The Theology of Death Penalty

What God has commanded in Holy Scripture, such as in Genesis 9:6, cannot be judged "inadmissible", as Francis tried to do in his "revision" of the Catechism.

From One Peter Five

By Gaetano Masciullo

The commemorative funeral event in honor of Charlie Kirk, held on September 22 in Glendale, Arizona, brought back to the forefront of public debate the long-standing and sensitive issue of the death penalty — understood as a just and legitimate sentence to be applied against those who commit the most serious and specific crimes, such as premeditated and intentional murder. On that occasion, Erika Kirk delivered a moving speech in honor of her husband, reminding millions of people around the world of the importance and power of Christian forgiveness.

In an interview with The New York Times, the young widow Mrs. Kirk stated that she does not want the death penalty for Tyler Robinson, the man who allegedly killed Charlie on September 10 at the university campus in Orem, Utah. “I don’t want that man’s blood on my ledger. When I get to Heaven, Jesus will ask me: Eye for an eye? Is that how it works? And that will keep me from entering Heaven, from being with Charlie?”

We ask ourselves the same question: is that really how it works? What is the Catholic Church’s position on the death penalty? Does God will that those who commit heinous crimes be punished in this life by death, or is life an inalienable gift even in such cases?

As if that weren’t enough, Pope Leo XIV recently appears to have confirmed this abolitionist interpretation for Catholics, stating that if someone is against abortion but in favor of the death penalty, then they cannot be considered pro-life.

Short answer: for two thousand years, the Church has consistently taught that it is lawful for legitimate authority to sentence to death those who have been judged guilty of specific and grave crimes — and it has done so on biblical and theological grounds.

The situation, however, appears to have changed recently, when in 2018 Pope Francis altered the well-known passage of the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

Recourse to the death penalty on the part of legitimate authority, following a fair trial, was long considered an appropriate response to the gravity of certain crimes and an acceptable, albeit extreme, means of safeguarding the common good. Today, however, there is an increasing awareness that the dignity of the person is not lost even after the commission of very serious crimes. In addition, a new understanding has emerged of the significance of penal sanctions imposed by the state. Lastly, more effective systems of detention have been developed, which ensure the due protection of citizens but, at the same time, do not definitively deprive the guilty of the possibility of redemption. Consequently, the Church teaches, in the light of the Gospel, that the death penalty is inadmissible because it is an attack on the inviolability and dignity of the person, and she works with determination for its abolition worldwide. (2267; my italics and bold)

This act of genuine magisterium by Pope Francis is not without difficulties — some of them quite serious — especially considering that it was followed, in 2024, by a highly problematic declaration from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, marked by a distinctly Masonic tone, which claimed that human dignity is “infinite”. Such a statement stands in direct contradiction to what the Church has always taught and to what the Catholic liturgy reaffirms every Sunday, both in the Old and the New Rite.

However, we must not forget that this doctrinal change — or presumed change — is merely the outcome of a process that began much earlier. One need only recall that Pope John Paul II, in his 1995 encyclical Evangelium Vitae, wrote the following:

This is the context in which to place the problem of the death penalty. On this matter there is a growing tendency, both in the Church and in civil society, to demand that it be applied in a very limited way or even that it be abolished completely. The problem must be viewed in the context of a system of penal justice ever more in line with human dignity and thus, in the end, with God’s plan for man and society. The primary purpose of the punishment which society inflicts is to redress the disorder caused by the offence. […] The nature and extent [Author’s note: In Latin, the expressions modus and genus are used, meaning ‘mode’ and ‘kind’; in Italian, the terms misura (‘measure’) and qualità (‘quality’) are employed — all distinct concepts] of the punishment must be carefully evaluated and decided upon, and ought not go to the extreme of executing the offender except in cases of absolute necessity: in other words, when it would not be possible otherwise to defend society. Today however, as a result of steady improvements in the organization of the penal system, such cases are very rare, if not practically non-existent. (n. 56; my italics and bold)

And yet, Sacred Scripture — both in the Old and New Testaments — presents capital punishment as a possible and just penalty. Saint Thomas Aquinas, in his analysis of Old Testament prescriptions, carefully distinguishes between moral law, ceremonial law, and judicial law (cf. Summa Theologiae I-IIae, q. 104). The ceremonial law was abolished with the coming of Christ and served a pedagogical, prophetic, and symbolic function. The moral law — namely, the Ten Commandments — is eternal and universal, as it is divine and natural law. Finally, the judicial law — that is, the set of civil, penal, and even dietary norms of the Jewish people — was tied to the concrete condition of Israel at that time (theocratic, agrarian, with tribal and cultic bonds), and although no longer binding for Christians, it may still be considered valid insofar as it conforms to natural law, particularly in matters concerning violations of the Decalogue.

Now, some sins have a social repercussion — such as theft and murder — and therefore also constitute crimes. Saint Thomas Aquinas, however, clarifies that “the death penalty should be inflicted only for those sins that cause grave harm to others” (cf. S.Th. II-IIae, q. 108, a. 3, ad 2). For this reason, it would be senseless, disproportionate, and therefore unjust to punish a thief with capital punishment, because theft does not harm society as a whole, but only the individual who has been robbed. Moreover, the object of theft is a material good, and it would not be proportionate to demand a man’s life in return, since a material good objectively holds less value than a human life.

On the contrary, crimes such as voluntary and premeditated murder harm society as a whole, not just the individual who is killed, because they deeply undermine mutual trust and destabilize civil order. It is one thing to know that a thief is at large; it is quite another to know that someone is roaming free who has no scruples about killing another person. Nevertheless, Saint Thomas Aquinas emphasizes that the power to sentence a criminal to death belongs solely to legitimate authority, and must be exercised with the utmost prudence — avoiding any abuse and ensuring, to the highest degree possible, that the accused is truly guilty.

It is Saint Paul himself who acknowledges this power in the ius gladii (“right of the sword”) conferred upon Authority: “For it does not bear the sword in vain; it is the servant of God to execute wrath on the wrongdoer” (Romans 13:4). With this image, the Apostle of the Gentiles not only justifies the punitive function of the civil power, but affirms that coercive power — even up to capital punishment — is a vicarious exercise of divine justice.

Confirming this doctrine, the Roman Catechism, promulgated by the Council of Trent, teaches with great clarity that, upon stating the precept of the fifth commandment, the parish priest must immediately distinguish in his catechesis between forbidden and lawful killings. Among the latter are those ordered by magistrates who have the authority to pronounce capital sentences, since such power, exercised justly, serves to suppress evildoers and protect the innocent. Thus, not only are judges not guilty of murder, but they eminently obey the divine Law, which, in forbidding murder, seeks precisely to safeguard human life and tranquility.

Therefore, the Catechism concludes, the decisions of magistrates—legitimate avengers of wrongdoing—aim to secure civil peace through the repression of criminality, in accordance with Scripture as spoken by King David: “Each morning I will destroy all the wicked in the land” (Psalms 101:8a).

To understand the lawfulness of capital punishment — which, for Saint Thomas Aquinas, and even according to the Roman Catechism, is clearly grounded in divine and natural law — one must first recognize that every crime involves four distinct subjects: God, the victim, society, and the offender. Consequently, a just penalty, understood as the process by which the violated order is restored, must pursue four corresponding ends: expiatory, toward God; reparative, toward the victim; deterrent, toward society; and medicinal, toward the offender. The order is precise, because it proceeds from rewarding the most noble subject to the least noble. Therefore, when a punishment is to be administered, one must always seek to pursue all the objectives and, if that is not possible, at least the higher ones — namely, expiation and reparation.

In the case of voluntary homicide, the reparative aim is not attainable, since a human life cannot be restored. Nor is it possible to offer the victim something of equal value to life, for obvious reasons, just as it is impossible to compensate the victim’s relatives, because no material wealth can make up for the value of a human life unjustly taken. For this reason, Scripture states: “You shall accept no ransom for the life of a murderer who is guilty and deserves death; he must be put to death” (Numbers 35:31).

As for the expiatory aim, the discussion becomes more difficult, since it presupposes the acceptance of the existence of God, understood as a supreme, personal, transcendent, provident, and just being. In modern secularized society, it is therefore very difficult to address this topic. We must remember, in fact, that today’s society is in crisis primarily because it has been revolutionized on a religious level, through a process that begins with Gnosticism, passes through Protestantism, and arrives at practical atheism. However, since we are Catholics, we must be aware that punishment — whether sacramental (in the case of sins) or judicial (in the case of crimes) — must be proportionate to the guilt.

God in Himself is infinite and impassible, which means that our sin does not in any way affect His essence or His glory. Nevertheless, our sin “offends God” (as we also say in the Act of Contrition prayer) in the sense that it violates the order of His will and, therefore, His justice. Thus, says Saint Thomas, the satisfaction of justice — since the sinner has taken away “through sin, insofar as it depends on him, something from God” — “must concern something that we take away from ourselves” (cf. S.Th., Supplement, q. 15, a. 3).

In the satisfaction of punishment, one must always consider the act of restoration for the evil committed in the past (expiatory and reparative aims, as previously explained) and the act of prevention regarding future evil. Here, in our case, the third aim mentioned earlier comes into play — namely, the deterrent aim. In the sacramental context, the deterrent and medicinal aims of penance obviously coincide; but in the judicial context, they are separated, since deterrence with respect to society involves other individuals who might commit similar crimes, whereas the medicinal aim (or rehabilitative, as it is called today) concerns the directly involved criminal.

In the case of crimes as heinous as voluntary and premeditated murder, one must recall, once again, the admirable teaching of Saint Thomas. “A grave punishment,” writes the Angelic Doctor, “is inflicted not only for the gravity of the guilt, but also for other reasons. First, for the quantity of the sin, since, all other things being equal, a greater sin deserves a more severe punishment.” In other words, if the offender commits the same crime multiple times — as we commonly say, is a repeat offender — the punishment imposed must be greater.

Second, because of habituation to sin, since men are not easily deterred from habitual sins except by means of severe punishments. Third, because of excessive concupiscence or excessive pleasure in sin. Indeed, men are not easily deterred from these things except by means of severe punishments. Fourth, because of the ease of committing the sin and of concealing it. In fact, such sins, when they come to light, must be punished more severely, in order to instill fear in others (cf. S.Th. I-II, q. 105, ad 9).

The lawfulness of capital punishment as a deterrent to other criminals is further explained by Saint Thomas with the observation that those “who do not love virtue” — unfortunately, in society, especially in one as secularized as ours, they are the vast majority — “are deterred from sin because they fear losing certain things which they love more than those they gain by sinning; otherwise, fear would not prevent sin. And therefore, sins must be avenged by depriving man of those things he loves most.” Among these things, we also find life itself (cf. S.Th. II-II, q. 108, a. 3, co.).

This view, rigorous from a logical standpoint and profoundly realist, rejects the notion that punishment should be reduced to a mere instrument of social control — a conception typical of the early modern States. Such an approach, in fact, has revealed a serious flaw: that of easily degenerating into cruelty. One need only recall the denunciations of Saint Thomas More in his Utopia, where he criticizes the English crown for having punished even the theft of food by the poor with death.

It is understandable that excessive severity on the part of authority generates a humanitarian reaction among the people, which leads to abolitionism. But abolitionism, in turn, tends to produce judicial laxity, which fosters social distrust and, ultimately, civil disorder. This is precisely what we observe in the contemporary West: a society in which collectivist rhetoric coexists with the radical isolation of individuals — an isolation also generated by widespread civic distrust — and with an exacerbated consumerism, where material pleasure attempts to fill the void left by spiritual good, that is, by relationships with God and with one’s neighbor.

The Traditional Catholic view also rejects the socialist approach — today dominant in much of the West — which interprets punishment as a process of “horizontal redemption,” aimed at reintegrating the offender into society as a productive citizen. This model, moreover, presupposes a system of public funding that burdens taxpayers, and does so coercively.

Moreover, such an approach falls into a typically modern error: it confuses the measure of punishment with its moral quality. The contemporary penal system, in fact, tends to evaluate punishment solely in quantitative terms — that is, in months or years of imprisonment or in fines to be paid. Understood in this way, punishment becomes profoundly unjust: not only does it fail to repair the disorder caused by the crime, but it also imposes on society the burden of maintaining — with food, lodging, and services — those who have violated it, without any real acknowledgment and thus without the necessary reparation of the moral harm inflicted.

Let us consider, in conclusion to this essay, the responses to two of the most common objections to the lawfulness of the death penalty. The first concerns the supposed infinite dignity of the human being; the second concerns the limits of human judgment.

As for human dignity, Catholicism has always taught — both theologically and liturgically (lex orandi est lex credendi) — that infinite dignity belongs to God alone. Dignity, in fact, is the source of rights. Therefore, to affirm — as Pope Francis has done — that human dignity is infinite means to affirm either that man possesses infinite rights, or that God and man possess the same rights; but these conclusions are clearly false. Thus, human dignity is not infinite. Even in the liturgy, both in the Old and New Rite, the believer and the celebrant say humbly: Domine, non sum dignus. If human dignity were infinite, why this contradiction? Humility, in fact, does not contradict truth.

In the cosmos, there exists a gradation of rights. Man was created in the state of original justice with an elevated dignity, superior to that of all other beings, but original sin diminished this dignity. Certainly, all men are born with the same dignity, which means that all are born with the same limited rights — namely, the natural rights to life, liberty, honor, knowledge of truth, property, and everything necessary to preserve and pursue these. Merits increase man’s dignity. Therefore, the redeemed man who perseveres in grace is most worthy, but he will never possess infinite dignity.

Human dignity, therefore, is not a static or absolute quality, but a dynamic reality that can increase or decrease in relation to one’s moral and spiritual orientation. Sin, as a voluntary act against the order of reason and divine law, entails a deprivation of the due good and proportionally diminishes dignity. Natural rights can be alienated — that is, reduced or annulled — depending on the gravity of the offenses committed.

Consequently, the idea that capital punishment is always and inherently unlawful because it is “contrary to the infinite dignity of man” is based on a theologically erroneous and, ultimately, ideological premise. Human dignity is great, but it is not infinite; it is received, not intrinsic; it is ordered, not absolute. Capital punishment, when proportionate, deliberate, and imposed by legitimate authority for the gravest crimes, does not violate human dignity: on the contrary, it acknowledges its seriousness.

The idea of “infinite” human dignity is a modern and Masonic construct, which disregards Christian theology and is instead rooted in an autonomous humanism, where man becomes the measure of himself and no longer a creature. It is troubling that contemporary Catholicism — at least in some of its official expressions — has aligned itself with this view, adopting a language that confuses received dignity with infinite dignity, and ultimately empties the very concept of justice.

This semantic and doctrinal shift is one of the reasons why many prelates and theologians can no longer concretely distinguish between Catholic thought and Masonic thought. Both, today, seem to defend a vision of man as untouchable in his dignity and a conception of religions as equally valid, in the name of an ecumenism that becomes indifference. Catholicism is not the religion of indifference: it is the religion of the Incarnation, of truth, of justice, and of mercy. And precisely because it believes in human dignity — finite, fragile, redeemable — it can recognize that, in certain extreme cases, capital punishment is not a denial of dignity, but a tragic affirmation of it.

As for the second objection — namely, the fallibility of human judgment — it must be considered that any punishment is legitimate not only insofar as it proceeds from authority, but also from the integrity of the procedure. Justice is not an arbitrary act, but a rational order that must be grounded in prudence and in moral certainty of guilt. Capital punishment, in particular, demands a high degree of certainty and solemnity, precisely because it touches upon the supreme good of life. Yet it is biblical tradition itself that offers the foundations of a just trial, which Western legal civilization later developed into the model of common law.

Scripture indeed presents the three fundamental pillars of procedural justice: the jury of fellow citizens, the presumption of innocence, and due process. Deuteronomy (19:15–18) prescribes that judgment must be rendered only after a thorough examination by the elders and judges of the people — that is, by members of the community who share the same law and culture. This principle anticipates the popular jury: the accused must be judged by peers, not by a foreign or tyrannical power.

Also in Deuteronomy we read, “No one shall be put to death on the testimony of a single witness,” a statement that enshrines the principle of the presumption of innocence: no one is guilty until proven otherwise. 

Finally, in Exodus 23, it is commanded not to follow the majority in doing evil, not to favor the poor in judgment, and not to accept gifts that blind the eyes of judges. Here, the principle of impartial trial is affirmed — the judge must be free from ideological, economic, or emotional pressures.

In light of these criteria, it is evident that criminal justice, rightly understood, is rooted in Revelation. And today, the certainty of guilt is more solid than in the past, thanks in part to advances in forensic techniques, video surveillance, and digital security systems. The murder of Iryna Zarutska, which occurred on August 22, 2025, in Charlotte, North Carolina, is a striking example: the perpetrator was identified not only through witness testimony, but primarily thanks to video footage from the subway. In cases like these, the evidence is more reliable than eyewitness accounts, which can be mistaken or manipulated.

The lawfulness of capital punishment is not based on a desire for vengeance, nor on state arbitrariness, but on a principle of justice that acknowledges the gravity of the evil committed and the necessity of restoring the violated order. It is rooted in natural law, in Revelation, and in the Christian legal tradition, and can be applied — today more than ever — with prudence, certainty, and proportionality.[1]

As Jesuit Cardinal Avery Robert Dulles observed, the growing opposition to the death penalty in Europe, from the Enlightenment onward, has gone hand in hand with the decline of faith in eternal life. This is not merely a provocation, for when society ceases to believe in transcendent justice, it seeks to compensate with a worldly sentimentalism that confuses mercy with impunity. This is evident at various levels in today’s most common pastoral theology. But true mercy does not abolish justice — it presupposes it.

Capital punishment, when applied with moral and juridical rigor, does not deny human dignity — on the contrary, it takes it seriously. Only those who believe that man is free and responsible can acknowledge that, in certain extreme cases, his freedom may be judged and his responsibility punished. And only those who believe in eternal life can understand that death is not the end, but the passage to final judgment. To deny this is not only to weaken justice, but to obscure hope.

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[1] For further reading, the reader is invited to consult Edward Feser and Joseph M. Bessette’s By Man Shall His Blood Be Shed, Ignatius Press (2017).