Peace as a Project

A man has recently been murdered, and the trial of his suspected killer is underway. The judge sits on a comfortable sofa in the same room where the murder took place while the jury sits on spare dining room chairs. The dining table has been converted into a bench and sits in front of the judge, complete with a bowl of chips and the judge’s personal favorite brand of microwave pizza. The attorneys awkwardly crouch with their notes sprawled across separate coffee tables opposite the judge. There is no bailiff to secure the defendant, nor does the judge possess any formal education in law. Many of the jurors are themselves witnesses to the crime and will be testifying.

Such a scenario sounds ludicrous and perhaps even horrific to we who are accustomed to the right to a trial with an impartial judge and jury, the requirement that judges be intimate with the law, and a governmental monopoly on justice. To citizens of France in the 13th century, such a scene would not raise an eyebrow, except perhaps the inclusion of a microwave pizza. The conditions for this legal oddity to have legitimate juridical authority formed under the reign of King St. Louis IX.

It is commonly held within the Anglo-Saxon politico-legal structure that the final authority of all law-and-order rests with a body who is held sovereign over the law. This concept was established by another Frenchman — or more accurately, a Norman — William the Conqueror. Following his conquest of England in 1066, he established himself as king and reframed the legal structure in such a way so as to centralize his authority. While he permitted the Anglo-Saxon feudal system to remain (with peasants having their obligations to their lords, their lords to their peers, and so on), he placed himself as the final stop in the chain of hierarchy who had no obligation to the others. For centuries, this remained the case in the British Isles in principle: the king had the final say. The United States, being an outgrowth of Anglo-Saxon civilization, reinvented this tradition in the Enlightenment. Here, the Supreme Court is the final interpreter of laws, whereas the President is the final enforcer of laws.

France under the reign of St. Louis IX had no such idea. Rather, legal power was widely dispersed between not only the King and lords, but between the King, the Pope, the bishops, the lords, and the ministerial officials and ancestors of the middle class who were deemed to be in good enough moral standing to conduct justice. As opposed to our modern society, where sovereignty and political legitimacy are generally assumed to be intrinsically linked (both practically and ideologically) to a state monopoly on violence, author Andrew Willard Jones argues that in St. Louis IX’s France, “legitimate power […] was not monopolized, and there was no notion that it should be.”

The French conception of violence at the time would never have permitted a state monopoly on violence, nor would it have stripped individuals and lesser municipalities to be preventers of violence. The 13th century French concept of violence was not what we in the modern Western world conceive it to be. Their conception of violence was not so much crimes as assault, murder, or robbery, though these were considered violent. For them, violence was any action that damaged the holistic peace of society. Insulting the honor of your neighbor, being publicly intoxicated, and publicly blaspheming could all be considered violent and could potentially warrant legal action. Given this perception of violence, it is no surprise that on the other hand, peace was not seen as the mere absence of crime or violence, but the proactive and harmonious functioning of society.

This harmonious peace was the result of each segment of society, from guilds to churches and from knights to bishops, fulfilling their role in the social order. This was the system of Consilium et Auxilium, or Counsel and Aid. Contrary to popular perception, the church and state were not rivals in medieval France, but in fact the closest of partners. St. Louis IX made no attempt to make sacred his political authority, nor did the Church make any attempt to override the king’s power. Occasionally, their dominions would overlap, such as in the case of blasphemy laws. Still, St. Louis IX vowed not to override the Church in civil matters so long as the Church was just in its application of authority. Still, in cases where he felt it prudent to do so, he did so with the utmost respect not just for the dignity of the Church as a grand and abstract institution, but for the individual clergymen with whom he interacted.

In modernity, we seem to have abandoned these principles in their entirety. The atomization and isolation of the individual from society leads us to think of social harmony as something only to be maintained so long as it is convenient to us. The consequences of the spread of this manner of thinking have been disastrous. In major cities, which ought to be the most beautiful and best functioning areas of our civilization, we see graffiti, garbage piled high in the streets, and a general callous attitude which people hold for one another. How many times have we seen a pregnant woman or an elderly person standing on a bus since no one will give up their seat for her? How many times have we seen a pleasant garden besmirched by heaps of garbage? How often do people leave their shopping carts in a parking space because they are simply too lazy to return it to its proper spot? Even on our small campus, one need not look hard to find dormitories where garbage overflows or students who are intentionally breaking mirrors and ceiling tiles for a laugh. All of these, simple as they may seem, are detrimental to the peace and the good of society.

On a broader societal scale, in media, in politics, and in the economy, we see a bizarre ecosystem of interaction in which vices are rewarded, and virtues are ardently put down, as if there were some sort of war declared not only on holiness, but on simple decency. It seems every week there is some new level of depravity reached with a predictable life cycle. First, someone performs a deeply disordered act for all the world to see on social media. Then, it becomes so viral that its presence is inescapable, even if the attention it receives is negative. It can be mocked and ridiculed, but each time it pops up in one’s social media feed, one becomes more and more desensitized to it through sheer volume. Finally, some other outrage takes its spot and suddenly the first outrage seems as though it always belonged within the mainstream, or at least as an oddity. The rate at which this happens speeds up with each iteration. The economy, too, seems to be in a similar cycle, only promoting different vices. The economy, which ought to be the numerical embodiment of prudence and practicality, is now dedicated to chasing the next shiny AI device or market bubble sure to pop. This particular stage of the economy manages to be both insurmountably greedy and yet disgustingly wasteful, leading to young families unable to buy a simple three-bedroom home while the entire GDP of some small nations is dumped into pornographic websites and various sorts of gambling. The politicians, of course, will hardly address these issues because they themselves are simultaneously the cause and the product of these issues. There is a strange comfort in the idea that our politicians are evil and simply don’t care for our wellbeing, since as bleak as the prospect is, at least there is reason to it. The truth is more daunting. Our politicians are largely engulfed by the same vices we interact with in our daily lives, and are largely driven by those base impulses.

If we are to take the medieval French definition of violence, it would seem that we have been forced into a state of total violence by the modern world. We witness and receive spiritual, economic, social, and sadly literal violence on a near daily basis. What can we, as individual Catholics, do to remedy this? Well, we can do the same thing we always do by going all the way back to Rome. First, we must pray. We owe it to God and to ourselves to remain faithful and vigilant, and to mimic Christ in every aspect of our being. Humility is key. We have to remember that Judas was only ever tempted once, and it was this sole temptation to betray Christ that damned him for eternity. Second, we must be active. We must not only be active within the Church, but in society as well. If we truly wish to evangelize and fix the issues plaguing us today, we must be active athletes, musicians, poets, scholars, and workers. There tends to be a tendency to over-intellectualize the faith and thus consulting the Summa Theologiae or Confessions over each individual choice. Theological debates have their place, but never should we hesitate over doing the right thing. Christian charity and virtue must become an instinct to us, not merely a choice. With these two lessons in hand, we can take active steps to remedy the violence of the modern world, and to remake ourselves and our society in Christ’s image.

Such a scenario sounds ludicrous and perhaps even horrific to we who are accustomed to the right to a trial with an impartial judge and jury, the requirement that judges be intimate with the law, and a governmental monopoly on justice. To citizens of France in the 13th century, such a scene would not raise an eyebrow, except perhaps the inclusion of a microwave pizza. The conditions for this legal oddity to have legitimate juridical authority formed under the reign of King St. Louis IX.

It is commonly held within the Anglo-Saxon politico-legal structure that the final authority of all law-and-order rests with a body who is held sovereign over the law. This concept was established by another Frenchman — or more accurately, a Norman — William the Conqueror. Following his conquest of England in 1066, he established himself as king and reframed the legal structure in such a way so as to centralize his authority. While he permitted the Anglo-Saxon feudal system to remain (with peasants having their obligations to their lords, their lords to their peers, and so on), he placed himself as the final stop in the chain of hierarchy who had no obligation to the others. For centuries, this remained the case in the British Isles in principle: the king had the final say. The United States, being an outgrowth of Anglo-Saxon civilization, reinvented this tradition in the Enlightenment. Here, the Supreme Court is the final interpreter of laws, whereas the President is the final enforcer of laws.

France under the reign of St. Louis IX had no such idea. Rather, legal power was widely dispersed between not only the King and lords, but between the King, the Pope, the bishops, the lords, and the ministerial officials and ancestors of the middle class who were deemed to be in good enough moral standing to conduct justice. As opposed to our modern society, where sovereignty and political legitimacy are generally assumed to be intrinsically linked (both practically and ideologically) to a state monopoly on violence, author Andrew Willard Jones argues that in St. Louis IX’s France, “legitimate power […] was not monopolized, and there was no notion that it should be.”

The French conception of violence at the time would never have permitted a state monopoly on violence, nor would it have stripped individuals and lesser municipalities to be preventers of violence. The 13th century French concept of violence was not what we in the modern Western world conceive it to be. Their conception of violence was not so much crimes as assault, murder, or robbery, though these were considered violent. For them, violence was any action that damaged the holistic peace of society. Insulting the honor of your neighbor, being publicly intoxicated, and publicly blaspheming could all be considered violent and could potentially warrant legal action. Given this perception of violence, it is no surprise that on the other hand, peace was not seen as the mere absence of crime or violence, but the proactive and harmonious functioning of society.

This harmonious peace was the result of each segment of society, from guilds to churches and from knights to bishops, fulfilling their role in the social order. This was the system of Consilium et Auxilium, or Counsel and Aid. Contrary to popular perception, the church and state were not rivals in medieval France, but in fact the closest of partners. St. Louis IX made no attempt to make sacred his political authority, nor did the Church make any attempt to override the king’s power. Occasionally, their dominions would overlap, such as in the case of blasphemy laws. Still, St. Louis IX vowed not to override the Church in civil matters so long as the Church was just in its application of authority. Still, in cases where he felt it prudent to do so, he did so with the utmost respect not just for the dignity of the Church as a grand and abstract institution, but for the individual clergymen with whom he interacted.

In modernity, we seem to have abandoned these principles in their entirety. The atomization and isolation of the individual from society leads us to think of social harmony as something only to be maintained so long as it is convenient to us. The consequences of the spread of this manner of thinking have been disastrous. In major cities, which ought to be the most beautiful and best functioning areas of our civilization, we see graffiti, garbage piled high in the streets, and a general callous attitude which people hold for one another. How many times have we seen a pregnant woman or an elderly person standing on a bus since no one will give up their seat for her? How many times have we seen a pleasant garden besmirched by heaps of garbage? How often do people leave their shopping carts in a parking space because they are simply too lazy to return it to its proper spot? Even on our small campus, one need not look hard to find dormitories where garbage overflows or students who are intentionally breaking mirrors and ceiling tiles for a laugh. All of these, simple as they may seem, are detrimental to the peace and the good of society.

On a broader societal scale, in media, in politics, and in the economy, we see a bizarre ecosystem of interaction in which vices are rewarded, and virtues are ardently put down, as if there were some sort of war declared not only on holiness, but on simple decency. It seems every week there is some new level of depravity reached with a predictable life cycle. First, someone performs a deeply disordered act for all the world to see on social media. Then, it becomes so viral that its presence is inescapable, even if the attention it receives is negative. It can be mocked and ridiculed, but each time it pops up in one’s social media feed, one becomes more and more desensitized to it through sheer volume. Finally, some other outrage takes its spot and suddenly the first outrage seems as though it always belonged within the mainstream, or at least as an oddity. The rate at which this happens speeds up with each iteration. The economy, too, seems to be in a similar cycle, only promoting different vices. The economy, which ought to be the numerical embodiment of prudence and practicality, is now dedicated to chasing the next shiny AI device or market bubble sure to pop. This particular stage of the economy manages to be both insurmountably greedy and yet disgustingly wasteful, leading to young families unable to buy a simple three-bedroom home while the entire GDP of some small nations is dumped into pornographic websites and various sorts of gambling. The politicians, of course, will hardly address these issues because they themselves are simultaneously the cause and the product of these issues. There is a strange comfort in the idea that our politicians are evil and simply don’t care for our wellbeing, since as bleak as the prospect is, at least there is reason to it. The truth is more daunting. Our politicians are largely engulfed by the same vices we interact with in our daily lives, and are largely driven by those base impulses.

If we are to take the medieval French definition of violence, it would seem that we have been forced into a state of total violence by the modern world. We witness and receive spiritual, economic, social, and sadly literal violence on a near daily basis. What can we, as individual Catholics, do to remedy this? Well, we can do the same thing we always do by going all the way back to Rome. First, we must pray. We owe it to God and to ourselves to remain faithful and vigilant, and to mimic Christ in every aspect of our being. Humility is key. We have to remember that Judas was only ever tempted once, and it was this sole temptation to betray Christ that damned him for eternity. Second, we must be active. We must not only be active within the Church, but in society as well. If we truly wish to evangelize and fix the issues plaguing us today, we must be active athletes, musicians, poets, scholars, and workers. There tends to be a tendency to over-intellectualize the faith and thus consulting the Summa Theologiae or Confessions over each individual choice. Theological debates have their place, but never should we hesitate over doing the right thing. Christian charity and virtue must become an instinct to us, not merely a choice. With these two lessons in hand, we can take active steps to remedy the violence of the modern world, and to remake ourselves and our society in Christ’s image.