By Karen Moran
Listen to a recent interview given by Professor William Saunders on the Drew Mariani Show, part of Relevant Radio. Dr. Saunders introduces the M.A. in Human Rights, particularly emphasizing its unique interdisciplinary, Catholic approach.
Originally published on 27 January 2020 at Relevant Radio.
By J-P Mauro
In the fall of 2019, The Catholic University of America is rolling out a new graduate program in which students can earn a Master’s degree in Human Rights. The course load is unique in that it is the first such program to approach the subject from a Catholic perspective. CUA is now accepting applications for enrollment for the Fall 2020 semester.
Although the degree is offered through CUA’s Institute for Human Ecology (IHE), it is a mult-disciplinary program that takes students through classes in philosophy, law, canon law, and theology and religious studies. While these classes are offered through the many specialized schools of the university, the degrees are issued through the school of Arts and Sciences.
Originally published on 30 January 2020 at Aleteia.
By Daniel E. Burns
Levin argues that “at the heart of our broader social crisis” is “the weakness of our institutions—from the family on up through the national government, with much in between.” He points out that, by most easily measurable criteria, our country faced much greater challenges in the thirties or late sixties: what is new today is not the strength of our common challenges but only our collective weakness in confronting them, which in turn can be traced to the weakness of our formative institutions. “Breaking away from institutional commitments can seem like liberation, but it more often feels like isolation—cold and lonely and pointless, devoid of love and loyalty,” like too much of American life today.
Originally published on 27 January 2020 at Public Discourse
The Fifth Commandment tells us, “thou shalt not kill.” Yet, killing is integral to warfare. How, then, can war be justified? Philosophers have grappled with that question for centuries. Saint Augustine, a Fourth Century Catholic thinker, developed a theory of “just war” that remains influential in the postmodern era. In this edition of Catholic Military Life, the only official podcast of the Archdiocese for the Military Services, USA, Catholic University of America Theology Professor Dr. Joseph Cipazzo, Ph.D., explores Saint Augustine’s “just war” theory, and how it applies to current-day conflicts.
Originally published on 28 January 2020 at Catholic Military Life
By Lucia A. Silecchia
This year, I managed to stay awake until the clock struck midnight to usher in a brand new year and decade. The attention that the turning of this page received in both the secular and religious senses reflects the importance we place on the passage of time. We mark major epochs in important ways as our midnight festivities call to mind the sacredness of the gift of time.
Yet, while large blocks of time receive celebratory attention when they come and go, lowly minutes are often overlooked as they slip by. Our lives, though, are lived by the minute – not just in the hour, week, month or year. So, perhaps while we welcome the start of 2020, it may be worth celebrating not just the significance of a brand new year but the gift of the 527,040 minutes from which it will be knitted. (1,440 bonus minutes for the leap year day!)
Why celebrate the mere minute? During the course of the year will lie many minutes, still hidden from our view, in which important things will happen that are unplanned and unscheduled precisely because they happen so quickly and may seem insignificant at the time.
There will be the minute when we send a quick text to a friend – and it will brighten his day when he needs it the most. There will be the minute when we decide to let a harried mother ahead of us in line – and it may be the only kindness she will see all day. There will be the minute before dinner when we bow our heads to pray silently in a restaurant – and it may be just enough to awaken gratitude in someone else. There will be the minute when we put down our phones to let a child flaunt her loose tooth or glittery art project – and show her how important she is to us.
There will be the minute when we are tempted to say something unkind in anger – and summon the grace to stay silent. And, there will be the minute when are tempted to let a wrong go conveniently uncorrected – and summon the grace not to stay silent.
There will be the minute when our eyes meet those of a troubled old man on the street – and our “hello” may be the only greeting he hears all week. There will be the minute when we say no to an old temptation – or the sadder minute when we give in to a new one. There will be the minute when we decide to give a student, a child, a co-worker or a relative the benefit of the doubt – and the minute that one of them gives that benefit back to us.
There will be the minute when we impulsively say “yes” to a new project or challenge — and the course of our life may be changed forever. There will be the minute we casually greet a stranger – and he or she turns out to be a friend for the rest of our lives.
There will be the minute when the mere expression on our face can make a difference in the way a person struggling with an unplanned pregnancy, an unexpected job loss, or a fearful heart can face the future. There will be the minute when — perhaps out of habit — we say a heartfelt prayer for a stranger when we stop to let an ambulance rush him to the hospital or a hearse slowly carry her to her place of rest. That prayer may help his body and her soul more than we will ever know.
There will be the minute when life seems overwhelmingly difficult, and, in despair, the name of God is all that we are able to say. Then, there will be the minute when life seems overwhelmingly beautiful and, with gratitude, the name of God is all we will want to say.
There will be the sacred minutes when new lives enter this world and the sacred minutes when those in this world leave it behind for eternity, when minutes will matter no more.
Until then, though, the minutes of the year to come are worth cherishing for all of the promise that they hold. At the threshold of this new year, we might think we have already planned out the months, the weeks, the days and the hours as events, obligations and celebrations have been inked on our calendars.
But we have not – and cannot yet – account for the humble minutes of the year. It is those minutes that will hold the things we will look back on most vividly when this year draws to a close. Only then will we know what those minutes held and all that unfolded in them. Right now, this minute holds a prayer for God’s loving help, guidance, and strength for the next 527,040 minutes of ordinary times.
Happy New Year!
Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law at the Catholic University of America. “On Ordinary Times” is a biweekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu.
By Lucia A. Silecchia
The most ordinary of pictures hung in the foyer of my parents’ home. It was, to be sure, a picture of extraordinary people – a muted, faded depiction of Mary holding a newly born Christ in her arms.
It was a picture with no quantifiable value. As newlyweds, my parents had visited the National Gallery of Art, liked this picture, and bought copies to bring home.
As is true of so many things that seem ordinary, I walked past that picture dozens of times a day and scarcely noticed it. In a small home with a center foyer, it was nearly impossible to go anywhere without walking past that picture. Yet, it did not demand attention. Whether I noticed it or not, that picture of Mary and Christ was, quite literally, at the heart of our home.
Several years ago, however, I saw that picture in a new light. I was in my parents’ home playing with a toddler who, at the time, was the baby of our family. I was bouncing him in my arms when the picture caught his eye. It was at his eye level and he paused to look at it. He pointed to the image of the infant Christ, smiled, and proudly announced his own name. He was so used to being the youngest and smallest in any family photo he saw that, I guess, he simply assumed that any baby in any picture had to be him.
I was amused by his confident confusion. At the time, I certainly did not see much similarity between the lively boy sans halo squirming in my arms eager to play and the calm, serene child in the picture whose tranquil face gazed back at us from the embrace of His mother’s arms.
In the years since, I have looked at that picture again many times. Indeed, I have a copy in my own home now. I have also come to think that, perhaps, the beloved baby of my own family was wiser than I thought. As Christmas comes, I believe this more than ever.
He noticed the picture of Mary and Christ with fresh, appreciative eyes in a way that I did not. So often, the account of Christmas is so well known, so widely depicted, and so often read that it can be easy to forget how truly awesome that first Christmas was – and how awesome it remains. As an adult with things to do and places to go, I can so easily walk past a beautiful picture depicting Christmas day and not even notice it. Sometimes it takes a child’s wonder to make new something that should never grow old or routine.
Much more than that, though, was the simple beauty in the way a young child looked at a picture of the infant Christ and so naturally and confidently saw the humanity of God. He looked at the picture and saw a child like himself. In that, he saw the inexplicable, incomprehensible beauty of Christmas.
He saw that the Creator of the Universe became a child like him.
He saw that the Savior of the world became a child like him.
He saw that the Redeemer prophesized about and longed for through the hopeful echoes of the centuries became a child like him.
He saw that the King of Kings became a child like him.
He saw that the God of all eternity entered time and became a child like him.
He reminded me once again that the great beauty of Christmas is so simple and yet so indescribably profound. As announced by angels to shepherds on a starry long-ago night and announced to me every day in a faded, oft-overlooked picture, God loves us so much that He became a child. He deigned to dwell in our ordinary times.
Merry Christmas!
Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law at the Catholic University of America. “On Ordinary Times” is a biweekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu.
Past columns in the series may be found here.
By Professor Jay Richards, Ph.D.
Christians used to fast—a lot. But I never made it a regular discipline until a few years ago. Part of the problem was that I (erroneously) thought that going more than a few hours without food was bad for my health.
Besides, if fasting were so important, why did the Church in her (current) wisdom require so little of it? Our little Lenten abstinences and that hour before communion hardly qualify. These are mere vestiges of a practice that’s mostly died out.
Indeed, I first caught a glimpse of the effects of fasting by accident. I had to go without food for a day and half before a medical procedure and did not suffer the symptoms I had feared. So, out of curiosity, I researched the subject, and found that thousands (and soon to be millions) of people were fasting, not so much for its spiritual but for its physical benefits. This wasn’t just self-help flim flam. There was a growing body of scientific evidence to back this up.
The more I read, and the more I experimented with it, the more convinced I became that we abandoned fasting to our own physical and spiritual detriment. (One of the ironic symptoms of this is that we’ve lost much of the meaning of our feasts.)
But there was a gap in the growing literature on fasting. There are dozens of books that extol the physical benefits of either fasting, high-fat/low-carb diets, or some blend of both. In a parallel universe, there are plenty of evangelical books that extol the spiritual benefits of fasting—a deeper prayer life, victory over sin, renewal of church community, and the like.
Then, over yonder, there are some Catholic books that argue we should fast as a sacrifice. Some authors do so half-heartedly, for fear that someone will think they’re calling for the bad-old-days before Vatican II, when Catholics were legalistic and supposedly lacked a personal relationship with Jesus.
For instance, in his book The Spirituality of Fasting, Msgr. Charles Murphy “sharply delineates” what he calls “dieting and supervised fasts” from “the religious practice of fasting.” He’s right that we should fast for wholesome spiritual reasons. It doesn’t follow, though, that we must ignore the other reasons, and set them at odds with the spirit.
There was, in short, a void where books linking body and soul should exist. After encouragement from others, I decided I try to help fill the void.
In Eat, Fast, Feast, I seek to make the case for a fasting lifestyle. I tout the physical, cognitive, and spiritual benefits of fasting (and feasting). I challenge the notion that anyone who fasts for proper spiritual reasons should not seek mental and physical benefits. After all, if we are unities of body and soul, of the dust of the earth and the breath of God, should we not assume that if fasting is good for us, then it’s good for us overall—body, mind, and soul?
By William Saunders, JD
This is a year of many anniversaries related to human rights, such as the 30th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre, the 20th anniversary of the crackdown by the Chinese Communist Party against the Falun Gong, and the 30th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. But there is another anniversary, too often forgotten, that, in many ways, serves as a basis for our evaluation of, and judgments on, current events in light of our shared commitment to human rights.
On December 10, 1948, the United Nations General Assembly announced and adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The Declaration, adopted unanimously, states certain rights that must be respected, among them the right to life, the right to religious freedom, and the right to marry and found a family. It is a remarkable achievement, reflecting a consensus among the diverse collection of nations that make up the UN, nations that hardly ever agree on anything. But they agreed this time. Why? Because, following the utter devastation of World War II, which was unlike anything that had preceded it, they believed that a commitment to human rights was the only thing that could prevent the world from falling into a third world war, one that might mean the very end of humanity itself.
The Declaration is not perfect, and some criticize it on various grounds, such as that it is an incoherent “shopping list”. Those alive today face the perennial question: is the glass half full or half empty? The Popes, particularly John Paul II, have not stinted from seeing the glass as half full. True, it fails to enunciate a coherent underlying theory that would unify the rights recognized; however, it, at least, recognizes the existence of these rights and it insists they must be respected. So the glass is half-full. To vary the metaphor, we can build on that.
And how are we to go about building a sturdy doctrine of human rights? Just as John Paul II did – by proposing, to all people of good will, an understanding of human rights built upon the teaching of the Church in its social doctrine. That deeper understanding will unify the “list,” as well as guide us when we need to consider whether to add to the list. And this deeper understanding is what we aim to provide in our master of arts degree in human rights. The Declaration is a fundamental tool in this dialogue among people of good will, and we celebrate its anniversary.
By Lucia A. Silecchia
Recently, I was standing in a checkout line behind two women deep in conversation. I could not help overhearing that one was recently widowed and struggling to adjust to this new season of life. Most of their conversation, however, was drowned out by the lilting strains of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” playing over the loudspeakers while Halloween candy was still in the aisles.
I could – but won’t! – gripe about the seasonal creep that may soon have us singing “Jingle Bells” on the 4th of July. Instead, that moment of odd juxtaposition reminded me that, for many, the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas holds a measure of sorrow.
Like the stranger shopping with me, many are dreading their first Christmas without a loved one. Others are facing their second, or ninth, or twenty-seventh Christmas without a loved one when the blessed numbness of the first year has passed and the reality of loss has truly sunk in. There are some who expect with dread that this may be the last Christmas they will share with a suffering family member or friend. There are some passing the first season when an adult child will not be able to come home. This may be the first Christmas away from the family home because downsizing or simple economics mean the home was sold and the large table that had long been the setting for family feasts is no more. It may be the season when a deployment keeps a member of the military away from home – knowing he or she will miss a child’s first Christmas or a grandparent’s last.
This may be the first Christmas season that the elders of a family, with both relief and regret, surrender hosting duties to a younger generation – or the first time that the family chef can no longer make a cherished traditional dish. This may be the season when images of joyful families hurt the hearts of those whose families have borne the pain of divorce and estrangement. The centrality of children in this season centered on the birth of a child can take a toll on those who ache to have a child and do not or cannot.
Some face the season in poverty, knowing they cannot give their loved ones grand tokens of their affection and fearing that they will disappoint those nearest and dearest. Others have seen some manifestation of a dark side to human nature in this past year – and whatever they have seen has made it far too difficult to hope or rejoice. Others have no time or energy to celebrate because they silently work multiple jobs or scramble to care for those unable to care for themselves. Still others know they will not celebrate Christmas in their own homes because they will be keeping vigil with loved ones in hospitals, hospices, and nursing homes.
Some parents will face a pang of loss this season if their children announce they have grown skeptical of Santa. Other parents will face a far greater, more poignant pain if their children confide they have grown skeptical of God.
For some, the cares of life may have robbed them of a bit of their own faith in a season when it is yearned for the most.
As we leave Ordinary Time for a spell and begin Advent, we enter the season that seems particularly meant for those who carry great burdens. All appearances to the contrary, Advent is not the season of the jolly songs and frantic festivities of Christmas. It comes in the darkest days of the year when the nights are the longest and light most scarce. It is a season that recalls the ancient world’s aching wait for Christ, yearning for the tidings of great joy that had not yet come. It is not a season of red and green and gold and silver, but of purple – because the joy promised is hoped for, but not yet here.
If you are facing Christmas this year with sorrow in your heart, I hope that you will find comfort in believing that, truly, Advent is the season for you. It is the season for all those who hope for what they do not have, and who yearn to see light after a season of darkness.
If you are seeking a new tradition this year, particularly if this year has treated you well, I have a gentle suggestion. On the first Sunday of Advent, remember all those you know whose hearts might be aching a bit. Devote some time to them that day as we enter this season of yearning, waiting, and hoping in the darkness. A visit, an email, a text, a letter, a phone call or the promise of prayer might be exactly what they need to know that they do not wait alone for the light to dawn.
The first Sunday of Advent seems the perfect time to assure those who suffer that Advent is, in the words of ancient carols, a time to “rest beside the weary road” until, once again, “a weary world rejoices.” It is a season to help each other move toward Christmas peace by sharing the burdens of ordinary times.
Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law at the Catholic University of America. “On Ordinary Times” is a biweekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu.
Past columns in the series may be found here.
By Emmett McGroarty
The Supreme Court has decided to hear a case with significant implications regarding the powers of the presidency. The case, Seila Law LLC v. Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, concerns the power of the president to remove the director of the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB).
The salient facts are straightforward. Through the 2010 Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act, Congress established CFPB and vested it with immense powers, including the enforcement of nineteen federal consumer protection statutes. It housed CFPB within the Federal Reserve System as an “independent bureau” and placed it under the leadership of a single director appointed by the President and confirmed by the Senate. The petitioner is a law firm that provides a variety of legal services to consumers and is the target of a CFPB civil investigation. CFPB demanded certain records from petitioner, and petitioner objected asserting that the CFPB structure violated the Constitution’s separation of powers doctrine. The question being presented to the Court is whether Congress can create an independent agency that is headed by a single person—as opposed to a board or commission—who is removable only for cause.
Petitioner’s case rests on Article II of the Constitution providing, at Section 1, that “[t]he executive Power shall be vested in a President of the Unites States of America” and, at Section 3, that the President “shall take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed.” In this regard, the Supreme Court recently noted:
The Constitution that makes the President accountable to the people for executing the laws also gives him the power to do so. That power includes, as a general matter, the authority to remove those who assist him in carrying out his duties. Without such power, the President could not be held fully accountable for discharging his own responsibilities . . . .
Free Enterprise Fund v. Public Company Accounting Oversight Board, 561 U.S. 477, 513-14 (2010).
Seila did not arise in isolation. It is the byproduct of the progressive ideology that took root in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In particular, social scientists optimistically proclaimed that the “science of administration” could solve society’s great ills if they were given sufficient authority and resources.
From the progressive viewpoint, the problem is that the Constitution does not leave room for such experts to wield the necessary power. It created cumbersome checks and balances that make each branch deferential to the defined powers of the other branches, and it enshrined the protection of individual rights as a paramount concern. Both of these facets impaired the efficiency of the expert. Work-arounds to the Constitution were needed.
One such work-around was the creation of the independent agency. Under that scheme, experts would be insulated from accountability and would have the leeway to make the ostensibly
correct decisions. Congress would delegate to the executive broad powers that would often include swaths of legislative, judicial, and executive power. Most important, the expert would be insulated from the office of the president; in particular, the president would not have direct supervision over the agency and would be unable to fire agency heads except for cause. From 1887 through 2010, Congress created at least twenty-five major independent agencies (with well over half having been created after 1966).
In Humphrey’s Executor v. United States, 295 U.S. 602 (1935), the Supreme Court upheld the creation of independent agencies. The Court reasoned that Congress had intended the Federal Trade Commission to be “wholly disconnected from the executive department” and to be in part quasi-legislative and in part quasi-judicial. The Court further reasoned that, given that the FTC’s duties were not “purely” executive, Congress could properly insulate its leadership from the presidency. Legal theorists rationalized that the end-runs of the Constitution’s checks and balances were mitigated by statutory or de facto constructs that protected liberty.
CFPB’s authorizing legislation adds a further wrinkle. Unlike other independent agencies, it is headed by a single director—not a board or commission—making the director even more powerful vis-a-vis the President and the departure from the Constitution even more radical than the Court’s decision in Humphrey’s Executor.
Seila Law promises to be an intriguing decision. Will the Court invalidate CFPB’s authorizing legislation on the grounds that it impermissibly puts an independent agency under the control of a single person? If so, will it declare the whole statue unconstitutional, or simply sever the offending provision? Will it issue a more robust decision that limits or overturns the rule in Humphrey’s Executor on the grounds that even that violates the Constitutional design of a unitary Executive? The decision could profoundly other agencies as well as the relationship between the people and their government.
By Lucia A. Silecchia
Years ago, a child in my family asked, “If a Church is God’s house, is a cemetery God’s garden?” I lack the theologically correct answer. Yet, that question recognized what I know is true: there is something profoundly sacred about the land where we lay our loved ones to rest.
This month of All Saints and All Souls seems a better time than ever to admit that I cherish long walks in peaceful cemeteries. In recent years, some of those I loved most have been lowered into earth’s embrace, So, more often than before, I take walks through a hilly hometown cemetery in Queens N.Y.– a holy place that seems, paradoxically, very much alive.
I have met a musician who plays bagpipes at the graves of his loved ones. He asked without words if it would disturb me if he continued to play. Without words, I assured him it would not. Bagpipe melodies are a perfect soulful soundtrack for this garden.
I have seen an elderly man carrying plants and gardening gear as he walks alone. Is he tending the grave of a wife with whom he walked through life? A father killed in a long ago war? A child who never grew old? I did not ask. I left him to his loved ones as he left me to mine, with the peaceful serenity of knowing this garden gives us both a place to remember and pray.
I once saw a small boy innocently take a pumpkin adorning the grave of a stranger and reverently move it to his grandfather’s grave. Later, the pumpkin was returned to its rightful place. Yet, my heart rejoiced to see that death did not end this young child’s impulse to shower his grandfather with tangible tokens of his love.
At the grave of my own grandparents, I planted geraniums for my grandmother. But, as a gag gift to my grandfather – an Italian farm boy who believed soil was best used for growing food — I planted a small sprig of basil as a private joke between us. This did not remain private as the basil plant thrived and unsubtly towered over the flowers blooming below. The sweet scent of this basil brought gratitude for times when that same scent filled my grandfather’s gardens long ago.
I have seen gardeners and gravediggers laboring through all types of weather to tend this blessed land. I hope that they know both what a profound responsibility they have and how much the living appreciate it when they care for the dead with such dignity and love.
I have passed graves with familiar names: the parents of my friends; the friends of my parents; neighbors I knew for years; religious sisters who taught in my schools; and, now, some peers of my own.
Most graves I pass belong to those who were strangers. Yet, here, they do not seem that way. The brief words on their gravestones are an invitation to pray for them – in a way that I hope strangers may one day pray for me. There are graves that were dug far too soon for those who died years younger than I am – and I pray with gratitude for the years I have. There are graves
freshly dug and still unmarked, where grief is fresh and raw – and I pray that those who mourn know comfort and care. There are graves of those who died many decades ago that are still adorned with fresh flowers – and I pray with hope that, especially in November, those who have long passed from this life will always be remembered with the gift of prayer.
There are the graves marked with such simple words as “beloved wife,” “cherished father,” “dear nonna,” “loving daughter,” “baby son,” and “dearest friend,” – and I pray that the lifetimes of love so imperfectly captured by these words are someday perfected in lifetimes that do not end. There are graves that have only a name and a date engraved on them. If these are graves of those who walked alone through life without family or friends, I pray that they now know the joy of communion beyond this life.
It is at the graves of my own parents that this garden seems most sacred and holy – a sentiment likely shared by all who wend their way to the graves where the names are most familiar. I see the days of their births and remember to be grateful for the gifts of their lives. I see the days of their deaths and remember that grief with far too much detail and mourn for what I have lost – for now. It is here where it is easiest to pray for them, in the hope that their lives have merely changed and not ended, and in hope that we will meet again.
The bond between us and those who have gone before us is one that is deep, profound, and beyond my ability to grasp. So, I am grateful, in November more than ever, for the ways our cemeteries connect me to them in a way that is real and tangible. I pray for the blessing of seeing them again. Until then, I am grateful for sacred cemeteries – the gardens where God comforts us through our ordinary times.
Lucia A. Silecchia is a Professor of Law at the Catholic University of America. “On Ordinary Times” is a biweekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu
Past columns in the series may be found here.
By Andrew Yuengert
Modern government is a collaboration between “politicians” and “technocrats.” “Politicians” (some of whom are elected) argue for policy on behalf of constituencies (some of whom are voters). “Technocrats” are the engineers of public policy. They run the numbers: carefully measuring social phenomena, analyzing cause and effect, and evaluating policy rigorously and “scientifically.”
When this collaboration goes according to script, politicians of every stripe take as facts the technocrats’ measurements and analyses. Politicians are not supposed to dispute the growth rate of GDP, the poverty rate, and estimates of the effects of tax cuts. When politicians bend facts and rules, technocrats check them with empirical measurements and statistical analyses.
Originally published at Public Discourse.
By William L. Saunders
On Oct. 4, the U.S. Supreme Court granted review of an abortion case. The case, June Medical Services, LLC v. Gee, involves a law in Louisiana that requires abortionists to have admitting privileges at a local hospital. If they do not have them, they cannot commit abortions.
Oddly, at first glance, this issue appears to have already been decided by the Supreme Court. On June 27, 2016, that is, two and a half years ago, the court decided Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt. In that decision, the high court struck down a Texas law that, among other things, required abortionists to have admitting privileges in a local hospital. The two cases seem more or less identical. What has changed? Why would the court consider the issue again? Is not the court bound by “precedent”? There are several answers to these questions, all of which bode well for the pro-life cause.
Originally published at the National Catholic Register.
By Dr. Reinhard Huetter
Tolle lege, take and read.
Click here to read the message from Pope Saint John Paul II.
By William Saunders, J.D.
On October 9, the program in human rights held its second annual human rights lecture/discussion, “Thirty Years after Tiananmen Square – Human Rights in China Today.” Last year, the series was inaugurated in a conversation with Princeton professor and former Chair of the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom, Robert P. George, who also serves on the Advisory Board of the MA in human rights. This year the speaker was Chen Guangcheng, a Distinguished Fellow at CUA.
Program director, William Saunders, began the event by referring to three anniversaries occurring this year – the four month anniversary of the demonstrations in Hong Kong, the seventieth anniversary of the founding of the Communist Party in China, and the thirtieth anniversary of the suppression of the pro-democracy protests in Tiananmen Square in Beijing. He noted that human rights in China was regularly in the news – only a few days earlier a public furor had erupted due to a tweet by the general manager of the Houston Rockets basketball team in favor of the Hong Kong protests; the Chinese government replied that “Freedom of speech does not include the right to criticize the government,” and threatened to ban the NBA from China.
Noting that those under thirty-seven years of age might be unfamiliar with the events of Tiananmen Square, Saunders discussed those protests and the suppression of them by the Communist Party and the army. He noted that we can get a good idea of what had happened in China afterwards by looking at the life of Guangcheng.
Guangcheng, who was born in 1971 in a poor village and who became blind in infancy because of inadequate rural medical care, became an advocate for the disabled and for the rural poor, becoming in the process the most famous of China’s “barefoot lawyers.” After several years in illegal detention, he was confined to his home, which was closely guarded. Yet, he managed to escape to the U.S. embassy, and then on to the U.S.
Since coming to the U.S., he has been a tireless advocate for democracy in China, finding effective ways around the electronic wall China created to keep such information from reaching its people. His lecture on human rights in China was followed by a question-and-answer session with Saunders. Then the event was opened to audience questions.
You can view the entire event here.
By Jennifer Frey and Angela Knobel at The Virtue Blog
In episode 17 of Sacred and Profane Love, IHE Fellows Jennifer Frey and Angela Knobel discuss Graham Greene’s masterpiece, The Power and the Glory. Set in Mexico during a period of brutal religious persecution, Greene’s novel explores questions of what true power and glory consist in, and what sort of love and life can make one a witness to it.
By JD Flynn
A Chinese human rights activist and former political prisoner has called for renewed focus on the country’s practices of mass detention, religious oppression, and reports of organ harvesting.
Speaking at an event Wednesday, Chen Guangcheng told listeners at the Catholic University of America that there is no doubt about the Communist regime’s determination to hold onto power by any means necessary.
“Human rights have declined and today are very bad,” Chen said of the current situation in China. The ruling Chinese Communist Party is “afraid of losing power,” he said, and so “anything that threatens its power will be a target for violence.”
Originally published at Catholic News Agency.
The event was hosted by the MA in Human Rights program at The Catholic University, lead by director William Saunders, J.D.. Learn more about the program here.
By Chad C. Pecknold, Ph.D., IHE Fellow and Associate Professor of Systematic Theology, The Catholic University of America
The young aspiring theologian who embarks on the academic study of theology encounters today a bewildering field of study. They may set out to understand their faith better, and perhaps one day come to teach it. But soon they may discover that theology is also about things other than God. They may soon come to see that theological claims are not simply true or false, but must be constantly reassessed in the light of some new theory about human experience, such as sexuality, gender, race, class, politics, climate, or simply “the future.” At the professional conferences, the young theologian is bound to hear papers which awkwardly “problematize”’ theological topics according to whatever is culturally ascendent. This is usually not done in order to bring a ray of God’s brightness into the darkest places of our cultural minds, but quite the opposite. The aspiring young theologian may thus become habituated to a discipline that trains them to talk far more about ourselves than about God. Like Narcissus, such a person can pursue the discipline of theology only to discover that they have not found God, but an image of themselves reflected in a cultural mirror.
This may sound like a criticism a conservative might make of theology today. But in the nineteenth century, something very much like this concern was raised by Ludwig Feuerbach. Following the liberal theology of Friedrich Schleiermacher, Feuerbach concluded that religion was principally a matter of subjective and social feeling, and that God was just a projection of man’s inner nature infinitely expressed. Theology was, in the end, just anthropology writ large. Feuerbach concluded that this was the essence of Christianity, and so, understandably if wrongly, rejected the ancient faith as so many of his countrymen after him have done.
If the vicissitudes of human experience are taken to be the standard by which theology is ordered and judged, I am afraid that our aspiring theologian will not find the discipline leading to the wisdom of God. It will only and inevitably lead to the collapse of faith itself. And this is why we must think better about the role of faith in theology as a sacred science which we have not made up for ourselves. As Augustine taught, only divine revelation can crush our errors.
Read more here.
Originally published on 24 September 2019 at the Catholic Herald.
By Michael Gorman, Ph.D., IHE Fellow and Ordinary Professor of Philosophy, The Catholic University of America
Thinking about human ecology means thinking about the environment humans need. This includes air quality and so on, but more importantly, it includes our moral and spiritual environment. And just as there are toxins to worry about in the physical environment, so too are there spiritual toxins. One of the worst is disregard for truth.
Sometimes the source of this toxin is greed. We promote the product we are selling by saying things we believe to be false, or by saying things without concern for whether they are true or not—a form of phony talk that the philosopher Harry Frankfurt has analyzed with some care. But greed is not the only source, and maybe not the most important.
Consider pride. We say things not to inform people of truths they need to hear, but to impress our hearers—to make them think we are knowledgeable and important. And if speaking in a deceptive or truth-indifferent way doesn’t work, there are other strategies. Sometimes a conversational non sequitur happens because someone shifts the conversation away from a topic where he’s unable to prevail to one where he is.
Pride, as Augustine taught, is the inordinate appetite for exaltation. Becoming humble involves giving up this appetite—giving up the desire to be the smartest person in the room, the person who won the argument, the person who had the last word. In principle, being a tenured academic makes it easier to arrive at such a purgation, because it makes one less subject to the pressures of politics and public opinion. On the other hand, academics are not particularly known for their humility. It’s a complicated issue, but in a fallen world, the only thing we can really count on for environmental clean-up is God’s grace.
In every issue of CatholicU magazine, it features a Q&A with a least one faculty member focusing on his or her area of scholarship. This time, it invited five faculty members, including three IHE Fellows, representing the disciplines of theology, philosophy, and psychology to a roundtable discussion on the topic of happiness.
Originally published at CatholicU magazine.