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May I say how much I am enjoying the Concourse? The high quality of the featured debates and of the articles by Kathleen van Schaijik, Richard Gordon and Mark Fischer is a good advertisement for FUS. As one of the signers with David Schindler of the 1994 statement, "A Civilization of Love," let me try to respond to Michael Welker's article "God and Caesar" in Issue 3. It seems to me that he has not grasped the essence of the debate. He writes that Schindler's call for a "radically new economic beginning" implies "total conversion of society at every level and in every institution," and comments that Schindler "proposes radical transformation without enough emphasis on the fact of sin." The first of these claims is a caricature and the second is inaccurate. He also suggests that Schindler puts a priority on the transformation of society rather than the conversion of hearts. This is simply not true. Welker concludes that our present economic system is not "the necessary outgrowth of a particular idea" but " the result of innumerable concrete choices made by individuals day by day," and that Schindler's proposal is unrealistic in a pluralist democracy. Our economic system is indeed the result of innumerable individual acts of choice. But human choice is largely exercised on the (non-infinite) range of alternatives placed before us, and thus is always--in every economic system--channeled by the complex set of rules and assumptions that determine those limits. The assumptions of our own society are in important respects derived not from the Judeo-Christian tradition (at least not directly), but rather from an Enlightenment ideology that embodies a false concept of human freedom. To see this is not to deny any of the sensible points made by the neo-conservatives, including the need for incremental reforms accompanied by individual conversion. However, it is to become more realistic and less naively romantic about the prospects for piecemeal and incremental reform in a system that is flawed by such assumptions. Schindler is a theologian rather than an economist, but economists ignore theology at their peril. His concern is the theological and anthropological assumptions that get built into economic thinking. Without an understanding of what he calls "onto-logic," and of the way our human freedom gets channeled by social structures and habits of thought, individual efforts to bring about improvement may end up only making things worse.
Stratford Caldecott, Centre for Faith and Culture, Westminster College, Oxford Michael Welker replies: I am grateful and honored that a signatory of the "Civilization of Love" statement has written in to help clarify the terms of the debate. It may be that I misunderstood aspects of Schindler's argument, as it was laid out in the Catholic World Report interview cited in my article. My main concern was more with how I think many people are likely to interpret Schindler than with his ideas as such. Perhaps in order to make my point, I unintentionally mischaracterized his argument. I also want to say that I am in agreement with the fundamental tenets of the joint statement, which highlights the fact that "a universal call to holiness ...demands nothing less than a change of lifestyle," as well as with Mr. Caldecott's remark that "economists ignore theology at their peril." This is why I, as a Catholic economist, struggle to integrate the findings of economic scientific analysis with the framework and guidelines provided by the social doctrine of the Church. But even granting Mr. Caldecott's helpful criticisms, I still have reservations about how Schindler's discussion of the "structures of sin" and the need for radical change might be practically implemented. I am fearful of a certain scenario that has often played out in the course of history: well-meaning national/community leaders, guided by praiseworthy moral tenets, pursue political, economic, social and cultural reforms, which end by impinging on liberty, precipitating the decline of whole segments of society, and creating all sorts of other unintended negative consequences. When I read the joint statement and observe the discussions regarding the culture of love, I am always asking myself these sorts of questions: What is this society supposed to look like? How are we going to arrive at the result it calls for? How do "structures of sin" become transformed other than through personal conversion? And how will the "Enlightenment ideology" which undergirds our present system be transformed in such a way that Trinitarian and right anthropological assumptions will be properly accounted for? (The answer to this latter is, I think, to be found in the phenomenlogical and hermeneutical tasks, which have yet to convincingly bring about reforms in the method of economic analysis and thought.) I ask these questions because, as a social scientist devoted to the social doctrines, I am seeking practical means and methods of bringing our present system into better conformity with the truth about man. I raise certain cautions in order to help us avoid the danger of spiritual elitism, which can undermine our efforts. Moreover, I am anxious lest the proverbial pendulum swings so far the other way that we wind up with a set of public policies designed to legislate a culture of love. I know this is not what is intended by the Communio group; but it can happen so easily if we do not pay sufficient attention to the practical consequences of our best ideas. There are usually more ways than one to obtain a worthwhile social goal, and I am extremely leery of the way so often resorted to in practice: i.e. more government intervention in our lives. Economic analysis has the task of studying the way an economy works. From such analyses, principles can be derived which may help us establish concrete means of transforming the structures of sin. I am asking for deep integration between the science of economics and theology--because economics is a valuable tool of reform which can help provide solutions to the serious problems related to American capitalism.
I would like to add to the NFP con-versation by discussing breastfeeding as an integral part of "normative" Catholic family life (though I whole-heartedly agree that we must take care to avoid judging individual families.) There is a way that a couple can be "providentialist" (in the sense of "letting God decide" how many children they will have) and still know that their children will probably be spaced far enough apart that adequate emotional, spiritual and physical resources will be available for each new infant who arrives. Breastfeeding is the key. Breastfeeding affects the return of fertility after birth. A mother often is consumed with the care and nurturing of her new infant, and cannot adequately care for another in just nine months. By God's beautiful design, her fertility will not return for perhaps a few months. But consistent breastfeeding can suppress the return of fertility for 1-3 years. The more the child nurses, the more likely fertility is postponed. This means that the needy, fussy, colicky infant who wishes to nurse often will tend to delay his mother's return to fertility longer than the content, comfortable infant who nurses less and may wean earlier. In a sense, the infant tells his mother when it is okay for her to have another, and he is most likely right. More could be said about the benefits of nursing (e.g. nutrition, bonding, security), but my point here is that "natural family planning" involves more than using the Sympto-Thermal Method for fertility awareness. Breastfeeding can be used to space children in a way that naturally incorporates the unique needs of each child. A couple could conceivably (pun intended) throw their fertility charts out the window after the first child, and let the mother/infant nursing relationship determine when fertility (and the chance of conception) will return to the family. Breastfeeding is a wonderful physical, emotional and physiological act between a mother and her child, and it is Very Natural Family Planning.
Daniel Ellis, Class of '88
For what it's worth, I count myself among those on the faculty pressing for fundamental structural reform in the core curriculum at Franciscan University. Are we a minority? I do not know. What difference does it make? As Paul Claudel (I think it was) said to his young friend Jacques Riviere, in part to remedy the latter's distress of mind over the few actual Christians in the universe--What has truth got to do with numbers? The truth of the matter, as I see it, is that far too many of our students graduate from this University without having experienced a liberal education. By that I mean what the critic Mark Van Doren meant in his book Liberal Education, namely, "those things we are not at liberty to omit"--like theology, philosophy, history, literature, music, art and science. Matthew Arnold's idea of the best that men have thought and felt from the beginning seems to me not a bad place to begin. In other words, those disciplines which determine at the deepest level what it means to be a human being; pursuits which enable the mind and heart of the student to be most completely free; free from the oppressions of ignorance, free to become, as Dante said of Aristotle, "the master of those who know." Are we educating our students in that way? I doubt it. Ask any graduate what books he or she remembers, what authors decisively shaped his or her mind or soul or sensibility, and not one in fifty will have a clue as to the immense patrimony of literature which, alas, they were never required to read. I know a young woman, devout and intelligent, who spends her evenings reading Willa Cather and Sigrid Undset because, despite four years of undergraduate education at this University, the only imaginative writer she'd ever heard of was Stephen King. It is one thing to admit students who have not read Homer or Sophocles; but to graduate them without their having read them is indecent. Not to mention the whole Patristic and Medieval and Renaissance worlds. I dread to think the number of theology majors who have not read a line of Irenaeus or Augustine, Anselm or Aquinas. And what of Dante or Shakespeare, between whom all of literature can be divided? Or Pascal, that brooding genius of the French baroque? Or Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, those two towering figures of 19th century Russian literature? Or a host of modern writers from Newman to Eliot, from Chesterton to de Lubac, to John Paul II? And then there is the whole vibrant world of art and music, about which so many of our students know and experience nothing. To leave such luminous creations of the human spirit unseen, unread, and unfelt is an education unworthy of a Catholic university. St. Augustine, in a sublime passage from the Confessions which the Pope quotes on the opening page of his Apostolic Constitution On Catholic Universities, reminds us that "the blessed life insists in the joy that comes from the truth, since this joy comes from You who are Truth." If this is so then hadn't we better get busy imparting to all our students that truth insofar as it may be found in the enduring monuments of human civilization? "Everything good and everything beautiful belongs to us," St. Justin Martyr writes. (Thus even pagans witness to the Word to the extent they speak and write truly!) Because the same Logos who illumines all things is the proper end of all men, we are obliged to pass on to our students all that is worth knowing about God and man and the world. Under the circumstances, we simply cannot pretend that real education is happening here until all our students--however disparate their course work or vocational interests may be (and certainly it is proper that those differences persist and be respected)--undertake to experience genuine and sustained encounters with the intellectual and spiritual giants on whose shoulders we all gratefully stand.
Regis Martin, Associate Professor of Theology
The discussion of Thomism and phenomenology is both insightful and helpful. It remains to be said that what Thomas teaches is simply more true, more in accord with the grandeur of reality, than is Phenomenological teaching. In his Metaphysics (IV, 4) Aristotle says: "it is impossible that there should be demonstration of everything (there would be an infinite regress, so that there would still be no demonstration.)" In the case of Thomism and phenomenology, it is true that Thomas sounds the depth of creation's ontological splendor, while the phenomenologist does not. This truth cannot be demonstrated to infinity; it must be perceived by the intellect.
Courtney Scharfe (MA Philosophy)
To begin, I want to add my voice to those praising this journal and the forum it provides for legitimate points of debate concerning the University and larger issues of Catholic intellectual life. Well done! In addition, I wish to respond more specifically to the cover article of the April 10 issue: "Democracy: the voice of God or the madness of the mob?" My short answer to this question is that democracy (in the United States) is neither, but I get the impression that the author tends too much to the latter position. Ms. Bratten brings to light many important objections to "that set of notions" which comprise the "democratic ideal," and it is important to maintain such a critical attitude toward an institutional ideal that has been heralded so uncritically by Americans of every sort since this nation's beginnings. The mediocrity fostered by a wrong-headed passion for "equality" is a real problem--one Tocqueville recognized long ago: "When I survey this countless multitude of beings, shaped in each other's likeness, amidst whom nothing rises and nothing falls, the sight of such universal uniformity saddens and chills me..." More recently, George Kennan, author of the policy of "containment" and one of the most influential American diplomats of the 20th century, has also bemoaned the effect of public opinion and electioneering on the making of American foreign policy, citing these as the root cause of foreign relations blunders. The alternatives to relying on popular opinion, however, are highly problematic--to a degree Ms. Bratten fails to appreciate. There, in fact, have been various sorts of aristocracies in this country, from the Puritan ministers of the 17th century to the deistic founding fathers of the 18th century to the liberal Christian reformers in the 19th century to secular academics and politicians of the 20th century. Each of these groups believed that they were the most educated and virtuous of all Americans and sought in various ways to impart their wisdom to the rest of society, often with results not wholly beneficial from the perspective of Catholic sensibility. To put my point more succinctly, and to spare readers endless examples, I believe that a study of American history reveals that often Ms. Bratten's patronized "common man," has proved wiser than his allegedly more "educated and far-sighted" counterparts. Tocqueville and Kennan, in the end, admitted the benefits of democracy outweigh its detriments; both in 1840 and 1950, these observers agreed that democracy in America was superior to any other form of government with which they were familiar. Ms. Bratten admits that democracy may be "the most practicable structure for a particular time and people," and here we are agreed. I think it is helpful to consider democracy as a principle of government as distinguished from democracy as a philosophy of life, ala John Dewey. Ms. Bratten's failure to make this distinction may be the source of our disagreement. Indeed, I wholeheartedly reject the kind of democratic philosophy that posits the equality of ideas as a corollary of the equality of men. I further agree that equality doesn't entail an admission of equal ability, virtue or wisdom. But I want to warn against a sanguine eagerness to advocate the accumulation of power into the hands of a few, when there is no guarantee that these few will be truly wise and virtuous according to the standards of objective truth. Ms. Bratten looks to Nietzsche for an answer to this problem, and she is right to dub this the "most unlikely of places." Nietzsche did, to be sure, reject the democratic ideal, but his solution was hardly inspired by Christian virtue. To counter the levelling tendency of modern society, the troubled German philosopher argued for the dominance of the "strong." For Nietzsche, however, the "strong" were those capable of exerting their will against all opposition. To quote from the text cited by Ms. Bratten, The Genealogy of Morals: "To sacrifice humanity as mass to the welfare of a single stronger human species would indeed constitute progress..." Ms. Bratten has pointed out aptly the dangers of a democratic philosophy of life; Nietzsche's willingness to sacrifice the weak in deference to the strong starkly displays the dangers of an aristocratic philosophy of life.
Kevin E. Schmiesing, Class of '94
Providentialism and rock music Concerning NFP and "providentialism," a brief remark: Just as we need to know the motivation of those who practice NFP before we criticize their actions, we also need to know the motivation of "providentialist" parents before we praise them too freely. Does their attitude toward family-planning flow from self-giving generosity? (in which case it cannot be praised highly enough); or is it triggered by the selfishness of husbands who are unwilling to make the slightest sacrifice for the sake of their wives, who might desperately need a break? I have known large families in which the wife was clearly at the very end of her strength, but her husband would not have dreamt of abstaining from what he considered his "right." It is easy to convince oneself that one is obeying God's law, when in fact, one is self-seeking. Omnis homo mendax. Or it can be a case of "mixed motivation," (which my husband expounded so powerfully in his Moralia.) We can pass judgments on acts; God alone knows a person's motivation. Concerning rock music: God is not only beautiful; He is Beauty itself. The great artist is a "seer" (Plato) who has been granted a glimpse of this beauty and humbly tries to incarnate it in a work of art. Just as the philosopher is a lover of wisdom, the artist is a lover of beauty, and, thanks to the talent God has entrusted to him, he can capture a modest ray of His glory. That the angelic music of Mozart speaks of a higher world of harmony and beauty is a given to anyone who has ears to hear. Cardinal Newman has expressed this mysterious truth in the following words: "they are outpourings of the eternal harmony in the medium of created sound; they are echoes of our home; they are the voice of angels, or the magnificat of the saints, or the living laws of divine governance, or divine attributes..." (OUS, XV) It is noteworthy that Mark Fischer's challenging defense of rock music hardly mentioned Beauty, which is the warp and woof of any authentic artistic creation. Is it because rock and roll's powerful attraction stems, not from beauty, but rather from its "honesty" and its subjective "emotional power"? Then the word "art" definitely acquires a very different meaning. My question is: can rock and roll--under whatever form--ever qualify to be called "the voice of the angels, the magnificat of the saints"? I personally doubt it.
Alice von Hildebrand, (retired) Professor Emeritus,Hunter College, New York
© The University Concourse, April 23, 1996 |
