What follows is a response to Pope Benedict XVI’s latest encyclical Caritas in Veritate. I have responded primarily to the theological anthropology put forward in the letter, rather than his advocacy of socialism or his hints at world government. I may have other thoughts at a later time. I have not provided a summary, nor do I follow the outline given by the encyclical itself. The Vatican has released its own summary here. The full text can be found here.
I ask that the following observations be taken as a kind of first reaction to the encyclical, aspiring to blog-post quality.
1. Anthropology as the field of religions
Christian theology has implications for the way we live our lives most especially through what it has to say about the human person. As such, it is useful from a Christian perspective to view the various religious and philosophical doctrines in the world on the playing field of anthropology. By anthropology, I mean here not the specific discipline of empirical anthropology, but the more general discourse about what sort of beings we humans are. Pope Benedict XVI locates Christian theology on just this field, and believes, as one would hope from a holy father, that Christianity has much to offer. “Amid the various competing anthropological visions put forward in today’s society, … Christianity has the particular characteristic of asserting and justifying the unconditional value of the human person and the meaning of growth” (¶ 18). The unconditional value of the person, often called ‘dignity,’ is best expressed in terms of the imago dei — that each person is created in the image and likeness of the holy Trinity. The meaning of growth in Christian theology is well expressed in terms of the dialectic between ethics and eschatology — addressing, respectively, how we ought to live and what we may hope for. I suggest it is through this lens that we ought to read the latest encyclical.
Among the doctrines Benedict names that are at odds with the Christian vision of humanity are utilitarianism, materialism, hedonism, and relativism. It is likely that the percentage of people who would subscribe to any one of these doctrines in a pure form is very small. But Benedict probably has in mind a kind of cultural phenomenon that either presupposes important aspects of these doctrines or else concedes to them, because they usefully offer an easy connection between empirical data and normative principles. One can run numbers to determine who is in material poverty, for instance, but not who is in spiritual poverty. Likewise with utilitarianism, which hopes to maximize happiness for people, and tends to make moral assessments by balancing pleasure against pain. The move from the objective facts (what will cause pleasure and what will cause pain) to the moral dimension (what is good and bad) is so simple in utilitarianism that it need not even be stated explicitly. As a consequence, all the difficult work involved in utilitarian moral reasoning can be presented objectively, and can take on a kind of authority for any people that admires and respects scientific research. The materialist and the utilitarian alike locate the essential elements of truth in the aspects of reality about which there can be little disagreement — the objective sphere. Benedict rightly recognizes an inherent risk in this fact. For if we disallow from our reasoning those aspects of reality that are much disputed, then we are de facto conceding to the materialistic or utilitarian normative principles.
2. Diagnosing cultural problems
Of course, Benedict does more than recognize this as a risk. He believes that it is our current situation — not that all or every organization falls victim to this kind of reasoning, but that enough of our institutions do so to warrant real concern. Here is one place where I believe Benedict has made a mistake. For it seems that he is being guided by the principle that “all social action involves a doctrine” (¶ 30)1 The quote Benedict cites is from Pope Paul VI’s Populorum Progressio, and contains an element of truth. Unfortunately, it is imprecise in a way that can lead to some mistaken conclusions. Because of the unique perspectives of every individual, social action almost never involves only one doctrine. Usually, and at its most effective, it involves many doctrines, some of which are at odds with each other. It would be better to say that “social action always includes certain doctrines while excluding others.” Different doctrines can have common goals. This may seem like a fine point, and surely Benedict could be excused for misspeaking. He was, after all, quoting someone else. The trouble is that the way Benedict interprets cultural phenomena seems to miss this distinction. The fact that a materialist or a utilitarian might be perfectly comfortable with a certain social action does not imply that the social action is itself materialistic or utilitarian.
Take, as an example, one of the movements Benedict has in mind as especially scandalous — the promotion of active euthanasia. Most of the arguments presented in favor of this movement appeal to our aesthetic judgments, our sense of honor and shame, and our commitment to the liberty and free choice of all persons. They emphasize — and no doubt Benedict would agree — that the process of dying can be beautiful in some cases. They find stories in which people seem to have their dignity violated by a dying process that they cannot control. To be sure, the advocates of this movement mean something very different from dignity proper. They mean that these people are powerless, in pain, and feel hopeless. Their reasoning goes well beyond simple materialism, or even utilitarianism, neither of which necessarily implies support for active euthanasia.
If I am correct that Benedict is misinterpreting the ideological underpinnings of certain social movements he would like to oppose or change, it will make his calls for change less effective. If I am to debate someone persuasively, the person I am debating had better be able to recognize himself in the description I give of him.
One distinction that may be helpful in this regard is one that Benedict makes in his discussion of “the technological mindset” on the relation between morality and science (or the permissible and the possible). “One aspect of the contemporary technological mindset is the tendency to consider the problems and emotions of the interior life from a purely psychological point of view, even to the point of neurological reductionism” (¶ 76). For the Christian, the two perspectives of psychological reductionism and neurological reductionism are two modes of the same error — namely, neglecting that aspect of the human person that can only be understood in its relationship to God. But from any non-theistic perspective, these two kinds of reductionism are radically opposed to one another. In fact, early modern philosophy was in large part driven by the need to reconcile the apparently disparate substances of mind and body. I suggest that more emphasis on the distinction between these two erronious kinds of reductionism would be helpful in moving the debate forward. Benedict and other social conservatives too often conflate them (and often throw in the word ‘relativism’ for good measure). This distinction would certainly help to avoid the conflation of utilitarianism and materialism, because the former roughly corresponds to the psychological reduction, while the latter corresponds to the material. But tending to this distinction would also help to shed light on important distinctions within each reduction.
3. The difficulty of assessing cultural motives
I would criticize much of Benedict’s analysis of our present situation in a similar way. The holy father is critical of rampant consumerism, for instance. But if consumerism is understood as a vice involving an attachment to material goods rather than simply the purchasing of material goods (which in itself cannot be a vice), then I think it is rather more difficult to identify than most culture critics would have us believe. The problem of interpretation arises, in fact, precisely because of a commitment to the Christian anthropology. If we were to accept either a psychological reductionism or a materialistic reductionism, then we might have reason to believe that some theory could relatively easily account for all human activity. A proponent of evolutionary naturalism, for instance, would view the consumption of material goods as an expression of some deeper tendency placed in us by the processes of natural selection. And this explanation would be given the privileged place as the ‘right’ or most foundational account of material consumption. A Marxist, of course, would have a different account, as would any number of other ideologies.
Christianity is in a peculiar place in this regard, though, and for three reasons. First, Christianity affirms the uniqueness of each individual, implying that social systems are going to be highly complex. Second, for Christianity, each individual is a relational being. Indeed he is only constituted first by his relation to God, but he is also fundamentally related to his fellow human beings. This fact multiplies the complexity of the system many times over. Finally, each individual is created in the image of an invisible God, which means that when we recognize a person as a subject, we have to include in our understanding the fact that his essence is, in principle, beyond the categories of our understanding. This applies even to our own self-reflection. None of this is to suggest that studying and critiquing culture cannot or ought not to be done. But I am suspicious of theories that ascribe to people implicit motives that they themselves would not advocate. The fact that virtually no one argues that happiness lies in the endless consumption of material goods suggests that this is not a correct assessment of the reason that people in wealthy countries purchase so many things. Indeed, even if we could conclude that a good number of people (say 5%) lean towards a materialistic ontology, I would be willing to bet that they would not be identifiable by their purchasing practises.
4. Christianity’s relational anthropology and speaking of culture
This criticism of the encyclical, however, is somewhat ironic. We can take this relational account of the human person directly from the fifth chapter. And, in fact, it may be here that we can find a solution to address my criticism. The emphases are mine.
Pope Paul VI noted that “the world is in trouble because of the lack of thinking.”2 He was making an observation, but also expressing a wish: a new trajectory of thinking is needed in order to arrive at a better understanding of the implications of our being one family; interaction among the peoples of the world calls us to embark upon this new trajectory, so that integration can signify solidarity3 rather than marginalization. Thinking of this kind requires a deeper critical evaluation of the category of relation. This is a task that cannot be undertaken by the social sciences alone, insofar as the contribution of disciplines such as metaphysics and theology is needed if man's transcendent dignity is to be properly understood.
As a spiritual being, the human creature is defined through interpersonal relations. The more authentically he or she lives these relations, the more his or her own personal identity matures. It is not by isolation that man establishes his worth, but by placing himself in relation with others and with God. Hence these relations take on fundamental importance. The same holds true for peoples as well. A metaphysical understanding of the relations between persons is therefore of great benefit for their development. In this regard, reason finds inspiration and direction in Christian revelation, according to which the human community does not absorb the individual, annihilating his autonomy, as happens in the various forms of totalitarianism, but rather values him all the more because the relation between individual and community is a relation between one totality and another.4 (¶ 53)
Benedict apparently finds sufficient unity in ‘the community’ to refer univocally both to community and individual as totalities. This sort of language leaves individualists like me scratching their heads. In what does such a unity consist? In what sense can the community as community value something? Surely, if community is a totality, then it cannot merely be in the sense that the individuals within the community individually value every individual. It must be that some constitutive principle of the community “values” the individuals within it. The constitutive principle cannot be the will of the community, as guided by the light of reason, because the community has no unified will. But whatever constitutes the unity of a dynamic community must include some appetitive aspect, the nearest anologue of the will in non-rational being. Thus, I take it that Benedict means that whatever guides or shapes the dynamics of a community must support rather than hinder the dignity of individual persons. To this extent, then, we need not be troubled that communities are not well defined entities.
What sorts of principles does Benedict recommend for the life affirming community? I have so far picked out four different principles Benedict offers, but there may be others.
First, it seems that communities must be stabilising forces in our lives, limiting the degree of uncertainty about how the world works to something manageable. When discussing the “current economic crisis,” Benedict says that, “uncertainty over working conditions caused by mobility and deregulation, when it becomes endemic, tends to create new forms of psychological instability, giving rise to difficulty in forging coherent life-plans” (¶ 25). The assessment of the cause of the current crisis, especially as expressed in such broad terms, may be controversial, but I don’t think that it will be controversial that uncertainty causes difficulty in forging a coherent life-plan.
Second, community must be guided by fraternity or solidarity. It is by this that Benedict criticizes a rights-only approach to world problems. “Reason, by itself, is capable of grasping the equality between men and of giving stability to their civic coexistence, but it cannot establish fraternity” (¶ 19). But insofar as we see that all are children of God, and hence beloved by the Beloved, the fraternal desire for our brother’s good comes naturally. I say, “insofar as we see,” with the awareness that, even at our best, this vision is imperfect.
Third, community must be guided by the principle of subsidiarity. This addresses an epistemic limitation that is shared by all finite creatures. We cannot know from any perspective but our own. Naturally, I know myself better than I know my closest family members, and I know them better than I know the resident of 344 Clinton St, Apt 3B. The closer a person is to me, the better I know his needs and desires, and how these fit into his overall the life-plans,
By my reckoning, but apparently not by Benedict’s, the knowledge problem addressed by the principle of subsidiarity finds its most perfect solution in a market economy. Market economies are capable of translating information about the needs and desires of billions of people into dollars and cents. It is a mistake made not only by the free market detractors but even by some of its advocates to think that free markets are fueled by selfish motives. They are not. They are fueled by self-interest, which includes many things that are not only not selfish, but even morally obligatory. The parent, for instance, who wishes to nourish and support his child, acts in self-interest whenever he does good for that child and against his self-interest whenever he causes the child harm. And while it is true that the market’s successful solution to the knowledge problem does not force me to feel any solidarity with my brother, it does require entrepeneurs to think in ways that are other-directed, since without a keen ear for the needs and desires of others, he will never be a successful businessman.
What Benedict does recognize, however, is that the market translates cruël and vicious motives as easily as it translates virtuous motives. He mentions the practice of sex tourism as an extreme example (¶ 61), but hints at others less extreme. Part of the remedy for the neutrality of the market’s calculus is better “formation,” which Benedict calls education, almost certainly while thinking of the Greek notion of paideia. In essence, the people involved in the system (everyone) have to have a measure of virtue and wisdom themselves if the system is going to promote human flourishing. What Judge Robert Bork once said of the US Constitution can be said of any system or institution: “it is impossible to design a [system] so perfect that no one has to be good.”5 Let this be a fourth principle for a life-affirming community, that “institutions by themselves are not enough [for] integral human development” (¶ 11).
Do these four principles (and their relation to what I called the appetitive aspect of a community’s constitution) help to address my concern about Benedict’s criticism of culture? I believe it helps, in that it provides a framework for assessing our culture, and whatever binds it together. To whatever extent the dynamics of a culture work against these four principles (and others), we should work towards changing it. I still have doubts about Benedict’s specific diagnosis of the illness as materialism, utilitarianism, hedonism, and relativism. But it may be possible for his argument without too much alteration to be strengthened by appealing to observable dynamics that run against life-affirming principles. For these dynamics, like social action, always include and exclude various ideologies.
