What with matters in Texas and Missouri and points outside
and in-between boiling over (or at least coming to a simmer), perhaps we need
to take a look at what Mortimer J. Adler (co-author with Louis O. Kelso of The Capitalist Manifesto and The New Capitalists) considered one of
the most serious philosophical mistakes of the modern age: the confusion over
the difference between knowledge (which is always true) and opinion (which may
be true, but has not been proved).
In law, at least in the United States, a person is presumed
innocent until proven guilty. We may think someone is guilty, we may
believe someone is guilty, we may hope with all our hearts that someone is
guilty. Until that person has been proven guilty, however, anything
regarding his or her guilt is opinion, not knowledge. Absent empirical evidence or logical
argument, i.e., “proof,” the moral
and legal presumption is that someone is innocent.
 |
| Everybody knew those witches in Salem Village were guilty. . . |
The issue here is that, without proof, knowledge extends only to the fact that there is no proof. No proof, no guilt. Nor can anyone be required to prove that he
or she is innocent, that is, not guilty of an offense. Requiring someone to prove lack of guilt is
to require the impossible — you can only prove that something is, you cannot prove that something is not.
What if someone has been indicted? Well . . . an indictment is not a trial. All it is, is that a grand jury has decided
there is sufficient evidence to warrant bringing someone to trial. That’s an opinion, and the judge, jury, and
the attorneys then get into the act.
In theory, the law requires more than an opinion to
convict. The law requires facts, such as
the fact that what was done is a crime, and the fact that the person accused of
a crime actually did it. Being unpopular
is not a crime, neither is being incompetent, or an idiot. If a politician is a complete (or even
partial) boob, the democratic process has the remedy: don’t reelect him, or
(where allowed by the constitution) have a recall.
 |
| Big Al Capone |
In any event, turning things into crimes just to “get”
somebody can backfire very easily. Tax
evasion used to be a misdemeanor. The
feds, however, wanted to “get” Al Capone, so they made it a felony because they
couldn’t make a case any other way . . . did you know that Elliot Ness was an accountant with an undergrad degree in economics? Voilà.
Cheating on your taxes can now send you to prison, and the government
can use the IRS to go after political enemies.
 |
| Sir Thomas More |
Believing the pope to be the head of the Church in England
used to be a matter of opinion and individual conscience. Then Henry VIII Tudor decided he wanted to be
head of the Church, and get everybody to go along with dumping his wife, so he
made denying his claim to be head of the Church high treason. This allowed him to cut off the head of
anyone who disagreed with him (if noble) or hang, draw, and quarter them (if
common). In his mercy, of course, he
allowed Thomas More to have his head cut off, even though More was a commoner.
The bottom line is that, assuming an honest judge, many
things people consider crimes these days are not crimes at all, or have been
made crimes for political reasons. Take,
e.g., the common claim that “the rich”
couldn’t possibly have become rich honestly, because there is no way any honest
person can get that much money.
Sorry. A person under
both human and divine law must be presumed innocent until proven guilty. Not supposed
guilty, not assumed guilty, not I-hate-his-guts-and-everything-he-stands-for-so-he-must-be-guilty-of-something guilty.
This is because asserting that someone couldn’t possibly be
innocent puts the burden of proof on the accused, not the accuser. Further, going after someone for anti-social
activities, or for doing things we disagree with, or for any other reason than
he broke the law and it has been proven with facts is to jump (in the immortal
style of Yogi Berra) head first into totalitarianism with both feet.
Yes, you’ll “get those bastards,” but you might end up
wishing you hadn’t. . . .
#30#