Rob asks whether anyone will "dissent" from his view that "the existence of the estate tax -- putting aside questions of rate, when it kicks in, etc. -- is supported by CST, and perhaps more strongly, that its elimination would be condemned by CST[.]"
I would not term my thoughts here a "dissent" but, I have to admit, I am not sure how to "put aside questions of rate, when it kicks in, etc." because, it seems to me, such questions are inseparable from an effort to apply the principles of CST to the issue at hand.
Does CST require a regime under which -- in addition to sales taxes, property taxes, progressive income taxes, capital-gains taxes, gift taxes, etc., all in the service of the common good -- all estates of more than $1 million are subject to an additional tax of (say) 50%? Of course not. Would a movement -- defended in good faith in terms of overall economic benefits to the nation -- from such a regime to one where the tax rate was reduced to 45%, and the tax kicked in at $2 million, clearly be inconsistent with principles of CST? Of course not. Would the elimination of the estate tax altogether, as part of a comprehensive package of tax reforms and increases that, taken as a whole, increased productivity and government revenues, which were then -- we can dream -- conscientiously directed toward the common good, in accord with subsidiarity, the preferential option for the poor, and so on, clearly violate principles of CST? (I am not saying, of course, that I have any idea what such a package would look like). Not necessarily.
Now, Rob asks about this proposal:
Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that the estate tax were to apply only to estates of $100 million or more, and that its rate was 5%. At these numbers, it is difficult to discern significant incentive-based consequences in terms of wealth creation and productive behavior. There would still be calls for its elimination, of course, but they would run along the lines of "It's mine -- hands off!" Such bright-line principles, lacking a functional justification relating to the common good (or the option for the poor, solidarity, etc.) appear to me to be directly opposed by CST.
I suppose I share Rob's instinct about such a proposal. On the other hand, I wouldn't think it fetishizes private-property rights to say that it is not the case -- is it? -- that one's right to lawfully acquired property dissolves whenever the public authority asserts a need that might be served by taking that property. And, it seems to me that it would be reasonable, when assessing Rob's proposal under CST principles, to ask whether the (minimal) funds raised through such a tax actually would be used to promote the common good. What if, for example, the funds were ear-marked for embryonic stem-cell research?
Now, I'm sure that Rob is right and that, in fact, much of the opposition to the estate tax proceeds simply from an excessive enthusiasm for the "hands off! It's mine!" principle. (I'm also sure that much of the support for the estate tax has little to do with the common good, and reflects instead pandering to the "soak the rich!" instinct.) Still, I continue to think that, with respect to most policy questions relating to taxation, regulation, and spending that are likely actually to be presented, CST provides principles that we are bound to employ, but not bright-line answers.
School choice, of course, is the exception. There, the answer is clear. "On this issue, there is no debate." =-)
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Forbes reports that "a bill that would make it a crime to take a pregnant girl across state lines for an abortion without her parents' knowledge passed the Senate Tuesday, but vast differences with the House version stood between the measure and President Bush's desk." The piece continues:
Struggling to defend their majority this election year, Republican sponsors said the bill supports what a majority of the public believes: that a parent's right to know takes precedence over a young woman's right to have an abortion. . . .
Democrats complained that the measure was the latest in a series of bills designed chiefly to energize the GOP's base of conservative voters.
"Congress ought to have higher priorities than turning grandparents into criminals," said Sen. Edward M. Kennedy, D-Mass.
Understandably reluctant to enact legislation that might "energize the GOP's base of conservative voters," it appears that the Democratic leadership in the Senate is not giving up in its efforts to protect such grandparents. The Forbes story reports:
Procedural hurdles also stood in the way. Following the vote, Democrats prevented Majority Leader Bill Frist, R-Tenn., from appointing Senate negotiators to help bridge the differences with the House version. Sen. Dick Durbin, D-Ill., objected to the conferees' appointment on the grounds that the bill had not been considered by a committee and that negotiations were premature.
"I hope this is not a sign that they're going to try to obstruct this bill," Frist said.
Polls suggest there is widespread public backing for the bill, with almost three-quarters of respondents saying a parent has the right to give consent before a child under 18 has an abortion. . . .
Paul Horwitz has a very good post, over at Prawfsblawg, commenting on Geoffrey Stone's claim that President Bush's veto of the public-funding-for-embryo-destroying-research bill exhibited "reckless disregard for the fundamental American aspiration to keep church and state separate." Stone writes:
What the President describes neutrally as “ethics” is simply his own, sectarian religious belief. Is this an ethical (or legitimate) basis on which a President should veto a law? Of course, Mr. Bush is entitled to his belief. He is entitled, for his own religious reasons, to choose not to donate an embryo he creates to try to save the lives of living, breathing children. More than that, he is entitled to protect the interests of others who do not want the embryos they create to be used in this manner. Thus, he could ethically veto a law that required all embryos to be destroyed in the name of scientific research, even over the religious objections of their creators. But in what sense is it “ethical” for Mr. Bush – acting as President of the United States -- to place his own sectarian, religious belief above the convictions of a majority of the American people and a substantial majority of both the House of Representatives and the Senate? In my judgment, this is no different from the President vetoing a law providing a subsidy to pork producers because eating pork offends his religious faith. Such a veto is an unethical and illegitimate usurpation of state authority designed to impose on all of society a particular religious faith.
Paul writes:
[The President's] veto statement does not speak in clearly religious terms at all. Rather, he simply argues that the bill does not strike a proper ethical balance. Surely the President's sense of what is ethical is substantially derived from his religious beliefs, but the same could be said, directly or indirectly, of many Americans. And for those whose ethical beliefs are at least nominally untethered to any religious views, those of us who are non-philosophers are likely at some point to come to rest on arguments that are equally publicly inaccessible: "It's just right." "It's just wrong."
Unless Professor Stone thinks that we are all obliged to appeal to some form of utilitarian philosophy, or some other closely reasoned form of moral philosophy, every time we give our sense of what is ethical or unethical, I can see no reason why the President's publicly offered reasons can be seen as intrinsically "unethical." And if I am wrong, then I would expect that Professor Stone would demand the same level of reason-giving from any legislator who voted for the stem cell bill on the basis that encouraging medical research is the "ethical" thing to do, or simply "the right thing to do."
Politicians may justifiably suffer if they offer reasons for their actions that satisfy only a narrow band of the public; one of the political benefits of publicly accessible reasons is that they enable public officials to retain the support of larger coalitions of voters. But Professor Stone seems ultimately to argue that there is something unethical or illegitimate not just in speaking in religious terms, but in having religious motivations, and acting on them, regardless of what reasons the public official gives publicly. That, I think, is altogether too expansive a view of "the separation of church and state." I may think the President's veto was wrong, but it certainly was not wrong for those reasons.
It seems to me that Professor Stone, like many others, assumes that an objection to public funding of research involving the destruction of human embryos is -- and could only be -- a "religious" or "sectarian" one. It is not the case, though, that the arguments against such funding require, or always involve, recourse to revelation. I am starting to think that *all* moral claims -- e.g., "it is wrong to deny equal protection of the laws on the basis of race" -- are, in the end, "religious" arguments, but put that aside. The claim that there is something about a human embryo such that its destruction for research purposes ought not to be funded by the government -- whether we are moved by it or not -- is not, it seems to me, any more "religious" than any other argument about how human persons ought to be treated.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Peter Steinfels wrote, a few weeks ago in the New York Times, that universities might "matter" less today precisely because they compromised or abandoned their religious character and roots. Here is Rod Dreher's post on the column (which also excerpts the column heavily, in case the Times cuts off access). Here is a quote from the Steinfels column:
Having made natural science's standards for the exploration of physical reality the model of all true knowledge, that secularism, in the author's view, has simply not been able to replace religion in giving plausible answers to questions about the natur of humanity, its distinctinveness from other life forms, the value and goals of a life or the basis of morality.
Another web site worth watching is "Godspy: Faith at the Edge." It's more a magazine than a blog. The content is varied, but almost all interesting. Here is its mission statement. (It appears that the enterprise is informed by, if not connected with, the Communion and Liberation movement.)
Rod Dreher has an interesting post on one of my favorite authors, and about why so many Christians in modern America have not warmed to her work. Here is a bit:
Here's the rub: her stories might be more palatable to modern Christians if she were just writing shock-jock horror stories. Frank Peretti sells, after all. That sort of writing goes down easier because we don't really believe it. It feels like someone else's world. It's alien enough that we're not truly threatened. But O'Connor's world is too close. And if her picture of dark grace is right, then our typical take on life fails.
Since Victorian times, Christians have tended to picture grace as cottony and covered with rubber. Grace always comforts and smoothes our furrowed brows; it always, always wipes away our tears, so sorry for them. We believe God is all-good; He's pretty much a nursery-school attendant, pink and white, who doesn't want anyone to get cut. In fact, we're surprised when people actually bump their heads. Pain seems unnatural to us. It's a no-no, and God is on our side. He never touches the stuff Himself.
In short, we believe deeply that all evil is bad. That's the heart of modern Christian faith. All evil is bad. It permeates our day-to-day lives, our work, our sermons, our struggles, our analysis of disasters. All evil is bad. And if so, then grace has to be Nice. Grace and niceness become interchangeable, and Flannery sees this as a (if not the) chief source of wickedness in the modern world. It's a lie about grace.
I have said it before (I think), but Christianity Today's blog -- it gathers links, rather than providing home-grown commentary -- is a fabulous way of keeping up with religion-and-culture events. Definitely bookmark-worthy.
Here is a site dedicated to what appears to be a wonderful exhibit and set of programs at Duquesne. It's called "A Blessing to One Another: Pope John Paul II and the Jewish People." Here is a very moving op-ed by someone who has seen the exhibit. The author writes:
I remember that my father had an abiding affection for Pope John XXIII. My daughters will remember that their father had an abiding affection for Pope John Paul II. Jews have had many enemies over the centuries, but we have had many friends as well.
Let me add one thought more, a Sunday morning reference to First Corinthians. The greatest of these was John Paul II.
The late pope lived, moved, studied, played and prayed among Jews. He grew up with Jews, he watched Jews being taken off to Nazi captivity and then cruel death, he returned the love that many Jews had for him. It is not too much to say, and perhaps to use the phrase for the first time ever without irony, that many of his best friends were Jews.
That is why a remarkable exhibit, originated, with the help of Cincinnati's Jewish community, by one Catholic institution, Xavier University, and now appearing in another Catholic institution, Duquesne University, is so moving a midsummer experience. It reminds us of the brotherhood of man, of the common faith of humanity, and of the capacity of people of different religions and outlooks to be, as the pope put it on the 50th anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising, "a blessing to one another."
Consider how extraordinary this is. Imagine telling someone in the years just after World War II -- in the chilliest days of the Cold War -- that in the coming decades the Catholic Church would select as its pope a man ordained a priest behind the Iron Curtain who would undermine the very foundations of the Soviet bloc, a cleric dripping with Polish nationalism and marinated in the traditions of the Polish church who would be a beacon of hope for Jews -- a light, you might say, among the nations. You would be dismissed as a dreamer.
And yet in a century that was not congenial to dreamers, all this became true. It is evidence, perhaps, that there is a God. We need not debate that question. There was a Karol Wojtyla.
