In the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, a collection of wise stories and sayings from the first Christian monks, the following is attributed to one Abba Zeno: “Never lay a foundation on which you might sometime build yourself a cell.” This saying has at least two possible applications: 1) Do not start something you do not intend to see through. 2) Do not put off for tomorrow the asceticism you can do today. Unfortunately, both of these lessons are lost on our federal government when it comes to financial responsibility, and it is our children who will pay for the sins of their fathers.
Dylan Pahman,a research associate at the Acton Institute, has an interesting contribution to the contemporary understanding and application of natural law over at Ethika Politika where he is a contributing editor. What makes the essay (Natural Law, Public Policy, and the Uncanny Voice of Conscience: An Orthodox Response to David Bentley Hart) even more interesting is that Pahman, like Hart, is an Orthodox Christian and so it is from within that tradition that he engages the debate.
Please take a moment to go over to Ethika Politika and read the essay and maybe even join the discussion. For those who might be interested, here’s my response to Dylan’s essay.
First of all, well said Dylan! As do you, I admire Hart’s writing, the elegance of his language and the intricacy of his thought are breath taking. Above all, however, is his command of the sources, Christian and non-Christian, ancient, medieval, modern and post-modern. This makes the absence of any treatment of conscience in his critique of natural law all the more glaring. That individuals, and even whole communities, are often wrong about the Good, the True, the Just and the Beautiful (see Philippians 4:8) doesn’t mean these aren’t “really real” as my intro to philosophy professor would often remind us. In its own way, error testifies to the existence of the truth, even as evil does to good, injustice to justice and the ugly to the beautiful.
A careful attention to my own experience reveals that I am often mistaken about what is morally good through simple, and even innocent, ignorance. But on only slightly closer inspection I also realize that there are times when I am not so much mistaken about the good as I am indifferent and even hostile to it. While divine grace makes clear to me that I am forgiven, I need only minimal self-knowledge to know that I fall short of what it means to be fully and distinctively human. While Freud and the other advocates of a hermeneutic of suspicion have helped us fill in the details of our myriad moral failures, they didn’t discover that the human heart can be stone hard or that we often fail to be our best selves.
This brings me to Fr. David’s observation. Like him, I worry we have “reached that point where conscience has become so coarsened that rational discourse in the public square is becoming more and more difficult.” This is certainly the case in the larger culture—of greater concern to me, however, is that this seems also to be the case within the Christian community. For all his eloquence and command of the sources, Hart is arguing not simply against natural law but (as you imply) against human reason’s ability to know, however incompletely, moral truth.
In my own ministry as an Orthodox priest I have found that this denigration of reason’s ability to know what is, and isn’t, morally good common not only among the laity but even among the clergy. For this reason I find myself in fundamental agreement with Fr David when he says that the “very understanding of conscience has been so distorted that I think it perhaps has gone beyond a nearsightedness or color-blindedness.” Like their Catholic brothers and sisters in Christ, many Orthodox Christians hold views on matters such as abortion or same-sex marriage that are at odds with the Tradition.
Given the rather thin cultural understanding of reason, I think an re-evangelization of Christians—to say nothing of the culture—will likely not “take place as people imagine … primarily through realm of ideas and arguments or education programs,” though these will have their place, “but rather through witnessing to the cross through word and deed – the ascetical life and self sacrifice.” To Father’s observation I would add the witness of liturgy and the philanthropic ministry of the Church (which I think is probably implied by “self-sacrifice”).
Again, well done!
Does work matter? Yes and for more than purely pragmatic reasons. Take a look:
In honorable work we produce not only products for bodily consumption but virtue, heavenly treasure, for our souls. In our distribution, that is, in the purpose for which we exchange the products or wages of our work, we broaden our interests to include the common good and the kingdom of God, especially hope for those who live in darkness. And in our exchanges themselves we remember that the goal is mutual benefit and service, shunning the immorality of monopolistic, one-sided, and anti-competitive advantage, remembering that the commandment, “You shall not steal” (Exodus 20:15), has broader implications than literal burglary.
Now go read the rest here.
Dylan Pahman of the Acton Institute has a provocative post on St John Damascus. Pahman argues that we can look to the example and explicit teaching of St John as a defense on the limits of government relative to both communities (specifically to the Church but I think the point is more broadly applicable) and personal conscience.
For St. John of Damascus and all of the Orthodox with him, there was a clear limit to government power: it could not intrude uninvited into the realm of the Church and could not command its subjects to defy what their consciences knew to be the truth. Any power it had was given from above, and thus could not be absolute. In such circumstances, he found himself “[c]ompelled to speak by a fear that cannot be borne.” And his effort for the sake of truth and freedom proved invaluable. The theology of the Seventh Ecumenical Council in 787 (Nicaea II) is largely dependent upon his three treatises.
Even after the brief period of peace in which the council was called, the iconoclasts again regained power and the persecution continued, only ending in 843 on what is known in the Orthodox Church as the Triumph of Orthodoxy. St. John of Damascus reposed sometime before 750, having never seen the fruits of his labors in the flesh. Yet, his example is one of hope to many who have contended for freedom and faith from his own time to the present day. And for that I, at least, commemorate him today and commend the same to any others who treasure faith and freedom in our own time.
You can read the whole essay here.