christianity

Freud was right that society would be happier without Christianity. [40]

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Sigmund Freud argued that religion, and especially Christianity, makes society less happy rather than more fulfilled. In works such as The Future of an Illusion and Civilization and Its Discontents, Freud claimed that religion is an illusion created to comfort humans in a frightening world, but that this comfort comes at a psychological cost. Christianity, he believed, encourages guilt, represses natural desires and keeps people emotionally immature. He predicted that religion would die out as more people were educated and embraced science, and that this would be a step forward for society.  However, in later writings – influenced no doubt by the rise of totalitarianism – Freud began to acknowledge the importance of religion in helping people to cope with uncertainty and unanswered questions, as well as in keeping uneducated people away from crime and immorality. Despite this, in the 1990s and early 2000s critics such as Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens developed similar arguments, claiming that Christianity is a harmful, irrational and divisive force in society and that society would be happier without it. Overall, Freud was largely right to claim that society would be happier without Christianity, because religious belief often increases guilt, conflict and intellectual dependence, although Christianity does have some positive influence on society and may need to be replaced with something in due course.

One key reason Freud believed society would be happier without Christianity is that it creates unnecessary guilt and psychological suffering. In Civilization and Its Discontents, Freud argues that religion strengthens the superego, the part of the mind that judges and punishes the self. Christianity teaches ideas such as sin, judgement and eternal punishment, which can make people feel constantly guilty for natural thoughts and desires. Freud famously described religion as “a universal obsessional neurosis,” suggesting it traps believers in childish patterns of fear and dependence. This view is supported by Richard Dawkins, who argues that religion teaches people to feel guilty for things like sexuality, which should be a normal part of human life. When people are told they are sinful by nature, this can damage self-esteem and happiness. By contrast, a secular society encourages people to take responsibility for their actions without fear of divine punishment. This supports Freud’s claim that removing Christianity could reduce anxiety and make people psychologically healthier, strengthening the argument that society would be happier without it.

A second reason supporting Freud’s view is that Christianity can limit intellectual freedom and encourage irrational thinking. In The Future of an Illusion, Freud argues that religion survives by discouraging questioning and critical thought, especially in childhood. He believed religious beliefs are accepted because they are taught early and protected from criticism. Christopher Hitchens echoes this idea, arguing that religion “poisons everything” by replacing evidence with faith and discouraging independent thinking. Dawkins similarly claims that Christianity is “anti-intellectual”, promotes belief without proof, which conflicts with science and reason. This can slow social progress and create fear of new ideas, such as evolution or advances in medicine. A society that values rational enquiry and open debate is more likely to solve problems effectively and promote happiness. From this perspective, Christianity may prevent people from thinking freely and living authentically, while a non-religious society could encourage curiosity, honesty and shared human understanding. This again supports Freud’s argument that society would be better off without Christianity.

However, critics argue that Freud underestimated the positive role Christianity can play in society. Jürgen Habermas, a secular philosopher, accepts that religion is not literally true but argues that it still contains valuable moral insights. He suggests that in our increasingly secular society we have “an awareness of what is missing” in terms of religion. Christian ideas such as human dignity, equality and care for the vulnerable shaped modern human rights. Without Christianity, society has lost an important moral language that promoted social cooperation and long-term action on issues such as climate-change, leaving society fragmented, individuals isolated and hopeless and politics paralysed. Similarly, Charles Taylor argues that modern secular society has not made people clearly happier. In A Secular Age, he claims that while people have more freedom, they also experience greater anxiety, loneliness and loss of meaning. Linda Woodhead also challenges Freud by pointing out that many people actively choose religion because it gives them identity, community and purpose. These thinkers suggest that removing Christianity might create a moral and emotional gap rather than greater happiness.  However and despite these challenges, Freud’s argument remains convincing when comparing the harms and benefits of Christianity. While Habermas and Taylor are right that religion has shaped moral values, these values can exist without belief in God. Ideas such as compassion and justice do not require Christianity to survive. Linda Woodhead’s point that religion gives meaning may be true for some individuals, but Freud would argue that this meaning is based on illusion rather than reality. A society built on honest acceptance of human limits, rather than comforting beliefs, is more mature and stable. Furthermore, history shows that Christianity has often been linked to intolerance, conflict and control, particularly over sexuality and gender. Even if Christianity can offer comfort, the psychological cost of guilt, fear and repression remains high. Overall, the progress of secular societies suggests that people can flourish without religious belief, supporting Freud’s original claim.

In conclusion, Freud was largely right to argue that society would be happier without Christianity. His analysis shows how Christian belief can increase guilt, repress natural desires and discourage critical thinking. The support of modern critics like Dawkins and Hitchens strengthens this case by highlighting the ongoing conflict between religion and reason. Although thinkers such as Habermas, Taylor and Woodhead raise important points about meaning and morality, these do not outweigh the psychological and social harms identified by Freud. The strongest reason for Freud’s view is that happiness is better achieved through rational understanding and emotional maturity than through religious illusion. Therefore, society should continue to move towards secular ways of finding meaning, responsibility and wellbeing without reliance on Christianity.

Critically assess Liberation Theology’s engagement with social issues. [40]

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Liberation Theology is a Christian movement that began in Latin America in the 1960s and 1970s. It focuses on the belief that God has a special concern for the poor and oppressed and that Christians should give the poor a “preferential option”, focusing their resources and efforts to work to create equity and change unjust social structures. This is because, influenced by Marxist analysis, Liberation Theologians believe that capitalist social structures create structural sin; by creating gross and growing inequality they oppress and trap poor people into a cycle of crime and immorality, taking away their moral agency and leaving them spiritually alienated. Liberation theologians argue that Christian faith should lead to practical action against poverty, violence and inequality and also the causes of these in Capitalism itself. They encourage Christians to live in solidarity with the poor, working practically to relieve the effects of poverty and deprivation, and then to read the Bible with a hermeneutic of suspicion “from the perspective of the poor”. From this perspective they believe that Jesus was a political liberator who offers people a practical political salvation through freedom from social injustice, more than a heavenly salvation. This essay will argue that Liberation Theology has been successful in engaging with social issues, and that it has been more effective than both the mainstream Catholic Church, which often failed to act decisively, and Marxism, which focused on class struggle but ignored faith and human dignity.

One way Liberation Theology has successfully engaged with social issues is by placing the experiences of the poor at the centre of theology and Christian action. Gustavo Gutiérrez, often seen as the founder of Liberation Theology, argued that theology must begin with real human suffering. He famously described liberation as “a movement from unjust conditions to a more humane life.” This means that Christians should not just talk about God but should challenge the social systems that keep people poor. In practice, this led many Christians to work in poor communities, helping them organise and speak out. This was more effective than the mainstream Catholic Church, which had often focused on charity rather than justice, offering short-term help and encouraging dependency on outside aid instead of challenging the causes of poverty and crime in South America. Catholic charity often seemed patronising to poor people, who were reluctant to take it as a result. It was also limited to the “deserving poor”, ignoring the fact that poverty was the root cause of the crime and immorality that excluded many from being candidates for help. Liberation Theology also tackled social issues more effectively than pure Marxism, which identified capitalism as the cause of economic injustice, but reduced people to economic classes, rejected religion as harmful and fomented violent revolution as the only solution. Liberation theologians lived in solidarity with the poor and worked with them to achieve lasting social change.  This was welcomed enthusiastically by many communities and made a real difference in some areas.  Liberation Theolody used some Marxist ideas but rejected violence and atheism, keeping human dignity and faith at the centre. This shows Liberation Theology’s strength in engaging social issues in a balanced and effective way, supporting the thesis that it achieved more than either the Church or Marxism alone.

A further reason for the success of Liberation Theology is through the creation of Ecclesiastical Base Communities (EBCs), which put its ideas into action at a local level. Leonardo Boff argued that the Church should be “the Church of the poor,” not a distant institution. EBCs were small groups of Christians who met to read the Bible, discuss their problems and take action together in favelas and slums such as Forteleza, Brasil. These communities empowered ordinary people, especially the poor, to become leaders and challenge injustice in peaceful ways. For example, EBCs provided education and practical training which helped communities resist exploitation, reduce crime through cooperation, and gave people the strength to demand fair treatment from employers and governments. This was something the mainstream Church often failed to do, as it was closely linked with political elites and slow to criticise corrupt governments. Marxist movements, on the other hand, often led to violence or authoritarian regimes, which replaced one form of oppression with another. By contrast, Liberation Theology inspired long-term social awareness and community action rooted in Christian values. This practical success supports the view that Liberation Theology engaged more effectively with social issues than its alternatives.

However, some critics argue that Liberation Theology ultimately failed. Alastair Kee claimed that this was because it did not take its influence from Marxist analysis far enough and failed to criticise the Catholic Church head on or to persuade the institution to fully support structural change. As a result, Liberation Theology remained limited and could not achieve lasting reform, other than in a few isolated pockets. While Kee blames Liberation Theologians like Guttierrez for reading Marx selectively and not embracing his full message, part of the failure of Liberation Theology – if such it was – was down to the Papacy, especially under Pope John Paul II and Cardinal Ratzinger.  While Liberation Theology was inspired by documents emanating from the Second Vatican Council and sustained by the encyclicals of Paul VI such as Populorum Progressio – which used the same Marxist language as Guttierrez did – it is clear that Pope John Paul II was cut from a different cloth. With his background in Poland and direct experience of the USSR, he was fundamentally opposed to Marxism and desirous of removing all of its influence from Church teaching. Further, he was under political pressure from Washington to quash Liberation Theology because it was giving the impression that the Church was on the side of Marxist rebels and revolutionaries and opposed to the US backed military juntas, which was weakening US influence in South America and encouraging more violence.  Pope John Paul II and Cardinal Ratzinger (later Pope Benedict XVI) argued that Liberation Theology was too political, being naïve and selective in its understanding and use of Marxism.  Further they argued that Liberation Theology was based on faulty theology, which was actively misleading people and threatened to exclude them from salvation. However, both criticisms can be challenged. Kee’s critique of Liberation Theology is unrealistic about what the movement could have achieved against the backdrop of changing Papal and global politics.  Further, the Church’s critique was influenced by politics as much as by theology and seemed to ignore the progress that Liberation Theology had made against the aims agreed on at Vatican II.  Liberation Theology had inspired local people, Priests and lay-people, to take responsibility for the mission of the Church. It had also raised awareness of injustice and empowered the poor.  It is also worth pointing out that Liberation Theology, despite its “failure” has been a strong influenced on more recent Church teaching, such as through Pope Francis’ encyclicals. Compared to the limited impact of the mainstream Church and the failures of Marxism to create fair societies, Liberation Theology achieved more positive change, even while facing strong resistance from both sides.

In conclusion, Liberation Theology has been highly effective in engaging with social issues, particularly poverty, oppression and crime in Latin America. By focusing on the poor, encouraging community action and combining faith with social justice, it achieved more than the mainstream Catholic Church, which often avoided structural change, and Marxism, which ignored religion and human dignity. The best reason for its success is its ability to turn belief into action through movements like Ecclesiastical Base Communities. Although criticised by figures such as Alastair Kee and the Papacy, Liberation Theology’s achievements remain significant. Therefore, Christians today should continue to learn from Liberation Theology and actively challenge injustice, showing that faith is not just about belief but about transforming society for the better.

Critically assess the importance of the sanctity of life in decisions about euthanasia. [40]

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The sanctity of life is the belief that human life has intrinsic value and should be protected because it is sacred or inviolable. Traditionally, this principle is rooted in religion, particularly Christianity, where Genesis 1:26 teaches that humans are made imago Dei, in the image of God. As a result, life is seen as God-given and only God has the authority to give or take life. Similar ideas can be found in other religious traditions, such as Islam and Judaism, which also emphasise the sacredness of human life. However, the importance of human life is not only defended by religion. Philosophers such as Kant argue through reason that humans have intrinsic worth because of their rationality and autonomy, and modern human rights frameworks protect life regardless of religious belief. Despite this, applying the religious principle of sanctity of life to modern debates about euthanasia is challenging in a multicultural and largely secular British society. Overall, although the language of “sanctity” may no longer be appropriate for everyone, the underlying principle that human life has inherent value remains fundamental in decision-making about euthanasia.

One key reason why the sanctity of life remains important in decisions about euthanasia is that it provides a clear moral boundary against the intentional taking of human life. Religious supporters argue that if life is sacred, then deliberately ending it, even to relieve suffering, is morally wrong. This view is strongly supported by Genesis 1:26, which implies that humans reflect God’s nature, and by the commandment “Do not murder.” From this perspective, euthanasia undermines the absolute value of life by making its worth conditional on factors such as health, independence or quality of life. This concern extends beyond religion, as Kantian ethics also rejects euthanasia on rational grounds. Kant argued that humans have intrinsic value and must always be treated as ends in themselves, not merely as means to an end such as avoiding pain. Allowing euthanasia risks treating life as disposable when it no longer meets certain standards. The importance of this principle lies in its protective function: it safeguards the most vulnerable members of society, such as the elderly, disabled and terminally ill, from pressure to end their lives. Even in a secular context, this boundary is essential to prevent a “slippery slope” where the value of life becomes negotiable. Therefore, the sanctity of life, or at least the belief in the inherent worth of human life, plays a crucial role in ethical decision-making about euthanasia.

A further reason for the continued importance of this principle is that it underpins human rights and legal protections in modern society. The right to life is a foundational human right, recognised in documents such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. This principle applies regardless of religion and reflects the belief that all human lives are equally valuable. In decisions about euthanasia, maintaining this commitment helps to ensure fairness and equality before the law. If euthanasia were widely accepted, critics argue that some lives may be seen as less worth preserving than others, particularly those involving chronic illness or disability. This could reinforce harmful social attitudes that equate dignity with independence or productivity. The sanctity of life principle challenges this by affirming that dignity is inherent, not earned. Even when suffering is severe, life itself still has value. This does not mean that suffering should be ignored, but it suggests that the moral response should focus on palliative care and support rather than ending life. As a result, the importance of sanctity of life lies in shaping compassionate responses that respect both human dignity and equality. Removing this principle from euthanasia debates risks weakening the moral foundation of human rights altogether.

However, a strong counterclaim is that the sanctity of life is less important in decisions about euthanasia because it can conflict with personal autonomy and compassion. Supporters of euthanasia argue that preserving life at all costs can lead to prolonged suffering, loss of dignity and a lack of control over one’s own death. In a multicultural society, many people do not accept religious arguments based on God or sacredness, and therefore see the sanctity of life as an outdated concept. From this perspective, quality of life is more important than simply being alive, and individuals should have the right to choose a dignified death. This view is supported by utilitarian thinkers who focus on reducing suffering, and by campaigners who argue that banning euthanasia can be cruel rather than compassionate. Despite this, rejecting the sanctity of life entirely creates serious ethical problems. While autonomy is important, it is not absolute, especially when decisions may be influenced by depression, fear, or social pressure. Without a strong principle affirming the inherent value of life, vulnerable individuals may feel a duty to die to avoid being a burden on others. Furthermore, compassion does not necessarily require ending life; advances in palliative care show that pain and distress can often be managed effectively. By retaining the core idea of sanctity of life—without relying solely on religious language—society can balance compassion with protection. The principle reminds decision-makers to prioritise care, support and dignity without crossing the moral line of intentionally causing death. Therefore, while autonomy and compassion matter, they do not outweigh the importance of recognising the inherent value of human life.

In conclusion, although the religious language of the sanctity of life may be difficult to apply directly in a modern, multicultural society, the principle that human life has inherent value remains fundamental in decisions about euthanasia. The strongest reason for this is that it protects the vulnerable, underpins human rights, and prevents life from becoming conditional on subjective judgments about quality or usefulness. While compassion and autonomy must be taken seriously, they should not replace the commitment to the equal worth of all human lives. Moving forward, society should continue to uphold this principle—perhaps using secular language of human dignity and rights—while investing in palliative care and support, ensuring that the response to suffering is not to end life, but to value and care for it until the end.

Critically compare the views of Aquinas and Freud on the nature of the conscience and its role in moral decision-making. [40]

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The conscience is often understood as an inner guide that helps individuals to make moral decisions, but philosophers and psychologists disagree about what the conscience actually is and how reliable it can be. For Aquinas, the conscience is not a feeling or instinct but a rational process rooted in human reason and ultimately in God. He believed that all humans possess synderesis, an innate inclination to do good and avoid evil, and that conscience (conscientia) applies this knowledge to specific situations. By contrast, Freud saw the conscience as a purely psychological construct, formed through childhood experiences and social conditioning. He argued that conscience is part of the superego, which internalises parental and societal rules and punishes wrongdoing through guilt. This essay will critically compare these views and argue that Aquinas’ understanding of the conscience is more persuasive, because it offers a universal, rational basis for moral decision making and provides a clearer distinction between genuine moral responsibility and psychological pressure.

A key reason why Aquinas’ view of the conscience is more persuasive is that it provides an objective and rational foundation for moral decision making. Aquinas believed that conscience is rooted in synderesis, which is the God-given ability to recognise basic moral principles such as “do good and avoid evil.” This is not learned from society but is part of human nature, meaning that all people have access to moral truth regardless of culture or upbringing. Conscientia then uses reason to apply these principles to particular situations, for example deciding whether lying is justified in a specific context. This makes moral decision making an active, thoughtful process rather than an emotional reaction. In contrast, Freud argued that the conscience is shaped by external authority figures, especially parents, whose rules are internalised into the superego. This suggests that moral decisions are heavily influenced by upbringing and social norms rather than rational reflection. Aquinas’ view is stronger because it explains why people can critically evaluate social norms and even act against them when they are unjust, such as opposing slavery or discrimination. Freud’s theory struggles to explain moral progress, since if conscience is simply internalised authority, challenging society would go against the superego. Therefore, Aquinas offers a more convincing account of how individuals can make reasoned moral decisions that go beyond cultural conditioning, which strengthens the role of conscience as a reliable moral guide.

Furthermore, Aquinas’ understanding of conscience better supports moral responsibility and accountability. Because conscience involves the use of reason, Aquinas argued that individuals are responsible for forming their conscience correctly. This includes seeking knowledge, reflecting on moral principles, and avoiding ignorance. He distinguished between vincible ignorance, where someone could have known better, and invincible ignorance, where they could not. This allows Aquinas to explain why some people may act wrongly without full moral blame, while still maintaining that objective moral truth exists. Freud’s model, however, reduces conscience to psychological forces beyond an individual’s control. If guilt is simply the result of unconscious conflicts between the id and the superego, then moral feelings such as guilt or shame are not indicators of moral truth but of psychological tension. This undermines genuine moral responsibility, as individuals may feel guilty for actions that are not morally wrong, or feel no guilt for actions that are harmful, depending on their upbringing. Aquinas’ view is more persuasive because it aligns with the legal and moral intuition that people can be held accountable for their choices. It also encourages moral development, as individuals are expected to educate and refine their conscience rather than passively accept inherited norms. This makes Aquinas’ account more practical and ethically robust in guiding real moral decision making.

However, a strong counterclaim is that Freud’s account of conscience is more convincing because it is grounded in empirical psychology rather than theological assumptions. Freud’s theory is based on observation of human behaviour and explains why people often experience guilt even when no clear moral law has been broken. For example, someone might feel intense guilt about sexual thoughts or minor rule-breaking due to strict parental upbringing. Freud’s model helps to explain moral diversity, as different societies produce different superegos, and it also accounts for irrational guilt that Aquinas’ rational model cannot easily explain. Additionally, critics may argue that Aquinas’ reliance on God and natural law makes his view less persuasive in a pluralistic, secular society where belief in God is not universal. From this perspective, Freud’s theory appears more realistic and scientifically credible.  Despite this, Freud’s account ultimately weakens the authority of conscience rather than strengthening it. While it may explain why people feel guilt, it does not explain why some moral decisions are genuinely right or wrong. If conscience is merely social conditioning, then practices such as sexism or racism could be morally justified if they are socially approved. Aquinas avoids this problem by grounding conscience in reason and objective moral principles, allowing individuals to critique and reform unjust social norms. Moreover, Freud’s theory risks reducing moral decision making to what makes us feel better; the goal becomes avoiding guilt rather than doing good. Aquinas’ approach is more persuasive because it preserves the idea that conscience should guide us toward what ought to be done, not merely what helps us feel comfortable. Even in a secular context, Aquinas’ emphasis on reason and universal moral principles remains influential, as seen in human rights discourse and moral philosophy.

In conclusion, while Freud offers a valuable psychological explanation of how feelings of guilt and conscience develop, Aquinas’ view of conscience is more persuasive as a guide to moral decision making. His account provides a rational, universal and objective basis for morality, supports genuine moral responsibility, and allows individuals to challenge unjust social norms. The strongest reason for preferring Aquinas is that he preserves the conscience as a tool for discovering moral truth rather than reducing it to psychological conditioning. Ultimately, if society is to make meaningful moral progress, individuals must be encouraged not simply to obey internalised rules, but to reason critically about what is truly good and just—and Aquinas’ understanding of conscience best supports this goal.

“Critically assess the importance of the sanctity of life in decisions about euthanasia.” [40]

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The sanctity of life is the belief that human life is intrinsically valuable and sacred, often grounded in the idea that life is created in the image of God (imago Dei) and therefore possesses inherent dignity. This principle has been especially influential in religious ethical frameworks, most notably within Roman Catholic teaching, where it plays a central role in opposition to euthanasia, as well as in the Biblically based teachings of Protestant denominations. The principle of the Sanctity of Life has also influenced Kantian, Virtue and Human Rights frameworks. However, alternative approaches, particularly those grounded in utilitarianism and personhood theory, challenge the absolute status of the sanctity of life. Overall, while the sanctity of life remains an important consideration in decisions about euthanasia—especially in safeguarding against abuse and affirming human dignity—it should not be regarded as decisive, as it can lead to morally problematic outcomes when applied rigidly in cases involving suffering and autonomy.

Firstly, the sanctity of life is highly important within traditional religious approaches, particularly in the teaching of the Roman Catholic Church, where it provides a clear and consistent moral framework opposing euthanasia. The Church’s position is articulated in the Declaration on Euthanasia (1980), issued by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, which states that “nothing and no one can in any way permit the killing of an innocent human being.” This reflects the belief that life is a gift from God and that only God has authority over its beginning and end. Such a view is rooted in Natural Law, particularly the primary precept to preserve life, as developed by Thomas Aquinas. The strength of this approach lies in its consistency and its protection of vulnerable individuals; by rejecting euthanasia outright, it avoids the risk of coercion or the devaluation of lives deemed less “worthy.” Furthermore, it upholds a strong sense of human dignity that does not depend on physical or mental capacity. The fact that having the sanctity of human life can be the basis for a credible ethical approach is demonstrated by the work of John Finnis, who situated life as a basic human good that cannot be compromised in his “Natural Law and Natural Rights” (1980). However, critics argue that such an absolutist stance as is supported by the principle of the Sanctity of Human Life can lead to inhumane outcomes, particularly in cases of extreme suffering, where prolonging life may seem to conflict with compassion. Nevertheless, the sanctity of life remains a foundational principle within this tradition, demonstrating its significant importance in shaping ethical decisions about euthanasia.

Secondly, the sanctity of life plays an important role in secular ethical debates as a safeguard against the potential dangers of legalising euthanasia, even if it is not always treated as absolute. Upholding the intrinsic value of life can act as a barrier against the “slippery slope” argument, which suggests that permitting voluntary euthanasia could lead to non-voluntary or involuntary forms. By maintaining that all human life has value, societies can resist pressures to normalise ending life for reasons such as disability, old age, or economic burden. This concern is implicitly supported by religious frameworks but also resonates in broader human rights discourse. However, thinkers such as Peter Singer challenge the sanctity of life by distinguishing between “human life” and “personhood.” Singer argues that moral value should be based not on mere biological existence but on characteristics such as self-awareness, rationality, and the capacity to suffer. He controversially claims that “killing a person is normally worse than killing a non-person,” implying that some forms of euthanasia may be morally permissible or even desirable. While Singer’s approach allows for compassionate responses to suffering and prioritises quality of life, it also raises serious ethical concerns about who gets to decide which lives are valuable. In this context, the sanctity of life continues to function as an important counterbalance, ensuring that ethical decisions do not become purely utilitarian calculations.

However, the importance of the sanctity of life can be challenged on the grounds that it may conflict with other key ethical principles, particularly autonomy and compassion. Critics argue that an absolute commitment to preserving life can undermine an individual’s right to choose how and when they die, especially in cases of terminal illness or unbearable suffering. From a liberal perspective influenced by thinkers such as John Stuart Mill, respect for autonomy is central to moral decision-making, and denying a competent individual the right to end their life could be seen as an unjustified form of paternalism. This is reinforced by the work of Peter Singer, who argues that the capacity to suffer, rather than mere biological life, is morally decisive; where continued existence brings more suffering than benefit, euthanasia may be justified. Furthermore, even within the Roman Catholic Church there is recognition that preserving life is not an absolute duty in all circumstances. The Declaration on Euthanasia permits the refusal of “over-zealous treatment” and accepts that allowing death to occur may be morally permissible where burdens outweigh benefits. Similarly, the doctrine of double effect allows for actions such as administering high doses of analgesics that may hasten death, provided the intention is pain relief rather than killing. This suggests an implicit prioritisation of compassion and proportionality over the mere prolongation of life. However, this critique does not entirely undermine the importance of the sanctity of life. Rather, it demonstrates that even its strongest proponents recognise the need for nuance in its application. The principle continues to act as a moral constraint, ensuring that decisions about euthanasia are not reduced to purely subjective or utilitarian calculations. Therefore, although autonomy and compassion challenge its absoluteness, they do not eliminate its significance.  Nevertheless, it could be argued that the sanctity of life remains the most important principle in decisions about euthanasia because it provides a necessary safeguard against the dangers inherent in alternative approaches. Without it, ethical decision-making risks sliding into a form of utilitarianism that permits the devaluation of certain lives. Peter Singer’s distinction between “persons” and “non-persons,” for example, has been widely criticised for implying that individuals lacking rationality or self-awareness—such as infants or those with severe cognitive impairments—may have less moral worth. Critics such as Leon Kass argue that abandoning the sanctity of life leads to a “culture of death,” where human dignity is contingent and negotiable. In this context, the sanctity of life provides an essential moral foundation by affirming the equal and inherent value of all human beings, regardless of their capacities. However, this defence can be challenged. While the sanctity of life may protect against abuse, its rigid application can itself produce morally troubling outcomes, such as prolonging intense suffering against a patient’s wishes. Moreover, the slippery slope argument is often overstated; empirical evidence from countries where euthanasia is legal suggests that robust safeguards can be implemented. Therefore, while the sanctity of life is undeniably important as a protective principle, it should not be treated as overriding all other considerations. Its role is better understood as one element within a broader ethical framework, rather than the decisive factor.

In conclusion, the sanctity of life plays a significant but not decisive role in decisions about euthanasia. It provides a vital moral foundation, particularly within religious traditions such as the Roman Catholic Church, and serves as an important safeguard against the devaluation of human life. However, its absolutist application can lead to morally troubling consequences, especially when it conflicts with considerations of autonomy and the alleviation of suffering. The strongest argument against its ultimate importance lies in its inability to adequately address complex, real-world cases where preserving life may not align with compassion or individual dignity. Therefore, while the sanctity of life should remain a central consideration in ethical deliberations about euthanasia, it must be balanced with other principles to ensure that moral decision-making is both humane and context-sensitive.

Critically evaluate Flew’s claim that religious claims are meaningless because they are unfalsifiable. [40]

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Anthony Flew presented his argument that religious claims are meaningless because they are unfalsifiable in his article “Theology and Falsification” (1944).  Building on Karl Popper’s argument that meaning depends not on the means of verification but on whether a claim is capable of being falsified, Flew used John Wisdom’s parable of the gardener to suggest that religious beliefs are meaningless because they are incapable of being falsified.  The believer, like the believing explorer in Wisdom’s parable, is convinced that there is something and won’t accept evidence to the contrary, making excuses and adapting their beliefs rather than admitting that the evidence has shown the beliefs to be false.  For example, believers cling on to their belief that God is good and just despite the evidence of war and the holocaust.  For Flew this shows that these beliefs are meaningless. Overall, Flew’s claim is persuasive, but relevant to only one specific interpretation of meaning.

Firstly, Flew’s argument was criticised by RM Hare in his contribution to the 1955 Falsification Symposium.  Hare pointed out that whether a belief is meaningful or not does not depend on either the means of verification or capability of being falsified.  We all have our everyday lives shaped by non-rational beliefs, such as that my car is roadworthy… how many of us really stop to check under the bonnet before each journey  Hare used a parable about a lunatic to illustrate his point.  The lunatic is convinced that all dons are out to kill him, which shapes his life entirely.  Just because there is no evidence to support or verify this belief and no circumstances under which the lunatic will abandon his belief as being falsified does not change the extent to which the belief makes a difference to and is meaningful within the lunatic’s life.  Nevertheless, and even though Hare is right to say that a whole range of unverifiable and unfalsifiable beliefs – which he called BLIKS – shape our everyday congress with the world, he is arguing at cross purposes with Flew.  For Flew, meaningfulness is a technical concept and relates to ontological claims, statements that purport to describe reality.  If I say “this chair is blue” then I am making a claim about an existing object and how it can be perceived.  In this case, for the claim to be meaningful it is reasonable to say that it must either be capable of verification, such as by looking at the chair, or capable of being falsified… as Flew suggests, at the very least I should be able to admit that I would regard the claim as untrue if somebody looked and the chair turned out to be red.  Hare is using the word “meaningful” in a different sense, meaning impactful in the life of an individual.  Of course, lots of unverifiable and unfalsifiable beliefs make an impact on our lives.  The belief that “it will all be OK in the end”, our family loves us, that a politician or party is “better” than another, that we don’t like cabbage… all of these beliefs have impact in our lives, but are mostly not capable of verification or falsification.  This is because these beliefs are not based on ontological claims, but are more like affirmations of personal preference, identity, culture or the like. It is reasonable to point out that religious claims are meaningful even when non-rational because they make a big difference in the life of the believer, but it is also reasonable to point out that the claim “God is good” cannot be meaningful in an ontological sense when it is neither verifiable nor falsifiable. Both Flew and Hare have a point, but they are using the idea of meaningfulness in different senses, thus Hare’s criticism does not really affect Flew’s claim that religious claims are meaningless because they are unfalsifiable. 

Secondly, Flew’s argument was criticised by Basil Mitchell in his own contribution to the Falsification Symposium (1955).  He pointed out that not only was Hare mistaken in seeing religious beliefs as non-rational bliks but Flew was also mistaken in claiming that religious beliefs are meaningless because they are unfalsifiable.  Mitchell used the parable of the partisan to make his point.  In a time of war, a follower meets a stranger and, as a result of what the stranger says and does, decides to follow him and become part of the resistance.  Over time, there is some evidence that the stranger is on the side of the resistance, and other evidence that he is not, but the partisan keeps faith and carries on believing despite the falsifying evidence because that is what commitment and the decision to trust the stranger demands. As Mitchell pointed out, the decision to commit to the partisan – like the believer’s initial decision to have faith in God – is based on evidence, so it is not a non-rational blik as Hare claimed.  Further, the partisan’s unwillingness to accept falsifying evidence, whether relating to the partisan or God, is the result of the commitment they have made, not evidence that their belief is meaningless as Flew claimed.  Nevertheless, despite Mitchell’s argument being persuasive and a fair characterisation of the faith that many believers have, Flew still has a point because of the very slender evidence on which believers make their decision to commit and because of the extent of the falsifying evidence of evil in the world. Separately and later, Flew criticised the arguments for God’s existence, pointing out that “ten leaky buckets are no better than one” and he has a point.  While there have been many attempts to demonstrate God’s existence from observations and from reason, in the end there is no credible evidence for God’s existence, either in terms of sense perception or in terms of logic.  Even Swinburne accepts that the evidence is ambiguous and depends on our assessment of “prior probability,” suggesting that the case for God’s bare existence depends on what we feel about God before the evidence, on our wants and needs, rather than on an assessment of the facts.  In relation to Mitchell’s parable, if the partisan chose to commit to a stranger who gave so little reason to believe in him… and then refused to waver when the stranger was knowingly and unnecessarily allowed the deaths of six million Jewish people, then it is difficult to claim as Mitchell does that the decision to commit is rational.  Hare is surely right to say that belief is at best non-rational if not positively irrational, as JL Mackie later claimed.  Further, Mitchell is surely wrong to claim that continued belief, despite the overwhelming falsifying evidence, is meaningful.  As Flew and no doubt William Rowe, Gregory Paul and Ivan Karamazov would agree, there comes a point where despite commitment, continued faith must be falsified… or it becomes ridiculous.  It follows that Flew’s claim that religious claims are meaningless because they are unfalsifiable also survives Mitchell’s criticism.

On the other hand, Swinburne pointed out a difficulty with Flew’s argument using his “toys in the cupboard” analogy.  When a claim or belief relates to a state of affairs that is unverifiable and unfalsifiable by virtue of its object, that claim or belief must be evaluated in terms of the meaning it has in somebody’s life rather than as an ontological claim.  Further, as Swinburne pointed out, science makes many claims of a similar nature which it upholds despite not being verifiable or falsifiable. Quantum events cannot be observed without influencing what is observed meaning that any claim about a quantum event is unverifiable and unfalsifiable, but such claims are made all the time by quantum physicists.  This suggests that the falsification principle is no more “scientific” than the verification principle, which was discredited by Flew and previously Popper on the grounds that it is pseudo-scientific.  Nevertheless, Swinburne’s criticisms do not destroy Flew’s argument because he can’t deny that some religious believers claim to have direct experience of God, and because almost all religious believers claim that they will eventually encounter God after death, making their beliefs capable of verification in a way that beliefs about toys in the cupboard or claims about quantum events are not.  Further, Swinburne’s example of science not being able to verify that “all ravens are black” serves to show how Science reasonably relies on capability of falsification as a criterion of meaning routinely.  God is not incapable of verification, as Swinburne claims, like the toys in the cupboard or quantum events, but rather can’t be verified for lack of evidence like the ravens being black, meaning that Flew’s use of the falsification principle as a criterion of meaning is entirely appropriate.  Science regards a claim or belief as contingently meaningful and is always willing to proportion its beliefs to the available evidence, as Hume suggested a wise man should. Flew is right to suggest that religious believers should do the same in order to be regarded as similarly wise.  When believers hang on to belief beyond and even despite the evidence, they show how foolish and meaningless they and their beliefs are. Further, Hick suggested that his parable of the celestial city shows Flew’s argument to be wrong, because like the traveller’s belief in the city, the believer’s belief in God will be verified or falsified at the end of the journey or when we die. Nevertheless, this is not persuasive because while it is true that the belief may be eschatologically verifiable, it is not falsifiable.  If our belief was correct then we will know that it was correct, but if our belief was incorrect we will never know and never have to admit that we were wrong or change our belief.  It follows that belief in God, like belief in the city, is not properly meaningful in a scientific or ontological sense, at best half-meeting the criteria of meaning and more probably only having a tiny possibility of meeting half of these criteria, given the absence of credible evidence for an afterlife of any sort, let alone for one in which “I” could remember and know whether my beliefs had been verified or not.  Hick himself struggled to defend the belief that “I” could survive death, given the break in spatio-temporal continuity under an object that death must represent.  He abandoned his own “replica theory” in the end and tried to embrace re-incarnation, although with no real evidence or argument for this.  This shows that Hick’s point does not seriously challenge Flew’s claim that religious belief is meaningless because it is unfalsifiable.

In conclusion, Flew’s claim is persuasive, but relevant to only one specific interpretation of meaning.  The fact that Flew changed his position and proportioned it to the evidence, becoming a deist in 2010 shortly before he died as a response to new evidence about fine tuning, only serves to support this conclusion.  For Flew meaningfulness is a strictly scientific term and relates to whether a claim is contingent on the state of the evidence, whereas for Flew, Mitchell, Swinburne and Hick – although in different ways – meaningfulness is interpreted in different ways.  Because of this, Flew’s claim stands despite his opponents pointing out other senses of the word in which beliefs can be meaningful.

“Religious teachings should have no further role in shaping laws relating to sex.” Discuss. [40]

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The question raises the issue of whether religion should continue to shape public law in an increasingly secular and pluralist society. Laws relating to sex — concerning marriage, contraception, homosexuality, and consent — have long reflected religious moral codes, especially those derived from Christianity. Yet modern societies increasingly define justice in terms of autonomy, equality, and harm prevention rather than divine command. The key issue, then, is whether moral authority should remain rooted in theology or instead rest on rational, secular grounds accessible to all citizens. Utilitarianism, through Bentham and Mill, strongly supports the separation of religion from law, grounding legislation in reason and human well-being rather than in revelation. By contrast, Natural Law and post-secular thinkers such as Durkheim, Habermas, and Taylor maintain that religion continues to provide essential moral cohesion and guidance. This essay will argue that religious teachings should have no further role in shaping laws relating to sex, because secular, rational ethics are better suited to protecting liberty and pluralism in a diverse society.

Jeremy Bentham provides a powerful philosophical foundation for removing religious influence from sexual law. His utilitarian ethics, based on the principle of utility — that the right action is the one which produces “the greatest happiness for the greatest number” — rejects all appeals to divine command or natural law. Bentham viewed religious moral codes as sources of unnecessary suffering, describing them as “nonsense upon stilts” when used to justify legal coercion. In his private manuscripts on sexual ethics, Bentham condemned laws criminalising homosexuality and other consensual sexual acts, arguing that they produce pain without preventing harm. For Bentham, pleasure and pain are the only valid measures of moral value, and the law’s function is to maximise the former and minimise the latter. Religious interference in sexual legislation thus violates both reason and justice, since it restricts harmless pleasures out of superstition. Laws against contraception or same-sex relations, for example, inflict pain through guilt and punishment without increasing happiness or social welfare. Bentham’s secular utilitarianism replaces divine authority with empirical calculation, insisting that moral and legal reasoning must be open to all rational agents regardless of belief. The separation of church and state is therefore not merely political but ethical: it ensures that law serves human well-being, not theological conformity. Critics might object that Bentham’s hedonism risks moral relativism, allowing any pleasure to justify action. Yet Bentham’s consistent application of the harm principle safeguards against exploitation: where there is no harm, there is no ground for prohibition. In this sense, Bentham provides a compelling philosophical basis for excluding religious teaching from sexual law, ensuring legislation is grounded in measurable human welfare rather than metaphysical speculation.

John Stuart Mill extends and refines Bentham’s argument by linking secular law to individual liberty. In On Liberty (1859), Mill articulates the harm principle: “the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others.” Mill’s utilitarianism is qualitative rather than quantitative — distinguishing higher pleasures of intellect, love, and moral development from mere sensual gratification — but his political philosophy is firmly secular. He explicitly warns against the “tyranny of the majority,” including the moral tyranny of religious majorities imposing their views through law. For Mill, the role of law is not to enforce moral virtue but to protect personal autonomy and the freedom to pursue one’s own conception of the good life. Religious teachings, being based on faith rather than universal reason, have no rightful authority in determining law for all citizens. In sexual ethics, this means that laws should regulate only matters of consent and harm, not sexual morality itself. For instance, Mill would oppose laws restricting same-sex marriage or reproductive rights on religious grounds, since these violate individual liberty without preventing harm. At the same time, Mill does not advocate moral nihilism: he recognises that society depends on moral education and self-restraint, and that religion may continue to influence individuals privately. However, he insists that such influence must remain within the realm of persuasion, not coercion. Law must be neutral among competing moral doctrines, safeguarding the liberty necessary for moral and personal growth. Thus, Mill strengthens the case for excluding religion from sexual law: only a secular framework, grounded in harm and autonomy, can ensure both justice and freedom in a pluralistic society.

A contrasting view, however, comes from Natural Law and from post-secular sociological thinkers who argue that religion continues to play a vital role in maintaining moral order. Thomas Aquinas held that human law derives its legitimacy from natural law, itself a participation in divine reason. Laws are just only if they accord with this higher moral order. From this perspective, sexual ethics cannot be detached from religious teaching, since human sexuality has a divinely intended purpose: procreation and the unitive bond of marriage. Modern Natural Law theorists such as John Finnis defend this in secular language, identifying basic human goods — including procreation, friendship, and community — which the law should protect if it is to carry universal, rational authority. Religious teaching, on this account, articulates objective moral truths about human flourishing so that excluding religion from law risks making that law unjust and to quote St Augustine “not really law at all”. Post-secular thinkers such as Émile Durkheim, Jürgen Habermas, and Charles Taylor extend this argument sociologically. Durkheim saw religion as the expression of the collective conscience, binding societies together through shared moral norms. This suggests that the law and religion should be saying the same thing in articulating a value consensus, even if religion should not directly influence or dictate what the law is. Further, Habermas argued that in a “post-secular” age, secular and religious citizens must engage in dialogue, translating moral insights from faith into public reason. Taylor likewise maintains that secularism should ensure fairness between worldviews, not simply banish religion from the public sphere. Together, these perspectives challenge strict secularism: if religion helps sustain moral consensus, its exclusion might weaken the moral foundations of law. However, this counterclaim can be rebutted by questioning the practicality and justice of grounding law in religious or natural-law reasoning in an increasingly plural society. The assumption that there is a single, knowable moral order is untenable in contexts of religious diversity and moral disagreement. Programmatic secularism argues not for hostility to religion, but for its restriction to the private sphere, where it may shape personal conscience without constraining public law. Habermas’s call for dialogue can be preserved within this framework: religious citizens may express moral concerns publicly, but the laws themselves must be justified in secular terms accessible to all, avoiding the privileging of any faith tradition. Moreover, attempts to legislate moral order on religious grounds often produce the very social divisions they seek to prevent — as seen in conflicts over reproductive rights and marriage equality. The pluralism of modern societies requires laws grounded in reason, consent, and human rights, not theological anthropology. Religious teachings may continue to guide believers, but they cannot serve as the foundation of public law without undermining equality and freedom. Thus, while religion may contribute to moral discourse, its direct role in shaping sexual law should end.

In conclusion, religious teachings should indeed have no further role in shaping laws relating to sex. Bentham and Mill demonstrate that secular, rational principles of harm and utility provide a clearer and fairer foundation for legislation than appeals to divine command. Although Natural Law and post-secular thinkers highlight religion’s continuing moral and cultural value, in a plural and democratic society law must be justified to all citizens through reason alone. The best reason for this is that secular law protects both freedom of conscience and the integrity of religion itself, preventing faith from becoming an instrument of coercion. Religion may still inform private morality and public dialogue, but it must no longer determine the content of sexual law. In a society of many faiths and none, the only just foundation for law is the shared language of human reason.

Critically evaluate the view that conscience is the best guide when making decisions about sex. [40]

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Conscience, for Aquinas, is the application of moral knowledge to specific situations, a rational process (conscientia) rooted in an innate awareness of moral law (synderesis). Freud, by contrast, saw conscience as part of the superego—an unconscious internalisation of social and parental norms, often tied to feelings of guilt and repression, especially in matters of sexuality. These contrasting views lead to different evaluations of whether conscience can be trusted as a moral guide. Natural law theorists and some liberal theologians might affirm that conscience, when properly informed, is the best guide in private moral matters such as sex. However, others argue that conscience is fallible, shaped by social forces or limited understanding, and therefore unreliable. This essay will argue that conscience is not the best guide when making decisions about sex. Both Aquinas and Freud highlight that conscience requires proper formation or critical analysis to be trustworthy; by itself, it is too dependent on reason, psychological conditioning, or social norms to reliably lead to moral truth.

One reason conscience is not the best guide when making decisions about sex is that, for Aquinas, conscience is not infallible and must be correctly formed in order to lead to right action. Aquinas described conscience (conscientia) as the act of applying moral knowledge (synderesis) to particular cases through reason. Because this process involves human judgment, it can err. A person may reach the wrong moral conclusion about a sexual act, for example believing contraception to be morally acceptable, even though, by Aquinas’ standards of natural law, it frustrates the natural end of procreation and is therefore wrong. However, crucially, Aquinas argued that it is always a duty to follow one’s conscience—even when it is mistaken. To act against conscience is to act against reason, and since reason is the image of the divine in the human person, deliberately disobeying conscience is always sinful. Paradoxically, this means that someone who, in good conscience, engages in immoral sexual behaviour may still be morally blameworthy, though less so than someone who knowingly chooses to do wrong. Aquinas’ view highlights a key limitation of conscience: it can bind even when wrong. If conscience were the best guide in sexual decision-making, it would need to reliably lead to good moral outcomes—but in Aquinas’ account, it does not guarantee this. Its authority lies not in its accuracy but in its role as the proximate guide of action. This makes it essential, but not sufficient: it cannot be the best guide unless it is first well formed through right reasoning and knowledge of moral law. Therefore, while Aquinas upholds the dignity and authority of conscience, his account also reveals its dependence on prior moral formation, which prevents it from being the highest or most reliable guide on its own.

A further reason conscience is not the best guide in matters of sex comes from Freud’s analysis of its psychological roots. Freud viewed conscience as a function of the superego, the part of the mind that internalises moral and social prohibitions learned during early childhood. In his view, conscience is not a rational tool for discerning objective moral truth but a psychological mechanism enforcing conformity through feelings of guilt and anxiety. This is especially evident in sexual ethics, where many people experience shame or repression not because their actions are truly immoral, but because they contravene internalised taboos. For example, someone might feel deep guilt over homosexual desires or masturbation, not because those acts are intrinsically wrong, but because their superego has absorbed a strict moral code from parents or religious authority. Freud’s analysis suggests that conscience, far from being the best moral guide, is often a reflection of social conditioning and unconscious fears. While he did not advocate abandoning conscience altogether, Freud believed that true moral maturity comes from bringing these unconscious forces into conscious reflection, allowing individuals to examine and question their inherited values. Conscience may therefore need to be deconstructed and re-evaluated before it can be trusted. This challenges the idea that conscience is the best guide, particularly in areas like sexual ethics, where historical repression and moral panic have left deep psychological imprints. If conscience is often a distorted product of cultural anxiety, then following it uncritically may do more harm than good. Thus, Freud’s theory supports the view that conscience must be scrutinised rather than obeyed, making it a necessary but unreliable guide in decisions about sex.

Nevertheless, some argue that conscience is the best moral guide in sexual matters precisely because it allows individuals to make personal, context-sensitive judgments in complex or private situations. This view is supported by thinkers such as John Henry Newman, who described conscience as the “voice of God” speaking within the individual. Many liberal Christians similarly maintain that conscience, when properly informed by love, compassion, and reflection, offers the most authentic and morally sensitive way to navigate questions of sex—such as the permissibility of same-sex relationships, contraception, or divorce. For example, an individual might, after careful thought and prayer, conclude in conscience that a faithful, loving same-sex partnership is morally acceptable, even if traditional doctrine suggests otherwise. In such cases, conscience functions as a source of moral autonomy and responsibility, rather than blind obedience to external rules. However, even this more optimistic account rests on the assumption that conscience has been adequately formed and freed from irrational prejudice or self-deception. Both Aquinas and Freud would challenge this assumption. Aquinas would insist that conscience must be aligned with right reason and divine law to lead to true moral judgments. Freud would caution that what feels like a voice of authenticity may in fact be a buried voice of repression. In either case, the trustworthiness of conscience depends on factors beyond the individual’s immediate experience. Thus, while the appeal to conscience has emotional and moral weight, it does not establish conscience as the best guide—only as a significant one, whose conclusions must still be tested and examined.

In conclusion, conscience is not the best guide when making decisions about sex. The strongest reason for this is Aquinas’ recognition that while conscience must always be followed, it can still be mistaken and lead to sin, even when it binds sincerely. This highlights that conscience is only as reliable as the knowledge and reasoning that inform it. Freud reinforces this by showing how conscience may reflect internalised societal repression rather than genuine moral insight, particularly in the area of sexuality. Both thinkers suggest that conscience cannot stand alone; it must be formed, questioned, and corrected through deeper engagement with reason, law, and the self. In an age of competing moral values and sexual diversity, individuals should be encouraged to reflect critically on their conscience, test it against evidence and principle, and be wary of treating it as the highest authority. Conscience matters—but it must be educated and examined, not simply obeyed.

Critically evaluate Aquinas’ approach to moral decision making. [40]

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Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making goes well beyond basic Natural Moral Law. Influenced by Aristotle, Aquinas’ ethic is sophisticated and includes a virtue ethic and theory of conscience as well as a normative approach for deciding on what is right and what is wrong. As such, Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making is very useful.

Firstly, because Aquinas’ approach is rooted in Aristotelian Ethics it is supported by rational arguments and is consistent. Like Aristotle, Aquinas observed human beings and saw that people tend to flourish and then defined his primary precepts or basic human goods in relation to human flourishing, in terms of what supports that end. People flourish when they enjoy long life, live peaceably in society, when they have children and teach them and when they learn and praise God. Aquinas reasoned that actions which contribute to one or more of these goods and so to flourishing are right and actions which inhibit one or more of these ends are wrong. The secondary precepts of Aquinas’ natural law are, therefore, easily deduced from the primary precepts, providing a useful source of moral guidance and justification for rules, which are more practical and useful than expecting people to make decisions situationally. Nevertheless, Aquinas recognised that everyday decision-making is not only about following rules like do not murder… flourishing involves developing positive habits (virtues) and avoiding vices. Aquinas agreed with Aristotle (and modern virtue ethicists also agree) that habits, as well as consideration of somebody’s whole character rather than only individual actions, are useful in moral decision-making. This focus on virtue, habits and character has been overlooked by Roman Catholic Ethics in their application of Aquinas’ approach, leading to what Fletcher criticised as a legalistic approach, meaning that Aquinas’ approach is more useful than Roman Catholic applications of his thinking today. In addition, Aquinas argued that people should act autonomously, following their God-given desire to do good and avoid evil and what they have learned from practical reason (synderesis) to act on what their conscience suggests as a moral duty. This focus on individual autonomy and conscience also makes Aquinas’ moral philosophy more useful than Roman catholic applications of it, which often seem to support blind obedience. As Kant, William Temple and Bonhoeffer would point out, “on freedom our moral life depends.” If we don’t make decisions for ourselves, but defer to authority and practice blind obedience then we will not flourish as a person even if strictly speaking we do the right thing. This shows that Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making is a useful one and more useful than Roman Catholic applications of it today.

Secondly, Aquinas approach to moral decision-making is useful because it is rooted in and is consistent with the Bible and Christian faith. For Aquinas, the reason people want to flourish and act to support human flourishing is because God created them that way. In Genesis 1, God creates people good and orders them to “be fruitful and increase in number…” showing that flourishing and following the primary precepts of living long, procreating etc. are in fact doing God’s will. Whereas Aristotle’s ethic is avowedly non-religious, Aquinas’ ethic is so acceptable to Christians – still the largest group of religious believers in the world – that it was adopted as the basis for Roman Catholic ethics at the Council of Trent. Today, Roman Catholic Ethics stands on the three legs of Scripture, Tradition and Reason as authorities… meaning that it is not subject to Biblical literalism as Protestant ethics is, and neither is it changeable, inconsistent or unreasonably conservative. Aquinas showed the Church the way to achieve this, which has contributed significantly to the Church’s survival and growth through centuries of change and new moral challenges. Clearly, Roman Catholic Ethics today has rightly been criticised for being Legalistic, inflexible and encouraging blind obedience, but other scholars have returned to Aquinas for inspiration in showing how this is a selective and not a necessary application of His original ethic. For example, John Finnis roots his ethic in Aquinas, providing an approach which encourages both autonomy and acting according to Church teachings. Bernard Hoose also roots his proportionalism in Aquinas, and shows that it can be applied to support breaking even the strongest prohibitions in extreme situations, avoiding the criticism of being inflexible. Again, the fact that Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making is so useful to Christians shows that it is a useful approach.

On the other hand, Aquinas’ approach to decision making has been widely criticised. Natural Law relies on moving from observations of the natural world to claims about how we ought to behave. Hume pointed out that moving from an is to an ought needs significant justification, because how things are is not a good guide for how things necessarily ought to be. Further, GE Moore rejected Natural Law because it depends on what he called the Naturalistic Fallacy, suggesting that people should do what they naturally do. Nevertheless, John Finnis has rejected this criticism of Aquinas’ Natural Law, pointing out that Aquinas can be interpreted as being an intuitionist, seeing that the desire to do good and avoid evil and the primary precepts appeal directly to reason before and without experience. This shows that the metaethical critique of Hume and Moore is not conclusive. Aquinas’ virtue ethic has also been criticised by Kantians for encouraging people to develop habits rather than making rational decisions each time. For Kant a “good will” can only be good by acting freely and rationally, being fully human, in every decision, acting out of habit would make a will bad, even if it did the “right” thing as a result. Nevertheless, Finnis again shows that Aquinas’ concern for virtue and character can be brought together with his natural law by making “practical reasonableness” one of the basic human goods. Rather than separating natural law and virtue ethics, Finnis sees being free and rational as the single human habit on which being good – whether in individual actions or character-traits – depends. Again, this shows that Aquinas’ approach to decision-making can be made to evade criticisms and can still be useful. Finally, Aquinas has been criticised for having a over-complicated and speculative account of conscience which is likely to lead people into error, following the guidance of their own imperfect synderesis rather than the infallible teachings of the Church. It is true that Aquinas’ theory of conscience is not based on science, but then again, neither really is Freud’s! Aquinas’ understanding of conscience does do justice to human experience, explaining why we naturally want to do good and avoid evil but also why we sometimes struggle to know how and feel drawn to break moral norms. It is also consistent with other theological accounts of conscience, such as that of Newman, and with Philosophical accounts as well, such as Kant. In this way, Aquinas’ use of conscience within his approach to moral decision-making is not a weakness and his approach is still useful.

In conclusion, Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making remains useful, both to Christians and more widely. While the application of Aquinas’ approach by the Roman Catholic Church has led Aquinas’ approach to be treated with scepticism, it merits serious consideration both by Catholics and by everybody else.

Critically evaluate St Thomas Aquinas’ view of the conscience. [40]

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St Thomas Aquinas held that conscience is not a separate moral faculty but rather the application of human reason to moral decision-making, rooted in the God-given faculty of synderesis, our innate inclination to do good. For Aquinas, conscience (conscientia) involves reasoning from first principles to particular moral actions, and thus can err if reason is misapplied. He saw it as binding and authoritative, yet fallible. His view blends Aristotelian rationalism with a Christian theological framework. St Thomas Aquinas’ view of the conscience is ultimately flawed, as it places too much confidence in human reason after the Fall and neglects the Christian emphasis on divine grace and revelation as necessary for moral knowledge.

Firstly, Aquinas argued that all humans possess synderesis, a natural inclination towards the good, and that conscience is the rational process of applying this knowledge to specific situations. This places strong emphasis on the ability of human reason to know what is right and wrong. However, Aquinas’ optimism about human rationality appears to overlook the effects of the Fall, as described in Christian doctrine. After the Fall, human nature is wounded, reason is darkened, and the will is weakened (cf. Augustine, Confessions, Book VII). Augustine emphasised the corrupting power of sin and humanity’s dependence on divine grace to know and do good. By contrast, Aquinas assumes that unaided human reason can reliably guide moral action, even if it sometimes errs. Yet, if reason is fundamentally damaged by original sin, then moral reasoning unaided by grace becomes questionable. This raises doubts about Aquinas’ claim that conscience, though rational and fallible, is still the “voice of reason.” Aquinas’ model underestimates the theological importance of grace in Christian moral knowledge, thereby conflicting with the Christian soteriological claim that grace is essential, not optional, for salvation. Thus, Aquinas’ view of conscience is ultimately flawed, as it overestimates the reliability of reason in a postlapsarian world.

Secondly, Aquinas believed that moral knowledge stems from natural law, discoverable to all people through reason. This implies that divine revelation and God’s grace is not strictly necessary for making moral decisions, which is inconsistent with key Christian claims. If conscience is purely rational and based on natural law, then revelation—such as Scripture, the teachings of Jesus, and Church tradition—becomes secondary or even unnecessary. Yet, in Romans 7, Paul laments his inability to do good even when he knows what is right, suggesting a deeper moral failure that cannot be corrected by reason alone. Karl Barth directly critiqued such rationalist views of conscience. He argued that the conscience is not autonomous reason but is instead awakened only in relation to God’s Word. In Church Dogmatics, Barth asserted that the conscience is “the place where God’s judgment is revealed to man,” implying that conscience is not self-sufficient but depends on God’s revelation. This theological view challenges Aquinas’ reliance on natural reason by placing moral knowledge firmly within the context of divine command and Scripture. Aquinas’ account therefore undervalues the centrality of revelation in Christian moral theology, weakening his claim that conscience can be grounded in reason alone.

On the other hand, some scholars have argued that Aquinas’ account of the conscience is valuable because it affirms moral objectivity and personal accountability. By rooting conscience in natural law, Aquinas avoids relativism and provides a rational basis for universal moral truths. For example, Cardinal John Henry Newman supported Aquinas’ general framework, suggesting that conscience is the “aboriginal Vicar of Christ,” meaning that it points to God’s law even when humans are unaware of revelation. Newman believed that conscience has an authority that mirrors divine authority, even if it may err. Moreover, Aquinas’ allowance for an “erroneous conscience” respects individual responsibility—if someone acts according to what they genuinely and rationally believe is right, they are morally obliged to follow their conscience. This could be seen as a strength, preserving the dignity and freedom of the moral agent. However, this view still assumes that human reasoning, even if fallible, is capable of discerning enough moral truth to be trustworthy. Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalytic theory of conscience casts doubt on this assumption. Freud argued that what we call “conscience” is often the result of internalised societal norms—the superego—which may or may not reflect genuine moral truth. For Freud, the conscience can be oppressive and neurotic rather than liberating and rational. If Freud is right, then Aquinas’ optimism about rational conscience is deeply problematic. Therefore, even though Aquinas’ model aims to uphold objective morality and responsibility, it is still ultimately flawed due to an insufficient understanding of human psychological and theological limitations.

In conclusion, St Thomas Aquinas’ view of the conscience is ultimately flawed, as it places too much confidence in human reason after the Fall and neglects the Christian emphasis on divine grace and revelation as necessary for moral knowledge. While Aquinas offers a rational and structured account of conscience that has had lasting influence, particularly in Catholic natural law theory, his framework underestimates the impact of sin on human reasoning and downplays the necessity of grace and revelation in Christian moral theology. The strongest critiques—offered by Augustine, Barth, and even Freud—highlight the theological and psychological weaknesses in assuming that reason alone can reliably guide moral action. Students and theologians alike must recognise the limits of unaided reason and recover the Christian teaching that grace and revelation are essential in forming a true conscience. Aquinas’ insights are valuable, but they must be re-evaluated through a post-Fall lens and a deeper awareness of humanity’s need for divine help.