One suspects that an author who dedicates his book to Archbishop Lefebvre, the staunch opponent of modernism and modernising within the Catholic Church at Vatican II, will not be offering a radical thesis. Such is indeed the case with The Architecture of Law, a meticulously constructed and painstakingly argued defence of the role of natural law. Professor McCall issues a clarion call to return to classical sources, most notably Thomas Aquinas, in order to evaluate and appreciate the essential role of natural law within the whole structure of the law.
Borrowing Aquinas’ analogy of the law as a building, McCall unfolds this image to show that each aspect of the law, from its origin to its ends, is authenticated through its correct inclusion in the structure which has as its foundation the eternal law of God, and its framework the natural law. Far from being a self-defining principle, natural law is a participation by rational creatures in the eternal law – the prototype that establishes both the ends of creation and the means to reach that end. Participation is the key here: as the framework of a building is determined by its foundation, the rational person discerns, or seeks to understand, the ends of humanity correctly according to the will of God. Participation, as a rational operation, is a careful reflection on the origins and purposes of humankind, which reveals the principles of natural law that should guide our actions, but, since human reasoning is weakened by sin, revealed or divine law (revelation presented through the Scriptures) presents a reliable guide in specifying the principles of natural law as applied to specific situations. In terms of his building analogy, McCall sees the possibility of consulting divine law as returning to check upon the specifications of the architect, which enables the builder, when he or she is unsure about points of detail, to be certain that he or she is authentically and correctly deriving instructions as to how to proceed.
Having clarified the intentions of the architect, the framework of the structure of law surges upwards as a sturdy edifice. The building is decorated with human laws, not made in contradistinction to natural law but arising from it as specifications or particular determinations. This relationship of human to natural law, particularly in its orientation to the common good, is the origin of obligation. Obedience is due to the law neither because of the power of the lawgiver, nor because it is convenient to do so, nor even because of a social contract entered into by those governed, but because the law has as its end the common good. We must obey because it is good for us to obey, and obedience assists us to reach our end, which is (in Aquinas’ term) ‘the common good’. Thus, McCall can argue that, in very particular circumstances when a law is misguided but the common good is still promoted, the misguided law might command obligation. But natural law also ensures limits to authority: if a law is unjust and does not serve the ends of the good of man, then it lacks authority.
Having reached the pinnacle of his building, McCall stands back to survey the edifice, and to recall the reason for constructing it. Buildings are built to different ends: a cathedral is raised up in a different way from a bus stop because their purposes are different. In terms of the law, its purpose is justice or, rather, instilling in people the habit of acting justly. This is the cause of law, both as formal principle that determines how it is to be created and as the end, or aim, of its creation. Human lawmakers implement the pattern, or plan, revealed in natural law, in their local setting; these are, in McCall's terms, the foremen on the job. In particular situations, it may be necessary to employ equity to mitigate a law where a strict adherence might damage the ultimate end of the law – the general welfare of the individual within the common good. In these cases, the lawgivers exercise the art of law, following its spirit rather than its letter.
In a final hymn of praise, the author considers the beauty, coherence and artistry of his construction: natural law draws down the principles of eternal law, the ends and purpose of humanity, and applies them in a particular setting, referring back where necessary to the plan of the creator. The lawgiver's task is humbly to recognise the intention of God for the good of humanity, and to incarnate that in a way that enables humankind to reach its natural end.
Viewed from one angle, McCall's structure is an impressive bastion against those who deny a supernatural source to law, either through legal positivism or (which he views as worse) by denying the relevance of God in creating a coherent structure. He has in his sights particularly the proponents of the ‘neo-classical natural law’, notably John Finnis, who, although professing belief in God, deny the deity a role in the creation of law. Throughout the book, McCall relentlessly pursues not only Finnis but also Enlightenment thinkers and legal positivists, showing that they are constructing their law upon shifting sands, and that only adherence to the precepts of natural law can ensure a secure legal edifice that is not subject to fashion or convenience. A more subtle assessment of different theories might have made his case stronger, and he does not answer the question of how one who does not believe in God is to create law; indeed, the book sometimes reads as a tract designed to convert the heathen.
McCall's model relies for its coherence on participation, a ‘drawing down’ of the reality of a higher level to be applied at a lower, more detailed, setting. Using a different analogy, it would be interesting to express this in sacramental terms and to ask how this relates to the whole Body of Christ, and our sharing in that reality.
Finally, I noted several papal quotations: Leo XIII, John Paul II, Benedict XVI, several Popes Pius. It would have been interesting, especially in his discussion of equity, if McCall had considered the writing of Pope Francis on mercy or, as legislator, his development of the Church's teaching on the death penalty. But perhaps for one who admires Archbishop Lefebvre that is an unnecessary adornment.
