To some, no doubt, the two terms that constitute the title of this paper will seem to make strange bedfellows. Teleology, one might think, is a curious speculative anachronism, a remnant of a long outworn system of metaphysics, the discipline that it has been the fashion, at least until recently, in philosophical circles in this country to decry as meaningless vapourings on an unknown and in essence unknowable theme. In complete contrast to this speculative science of abstraction, anatomy, one might think, is essentially of the earth, earthy. It is unhappily true that many otherwise intelligent and well-informed members of academic circles still look upon anatomical science as one that of set purpose limits and confines itself to studies in the mortuary, describing in ever more bewildering detail the relationships one to another of the myriad structures that comprise the embalmed human corpse. Such descriptive study is not, of course, without its own intrinsic interest and value —‘know thyself’ has from time immemorial been the maxim that points the way to the beginning of wisdom, and no one can deny his body a significant place in the constitution of whatever it is one calls ‘oneself’. But if pure description of the details of the inner recesses of the human body were all that constituted anatomy, as some of those not engaged in it still seem to suppose, then such a study, exercising the essentially sub-human faculties of visual perception and memory-storing, would lead inevitably to intellectual stagnation; being devoid of theoretical and experimental content it would not indeed even warrant the dignity of the name of science.

I wonder whether the subject which is under discussion could best be tackled by the psychiatrist, the lawyer, the philosopher or the moral theologian, for it seems to me that it is only the old question of determinism versus free will over again, even if it is presented in somewhat modern dress. Therefore, to prevent the discussion developing on too abstract lines, may I assume that free will can never be proved philosophically, any more than can the existence of God, for instance; but that, unless it be admitted as a valid operative factor in the human situation, the whole debate would become woolly?

Our Common Law depends entirely on the axiomatic acceptance of the principle which accords a large measure of freedom of choice in matters of conduct to adult members of society not deemed to be insane or grossly mentally defective.

Is the whole applecart to be upset because certain psychologists of the unconscious come along and say that our behaviour is ineluctably determined by the emotionally significant experiences occurring in the first four years of life? In other words, is the modem psychiatrist, especially the psychiatrist with a psychoanalytical bias, undermining society by destroying man’s belief in his capacity for making moral choices? Or is he perhaps to be regarded as an angel of enlightenment bearing a new concept of justice by relieving man of an intolerable and crippling load of guilt which he has carried unnecessarily over the millenia of his organized existence? It seems to me that both points of view have something to be said for them; nor are they necessarily mutually contradictory.

Time and again the question is discussed whether the age of the Family Doctor, as our forebears knew him, has passed. Many seem to think it has. Many blame the National Health Service, under which, they hold, this relationship of the patient to the doctor—as to the friend, philosopher and medical adviser to the family—is no longer possible. Others seem to think that the progress of science has brought a progress in medical treatment which does away with this approach to doctoring, which they consider outmoded. ‘Make available to each and all the latest discoveries, under the most scientific control and in the most hygienic surroundings’ is their slogan. The sponsors of this approach cry out for health centres, for group practices with rotas based on them, and for all the trimmings of a miniature hospital to be provided in all such little units. ‘The Doctors say’, no longer ‘My Doctor says’, is what one can hear more and more when patients discuss their ailments with others. Depersonalization of medical practice is a direct result of this tendency, praised by some and deplored by others.

To my mind there is much good in both ideas. We need both the personal and the scientific approach in the Family Doctor. Happily I feel certain that they do not exclude each other, that a synthesis of all that is best in each is possible and is even now on its way.

The swing of the pendulum has become proverbial. It is something of this that we are witnessing at this present time. The period in which medicine was regarded as a more or less pure science, when patients wished to consult directly specialists in the various fields and either ignored the general practitioner or made use of him simply as a sort of traffic policeman to direct them to the various out-patients departments, is swiftly passing as more and more people realize that there is always a border country between the fields of the different specialists which would become a no-man’s land but for the general practitioner.

Catholics are so accustomed to be shocked or disillusioned by popular books on social science, that they may well be tempted to give these new Pelicans a wide berth. This would be a mistake, for both are well-written, pleasantly informative, and contain much encouragement for those who do not despair of welding Catholic principles info the British way of life. In Peter Archer’s symposium one will find a keen recognition of the importance of stable family life, a warm acceptance of the need for voluntary effort to supplement state action and a thoroughly wholesome attitude to officials. They should be supported and assisted in the performance of their duties, one gathers, but firmly protected by a wide-awake proletariat from any temptation to dictatorship.

Social Welfare and the Citizen makes no pretext of giving a complete picture of the modem Welfare State. Those topics have been selected for discussion which prove to be ‘the most constant source of practical difficulty to the citizen’. Several of the essays are entirely factual, those for example which deal with Income Tax, National Insurance, Landlord and Tenant, Public Health, Property and Town Planning, Law and the Motorist. No comment is required except a word of praise for their clarity and accuracy. But most of the contributors have made some effort to show the historic background of the service they are describing and to indicate in what ways it needs reform. In an excellent chapter on National Assistance Mr R. E. Prentice reminds us that the old Poor Law of 1601 established a ‘public responsibility for the relief of distress’, impeccable in principle, but discharged over the centuries ‘with a strange mixture of charity and harshness’. A curious feature of the relief of the destitute in this country has been the movement away from local to centralized administration in the interests of humanity. The old Boards of Guardians based on the parishes were notoriously the best-hated institutions

During the last few years French taste and ingenuity have added a new dimension to the tourist’s pleasure— Son et Lumière, the articulated harmony of spoken commentary, music and floodlighting which evokes the past glory and the present beauty of such places as Versailles or Vézelay. As night falls the buildings come to life, their details made piercingly true in the brilliantly devised arc and shadow, and their meaning recalled in the actors’ declaiming of a sermon of St Bernard’s or a passage from Madame de Sévigné. And the music of Rameau or Lully, marvellously amplified without distortion or excess, completes the illusion of the years of magnificence.

Sound and Light: there remains Heat, the third of the trinity of the Physics one learnt at school. And Heat is absent on these summer evenings, so gracious yet so cold. Each monument has fundamentally the same history: war or revolution, the edicts of secular power, eviction, destruction, death. And now, for a moment, it painfully springs to light, but not to life, not to the warmth of a place where men live or of an altar where men worship—except it may be by occasional concession, the toleration that can be exercised now that the power is gone.

It is perhaps a fantasy to find in this an analogy of the state of France today, but it is as useful as any other. There seem as many diagnoses of the disease as there are men to make them. Political instability, inflation, a fossilized bureaucracy, the freemasons, alcoholism, religious unbelief: you may take your choice among these easy explanations and many more besides.