State

Scalia’s Death

It is hard to imagine America without Antonin Scalia. Hero to conservatives, bête noire to the left, Scalia was a judge unlike any other judge in the history of the Republic. And his death seems momentous in a way that other events in the life of the Republic in recent years have not. There will be more politicians, more elections, more crises, domestic and international, and more wars. (At least until the Lord returns and this world passes away.) But there will not be another Scalia. And we have lost something with his passing that we will not likely get back.

We recall, on June 26 last year, when the Supreme Court handed down its decision in Obergefell v. Hodges, scrolling quickly past the majority opinion and Chief Justice John Roberts’s dissent to get to Justice Antonin Scalia’s dissent. We assumed, given the indications of Justice Kennedy, that the majority decision would say that marriage extended to same-sex couples. We assumed that Chief Justice Roberts would deplore the way in which the decision was reached. And we didn’t really care. What we wanted to see was what Scalia had to say. And his dissent in Obergefell was a barn-burning attack on the reasoning (or lack thereof) of the majority opinion.

It was not the first time that we wanted to see what Scalia had to say first. And we were not alone in skipping the boring parts to see the fireworks. (Unfortunately, like the professor he was at heart, Scalia punished those of us who didn’t read the majority opinion by referring to it and quoting from it at length, requiring us to scroll back up repeatedly to see what he was talking about.)

It is unlikely that any other justice on the Supreme Court occupied the imagination of the public—lawyers and laymen alike—quite the way Scalia did. His public persona—blunt, witty, and brilliant—was balanced by stories of his devotion to Christ and Christ’s Church, his unlikely friendship with Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and his role as patriarch of a large family. Some of our acquaintances in the Washington area reported seeing Scalia regularly at the traditional Latin Mass offered at Mary Mother of God. But above all of this was his reputation as a writer: usually incisive, often witty, occasionally caustic, but always clear and always tightly reasoned. And we imagine that judges across the land, at every level, took a cue from Scalia and started expressing themselves and their views clearly and directly, too. (And some state courts we could name have, we think, very mightily struggled to avoid Scalia-style opinions. But even this is a testament to his influence.)

Even people who did not especially like Scalia were impressed by his incisive intellect. We had a very slight connection to him—to outline it would be a little gauche, so we’ll say it was on the order of a friend of a friend or something like that—and the impression we got was that he was blunt, witty, and brilliant, even as a young man. But the impressive thing is how many people, even his ideological adversaries, liked Scalia tremendously. There was something about his “Italian from Queens” style that was charming and disarming, even to his opponents.

And for all these reasons, as we noted above, Scalia’s death seems momentous in a way that other events in the recent life of the Republic have not. Perhaps coming very near the reason why, at First Things, Elliot Milco has a brief appreciation of Scalia. He writes,

Antonin Scalia was a hero to me, as he was to thousands, perhaps millions of conservative Americans. He was brilliant. He was morally engaged. His prose sparkled. He was the great champion of the Right, and he could not be silenced or voted out, no matter how much the press despised him. While his enemies pushed relentlessly to have their views enshrined as fundamental principles of free society, Scalia fought to keep the moral question open for debate, to maintain the possibility of reasonable dissent, because he believed that in a fair fight, we could still prevail. He was the mighty rearguard in our long and slow defeat.

The passing of Antonin Scalia is the passing of a great figure in American political life—a true jurist of the sort rarely seen in recent decades. For those of us on the Right, the death of this great man is devastating. In the past forty years the Supreme Court has been the site of so many crucial revisions of the fundamental law of our government. Who can say how his successor will affect the balance of power in this country, or for how long? Without him, or someone like him, we can guess what’s to come. More revision, more exclusion, more decay.

(Emphasis supplied.) This seems correct to us. It is unclear to us that anyone else could step into the breach and mount the thunderous defense of reason and justice that Scalia did for so long. Even when the forces of this world and the lord of this world won great victories—and they did win great victories, though only for a little while—Scalia could always drive them to paroxysms of fury with a turn of phrase or a careful dissection of a non-argument. They might have won, but they undoubtedly didn’t like how hard they had to work to do so when Scalia was watching. And, as we say, it is far from clear that anyone can fill that role quite like he did.

And, in all the memorials and remembrances, we think it is especially important to remember that Scalia was a champion of civil liberties, especially liberties that are important for criminal defendants. Scalia did much to save the Confrontation Clause of the Sixth Amendment from the constitutional dustheap, and he routinely voted in favor of robust Fourth Amendment protections. For him, these provisions were not impediments to effective police work, but necessary guarantees that protect citizens from police overreach. And he formed a remarkably durable coalition with liberal justices to provide much needed majorities to protect these rights. (We suspect that, very soon, the people thrilled today that their old nemesis is gone will miss him.)

Of your charity, pray for the repose of his soul.

Henry VIII and Hampton Court Vespers

Prof. Jack Scarisbrick, an expert on Henry VIII, has a piece at the Catholic Herald that begins,

How would King Henry VIII react to the news that Cardinal Vincent Nichols will preside at Catholic Vespers in the Chapel Royal of Hampton Court Palace on February 9? Not just by turning in his grave (which anyway might be difficult since it is possible, if not probable, that his daughter Mary, when she became queen, had his tomb opened and his embalmed body burnt). No, there would be seething, bewildered anger and ruthless revenge immediately planned.

He was hard on English cardinals anyway. Cardinal Wolsey, who built magnificent Hampton Court (too magnificent for Henry’s comfort), would probably have lost his head had he not died a natural death a few days before facing a rigged trial for high treason. When John Fisher was given a red hat on the eve of martyrdom, Henry famously vowed that the bishop would never have a head to put it on – and carried out his threat.

(Emphasis supplied.) Read the whole thing there. We won’t spoil it for you, except to say that Professor Scarisbrick demolishes the idea that Henry VIII was some sort of Catholic.

 

Update on Catholic Action

Updating our Link Roundup from yesterday, we note that, at The Josias today, “Petrus Hispanus” responds to Gabriel Sanchez. Notably, “Petrus Hispanus” argues,

Leo XIII and St. Pius X favored the strategy of Catholic Action because they came to believe, as a matter of strategy, that still-dominant Catholic majorities in many countries could be rallied under a single party in order to use democracy as a weapon against liberalism. The faithful majorities, it was hoped, would vote liberalism out of existence under the leadership of Catholic Action parties. From this miscalculation, possibly brought on by the success of German Catholics against Bismarck, would ultimately come that spectacle of progressive alignment of Catholic politicians with liberalism that was “Christian democracy.”

All of this, of course, is not to impugn on the many excellent things done by Catholic Action in many countries, or to judge the motives these saintly and venerable Popes had in favoring it. Indeed, under the circumstances they faced, it is difficult to imagine what alternative they had in most cases, seeing as the political links with the ancien régime had almost entirely vanished and a new way of “doing Catholic politics” needed to be implemented seriously, one to which the example of Germany and others gave true practical plausibility.  

(Emphasis supplied.) This is a fascinating debate, which we shall continue to follow with great interest.

A little more on socialism after Iowa

No sooner did we discuss whether a Catholic could support Bernie Sanders due to Sanders’s self-identification as a democratic socialist did Fr. Dwight Longenecker take up the question at Patheos. Ultimately, he argues that a Catholic could vote for a democratic socialist, but that Sanders’s standard-issue positions on abortion and marriage are serious problems for Catholic voters. (He cites a 2002 voter’s guide, which does not appear to have been updated to reflect Cardinal Ratzinger’s 2004 memorandum.) This is, of course, more or less what we said, but we still think that Sanders’s concept of socialism remains, by and large, too murky to make a clear up-or-down decision. As it stands—and notwithstanding Longenecker’s citations to Benedict XVI—it unclear to us what is distinctively socialist about Sanders’s position. Based upon some prepared remarks of his from November, it is far from clear that his concept of socialism is actually socialism as the Church has long understood it. (Cf. 3 Grenier, Thomistic Philosophy, nos. 1150–51.) But, as Paul VI noted, that does not mean that there are not connections between Sanders’s thought and more explicitly (actually?) socialist thinking, with all of its implications.

“Octogesima adveniens” and socialism after the Iowa Democratic caucus

We have so far refrained from discussing secular politics. (We have not refrained from discussing Church politics, though perhaps we ought to have done.) As of the time of writing, CNN reported that Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders and former Secretary of State (and New York Senator) Hillary Clinton tied in the Iowa caucuses, 50-50. Later in the day, CNN reported that Clinton beat Sanders. That’s consistent with the reporting of the Des Moines Register that Clinton beat Sanders, 49.86% to 49.57%. The New York Times reported early today essentially a tie, though that became a narrow victory as the day wore on. In any event, Sanders did very well in Iowa, considering Clinton’s commitment to winning the caucus and the fact that, at one point, she led him in polls by nearly fifty points. And Sanders will likely do well in New Hampshire, barring some unforeseen shift in that state’s electorate. Recalling that Sanders is a self-professed democratic socialist, it seems like a good time to mention again Paul VI’s Octogesima adveniens, which we have discussed previously at some length.

We mention this largely because Sanders’s economic policies seem at least not inconsistent with some of the traditional teachings of the Church on economic matters. (Notwithstanding the Actonistas’ insistence that the free market is de fide tenenda, if not de fide credenda, and notwithstanding some of the frankly hysterical criticism of the Holy Father for suggesting that the rising tide of capitalism has not yet lifted most boats, much less all boats.) Consequently, there are many sharp Catholics of our acquaintance, very traditionally minded, who are at least open to supporting Sanders. Now, there is another very serious issue with supporting any Democratic candidate (who is likely to receive any serious support from Democratic primary voters), but the resolution of that issue is generally fairly complex and we will accordingly pass over it quickly. Given Sanders’ self-identification as a democratic socialist (whatever that means, and we’ll come back to that in a minute), it is appropriate to consider the extent to which Catholics can support a self-identified democratic socialist.

And that is the question that Paul VI addresses briefly in Octogesima adveniens. In some sense, as we may have noted previously, Octogesima adveniens was Paul’s attempt to walk back some of the more extreme interpretations of Populorum progressio, his encyclical commemorating Rerum novarum. (Octogesima adveniens was not, in point of fact, an encyclical letter.) At any rate, he discussed the extent to which Christians may cooperate with “socialist currents”:

Some Christians are today attracted by socialist currents and their various developments. They try to recognize therein a certain number of aspirations which they carry within themselves in the name of their faith. They feel that they are part of that historical current and wish to play a part within it. Now this historical current takes on, under the same name, different forms according to different continents and cultures, even if it drew its inspiration, and still does in many cases, from ideologies incompatible with faith. Careful judgment is called for. Too often Christians attracted by socialism tend to idealize it in terms which, apart from anything else, are very general: a will for justice, solidarity and equality. They refuse to recognize the limitations of the historical socialist movements, which remain conditioned by the ideologies from which they originated. Distinctions must be made to guide concrete choices between the various levels of expression of socialism: a generous aspiration and a seeking for a more just society, historical movements with a political organization and aim, and an ideology which claims to give a complete and self-sufficient picture of man. Nevertheless, these distinctions must not lead one to consider such levels as completely separate and independent. The concrete link which, according to circumstances, exists between them must be clearly marked out. This insight will enable Christians to see the degree of commitment possible along these lines, while safeguarding the values, especially those of liberty, responsibility and openness to the spiritual, which guarantee the integral development of man.

As we have noted before, none of this necessarily forbids a Catholic from cooperating with socialist currents. However, such cooperation involves a serious, intelligent consideration of the “various levels of expression of socialism,” recalling, of course, that one cannot really separate the broad-stroke, solidarity-and-equality stuff from “an ideology which claims to give a complete and self-sufficient picture of man.” Thus, a Catholic interested in supporting Sanders must consider the level of expression of socialism that Sanders himself articulates. And it is unclear to us that Sanders’s notion of socialism extends beyond “a generous aspiration and a seeking for a more just society,” though a society that is still terrifyingly unjust to some people. (Recall that the right to private property is not absolute, whatever else it may be.)

However, due to broader currents in American politics, it is awfully difficult to get an understanding of how Sanders conceives of his socialism. To put it another way, Sanders does not seem especially interested in running as an ideological socialist. (Even when it would be to his benefit to do so: for example, a Marxist would have a more coherent answer to the nagging attacks from Sanders’s “left” on race relations.) And without that ideological element, it is hard for a Catholic to get a good read on just how far Sanders’s democratic socialism runs. And without that good read, it is hard to conduct the careful analysis called for by Octogesima adveniens.

In other words, it is possible for a Catholic to come, in good conscience, to the conclusion that Sanders can be supported due to his economic positions. (Other positions he has marked out are, of course, a different story.) However, given the difficulty in having a discussion about socialism, the process of coming to that conclusion remains murky. But that Catholics are forced into sort of complicated situations like this at all is to be deplored. We recall, of course, the great Divini Redemptoris of Pius XI, in which Papa Ratti, the great prophet of the twentieth century, noted,

Procul dubio asseverari potest Ecclesiam, acque ac divinum eius auctorem, « bene faciendo » aetatem suam traducere. Neque socialistarum, neque communistarum errores usquequaque serperent, si Ecclesiae praecepta maternaque eius adhortamenta populorum moderatores non detrectassent; qui quidem, cum Liberalismi ac Laicismi, ut aiunt, principia ac normas complexi essent, ad istiusmodi placita atque fallacias, publicae rei ordinationem temperationemque ita instruxere, ut, quamvis primo oculorum obtutu aliquid magnum se effecisse viderentur, evanescere tamen pedetemptim finita ab se consilia ac proposita cernerent; quemadmodum quidquid in uno illo non consistit primario lapide, qui Christus est, necessario oportet miserrime collabi.

(Emphasis supplied.) We give the Latin here at least in part because the English translation of this passage is really—weirdly—unsatisfactory:

It may be said in all truth that the Church, like Christ, goes through the centuries doing good to all. There would be today neither Socialism nor Communism if the rulers of the nations had not scorned the teachings and maternal warnings of the Church. On the bases of liberalism and laicism they wished to build other social edifices which, powerful and imposing as they seemed at first, all too soon revealed the weakness of their foundations, and today are crumbling one after another before our eyes, as everything must crumble that is not grounded on the one corner stone which is Christ Jesus.

(Emphasis supplied.)

Indeed. 

I’ll have to go to Las Vegas or Monaco

A little while back, at The Paraphasic, Elliot Milco had a lengthy post on the definition of capitalism. One may be excused for missing the discussions in various places over the last eighteen months, but the question of capitalism is one of the most vexing questions for serious Catholic thinkers. (It should be, anyway.) In the American Church, doctrinal conservatives are usually (not always, but usually) political conservatives. Consequently, Catholic doctrinal conservatives tend to favor the sort of robust—unrestrained?—free-market capitalism favored on the American political right. However, the Church has long been suspicious—since Rerum novarum, in fact—of the sort of robust free-market capitalism that is so popular among conservative American Catholics. This creates tensions, especially since many traditionally minded Catholics reject the conservative political consensus that capitalism is hugely virtuous.

Last month, we noted that the lack of a workable definition of economic liberalism created issues for traditionally minded Catholics in arguing against the robust-free-market positions taken by doctrinally conservative Catholics who have thrown in with American political conservatives. We proposed a definition articulated by the great Canadian Thomist Henri Grenier in his Thomistic Philosophy. Elliot Milco identifies a similar problem with respect to the definition of capitalism, and he sets out to work out a good, functional definition.

It seems clear that the “obvious” definition of Capitalism in the air (i.e. the one which occurs most readily) is something like this: Capitalism is a model of commercial activity in which the maximization of profits is pursued as the primary (or even exclusive) end of business.

(Emphasis in original.) He then examines some of the limitations of this definition and comes up with a slightly restated definition:

Capitalism is a model of commercial activity in which we attempt, through labor, exchange, and other means, to maximize our assets, considered in terms of their exchange value, and pursue this maximization as the primary or even exclusive end of commerce.

(Emphasis in original.) This definition seems to us to be very workable, at least as a starting place when discussing capitalism in the context of the Church’s traditional social teaching.

To understand why Milco’s definition works, even if one thinks that it could be improved, perhaps we had better look at an older definition. Which, of course, means turning to Henri Grenier’s Thomistic Philosophy again. Grenier first gives the definition of capital:

Capital, according to its strict meaning in Economics, is defined: the part of produced wealth reserved or in actual use for new production; v.g., instruments and machines of every kind, the various kinds of primary products required for production, and the whole gamut of economic operations.

In modern usage, any kind of wealth is called capital; and capital is divided into social capital and juridical capital.

Under the heading of social capital come all wealth and material goods of all kinds.

Under the heading of juridical capital come money and things of pecuniary value.

(3 Thomistic Philosophy § 1145, 1º) (italics in original and emphasis supplied). With that in place, Grenier proceeds to define capitalism, though it will be seen that the definition of capitalism follows trivially from the definition of capital.

But before we get there, Grenier distinguishes between a general definition and a pejorative definition of capitalism. This is an interesting move, though how much of a move it actually is remains to be seen. The general definition he gives as:

Capitalism in itself signifies capitalistic production, i.e., production in which all agencies distinct from capital are more or less under the sway of capital. It is an economic system, then, in which capital plays a preponderant role, and in which the function of capital is separate from the function of labor.

(3 Thomistic Philosophy § 1145, 2º) (emphasis supplied). In other words, the general definition of capitalism is an economic system in which either material goods or money (i.e., social or juridical capital) is the key player and separate from labor.

Grenier then gives the pejorative definition:

Capitalism, in its pejorative meaning, may be described: systems of economic and social relations, born of capitalistic production, in which the holders of economic and social capital, and especially of juridical capital, i.e., of money, in their eagerness for excessive profits, play not only a preponderant but an unlawful and abusive role.

(Id.) (emphasis in original). The difference between the pejorative definition and the general definition is not particularly clear; or, to put it less controversially, it is a matter of degree. That is, in the general definition, capitalism is the mode of production in which wealth or money (i.e., social or juridical capital) plays a preponderant role. In the pejorative definition, the holders of wealth or money, “especially” money, exceed their preponderant role and play an unlawful and abusive role. This definition admits of shades of gray, to say the least.

We see that Milco’s definition is more practical. While Grenier is undoubtedly correct in strict terms, he is also undoubtedly abstract. One of the favored accusations of the Actonistas and the other Catholics who uphold the robust free market as a good in and of itself is that the Catholics who hold and follow the Church’s traditional social teaching do not understand economics. (As though that makes a difference.) Grenier’s definition plays into that problem: capitalism is “an economic system . . . in which capital plays a preponderant role, and in which the function of capital is separate from the function of labor.” This definition, while undeniably correct in a strict sense, points toward other, more complicated concepts. At some point, you’ll have to grapple with economic concepts if you want to use Grenier’s definition, just as the political conservatives allege. Milco’s definition, on the other hand, is couched in more practical terms. When people talk about capitalism, they undoubtedly mean more or less what Milco sets forth in his definition.

To put it another way, when people talk about capitalism, they probably do not mean the system in which capital, which is to say wealth of various forms, plays the central role in production. That definition is a little opaque. Certainly, Grenier’s predicate definitions can clear things up, and distinguishing a general and a pejorative definition helps, but, even at that, the definition is still going to be a little stilted. What people talk about when they talk about capitalism is probably more or less what Milco says: “a model of commercial activity in which we attempt, through labor, exchange, and other means, to maximize our assets, considered in terms of their exchange value, and pursue this maximization as the primary or even exclusive end of commerce.” (Emphasis omitted.) So, as we have noted before, when traditionally minded Catholics try to engage with Actonistas or other Catholics who think that the free market is per se good, there’s bound to be trouble.

One interesting aspect of Milco’s definition, which deserves special mention, is that it points out the extent to which modern thinking about capitalism is morally questionable from the get-go. This is to say, the unrestrained profit motive is the primary moral problem with capitalism. Recall that Aquinas addresses the profit motive in IIa IIae q.77 a.4, where he takes up the question, utrum liceat negotiando aliquid charius vendere quam emere, cf. IIa IIae q.77 pr., or whether it is lawful in trading to sell something at a higher price than paid for it. Aquinas draws a careful distinction:

Respondeo dicendum quod ad negotiatores pertinet commutationibus rerum insistere. Ut autem philosophus dicit, in I Polit., duplex est rerum commutatio. Una quidem quasi naturalis et necessaria, per quam scilicet fit commutatio rei ad rem, vel rerum et denariorum, propter necessitatem vitae. Et talis commutatio non proprie pertinet ad negotiatores, sed magis ad oeconomicos vel politicos, qui habent providere vel domui vel civitati de rebus necessariis ad vitam. Alia vero commutationis species est vel denariorum ad denarios, vel quarumcumque rerum ad denarios, non propter res necessarias vitae, sed propter lucrum quaerendum. Et haec quidem negotiatio proprie videtur ad negotiatores pertinere. Secundum philosophum autem, prima commutatio laudabilis est, quia deservit naturali necessitati. Secunda autem iuste vituperatur, quia, quantum est de se, deservit cupiditati lucri, quae terminum nescit sed in infinitum tendit. Et ideo negotiatio, secundum se considerata, quandam turpitudinem habet, inquantum non importat de sui ratione finem honestum vel necessarium. Lucrum tamen, quod est negotiationis finis, etsi in sui ratione non importet aliquid honestum vel necessarium, nihil tamen importat in sui ratione vitiosum vel virtuti contrarium. Unde nihil prohibet lucrum ordinari ad aliquem finem necessarium, vel etiam honestum. Et sic negotiatio licita reddetur. Sicut cum aliquis lucrum moderatum, quod negotiando quaerit, ordinat ad domus suae sustentationem, vel etiam ad subveniendum indigentibus, vel etiam cum aliquis negotiationi intendit propter publicam utilitatem, ne scilicet res necessariae ad vitam patriae desint, et lucrum expetit non quasi finem, sed quasi stipendium laboris.

This translation is the English Dominican translation made available by the Dominican House of Studies website:

 I answer that, A tradesman is one whose business consists in the exchange of things. According to the Philosopher (Polit. i, 3), exchange of things is twofold; one, natural as it were, and necessary, whereby one commodity is exchanged for another, or money taken in exchange for a commodity, in order to satisfy the needs of life. Such like trading, properly speaking, does not belong to tradesmen, but rather to housekeepers or civil servants who have to provide the household or the state with the necessaries of life. The other kind of exchange is either that of money for money, or of any commodity for money, not on account of the necessities of life, but for profit, and this kind of exchange, properly speaking, regards tradesmen, according to the Philosopher (Polit. i, 3). The former kind of exchange is commendable because it supplies a natural need: but the latter is justly deserving of blame, because, considered in itself, it satisfies the greed for gain, which knows no limit and tends to infinity. Hence trading, considered in itself, has a certain debasement attaching thereto, in so far as, by its very nature, it does not imply a virtuous or necessary end. Nevertheless gain which is the end of trading, though not implying, by its nature, anything virtuous or necessary, does not, in itself, connote anything sinful or contrary to virtue: wherefore nothing prevents gain from being directed to some necessary or even virtuous end, and thus trading becomes lawful. Thus, for instance, a man may intend the moderate gain which he seeks to acquire by trading for the upkeep of his household, or for the assistance of the needy: or again, a man may take to trade for some public advantage, for instance, lest his country lack the necessaries of life, and seek gain, not as an end, but as payment for his labor.

It may be worth noting, given the Common Doctor’s repeated citation to Aristotle here, that in his volume of the Blackfriars Summa, Marcus Lefébure, O.P., argued that Aquinas’s position represents a “discreet[] but definite[]” break with Aristotle regarding commercial activity for profit (vol. 38, p. 228, cmt. b). It’s an interesting point that turns on Aristotle’s Politics I, 3, and it seems to us that it is entirely possible that Aquinas softens a hard-line Aristotelian injunction against commerce for profit. On the other hand, Aquinas’s fundamental argument—profit is in se morally neutral, and the morality of profit seeking is determined by its end—is not wholly alien to Aristotle’s point in the Politics. At any rate, one ought to recognize that, while Aquinas brings Aristotle into the debate, it is not at all clear that Aristotle would have reached the same answer as Aquinas.

That aside, without getting too deeply into Aquinas’s argument (or Aristotle’s, for that matter), we think—though we could probably convinced otherwise—that Aquinas intends to separate the small businessman, to use common parlance, from speculators or traders more generally. It is, perhaps, the difference between the proprietor of the corner grocery store and the commodity trader. Aquinas would likely say that the grocer, who is likely supporting his family, probably does not have a moral problem when he makes his modest profit. And, since his modest profit is intended to support his family, he probably could not be blamed for taking that profit seriously and attempting to increase it modestly. But the commodity trader may well have a moral problem when he makes a killing shorting frozen concentrated orange juice based upon a crop forecast. But that’s because the commodity trader views the maximization of profits as his sole (or preeminent) end. If the commodity trader needed millions of dollars to support his family or if he labored mightily and perilously to obtain FCOJ for a grateful nation, then the story might be different.

But what if the grocer runs his store like the commodity trader? What if he sets out to maximize his assets through trading? Certainly, he’s not likely to corner the FCOJ market with Mortimer and Randolph Duke, but he could very well have a fundamentally capitalistic outlook on his business. He could well want gain for gain’s sake, which Aquinas tells us is morally troublesome. This is what we mean when we say that the unrestrained profit motive is the primary moral problem with capitalism.

And Milco’s proposed definition brings this problem to the front of the debate. The definition he proposes certainly captures some essential element of the current, popular thinking on what capitalism means. It just so happens that that current, popular thinking has problems.

Postscript: Elliot Milco had some very kind things to say about Semiduplex very recently. For the most part, we note, this post was written before he made his very generous statements. We do, however, appreciate very much his notice. 

 

The intersection of the timeless moment

At Dissent, Elizabeth Stoker Bruenig, a staff writer at The New Republic, has a piece titled “Why the Left Needs Religion.” The piece itself takes (more or less) a historical look at Christian influences on historically leftist trends, and, thus, comes to a conclusion firmly rooted in history. It seems to us that this is exactly the wrong way to look at it. The Christian critique of capitalism and liberalism—the Christian emphasis on the common good and the human aspects of the market is perhaps a better, more accurate way of phrasing the issue—is a subject of no small interest to us. Accordingly, while we were interested to see Bruenig’s comment (she has become something of a voice for a leftist or left-friendly Christianity in recent years), we were disappointed to see the critique remain so solidly earthbound. The force of the Christian critique of liberalism and capitalism does not depend on reference to specific problems. (Disordered individualism and the all-consuming, convenience-driven drive for profits do not require specific problems, either, to show themselves. The basic reason, of course, is that they are symptoms of a problem as old as Eden.) However, Christianity’s critique, when applied to specific problems, as the Holy Father did brilliantly in Laudato si’, is always timely.

On we sweep with threshing oar

Previously, we mentioned Pius XII’s 1941 address, La solennità della Pentecoste, commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of Rerum novarum, as a source for developing a consistent, Catholic understanding of the immigration issues so much in the news lately. We, however, did not mention Pius’s 1952 apostolic constitution (!) on the spiritual care of migrants, Exsul Familia Nazarethana. (Unlike La solennità, an English translation of Exsul Familia is readily available.)

In Exsul Familia, Pius outlines his previous discussions of the right to migrate. In addition to La solennità, he addressed the issue in his 1945 Christmas Eve discourse, Negli ultimi anni, his February 1946 allocution to the newly elevated cardinals, and a 1948 letter to Cincinnati Archbishop John McNicholas. Obviously Exsul Familia is a much longer and much more sustained treatment of the issue of migration. (Though the 1946 allocution certainly addressed the issue at some length, too.)

We admit that we have not memorized all of Pius’s various statements about migrants—though many are collected, helpfully, in Exsul Familia—but it seems to us that he was a pope deeply concerned with the question of migration. Understandably so! His pontificate saw enormous numbers of people displaced by destruction, to say nothing of those who fled when they saw the trajectory of Europe from continent to charnel house. It is entirely reasonable that Pius devoted much thought to migration. It is less reasonable, however, that we seem to have forgotten his teaching on the matter.

Perhaps it’s time to reclaim it.

Grenier on economic liberalism

Yesterday, we published a longish piece here about Paul VI’s attitude toward socialism compared to Pius XI’s. We quoted the Canadian Thomist Henri Grenier’s Cursus Philosophiae (translated as Thomistic Philosophy) at some length, both to give a concise summary of the doctrine as it existed after Quadragesimo anno and to clarify—by means of summary—some of Pius’s points. We noted, briefly, that Grenier also summarizes the important points of the Church’s condemnation of economic liberalism.

The Church’s position on economic liberalism is often a point of contention, especially with Catholics on the American political right, who frequently express great fondness for the free market. Indeed, some of the most strident criticisms of the Holy Father’s recent social encyclical, Laudato si’, have come from these Catholics. (Just as some of the most strident criticisms of Benedict’s Caritas in veritate came from these Catholics.) And these criticisms have two key features: (1) the Holy Father has somehow sold out to a climate-change consensus that is not settled at best and bogus at worst, and (2) the Holy Father is inflexibly opposed to capitalism and the free market. The former point, we think, is best left to the experts, most of whom, we are told, say that climate change is a thing. But the latter point, it seems, is easily answered by the Church’s own teaching.

But discussing the Church’s own teaching is difficult, since the definition of capitalism, the free market, and economic liberalism is tricky. Definitions are either inadequately simplistic or too complex to be agreed upon as a premise. Consequently, the argument becomes definitional. And this is where we think Grenier is helpful. He offers a very helpful summary of economic liberalism that seems right to us. We reproduce it here simply as something interesting to read:

2° Economic liberalism maintains that the control of material goods is a strictly private, personal, and individual right. Its fundamental principles are the following:

a) Private utility is the chief and almost the sole stimulus of economic life, and especially of production, for it is the individual who can best seek, know, and promote his own interests or utility.

b) Therefore, in economic life, private liberty must be strictly safeguarded. Hence the State’s only function in economic matters consists in the protection of private rights; and it must abstain from all positive intervention in the settlement of the economic problems of society (State police or night watchmen).

Moreover, all associations, especially workmen’s associations, should be abolished, because they are a restraint on individual liberty.

c) Economic life should be governed by free competition. In other words, the first law of economic activity is free competition, i.e., the free play of economic individualities seeking, by any lawful means, the greatest possible advantages, respecting at the same time, of course, the equal rights of others to do the same.

d) The consequence of free competition is responsibility; and hence each one not only must provide for his own needs entirely through his own initiative and industry, but becomes solely responsible for the happiness or unhappiness that may be his.

(3 Thomistic Philosophy § 1152, 2º, trans. O’Hanley.)

Did Paul VI change the Church’s teaching on socialism?

In an earlier post, we unpacked Paul VI’s statement in Octogesima adveniens, which apparently permitted Christians to engage in what the Pope called “socialist currents.” He was suspicious of them, to be sure, but he acknowledged that Christians could, provided, of course, that they retained a clear-eyed understanding of both the ideological aspects of socialism and the fundamental inseparability of those ideological aspects from the political expressions of socialism and its larger goals, discern the extent to which they could commit themselves along socialist lines. In other words, Paul VI seemed to acknowledge that it was possible for Christians to reach a via media with socialism.

After some reflection on this statement, it seems to us that Paul’s statement in Octogesima adveniens may represent a significant departure from the prior social teaching of the Church. In fact, the great Pius XI in Quadragesimo anno explicitly excluded cooperation between Christians and socialists. (We’ll explore what, precisely, he said infra.) And Papa Ratti’s bright-line exclusion of cooperation was taken up in the manualist tradition. So, Paul’s statement, at the very least, does not explicitly reiterate that bright-line exclusion. And, as is so often the case with teaching after Pius XII, it will be seen infra that Paul’s statement admits of two interpretations. On one hand, his statement is a narrow opening for cooperation, which represents a departure from Pius’s teaching. On the other hand, his statement is merely an oblique reference to that teaching. However, as we have observed, failure to explicitly reaffirm doctrine is functionally equivalent to changing doctrine. It is, as Benedict XVI might say, a question of which hermeneutic one prefers: continuity or rupture.

(We will add some section headings for convenience, perhaps a professional weakness.)

1. Paul VI Apparently Opened the Door to Cooperation in Socialism in Octogesima adveniens. 

But let’s look at the question in detail. Recall first what Paul VI said in Octogesima adveniens:

Some Christians are today attracted by socialist currents and their various developments. They try to recognize therein a certain number of aspirations which they carry within themselves in the name of their faith. They feel that they are part of that historical current and wish to play a part within it. Now this historical current takes on, under the same name, different forms according to different continents and cultures, even if it drew its inspiration, and still does in many cases, from ideologies incompatible with faith. Careful judgment is called for. Too often Christians attracted by socialism tend to idealize it in terms which, apart from anything else, are very general: a will for justice, solidarity and equality. They refuse to recognize the limitations of the historical socialist movements, which remain conditioned by the ideologies from which they originated. Distinctions must be made to guide concrete choices between the various levels of expression of socialism: a generous aspiration and a seeking for a more just society, historical movements with a political organization and aim, and an ideology which claims to give a complete and self-sufficient picture of man. Nevertheless, these distinctions must not lead one to consider such levels as completely separate and independent. The concrete link which, according to circumstances, exists between them must be clearly marked out. This insight will enable Christians to see the degree of commitment possible along these lines, while safeguarding the values, especially those of liberty, responsibility and openness to the spiritual, which guarantee the integral development of man.

We have previously discussed this passage, and we will not belabor the point unnecessarily. Paul says that Christians—conscious both of socialism’s ideological tenets and of the inseparability of those ideological tenets from political expression and broader goals—can discern “the degree of commitment” along socialist lines.

It bears noting, and is most relevant for our discussion here, that nothing in Paul’s teaching in Octogesima adveniens explicitly excludes cooperation between Christians and socialism. Paul advises caution, but, one gets the real sense (we do, at any rate) that if all the conditions are met, then there is a possibility for cooperation.

2. Henri Grenier’s Thomistic Philosophy Is a Good Example of the Church’s Prior Teaching, Which Was Based on Pius XI’s Quadragesimo anno. 

Perhaps the easiest way into Pius’s teaching is to look, first, at Canadian Thomist Henri Grenier’s Cursus Philosophiae—translated into English as Thomistic Philosophy. Grenier’s manual was a hugely significant treatise in seminaries and colleges in its day. However, time just gets away from us, as Charles Portis says, and it is unlikely that Grenier is much read in the seminaries these days, except perhaps by a few devoted Thomists. Grenier was a major opponent of personalism, which took off in earnest after 1945 for obvious reasons, and also an important influence on Charles De Koninck and the so-called Laval School of Thomism. (A topic best left to the experts.) At any rate, the third volume of his Philosophy addresses various social questions in detail, including possible cooperation between Catholics and socialists. Grenier also demolishes the possibility of economic liberalism a few pages later, to give you an idea of what you’re dealing with there.

Now, let us consider what Grenier said,

Some Catholics have unwarrantably wondered about the possibility of a «middle course» between mitigated Socialism and the principles of Christian truth, so that Socialism could be met, as it were, upon common ground.

For, first, they have felt, class warfare, on condition that it refrains from enmities and mutual hatred, can gradually become an honest discussion of differences, which is a principle of social restoration and peace.

Secondly, the war declared upon the ownership of private property, if attenuated, can be directed not towards the abolition of the possession of productive goods, i.e., the means of production, but towards the restoration of order in society, namely, when, according to the principles of sound philosophy, certain forms of property are reserved to the State, the private ownership of which would be at variance with the common good.

Pope Pius XI settled very definitely any doubts in this matter by solemnly declaring that Socialism, even in its more moderate form, is irreconcilable with the teachings of Christianity.

(3 Thomistic Philosophy § 1150, 3º, trans. O’Hanley) (footnote omitted.) In other words, some Catholics have explored the possibility that, if socialism abandons class warfare in favor of “honest discussion of differences,” and if socialism permits private property except where the common good requires property to be under public control, then there may be room for cooperation between socialism and Christ’s Church. The via media! No such luck, Grenier says. Socialism, even moderate socialism, is “irreconcilable” with Christianity. We see that, at least as Grenier understands the situation, there is no possibility for the sort of via media that Paul marks out.

3. Pius XI in Quadragesimo anno Held that Socialism Is Incompatible With Christianity, Even if Socialism Moderates Its Policies of Class Struggle and War on Private Property. 

In support of this proposition, Grenier cites Pius XI’s Quadragesimo anno. Indeed, Quadragesimo anno is, it seems, itself sufficient  to answer the Catholics who have “unwarrantably wondered” about a possible via media between socialism and the Church’s social teaching. We come, therefore, to the heart of the matter. The brief portion of Quadragesimo anno that Grenier quotes in a footnote comes near the end of a considerably longer passage, which ought to be considered in full, because Pius does something very clever in it. Pius begins,

One might say that, terrified by its own principles and by the conclusions drawn therefrom by Communism, Socialism inclines toward and in a certain measure approaches the truths which Christian tradition has always held sacred; for it cannot be denied that its demands at times come very near those that Christian reformers of society justly insist upon.

For if the class struggle abstains from enmities and mutual hatred, it gradually changes into an honest discussion of differences founded on a desire for justice, and if this is not that blessed social peace which we all seek, it can and ought to be the point of departure from which to move forward to the mutual cooperation of the Industries and Professions. So also the war declared on private ownership, more and more abated, is being so restricted that now, finally, not the possession itself of the means of production is attacked but rather a kind of sovereignty over society which ownership has, contrary to all right, seized and usurped. For such sovereignty belongs in reality not to owners but to the public authority. If the foregoing happens, it can come even to the point that imperceptibly these ideas of the more moderate socialism will no longer differ from the desires and demands of those who are striving to remold human society on the basis of Christian principles. For certain kinds of property, it is rightly contended, ought to be reserved to the State since they carry with them a dominating power so great that cannot without danger to the general welfare be entrusted to private individuals.

Such just demands and desire have nothing in them now which is inconsistent with Christian truth, and much less are they special to Socialism. Those who work solely toward such ends have, therefore, no reason to become socialists.

That’s a neat trick, there at the end, isn’t it? If socialism, Pius says, has moderated class struggle into mere dialogue between classes and renounced public ownership of the means of production in favor of the recognition that the public authority has the right to govern capital, then there’s no reason to become a socialist, since those doctrines aren’t uniquely socialist. And this is, of course, a point that is difficult to answer: if socialism is about, say, mere economic justice and solidarity within and among classes, then there is very little to distinguish socialism from other political tendencies. Almost no mainstream political tendency wants economic injustice and conflict among classes for its own sake.

Paul seems to contradict this point pretty squarely in Octogesima adveniens, doesn’t he? Paul says,

Distinctions must be made to guide concrete choices between the various levels of expression of socialism: a generous aspiration and a seeking for a more just society, historical movements with a political organization and aim, and an ideology which claims to give a complete and self-sufficient picture of man. Nevertheless, these distinctions must not lead one to consider such levels as completely separate and independent. The concrete link which, according to circumstances, exists between them must be clearly marked out.

Under Pius’s teaching, if socialism is only “a generous aspiration and a seeking for a more just society,” then there is no reason to cooperate with socialism, because neither of those things are uniquely socialist. And he is probably right, as we said. Paul, on the other hand, seems to leave the door open.

But it probably doesn’t matter much, since Pius doubts that socialism really has moderated class struggle or renounced public ownership of the means of production:

Yet let no one think that all the socialist groups or factions that are not communist have, without exception, recovered their senses to this extent either in fact or in name. For the most part they do not reject the class struggle or the abolition of ownership, but only in some degree modify them. Now if these false principles are modified and to some extent erased from the program, the question arises, or rather is raised without warrant by some, whether the principles of Christian truth cannot perhaps be also modified to some degree and be tempered so as to meet Socialism half-way and, as it were, by a middle course, come to agreement with it. There are some allured by the foolish hope that socialists in this way will be drawn to us. A vain hope! Those who want to be apostles among socialists ought to profess Christian truth whole and entire, openly and sincerely, and not connive at error in any way. If they truly wish to be heralds of the Gospel, let them above all strive to show to socialists that socialist claims, so far as they are just, are far more strongly supported by the principles of Christian faith and much more effectively promoted through the power of Christian charity.

Since socialism is likely to retain some of its uniquely socialist character, can’t the Church moderate its doctrines a little to find that via media? Of course not! Pius offers a variation on his neat trick from before. Here, he says that the way for Christians to interact with socialists is to show them—without departing from the doctrine of Christ’s Church—that there is no just socialist claim that is not supported and advanced better by the Church. In other words, it is the Christian’s duty to show the socialist that his just aims are really the Church’s aims and that the Church is better able to actually achieve those aims. The Christian is the perfect socialist, or, to put it in a less polemic manner, the Christian has perfectly what the socialist has imperfectly. Cooperation with socialism is therefore nothing more or less than bringing the Gospel to socialists.

Pius then circles back to the idea that socialism can moderate its distinctive aspects—class struggle and the public ownership of the means of production—sufficiently to permit cooperation between the Christian and the socialist.

But what if Socialism has really been so tempered and modified as to the class struggle and private ownership that there is in it no longer anything to be censured on these points? Has it thereby renounced its contradictory nature to the Christian religion? This is the question that holds many minds in suspense. And numerous are the Catholics who, although they clearly understand that Christian principles can never be abandoned or diminished seem to turn their eyes to the Holy See and earnestly beseech Us to decide whether this form of Socialism has so far recovered from false doctrines that it can be accepted without the sacrifice of any Christian principle and in a certain sense be baptized. That We, in keeping with Our fatherly solicitude, may answer their petitions, We make this pronouncement: Whether considered as a doctrine, or an historical fact, or a movement, Socialism, if it remains truly Socialism, even after it has yielded to truth and justice on the points which we have mentioned, cannot be reconciled with the teachings of the Catholic Church because its concept of society itself is utterly foreign to Christian truth.

(Emphasis supplied.) Even if socialism moderates itself to the point of class dialogue and public authority over certain private property, socialism is still diseased. This seems to be contradicted even more strongly by Paul, doesn’t it? Paul seems to hold that

But why does Pius say this?

[A]ccording to Christian teaching, man, endowed with a social nature, is placed on this earth so that by leading a life in society and under an authority ordained of God he may fully cultivate and develop all his faculties unto the praise and glory of his Creator; and that by faithfully fulfilling the duties of his craft or other calling he may obtain for himself temporal and at the same time eternal happiness. Socialism, on the other hand, wholly ignoring and indifferent to this sublime end of both man and society, affirms that human association has been instituted for the sake of material advantage alone. 

Because of the fact that goods are produced more efficiently by a suitable division of labor than by the scattered efforts of individuals, socialists infer that economic activity, only the material ends of which enter into their thinking, ought of necessity to be carried on socially. Because of this necessity, they hold that men are obliged, with respect to the producing of goods, to surrender and subject themselves entirely to society. Indeed, possession of the greatest possible supply of things that serve the advantages of this life is considered of such great importance that the higher goods of man, liberty not excepted, must take a secondary place and even be sacrificed to the demands of the most efficient production of goods. This damage to human dignity, undergone in the “socialized” process of production, will be easily offset, they say, by the abundance of socially produced goods which will pour out in profusion to individuals to be used freely at their pleasure for comforts and cultural development. Society, therefore, as Socialism conceives it, can on the one hand neither exist nor be thought of without an obviously excessive use of force; on the other hand, it fosters a liberty no less false, since there is no place in it for true social authority, which rests not on temporal and material advantages but descends from God alone, the Creator and last end of all things.

(Footnotes omitted and emphasis supplied.) In other words, the fault with socialism is its concept of society as ordered toward the efficient production of goods, and, in Pius’s view, that fault is inseparable from socialism. This fault has two consequences: it requires excessive force and creates false liberty.

4. Henri Grenier Summarizes and Clarifies Pius’s Argument Against Socialism’s Concept of Society.

Now, this ought to be carefully considered. Socialism has one body of doctrine, Pius seems to tell us, and two key aspects of that doctrine are class struggle and the public ownership of the means of production. But there is more to socialism than those two points—including the idea that society is ordered toward production—and even if socialism moderates the two big points, the remaining doctrine is poisoned by socialism’s concept of society. There is, then, no way in Pius’s mind for the Christian to cooperate with the socialist, even if the socialist moderates the leading aspects of socialism.

The importance for Pius of the socialist concept of society cannot be understated. And it may help to clarify the argument a little to see what Pius is getting at. Grenier does just that. The thesis is that socialism is untenable. (We know Grenier’ll prove it, but don’t let that spoil the suspense.) Grenier unpacks the major and minor premises of Pius’s argument:

1° Man must live in society, in order to attain temporal and eternal happiness. But, according to Socialism, man’s only purpose in living in society is the acquisition of an abundance of temporal goods. Therefore.

Major.— The end of civil society is the temporal happiness of this life as directed to eternal happiness.

Minor.— For Socialism, in declaring even an attenuated kind of war on private ownership, is concerned only with the acquisition of an abundance of material goods, and thus shows no solicitude either for man’s higher goods, or for his liberty. For it teaches that man must be completely subject to civil society, in order that he acquire an abundance of material goods.

(3 Thomistic Philosophy § 1151, 1º.)  He proceeds to the conclusion, and explains the two antecedents to the conclusion, of Pius’s argument:

2° Society, as conceived by the Socialist, is, on the one hand, impossible and inconceivable without the use of compulsion of the most excessive kind; and, on the other hand, it fosters a false liberty. Therefore Socialism is untenable.

Antecedent — a) Society is impossible and inconceivable without the use of compulsion of the most excessive kind.— According to Socialism, the possession of the greatest possible amount of temporal goods is esteemed so highly that man’s higher goods, not excepting liberty, must be subordinated and even sacrificed to the exigencies of efficient production.

b) Society fosters a false liberty.— Society, according to the Socialistic conception of it, is based solely on temporal and material advantages. From this it follows that neither society nor its members are subject to God, the wellspring of all authority. In other words, Socialism, in which no place is found for true social authority, destroys all authority.

We may add that Socialism cannot, in virtue of its principles, abolish class welfare.

(3 Thomistic Philosophy § 1151, 2º.) We note briefly here that there is an interesting point raised by this argument: does Pius mean that the mere subordination of man’s higher goods to the possession of temporal goods itself constitutes the “obviously excessive use of force”? That is, if man’s higher good is subordinated to the possession of temporal goods without physical coercion, is that still the “obviously excessive use of force”? If so, this is a remarkably interesting and potentially fruitful line of argument. But that’s not exactly what we’re here for today.

To summarize, in Pius’s view, socialism is contradictory to Christian doctrine because of its views on class struggle and private property, but even if socialism moderates those views, it is still contrary to Christian doctrine because socialism rejects the proper end of civil society in favor of a purely materialistic concept of civil society. Worse than that, socialism, in order to implement its materialistic concept of society, both uses excessive force and fosters a false concept of liberty. In other words, the poison in socialism is fundamental. Therefore, Christians cannot cooperate with socialism.

5. Returning to Octogesima adveniens: a Hermeneutic of Continuity or a Hermeneutic of Rupture?

As noted above, this bright-line approach is not to be found in Octogesima adveniens. Or is it? Remember, again, what Paul said:

Too often Christians attracted by socialism tend to idealize it in terms which, apart from anything else, are very general: a will for justice, solidarity and equality. They refuse to recognize the limitations of the historical socialist movements, which remain conditioned by the ideologies from which they originated. Distinctions must be made to guide concrete choices between the various levels of expression of socialism: a generous aspiration and a seeking for a more just society, historical movements with a political organization and aim, and an ideology which claims to give a complete and self-sufficient picture of man. Nevertheless, these distinctions must not lead one to consider such levels as completely separate and independent. The concrete link which, according to circumstances, exists between them must be clearly marked out. This insight will enable Christians to see the degree of commitment possible along these lines, while safeguarding the values, especially those of liberty, responsibility and openness to the spiritual, which guarantee the integral development of man.

(Emphasis supplied.) It seems to us that one could argue that Paul kept Quadragesimo anno in mind when he wrote Octogesima adveniens, and when he talks about “an ideology which claims to give a complete and self-sufficient picture of man,” he could well be talking about socialism’s broader notions of society—notions which Pius held to be incompatible with Christianity. Furthermore, one could well argue that Paul pointed out that there is a link between, say, “a generous aspiration and a seeking for a more just society,” and those same broader, incompatible notions of society. Furthermore, one could argue that Paul’s injunction to safeguard integral values—including liberty—points toward Pius’s teaching that socialism simultaneously does violence to and promotes a false vision of liberty. (To say nothing of socialism’s materialistic outlook, which contradicts necessarily “openness to the spiritual.”) In other words, Paul’s admonitions to Christians fit into Pius’s teachings and result in Christians being unable to commit themselves along socialist lines. Paul reaffirms Pius.

But if that were the case, one wonders why Paul did not come out and reaffirm Pius’s bright-line noncooperation rule. One can just as easily read Paul as permitting some commitment or cooperation. Certainly such a reading finds support in the text and does not require lengthy analyses of Paul’s secret allusions to Quadragesimo anno. And one could quite reasonably say that Paul meant what he said, and what he said was that Christians could, keeping certain things in mind, come to a decision about the extent to which they could commit themselves along socialist lines. If he had meant that they could not so commit themselves, then he would have said so. And this reading is hard to answer, too. No means no, and maybe means maybe.

The question, then, is whether one prefers a hermeneutic of continuity or a hermeneutic of rupture. And that question seems to be answered largely by one’s broader political preferences. Obviously, Christians who seek a via media—or something more—will adopt the hermeneutic of rupture, arguing that Paul VI, perhaps considering certain changes in the state of socialism by 1971, softened the Church’s stance on cooperation or commitment. And Christians who reject socialism completely on political grounds will adopt a hermeneutic of continuity with Pius XI’s strict anti-socialist teaching.