Christian Economic Thought (Translation)
"Moral Principles for a New Approach to Economics" by Álvaro d'Ors, trans. Haniel
Álvaro d'Ors Pérez-Peix (14 April 1915 – 1 February 2004) was an expert in Roman Law, a Carlist, and a member of Opus Dei. D'Ors fought on the Nationalist side during the Spanish Civil War. He was the son of the famous Spanish writer Eugenio d'Ors.
This is an unpublished text from an oral intervention in a colloquium on: 'Claves del Mundo Moderno' at the University of Navarra in 1990. The original can be found here.
I must state at the outset that the central theme—or "pathos"—of my intervention today is unequivocally anti-capitalist. The prevailing economic system is capitalist, and my position is resolutely opposed to it. While this may seem somewhat hyperbolic, I contend that, as an economic order, capitalism is today morally more reprehensible than communism.
When we speak of communism, our thoughts often turn to the ideology underpinning modern communist regimes—something wholly condemnable, a heresy, or, if you prefer, a form of apostasy among many others. Yet communism itself—understood as the idea of abolishing private property—is, though not a natural order I endorse, far less pernicious than capitalism.
For anyone observing dispassionately in our current era, it is evident that communism, taken simply as a community of goods, has been celebrated within Christianity. As we are reminded by the Acts of the Apostles, the early Christians held all possessions in common. Throughout history, movements aspiring to Christian perfection have frequently begun with the renunciation of private property and the establishment of shared ownership—or something approximating it.
In other words, while the notion of communism—abolishing private ownership—may seem less suited to ordinary human coexistence, it is not inherently sinful. One might even speak of "Christian communism," but one could never speak of "Christian consumerism." Capitalist consumerism, by its very nature, stands in opposition to Christianity.
Capitalism, whose natural byproduct is consumerism, serves to magnify vices by proliferating wealth—wealth that is ultimately directed toward indulgence and excess. In this respect, consumerism must be regarded, from its very inception, as inhuman.
If communism is detestable, it is not due to its intrinsic nature but rather to the ideological movements that have historically accompanied it. While it may not conform to the natural order of ordinary social coexistence, communism—as the mere abolition of private property—is not, in itself, inherently immoral.
By contrast, the cultivation of vice and the exaltation of consumerism are unmistakably immoral. This, in essence, forms the ideological cornerstone of my position.
It is often said, as is fashionable nowadays, that communism has failed. Yet, this claim is not entirely self-evident. Communism, as an economic system, is deemed a failure from the vantage point of capitalist economics, primarily because it has not produced the same levels of wealth or general prosperity as capitalism. It is less efficient at generating material abundance, and for this reason, it is labeled a failure.
From this capitalist economic lens, the shortcomings of communist economics are apparent—communists have dressed more modestly, enjoyed fewer bars, lacked nightclubs, shunned luxury, and forfeited many of the amenities commonly associated with "well-being." While these observations may hold true, as a political system, communism has neither ended nor is it in the process of disappearing. To declare it a failure is overly simplistic, for what political system "fails" after lasting 70 years? How many regimes endure for seven decades?
To suggest that communism has failed is akin to declaring that the Roman Empire or absolute monarchy failed. Systems that persist for such lengths of time may eventually decline—as all things must—but this does not equate to failure. Failure implies a lack of sustained vitality, and yet communism demonstrated remarkable endurance over 70 years, with some aspects continuing even today. That alone is worth noting.
Before proceeding with our discussion, I wish to make one further observation: economics has permeated every domain of human thought and action—there is now nothing but economics. The philosophy of "values" is a direct consequence of this economic dominance. Values are inherently economic in nature; their subsequent classification as moral, aesthetic, or otherwise arises from a kind of analogy. At its core, "value" essentially means price.
Consequently, the entire philosophy of values—and, indeed, the entirety of contemporary life—is being subsumed into the realm of economic phenomena. Universities are increasingly transforming into economic enterprises—not merely a few, but all. Even spiritual writers now speak of the "economy of salvation."
This ascendancy of economics signifies a profound corruption of being and an idolatry of having. My present objective is threefold: first (I), to identify some fundamental errors in capitalist theory; second (II), to propose certain prophetic responses to the consequences of capitalism; and finally (III), to draw some overarching conclusions.
For clarity of exposition, we will number our propositions. To begin in earnest, let us turn to Aristotle.
I
First, Aristotle, primarily in his Politics (Book I, Chapters 8 and 9) and later in his Economics (Chapter 1), distinguishes between economics (oikonomía) and chrematistics (chrêmatistikê).
What is economics? For Aristotle, economics refers to the rational management of the goods necessary for life—that is, the naturally necessary goods. It originates, as the term oikos (household) implies, from the domestic sphere. For this reason, Aristotle links economics to marriage (see Politics 3.4, 5) and contrasts it with politics.
What, then, is chrematistics? It is the art of accumulating wealth without limit. The term "chrematistics" refers to a form of acquisition (ktiké) that knows no "limit" (peras), neither in wealth nor in the means of acquiring it. This is precisely what has occurred today: economics has become chrematistics—the science of endless, progressive enrichment. In truth, this is not economics, but chrematistics.
According to Aristotle, the production of goods falls under economics as a form of administration, but it is intended to satisfy natural needs, not to endlessly produce goods and amass wealth. This, I reiterate, is chrematistics.
Trade—the exchange of goods for other goods—though not the natural function of goods, was introduced to meet the needs of a family, a group, or a city that lacks certain things and exchanges what it produces for what it needs. This science of trade—metabletiké, as Aristotle calls it—became the primary instrument of exchange, particularly with the advent of money. However, it also led to the creation of limitless wealth, not merely to address natural deficiencies; this, too, is part of chrematistics.
What, then, is my point of view on this matter? Economics must return to being a science of administration, not of production. We must return to true economics and leave behind chrematistics. Where did this perversion arise? In my view, this distortion—the transformation of economics into chrematistics—originates from a distinct Protestant influence, and I am not the first to assert this. It particularly stems from Calvinist theory, which contradicts the evidence presented in the Gospel (cf. Luke 6:24: "Woe to the rich!"). Calvinism holds the belief that personal wealth is a sign of predestination—that those who prosper in life are the ones who will be saved. Consequently, the goal becomes the pursuit of wealth, the accumulation of riches without limit, both on a personal and collective scale.
To conclude this first point, I contend that economics must return to being a science rooted in the limitation of goods. It should not be the science of wealth, but the science of poverty. It is precisely what a housewife, a mother, does when she says, "We have this, and we must distribute it." She does not distribute it equally, but gives more meat to those who need it, more milk to the younger ones, and a custard to the elderly… distributing unequally, because the family is essentially an organism of inequality.
Therefore, democratic equality contradicts the family—this reserve of inequality that distributes according to the needs of each individual, reasonably and naturally aiming to increase the portion for those who require it most, stimulating the production of goods not for personal enrichment, but to meet the natural needs of the family.
For family economics, of course, is more rudimentary, but not fundamentally different from the economics of the larger community or enterprises. Economic administration must begin with the limits of existing goods, and then consider how to address their deficiencies—this is economics—not in attempting to create future abundance without regard for current limits. This is chrematistics, or capitalist economics.
Economics, then, is the science of administration—of good administration, of poverty, of the scarcity of goods—not of enrichment through limitless production. Production must be oriented toward meeting natural needs, but it is not an infinite pursuit. This stands in stark contrast to the assertions of capitalist economists, who claim that the purpose of economics is solely the increase of production and subsequent enrichment: "The wealth of nations"... and of merchants.
Second, Aristotle himself believed that slavery was a natural right. This belief had far-reaching consequences, even in Spain during what we might call the "exciting" period of the discovery of the Americas. Figures like Ginés de Sepúlveda and other prominent jurists, following Aristotle, argued that the indigenous people, as captives of war, were slaves. However, it is striking how quickly the ideas of the theologians took root, asserting that these indigenous people were not slaves, that the Aristotelian theory—that prisoners of war become slaves of the victor, as was customary in antiquity—did not apply. Instead, they argued that the indigenous people were the rightful owners of their land.
This is something we may not fully appreciate today, but it represents an extraordinary act of intellectual boldness within Spanish thought of that moment, confronting an unforeseen reality. I make this point in opposition to the many slanders propagated by the "Black Legend" and in response to the recent, unexpected accusations of racism.
But there is another important point to consider. Although Aristotle was a proponent of slavery, he made a crucial statement (in Politics 1, 2, 4, et seq.): the slave, being an object of property, is destined to serve, but not to produce. In the context of the distinction between praxis (the act of conduct) and poiesis (the act of production), the slave is destined for praxis—action in relation to things—but not to create anything. The slave is a servant, not a tool of production. Their role is not to generate material works, but to serve.
In this regard, it is interesting to note how Roman law once debated whether the child of a slave woman was the "fruit" of her labor, and thus belonged to the usufructuary. If the child were considered a product—like the offspring of animals, such as lambs or milk from sheep—things that the producing entity is naturally destined to yield, it was a point of contention. The issue was resolved by asserting that the child of the slave woman was a product belonging to her master, not the usufructuary. Thus, it was not a product of production, because the slave woman was not meant to produce children, but rather to serve her master or usufructuary.
This strictly legal perspective offers an insight that can help us understand the contemporary notion of the free worker: the worker is not simply destined to produce, but to serve with their labor. This leads us to the next point...
Third, building on the previous point, let’s examine the concept of the enterprise (business). A well-understood enterprise is nothing more than a form of cooperative labor. Now, if the workers in an enterprise are not destined merely to produce, neither is the enterprise itself destined to produce. The enterprise is a form of labor cooperation, a vehicle for service, which can naturally lead to production, but this should never be its sole purpose. The true goal of an enterprise is to dignify the lives of the workers and their families. The enterprise is not an instrument of production but an instrument of human relations, coexistence, work organization, and services. Production will inevitably arise from its activities, but it must not be the ultimate aim. The enterprise should function as a form of labor coexistence.
As we jurists know, and as all economists are aware, there is often confusion or shifting of concepts when discussing whether the enterprise is a legal entity. A legal entity (for those unfamiliar with legal terminology) refers to a group of people that constitutes a single personality, distinct from those who compose it. For example, a university is a legal entity, as it holds property, credits, and debts as a distinct legal person; the same applies to foundations or public entities like municipalities or the state.
Despite various nuances and debates, I maintain that the enterprise itself is a legal entity. That is, this collective, this universitas personarum (in traditional terminology), this group of persons—not things—constitutes a legal person, distinct from the workers who make up the enterprise.
Therefore, as a legal entity, the enterprise is a person, and as a person, it cannot have owners. People cannot have owners; if they did, they would be slaves, and we would revert to a new form of slavery—not of physical persons, but of persons nonetheless. The enterprise, in its legal relations with workers and the outside world, is a person in its own right. It can hold property, credits, and debts, but it itself cannot have owners, as capitalism maintains, which constantly refers to the "owners of the enterprise."
I would like to make an incidental observation regarding the residual slavery embedded in the use of the word "patron." The term "patrono" referred to the owner who had granted freedom to his slave; the patron was the former master, and the freedman was no longer his slave but his freedman. Today, the word "patrono" is still used to designate the owner of an enterprise—a clear residual trace of slavery. "Patrono," or "patrón" (as it is pronounced in some places), even in its plural form, is not "patrones" but "patronos," which further links it to its historical origin in the slave-owning system. The businessman is the "patrono," the owner who, though no longer having slaves, still exerts a certain control over their "subordinates." Beneath this notion of the subordination of workers to the employer lies a remnant of the master’s power, a patronage over the freed slaves, which is akin to modern workers.
Therefore, if the enterprise is not an instrument of production but rather a form of labor coexistence, the concept of the enterprise must shift from commercial law to labor law. This leads to a radical consequence for the curriculum of business education: business lessons should be removed from the commercial law curriculum, which is inherently capitalist, and moved into labor law. From a perspective I will not elaborate on here, I believe labor law should be the center of future civil law, as labor relations now constitute the most significant aspect of the social sphere. The concept of the enterprise cannot be detached from that of the workers; it is the ordinary form of coexistence of workers. This brings us to point 3.
But I must insist on something I have emphasized repeatedly: the one who contributes money to the enterprise—this legal person that is the enterprise—is not a true partner of the enterprise. What I mean is this: the so-called "capitalist partner," who merely provides financial capital, should not have the rights of a partner, but should be treated as a lender, entitled only to the repayment of their loan with interest, which may fluctuate according to the profits of the enterprise. This exclusion of the investor, limiting their role to that of a lender, directly challenges the most perfected form of capitalism, which is the corporation. How can an investor be considered a partner if their sole concern is receiving dividends? What do they care about the company? The moment the company performs poorly, they will sell their shares. What do shareholders care about the workers' welfare?
A true partner must be someone who actively participates, who is genuinely concerned with the well-being and success of the company. This does not exclude managers or technicians—who are becoming increasingly important within enterprises—nor does it exclude the manual workers. The real partners of the enterprise are those who work within it, from the manager to the last doorman of the factory. These are the true partners, as they are the ones directly engaged with the enterprise’s day-to-day functioning and success.
What happens in today’s capitalist enterprise? The workers are not considered partners. Why? We must face the truth: they themselves do not want to be partners. They prefer not to be concerned with the company's operations and are content with earning their wages. It is impossible to turn a worker, who is focused solely on their paycheck, into a partner. On the other hand, the person who lends money—who also has no concern for the company’s day-to-day functioning, but only for the return on their investment—becomes a so-called partner. They are labeled co-owners of the company, but this is an aberration, because with money, there is no true ownership. What there is, instead, is credit.
Thus, the workers, who should be the true partners, do not wish to be, while those who should not be partners—because they do not work—are eager to assume that role. This is incomprehensible, even absurd, but it is the reality we face.
This fourth point ties directly to the foundational principle of capitalism: usury—the belief that money can generate more money, a fruit that is not natural but civil. In point 2, I mentioned that slaves do not produce fruits. Now I assert: neither does money.
Fruits, by definition, come from things that do not exhaust themselves with repeated production—like a cow that produces milk, or land that yields harvests, or rents from leases. In other words, for something to produce a fruit, it must be capable of generating without depleting itself in the process. For instance, meat from a cow is a simple product, not a fruit, because a cow can only provide meat once, when slaughtered. However, its offspring or milk are considered its fruits.
This is the legal concept of "fruit." To consider interest from money as a fruit is a legal error, though it is widely accepted by capitalism. The investor believes that, by lending money, they possess something akin to a cow that will generate interest. However, to receive that interest, they must first relinquish the money they lend, though they retain the credit. There is nothing more consumable than money. What is money for, if not to be spent? And it is spent even when lent.
So, what are interest payments? The interest on money lent is essentially a penalty for the delay in returning the borrowed sum. Consider this scenario: when a debtor is condemned in court for failing to pay on time, the judge imposes additional interest as a penalty for the delay. The debtor must pay more, which compensates the creditor for the harm caused by the delay.
A loan, in its pure form, is free of charge—it involves lending a sum that must be repaid in the same amount, not more. However, an agreement may stipulate that interest is paid. This interest is an artificial addition to the basic loan transaction. The loan itself should not generate interest, but if an agreement exists, the borrower must pay interest for the period during which the lender is deprived of the loaned sum. The Romans referred to this transaction, involving both the loan and the stipulation of usury, as fenus.
Jewish law prohibited usury among the Jews, and since Roman times, those concerned with the common good established limits on usury. So, why do we today accept without scandal the lending of money with interest, which has now become a common form of investment?
Moralists, beginning in the 16th century and influenced by the Protestant Reformation, began to argue that money lent could produce civil fruits. These are analogous to the rents a property owner collects for the temporary use of a thing. For example, when renting a house, the owner remains the owner, but the tenant pays periodic rents—these are civil fruits. This concept is easily understood with a rural farm that produces crops: the owner, having grown tired of working the land, moves to the city, leaving the farm to a tenant who pays rent. The natural fruit, the crop, is replaced by the civil fruit, the rent.
However, this analogy does not apply to money, as I’ve mentioned, because money is consumable. The first to openly accept the legitimacy of usury was the Calvinist theologian De Moulin (1506-1566), but in doing so, he had to deny that money is a consumable item. He obscured the fact that consumability is not just a physical characteristic, but also a legal one. Just as an apple is eaten, it is also sold—and in both cases, it is consumed.
This new doctrine, naturally, clashed with the traditional negative connotation of the word "usury." As a result, the term "interest" emerged. What does "interest" mean? It refers to the difference between one thing and another. What is the difference between lending capital and retaining it? This difference is the "interest."
Thus, with the term "interest," civil fruits are legitimized; it serves as a euphemism—much like how the profit of the investor is called a "benefit." Strictly speaking, the only legitimate justification for interest on a loan would be the estimation of the service provided by the lender, as a counterservice, not as a fruit of the money lent.
The new position adopted by the Church on this matter seems to have abandoned its traditional repressive stance on usury. This shift can partly be explained by today's economic realities, especially inflation. However, the problem lies in the fact that, with this new permissive attitude, the radical critique of capitalism is being relinquished.
Fifth, let's consider the word "capital." What does "capital" mean? It refers to the amount of money that is lent with interest. In Latin, it was referred to as sors (meaning "luck" or "chance"), the amount that was lent, because, after all, the recovery of it could be uncertain. However, starting in the 17th century, the term "capital" began to be used (the term "capitalism" was only introduced in the 19th century) in reference to money that was lent or invested.
It is often said that "capital" comes from the word "principal," meaning the "main" amount that is lent, with the interest seen as an accessory. This etymology is plausible, but there is something deeper to consider. All monetary economies bear echoes of the ancient tradition of small livestock, pecunia (money), derived from pecus (livestock). Money, particularly in its early forms, was tied to livestock and gainful goods meant for consumption, and more specifically, to metal money, which replaced livestock as a medium of exchange.
In this context, caput (head) or capes refer to the "heads" of the livestock that made up a flock. This connection to livestock is significant, as it suggests that the origins of money, and by extension capital, are rooted in the idea of ownership and accumulation of wealth, concepts derived from the management of herds.
In the Middle Ages, the use of the noun capitale referred to a group of heads, specifically in the context of a usurious business that involved lending the heads of a flock to a person for a year. The arrangement was that after the year, the same number of heads would be returned, even if some had perished, along with additional heads as interest, often half of the offspring born during that period. This lent flock was called cheptel, derived from cupitde, but because the same number of heads were expected to be returned, the business was known as cheptel de fer ("iron flock"), with “iron” symbolizing its supposed permanence—it does not perish.
This practice traces back to a business practice of the Hellenistic period (which was unknown in Roman law) and eventually passed into the Middle Ages as the cheptel de fer concept. It is interesting to consider whether the idea of capital (as in the heads of livestock) was influenced not just by the notion of "capital" as the most important asset, but by the specific practice of returning the original number of sheep along with offspring as interest—the usury of the flock. In this context, interest was seen as the natural fruit of the sheep.
Furthermore, during the Middle Ages, a distinction was made between capitale vivens (living capital), which referred to the sheep that would produce offspring, and capitale mortuum (dead capital), which referred to the tools of a farm. This distinction extended the idea of capital, originally based on the heads of livestock, to include the tools necessary for a business. Thus, the idea of capital began to encompass both the living resources that generate wealth (like the sheep) and the inanimate tools that assist in production.
This linguistic development underscores a crucial point: usury was one of the foundational roots of capitalism. By recognizing interest as a natural product of wealth, particularly in terms of living assets (such as livestock), we can trace the early forms of capitalist practices to the exchange of money for wealth-generation, fundamentally tied to the concept of capital itself.
II
Sixth: If the worker’s role is not solely to produce, but the company should focus on ensuring the best coexistence for workers and their families, then unemployment is immoral. Economic justifications, like fewer workers improving efficiency or the state providing unemployment benefits, are not solutions. The fundamental moral principle is that work should be sanctified. A capable person should not be denied the opportunity to work. Therefore, the starting point must be that no one willing to work should be unemployed. If that means producing less, so be it. The priority is that anyone seeking work should have access to it.
Nothing contradicts capitalist principles more than the parable of the workers without work (Mt. 20:10), which should guide economists today. Theologically, there cannot be a person without work. Moral demands must come before economic convenience. Structuring an economy with unemployment is as immoral as limiting birth rates for urban development. Moral priorities must lead, and economics—concerned with managing poverty—must follow. To reverse that is like putting the cart behind the horse... and in a motorized cart.
Seven: Production must be regulated with the public good in mind. Those in positions of public authority must impose limits on production, ensuring it stays within its natural bounds. Contrary to the capitalist belief that production must be unlimited, the principle of crematistics—that endless profit requires endless production—must be challenged.
What does it mean to contain excessive production? First and foremost, those tasked with protecting the common good must not allow production whose consequences they cannot responsibly manage. For instance, they should not tolerate the production of cars unless there is adequate infrastructure—roads, parking spaces, and so on—to handle the resulting demand. It is an aberration to allow, for purely private interests, public spaces to be filled with cars that satisfy individual consumer desires but that the authorities cannot effectively manage. Similarly, the production of plastics or other waste products should only be allowed if there is a sufficient system in place for waste collection and disposal. Capitalism, with its limitless production drive, disregards the consequences, such as pollution and resource depletion; it does not care. As a result, public authorities are always lagging behind the production process, unable to manage its effects. Once again, the cart is placed behind the horse.
Some degree of dirigisme in the economy is crucial for safeguarding the common good. I am aware that the term "dirigisme" often carries a negative connotation today; however, this is due to the disregard for the primacy of the common interest over private interests in society—leading to the false opposition of private good to public good, which should never be in contradiction.
Eighth, another aspect of limitation involves not just the containment of production, but its corresponding consequence: consumption. First and foremost, those responsible for safeguarding the common good must regulate credit, because credit is a mechanism for creating money. Historically, the power to create money has been a prerogative of the state, the king, or governing authority. What would we say if a private factory began minting coins or printing paper money? Yet when a bank grants loans (often at usurious rates), it is effectively "creating" money.
I’m not suggesting that private credit should be entirely eliminated, but only credit that is unnecessary to meet personal needs. In any case, credit should always be under the control of civil power. There should be no unrestricted freedom for banking credit, and business loans should not be left to unscrupulous capitalists who care only about guarantees and interest, without regard for necessity or consequences. Therefore, there should be official oversight of credit, though this does not necessarily mean nationalizing the banking system, as other technical solutions for controlling credit may exist.
Additionally, as a minimal aspect of this necessary limitation, efforts should be made to eliminate, as much as possible, credit cards and installment sales, both of which have been major instruments of consumerism.
Ninth, in relation to the containment of consumption is the promotion of savings, a topic that seems to concern today’s economists, though it contradicts their capitalist-consumerist framework. It appears evident that indirect taxes should be increased on products that are not of primary necessity, while taxes on wealth, especially inheritance, should be eased.
Likewise, while social security should complement savings provisions, it should be considered part of labor compensation, not a regular state burden. Consequently, social security should be organized within companies and only subsidiarily as a state responsibility.
Tenth and finally, the limitation of consumption caused by commercial advertising. This may seem utopian (!), but for me, it is the most consistent solution against capitalist consumerism. The freedom of the market is something natural, legitimate, and convenient, but it implies competitiveness. With this, things begin to worsen because competitiveness can become one of the most inhumane things— a "struggle for survival," in which the powerful eliminate the poor. The poor man who lived with his small shop is placed next to a department store and has to close. This is immoral.
Competitiveness, in order to achieve its purpose, must increase consumption, and to increase consumption, commercial advertising is required. Thus, we have this inexorable sequence: the free market demands competitiveness; competitiveness requires advertising; and advertising, in turn, produces consumerism. The free market is beneficial, but consumerism is harmful. So, where should we break this sequence?
We’ve already established that excessive production should be avoided, but the crucial link in this sequence that leads to consumerism is commercial advertising. If there were no commercial advertising, which serves the purely private interests of capitalist enterprises as it does today, competitiveness would be more humane. It wouldn’t be as ruthless as it is now. Competition would still exist, but it would be more human and innocent, and consumption would be more natural and less excessive.
Therefore, there is no danger in granting market freedom and allowing a certain level of competition. However, to prevent it from fostering consumerism, what must be curtailed is commercial advertising. How can this be done? Economists will have their solutions, but it is clear that commercial advertising is the direct cause of consumerism—not the free market itself, but commercial advertising.
It is evident that commercial advertising relies on public media, but the impact of eliminating it from these media may not necessarily be detrimental to the common good. This raises a different question: should public communication media be organized as private companies serving specific economic and ideological interests? If they are indeed “public” media, it is only natural that they should be controlled by “public power.” What is “public” cannot be left to the discretion of “private” interests.
III
In conclusion, a good moral order must take precedence over an efficient economic order: moral principles come before the effectiveness of the economy. The technical efficacy of production must be subordinated to these moral premises, some of which I have attempted to explain. In this regard, I assert that public services, while they may be entrusted to private companies and only subsidiarily assumed by the state, should prioritize the common good over the profit of private individuals. It is absolutely astonishing that, in a world where the people, the city, and the social realm are being magnified, public services are not given priority, and the private interests of capitalists are allowed to take precedence. This is utterly incomprehensible. Yet, it ties into the broader issue of the public versus the private, one aspect of which, as I have highlighted, is the "defenselessness of the public."
