In certain circles, social justice is a little like the weather. Everyone seems to talk about it, but no one does anything about it. This is probably because most people don’t know exactly what social justice is. While everyone seems to agree that, for good or for ill, social justice is significant, unless we know of what, specifically, social justice consists, we will never figure out why it is important.

This article will attempt a brief analysis of the current state of social justice. I will put particular emphasis on the role played by the American bishops and the bishops throughout the world in distorting, or, more properly, allowing the idea and meaning of social justice to be distorted. To do this, I will examine why social justice is important, of what social justice consists, and a brief précis of, as Father William J. Ferree, S.M., Ph.D., put it, “the mess we are in.” I will continue with what I feel is the best explanation as to how we got into the mess, and, possibly, more important, why we got in it. I will conclude with a brief analysis of Pius XI’s thought and his vision for the restructuring of the social order.

While the idea of social justice begins with Aristotle, the Philosopher’s contribution was more in the nature of an error than a discovery. According to Aristotle and numbers of commentators down to the present day, the common good was a nebulous concept having more to do with the general welfare and collective well-being than anything specific. Being nebulous, it was, as one might expect, not directly accessible by the action or actions of any one individual. That is, regardless of intent, there was nothing definite in the common good on which to act directly, therefore, no direct act on the common good was possible -- by definition.

This resulted in the situation where the individual was regarded as virtually helpless in social situations when it came to making any changes or improvements for the better. Only the individual with the greatest degree and broadest scope of virtue could hope to affect the common good, and that only indirectly. That meant the “philosopher king” was a necessity, for he was defined as being the individual with the greatest virtue in the state.

Still, the philosopher king was as profoundly helpless as any other individual when addressing the problem of restructuring the common good. The common good was not considered a definite thing, and, therefore, nothing definite could be done to it or with it. The philosopher king or any other ruler was restricted to passing laws and hoping that things came out at least marginally the way intended.2

The individual was not regarded as being able to access the common good directly. This meant that he was fundamentally alienated from society itself. This in turn meant that every human being was not naturally a member of society, in spite of Aristotle’s recognition of the fact that man was social by nature. This explained the problem of individual helplessness in the face of social problems, and reinforced the idea of mere existence as a condition of constant warfare.

All of the difficulty with attempting to affect the common good indirectly changed with Pius XI’s development of a completed theory of social virtue. Pius XI started by accepting the fact and all the implications of man being social by nature. He followed this with the idea that society was intrinsically social. Society was not just a collection of individuals, but of individuals coming together and associating in groups. Groups are specifically social creations. This means that the common good, while broadly, if precisely, defined as the capacity to acquire and develop all virtue (that which all men have in common), also takes on concrete form as the aggregation of groups -- institutions. These embody the ways, means, and formal “social transactions” developed within a society to assist the individual members of society in their task of acquiring and developing virtue. The common good becomes directly accessible by every human being, not just philosopher kings.

Pius XI introduced the idea of a class of virtue that was not directed at the good of the individual, but at the good of society as a whole. Social virtue is directed at the good of the common good, or, perhaps, more clearly, toward the health of those institutions of the common good which are designed to assist us in our task of acquiring and developing individual virtue. To repeat, this new class of virtue, let us call it “social virtue” (for that’s what it is), is not directed toward assisting any individual in his acquisition and development of individual good or goods. Social virtue is, on the contrary, directed toward assisting the institutions of society in maintaining or reforming themselves so as to enable them to assist individuals in acquiring and developing individual good or goods.

To put it yet another way, social virtue is not directed at assisting individual members of society to acquire and develop virtue, but at helping institutions acquire and develop the structures that assist individual members of society in acquiring and developing virtue. Social virtue is, therefore, by definition, directed toward the common good, not the individual good of any member or members of society, regardless how numerous they might be.

That is a difficult concept to understand. People have been misunderstanding it since Pius XI first began teaching it. The result has been that, just as they have for thousands of years, people still attempt to reform the social order through the application, more or less intensive, of the individual virtues.

The individual virtues, while absolutely necessary for the individual and his spiritual and social health, are simply not adequate to the task of maintaining the social health of institutions. This is because individual virtues are specifically individual. Virtues that are specifically individual are not the proper “tool” for addressing problems that are specifically social.

There is a great deal of confusion over the meaning of social justice, some of which may have been intentionally caused. Nowhere is this more evident than when we consider the confusion over the difference between distributive justice (an individual virtue) and social justice (a social virtue).

Sometimes erroneously construed as “social justice,”3 the classic notion of distributive justice, like commutative justice, is based on equality, but an equality of proportion. Aristotle defined distributive justice as a proportionality of value given and received rather than a strict equality or equivalence of value.4 Where commutative justice is concerned with the relationship of “other to other,” distributive justice deals with the relationship of the “social whole” to the “social parts.” Distributive justice is, therefore, but only in that limited sense a “social justice.” Distributive justice is not the social justice, for it has as its object the individual good of each of the members of a group. Social justice has as its special object the common good of all mankind. Equating the particular virtue of social justice with distributive justice is a logical “fallacy of equivocation,” for the word “social” is used differently in describing the two types of justice.5

Demonstrating the extent to which “consultors” have managed to distort traditional understandings of principles and concepts, the Catechism defines distributive justice as that justice “which regulates what the community owes its citizens in proportion to their contributions and needs.”6 [Emphasis added.] The “and needs” add-on is directly contrary to the definition given in the Summa, which describes distributive justice as that virtue “whereby a ruler or a steward gives to each what his rank deserves.”7 [Emphasis added.] The popular commentary on the Summa by Msgr. Paul J. Glenn, A Tour of the Summa,8 restates this passage in the following manner. “There is another type of justice, called distributive, which consists in the bestowal of good according to the needs of the receiver.” [Emphasis added.] There is a significant difference, however, in what an individual deserves and what he needs. I may need many things, but I cannot justly receive them until I have offered something in equal or proportionate exchange.

To understand Aquinas, other than simply reading what he actually wrote as opposed to what commentators choose to revise or restate, we have to realize that, in a very real sense, the Summa is itself a commentary on Aristotle. Unless the Angelic Doctor makes it very explicit and offers substantially more commentary than a mere restatement of the Philosopher’s definition, we must assume that Aquinas means exactly what Aristotle meant. When interpreting Aquinas, the thought of Aristotle, except when otherwise indicated, should be taken as normative. There is no such indication in this case.9

There is also the problem that many people confuse the special meanings of words used by Aquinas. “Ruler,” “steward,” “gives” and “deserves” all create problems if the casual reader or commentator with an agenda fail to link the passage above from the description of God’s Nature with the fuller description and explanations in the discussion on “Justice” in the Second Part.10

Most immediately dangerous for our purposes is the confusion of the words used to describe “group” or “institution.” There is an automatic equation on the part of many commentators of “community” in Aquinas and Aristotle with “state.” They presume not only that distributive justice covers all distributions from any kind of authority (not true, as Aquinas points out), but that the state is somehow the only legitimate form of civil or temporal authority. This idea is inevitably combined with the idea that the Aristotelian act of legal justice and the Thomist act of social justice are one and the same. The only possible outcome is an intense worship of the state as the sole agent for regulating and maintaining the common good not just of civil society, but of all the societies of man, civil, religious and domestic.

The state does confer its benefits according to distributive justice. All distributions, however, are not, ipso facto, distributive justice. In the instance of a distribution based on need, the state is standing in for the failure of charity or commutative justice by individual citizens or for the sake of expedience and efficiency. This is allowed under the principle of double effect.

Distribution on the basis of need comes under a special form of commutative justice, since extreme need is considered to render what is ordinarily private property common property. This means that the individual in dire need has the right to exercise property in what ordinarily belongs to another. Since it is concerned with property and the exercise of a right, this comes under “proprietary justice.” Proprietary justice is a commutative justice, not a distributive justice.

When making a distribution based on need, the state is not functioning as the proper efficient cause of justice, but as an agent for the efficient cause — the individual on whom an individual in dire need is dependent. Simply inserting the state into the transaction does not, ipso facto, render it distributive justice. In addition, distributive justice can only be construed to cover a distribution based on need if “poverty” is understood as conferring a “status” that contributes to the community. On the contrary, poverty renders an individual the proper object of charity, not of justice.

At the risk of sounding unpastoral, I believe the blame for this state of affairs can be placed squarely on the shoulders of the bishops. The earlier encyclicals were largely addressed to the pope’s brother bishops. It was and remains their responsibility to study, understand, and internalize the teachings in the documents in order to disseminate them to the faithful. The fault of the bishops as a whole is seen both in those who misinterpreted the documents and in those who did no interpretation or teaching at all, letting things drop or their staffs take over their teaching function.

The popes obviously know what has been happening. The later encyclicals, particularly those of John Paul II, are increasingly addressed not exclusively to the bishops in their role as chief teachers in their dioceses, but to all the faithful, and even, on occasion, to everyone of good will. This demonstrates that the popes, unable to delegate effectively to those unwilling or unable to assume the burdens of teaching, have been forced to take over the role of direct teacher of the whole Church.

As John Paul II has pointed out, we are faced with a plague of relativism. There is immense confusion between what constitutes principle and the application of principle. There is a lack of adequate response to various trends in modern society, selling out to the secular in most cases instead of resisting it or converting it. When there is a response, it is usually individualistic and therefore, by definition, inadequate to the task of overcoming a social problem.

There are many reasons for this confusion aside from the main one of widespread misunderstanding of the work of Pius XI in the social virtues, especially social justice. Primarily, it is because there has been a general severance of religion from daily life, as well as a consequent failure to have or use a consistent philosophy other than relativism or secularism in approaching the problems of daily life and applying specific principles to their solution. This prevalence of relativism has infected the interpretation of the social encyclicals. The growth of relativism and expedience as the basic approach to social problems is matched only by the growth of its inevitable handmaiden in the social order — the rise of fascism in all its forms.

This is understandable, for the oxymoronic “social justice without Pius XI” leads inevitably to fascism through its dependence on the state as the prime agent of all social change and maintenance of the common good. As a result, Pius XI’s understanding of social virtue in general and social justice in particular has been excluded, either by design or lack of understanding, from the development of social thought and the design and maintenance of our social institutions for almost a century. Without Pius XI, we end up only in fascism. With Pius XI, we can attain the Reign of Christ the King. The condition of society throughout the world makes it apparent that we are rapidly approaching the point where any possible middle ground is disappearing.

One significant aspect of this whole problem is that various elements, for whatever reason, both misunderstood or twisted the teachings of Pius XI and seized on the vagueness that came after him to promote various agendas. This was based on a failure to understand and internalize the principles of social restructuring — which was in turn due to the failure of Catholic Action. What we ended up with is a “cafeteria-style” method of interpretation that led to a necessary vagueness. The accepted way to interpret the social teachings of the Church these days is to take them anyway you want, project your private interpretation back on Pius XI and Leo XIII, and dismiss the inevitable contradictions as “stray rhetorical fragments” or “prudential matter.”

The effort to undermine the true sense of the social teachings of the Church has a specific orientation. There has been a hijacking of the whole concept of social justice to meet various political agendas. Ultimately, these consist, at heart, at aiming at nothing less than control of the Church. The struggles detailed by Msgr. George Kelly in, among other works, The Battle for the American Church11 and Dr. Ralph McInerny in What Went Wrong With Vatican II12 reveal an unremitting effort directed at control of the Church. The goal is to make the Church not only in the world, but of it. This must be done, and done completely in order that the temporal order can force whatever current vision it has of reality on to the Church. Thus the Church will change from a censuring guide and go along with, or, more likely, offer enthusiastic approbation of every change in temporal society, no matter how greatly it may be at odds with reality, that is, with God’s Nature.

The only quarrel I would have with either of these two commentators is that Dr. McInerny asserted as his premise that the Second Vatican Council was not the beginning of the institutionalization of dissent. On the contrary, according to Dr. McInerny, this move came somewhat later, with the promulgation of Humanæ Vitæ. I disagree. The Second Vatican Council was not the beginning of the institutionalization of dissent — we do agree there — but I consider its genesis as coming much earlier. The surge of dissent reached its height with the rapid growth of Modernism early in the twentieth century. This was ably halted, but not effectively reduced or countered, by Saint Pope Pius X. The cancer remained, although in remission, until the opportunity offered by the social upheaval coeval with the promulgation of Humanæ Vitæ.

The infection of Modernism joined in a synergistic alliance the lack of explicit support and iteration of both the specific thought and the precise language of Pius XI by subsequent popes. Added to this was the failure of the bishops throughout the world to carry out their teaching function effectively and properly. In support of this contention, I need only cite the change that slipped into the definition of “distributive justice,” described above. This was outside of papal documents, true, but still embodied many people’s understanding of the encyclicals.

The complete change in meaning from the classical understanding of distributive justice may have derived from Msgr. John Ryan, who, unknowingly, may have been infected with the attitudes of Modernism, though not the explicit doctrines of the movement. That attitude is the virtual mandate found in Modernism and other relativistic philosophies to interpret every dictum of the Church from a personal “situational” perspective based on the desire of the moment rather than eternal truth. This results in twisting the teachings of the Church in order to get what you want, regardless of the consequences.

What was Pius XI talking about? His goal was nothing less than the complete reformation and restructuring of the social order so as to institute and maintain the Reign of Christ the King. That requires some explanation. The correct understanding of the Reign of Christ the King supersedes the somewhat simplistic ideas that have been forced onto the general understanding of the concept.

The Reign of Christ the King is the establishment of a specific state of society. Society is run in accordance with universal moral principles, as interpreted and defined — but not enforced — by the Church through the Magisterium, the bishops in communion with the pope, and the pope in his office as universal and infallible teacher in matters of faith and morals. The Reign of Christ the King is primarily civil, but includes domestic and religious society insofar as they impinge on the civil order. Attaining and maintaining the Reign of Christ the King is the goal and aim of Catholic Action, the organization and movement adapted by Pius XI to carry out his vision.

We need to realize that an interpreter and guide is not a ruler. A “Christian society” in the sense meant by “The Reign of Christ the King” does not mean control of the civil order or direct rule by the Church.13 Nor does it mean that everyone or even a determinant number of the people must be Catholic or even Christian, however else that might be desirable for their personal salvation.

No, having the Church as guide for civil society and interpreter of the universal moral values that must underpin the social order means that there must be a single authoritative source for such interpretation and guidance. The Church, by divine ordinance, was prepared and instituted for that role in the world. This role of the Church does not mean that interpretation of natural law from a source other than the Church must therefore, ipso facto, be wrong or in error, as the recent document from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith made clear. No one has a monopoly on the truth. As Pius XI pointed out, in the Church is found the fullness of truth in totality, not exclusively.14

She has never maintained that outside her fold and apart from her teaching, man cannot arrive at any moral truth; she has on the contrary more than once condemned this opinion because it has appeared under more forms than one. She does however say, has said, and will ever say, that because of her institution by Jesus Christ, because of the Holy Ghost sent her in His name by the Father, she alone possesses what she has had immediately from God and can never lose, the whole of moral truth, omnem veritatem, in which all individual moral truths are included, as well those which man may learn by the help of reason, as those which form part of revelation or which may be deduced from it.15

Conceivably, although I think it highly unlikely, it would be possible in this sense to have a “Christian” society without any Christians. This would be possible only in the sense that a society was founded on universal moral principles as interpreted by the Church. Society would be guided in such a way that the application of the principles in no wise departed from the application that would have been recommended had the direct guidance of the Church been known or sought.

That is the whole idea of social justice and the role it is to fill in reforming and restructuring the social order. The problem with much of what passes for “social justice” these days is clearly at variance with the intentions, both expressed and implied, of Pius XI when he made his fundamental and profound breakthrough in moral philosophy. Grasping the real idea of what Pius XI meant takes some work, however. Perhaps we should not be too surprised that man’s inherent laziness, an inevitable consequence of his fallen state, kicks in and we go with what seems most comfortable for us, relatively speaking. What we end up with is social justice without Pius XI.