other to be wholly devoid of principle and hellbent on the destruction of America (or women’s rights, or the Civil Rights movement, or unborn children… ad infinitum.)
This is a troubling trend for Catholics. We are called, of course, to participate as faithful citizens—faithful to both our faith and our country as we seek to infuse the secular realm with Christian principles. But the title of Pope Benedict’s recent encyclical should prove highly instructive (in addition to the lessons within, of course): Caritas in Veritate. One may believe in perfect honesty that democrats (or republicans) are wrong about every single policy they propose (though one would also be mistaken in either case). Such a belief would require an effort to persuade them of their error, and work to combat evil or ill-advised policies. This correction should always presume, however, that you and your opposition are seeking the common good in good faith and with the best interest of society at heart. Charity in Truth is, I think, one of the most needed lessons in the modern political realm.
A student in my "Catholic Social Thought and the Law" class composed and shared this post:
I wanted to take this opportunity to discuss, in light of our recent discussion of Catholic universities, Notre Dame’s recent affirmance of its decision not to add sexual orientation to the university’s nondiscrimination clause. This is an extremely hot-button issue on campus. Surprisingly (at least to me), from the reaction in the Observer and my own observations, a majority of students seem to be in favor of making the change. I have always supported Notre Dame’s decision on institutional freedom grounds (even before I knew that this was the argument I made), but now pose the question of whether we can maintain our status as a meaningfully Catholic university if we make the change, and the corollary, whether we can maintain our status as a well-regarded research university if we continue to resist the change?
There are interesting arguments on both sides. Many people believe that Notre Dame’s low undergraduate peer-assessment scores on the US News & World Report ranking indicate a bias in the academic community against our supposedly “backward” policies. Still others believe that talented high school students who would otherwise consider attending are scared off by our lack of recognition of the LGBQT community. Both of these are supposedly holding us back from being an “elite” university.
On the administration’s side, of course, is the assertion that Notre Dame’s identity as a truly Catholic university would be compromised by such a move. I think that this far more accurate than many believe. While we can still plausibly claim to be Catholic, how much more can we sacrifice in the name of secular recognition? Of course, we are still instructed to treat all human beings in accord with their dignity; the only practical effect of the nondiscrimination clause is that Notre Dame does not have to recognize student organizations with LGBQT ties. The downside of not including it is far worse; it would lead us further along the road of becoming just another secularized, Catholic-in-name only, university. There is something much more to being a Catholic university than simply having a majority of Catholic students or some Catholic faculty. If we someday forget this, we are heading down the wrong road and being influenced by secular pressure to conform to the popular image of the university.
In sum, the students and faculty that come to Notre Dame generally come here because of, not in spite of, our Catholicism. Our goal is not simply to have a group of students with high standardized test scores, but to accomplish our mission. Should we have to lose a few spots in USNWR or median SAT scores to do that, it is a trade worth making.
A student in my "Catholic Social Thought and the Law" class passes on these thoughts:
On April 27th, Pope Benedict XVI said the following in a message to the Pontifical Academy of the Social Sciences: “Forgiveness is not the denial of wrong-doing, but a participation in the healing and transforming love of God which reconciles and restores.” In studying and discussing Catholic Social Thought, we most frequently hear terms like subsidiarity, solidarity, autonomy, and faith. Obviously these are critical concepts in asserting the truth and power of the Catholic social doctrine, but I think Benedict makes a powerful point by revitalizing the role of forgiveness in the Church’s compassionate social mission.
When proselytizing a revealed transcendent truth like that at the heart of CST, one is subject to a certain haughtiness. It is the arrogance of the zealous believer, one who possesses the right faith but forgets the sympathy, forgiveness, and compassion that should come with it. This self-righteousness is a far greater obstacle to the success of CST than any actual doctrinal differences or disagreements. It is this superciliousness that in part angers so many regarding the host of child abuse scandals. Catholic Social Thought will find no purchase in the secular world if non-Catholics constantly feel talked down to rather than engaged, and the Church will continue to work against the world rather than with it.
Forgiveness is the first step in preventing the erection of this wall of arrogance. As we write about the sacred value of the family, the necessary autonomy of the Church, and virtues of faithful citizenship, we need to remember the exhortations of St. Augustine, St. Anselm and Pope Benedict XVI that we are forgiven only as we forgive. The Lord’s Prayer is a daily reminder of this divine mandate for humility and universal compassion. Imagine how much better we can infuse the temporal order, how much more authentic and credible the Church’s message of sympathy and grace will be, and how much better enabled we shall be to create good works through the law and throughout society when we can learn to first humbly ask for forgiveness and freely forgive. The need for forgiveness, the very flaw inherent in all of humanity, is at the very heart of the moral anthropology of Catholic Social Thought. We should bear that in mind, as we bear our burdens and those of others throughout the world. “Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people, these things I will do unto you and not forsake you.”
