The Moral Life and the Metaphysics of Participation

Last Sunday, the Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, the lectionary presented us with two scripture readings which are closely related.  The first was an extract from the so-called 'Holiness Code' of the book of Leviticus, which represents a landmark in the development of Jewish thought.  There is an analogical relationship between the character of the obedient Israelite and God's own nature:  Israel is called not simply to 'do this' or 'avoid that', but rather to reflect in its own collective life the pattern of God's holiness.  'Be holy', says the Lord, 'for I, the Lord your God, am holy'.  Then, in the reading from St Matthew's Gospel, the themes are pressed further: Jesus tells the disciples that they are to 'be perfect just as your heavenly Father is perfect'.  Those who follow Jesus are called to embrace an ethic that goes way beyond the call to love one's neighbour; they are to love their enemies, too.  In striving to do this, they reflect God's nature, albeit to a limited degree.

On the face of it, the call to perfection seems unrealistic and impossible.  But Christian salvation, in all its fullness, means to share the very life of God.  The Christian belief in the possibility of eternal life is a belief that our true and final destiny is perfect communion with God for all eternity.  Christians believe that they participate in this gift, to a limited degree, here and now, through baptism, eucharist and in the sacramental life generally.  Even more fundamentally, since not all people avail themselves of the sacraments, humans and creatures generally participate in the life of God through our very being, since we cannot bring ourselves to life and to birth.  Our very life is a participation in the life of the God who alone can give life.  The sacramental life of the Church builds up and nourishes this supernatural life in us. There is a very real sense in which we already reflect something of God.  So, for example, when a human being shows  genuine compassion, something of God's compassion is revealed.  Of course, God's compassion is of a higher order altogether, but the point is that our compassion is not wholly unrelated to that of God.  There is an analogical relationship between God's compassion and our own.

The two biblical passages are set firmly in the moral arena, though this arena should not be thought of as an enclosed realm, somehow separated from the generality of life.  One of the reasons we find the call to perfection conceptually difficult is that, in the West since the Enlightenment, morality has come to be seen as being to do with right and wrong action.  So our focus tends to be on what people do, or don't do, in a given situation.  From this, we see a convenient separation made all the time between the public and the private, as if the living of a kind of schizophrenic life is somehow normal.  This is evidenced by the argument prevalent today about how it doesn't matter what a public person is like in their so-called private life, so long as they do their job properly.  It's as if there is never, and can never be, any meaningful connection between these two apparently separate realms; there is an apparently wholly-acceptable caesura interposed by modernity right down the middle of the individual moral life.  So, on this basis, an acceptable public life could simply amount to a carefully-cultivated public life lived by someone whose so-called private behaviour is completely reprehensible.

Ancient Greek ethics was completely unlike this.  Rather than focussing on action, right and wrong, the focus was on the development of a person's character.  This character was built up patiently by the practice of the so-called virtues, such as bravery, self-control, gentleness, friendliness, truthfulness, justice and so on.  Practising these qualities, or excellences, would build up a person's character so that they would live (and act) virtuously because of the sort of person they were, or had become, or were becoming.

Christian morality has a similar background, except that it is recognised that we do not possess, in and of ourselves, the capacity to be good, unequivocally.  We are indeed, as humans, basically good (because we have been created by God), but we have marred his image in us through sin.  So, as St Thomas Aquinas taught, in the thirteenth century, we need grace in order that our nature may be perfected, by God.

So, through God's grace, we participate in God's life which, in turn, means that we participate in his perfection.  The call to perfection that Jesus issues is, then, not unreasonable and unrealistic, since it is clear that we cannot perfect ourselves, any more than we were able to bring ourselves into being in the first place.  It is a work of God in us.

Closed Shops

I imagine that most people of a certain age, say fifty or over, can remember the closed shops operated by the trades unions in the 1970s.  These meant that all the employees at certain factories had to belong to the particular union operating there in order to work there.  Even though this arrangement with the employers contributed much to the improvement of the lot of employees, there was the sense among many people that this was a good example of a restrictive practice.  In the early 1980, Margaret Thatcher's new government, in raft of anti-union legislation, made the union closed shop illegal.  It's fair to say that the government had widespread public support for this.

After its election to in 1997, new Labour did nothing to overturn any of the anti-union laws brought in by Mrs Thatcher's government, even though the rights of working people had been curtailed substantially.

It is easy to see the class-prejudice behind all this, since the anti-union legislation was predicated upon the idea that the closed shop had a restrictive effect on business - it could be seen to tie the hands of employers; and, in some cases, this was so.  But what it certainly meant was that employers could not simply ride rough-shod over their employees.  Where the class-prejudice becomes clear is that there is no such governmental objection to the closed shops and the consequent restrictive practices of the professions.  These have been left untouched by any inhibitive legislation at all, so that the professions can charge the rest of us what they like for their services.  Indeed, it seems to me that, if anything, they are thriving more now that at any time in the past.

I was speaking to someone recently who told me that he had consulted a solicitor and been charged £150.00 for a not-very-involved letter.  We have recently had a bill for £331.00 for some not-very-extensive vet treatment for a cat.  A few years ago, my NHS dentist decided that he was going to operate only under the Denplan scheme - this meant that instead of paying around £35.00 annually for my dental treament (nearly always only check-ups) I was now going to be asked for a monthly sum which I calculated would represent a 550% increase in the cost to me.  For this, I would be allowed to attend every three months instead of every six; but given that I hardly need to go every six, represents a fatuous offer indeed.  The same dentist recently charged an elderly and not very well-off woman I know £900.00 for some treatment and then told her not to worry because she could pay in instalments.  I told this dentist to keep his Denplan, and decided instead to go to a private dentist where I just pay at the time for the treatment I have; and whilst this has so far been cheaper to me than Denplan, I've only had check-ups.  I'm sure that if I needed say, a crown, I would have to save up for it.  At my last examination, I was in the chair for around ninety seconds (yes, I timed it) and then discovered that the fee had risen to £30.00 (it was £15.00 when I started there four years ago) - nice work if you can get it.  Our parish architect has an hourly rate of £77.00 for his services, merely for consultation.

I could, of course, go on.  I cannot escape the impression that, even as most people are really feeling the squeeze, the members of the various professions are getting richer and richer.  Their practices are restrictive, in that their basic fees are set down by their respective professional bodies, so that, if (for example) I decide to use a different vet next time, I shall find the same fee-rates wherever I go.  The inescapable truth is that the professions operate far more effective and tighly organised closed shops than the trades unions ever did; and not only do they do it with impunity, they do it with the support and encouragement of successive governments.