Second Sight

Rhetoric is properly regarded as a science but of the softer kind. That is, it is possible to make verifiable predictions about the effects of various rhetorical skills and techniques. But their accuracy is, like those in, say, psychology or economics, measured by significant statistical probability rather than with a ruler. And since we readily acknowledge the need for effective communication in the Church, it is right to look at this science from time to time.

Plato disapproved of rhetoric. Not only did he rank it as a skill on par with cooking, but he held that its only useful purpose was to mislead the listener or reader, and take him further from the truth. Nevertheless Plato (or Socrates speaking through him) used rhetoric continually while in the very act of insisting on plain speaking.

Aristotle approached the subject with particular care for detail. His Rhetoric is both comprehensive and hard going. But he understood clearly, as the ancients did, that to be effective and persuasive to an audience was a necessary attribute for a man of public affairs. Indeed, even a modern Jesuit school will title its senior class Rhetoric, reminding us that its mastery was the apogee of scholastic success.

I cannot here cover the breadth of rhetoric but we do have, through good fortune, two current and contrasting examples to examine. These are Tiger Woods’s statement about his womanising and the Vatican report following the Pope’s meeting with the Irish bishops. They have in common the need to make the best out of difficult situations, and will both have been the result of careful preparation and expert advice. I am not concerned here with the validity of either, but merely with the rhetoric used.

Tiger Woods’s remarks might be stylised as the apology direct. It is typified by his words: “I want to say to each of you, simply and directly: I am deeply sorry for my irresponsible and selfish behaviour.” He asserts his recognition that he has let down his family and his friends, he takes full responsibility for his behaviour, and presents the steps he is taking to improve it for the future. His appearance is emotional; he conveys the impression of being near to tears.

This direct approach can be very effective. There is no attempt to hide behind other people. We may be cynical, believing that this verbal and physical vulnerability was a calculated means of appealing for sympathy. But I judge that a large proportion of his audience went away with at least a hope that he would prove his words good in the future.

The Holy Office was faced by a very different situation, and it called for very different, and rather more subtle, techniques. We might describe it as the explanation circumspect.

Perhaps the first thing we note is the use of the rhetoric of omission. The awkward fact that the Pope, when prefect of the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF) had emphasised to all bishops in 2001 that the CDF had exclusive competence in this area, and that all cases were to be reported to it, was never mentioned. Exclusive competence means ultimate responsibility within the Church.

Strong, dramatic language - even if it adds no new information - can often be useful to mask more awkward questions, and the choice of “heinous crime” and “grave sin” was certainly powerful enough to throw into the background, for that moment at least, the ultimately much more serious accusation of organised and official cover-up which had allowed the abuse to spread. I was reminded of the distinguished psychologist, Philip Zimbardo, and his strictures about condemning the bad apples without reviewing the bad barrel.

Switching blame to a more general cause for which no one and everyone may be responsible is often used in rhetoric. In this case a contributor is apparently a weakening of faith which has led to a lack of respect for the human person. We are not told whose faith is weakened. Is it the corrupted teenager? Or the seducing priest? Or the Pontius Pilate bishop? Nor are we told how the one led to the other. But we do not need to know for the rhetoric to work.

Perhaps the one rhetorical move which was missing was the claim that everyone was doing it. Fortunately there was help on hand, and the Bishop of Down and Connor reminded us on Radio 4 last Sunday that abuse was widespread and went beyond “the frontiers of the Catholic Church itself”. This defence has the danger of suggesting that the Church, despite its claim to rigorous moral values, should be judged by the world’s standards and not its own. But it can have the effect of allowing the unwary to think that, if everyone’s doing it, it can’t be as bad as all that.

Naturally there were assurances about how much good work had been done, and was still being done, to ensure that such a situation could not occur again. While such assurances cannot be omitted, they have little effect rhetorically since they are announced every time some large public or private organisation has been caught in flagrante delicto.

I have not attempted to review the whole of the Irish meeting, but only the rhetoric employed. There will in due course be a pastoral letter in which all necessary matters will doubtless be dealt with directly. But together with the Tiger Woods’s apology, we have had an opportunity to look at samples of how rhetoric can serve.

If you believe that either party could have made better or stronger use of rhetoric to achieve the wanted effect, you may care to note down and give us the benefit of your ideas. You may also wish to comment on whether you think that either Tiger Woods or the drafter of the papal report crossed the boundary between rhetoric and “economy with the truth”.

(First published in The Catholic Herald on 12 February 2010)

So for the time being crisis is averted. It would seem that the combined efforts of the Lords Spiritual, our bishops, and the big gun of the Pope himself have led to the withdrawal of the offending clauses in the Equality Bill. Religions will retain the freedom to run their operations and appoint staff in line with the criteria of their respective beliefs, with a much reduced danger of legal challenge.

But only for the time being. I repeat this because we are a lazy lot. It gives me little pleasure (well, in truth, just a touch of schadenfreude) to mention that I have pointed out in this newspaper over several years that little by little our fundamental liberties were being eroded ­ and that one day the crunch would come. In each case the change has been small, always defended as a necessity of the time, and cumulative. Now that we have at last woken up ­ some of us perhaps still bleary-eyed ­ maybe we can take some action.

The first screech of the alarm clock loud enough to break the deepest slumber was the question of adoption agencies: the grotesque demand that Catholic agencies should be prepared to place the young with gay couples. I am not going to argue against the effectiveness of single-sex parents (the issue is not clear-cut) but against the fist of socialist totalitarianism thrust in the face of the Church’s deep and strongly held principles.

But some of us put the alarm clock on hold and returned to sleep ­ this time woken by the second screech of a further attempt to manhandle (or, given the involvement of Harriet Harman, perhaps I should say womanhandle) the rights of religion. Will that get us out of bed?

The Pope, in addressing our bishops on freedom, used the unhelpful phrase “natural law”. Natural law is a technical term; what he meant was the native ability of all decent people to recognise the ways in which we should naturally live our lives in order to flourish as human beings. For all the fashionable ills of our society, decent people do recognise that they are answerable, at least to themselves, for their behaviour, that we have a duty to each other ­ particularly the poor and the aged, ­ that we have a right to have religious beliefs or none, that we have rights to free association, that human life has a uniquely sacred status, that the misuse of sexuality brings tragedy, that stable marriage and family are the essential units of a good society. That list is by no means exhaustive, but note that in every case I am referring to values taught by the Church ­ often in the teeth of the ungodly.

We have carelessly allowed the Church to be associated with the negative images of prohibition. Our focus must move away from looking at all the things which we can get wrong, and be applied to the positive values. That way we speak to man’s aspirations rather than to his fears. What is historically certain is that our continued cataloguing of sin has not led to more orthodox behaviour. But it has led to our ill repute, and our rejection in the marketplace. I will settle for John XXIII’s remarks at the beginning of the Council: “Nowadays, however, the spouse of Christ prefers to make use of the medicine of mercy rather than that of severity. She considers that she meets the needs of the present day by demonstrating the validity of her teaching rather than by condemnations.”

Why is it that in any relevant matter I find a punchy comment from the British Humanist Association (who have brought prejudice, selective evidence and fallacious reasoning to new heights) and no equally forceful statement from us about how humans have to live in order to flourish, and what the Church is contributing to this? It may well be that the Catholic Union, so inspiringly discussed by James Bogle in the 5 February issue, will play an effective part here. But we in our daily lives and conversations have our responsibility of witness. So it may be useful to look briefly at some relevant issues.

Let’s clear out of the way one question which can be distracting. Catholic schools are, for the most part, publicly funded. No one with an eye for the evidence will deny that Catholic schools do a first-rate job educationally and in terms of social integration. But why should the taxpayer be funding religious organisations with which they may not agree? Surely, if Catholics want their own form of schooling, they should fund it for themselves.

Good thinking. I happen in my old fashioned way to object to the killing of around 200,000 babies a year. But the tax system works as a general pool from which the public costs are taken. As a result I am paying for the slaughter. We could make a bargain: I stop paying for killing babies, you stop paying for Catholic schools.

Another distraction to be exorcised is the idea that this is an issue about homosexuality, introducing a fashionable and emotional example is an old rhetorical trick. The issue is not homosexuality but whether a given lifestyle (and there are plenty of examples) is inconsistent with the strongly held principles of a religion, or, for that matter, those of any other organisation. I am not expecting an invitation to take up a post with the British Humanist Association any time soon, but I do not accuse them of unfair discrimination.

We also need to be quite clear about what we mean by a free society. The Equality Bill, despite its name, is aimed at neither equality nor freedom. It is an instrument to serve a belief shared by a section of the population who, with the highest ideals, think that they know what is good for us. Unsurprisingly it is usually to be found in the ranks of the civil authorities, for that is the best vantage point to put such an agenda into action. They are very dangerous because they are sincere. Rogues will eventually be outed; virtuous fools can hide in their whited sepulchres. Nor am I nosing out a conspiracy theory; Harriet Harman is in her own words “engaged in an opportunity not only to build a new economic order, but a new social order as well”.

We have been in the grip of virtuous fools ­– the totalitarian socialism to which I referred above – for many years. Regulation has been piled upon regulation ­ for each new regulation breeds its own progeny until the body politic is white with its maggots. From wearing a small cross at work to blowing your nose while halted in a traffic jam, every item of our lives is regulated. Pygmy bureaucracy is swollen, and nonentities who could not climb a dunghill can trammel our lives. Every word that we say is weighed: every word that we write must be measured against the latest doctrinaire fad.

And is it succeeding? Our class differences are greater than ever; child poverty has increased; paper qualifications have replaced education; we have the highest teenage pregnancy rate in Europe; the stable married family has been downgraded and disadvantaged; our jails… no, you don’t need me to answer the question.

How do you see a free society? You can take the route of the virtuous fool and attempt to engineer society through force majeure into equality. Your aim will be a society of flatline mediocrity with a universal ethos (to be updated or even reversed according to the latest fashion) by periodic referenda. Such a society has about as much chance of success as a Soviet collective farm and will cause as much distress in its attempts at formation.

Or you can have a society which rejoices in a multiplicity of opinions, rewards merit, supports real need, encourages freedom of association and promotes harmonious integration. Such a society would, of course, have its rules, and its checks and balances, but in every case there would be a heavy onus on the lawmaker to demonstrate how the laws do no more than serve the common good and ensure the maximum freedom consistent with the freedom of others. Of course that society will never come to fruition either ­ until we have abolished Original Sin. But at least we can work towards it. And here I am with the Pope when he says that no social system can ever work unless it is founded in the heart of man.

(Some you who know my style will be surprised by the use of the word “gay” in para 3. You will know that I never use the term since it is a value judgment , just as I never used the word “queer” for the same reason. The word crept in after the ms had left my hands.)

Last time I wrote about the “Hobbit”, the small hominid who descends from an ancient line but survived to be a contemporary of homo sapiens. Another contemporary of ours was the Neanderthal, also not thought to be a direct ancestor, but surviving - according to the most recent study - until 37,000 years ago. Homo sapiens has been around for 195,000 years. Neanderthals, and our probable ancestor homo erectus, show evidence of intelligent and imaginative life, together with a capacity for artistic expression and abstract symbolism.

This presents us with a modern-day version of the difficulty of reconciling the story of the six days of creation with science. While we solved that, we are still faced with the question of our descent from Adam, the generation of Eve and Original Sin. And in looking at these issues we are looking at matters so fundamental to our faith that the Magisterium has frequently put us on warning against attacking their historical reality. To take just one prominent theme, we teach that sin came into the world through one man, and so did redemption from sin. We must suppose that Paul, and indeed Jesus (in his human nature) assumed the biblical account to be factually true.

But a cat may look at a king, and I - who write with no authority and so can be safely ignored - can allow myself the luxury of a little speculation.

Just what are the essentials here? Man has a spiritual soul which is directly created by God; in some way which we do not understand that soul was infused into a hominid sufficiently evolved to receive it. We call this hominid man, and we distinguish him from the lower animals by his capacity for abstract thought, his free will and his moral sense.

Man, being a creature, has no innate right to be in relationship with God. And all our experience confirms his strong tendency to turn away from God and do evil. He inherits this tendency just as he inherits his humanity. In order to enter into relationship with God he must, directly or indirectly, accept redemption by Christ - which is always on offer.

If we limit ourselves to these essentials - and space obliges me to be brief in my listing - we can approach a number of questions which may trouble us.

There is no difficulty in maintaining that man was descended from one original couple, but it would seem that this couple lived nearly 200,000 years ago. And if we think that homo erectus may have had the essential qualities of a soul, it could be two million years before that.

The generation of Eve from Adam’s rib is of course possible to an omnipotent God, but, by human judgment, unlikely. Sexual reproduction, with its enormous evolutionary advantages, had been established for at least two billion years. So we might wonder why God found it necessary to make an exception. That wonder is increased by the thought that, since the distinguishing Y chromosome can be properly described as a de-natured version of the female X chromosome, it would be more likely that Adam would have been formed from Eve.

Original Sin, as a doctrine today, was formulated by St Augustine. It evolved from earlier Patristic ideas, and incorporated, somewhat unfortunately, a key mistranslation of St Paul. The story of the Fall has been deeply explored by the theologians and many fundamental understandings, as well as conundrums, have emerged. I am content to regard it as an inspired story full of spiritual truth: a mystery to be fruitfully mined.

What I can see is that the first man, given his moral sense and free will, immediately chose to sin. And this proneness to turn inwards to our selfish selves instead of outwards toward God and our neighbour is, with just two exceptions, a universal inheritance. It is rightly called “original” because it was with us from the first, and will be with us until we die. Even the personally innocent, such as the infant or the mentally handicapped, having human natures, inherit this tendency although they cannot express it.

It is part of human nature insofar as we share the essentially selfish nature of the non-human animal with the essentially spiritual aspect of our humanity. Indeed, it was Paul himself who most graphically wrote about the tension between these two warring aspects of our nature. Should we doubt the existence of Original Sin we only have to look momentarily into ourselves to find it.

So I would suggest that here we are talking about a story or a myth in the full sense of expressing deep truths within the conventions and the comprehensions of the time. It does not surprise me that the people of the New Testament were able to grasp the essential spiritual truths though the medium of what they understood to be literal history. We, who following Augustine’s own advice, aim not to cause scandal by using interpretations which others can see are plainly contradicted by the facts, must be ready to review our understanding when new knowledge becomes available. Provided that the new understanding does not derogate from the spiritual meaning of the old, and may indeed give us further insights, we have nothing to fear - at least in exploring it.

New interpretations have always been uncomfortable, as Galileo found out. But should they stand the test of theological examination and receive the blessing of the Church, they guide us towards the  deeper understanding of truth in which, we are promised, the Holy Spirit guides us. So this is an opportunity to explore this question, and to tell me I am talking bunkum if you wish.

Two weeks ago I speculated on some attitudes towards sexuality within the Church. And excellent and helpful comments ensued. But I was aware that I was confining myself to a relatively straightforward aspect: our recognition – with or without the Church’s help – of the ways in which sexuality could be used in an unloving fashion. Here I want to look at the knottier question of the intrinsic nature of human sexuality laid down by God.

Imagine for a moment that you are exploring the far corners of an attic in an old house, and that you come across a piece of machinery which you don’t recognise. It’s heavy, it has a handle to turn, and it has numbers that can be set and changed. By observation of how its parts work, and by experiment, you eventually discover that it is a mechanical calculator with which quite complex multiplication and division can be done. You now know what its maker designed it for. Of course, being an inanimate possession, you are free to use it as you wish – for its maker’s purpose perhaps, or as a curiosity to display, or an effective door stop.

Now transfer that example to sexuality. It doesn’t take a genius to work out in an analogous way the purpose of our sexual equipment. The biology shows clearly that it is structurally ordered toward the conception of new members of the species, and that the parts are fitted for congress between male and female. We may find further – with experience – that the sexual drive urges us towards congress, and so conception; and that it also has the tendency to bind the participants into a long term relationship which enables them to support each other in practical and psychological ways through the task of parenthood.

Here the analogy with the calculator breaks down. We are not objects which we possess and can dispose of as we wish. Our human nature is given to us by God, the divine maker. So we are obliged to use our sexuality according to the nature he gave us. And it pays us to do so because – as Aristotle said and Aquinas confirmed – in order for an entity to flourish it must work in accord with its nature.

This analysis of vice and virtue through physical nature has traditionally been given preeminence in moral theology. Thus, for example,  Aquinas says, “In every genus, worst of all is the corruption of the principle on which the rest depend. Now the principles of reason are those things that are according to nature, because reason presupposes things as determined by nature, before disposing of other things according as it is fitting…in matters of action it is most grave and shameful to act against things as determined by nature. Therefore, since by the unnatural vices man transgresses that which has been determined by nature with regard to the use of venereal actions, it follows that in this matter this sin is gravest of all.”

This does not refer merely to “venereal actions”, although this is where it is most frequently encountered. It applies for instance to physical mutilation, or to telling lies – where, if you take this approach, you are abusing the purpose of the God-given power of speech which no motivation, however compelling,  can excuse .

This deduction of intrinsic moral status from a primarily physical point of view still reflects the official position although its alleged shortcomings have made it increasingly unpopular. One reason is that its unconditionality leads to moral positions which are counterintuitive. For example, a strict application would forbid the donation of a kidney between living people; the Catechism makes it clear that not even the avoidance of grave injustice to a third party can justify a lie – although deceit can be used in other ways, and – the most topical example – the prohibition of condoms for a married couple who are serodiscordant.

A second reason for unpopularity is that the biological criterion of morality alone fails to do justice to the whole of human nature. This was more understandable in Aquinas’s day when we knew so little about the psychological aspects of the human being. So when we ask ourselves what course of action should we follow or avoid so that we can flourish in the way that God intended it is not surprising that the 21st century answer differs in some aspects from the 13th.

I certainly would not argue that physical biology is a useless guide. It will always be a strong indicator of the way in which we should behave. Thus the power of speech, needed for us to fulfil our natures as social beings, indicates that truth-telling is of the highest importance but not necessarily without the possibility of exceptions. The sexual organs still indicate that flourishing is best achieved through heterosexual behaviour linked to generation and the commitment of marriage.

Perhaps our focus should move away from looking at all the things which we get wrong, and be applied to the positive values. That way we speak to man’s aspirations rather than to his fears. What is historically certain is that our continued cataloguing of sexual sin has not led to more orthodox behaviour. But it has led to our ill repute, and our rejection in the market place. I will settle for John XXIII’s remarks at the beginning of the Council: “Nowadays, however, the spouse of Christ prefers to make use of the medicine of mercy rather than that of severity. She considers that she meets the needs of the present day by demonstrating the validity of her teaching rather than by condemnations…”