Click here for part 1

Nathan Richardson

For the first part of this satirical conversation, read “A Modest Lifestyle Proposal.” In it, two people converse about anorexia and bulimia, and what factors might lead to people getting involved in eating disorders. The first speaker (regular typeface) uses arguments in favor of eating disorders that are very similar to the ones most advocates of the homosexual lifestyle use. The second speaker (bold typeface) questions the coherency and conclusions of those arguments.

Iimagine, for example, if people separated eating from nutrition, the way many people today separate sex from child-bearing.

I’ve read about people who struggle with anorexia and bulimia. I don’t know how you can in good conscience encourage someone in such a self-destructive lifestyle.
That is so offensive! What’s wrong with their lifestyle? They’re not hurting anyone.
It’s an unhealthy practice. If someone doesn’t eat, they’re not going to get much nutrition. That’s plain as day.
There you go confusing separate issues. Boy, are you behind the times.
What do you mean?
Eating is a totally separate issue from digestion and nutrition.
That’s what eating is for.
No, eating is about enjoying the physical pleasure of taste.
Well, yeah, that’s part of it, but I don’t see how you can separate eating and digestion. Why would you want to separate them?
How Victorian. Look, some people who enjoy eating don’t want to be burdened with excess calories and fat that come from digestion.
That’s the natural consequence of eating.
Not if people practice safe-purging. That’s why contradigestives should be made available in schools and why health teachers and dieticians should instruct teenagers on using protection.
Boy, that’s a pretty twisted view of the purpose of the health profession.
I should think that it would be obvious that eating is distinct from digestion. Do you never enjoy eating for eating’s sake? Do you only ever eat things for their nutritional value?
No, of course I enjoy eating, too, but—look, you’ve completely turned things around. This conversation isn’t normal.

Tinkering with Age-old Social Institutions

Now imagine if people separated meals from food, the way many people today separate marriage from child-bearing and rearing.

That’s the problem with appetitists.
What’s an appetitist?
A conorexic—someone who has a traditional appetite, who likes eating and digesting food.
What’s the problem you see?
You think everyone should think your way. You’re so close-minded that you assume your view on social issues is what constitutes “normal.”
. . . I’m sorry, but I think eating for sustenance is normal.
That’s exactly the kind of burdensome thinking that leads to so many oppressive social practices today.
What kind of social practices?
Like not allowing anorexics and bulimics to join in meals.
What? Of course they can!
Not in the way they’d like to. Current laws, societal structures, and definitions of “meals” are designed to favor appetitists.
What do you mean?
Have you ever seen restaurants accommodate purging? Do free soup kitchens do anything but offer food to the homeless? Those prejudices are ingrained in our society.
You think it’s unfair that mealtimes are designed for people who want to eat?
You bet it’s unfair. Have you ever seen a school meal plan include provisions for an anorexic who doesn’t want to eat?
Why would someone who doesn’t want to eat buy a meal plan?
Because they want to take part in a meal.
You just said . . .
Someone who wants to have a meal but doesn’t want to eat.
But eating and meals are the same thing.
There you go again, confusing two separate issues.
You don’t think eating and meals are the same thing?
No, that’s a rather artificial, out-dated social construct. Meals aren’t essentially about eating.
What! The very purpose of meals is nutrition.
Oh, you’re so sheltered and ethnocentric. Do you really think that every society sees mealtimes the same way?
Every society has mealtime. They always have!
Yes, but there’s an incredible variety of cultural views on meals.
What kinds of views?
Some societies see mealtimes as a sacred event, but some don’t. Some societies eat meals in private; for others, meals are a public affair. Some societies eat sitting around a table, others eat standing up. Even within the same culture, some meals are cooked in the home and others are bought out in public.
What are you trying to say?
Mealtime has no “essence.” There’s no intrinsic purpose that mealtimes serve that remains constant across all times and cultures; it’s all relative.²
I’m not contesting the fact that there are differences, but it doesn’t prove your point. Regardless of cultural variations, meals have always been about eating and sustaining the body.
No, a meal is a social gathering where people who enjoy each other’s company spend time together talking and laughing and fulfilling a variety of other purposes. It’s any mutually agreed-upon gathering. It’s not about nutrition.
Of course it is. The purpose of mealtimes is to eat. That’s the definition of it.

Clinging to Exceptions

Don’t you see the inherent flaw in defining meals by eating?
No. Enlighten me.
That definition would exclude even some appetitists.
How would it exclude people who weren’t anorexic or bulimic?
Well, it would exclude someone who wasn’t hungry or was too sick to keep their food down.
They are still welcome to come to a meal! No one would ever prevent that. Anyone is welcome.
Anorexics and bulimics should be allowed to join in meals. The inequality needs to end.
They are allowed to join in meals. They’ve never been barred from it. In fact, they’re usually encouraged to join in.
Maybe, but can’t you see that your narrow expectations make anorexics and bulimics feel oppressed and excluded. Maybe they’re not interested in ingesting nutrients but still want to take part in the other benefits of a meal.

Government Benefits Available to All

Well, no one has ever said that a person with an eating disorder can’t join in a meal, even if they don’t want to eat.
Yes, but government favors appetitists by its policies.
Like what?
Take for example state-funded meal plans for students. It’s not fair that tax money is used to give people food because it favors people who like food. An anorexic draws no benefit from a state-funded meal plan.
What would you prefer?
They should expand the definition of mealtime so that anorexics could use those funds on things they want, like clothes or books.
Look, that’s a totally separate issue. You don’t need to redefine meals to get those benefits.
That’s what I mean by bigotry. You don’t think anorexics should be allowed to buy clothes or books.
That’s not what I said; they can do that all they want. I said meals are inherently about eating, no matter how you might try to deny that.
That’s fine if you believe that, but you can’t try to force that view on others through the law.
The word means what it means; the practice is what it is. We should expect that to be reflected in laws. How could it not be?

Historical Examples

There’s still no justification for redefining meals as “any mutually agreed-upon social gathering.”
What, so you don’t gather with others at mealtime to talk and enjoy their company? I mean, the Bible even defines it that way. Ecclesiastes 10:19 says, “A feast is made for laughter.”
Well yes, that’s a descriptive characteristic, but it’s not the defining characteristic.
Well, that’s your definition, but you can’t force it on someone else. And you certainly can’t base legal and social institutions on your own concept when others in our society don’t see it that way. (Food stamps for those who like eating—how prejudiced!)
That definition has been a necessary part of life on earth for eons. How can any society survive if the people don’t eat meals? Every society has had this practice.
Yes, every society has had meals, but it’s not always about nutrition or sustaining life. Haven’t you heard about the Roman vomitoriums?
Remind me.
They’d have huge banquets and then go to special rooms designed for purging. Then they’d go back to the banquet. You see? It’s not about nutrition. It’s about a social gathering for mutual enjoyment. That’s an example of an advanced civilization that didn’t meet your limited definition of “meals.”
The Romans civilization isn’t around anymore, is it?
Oh brother, do you really think it fell because they had these unique eating practices?
Not exactly, but they sure didn’t help. Look, I don’t care if you find a hundred aberrant examples. That doesn’t change the fact that meals are necessary for the perpetuation of civilization—for survival! I mean, think of the effects it would have if people didn’t eat at mealtimes.

Conclusion

Your fears are ungrounded—stop being an alarmist. This is just the next step in an advancing social consciousness.
Listen to yourself. In the last ten minutes, you’ve managed to justify seducing people into a physically and mentally destructive lifestyle, convince them that they have no power to choose another course, assert that the natural outcomes of a dangerous behavior are really the result of prejudice, twist and redefine such basic concepts as eating and meals, and undermine a social institution as old as mankind.
It’s called progress.
It’s called blindness.

Sound like science fiction? It’s called current events.

Sanchez quotes several interesting examples of cultural variation regarding marriage customs. The irony that he is apparently blind to is that every marriage system he describes from Coontz’s book involves (1) man-woman marriage and (2) rearing children. To have missed this constant in a book designed specifically to look for constants bespeaks a lack of rigor on the part of either the author or the reviewer.

Nathan Richardson

In 1729, Jonathan Swift wrote a satirical piece called “A Modest Proposal,” in which he facetiously suggests that people start eating children in order to solve hunger problems. Swift did not hate children or actually think eating them was a good idea. Being satire, the purpose of his paper was to expose distorted reasoning by applying it to an obviously absurd scenario.

There are some obvious differences between eating disorders and same-sex attraction; no metaphor touches on all points. This imaginary conversation is intended to make a point about faulty reasoning leading to dangerous conclusions—conclusions that hurt people instead of helping.

A Conversation on Eating Disorders

I don’t know much about eating disorders, do you?
Yeah, I’m pretty informed on that topic.
I just saw a TV program about eating disorders. What a difficult condition!
Yeah. People who are anorexic or bulimic have very difficult lives.
My heart really goes out to such people.
Mine too! I’m glad you have sympathy for them. Many people in this world aren’t very understanding of conditions like bulimia.
I definitely feel for them, but I will admit that it’s hard for me to understand. Like, on that program, they talked a bit about a girl who’s bulimic. Why would she do that? It’s so contrary to what our bodies were designed for.
Because she’s bulimic.
How can you tell she’s bulimic?
Because she does those things.
But what makes her do them?
Her bulimia does. She’s bulimic.

Biological Roots

But how did she get that way?
Look, it’s just the way she was born. It’s inherited genetically; it’s predetermined at conception.
I’m not sure that makes sense. Why do you say that?
They’ve proven it.
Hmmm, that’s hard to believe. Whatever proof you’re talking about, I’d have to see it.
Well . . . it’s out there. For one thing, it’s been observed in animals, so that shows it’s naturally occurring.
What does it matter that it’s been observed in animals? I don’t see the point.
Well, that shows that it’s a biologically determined condition. It’s natural.
Even if it occurred naturally among wild animals, that wouldn’t make it any less a problem.
What do you mean?
I mean, just looking at it from a natural selection angle, an animal that exhibited such a behavior probably wouldn’t live very long, much less reproduce.
Still, it’s obviously an inborn condition that’s passed on through your genes.
How could a condition be passed on through your genes if it prevented you from passing on your genes?
Are you denying that it’s genetically inherited?
Look, I don’t rule out the possibility that there could be some biological component—I’d have to read up on it. But saying it’s 100% genetically determined is a bit much, don’t you think?

Environmental Roots

Well, what else could it be?
A good way to find that out would be through scientific research.
Assuming the research you mention is unbiased, what does it say?
Well, I’m no expert, but many people with eating disorders have a lot of experiences in common. Difficult events in their lives, social pressures, or feeling like they lack control in their lives.
You’re saying you think it could be environmental instead of organic? That it develops because of experiences that happen in a person’s life rather then because of genetics?
Sure. Let’s consider all possibilities.
Nope, that can’t be it.
Why do you say that?
Not every bulimic has had the same experiences, so experience can’t explain them all having the same condition.
Well sure, there’s variation; not everyone who’s bulimic has had the exact same experiences.
Right. So that means it can’t be acquired through experience or environment.
But there are many common types of characteristics and experiences among people who struggle with that problem. Wouldn’t you say that that indicates that those characteristics are probably related to bulimia?
So you’re saying they do this as a response to things that happen in their lives, rather than being born that way?
It seems reasonable that it might at least be a factor.
You’re saying they choose this lifestyle?
Well, the lifestyle, yes. I mean, it’s not that they aren’t being influenced by some difficult compulsions, but it’s within their power to refrain from doing it, with some work and time.
This is not a choice! Who would choose such a difficult lifestyle when it brings so much pain and suffering?
Why would you want to persist in one when it brings so much pain?
Because it’s who you are. Your body and soul yearn for it. Their food orientation means they feel differently about food than you do. They don’t want these feelings. They didn’t ask for them. But these feelings are very real.
I know their feelings are real. I don’t doubt that they feel very compelled to do what they do. But that doesn’t mean it’s “just who they are.” There’s probably underlying reasons for the unusual behavior.
What, you think it’s a mental illness?
I suppose, technically. It’s a practice so counter-intuitive and contrary to nature. If someone persists in harmful habits even when they know it’s hurting them, isn’t that kind of descriptive of a mental illness?
I resent you calling it a mental illness.
A mental illness doesn’t make you a bad person.
But if it were a mental illness, they would know. It’s happening to them, so they should know the most about it.
One of the effects of some mental illnesses is to make it hard to see your condition for what it really is.
There are thousands of bulimics, and you’re saying they’re all wrong about themselves? Are you implying that they can’t see clearly enough to recognize that?
I don’t know. Maybe. It seems reasonable that while you’re in an unhealthy behavior you may not be able to think clearly about it enough to change it on your own.
What about people who aren’t anorexic or bulimic but still support their lifestyle? Why would they be wrong?
I don’t know. Maybe they haven’t learned enough about the condition. Maybe we could all use some help in understanding the condition and changing it.

Motivation to Change

I’m all for people learning more about the condition, but for the purpose of accepting it, not for the purpose of changing it.
Why not?
You shouldn’t try to change them. Bulimia isn’t wrong, it’s just an alternative eating style. They have a right to live whatever lifestyle they want.
OK, but what about those who want to change?
They only feel that way because society pressures them to conform. People shouldn’t try to change them.
Aren’t you doing them a disservice by withholding help?
Why would that be a disservice to them? I’m supporting them in their lifestyle.
But it’s so closely connected with physical and mental health problems, like depression.
Bulimia doesn’t make a person depressed; it’s only when others speak negatively of bulimia that makes a person depressed. It’s people like you who do them a disservice by trying to change them.
How do you figure?
You don’t accept their lifestyle, so they feel like freaks and then get depressed. They don’t need to change; they just need to know that this is normal.
I’m not saying they should be made to feel like freaks. That would be wrong. But denying that it’s out of the ordinary only keeps them in the negative pattern and prevents them from getting help.

Possibility of Change

What help?
Therapy. Treatment programs.
Look, those so-called “recovery programs” don’t work.
Some do.
The best programs only have a success rate of about fifty percent.
To me, that shows that some programs work. How is that proof they don’t work?
They can’t be doing what they’re claimed to do if they only help some people and not everyone. Since they don’t “cure” everyone, they’re ineffective.
Does a treatment have to be effective for everyone to be considered effective at all?
What do you mean?
If a new drug that prevented heart failure had a success rate of fifty percent, wouldn’t you still try it? Don’t you think it’d be foolish to completely dismiss it just because it didn’t work for everyone?
Well, most bulimics don’t want to change anyway.
How do you know that? Do you speak for all people with eating disorders?
It’s obvious from public opinion. Most don’t want to change.
I doubt that, but even if it were true, what about the ones who do? Shouldn’t they be allowed to try and change?
It’s pointless to try. You can’t change someone’s food orientation. No one has ever gone from being anorexic or bulimic to what you call “normal” eating.
Of course people have.
Show me someone who has.
I don’t know that I can think of someone I know personally, but there are books about it, and I’ve read personal accounts online.
Those people haven’t really changed. If you followed up a couple years later, you’d find that a lot of them relapsed.
That doesn’t mean they can’t overcome it. It just means they need more therapy, time, and encouragement.
But no one “overcomes” it permanently.
Of course they do. Many lead normal lives later.

A Habit before It Ever Happens

No, even if they never binge or purge again, they’re just denying their bulimia. Deep down inside, they’ll always be a purger.
How can they still be a purger if they’re not purging?
Anorexia and bulimia are a part of who you are. A lot of people are probably bingers and purgers their whole lives without ever knowing it.
What? How can you be a purger if you never purge?
Happens all the time, my friend. A lot of people unconsciously suppress their inherent bulimia.
If you can be bulimic without actually binging or purging, then how would you ever know who was bulimic?
By trying it out. That’s why people need to explore their inner food orientation.
What? You want someone who’s never been anorexic or bulimic to try it out?
If they don’t, they may never know.
What are you saying?
They need to be informed and to experiment to find out what their eating style is. There’s support websites for that and even school clubs now.
So not only are you in favor of withholding help, you’re actually encouraging people to experiment with such a dangerous, addictive behavior?
I wouldn’t put it that way.
I’m sure you wouldn’t.
What’s wrong with people trying it out, to see if they prefer it?
Look, when have you ever heard of an addiction that was helpful to sample? A person could get stuck in the unhealthy cycle. It’s the nature of addiction.
If they sample a behavior and persist in it, that doesn’t mean it’s an addiction. It means they were naturally inclined to the behavior all along, but society made them hide it.

Conclusion

Wow. In the last five minutes, you’ve asserted that this harmful lifestyle is predetermined and inborn, and that people with this condition are completely powerless to change it. Not only that, you’ve recommended that people who’ve never had the condition should dabble in it to see if they develop it.
Like I said earlier, I’m the one who’s sympathetic to them. I have their best interest at heart.

Continued in “A Modest Agenda Proposal.”

Thanks to Jeffrey Robinson for a statement that gave me the idea for this dialogue, in his speech “Homosexuality: What Works and What Doesn’t Work,” TheGuardrail.com.

2. Eleanor Kurtus, “Applying Group Therapy to Eating Disorders,” School for Champions.

In Plato, we saw a tension between two different accounts of law: one as an imperfect, man-made set of rules established for the purpose of peaceful coexistence, and the other as a divine order encoded into human law by an individual with privileged access to the divine world. Aristotle recognized this distinction, and attempted resolve the tensions.

Aristotle felt it was important to ground law into a divine, natural order of some kind. This cosmic order is what gives law its binding authority. He, like Plato, also believed that a central function of law was to compensate for the imperfect and random judgment of men. He drew from an example presented by Plato’s Socrates (in Plato’s more dubious second point of view). People have passions and behave randomly, but reason can corral those otherwise random impulses together and direct them towards a higher and more noble purpose. In the same way, law can be the voice of reason to a population of random and various purposes, and can channel them towards nobler ends. Aristotle said,

He who commands that law should rule may thus be regarded as commanding that God and reason alone should rule; he who commands that a man should rule adds the character of the beast. Appetite has that character; and high spirit, too, perverts the holders of office, even when they are the best of men. Law [as the pure voce of God and reason] may thus be defined as “Reason free from all passion.”¹

Do men discover the rational order and then encode it into law? Plato answered this question simply by saying that law is discovered by the philosopher-king and imposed on the people in its pristine, divine form (in his second and more satirical point of view). Aristotle’s view is more nuanced. “In Aristotle’s picture, legislators are not obliged to copy an ideal, but rather to articulate in more particular and concrete terms what they have grasped as an abstract requirement. … Aristotle accordingly distinguishes between theoretical and practical reason.”¹

According to Aristotle, legislators may “discover” basic principles and abstract ideas, but the “business of making laws … is a practical activity, and the legislator has to attend to the contingent human world. … The activity of legislating is not concerned with disclosing the unchanging truth, but rather with interpreting it for particular circumstances.”¹ Thus, while the abstract ideas may be universal, the laws that a legislator makes may be different according to different contexts, because a legislator interprets the abstract principles and applies them to each circumstance. Thus,

The twofold character of law is described by Aristotle as if there were two sorts of law, which he calls “particular” and “universal.” Particular law “is that which each community laws doean and applies to its own members”; universal law “is the law of nature.” Because “everyone to some extent divines” this “law of nature,” we can know what it “really is,” Aristotle says. …

That everyone can “divine” the natural law follows from the definition of man, common to Plato and Aristotle, as a compound of reason and passion or of spirit and matter, or as a rational animal. This understanding of human nature implies that the rational or spiritual element of man is a participation in the ruling principle of the universe, and that the universe is a cosmos ordered by a rational and divine principle, of which man’s reason is a fragment. Aristotle makes it clear that men can claim to have knowledge of an unchanging “natural law” because they share in the divine reason that rules the universe, and this belief postulates a universe that incorporates within itself its divine ruling principle. In short, the idea of natural law rests on assuming that God is neither beyond and outside his creations nor incomprehensible, but is rather immanent in human reason.¹

So, while there are universal, abstract ideas which we can intuit, not all law is a direct encoding of this overarching order. There is also a need for practical wisdom in applying these laws to particular circumstances. For example, Aristotle said,

Of political justice, part is natural, part legal; natural, that which everywhere has the same force and does not exist by people’s thinking this or that; legal, that which is originally indifferent, but when it has been laid down is not indifferent, e.g. that a prisoner’s ransom shall be a mina, or that a goat and not two sheep shall be sacrificed, and again all the laws that are passed for particular cases. … The things which are just [as in accordance to law] not by nature but by human enactment are not everywhere the same … Of things just and lawful each is related as the universal to its particulars.³

This belief in a rational order may seem to imply that men have a moral duty, by conscience, to obey well-executed laws, and also that laws that are not rooted in this rational order may be properly disobeyed. This is because if the authority of law comes from its relationship with the rational order, when there is no relationship with the rational order, there is no authority. “In matters where ‘legal justice’ can be required to conform to ‘natural justice,’ the ‘divine’ element in men that gives each person natural knowledge of this higher justice would seem to give every person the right to refuse … to observe an ‘unjust’ law.” However, Aristotle “unequivocally denies both that legislating is merely a matter of enacting a pattern discovered in the sky and that every man has a right to disobey a law when he finds that it conflicts with ‘natural law.’”¹ Thus, Aristotle did not believe that just anybody could rebel against a law when he did not see its connection with the divine order.

So, there is a rational order that is known to people, “self-evident” in a sense through reason, but the actual laws that a legislator enacts may vary from place to place, according to various circumstances and the needs of the people. These laws may not be a direct logical deduction from universal principle, but nonetheless are implemented as law by people and are still to be obeyed.

The Polis

Aristotle was also concerned with the questions, “What is a polis?” and, “What does it mean to be a citizen of a polis?” Consider the implications of this question. Plato defined a polis as an association created by law: it is a collective body of people who are governed by a common set of rules. According to Aristotle, however, a simple agreement to a set of rules, however, is not enough to make a polis. For example, my friends and I agree to abide by a set of rules when we play Risk, but we are not a polis for doing so. Or, two nations may make treaties and agreements with each other, but their association can hardly be called a new polis. A business may collect participants towards a common goal, but this association is not a polis either.

Aristotle believed, like Plato, that a polis is, indeed, characterized by a subscription to a common set of rules. What makes the association a polis, in contrast with a mere treaty, or a game, or a business is the goal or purpose the association and its rules are working towards. Aristotle did not believe (as Plato did) that the rules that govern the polis could be entirely non-instrumental. That is, they can’t be conventions designed merely to allow people to simply get along with each other. Why is this? Well, as we mentioned before, two nations may make agreements that allow them to get along, but mutually consenting to a set of rules is hardly enough to make the subsequent association a polis. The laws that govern a polis must have an end that is unique to that association. Just as rules of a family have a purpose that is suited to the purposes of the family, and the rules of a military must serve the purposes of the military, the laws of a polis must serve purpose of the polis. Letwin explains,

It follows that for a polis to be orderly, all the activities of its members have to be directed to serve a common purpose, as opposed to an alliance where a common objective exists alongside many diverse, unrelated ends. The end that shapes political order must be one to which everything that goes on in the polis is related as a means. Aristotle finds this end in “the good life,” by which he means the realization of the higher potentialities of human “nature,” as distinct from mere physical survival, which human beings share with animals. And he concludes that what distinguishes the polis from other associations like a household or alliance is its concern with achieving this all-embracing and therefore highest end for all of its members.¹

Aristotle said,

Any polis which is truly so called, and is not merely one in name, must devote itself to the end of encouraging goodness. Otherwise, a political association sinks into a mere alliance, which only differs in space [i.e. in the contiguity of its members] from other forms of alliance where the members live at a distance from each other. … The end and purpose of a polis is the good life, and the institutions of social life are means to that end.²

In other words, Aristotle believed in an instrumental view of law, and saw the polis as a universitas-type of association united under the common goal of achieving the good life. A set of non-instrumental rules that don’t direct the populace towards a common end would make the polis no different than a mere alliance among its participants. Letwin continues this thought:

Recognizing the “good life” as the end of a polis explains not only the unity of a polis, but also what determines the substance of the law. For the law is then supposed to teach the members of the polis a particular way of living, and does so by imposing a “system of order” on the activities of all citizens. The object of law is education in its broadest sense, and this gives the unity of a polis its distinctive character: “Otherwise, a political association sinks into a mere alliance” and “law becomes a mere covenant—or (in the phrase of the Sophist Lycophron) ‘a guarantor of men’s rights against one another’—instead of being, as it should be, a rule of life such as will make the members of a polis good and just.” Because law gives a collection of men a common quality, Aristotle says that the law instructs, and that the art of the legislator molds the citizens. Legislators make men good by “forming habits in them,” and those who fail to do so “miss their mark.” What distinguishes the “instruction” provided by the law from that of the family is the coercion attached to law. This is the only context in which Aristotle notices coercion as an attribute of law.¹

However, a subscription to common rules designed to achieve the good life is not sufficient to make a polis either. Those that subscribe to this common set of rules must be common from various backgrounds. You’ve got to have bakers, artisans, soldiers, fathers, brothers, merchants, etc. What makes a polis a polis is that the association transcends and subsumes just about every other kind of association. Almost all other associations are a part of the polis. Thus, contained within the universitas of the polis is the societas of everyday society.

What does it mean to be a citizen of a polis? This too is a more interesting question than it appears. Consider; we require non-citizen residents to abide by the same rules we do while they live here, but they are not citizens. There are many examples of people who we require to follow the law, but we do not consider them citizens of the polis. Thus, although a polis is a collective subscription to a common set of rules designed to achieve the good life, being a citizen of a polis is more than just adhering to those rules and living within the boundaries of the polis. To be a citizen, Aristotle concludes, is to participate in the lawmaking of the polis in some way. For example, in the United States, we are a citizen when we can vote.

Political Systems

We should also take a brief moment and look at Aristotle’s view of political systems. He believed that there are three different kinds of proper government: kingship, aristocracy, and polity. All three of these can look after the common interest; kingship is when one person rules, aristocracy is when the best rule, and polity is when the masses rule, but only to the extent that they look after the common interest. Each of these forms of government has a counterfeit. Aristotle explains,

Three perversions correspond to them. Tyranny is the perversion of Kingship; Oligarchy of Aristocracy; and Democracy of Polity. Tyranny is a government by a single person directed to the interest of that person; Oligarchy is directed to the interest of the well-to-do; Democracy is directed to the interest of the poorer classes. …

… The course of the argument thus appears to show that the factor of number—the small number of the sovereign body in oligarchies, or the large number in democracies—is an accidental attribute, due to the simple fact that the wealthy are generally few and the poor generally numerous. … The real ground between oligarchy and democracy is poverty and riches.²

It must be remembered here that when Aristotle speaks of democracy, he is speaking of a perversion of polity. As such, he sees democracy as the worst form of government. Ideally, he said, we should have a mixed form of government, with elements of monarchy, aristocracy, and polity. Every societal class should be represented in some way.

Unresolved Conflict

The relationship between the universal and the particular, between laws with direct connection to natural law and those which are merely positive laws implemented by people in their various circumstances and needs, leads to a central struggle in Aristotle’s point of view:

The blueprint view of rules (to which Plato adhered completely) successfully expresses their impersonality and stability [central to the view of law as the voice of reason to an otherwise random and passion-driven human nature], but excludes any possibility of adjusting law to circumstance. The signpost view of rules (which Aristotle developed) allows for flexibility, but at the cost of destroying the impersonality and stability of law.¹

In other words, the central purpose of law (bringing stability to an otherwise random human nature) seems to require it to be impersonal and unchanging, but if through practical reasoning we change the law to adapt to various human circumstances, then have we not reintroduced the human and random element of law we were trying to compensate for?

This is not the only challenge brought to the fore by Aristotle’s point of view. Letwin explains,

Aristotle did not succeed … in resolving another problem raised by Plato. By describing law both as a pattern for ‘the good life’ and as the bond of a polis, characterized by the diversity and independence of its members, he produced a sharper version of the tension between Plato’s two senses of justice. … In other words, we have inherited from the ancient Greeks two ideas of law, one as a means to preserving peace among heterogeneous associates and the other as a means to achieving perfection. …

By his more thorough exploration of the idea of law, Aristotle clearly exposed the conflict between the conception of law as a set of noninstrumental rules setting conditions that make possible a peaceful communal life, and the conception of law as a set of instrumental rules for shaping a particular kind of life and bringing about certain substantive consequences.¹

Subsequent philosophers will draw upon various parts of the philosophies of Aristotle and Plato. Plato presented two different points of view; one was the beginning of social contract theory, as championed by Thomas Hobbes. Law is a human agreement, Hobbes, designed to help us get along, that we are obligated to obey because of mutual agreement, or social contract.

The other view Plato presented is a rendition of natural law theory, and described law as a divine order in the sky that is articulated by the philosopher-king. Marcus Cicero developed this idea, but borrowed from Aristotle the belief that everybody has an innate knowledge of the divine law. He argued that all laws that differ from this universally known divine law are not even real laws, but only the instruments of men in rebellion against divine law.

Aristotle tried to reconcile the two worldviews by pointing out the distinction between theoretical and practical reason; people can encode an abstract divine law into human instruments applied to unique circumstances. Thomas Aquinas further developed this distinction in his philosophy of law, and he showed different ways in which the divine order can be applied to particular circumstances. Thus, Cicero, Aquinas, and Hobbes each developed various parts of the philosophies presented by both Plato and Aristotle.

Jeffrey Thayne

In our age, science has attained a respected status that has largely gone unchallenged. I suspect there are many good reasons for this. Clearly, we have many conveniences today that we commonly attribute to the scientific endeavor. This is certainly a good thing. Brent Slife and Richard Williams believe that “it is important to understand how science has come to command such respect.”¹ They explain,

The obvious answer is that science is persuasive. We are persuaded through scientific experiments that their results are trustworthy and accurate. The next question, of course, is why it is that scientific experiments are persuasive. When we look at the issue carefully, it seems clear that scientific experiments are persuasive because they follow the form and structure of a logical argument. The persuasive power of science, in this sense, is simply the persuasive power of logic.¹

The relationship between logic and scientific discovery, Slife and Williams claim, “can be traced to Aristotle. It seemed to him … that following logical procedures is our best guarantee against unwarranted conclusions and errors in thinking.”¹ A scientific experiment, they explain,

is essentially a logical argument. An experiment is set up much like a logical argument of the form “If _____ , then _____ .” Essentially, the researcher says, “If I measure these certain variables in this way, and if I control for those other variables in this way, and if I make observations under these specified conditions, then I will observe that particular result.”¹

The question we may ask is, “On the basis of observation, can this logical argument make any indubitable or genuine truth claims?” Let’s consider. Imagine we have a theory, and on the basis of this theory, we predict that we will observe a particular phenomenon under certain conditions. We do, indeed, observe the phenomenon as we had predicted. Can we then conclude that our theory is true? Let’s lay this out in the form of a logical argument:

           If theory x is true, we will observe y.
         We observe y.
         Therefore, theory x is true.

This experiment is set up to verify a hypothesis on the basis of observation. Schooled students of logic will see an elementary fallacy in this argument, commonly known as affirming the consequent. The conclusion does not follow from the premises. The argument is invalid. Slife and Williams use a counterexample to show easily how this argument is fallacious:

           If Socrates is a man, then he is mortal.
         Socrates is mortal.
         Therefore he is a man¹

“This is obviously not a good argument,” Slife and Williams explain, “because showing that Socrates is mortal does not necessarily show he is a man. He could be a dog or a bush or any other mortal thing.”¹

Certainly, this does not mean our hypothesis is not true. We have certainly marshalled evidence in support of our theory. We just can’t claim to have proven our hypothesis. Can any scientific experiment make this claim? Slife and Williams continue:

That experimentation cannot prove anything true has been known for a long time. … The very way empirical studies are set up can always and only demonstrate the consequent. Thus, it is impossible—by the rules of logic implicit in the experiment itself—to prove any hypothesis true.¹

It is not my intention here to “disprove” science, or to dismiss science in any way. I believe that well-performed scientific studies ought to be persuasive to us. My only goal here is to change the way we think about science. We can’t think of science as an indubitable, royal road to truth. In my next post, I will explain how a philosopher of science named Karl Popper proposed an alternative to the philosophy of verificationism, and I will also discuss some of the challenges of Popper’s point of view.

On 4 Nov. 2008, California citizens will vote on whether to add a new amendment to the state constitution. Only fourteen words long, if Proposition 8 passes, the amendment will read, “Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.”¹

Why would we bother to bring this up on an LDS philosophy website? Because the First Presidency said to members in California last June, “We ask that you do all you can to support the proposed constitutional amendment by donating of your means and time to assure that marriage in California is legally defined as being between a man and a woman.”²

We’re a very small website with a very small readership, and we may not make a huge difference when compared to other venues. But when the prophet speaks, we’re covenant-bound to hearken. So we’ve decided that in addition to our regular articles, from now until the vote on November 4, we will place links and information on this page to help members of the Church become more informed and better able to fulfill the prophet’s call to “do all you can” to help this legislation pass.

Official Church Links

Articles

First Presidency letter
The Divine Institution of Marriage
ProtectMarriage.com
Some actual consequences

Videos

Church broadcast to LDS California citizens living out-of-state (4:05)
Prop 8 consequences foreshadowed in Massachusetts (6:49)

Bloggers

Connor Boyack on Prop 8
A Modest Lifestyle Proposal, a satire. What if the arguments for the homosexual lifestyle were used to promote eating disorders? New
A Modest Agenda Proposal, part 2 of a satire. New

1. Molly Hennessy-Fiske, “Opponents of gay marriage see hope in ballot measure,” Los Angeles Times, 16 May 2008.
2. First Presidency, “Preserving Traditional Marriage and Strengthening Families, First Presidency letter, 29 Jun. 2008.

Jeffrey Thayne

Before we discuss Aristotle’s thoughts on law, we must consider for a moment the purpose of law. Robin Letwin, in her chapter on Aristotle, introduces two distinct views of law that she finds hints of in Aristotle (and the beginnings of which in Plato). This distinction is helpful in categorizing Aristotle’s thought, and Letwin borrows it from the modern natural law philosopher Michael Oakeshott. One view of law can be called the non-instrumental view of law, and the other can be called the instrumental view of law.

From the perspective of non-instrumental law, laws should not be used to direct people towards a particular goal or purpose; they should simply provide a structure that allows people to pursue their own purposes and goals. For example, laws regarding wills don’t tell people how they distribute their belongings to their children; they simply say, “If you were to distribute your possessions in a particular way, here is how you would do it.” Another example is traffic law. Traffic laws don’t tell you what your final destination is; they just tell you that, wherever you go, you should drive on the right side of the street, etc. Also, laws against crime would be limited to those crimes that impede others from pursuing their lawful goals, such as assault, murder, robbery, etc. The purpose of law, from this perspective, is not to direct the people towards a single goal or purpose, but rather they are a means of providing space for people of various goals and purposes to pursue their own desires.

From the perspective of instrumental law, laws are designed to serve a particular purpose; that is, they are designed to direct people towards a particular goal. For example, if a government decided it wanted to end poverty, it might pass a law which says that every person who has a particular amount of wealth must give a portion of that wealth to a charitable institution. This legislator of this law—be it a king, parliament, or congress—has a particular goal in mind, and the law serves as an instrument to attain that goal. Another example of instrumental law might be when a legislature wants to foster a particular type of moral climate in society, and thus outlaws crude language in media broadcasts, or outlaws the distribution of pornography, etc. Thus, laws are a way of unifying society towards particular, agreed upon goals that are either shared by the majority (in a democracy), or at least endorsed by the governing body (in other forms of government).

It may seem as though the whole distinction is misleading; what appears as non-instrumental laws serve a particular purpose, shared by the populace at large: the establishment of an orderly, non-violent society. Thus, because they are designed for a particular goal, they are not “neutral” with respect to purpose. What we would call “non-instrumental laws” are really designed to maintain peaceful coexistence. The goals of these laws may be different, but they are goals nonetheless. Thus, this distinction would seem useless unless we draw on another distinction: universitas and societas.

Universitas and Societas

Let’s consider: when two people meet for the purpose of exchange (for example, one person sells bananas to another for a set price), they make certain agreements with each other that they are obligated to keep. However, the goals of each of the actors may be entirely different. One may be seeking the monetary means of supporting his or her family, while the other may be seeking only the pleasant taste of bananas. The rules that govern this exchange may be intended to keep it safe and orderly, but the rules to not constrain the goals or intentions of either participant. The rules merely allow both parties to pursue their respective goals unhindered by violent or deceitful interruption. This kind of association is considered societas. Thus, a marketplace may be an example of a societas: a collection of individuals all pursuing various goals and purposes.

A universitas, however, is an association of an entirely different kind. Let’s consider: when a group of people associate for the purpose of obtaining a particular set of goals, their association is of a different kind than that of two people wishing merely to make a mutually beneficial exchange. An example of this kind of association is a club, or perhaps a business. When a club is formed, members join because they want to participate in the collective goal and identity of the club. A business might have a collective goal of making a profit. In both examples, members who hinder the group from achieving their goals may be ousted from the group. Club members, for example, that work against the stated goals of the organization may lose their membership. Employees who fail to do their job may be fired. While participants in a universitas may have goals other than those of the group, their association with the universitas arises out of the collective goals of the group. There can be a collective unity in a universitas that is unavailable in a societas.

A universitas-type association may engage in societas-type relationships with other organizations. For example, a business (a universitas which is collectively pursuing a goal shared by all members of the organization) may form contractual relationships with another business (also a universitas) that is pursuing an entirely different goal. The resulting relationship between the two businesses is a form of societas.

Conclusion

With these two other terms, universitas and societas, we can see ways in which the first distinction, instrumental and non-instrumental, may be useful. It isn’t that non-instrumental laws don’t serve a purpose (else why have them?); rather, they don’t unify the polis under a common goal, as one would find in a universitas-type of association.

This distinction, coupled with the distinction between societas and universitas, will help us make sense of the various views of philosophers we will discuss later in this series. Aristotle, for example, argued that the polis is a universitas-type of organization with the collective goal of achieving the good life. Laws, according to Aristotle, are instrumental tools to help society obtain this goal. A purely societas-type organization, he argued, can hardly be called a polis, even though it encompasses many societas relationships, because it would then be nothing more than an alliance among members of the organization.

Jeffrey Thayne

Last weekend, I posted notes from my philosophy of law class on this site. The post was quite lengthy, and I have decided to divide it into a series of shorter posts, which I will repost over time. Again, I am not arguing any particular point of view here; in this law series, I am only presenting various views of law. I would be interested to hear any thoughts our readers may have about the issue.

Rigidity of Law

Plato consistently contrasted law and tyranny; more emphatically, claims Robin Letwin, than any other philosopher.¹ What is tyranny? It is when a ruler “is at liberty to do what he pleases, to kill, to exile, to follow his own pleasure in every act.”¹ Plato condemns this, and espouses instead what he calls the rule of law. Let’s consider: in the absence of any pre-established laws or norms for condemning or punishing behavior, we are left at the moment of an atrocity to decide what to do about it. At the moment of an atrocity, passions are inflamed, judgments are impaired, and any judge or legislator will be biased in making his or her decisions. In other words, there is an inherent randomness and arbitrariness to human decisions when they are made at the moment of crisis.

Law fixes the problem, because it, in essence, allows people to make rational decisions (unaffected by passion) prior to the moment of crisis. “It is because the law consists of rules that are framed when the wrongdoer and his victim are equally unknown that the law secures the stability of the city.”¹ This is important, because this makes law stable and fixed; it isn’t created at the moment of crisis or in a moment of passion. They are prospective rules that provide a stabilizing affect on an otherwise arbitrary and random human nature.

Plato is also aware that the law, as general and inflexible, can never “deal satisfactorily with what is never uniform and constant [day to day circumstances].”¹ Letwin explains:

Law is both static and general and consequently at odds with the changing particularities of the concrete world. That is why law is necessarily a second best alternative to the ideal, which is a ruler of perfect wisdom who can make the right decision for every particular question. If such a ruler were available, it would be as ridiculous to hamper him by legal codes as for a patient to prefer the instructions left by the doctor when he travels abroad to the doctor’s personal prescription on the spot. As such an all-wise ruler is not available in the real world, law is the best substitute for him. But its capacity for remedying disorder necessarily entails a degree of inappropriateness in its prescriptions because law is inseparable from rigidity. Any attempt to mitigate that rigidity, Plato insisted, must destroy the law.¹

Thus, rigid generalities are not better than the specific judgments of a perfectly wise ruler; however, they are certainly better than the specific judgments of an unwise ruler. In the absence of a perfectly wise ruler (who can remain collected and rational at a moment of crisis or atrocity), it is dangerous to turn the reigns of government over to an unwise man without the principle of rule of law, for he may become a tyrant. Instead, it is best to rely on rigid generalities, in order to avoid this possibility. It is an imperfect but necessary way to avoid tyranny and yet maintain peaceful coexistence. It is necessary because law will be consistent and impersonal, while men’s judgment is affected by the particular biases of the moment.

Contractual Obligations

Why must we obey the law? Plato insists that we have an unqualified obligation to obey the law. Plato’s writings usually take the form of a dialogue between a character named Socrates and his associates. In Crito, Plato presents a conversation between Socrates and his friend Crito. Crito pleads with Socrates to escape an unjust death sentence. Socrates calmly and collectedly explains to Crito why he ought not do so. What is his argument? Why shouldn’t Socrates have the right to escape Athens when he was innocent, yet unjustly accused and sentenced to death? Letwin explains,

Socrates’ argument clearly attaches law to an association made by subscription to rules governing it. And he emphasizes that this kind of association, the polis, is not imposed by nature but made by men. This implies, on the one hand, that men may renounce their membership in a polis by leaving it, as they cannot do by leaving their families or tribes.¹

In other words, nature organizes us into families, which are natural organizations which we did not choose. Other organizations, such as clubs or businesses, for example, are associations made not by nature, but by people. A particular kind of association, called the polis, is an association that is associated with law; a nation would be an example of a polis, or a community that forms laws that regulate the affairs of its citizens. “The law shapes … an association constituted not by agreement to achieve any particular substantive purpose [such as a business or a club], but by subscription to a common set of rules.”¹ Because a polis is defined by a collective agreement to abide by a set of rules, a polis will cease to be a polis if that agreement dissolves, or if the citizens disregard the rules.

While we cannot leave our families (or, if we did, they would still be our family), we could leave a polis and completely disavow allegiance to it. This implies that when we remain in a community or nation, we do so voluntarily. Voluntarily remaining in a polis, and partaking of the benefits provided by its laws, therefore implies consent to those laws. Thus, when Socrates was wrongfully accused, unjustly convicted, and sentenced to death, he still felt an obligation to obey the law and submit to the punishment. Letwin explains:

Although Socrates knows himself to be innocent of the crime for which he had been sentenced to die, when Crito urges him to attempt to escape, Sacrates replies that though his sentence was unjust, refusing to submit to it would constitute an even graver injustice. And he established his obligation by arguing that though he might at any time have left Athens, he had chosen not to do so. He had in all ways enjoyed the benefits of the kind of life that the laws of Athens secured of him and had even brought children into the world in Athens. In all these ways, he had tacitly accepted membership in the community and had thereby undertaken an obligation to obey its laws.¹

Thus, by remaining in Athens and participating in the freedoms there, Socrates had tacitly agreed to obey the laws. To disobey them now would not only break this tacit agreement, he claimed that it would destroy Athens. Why?

A polis exists only insofar as its members observe its laws. Once its members cease to subscribe to the law, the polis ceases to exist. And that is why Socrates says that if he disobeyed the law, he would be unable to refute the charge that he would thereby be destroying Athens. … Although the polis is an association that its members may choose to leave, if they remain within the polis they must have no choice but to obey the laws that secure the life of the polis they are enjoying.¹

In this way, Plato spells out something that resembles contract theory. Plato does not claim that law is perfect; only that it must be obeyed because of an implicit agreement to abide by it.

Plato’s Other Point of View

There are other passages in Plato that imply an entirely different view of law. This second understanding of law that we find in Plato is usually presented as Plato’s primary view. Noel Reynolds, however, believes that the first view, the one already presented here, represent Plato’s actual view. This second point of view, Reynolds suggests, may have been intended by Plato to be a kind of satire.

We often feel hunger, thirst, or other passions but do not always respond to them. If we did, we would be unpredictable and we would be drawn hither and thither with every change of emotion and passion. We subject them to reason; we channel them, using rational processes, to higher and nobler ends. Thus, according to Plato, man is a kind of rational creature; we have the changing uniquenesses of a physical body (such as emotion, sickness, aging, etc.), but we also have access to a higher, unchanging order through reason. There are passages in Plato’s writings that suggest that the law serves the same function in the community as reason does in the soul; it directs the individual wants and wishes of the polis to a higher and nobler end. For example, Socrates, in the Republic,

describes law as the rational element of the polis, with law performing the same function in the community as does reason in the soul. The wants of the individual members of the polis are analogues of the passions in the soul, and the law reduces the unruly and changing variety of individual wants to order by directing them in conformity with the rational principle that governs the universe and transforms it into an ordered cosmos.²

In order for law to do this, however, the “legislator must have a special sort of knowledge which transcends the human world. It is knowledge of something eternal, of the eternal form of justice, which he must endeavor to copy in framing laws.”¹

This idea is commonly referred to as Plato’s philosopher king—the idea that the one who has privileged access to the Divine Reason would then encode that reason into laws for the rest of the community to follow (in the same way the mind, through reason, would perceive unchanging truths, and then gather and direct all the passions of the body towards that end). In this case, the polis is more than just

an association whose members are independent individuals bound together only by their observation of the same laws, but an association with a particular substantive object: the creation of a certain sort of person. In other words, the polis acquires the character of an educational enterprise designed to produce and impose an all-embracing discipline. The object of the laws is to teach virtue to the individuals who constitute the city. Rules of law are instrumental imperatives, a set of directions for how to behave. They direct behavior and distribute censure and praise in such a way as to ensure that all the members of the community will pursue the right satisfaction in the right order.¹

Thus, the law represents a kind of normative order, that gets its moral authority from the weight of eternal reason. This is very different from the previous view of law as an imperfect social agreement that preserves the peace. Letwin explains:

In short, Plato gives us two distinct views of law. One, contained in the Crito [and some parts of the Statesman], suggests that the law is a set of non-instrumental, general, highly determinate and necessarily somewhat defective written rules, created by an association (a polis), purely for the sake of maintaining the association, and which (despite their defects) are to be obeyed by the members for the sake of peaceful coexistence. The second view, which appears most sharply in the Republic, the Gorgias, and parts of the Statesman, suggests on the contrary that laws are to be obeyed only because (and hence presumably only to the extent that) they are the products of and embody a human wisdom that is the nearest thing in the changing world to the unchanging verities of Reason.¹

Conclusion

Dr. Reynolds believes that this second idea is an idea Plato presented as satire, which he presented in order to refute it. The first idea is much more representative of Plato. It is also what Hobbes drew out of Plato when Hobbes studied Plato’s ideas on law. Thus, Plato’s first view of law is the beginning of social contract theory. In the first point of view, Plato makes it clear that law is only a second best option when compared to having a perfectly wise leader. However, he says, such a leader is unavailable—that is, non-existent. So his suppositions about having a wise philosopher-king with privileged access to divine reason is hypothetical at best, and he certainly realized that it is impractical.

In this way begins centuries of debate about the nature of law: is law merely a social fact, invented by people to help compensate for human passion and weakness (Plato’s first point of view), or does it represent some form of eternal, normative ideal to be aspired to, to produce “a certain sort of person” (Plato’s satirical point of view)? In a sense, this same debate continues today in the conflict between legal positivism and natural law theory; is law merely a useful social invention that serves a particular human purpose, or are there eternal standards against which law may be measured and critiqued? In the first case, the only measure of law, really, is how well it serves the purposes people decide for it—that is, how satisfied people are with it, or how unsatisfied they are with it before they decide to change it. In the second case, we must decide what the standards are against which law may be measured, and how we can agree on those standards. This debate has its roots in Plato, and has filtered its way down to our present day.

When I was a kid, we had an Apple IIe with a fun little game called Function Machine (here is a similar example).

You pick a number to put in the machine, it chugs a little, and out comes a different number. For example, I put in a 2, and a 4 came out. Then I put in a 5, and a 7 came out. After a putting a couple numbers in the machine, my seven-year-old brain noticed that there was a consistent pattern. I could figure out what the machine was doing each time (MyNumber + 2). So when a 6 went in, I already knew that an 8 needed to come out. It wasn’t as glamorous a game as Super Mario Brothers, but it beat watching the boob-tube, right?

X-Y Charts and Equations

Later when I started seventh grade algebra, my teacher Mr. Hewitt played a similar game, only the patterns he chose were a little harder to discern. The class gave him a number, and he told us the result. As we talked back and forth, he created a chart and filled it out. When our 1 resulted in a 3, I immediately assumed the machine was adding 2. But when our next number, 2, resulted in a 5, I saw that it was more complex. When our 4 resulted in a 9, some students declared that he was just being random, making up numbers on the fly, and that it was impossible to ever predict the results he was planning.

Mr. Hewitt assured us, though, that he was not being capricious or fickle. He was being consistent, and if we just thought about it, we would see the pattern he was following, and we would know what outcome should follow each number we gave him. Eventually, of course, we figured out what his pattern was: OurNumber x 2 + 1.

After playing this little game a couple times, we found that if we gave him a few numbers and he told us the result, we could readily see a pattern. Once we knew the pattern (we later found out it’s called an equation), he didn’t have to tell us the outcome of every possible number we could conceive of. We could figure out the result for each number and fill out the chart ourselves (we later learned to call it an x-y chart). He was teaching us to know his mind by carefully using what he’d already given us, and we became wiser and more independent in the process.

Commandments and Principles

In tenth-grade seminary, we memorized a great scripture, D&C 58:26, in which the Lord says, “It is not meet that I should command in all things; for he that is compelled in all things, the same is a slothful and not a wise servant.” In other words, there are so many ways to do good in this life, he’s not going to tell us every single one. The next year, I read Mosiah 4:29, in which King Benjamin says, “I cannot tell you all the things whereby ye may commit sin; for there are divers ways and means, even so many that I cannot number them.” In other words, there are so many ways to do bad in this life, he’s not going to tell us every single one.

The Lord gives us many specific commandments, to be sure. And we should definitely obey every word he says. But the Lord also expects us to seek out opportunities for righteous works, without needing a specific written commandment tailored to our personal situation before we will start doing good deeds. (“Well, the Irwins need help, but I’m not their home teacher, so I’m not required to.”) And he expects us to learn to discern good and evil on our own, and to avoid and avert it in whatever form we encounter it, whether it’s been specifically prohibited or not. (“Well, the whole movie is about a scantily-clad woman who sleeps her way to the top of the corporate ladder, but it’s only PG-13, so it’s OK to watch it. Plus, it has a great soundtrack!”)

There were some situations in high school, though, in which I genuinely wanted to do right, but I couldn’t figure out what I should do. I learned that if I studied the words of ancient and modern prophets, they often addressed similar situations to mine, even if they didn’t match exactly. With the help of the Holy Ghost, I could discern the principle those commandments were based on, much like our class figured out the equation behind Mr. Hewitt’s limited x-y chart. Once I understood the principle, I could figure out what to do in my own situation, even though it wasn’t covered in the scriptures, much like knowing Mr. Hewitt’s equation allowed me to expand the x-y chart to cover any number we put in the left column. For example, the scriptures had very little to say directly about dating or sports, but many principles in the scriptures can help a person make better choices in those arenas.

Sometimes when I had the equation, I would miscalculate and put the wrong result in the right column of the x-y chart. For example, with the above equation (OurNumber x 2 +1), I might put in 37 and come out with 73 instead of 75. This especially happened with high numbers, when you can’t count on your fingers, or with complex or unreduced equations, like 2/3x or x². Mr. Hewitt would usually be there to point out my error in reckoning and tell me the right result.

Likewise, sometimes I thought that I thoroughly understood a principle, only to find out that in a certain situation, I had miscalculated and misapplied it. The first time I heard someone say we were supposed to wear white shirts when passing the sacrament, I dismissed it as ungrounded opinion. “The Lord doesn’t care what you wear. All he cares about is that your heart is pure.” When I later read several statements by modern prophets advising us to wear white shirts when performing that ordinance, I realized that I’d misapplied the principle. The Lord does care most that our hearts are pure, but he also sometimes expects us to dress certain ways in some situations.

Conclusion

Before someone objects, let me articulate what should be obvious: I am not saying God is as predictable as an algebraic equation, or that right and wrong are necessarily determined by articulable abstracts that can be applied to any situation. This is a metaphor, folks. I’m hoping to illustrate at least two ideas.

First, Heavenly Father is not capricious or arbitrary. Just as Mr. Hewitt was not making up numbers as he went, the Lord does not do things just because they are convenient, or because they fit his taste. Many scripture passages reiterate his reliability, and that every act he does is righteous. Perhaps he emphasized this because so many people in history believed in a variety of gods, all of whom could be fickle and selfish, and whose competing standards of behavior mortals were required to choose among.¹ In contrast, Heavenly Father repeatedly taught that he was trustworthy and consistent in his righteous principles, and that we could depend on him to lead us right, even if it was often along paths we did not understand.

Second, the Lord loves us enough to want us to learn not only the x-y chart of specific commandments, but also the “equation” or eternal principle behind them. He “will give unto you a pattern in all things, that ye may not be deceived” (D&C 52:14). With that pattern, he trusts us enough to allow us to discern for ourselves what to do in many unique situations we encounter. Boyd K. Packer explained that “Procedures, programs, the administrative policies, even some patterns of organization are subject to change. We are quite free, indeed, quite obliged to alter them from time to time. But the principles, the doctrines, never change.” Thus, “What we really need is a revival of the basic gospel principles,” enabling each individual to discern right and wrong in every situation.²

I’m also grateful that the Lord occasionally corrects our miscalculations by revealing further commandments. One grand, historical example comes to mind. In order “that there may not be so much contention … concerning the points of my doctrine” and to quell the dissensions between the various churches in the latter-days, he restored the gospel and sent modern prophets (D&C 10:63). That way, while the sincere in heart may be in any church, “inasmuch as they erred it might be made known” (D&C 1:25). That further light and knowledge has corrected the conflicting summations of many sincere spiritual algebra students like me.

1. I sometimes wonder if this is why the scriptures have statements like, “the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, which is one God” (2 Ne. 31:21)—to emphasize that even though there are technically more than one god, they all share the same moral standard, as opposed to the pantheons of most cultures.
2. Boyd K. Packer, “Principles,” Tambuli, Oct 1985, p. 37.

Today, we hear a lot about the importance of self-confidence and self-esteem. Where does this concept originate? Well, sometimes we think poorly of ourselves. The oft-proposed solution is that we should think more highly of ourselves. I think the intent behind this idea is probably good; clearly, self-derogatory thoughts are not constructive, and probably symptomatic of deeper spiritual problems. However, I wonder if M. Catherine Thomas is right when she says that “self-esteem” is a red herring, a distraction from deeper and more important spiritual truths.¹

Where is the scriptural warrant for the importance of self-esteem? Where is the scriptural warrant to think about ourselves at all (good or bad)? Consider: whether we think badly of ourselves, or highly of ourselves, we are still thinking about ourselves. James Faulconer explains,

A poor self-image—like every self-image including a good one—is selfish. To be selfish is, by definition, to be self-centered, to place oneself at the center of things. But to be concerned about a self-image—good or bad—is also to place oneself at the center.²

C. S. Lewis gives an example when talking about humility. He agrees that the difference is not between thinking highly or poorly of yourself:

Do not imagine that if you meet a really humble man he will be what most people call “humble” nowadays: he will not be a sort of greasy, smarmy person, who is always telling you that, of course, he is nobody. … He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all.

Scriptural Views of Self

Despite intense efforts, I have yet to find any scriptural support for the belief that positive self-thoughts are the cure for negative self-thoughts. In fact, the scriptures point the opposite direction. Let’s consider the teachings of King Benjamin, who said:

I would that ye should remember, and always retain in remembrance, the greatness of God, and your own nothingness, and his goodness and long-suffering towards you. …

If ye do this ye shall always rejoice, and be filled with the love of God, and always retain a remission of your sins. (Mosiah 4:11–12)

Thomas points out that Ammon is a perfect example of someone who obeyed this counsel, and received the promised blessing:

I do not boast in my own strength, nor in my own wisdom; but behold, my joy is full, yea, my heart is brim with joy, and I will rejoice in my God.

Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things. (Alma 26:11–22)

Notice: Ammon thought nothing of himself, but was yet full of joy! Isn’t this a strange contrast to the philosophy that mortal happiness depends on a positive self-image? What is the secret? Ammon tells us: confidence in God. Thomas says it quite nicely:

For Ammon, it seems, the whole concept of self-esteem was irrelevant. Being filled with the love of God was of far greater worth than any sense of self-confidence. If one grand objective of earth life is to gain access to the grace of Jesus Christ for our trials and divine development, then we will immediately realize that self-confidence is a puny substitute for God-confidence.¹

Indeed, the solution to a negative self-image is to reach outwards, and to look upwards, not to look inward. The qualitative difference between Ammon’s sense of nothingness and our own self-derogatory thoughts is that Ammon didn’t obtain his sense of nothingness from looking at himself or thinking about himself; he got his sense of nothingness from looking to God and thinking of others. The story of Moses’ conversation with God illustrates this quite nicely:

The presence of God withdrew from Moses, that his glory was not upon Moses; and Moses was left unto himself. And as he was left unto himself, he fell unto the earth.

And it came to pass that it was for the space of many hours before Moses did again receive his natural strength like unto man; and he said unto himself: Now, for this cause I know that man is nothing, which thing I never had supposed.

But now mine own eyes have beheld God; but not my natural, but my spiritual eyes, for my natural eyes could not have beheld; for I should have withered and died in his presence; but his glory was upon me; and I beheld his face, for I was transfigured before him. (Moses 1:9–11)

How We Become Aware of Our Nothingness

It was Moses’ encounter with the God that brought him to an awareness of his own nothingness, not his reflection on his weaknesses. It wasn’t because of a self-centered look inwards, but because of his relationship with the Savior and his newfound access to His grace. Thomas continues:

Some may not like the dichotomy between the pursuit of self-esteem and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Some may say that you can pursue and have both. But I do not find this idea of both pursuits in the scriptures. …

Low self-esteem is often associated with feelings of incapacity, or a sense of victimization, or the realization that we can’t make happen the opportunities, the approval, the feelings, etc., that we feel we need. But our relief comes when we realize that God has made us powerless so that as we cleaved unto him, he could work miracles in our lives.¹

It is important to emphasize an distinction here: Moses, Ammon, and King Benjamin aren’t thinking badly of themselves when they speak of their own nothingness; they aren’t even thinking of themselves at all—they are thinking of God. Faulconer agrees with Thomas, and adds an important corollary:

It is important to reiterate that it is not only worrying about good self-image that is a problem. Having a bad self-image, being incapacitated by depression about one’s lack of ability, looks, relations with others, or anything else is despair, and despair denies God. Those doing those things recognize their weaknesses, but they do not add to that a remembrance of the goodness and long-suffering of the Lord. Bad self-image, depression about one’s lack of ability, looks, or relations with others are at best only ways of feigning our nothingness before God. On the other hand, a good self-image, self confidence, etc., are ways of feigning our confidence before him. Having a good self-image and having a bad one are mutually exclusive, but being aware of one’s nothingness and being confident before God are not only not mutually exclusive, they are also the same thing. For once I am aware of my nothingness I can begin to trust the Lord as I really ought, whole-heartedly and without reservation, and when I do that he gives me the confidence I need, confidence in him.

It strikes me that there is an irony concealed in the mutual incompatibility of good and bad self-images … for by making them mutually exclusive, we are able to think we can or must choose between them, that there are no other choices. Thinking that way, we are able to think we are doing something grand when we get over having a bad self-image by replacing it with a good one; we are able to persuade ourselves that we have genuinely changed and, thus, to make ourselves feel good without ever having given up self-centeredness that was the problem in the first place. But change without repentance isn’t real. It’s just more of the same old thing, but covered in a more socially acceptable garb. Thus, working at changing our bad self-image instead of learning to trust the Lord is little more than a way of filling ourselves with activities and thought that allow us to avoid repentance. In its masquerade as confidence, self-esteem resulting from a good self-image may well be the thing that prevents us from seeing our own dependence on God and the necessity of the Atonement.²

The Language of Zion

This seems like a bold claim. Perhaps, if it seems too bold, it is because we are accustomed to using words and terms borrowed from the philosophies of the world, rather than the words given us by the scriptures and the prophets. This ties directly into my previous post, “The Restoration of All Things.” Is there not a danger in superimposing the philosophies of the world onto the doctrines of the gospel? Ought we not to use the revelations of the Restoration to re-evaluate the prevailing dogmas of philosophy, psychology, or whatever our discipline may be? Faulconer explains:

The scriptures don’t speak of self-image, though they do speak of confidence. Perhaps part of the reason we are sometimes too quick to transport the “philosophies” of men into the gospel is that we are too quick to translate the terms of the gospel into terms that have their origin in the thought of the world. … What would our lessons be like if when we talked about esteem we talked about it in the scriptural sense, and when we talked about confidence or love we used the scriptures as our guide? Would anything be lost? Wouldn’t a great deal be gained by developing a religious language to talk about our religious experiences rather than borrowing from the discourses of our secular pursuits? … Armed with an unborrowed language for talking about our spiritual experience, might we not find that deepened religious experience in turn deepens our otherwise secular pursuits?²

I believe that we have been separated from a loving Father in Heaven through the Fall. Of course we are going to feel the pains of separation and a sense of loss and loneliness while we are in this world. This is why the Lord has promised to send us his Comforter, the gift of the Holy Spirit. I ask the same question M. Catherine Thomas asks: Is it possible that, seeking other sources of comfort than God’s grace, “we have created the whole issue of self-esteem in an attempt to soothe this fallen, homesick self?”¹

1. M. Catherine Thomas, “The Doer of Our Deeds and the Speaker of Our Words,” BYU Speeches, 1993.
2. James Faulconer, “Self-image, Self-love, and Salvation.”
3. C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, book 3, chapter 8: “The Great Sin.”