Two Loves

 There are two loves from which proceed all wishes, as different in quality as they are different in their sources. For the reasonable soul, which cannot exist without love, is the lover either of God or the world. In the love of God there is no excess, but in the love of the world all is hurtful. And therefore we must cling inseparably to eternal treasures, but things temporal we must use like passers-by, that as we are sojourners hastening to return to our own land, all the good things of this world which meet us may be as aids on the way, not snares to detain us....But as the world attracts us with its appearance, and abundance and variety, it is not easy to turn away from it unless in the beauty of things visible the Creator rather than the creature is loved; for, when He says, "you shall love the Lord your God from all your heart, and from all your mind, and from all your strength," He wishes us in noticing to loosen ourselves from the bonds of this love.

[St. Leo I, Sermon 90.]

On Just War and Iran

 Cardinal McElroy has an interview on the Iran conflict and just war theory in his archdiocesan newsletter; it's quite reasonable and clear, and since I am very harsh with bishops who unnecessarily muddy doctrinal waters, it's only fair that I note when they are doing the opposite. There are a few quibbles I could make (like most people, for instance McElroy treats 'right intention' much too narrowly, taking 'intention' in the colloquial English sense rather than the original scholastic sense), but in the context of an interview, and with respect to the purpose of the interview, I don't think it necessary to stand on them. It also gives a nice occasion for thinking about just war theory in a real-world context.

McElroy sees the current conflict as violating the principles of just war in at least three particular respects:

(E1) Just cause: McElroy argues that just cause was not met because we were not responding to "an existing or imminent and objectively verifiable attack by Iran", and preventative war is not just.

(E2) Right intention: We lack "clear intention", as shown in the sheer variety of proposed goals, explanations, and reaons that the Trump administration has offered.

(E3) Expectation of good: It's unclear that the war's benefits will outweigh its harms.

Thus, His Eminence concludes, the war is not morally legitimate.

It's interesting to compare this to Ed Feser's recent discussion of how just war principles apply to the Iran conflict. [ADDED LATER: Ed has a new article developing his argument at "Public Discourse".] He also argues that the current conflict violates the principles of just war on (if I understand how his argument is structured) at least two points:

(F1) Just cause: Feser goes through some of the goals that have been proposed -- eliminating imminent threats, destroying Iran's nuclear capability, possible future threats, liberation of the Iranian people, and argues that none of these are plausible. Like Cardinal McElroy, he notes that preventative war is not just.

(F2) Lawful authority: Warmaking authority in the United States ultimately rests with Congress. While Congress has given the President certain war powers and emergency powers, they require Congressional oversight, which the Trump administration has not done much to obtain -- indeed, has apparently deliberately not bothered to obtain.

It's possible to read him as also suggesting (F3) Reasonable possibility of success as a third, depending on which goal discussed in (F1) we take to be dominant.

Fundamentally, just action of any kind is rightful authority rightly disposed to righteous ends, and genuine just war criteria are always applications of this to the specialized work of warring; as I've noted before, you can always derive them from general practical considerations about the things done in war. We have to be wary, however, of a common ambiguity in talking about justice, namely, that it has both a moral sense and a legal or juridical sense, related to each other but distinct. And we see this ambiguity all the time in just war theory; St. Thomas Aquinas's account of just war is specifically an account of how a prince's warring can be an act of the virtue of justice (the moral sense), but later scholastics often are considering war juridically in terms of whether the overall conduct of war is in accordance with natural law and jus gentium. Both are important, but it is possible to have a just war in the juridical sense in which some of the people involved are participating with unjust intentions or goals, and, equally, it is possible to have a war that is juridically unjust but in which some of the people involved are being just in their participation. Indeed, given human failings, every just war (juridical) that has ever been has had some unjust warring (moral) in it. Distinguishing these is usually not a problem if we are considering common soldiers, but it can get very tricky when we are looking at the level of generals or the commander-in-chief, who, in addition to being individual participants are also principal agents organizing the juridical situation.

One weakness in both McElroy's and Ed's arguments is the assumption that hostilities with Iran have recently begun. I don't think this is an accurate assessment of the situation. The United States has been in a state of cold-and-hot hostilities with Iran since 1979, and while military confrontation has not always been direct, when it has not been so, it has been going on by proxy fights, deliberate subversion, economic and diplomatic sanction, assassination attempts, bombing campaigns, and the like. This is not a recent conflict; this is an already existing cold war becoming a hot war. That it has been until now a mostly slow-motion conflict does not make it any less a conflict. What is more, Iran is not an innocent actor in any of this; it has consistently positioned itself as an enemy of the United States and its allies, and attempts to persuade it to take a more moderate posture have repeatedly failed. There is also a reason why our Arabic allies have been remarkably sanguine and nonobstructive despite the fact that the American campaign has resulted in a large number of missiles being shot at them and their civilians; there are very few countries in the region for which Iran has not funded and armed coup attempts, and there are very few whom Iran has not threatened militarily and economically in an attempt to get its way on any number of things. In this sense, the question of whether and under what conditions Iran can be attacked is much like the question of whether and under what conditions the Barbary States could be attacked.

It's worth recognizing that this does not change the framework -- that's one reason I pointed out that it derives from general practical principles, namely, it covers everything -- but I think it does complicate the just cause arguments given by both McElroy and Feser. In fact, I am highly skeptical of both if they are intended juridically. Just cause is the most important component determining whether war is just or not, mostly because it is the reference point for understanding how to apply all the other criteria, but it is (alas) not usually a difficult one to meet, and it is actually quite easy to meet it in the context of Iran. Ed looks at various goals that have been proposed, and is right that they cannot of themselves justify a standalone war; but they are each entirely reasonable goals to have for particular operations in an already ongoing state of hostilities. This, of course, is a distinct question from whether President Trump, or any other officials or commanders involved are themselves operating with a just cause in their own actions in this war. 

To be sure, I would blame no one for going along with the idea that the campaign is morally illegitimate for just cause reasons, since if Cardinal McElroy and Dr. Feser agree on a point of moral theology and philosophy, then it is at least reasonably safe and Catholic. Nonetheless, I don't think those particular arguments work on rational grounds.

I also don't think Cardinal McElroy's argument on expectation of good, at least as it stands, works; Ed rightly notes that the mere fact that something could turn out well is not enough to make it just, but it's also true, for much the same reason, that the mere fact that something could go very wrong is not enough to make it unjust. That is, unless we are moral rigorists, which I can hardly imagine Cardinal McElroy intends. War is uncertain, unpredictable, and cannot be done according to a strict plan; and people who forecast wars are virtually always wrong. Further, the idea that we should not act in a way that would create greater harm than the harm we are addressing is concerned specifically with grave evils and disorders directly associated with the use of arms and its natural aftermath. Broader ripples and unpleasant consequences are not the concern here. (The argument also has an inconvenient result for His Eminence's position in that it implies the United States also cannot justly withdraw from the conflict until we can do so in a way that would guarantee that the withdrawal would not gravely harm our allies in the region. This is probably close to true, but it is not, I think, what the Cardinal is intending to suggest.)

I remember Ed having some sympathy with the idea that the Iraq War met just war criteria, when I was skeptical of that. It's interesting here that Ed regards the current Iran campaign as manifestly unjust whereas I am at least much more sympathetic to the general possibility of its being just. Nonetheless, I think, McElroy is quite right that, in terms of what has actually been done there are serious concerns with right intention, and particularly with clear intent or purpose, which is only one part of right intention, but nonetheless one that is sometimes quite important (E2). And Ed's argument on lawful authority (F2) is, I think, likewise a matter of serious concern in this particular case.

Moment of Ripeness

 The beauty of things is in this moment of their ripeness that God waits for. If anyone were to taste the leaves or flowers of a cherry tree, he would make a wrong evaluation of it. If anyone were to judge the cool shade of trees in winter weather and by their appearance in this season, he would make a rather blind evaluation of them. Yet we likewise pass judgment on God's government and its purposes.

[Johann Georg Hamann, The Complete London Writings, Kleinig, tr., Lexham Academic (Bellingham: 2025), pp. 219-220. This is a comment on Ecclesiastes 3:11.]

Links of Note

 * William Vallicella, On the Very Idea of a Cause of Existence, on Schopenhauer

* Jan C. Bentz, Creative Intuition and Being in Art: J. Maritain and E. Gilson on Beauty (PDF)

* Hunter Coates, A Fresh Translation of the Book of Galatians -- exactly what it says on the tin

* Shang Lu, The Demarcation Problem for Error Theory (PDF)

* Dimitra Fimi, When did the fairies become miniscule? (I) Earlier scholarship: Latham and Briggs, and When did the fairies become miniscule? (II): Recent scholarly debates, at "A kind of elvish craft"

* Winnie Sung, A Confucian Account of Trustworthiness (PDF)

* Gregory B. Sadler, What is Aristotelian Prohairesis?

Fortnightly Book, March 8

 After World War II, Louis L'Amour began writing for Western pulp magazines; most of this was originally under pseudonyms like 'Jim Mayo' and 'Tex Burns'. In 1951, however, he began publishing under his own name, and his career was to change forever when in 1952, he wrote a short story, "The Gift of Cochise", which was published in Colliers. In it, a woman named Angie Lowe faces down the Apache warrior, Cochise, with some help from a man named Ches Lane. The story caught the eye of the film producer, Robert Fellows, who had just teamed up with John Wayne and was looking for stories that would work well for Wayne on film. They bought the film rights from L'Amour and hired Wayne's friend and vertean screenwriter, James Edward Grant, to rework it into a screenplay. Ches Lane became Hondo Lane. 

So far, an ordinary story of publication. However, when he sold the film rights, L'Amour cleverly retained the novelization rights to the film. He wrote a novel based on Grant's heavy reworking of the story, with the same title, Hondo. The novel Hondo was published in 1953 on the same day the film came out, and, Wayne and Fellows understanding how publicity worked, did so with a blurb from John Wayne himself on the cover. The movie was a success, which made the novelization a bestseller, which contributed further to the success of the movie. L'Amour, of course, was able to leverage this beginning to become the twentieth century's greatest novelist in the Western genre. 

The fortnightly book, then, will be Hondo, Louis L'Amour's novelization of James Edward Grant's screenplay inspired by Louis L'Amour's short story. I have a copy of "The Gift of Cochise" somewhere, so I will read it as well.

Even Though We Do Not Know It

 You have extended me, made space for me or made me greater than I am, given me more courage, patience, hope and comfort by the cross than what the natural man is able to receive. How mysterious is God in his love! Even though we do not know it, the cross serves to give our high status, our greatness, and our strength.

[Johann Georg Hamann, The Complete London Writings, Kleinig, tr., Lexham Academic (Bellingham: 2025), p. 194. This is a comment on Psalm 4:1.]

J.-K. Huysmans, The Cathedral

 Introduction

Opening Passage:

At Chartres cathedral, on leaving the little square which is swept in all weathers by a surly wind from the plains, a gentle whiff of the cellar, attenuated by the soft, almost stifled scent of incense, blows in your face when you enter the solemn gloom of its cool forests.

Durtal knew it well, that delightful moment when one breathes in again, still dazed by the sudden transition from a stinging north wind to a velvety caress of air. Every morning, at five, he left his rooms, and to reach the borders of that strange wood he had to cross the square; and always the same people appeared, emerging from the same streets: nuns bowing their heads, leaning forward, the edges of their wimples blown back and flapping like wings, the wind swelling skirts that were held down with great difficulty; then, almost bent double, wizened women clutching their clothes around them would make their way, their curved backs lashed by the squalls. (p. 17)

Summary: In En Route Durtal had visited a Trappist monastery, struggling with his temptations and attempting to write a book on Blessed Lydwine, having found a mentor in Abbé Gévresin. In La Cathedral, Gévresin has been reassigned to Chartres, and Durtal has followed him there. He has mostly overcome his temptations, but his momentum on the book has completely collapsed, and he is struggling with writer's block trying to finish even smaller commissions for periodicals. The writer's block is perhaps a bit symbolic of his more spiritual problem, but more on that in a moment. He is spending his time, when not alone, with Abbé Gévresin and two new friends he has met in Chartres, Abbé Plomb and a stern-faced but in fact very pleasant-tempered nun, Madame Bavoil. In Chartres, Durtal has become a bit obsessed with the famous cathedral.

Photo credit: Guy Dugas, via Pixabay.

Much of the novel, in fact, consists of Durtal reflecting on the cathedral and discussing various aspects of its art and architecture with his friends. He has become particularly interested in medieval symbolism and allegory, which he is studying at great length in order better to understand the meaning of the cathedral. (Many of these discussions remind me a great deal of Umberto Eco, especially, of course, in The Name of the Rose.) Besides particular features of the building itself, which has led to the book being a perpetual staple for tourists and pilgrims visting the cathedral, he and his friends discuss the allegorical significance of gemstones, fauna, flora, church architecture, vestments, colors, numbers, odors, and more. You can practically open the book at random and you are likely within three pages of such a discussion of allegory and symbolism. This sometimes gives the book a sense of being more prose poem than novel, But Durtal, of course, was drawn to the Catholic Church because of its art and aesthetics, while also deploring the bad taste and kitschy sentimentalism that was practically universal in French Catholic art in the nineteenth century. He sees this as a grave impoverishment; the very vocabulary for speaking of spiritual and mystical things, a vocabulary that had had to use layers and layers of allegory and symbol, that had to engage all the senses to capture spiritual richness of meaning, has collapsed, and nothing remotely adequate has replaced it. What Durtal finds drawing him into Catholic life can hardly even be stated anymore, and so in learning of how the medieval artists and theologians struggled to convey these things, he is learning a vocabulary for entire realms of the spiritual life of which he had had only an inkling way back in the first book in the series.

However, important as all of this is to Durtal's growth, it is in a sense a secondary matter. Durtal has entered a sort of doldrums, and the real story of the book is how he gets moving again. The writer's block he is experiencing is symbolic of -- perhaps even a symptom of -- the fact that he has a similar spiritual block. He is, so to speak, floating in a sea of possibilities and unable to select any of them; he is writing the story of his spiritual life and has reached the point where either the page stays blank or the scene stalls because it is clearly not going anywhere. Perhaps this ties with the discussions of allegory and symbolism in that the only way to work through either block, writerly or spiritual, is to consider lots of things until something starts working. This means that, as in En Route, little happens physically but much psychologically, and, as in En Route, much of the substance of the action is subtle and indirect. It is a more engaging book than the prior book. There is a tendency to think that struggle makes for the most interesting psychological stories, but The Cathedral's story of reflective rambling is consistently more interesting than En Route's anxious wrestling. Perhaps, though, one cannot plausibly get to an interesting version of the reflection without first having passed through the struggle.

Durtal has an interest in the religious and cloistered life, which he has picked up from his time at La Trappe, although he is very certain that the Trappists are not for him. Despite the attraction, however, he is also reluctant to make any moves in that direction, because he is a writer who loves art, and it's difficult to think of any version of the cloistered life that gives him the kind of freedom that requires. He is reluctant to let that go, and it's not even that he's wrong to be so, since literally all of his spiritual life is interlaced with his love of art. Simply tryinig to rip up one would do incalculable damage to the other. But it is a major contributing component to his stalling out. In fact, over the course of the novel it becomes increasingly clear that he is not merely stalling out but actively stalling. Abbé Gévresin has mentioned to him that, because of his strong interest in plainchant, he should visit the community at Solesme, and a close reader will eventually begin to realize that much of the story of the book is in fact in the negative-space created by this -- Durtal spends most of the book actively not thinking about it. This is the sort of thing that could easily be missed, but the cleverness of the writing, once you see it, is extraordinary. Huysmans has written a psychological novel about someone deliberately avoiding thought about the one topic he needs to consider. Given this, there is only one way the book can actually end, with Durtal actually setting out to visit Solesme as Abbé Gévresin had suggested. But the interest of the book is how Chartres Cathedral, and his discussions with his friends, get him to that point.

Favorite Passage:

..."But why an altar to Saint Columbanus?"

"Because of all saints he is the most neglected, the least invoked by those of our contemporaries who should be praying to himt he most, since according to the attributions of special virtues he is the patron saint of idiots!"

"Nonsense!" cried the Abbé Gévresin, "why, if ever a man revealed a magnificent comprehension of things human and divine, it was that great abbot and founder of monasteries."

"Oh, I'm not suggesting in any way that Saint Columbanus had a feeble mind, but as to why this mission of protecting the greater part of the human race was entrusted to him rather than another, I don't know."

"Perhaps because he cured the mad and freed the possessed?" suggested the Abbé Gévresin.

"In any case," said Durtal, "it would be vain to erect a chapel to him because it would always be empty. No one would come to pray to this poor saint, because the sign of an idiot is that he thinks he isn't one."

"So he's a saint without any work," said Madame Bavoil.

"And one who isn't likely to find any, either," said Durtal, as he left. (p. 213)

Recommendation: Highly Recommended; this is a beautiful book.

****

J.-K. Huysmans, The Cathedral, Clara Bell & Brendan King, trs., Dedalus (Sawtry, Cambridgeshire: 2011).