Tag Archives: Aquinas

The Art of Apologizing

Defending the Faith, Faith and Reason, Paganism, , , , , ,

The Early Church was well practiced in the art of apologizing, not because they were sorry for their beliefs, but because they were sorry that everyone else had not come to accept the truth.  The most famous of apologies came from the pen of St. Justin Martyr, a philosopher saint, who wrote two famous defenses of the Catholic faith to the Roman Emperors.  Ever since then, the field of apologetics has proven invaluable to the spreading of the Faith.  With the re-emergence of Paganism and the stark division within Christianity between Catholics and Protestants, the need is especially acute in our time.   But in order for it to be effective, there is a need to properly understand how it should be applied.

The battle between the Sexual Revolution and the Church has dealt a blow that, if not for Divine protection, would have been fatal for the Church.  The attack came from both without and within, but was successful mainly because the Church lost the battle of public opinion.  In other words, it was a failure of apologetics.  This failure came about not because of silence, at least initially, but because she was speaking another language. 

Using the Arms of the Adversary

As an example, take the battle over gay marriage.  The best public defense that many Christians could offer was based on the Bible.  It failed miserably, not because it wasn’t true, but because it wasn’t believable.  Even the Church says things like “the Church teaches…” rather than “it is true because …”  These arguments from authority, even if they are true, are the weakest of all arguments.  That is because they only work when the two parties accept the same authority.  Contrast this approach with that of St. Justin Martyr.  In his Dialogue with Trypho the Jew, he limited his discussion only to non-disputed books of what would become the Old Testament.  Most Jews did not accept certain books that the Christians did and, so, St. Justin did not use those books in his argument. 

The awareness that successful apologetics rests upon shared authority prompted St. Thomas in the first question of the Summa Theologiae to formulate a rule of discourse:

Hence Sacred Scripture, since it has no science above itself, can dispute with one who denies its principles only if the opponent admits some at least of the truths obtained through divine revelation; thus we can argue with heretics from texts in Holy Writ, and against those who deny one article of faith, we can argue from another. If our opponent believes nothing of divine revelation, there is no longer any means of proving the articles of faith by reasoning, but only of answering his objections — if he has any — against faith. Since faith rests upon infallible truth, and since the contrary of a truth can never be demonstrated, it is clear that the arguments brought against faith cannot be demonstrations, but are difficulties that can be answered.

(ST I, q.1 art.8)

For non-Catholic Christians, we can use Sacred Scripture, but only the books they accept.  Likewise, because of the unity of the Faith, we can argue from one accepted article of faith to another.  But for those who do not accept divine revelation, we cannot simply use the Bible as many are apt to do.  Instead we must limit ourselves to using either reason alone to either answer their arguments or to prove those truths which, although revealed, are also discoverable through human reason (like God’s existence and attributes and most of the moral law). 

From Common Authority

It is important to also emphasize that just because we limit ourselves to the arms of the adversary does not mean that the Bible is not true nor that we don’t believe it.  Instead it is an admission that the person we are dialoguing with does not accept the same authority structure that we do.  To obstinately cling to using that authority is to fail in the goal of leading the person to the truth.  In fact, by arguing from their accepted authority you can often lend credibility to the truth of Divine revelation by showing how it leads to the same conclusion.  Truth cannot contradict truth and so we should not be surprised that when we argue from true premises we often come to the same conclusion.

What also cannot be forgotten, although it often is, is the fact that faith in divine revelation is a gift that cannot be obtained via argument or discussion.  The best that can be hoped for is to lend motives of credibility for the truth, that is, to remove the impediments that keep them from receiving that gift. 

If reason cannot demonstrate faith and truth cannot contradict truth then there is a flip side as well.  Any proof that claims to disprove the Faith is a mere sophistry.  There is at least one error in the logic of the argument.  We may not be able to prove the truth of the Faith, but because the truth cannot be divided, we can answer every objection using reason alone.  This principle is what motivated St. Thomas to write the Summa Contra Gentiles.

This principle is well-known by the spirit of the world.  That is why Nietzsche said that one should not attack Christianity based on its truth, but based on it livability.  A moment’s reflection leads one to see that this is the way in which the Faith is most often attacked today.  This is why we must be prepared to demonstrate its livability by our actions as well as through our words.  In a culture obsessed with license masquerading as freedom, we must be prepared to show what true freedom looks like.  True apologetics, then, will include both argument and demonstration, appealing to both intellect and will. 

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What is Faith?

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There are certain terms within the Christian lexicon that are so familiar that we can, like St. Augustine’s own struggle with time, define them as long as no one asks.  Faith is just one such term.  It serves as a catch-all term that encompasses in generality belief and trust, although often in such an ambiguous manner that we strain to see what it is clearly.  Yet it remains a most important term, one by which, Sacred Scripture tells us, we are saved.  Therefore it behooves us to spend some time reflecting on faith.

We must admit at the outset that some of the ambiguity surrounding faith stems from a failure to distinguish between natural and supernatural powers.  Faith is both a natural and a supernatural act.  Put more accurately, there are two types of faith—natural and supernatural.  All men have natural faith, but not all men receive supernatural faith.  This distinction is often lost when countering atheists who insist that faith is unreasonable.  What they mean is that supernatural faith is unreasonable, while the Christian apologist insists that even the atheist has faith although what he means is natural faith.  The two end up missing each other entirely because they are on two different planes of argument.  Unfortunately, this distinction often becomes muddled in our mind and not just in our apologetics. 

Faith means an assent given to a particular proposition based not on direct evidence, but on the credibility of the witness.  One accepts the proposition as true because they believe the one who tells them.  As St. Thomas puts it, faith is the assent to those things which are unseen (ST II-II, q.4, a.1).  So, faith has two aspects, the “thing unseen” and the assent.  It is both knowledge and consent, requiring both intellect and will with an emphasis on the latter.   Faith, then, only pertains to those things we do not see—for to see brings certainty and requires no assent on our part.  Faith becomes a source of knowledge of many, many things, and thus we can see how it is indispensable for man to grow in knowledge of anything.

We can further our understanding if we grasp the difference between faith and opinion.  Because it rests upon the credibility of the witness always carries with it subjective certainty.  Opinion on the other hand is always accompanied by a fear or doubt that one is in error leading to some degree of reservation of full assent.  Doubt can move to certainty either by fully assenting to the trustworthiness of the witness or by gathering more evidence.  

Natural vs Supernatural Faith

The distinction between natural and supernatural faith then rests in who the witness is.  For natural faith, the witness is another man.  For supernatural faith, the witness is God Himself.  Blessed John Henry Newman defines faith as ““assenting to a doctrine as true, which we do not see, which we cannot prove, because God says it is true, who cannot lie.”  In short, faith is an act of trust in the authority of God as revealed.  What He has said becomes, in a certain sense, secondary, to the fact that He has said it.  Whatever He says we deem as true because He has said it.  It is in this way that faith becomes synonymous with trust.  Their “reasonableness” then takes a back seat and faith “comes from hearing” (Romans 10:17) the Word of God as such.

One does not “graduate” from natural faith to supernatural faith.  “Our vision of the face of God,” St. John Paul II says, “is always impaired by the limits of our understanding.  Faith alone makes it possible to penetrate the mystery in a way that allows us to understand it coherently” (Fides et Ratio, 13).  Because it is part of the human condition, especially in its fallen state, to abhor a mystery, we naturally shun divine faith.  Therefore, it must be bestowed upon us from above.  Supernatural faith is a gift and not something that we can achieve on our own.  It can grow through our actions once it is implanted, but it is never something we can achieve.  We can make no judgment upon it, we can only submit.  It is the giving of our minds to God so that He might fill them with knowledge of Himself.

To this point we have been overlooking an important aspect: if faith consists in assent to God’s Word, how do we recognize His voice?  The problem as Newman further explains is that “God says it is true, not with His own voice, but by the voice of His messengers, it is assenting to what man says, not simply viewed as a man, but to what he is commissioned to declare, as a messenger, prophet, or ambassador from God” (Faith and Private Judgment).  This is where the previously mentioned motives of credibility come in.  Many men purport to speak for God, but in only one place do we find good reasons to believe in the reliability of His witnesses—the Catholic Church.  Whether it be the prophecy, the miraculous endurance of the Church, or the manner in which it spread, there are reasons to believe that the fullness of Revelation subsists in the Catholic Church.  By having human faith in the Apostles and their successors, it prepares the way for the gift of divine faith given to us in Baptism.

This is exactly what we see during the Peter’s homily on Pentecost.  He provides them with the motives of credibility—the miraculous pouring of the Holy Spirit and an explanation of the prophets so that once they believed him as the messenger, they ask “what are we to do, my brothers?”  Peter tells them to be baptized so that they will receive the gift of divine faith.  Natural faith prepared their hearts for the gift of divine faith.

Practical Consequences

There are two further implications of this, both of which Newman addresses.  First, Catholics are often accused by Protestants of pinning their faith in the Pope or a Council.  But this is exactly what the first Christians did by submitting themselves to the Apostles.  It was reasonable for them to believe that what the Apostles preached was true and through the gift of divine faith they were given certainty that what they preached came from God.  It was their natural faith that gave them the proper disposition to receive the supernatural gift of faith.  They believed that God had revealed it and thus many of them were willing to witness to that truth through the gift of their martyrdom.

Secondly, those who subscribe to “Cafeteria Catholicism” do not have supernatural faith.  Recall that saving faith means an assent of the mind to God’s revelation.  To pick and choose what you will believe is not supernatural faith, but a form a private judgment.  It is only accidental that what you believe coincides with what God has truly revealed.  This is, at best, natural faith, although one would stain to defend it as faith at all since it rests neither on human or divine authority but on opinion.  This is also why the Church does not allow her children to entertain any doubts because a Catholic is only a Catholic while he has faith.  Faith is incompatible with doubt so that Newman says, “No one can be a Catholic without a simple faith, that what the Church declares in God’s Name is God’s Word, and therefore, true.”

On Ghosts

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A recent survey by the Pew Research Center found that almost 1/3 of all Americans have had some paranormal encounter with human spirits after they have died.  This, coupled with nearly half of all Americans admitting to “believing” in ghosts, makes the existence of ghosts a fairly common topic of discussion, especially in our increasingly superstitious culture.  What does the Church have to say about ghosts?

To begin, there are a few preliminary points that will serve as a foundation for the discussion.  First, when we use the term ghost, we are referring specifically to human spirits who have died as distinct from angels or demons.  Second, although Christians often dismiss the question as absurd, there are Scriptural reasons to believe that ghosts do exist.  The most well-known example is when King Saul conjured up the ghost of Samuel and spoke to him (1 Samuel 28:12-18).  Our Lord too spoke of ghosts during His earthly ministry, twice, in fact.  On both occasions (Mt 14:34, Lk 24:39) the Apostles thought He was a ghost.  Rather than saying “ghosts do not exist”, He reassures them that He is not a ghost because ghosts “do not have flesh and bones as I do.”  Our Lord tells us that ghosts not only exist, but that they are in a spiritual state in which they do not have material flesh and bones. 

Why There Are Ghosts

If ghosts are, at least theoretically, a possibility, then what practical purpose might their manifestation serve.  In short, they are meant to communicate some message to the living, although this statement needs to be seriously qualified.  For this, we can rely upon St. Thomas who himself was visited at least three times by ghosts in his lifetime.  We should not be surprised then that he treats this topic in his Summa Theologiae (Supp. Q.69, art. 3).

St. Thomas asks whether it is possible for souls in heaven or hell to be able to appear on earth.  His response is thorough enough that it enables us to come up with guidelines for understanding the purpose of these visitations.  First of all, we are judged immediately upon death.  This means souls are either in Heaven or in Hell, with some making a temporary stop in Purgatory before settling in to their final destination in God’s presence.  There is no such thing as a soul that is doomed to wander the earth or anything like that.  While this might make for a good Dean Koontz book, it is not rooted in reality. 

It is the natural state of these souls then to be cut-off from their communication with the living, but according to God’s will they may miraculously appear to men on earth.  This is also noteworthy because it helps us to understand the Biblical injunction about conjuring spirits of the dead in order to make inquiries of them (c.f. Lev 20:6, Deut 18:3).  It is only according to the designs of God’s Providence that these visitations might occur and not through human manipulation.  To try to invoke spirits of the dead is to usurp a power that only God, as the God of the living and dead, can use.

The saints in heaven can appear to the living whenever they will because their will is always aligned with the Divine will.  They appear so as to instruct men on earth in a similar manner to St. Paul appearing to St. Thomas when he was stuck in his interpretation of a particularly difficult passage in Romans.  The souls that are damned too can appear to men “for man’s instruction and intimidation,” although they would not do so willingly.  Those souls in Purgatory appear in order too seek prayers and suffrages.  St. Thomas was visited by his sister Gui from Purgatory and she asked him prayers and masses to be said in her memory.

The last group, those in Purgatory, bear further discussion.  These are probably the most common type of “ghosts” because they come as members of the Church Suffering in need of the help of the Church Militant.  Their appearance, at least according to most demonologists and exorcists, are usually gentle and they limit their communication to a request for spiritual help in the form of prayers and Masses.  For that reason they are also the easiest to discern their authenticity.  In fact it might be said that there is no discernment necessary—if one has a ghostly encounter then they should simply pray for the dead person and have seek no further interaction.

Ghost and Demons

The ghostly elephant in the room is the action of the demonic.  This is an area, especially because people are in an emotionally vulnerable place, that the devils are particularly active.  They are bullies that like to prey on the weak.  It is for that reason that we need to have our understanding clear about this.  Demonologist Adam Blai says that the demons usually come to places where souls have previously communicated with the living asking for prayers so that they might manipulate the living.  That is why we should never seek information from the dead other than the need for prayer.  Any messages we do receive we should submit to a thorough process of the discernment of spirits, including asking God to verify it in other ways. 

In truth, we should be very suspicious of paranormal communications to the point of rejecting them whole cloth.  This is not because we don’t believe in them, but because our capacity to be deceived is very high.  We can do no wrong in praying for the dead but can easily get pulled into something more through extended conversation.  Better to reject it out of humility and obedience, two virtues particularly pleasing to God, than to succumb to the tricks of demons.  Once we have opened the door for them and inviting them in, it can be very difficult to chase the legalistic demons away.  

Ghosts continue to remain a fascination for many of us.  There are good reasons for Christians to believe in their existence, but they should avoid encouraging any interaction with.

God and the Gray Lady

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Just in time for the Feast of the Incarnation, the New York Times published an opinion piece written by Professor of Philosophy Peter Atterton that purposes to refute the idea of “deity most Westerners accept” because it is not coherent.  His approach is the same approach is the same tri-lemma that was the topic of a recent post: pitting God’s omnipotence, omnibenevolence and omniscience against each other.  It is worthwhile to examine his argument, well at least part of it, not because it is particularly compelling, but because it was featured in one of the country’s largest fish wraps.  In fact, his argument overall falls rather flat as we will see.

A Stone too Large, Really?

First he experiments with the “stone too large to lift argument” to attack God’s omnipotence.  This seems rather easy to resolve once we define what we mean when we say that God’s omnipotence allows Him to do any thing  and not anything.  Provided that the thing is an actual thing, that is something that could be done, then God can do it.  The rock too heavy to lift is a sophist word game because it is simply a logical contradiction akin to saying that God can also square a circle or make right left (which everyone knows only Lightning McQueen can do).  This is a classic attack (the author even cites Aquinas who addressed it) but it really stems from a misunderstanding of God’s nature.  Those who posit such a thing normally think of the voluntarist God of the Calvinists and Muslims rather than the God Who is Reason and has revealed Himself in the Logos or Word that became flesh.

Professor Atterton may have been trying to set up an attack on God’s omnibenevolence by even mentioning the ersatz dilemma of the stone that can’t be lifted.  He seems to think that a world in which evil does not exist, at least from the Christian point of view, is among those logical impossibilities.  That is certainly not something that Christians believe.  God could have made (and even possibly did) such a world, but for reasons we may not understand (because we are not God) He chose not to.  The point however is that He could have done otherwise, but had a reason for doing it the way He did.   

As far as this part of the tri-lemma, I will refer the reader to the aforementioned post that deals with God and the Problem of Evil.  The part of the argument that bears the most attention is the “conundrum” of omniscience.  In short, his argument is that “if God knows all there is to know, then He knows at least as much as we know. But if He knows what we know, then this would appear to detract from His perfection… if God knows all that is knowable, then God must know things that we do, like lust and envy. But one cannot know lust and envy unless one has experienced them. But to have had feelings of lust and envy is to have sinned, in which case God cannot be morally perfect…Therefore, God doesn’t know what it is like to be human. In that case He doesn’t know what we know. But if God doesn’t know what we know, God is not all knowing, and the concept of God is contradictory. God cannot be both omniscient and morally perfect. Hence, God could not exist.”

God’s Omniscience

One must first admit that this has a diabolical ring to it, “for you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (c.f. Gn 3:5) and so we should immediately intuit that it contains a falsehood.  The diabolical delusion is unmasked once we challenge the Professor’s contention that  “if God knows all there is to know, then He knows at least as much as we know.”

The problem is not that it is wrong, but that he is equivocating on the term “knows”.  The way we know things is vastly different  from the way God knows things.  In truth, God knows only one thing—Himself—and this knowledge of Himself embraces everything actual and possible.  Our knowledge comes piecemeal and only after discursion.  His knowledge embraces all things at once without any reasoning out all the possible details of each individual thing.  His knowledge is eternal and unchanging and thus He must come to know all things in light of their cause, Himself.  If this were not so, then there would be an imperfection in God, namely that His knowledge would depend on created things.

God’s knowledge is not determined and measured by things like ours, but is the cause of things.  God’s knowledge in relation to things then is a creative knowledge that gives existence to things.  Ours is an experiential or connatural knowledge.  This point seems to be missed when the Professor speaks of God having to know “lust and envy.”  This train of thought is important because it keeps the Professor’s moral argument from leaving the station.

Evil is foreign to God, but, according to St. Thomas, God can still know evil “through the good of which it is a privation, as darkness is known by light.”  His point is that evil, like darkness, can only be known in contrast to the thing that is lacking.  God is not the cause of the lack, but man is, even if God has permitted it.  In other words, God can know about evil, but only because it is affront to the good of which He has creative knowledge.  But St. Thomas goes even further when he says that “He would not know good things perfectly unless He also knew evil things” (ST I, q.14 a.10).   His point is that to speak of “full” knowledge is to imply degree.  In short, to have full knowledge means one must also be able to know when it is lacking. 

In recent years the New York Times has come under intense scrutiny for its lack of journalistic integrity and a decidedly partisan slant with little regard for truth.  They seem to now be setting their sights on Truth Himself.  Of course, if they are going to succeed in placing God in the Dock, they are going to have to find better arguments than Professor Atterton’s elementary attempt.  Maybe some news isn’t really fit to print.

Can God Suffer?

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In a recent homily on the Biblical narrative of the Flood, Pope Francis challenged those gathered to have a heart like God’s, especially in the face of human suffering.  The Holy Father said that “God the Father…is able to get angry and feel rage…suffering more than we do.”  So common has this assertion that God suffers become that it is practically becoming an assumption.  But upon closer inspection we come to find that there are a number of faith altering and faith destroying consequences that follow from this false view of God.  Therefore, it merits further reflection why it is that God does not suffer.

The Need for Analogy

We must first admit that our language inevitably fails us when we attempt to speak about God.  In fact, we can say nothing positive about Him.  This is not because we are pessimists, but because we can only speak definitively about what He is not.  He is omniscient because there is nothing He doesn’t know.  He is omnipotent because there is nothing He can do, etc.  To speak of what He is, is impossible because He transcends our categories.  This linguistic limitation can be partially overcome once we allow for the use of analogy.  For example, God reveals Himself as Father because His fatherhood is something like the human fatherhood that we are all familiar with.

The problem with this approach of analogy is that we often get it backwards.  Properly speaking it is human fatherhood that is like God’s fatherhood.   Keeping the primacy of God’s fatherhood in mind keeps us from assuming that it is just like human fatherhood and making God in our image instead of us in His.  Human fatherhood is only true fatherhood to the extent that it images God’s fatherhood as St. Paul is wont to remind the Ephesians (c.f. Eph 3:15). 

More closely related to the topic of God’s suffering is the dictum that God is love.  To say that God is love is to say that God loves fully and for all eternity.  He cannot love any more than He does because it is His nature to love.  We speak of different “kinds” of love from God such as mercy, compassion, kindness, etc. but in God there is no distinction.  He loves fully.  We, however, cannot receive His love fully.  “Whatever is received,” St. Thomas says, “is received according to the mode of the receiver.”  To the sinner, God’s love is received as mercy.  To the suffering His love is received as comfort.  Yet, from God’s perspective it is a completely active and full love.     

To say that God suffers with us reverses the analogy.  The assumption is that because compassionate human love includes suffering, then Divine love must also.  But the fact that it includes suffering does not mean that it must include suffering.  It is the love that is given that makes it love, not the suffering.  In fact you could remove the suffering, the love would still be love.  In fact, it would be a purer love because there would be no need on the lover’s part to succor his own suffering.  Instead it would be a completely free love with no compulsion towards self-interest.  Rather than being somehow cold and indifferent, it is complete and free.  So God, by not be able to suffer, actually loves us more than if He could suffer.  To insist otherwise makes God love us less, the very thing that they think they are avoiding by positing that He must suffer.  As Fr. Thomas Weinandy puts it, “what human beings cry out for in their suffering is not a God who suffers but a God who loves wholly and completely, something a suffering God could not do.”  God is compassionate not because He suffers with but because He is able to fully embrace those who are suffering

Further Consequences of the Suffering God

If reversing the analogy was the worst part about this, then we might simply chalk it up as a misunderstanding.  But the fact that it represents an attack on God’s nature eventually leads us into a theological pitfall that destroys our faith in God.  God, in order to suffer must be capable of change.  But we believe in a God who is immutable.  His immutability comes about not because He can’t change, but because as the fullness of being there is nothing for Him to change into.  No change would make Him more than He is because He is already “I AM WHO AM”, pure act.  He fully alive.  To posit that He can suffer is to posit that He can change and to posit that He can change is to say that He is not the one true God.

He must also be incapable of suffering, that is, impassible for a subtler reason as well.  Suffering is caused by a lack of some good that ought to be there.  If God, in Himself is lacking some good, then He is not All Good.  If the suffering comes about because of the lack of some good in creation, then He becomes a part of creation itself and is no longer transcendent.  As part of creation He is no longer Creator.  Evil and suffering must be seen as having real existence (rather than a lack of some good) since nothing is immune to it.  Our new God is the god of pantheism or process theology and an ontological dualism becomes the result.

The suffering God hypothesis ultimately means the destruction of the Christian God.  If God is not free from suffering, then no one is.  And if no one is, then there is no possibility of redemption.  God simply becomes one being among many striving for perfection.  If He cannot save Himself from evil, then how can He save anyone else?  The Incarnation becomes totally incomprehensible.  The God-Man cannot offer redemption, nor can He sanctify suffering.  In truth, a suffering God need not stoop to our level because He is already there.  The truth that He could love fully without suffering, yet still chose to add suffering carries the assurance of His total love for each one of us.  If He could already suffer, then it looks like little more than masochism.

In short, ideas have consequences. Serious ideas have serious consequences.  The idea of divine passibility has nothing but negative consequences.  Therefore, despite its present popularity, the assertion that Divine suffering is possible must be wholly rejected in favor of the Traditional teaching of the Church so that the Faith may remain intact.

The Problem of Evil and God’s Existence

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For anyone who has read either of St. Thomas Aquinas’ Summas, it is patently obvious that he took objections to the Catholic Faith seriously.  Put more precisely, he felt obligated to address serious objections fully.  So keen was his understanding that he often made his opponents’ arguments more precisely and succinctly than they can.  One can often learn more from the objections and their responses than from the substance of his response.  Christians of today could learn much from the Angelic Doctor in this regard, especially when it comes to the existence of God.  There are most certainly motives of credibility  that honest atheists must take seriously if they are genuinely interested in discovering the truth.  But these can often be overshadowed by what might be called “a motive of discredibility”, namely the problem of evil and suffering, that Christians must also take seriously.

When St. Thomas tackles the existence of God in the Summa Theologiae, he finds this to be the only real objection.  This was not to suggest that other objections don’t matter, but that they begin to fade away once this objection has received a sufficient answer.  St. Thomas articulates the objection like this: “It seems that God does not exist; because if one of two contraries be infinite, the other would be altogether destroyed. But the word ‘God’ means that He is infinite goodness. If, therefore, God existed, there would be no evil discoverable; but there is evil in the world. Therefore God does not exist” (ST I, q.2 art 3, obj. 1). 

The Dilemma of Suffering and Evil

Notice that the objector has set up what is essentially a dilemma revolving around God’s infinite goodness.  If God is omnibenevolent then evil cannot exist.  Many have added to this argument by suggesting that the problem is really a tri-lemma in that God could not be infinitely wise, good and powerful if evil exists.  Either he cannot stop the evil (omnipotence), wills the evil (omnibenevolence) or doesn’t know how to stop it (omnisapience). 

St. Thomas, in a certain sense, anticipates the expanded objection when he quotes St. Augustine who said “Since God is the highest good, He would not allow any evil to exist in His works, unless His omnipotence and goodness were such as to bring good even out of evil” and adds his own comment that, “This is part of the infinite goodness of God, that He should allow evil to exist, and out of it produce good” (ST I, q.2 art 3, ad. 1).

What St. Thomas doesn’t say, but that remains just beneath the surface of what he did, is that evil, once properly framed, actually presents an argument for God.  Evil in the metaphysical sense does not exist.  This does not mean it is not a reality or that it causes suffering in people, but this suffering is not a result of the evil per se, but of the deprivation of a good that should otherwise be there.  Blindness is a deprivation of the good of sight and therefore is an evil.  Moral evils like sins and vices are nothing but a lack of the moral good that should otherwise be in and flow from the human heart. 

This distinction, although well known, is important for two reasons.  First, it refutes any dualistic ontological explanations.  Second, and more closely related to our point, is the fact that when good comes from evil, it is always a creation ex nihilio.  Good that does come comes from absolutely nothing.  Only a being Who is all powerful can create out of nothing so that the problem of evil presents no difficulty to the principle of God’s omnipotence.   In fact, a God who allows evil and suffering and brings good out of it is more powerful than a God who simply erects a divine Stop Sign to stamp out any evil beforehand.

Neither does evil or suffering present a difficulty to God’s omnibenevolence.  Especially when we add the principle that God only allows evil to occur when it is the only manner in which a particular good can come about.  Certain goods such as self-sacrifice can only exist in a world in which evil and suffering are possible.  One could see that the world with evil and suffering in it actually manifests God’s goodness more than a world without it (if it didn’t He wouldn’t have allowed it that way). 

Christ Crucified and God’s Wisdom

Once we grasp the preceding two points we see that only a God Who is all-wise could navigate these waters.  And this is why it is Wisdom Incarnate Who ultimately “dwelt among us” in order to prove this point.  When Christ healed the man born blind, the disciples ask Him what the man (or his parents) did wrong to deserve this.  He tells them that his blindness and his healing was so that God’s goodness could be made manifest.  Christ did not alleviate the suffering of everyone He met.  He did not heal those who deserved it either.  He healed only those, like the man born blind, that would glorify God and be better off without it.  There were many people He didn’t heal, but that wasn’t because He didn’t have time or didn’t care.  He was consistently applying His principle.  Those who were left to suffer were glorifying God in their suffering and were better off because of it.  

Those who suffer know that the problem of evil is no mere intellectual problem.  But the Christian must proclaim that there is no mere intellectual solution.  The answer to evil and suffering is not a philosophical proof but Christ crucified.  Christ is the final answer to this problem, because in truth, only by way of participation in His Cross is God’s goodness made manifest to the individual person.  Through suffering and evil God brings the greatest Good, Himself.  Suffering becomes a treasure that never ceases to give a return on investment.  Rather than an obstacle it becomes a launching pad.  Christians who grasp this and live it out become the most effective argument against those who have yet to see it.     

Faith in Christ

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One of the more controversial teachings of the Second Vatican Council deals with the salvation of non-Christians.  Summarizing the teachings of the Council Fathers, the Catechism says “’Since Christ died for all, and since all men are in fact called to one and the same destiny, which is divine, we must hold that the Holy Spirit offers to all the possibility of being made partakers, in a way known to God, of the Paschal mystery.’ [GS 22] Every man who is ignorant of the Gospel of Christ and of his Church, but seeks the truth and does the will of God in accordance with his understanding of it, can be saved” (CCC 1260).  The controversy arises not so much in the letter, but in the spirit that followed.  It was interpreted as a softening of the Church’s traditional stance that salvation comes only through faith in Christ.  Once softened, the way became clear for a belief in universal salvation.  While this clearly goes beyond the text, nevertheless the evangelical aftershocks have left the Church’s missionary zeal in the rubble.  In an age where exceptions, rather than proving the rule, become the rule, a certain amount of clarity surrounding this issue will help to reignite the evangelical fires of the Church.

It must be admitted at the outset that like many of the statements of the Council, the teachings surrounding this issue suffer from a certain ambiguity.  That the ignorant can be saved does not mean that they will be saved nor does it even make it probable.  It simply opens a door, something that only the most hard-hearted fundamentalist would refuse to admit.  For nothing is impossible for God.  It is not salvation, at least according to St. Thomas Aquinas, that is improbable but ignorance.

What is Faith?

A few preliminary points are in order at the outset.  First when we speak of faith, we must make the distinction between the object of faith and the act of faith.  The object of faith is a statement about reality and the act of faith is an assent to the reality that has been opened by the statement.  Belief requires an object of belief—no one just believes, he must believe something.  When we speak of having “faith in Jesus” we can only mean that we believe that “there is no other name under heaven and earth by which man can be saved” (Acts 4:12).  So when St. Paul declares we are justified by faith (c.f. Romans 3:23-25), he means that we believe the reality that was opened to us by the Incarnation of the Son and by our assent conform our lives to it.

The saving power of faith illuminates a second necessary point.  The author of the Letter to the Hebrews says that “without faith it is impossible to please Him for anyone who approaches God must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who seek Him” (Hebrews 11:6).  St. Thomas is pointing out what he sees as the content for a “minimum” of faith.  He calls these two fundamental dogmas, that God exists and that He rewards those who seek Him, the credibilia because they contain, at least implicitly, all that God has made explicit through revelation and the Church.

Once he has drawn attention to it, he combines it with the belief that God wishes all men to be saved and concludes that the credibilia have been offered in one way or another to all mankind that has lived apart from Judeo Christian revelation via either the ministry of angels or direct illumination (c.f ST II-II, q.2 art 7).  But he doesn’t stop there because he says that implicit faith is not enough.  It is only an explicit faith in Christ that saves.  The Angelic Doctor says that once the person responds to the credibilia through the workings of Providence He leads the new believer to explicit knowledge of Christ.  With the interior assent to the credibilia and the gift of faith, comes the gifts of the Holy Spirit which perfect that faith.  In other words, ignorance is improbable because, as the Thomist Fr. Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange puts it, “if anybody were to follow the guidance of natural reason in the pursuit of goodness and flight from evil, God would by an interior inspiration reveal not only the prime credibles but also the redemptive power of the Incarnation.”

Salvation and the Man on the Remote Island

St. Thomas rejects the “man on a remote island” narrative because it is too natural of an explanation.  Faith is a supernatural gift by which God, who desires all men to be saved, saves us.  He uses the example of the conversion of Cornelius to demonstrate the principle:

“Granted that everyone is bound to believe something explicitly, no untenable conclusion follows even if someone is brought up in the forest or among wild beasts. For it pertains to divine providence to furnish everyone with what is necessary for salvation, provided that on his part there is no hindrance. Thus, if someone so brought up followed the direction of natural reason in seeking good and avoiding evil, we must most certainly hold that God would either reveal to him through internal inspiration what had to be believed, or would send some preacher of the faith to him as he sent Peter to Cornelius (Acts 10:20).”


De Veritate q.14 a.11 ad 1

In short, if God wills all men to be saved then He would not allow ignorance to get in the way.  Faith comes from hearing, but sometimes it is God Who does the talking.

There is an important corollary to this that, despite not being ecumenically correct should not be overlooked.  Bear with me on this one.  If God moves each and every man from implicit to explicit faith then there are men who, if they remain within certain religions that openly reject Christ as Redeemer, will not be saved.  Push always comes to shove because you cannot both implicitly accept Christ and simultaneously explicitly reject Him.  God’s invitation, for it to be truly accepted, must come with full knowledge and full consent.  Love would have it no other way.  That is why I say this not from a judgment seat but bedside to put to rest the prevailing mentality that non-Christians are “just fine”.  It is time we stoke the embers of the evangelical fires and enter the fray and fight for souls.  We need to stop apologizing for being Christians and start apologizing again for Christ.

The Unmovable Straw Man

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Richard Dawkins opens his chapter on surveying arguments for God’s existence by quoting from Thomas Jefferson that “a professorship of theology should have no place in our institution.”  Instead of demanding proof for this statement, Dawkins turns his gaze towards the proofs of another Thomas, St. Thomas Aquinas.  With amazing brevity he is able to debunk the first three of Aquinas’ five ways in a mere two paragraphs.  Three quarters of a millennium is swept aside by a Professor of Public Understanding in Science at Oxford in a mere two paragraphs relegating one of the greatest philosopher’s arguments to the dustbin of history.  Unfortunately, upon even a cursory examination the Professor’s rebuttal falls rather flat.  In fact, for those who have actually read and studied Aquinas’ five ways you get the impression that Dawkins is talking about a completely different argument.

Dawkins might advocate removing theology from the standard course of study, but he has also thrown the philosophical baby out with the theological bathwater.  He and his “New Atheist” friends may be competent scientists, but they are terrible philosophers.  Revealing hubris more than truth, they are particularly adept at knocking down straw men. Rather than putting forth the intellectual effort to grapple with the real argument they dismiss it with a healthy dose of acerbic wit.  So despite the fact that they are a loud gong signifying nothing, they make enough noise that they get the attention of many people who thoughtlessly regurgitate their arguments.

Dawkins and the First Way

Here is how Dawkins describes Aquinas’ first way:

The Unmoved Mover.  Nothing moves without a prior mover.  This leads us to a regress, from which the only escape is God.  Something had to make the first move, and that something we call God.

Candidly, if this did accurately describe Aquinas’ proof, then he would be warranted in his criticism when he says, “They make the entirely unwarranted assumption that God Himself is immune to the regress. Even if we alow the dubious luxury of arbitrarily conjuring up a terminator to an infinite regress and giving it a name, simply because we need one, there absolutely no reason to endow that terminator with any of the properties normally ascribed to God: omnipotence, omniscience, goodness…”

Of course this is not at all what Aquinas was arguing in what he called the “more manifest way of the argument from motion” (ST I, q.2 art.3).  When Aquinas speaks of “motion” or “movement” he is not talking about physical bodies moving from one place to another specifically.  Dawkins is not alone in his linking this argument with what he calls a “big bang singularity” or anything like a cue ball hitting one ball that then knocks another ball into the pocket.  Rather than locomotion (i.e. motion though space), Aquinas is concerned with motion in the broader sense of change.  Change for Aquinas is the actualizing of some potential.  This is why this particular argument is the most obvious for Aquinas—we see change everywhere we look.  All change requires a changer, that is some actualizer to a given things potential.  Lukewarm water is potentially cold, but in order to become cold, it must come into contact with something that is actually cold.  This is nothing other than the principle of causality, a principle that a scientist like Dawkins must readily accept.

“All change requires a changer” sounds like just a rewording of what Dawkins said, except by examining change more broadly Aquinas is concerned not of a linear change like tracing the Big Bang to a Big Banger (that would be just locomotion) but having a vertical understanding change in the here and now.  An example might help to understand this.

The keyboard on this computer has the potential to put the letter R in a document.  But in order for that potential to be actualized, it must have someone type it.  But for someone to type it, it must be open and on a desk.  In order for the desk to hold it, it must be sitting on a floor.  In order for the floor to hold the desk holding the computer it must rest on joists that rest on a foundation that rest on the ground.  The earth is held in place by the sun which in turn is held in place by the other heavenly bodies and so forth.  Each link in the chain reveals another actual being that was only potential until something else actualized it.

Notice that the regress then is not backward in time, but here and now.  Notice also that no infinite number of desks, for example, could support the computer.  Each desk cannot derive its power to support the computer on its own.  It must borrow that power from something else.  In short, even an infinite number of desks must sit upon something unmovable, or an “unmoved mover.”  No number of desks can support themselves.  So, rather than making the “entirely unwarranted assumption that God Himself is immune to this regress” Aquinas shows the necessity of some being that has no potential and is pure activity.  Dawkins has failed to even address the argument but simply labels it “an unwarranted assumption.”  It is not an assumption but something that Aquinas has proven.  Perhaps he is mistaken, but you must deal with the argument as it is.  You have to disprove the principle of sufficient reason, which would also throw science as a discipline out with it.  Dawkins and many of those who repeat what he says instead takes the intellectual high road and mocks what is a very serious challenge to his worldview.  Rather than relying on reason as he purports to do, Dawkins instead prefers faith in his unprovable assumption that God does not exist.

But Must We Call It God?

Reading between the lines of what Dawkins says it might be that he rejects calling this necessary being God.  He mentions that “there is no reason to endow the terminator with any of the properties normally ascribed to God.”  This again reveals his unwillingness to actually engage the argument and instead prefers to play silly games like pitting omniscience and omnipotence against each other.

Certainly there are limits to what reason can tell us about God.  To fully reason to God would make us God.  For those invited to divine participation they must rely on Divine Revelation to know that He listens to prayers and forgives sins (two that Dawkins mentions).  But once reason tells us that He exists and that He is omnipotent, omniscient, and omni-benevolent then faith can tell us the rest.

Rather than having “no reason to endow” God with these attributes, we have good reason from what has already been said.  Because He is the source of all change or motion, He must be all-powerful.  Since the principle of sufficient reason tells us that the effect must be in the cause and that the thing known must be in the knower, the nature or essence of all things must be in the cause of them.  Therefore God is omniscient.  Finally, because He lacks nothing (i.e. having no potential) and the actualizer of all things He must be omnibenevolent.

Aquinas closes his first way with the statement, “therefore it is necessary to arrive at a first mover, put in motion by no other; and this everyone understands to be God”( ST I, q.2, art. 3).  Everyone?  Perhaps Aquinas was wrong.  More likely though is that there are many who refuse to acknowledge God’s existence by doing the intellectual leg work to confront challenges to their worldview.

The Philosophical Roots of Protestantism

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Philosophy, it has been said, is the handmaiden of theology.  “It is,” Pope Leo XIII said, “the bulwark of faith and the strong defense of religion” (Leo XIII, Aeterni Patris (AP), 4).  Form the seminal moments of the Church, great theologians like St. Paul and Justin Martyr relied on philosophy to bring the revealed truths down to a level that was intelligible to mankind.  For this reason the Church has always encouraged the study of philosophy, submitting each of the various schools to her wise judgment according to “the excellence of faith, and at the same time consonance with the dignity of human science” (AP, 2).

The Church has long held that Scholasticism, put forth most prominently by St. Thomas Aquinas, is the most useful of all the philosophical schools for understanding and defending the Faith.  While the Church may not have an “official” philosophy, the philosophy of St. Thomas is as close as it comes.  It is his moderate realism that forms the Church’s foundational understanding of the knowledge of God, the Trinity, the Sacraments, the Incarnation, Sanctifying Grace, and much else.

The Problem of Universals

Moderate realism is a school of thought that treats the question of universals.  In our quotidian experience we encounter many individual things—a car, a smartphone, a cat, a neighbor.  Yet in encountering those things we also see that they relate to other things that are like it.  We call it a car, for example, because it belongs to some species of cars that all share some particular nature.  They may have differences such as color and body shape, but we still recognize them as cars.  We do this because we posit there is some universal essence that makes them all cars.  Through the power of abstraction, the mind is able to separate the essence of the thing from the individual instance of it.  One of the perennial problems in philosophy is where exactly this universal essence exists.

A realist, like Plato for example, would say that the universal does exist outside the mind.  It exists in some world of universals (this is the allegory of the cave) and that all the cars, phones, cats and people we see here are mere shadows of that universal.   Many early Christians were affected by Platonic thinking.  It also led to many heresies because of its sharp separation between the material and non-material realms.

Like Platonic realism, Thomistic moderate realism says that the universals do exist outside the mind, but they exist in the things themselves.  In fact these universals give form, that is, they make the individual thing what it is.  The form is one thing, but what makes it individual is its matter.  All of the sensible properties of things are the product of matter limiting form.  With its matter/form distinction the Church is able to develop her entire understanding of the Sacraments, most especially the Eucharist.

There is a third approach to the problem of universals that is mostly a reactionary position to the moderate realism of the Scholastics and this is nominalism.  Nominalists posit that universals do not exist.  These universals or ideas are merely sense impressions that we group together for convenience.  Only individual things exist.  So, rather than examining esoteric questions like how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, these medieval philosophers said there was no such thing as pins and angels.  What practical import could this have?

Nominalism was not just a reaction against realism, but a reaction against reality.  If there are no universals then there is no power of abstraction in man.  If there is no abstracting power then sense knowledge and intellectual knowledge become redundant, both grasping the same object—the individual.  This leads to both the angelism of Descartes and the materialism of Locke.

With nothing to be abstracted, the outside world has nothing to tell us.  The universe is just a collection of individual things with no real relation to each other.  The focus of philosophy, where it still existed, was towards interpreting man’s interior convictions (“I think therefore I am”).  With no natures there is no good or evil in the leading to voluntarism.

Still, even if we grasp some of the unintended consequences, what does this have to do with theology?  Natural theology, that is what can be know about God using human reason alone, ceases to exist as a field of inquiry.  The book of creation is closed leaving faith and Divine revelation as the only means of knowing about God.  Fideism and agnosticism rule the day.  God Himself becomes distant and capricious, no longer being the Logos but instead pure will.

A Famous Nominalist and His Legacy

One can begin to see just how profoundly nominalism has infected modern thought.  Nevertheless, it is instructive to examine just how nominalism escaped the medieval classroom and was smuggled into everyday thinking.  It was through the most famous nominalist, a man who was more famous than the founder William of Ockham, Martin Luther.  It was, as Fr. Louis Bouyer says in his book The Spirit and Forms of Protestantism, through the Reformation that nominalism escaped from the theoretical playground into the pulpit and the public square.

Luther’s early efforts at reform were based on some positive principles that the Church would readily agree with—sola fide and sola gratia for example.  It is when these principles were fertilized by the manure of nominalism that they became revolutionary.

Recall that nominalism posits that there are no real relations between things.  God is completely Other and although He might give us gifts, they cannot really be ours.  Faith, which Catholics believes comes as a gift in Baptism (thus the necessity of Baptism), when seasoned with nominalism becomes something we have on our own.  As long as we believe we are saved then we are saved.  Right belief, according to this view, in order to be truly ours must come from the heart and nothing from the outside (like Baptism) can possibly bestow that upon us.

So too with sola gratia.  Catholics believe that we are saved by grace alone.  Sanctifying grace is infused into our souls making us “partakers of the divine nature” (c.f. 2Peter 1:4) so that we share in Christ’s sonship and truly become children of God (1John 3:2).  Nominalism poisons sanctifying grace making it an impossibility.  Participation in God’s nature is not possible because grace that produces a change in us, while still remaining the Grace of God is non-sensical.   The conclusion is that although salvation is a free gift, it is only insofar as God declares us righteous rather than actually making us so.

Understanding the philosophical roots of Protestantism can help us to bridge the gap with our separated brethren.  We are separated because we are living in different realities.  The Reformation, to be a true reformation should have swept away nominalism.  Instead we are living among its intellectual progeny and need to understand that although we often use the same vocabulary, we mean very different things.  Pointing out the errors of nominalism should be a start to any ecumenical dialogue.

The Glory of God

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Within the Christian vocabulary there are a number of terms that are regularly bandied about, but cry out for definition.  Grace immediately comes to mind as one of the most common.  A close second however is the term glory.  We know it is something that we are supposed to give to God in everything we do (1Cor 10:31).  Short of that however we are hard pressed to describe what this actually entails.  For something so important then it behooves us to reflect on exactly what we mean when we speak of the glory of God and how it is possible that we could actually “give” it to Him.

Because we cannot know God as He is in this life, we spend time contemplating His attributes—His goodness, His power, His wisdom, His omniscience, His Immutability, and so on.  But God Himself “spends His time” contemplating only one—His beauty.  That is, His beauty captures all of His attributes in their wholeness, proportionality, and radiance.  Sacred Scripture has a word for this undiminishing beauty, glory.

Intrinsic and Extrinsic Glory

In theological terms God’s beauty, that is, what He is eternally contemplating, is referred to as His intrinsic glory.  From a human perspective this might seem the very height of narcissism, until we call to mind that all goodness and truth are found in God.  The Father, in gazing upon (or knowing) His perfection generates the Son.  From the mutual love of the Father and the Son for the Divine Perfection proceeds the Holy Spirit. Basking in the light of His infinite perfection, God has no need for anything other than Himself and yet, still He created.  Without any need, the only reason for creation must be found in Himself, that is, it must be because of Who He is.  Out of love of His own goodness, He desired to communicate that goodness to creatures.

No finite creature could ever “hold” the infinite goodness and so He makes a multitude of creatures, each with the purpose of reflecting His goodness, even if to a lesser or greater degree.  Or, as St. Thomas says, “the entire universe, with all its parts, is ordained towards God as its end, inasmuch as it imitates, as it were, and shows forth the Divine goodness, to the glory of God” (ST I, q.65, a.2).

From this notion, theologians develop the term extrinsic glory.  This is the reflection of the intrinsic glory that is found in creatures.  The Psalmist proclaims “the heavens declare the glory of God” (Ps 19:1) and St. Paul reminds the Romans that “Ever since the creation of the world, his invisible attributes of eternal power and divinity have been able to be understood and perceived in what he has made” (Romans 1:20).  Simply in existing, all things reflect God’s glory.  But He also willed to make creatures who not only reflected His glory, but could bask in it with Him.

The proof of this is within the story of creation, as elucidated through the scholastic dictum, “first in the order of intention is last in the order of execution” sheds further light on this.  The last act of creation, that is, the first act of the Seventh Day, is God’s “command” for man to bask in it by joining in God’s rest seeing all things as “good, very good” in reflecting the glory of God.  Man is invited to set aside this time specifically for basking in the “after burn” of God’s glory as a perpetual reminder of his purpose.

Man, then, among all visible creation is the only creature with the capacity to “give” God glory.  Like the rest of visible creation he reflects it, but with his unique powers of knowing and loving he can also give it back by acknowledging it and willing his participation in it.  This is what we mean when we say that man gives glory to God—not that God doesn’t already have it, but that through adoration and praise he may willingly return it to God.

Glory as a Temptation

Man is constantly confronted with two temptations.  The first is to see only the glory and to forget the One Whom it points to.  God has put just enough traces of His glory in creation so that man will seek out the true source.  But even these mirrors are so beautiful that there is always the temptation that they eclipse the One whom they were meant to image.  We can fall in love with the creatures and forget the Creator.

While this temptation is ever-present in our fallen world, it is the second temptation that is the more serious of the two.  With the capacity to give God glory comes the (seeming) ability to keep it for ourselves.   This is the sin of Lucifer and his minions and forms the seeds of pride within us.

Now we see that St. Paul’s admonition to the Corinthians to do all for the glory of God is no pious sentiment, but a program of life.  Every thing that we think, do, and say should find its reference point in magnifying God’s glory.  Our Lord too wanted this to be our program of life.  He told His disciples that their light, that is their reflection of God’s glory, should so shine that when other men see what they are doing they know immediately that it is not their own work, but a manifestation of God’s glory (Mt 5:17).  This constant referral of all things to God’s glory increases our share in it both now and in eternal life—“ whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all to the glory of God.”

On Finding Wayward Shepherds

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In the second chapter of his letter to the Galatians, St. Paul details his encounter with the first pope upon his visit to Antioch.  The Apostle to the Gentiles called St. Peter to task for withdrawing from the Gentiles and eating only with the Jews out of fear of offending the latter.  Knowing that their faith was weak, St. Peter did not want to scandalize them and so, out of a misguided sense of charity, he pretended to agree with them.  St. Paul was, of course, right.  St. Peter failed pastorally to shepherd his entire flock.  The truth can never be a source of scandal and it is no act of charity to water down the faith.

This event is favorite for non-Catholic apologists for arguing against the primacy of Peter.  After all, they reason, if Peter is the infallible head of the Church then how could Paul question him and find in him in error?  Therefore, the Apostles were all equals and the Catholic doctrines surrounding the papacy are false.  Of course, they read far beyond what happened.  Nowhere does St. Paul challenge St. Peter’s authority to rule, only his exercise of that authority.

Putting aside its apologetical value, this particular passage serves as a guiding light for Church management, especially in times when error is being propagated by those in authority.  One can see the great wisdom of the Holy Spirit in inspiring St. Paul to recount this event because it serves as an example for both prelates and their subjects.  From the perspective of the prelate, we are given an example of humility so as not to disdain correction from those who are “lower” than them.  From the perspective of the lay faithful it provides an example of both zeal and courage to correct those in the hierarchy.

What is Scandal?

First, a word about scandal.  In English this word tends to be understood as referring to an action that leads to public disgrace.  But in the theological sense the word has a more precise meaning.  The word comes from the Greek skándalon which means “a stumbling block.”  Specifically it refers to some action that creates a moral stumbling block for another person.  St. Thomas defines it as “something less rightly done or said, that occasions another’s spiritual downfall.”  The Angelic Doctor goes on to categorize scandal into two types: active and passive.  Active scandal, that which has as its reward a millstone, is “when a man either intends, by his evil word or deed, to lead another man into sin, or, if he does not so intend, when his deed is of such a nature as to lead another into sin: for instance, when a man publicly commits a sin or does something that has an appearance of sin.”  Passive scandal is when “one man’s word or deed is the accidental cause of another’s sin, when he neither intends to lead him into sin, nor does what is of a nature to lead him into sin, and yet this other one, through being ill-disposed, is led into sin” (ST II-II, q.43, a.1).

In short, scandal always pertains to an act that is in some way public in the sense that many people know about it.  One should never make public what was strictly done in private as the accuser would then be the cause of scandal rather than the perpetrator.  What happens in private should both remain and be corrected in private.  But in either case it is an obligation of charity to issue a correction.

The Obligation to Correct

Why is there an obligation?  By way of analogy, St. Robert Bellarmine, a Doctor of the Church helps to illuminate why this is:

“As it is lawful to resist the Pope, if he assaulted a man’s person, so it is lawful to resist him, if he assaulted souls, or troubled the state, and much more if he strove to destroy the Church.  It is lawful, I say, to resist him, by not doing what he commands, and hindering the execution of his will.”

While the saint mentions the Pope specifically, what he says applies to Bishops, Priests and Deacons.  If you saw a prelate beating a man physically you would stop it and you should do likewise if he is beating him spiritually.  St. Thomas Aquinas goes a step further saying that it is an act of charity not just towards the rest of the sheep but also towards the prelate as well because the scandalous behavior puts the prelate’s soul in great danger.  He, who has been given much, will have to answer for much.

St. Thomas says that “like all virtues, this act of fraternal charity is moderated by due circumstances.”  What he means by this is that we must not only be aware of our obligation, but also the manner in which we exercise that obligation.  While criticizing a prelate does not make you “more Catholic than the Pope” the manner in which you do it should make you just as Catholic as the Pope.  That is we should never forget that the operative word is charity.  This means that there are certain rules that ought to govern our interactions.

The Code of Canon Law (Canon 212) says that the faithful may legitimately criticize their pastors but that it must always be done “with reverence toward their pastors.”  This means that the criticism should first of all be done in private so that the pastor has an opportunity to correct himself.  This maintains the dignity of both their office and their person.

There are times however when the pastor does not correct himself or that meeting with him in private is not possible (not everyone can get a papal audience for example).  It may also be that the act or word poses such a danger to the faithful that a public rebuke is necessary.  In other words, it may be necessary like St. Paul to “withstand him to his face.”  St. Thomas says that if the faith were endangered a subject ought to rebuke his prelate even publicly on account of the eminent danger of scandal (ST II-II q. 43 a. 1 obj.2).  This is why it is important to understand what constitutes scandal and what does not.  In any regard it may be necessary to “correct” the pastor in public out of, not just fraternal charity, but justice because the faithful have a right to the content of the faith in a clear and undiluted manner.  But still it must be done with gentleness and reverence for his office.

Before closing a word about the response of pastors.  Augustine says that Peter “gave an example to superiors, that if at any time they should happen to stray from the straight path, they should not disdain to be reproved by their subjects.”  Very often pastors think themselves above criticism from mere lay persons regardless of how qualified those lay persons are.  They remove the emphasis away from the truth as spoken onto the one speaking the truth.  Unfortunately the fraternal charity is not likewise met with pastoral humility.  It is this spirit that causes many lay people to remain quiet not confident enough that they could defend the Church’s position, especially when they are likely to be met with hostility.

In Loss and Gain, Blessed John Henry Newman’s fictional account of the conversion of a man from Anglicanism to the Roman Catholic Church, the protagonist Redding was drawn to the Church by its consistency.   While he could ask ten Anglican Priests to explain a particular dogma and  get ten different answers, he would get the same answer from ten Catholic pastors.  Those days of consistency are no longer among us, a phenomenon that can only be corrected when the entire Church, lay and clergy, take ownership of the Faith and fear not to correct wayward Shepherds.

Losing the Weight of Vice without Dieting

Fasting, Virtue, , ,

“Lose weight without dieting!”  In a culture that is obsessed with diet and weight loss, headlines like this immediately catch our eye.  Most of these are fads, just like the diets they pledge to avoid, except for the latest trend—fasting.  Fitness articles and health gurus are now proclaiming the power of fasting to help lose weight.    That fasting has incredible health benefits should not surprise us as Catholics.  These cutting-edge scientists are really just regurgitating what the humblest of monks in the 6th and 7th Centuries already knew—that the spiritual benefits of fasting spill over to the body.  What they don’t recognize however is why this is so.  And in truth, neither do most of us.

This maxim that spiritual benefits of certain acts like fasting can spill over into the body is important for us to grasp.  Not only does it witness to our hylomorphism, but more to the point it sheds light on the fact that acts of virtue are good for the whole person.  We tend to see virtue as “a spiritual thing” that really only leads to frustration of our bodily powers.  But properly understood virtues perfect our powers and restore the soul as rightful governor of the body, enabling us to more fully enjoy our freedom.

Fasting, Virtue and Freedom

An example might help us see the truth in something we may unconsciously already know.  All things being equal, a man who is patient is also a man whose blood pressure is lower than a man’s who isn’t patient.  The reason we don’t grasp it at first is because conquering a vice like anger is very difficult at the beginning and, rather than calming the body, can have the opposite effect.  The man not schooled in patience is going to be further frustrated by the fact that he is holding back his frustration.  It can be downright painful in proportion to our viciousness.  So painful in fact that modern psychology tells us it is unhealthy repression.  In truth, pain is vice leaving the body.  But once the virtue matures in us, its fruits are felt in the body.  And like the fruit from a mature tree, it brings us pleasure, a pleasure that will be reinforced in the body.

At this point the reader may feel they have become victim to a little “bait and switch.”  We started out talking about fasting but somehow moved to virtue, using the example of patience.  The analogy was made because most of us don’t fast and most of us don’t realize that fasting is a virtue.  Fasting as a virtue means, that when habitually cultivated, it actually perfects our nature.  Put another way, we will never be perfect unless we fast.  Thus St. Thomas Aquinas says that fasting is a precept of the natural law.

Fasting is a virtue because it perfects our will power especially with respect to our concupiscible appetites.  Recall that the concupiscible appetite or emotions are those that draw us to bodily goods like eating and sex.  Because these pleasures are so closely related, fasting not only governs our use of food but also, St. Thomas Aquinas says, is the guardian of chastity.  When we can habitually control our desire for food which is an absolute necessity, we can control the other desires of the flesh which are not.  Once our powers of eating are controlled by the will, we actually enjoy it more—we are able to feast without splurging and experience true joy.  In other words, eating becomes not just a bodily act but an act of the whole person.  We come to eat the right things, in the right way at the right time and thus increase our pleasure.  So too with the other powers of the flesh when the virtue of fasting comes full bloom.

Those experienced in fasting will develop a power of will that enables it to choose independent of the desires of the flesh.  Until that experience comes we should expect it to be hard and expect to fail.  The untrained body will rail hard against the spirit that attempts to bridle it.  But like a man trying to train a horse and not necessarily break it, it is always better to start at a level that is parallel to our starting point.  A bread and water fast for someone who does not fast will only lead to failure.  Instead begin by fasting at each meal, making one small sacrifice (leaving a bite on the plate, no salt, eating what is before you, etc.) each time you come to the table.

Additional Benefits of Fasting

Our intellectual powers also are perfected through fasting.  St. Thomas says that fasting enables the mind to “arise more freely to the contemplation of heavenly things.”  What he means by this is that through fasting our minds are freed from the day to day clutter that inhibits us most of the time.  Again anyone who has dabbled in fasting knows that all you can think about at first is how hungry you are.  But as time goes on you gain greater control over your thoughts and are no longer as concerned with the needs of the body.  Your body may be saying “I’m starving” but the will is telling it “stop whining, you are not starving.”  Eventually the will wins out and the body relents; creating a calmer atmosphere for thought.  Those schooled in fasting all can attest to a certain clarity in thinking that is not there when they are not fasting, but the habit of raising their minds above the humdrum remains even after fasting is over.

St. Thomas adds a third reason why we should fast and that is to satisfy for sins.  Catholics are well aware of the penitential value of fasting, or at least they ought to be.  But there is a related point that is worth examining because it goes to the heart of sacrifice in general.  Which is more pleasing to God, a fast that is hard or a fast that is easy?  I don’t mean hard or easy in the sense of rigor but more in how freely (without interior resistance) we are able to accomplish it.  Most of us would say that a sacrifice that is hard is more pleasing.  But that is not true.  The greater the person’s virtue, the greater their freedom in making the offering.  The person who does not yet have the virtue of fasting goes back and forth but the person with the virtue sets their will on fasting and never deviates.  The latter offers a greater sacrifice even if the rigor of the former is greater.

Want to lose weight without dieting?  Not just body weight, but also the dead weight of the vices of the “old man” (c.f Romans 6:6).  There is no better way than to develop a virtuous life of moderation that includes the virtue of fasting.  Like all the virtues fasting is hard at first, but with maturity it produces sweet fruits that are more enjoyable than the palatable pleasures passed up.  Why not begin today?

The Unforgivable Sin

Bible, Conscience, Divine Mercy, Holy Spirit, Last Things, Mercy, Sin, Spiritual Life, , , ,

If Jesus does not both shock and disturb when He speaks to us through the Scriptures, then we aren’t taking Him seriously enough.  Take as an example this Sunday’s Gospel when Jesus, Mercy Incarnate, returns to Galilee and accuses the scribes of doing the seemingly impossible—committing a sin that will not be forgiven.  “Truly I say to you, all sins will be forgiven the sons of men and whatever blasphemies they utter; but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit never has forgiveness but is guilty of an eternal sin” (Mk 3:28-29).  These words ought to shake us, especially in an age of exaggerated mercy.  While Jesus leaves us clues as to the nature of this unpardonable sin, He does not really come out and tell us what it is.  Therefore, there can be great spiritual benefit in investigating this question more deeply.

St Thomas Aquinas found this to be a question of particular importance as well and includes it among the questions dealing with sins against faith.  Standing on the shoulders of his saintly predecessors, the Angelic Doctor says that there are three traditional ways in which this has been interpreted.

The First Two Interpretations

The first is the literal meaning based on the context in which Christ said it.  To utter a blasphemy against the Holy Spirit (or God in general) is to ascribe to the devil that which comes by the power of God.  The best historical example of this is the Golden Calf in which an Egyptian god (which St. Augustine says was actually a demon) is said to have led Israel out of Egypt.  So clear was the action of God in rescuing them that the Israelites could not have acted out either weakness or ignorance.  Therefore there is no excuse in receiving punishment and the sin is unpardonable.  Returning to the passage however, Jesus is not condemning the Scribes per se, but instead issuing a warning.  Because Our Lord had yet to reveal His divinity, they acted out of ignorance, an ignorance He reminds the Father of from the Cross (c.f. Lk 23:34).

This is related to the second interpretation that Aquinas mentions.  He says it is a sin against the Holy Spirit specifically because it is a sin of malice.  Because power is appropriated to the Father, to sin against the Father is a sin of weakness.  Likewise, because wisdom is appropriated to the Son Who is the Word, ignorance is a sin against the Son.  And because goodness is appropriated to the Holy Spirit, then a sin against the Holy Spirit is a sin of malice.  With full consent and full knowledge, a sin against the Holy Spirit is a sin of malice, that is in essence saying “evil be my good.”  This particular sin is the eternal sin because it removes all of those things from us that might be a cure.  It creates a hardening of the heart like Pharaoh in which the grace of conversion cannot penetrate.

As a fruitful tangent, the doctrine of appropriation in which we ascribe to specific persons of the Trinity that which in truth is an action of all three is not only a way in which we learn more about the life within the Trinity, but also a way to develop a relationship with each of the Persons individually.  When we need strength we should pray directly to the Father, wisdom to the Son and power over evil the Holy Spirit.  This habit of prayer and personal relationship keeps us falling into the trap of believing the doctrine of the Trinity while not really believing in the Trinity.

A Third Interpretation

The third interpretation that Aquinas mentions is also the most favored today, although often in an overly simplistic way.  Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit can be viewed as final impenitence.  In this interpretation, the blasphemy occurs not necessarily in word, but in thought or deed.  It is against the Holy Spirit because it acts contrary to the forgiveness of sins which is the work of the Holy Spirit (c.f. Jn 20:22).  It is also the favored interpretation of the Great Mercy Pope, St. John Paul II.  In his encyclical on the Holy Spirit, Dominum et Vivificantem he says that “the blasphemy against the Holy Spirit consists precisely in the radical refusal to accept this forgiveness, of which he is the intimate giver and which presupposes the genuine conversion which he brings about in the conscience” (DV, 46).

Standing on the shoulders of these saintly giants then, why is this most widely accepted answer overly simplistic?  Because there are two ways in which final impenitence can manifest itself.  First there is the obvious stubborn refusal even on one’s death bed, call it an impenitence of the will, to repent.  But there is a second, and for many of us more dangerous way, and that is through what we might call an impenitence of fact.  Although many of us envision our deaths being something we can plan for, the truth is that many of us die suddenly without much warning at all.  That means our temporal impenitence can become final impenitence.

This final impenitence in fact is not necessarily brought about by a hardness of heart, but we become victims to Aquinas’ insight that the sin “unforgivable by its very nature, insofar as it excludes the elements through which the forgiveness of sin takes place.”

In short, we simply a refusal to examine ourselves well and are blocked by presumption.  Fear of the Lord, through which we seek the forgiveness of sins is a certain (healthy) anxiety by which we recognize that in truth we are fugitives from hell and that it is only God’s mercy that saves us.  This is healthy not because we are morbid, but because each time we accuse ourselves of a sin, we are humbled and God is glorified in His mercy.  Each time we stir up sorrow for our sins, God is glorified in His mercy.  And ultimately this is why, no matter how we interpret the passage, we should take Our Lord’s warning to heart: to blaspheme against the Holy Spirit is to refuse God the glory of His mercy.

On Rage Mode

Sin, Spiritual Life, Virtue, , , ,

On several other occasions (here and here for example) I have mentioned a particular distaste for the ubiquitous habit of theological hair-splitting perpetrated by the priest and lay alike.  One might even say it makes me angry—except for the fact that this post itself is about anger.  Specifically it is about the follicle-parting habit of saying that “anger is not a sin, but depends on what you do with it.”  As usual our armchair theologians are mixing just enough truth with error that it satisfies all but the most conscientious of interrogators.  The problem of course is that anger is one of the seven capital sins, that is, the seven vices that flow from our fallen nature and animate much of what we do.  Given that anger is a core element of concupiscence, it merits a more accurate and thorough response than the Reader’s Digest version we reflexively offer.

To begin we should go to the heart of our apologist’s argument and make the necessary distinction between anger solely as an emotion and anger as an emotion that is willed.  Our emotional life in this post-lapsarian world is a source of interior conflict.  Emotions can rise within us without any engagement of the will.  But they always act so as to gain consent of the will so that they may endure.  Anger in this regard is no different.  Anger itself is a passion that is part of the irascible appetite meant to assist us in driving away an evil that is difficult to avoid.  It has two elements to it and it is the taking of offense and the taking of revenge.  Without the engagement of intellect and will, anger can arise when an evil is perceived.  Left unchecked or even consented to by the will, it can intensify making rational judgment difficult.  It can also be deliberately aroused.

Some examples might help us see how this works.  Suppose you are on a bus, keeping to yourself, when someone walks by and steps on your foot.  Without any thought, you feel angry.  You look up and see that it is an old woman who accidently put her cane on top of your foot.  You are now at the moment of judgment, should I be angry or not?  The emotion arose without any judgment or willing it, but the moment comes when you must decide whether it should persist.

Now change the example slightly.  When you look up it is a young man who is going up and down the aisle stomping on people’s feet.  You realize it was done deliberately and you must decide whether to allow the emotion of anger to persist or not.  In both of these examples the emotion of anger arose antecedently, but now you must “decide what to do with it.”  To multiply the examples, suppose further that when you get home, you begin to recall the actions of the young man and the more you think about it, the angrier you get.  As you will to reflect on the slight, you are deliberately willing the anger.

Using the three examples, we would say that in the case of the old woman once you judge it to be accidental your anger should dissipate.  With the young man your anger was probably justified.  But what about when you dwell upon it later on?  We clearly see that each of these examples highlights the inherent problem with “it depends on what you do with it”—it assumes that we know what to do with it.  That is, it neglects the fact that anger is more than just any other emotion, but also a capital vice.

Righteous Anger?

This is where the language of St. Thomas Aquinas is helpful because he speaks in terms of the “quantity” of anger and how it must be done according to right reason.  Anger may be justified (like in the case of the young man slamming your foot) but this does not make it righteous anger.  In order to be righteous anger it must seek to punish only those that deserve punishment and only in the measure in which they deserve it.  It must be moderate in its execution going only as far as is both necessary and allowed according to justice.  Finally it must be animated by motives of charity aiming at the restoration of order and amendment of the guilty.

The enumeration of these three conditions ought to give each one of us serious pause.  The only time we should “do something with our anger” is when all three conditions can be met.  Without the accompany virtues of meekness and justice, righteous anger is practically impossible.   St. James seems to be speaking in absolute terms when he says that “the wrath of man does not accomplish the righteousness of God” (James 1:20).

What then should we do with it?  According to St. Francis de Sales, we should mortify it, literally killing it when it arises— “better to learn how to live without being angry than to imagine one can moderate and control lawful anger… it is better to drive it away speedily than enter into a parley; for, if we give it ever so little leisure, it will become mistress of the place, like a serpent, who easily draws in his whole body where he can once get in his head…You must at the first alarm speedily muster your forces; not violently, not tumultuously, but mildly and yet seriously.””  Like all the vices, each time we allow our anger to go unchecked we create a bodily disposition that both increases the intensity of it and makes it easier to experience anger.  This includes not only full “rage mode”, but even seemingly small acts of impatience, flashes of temper, and harsh words.  Anger has a power to overcome reason, blinding it to every color but red, making it something that should not be lightly trifled with.

Mortification is one of those dirty Catholic words that needs to be understood, especially in this context.  The goal of mortifying our anger is not so that we will never be angry, but that we are able to bring it under the control of our judgment.  As St. Thomas reminds us, righteous anger is a “simple movement of the will, whereby one inflicts punishment, not through passion, but in virtue of a judgment of the reason” (ST II-II q.158, art 8).  This starts by doing as St. Francis de Sales suggests—“drive it away speedily”—but that is not the finish line.  We subdue our anger so as to unleash its goodness.

The Daughters of Wrath

If we are to drive it away, we must first recognize the effects of disordered anger, what St. Thomas calls the “daughters of wrath.”  These are the seemingly hidden ways innocuous ways in which we feed the beast of anger.  There are three sets of them that have to do with disordered thoughts, disordered speech and disordered acts (c.f. STII-II q.158, art 7).

The daughters of thought are with indignation and what St. Thomas refers to as swelling of the mind.  Indignation may be directed at “the person with whom a man is angry, and whom he deems unworthy.”  But it has a certain gravity to it that always causes the person to reflect on how vile the person whom he is angry at and how grave their injustices.  This leads to both a magnification and amplification of the actual offense.  Much anger is fed and expressed in our current political climate based upon the division of left and right.  “Swelling of the mind” is manifest in the angry man who “mulls over different ways and means whereby they can avenge themselves.”  So, while indignation causes focus on the imagined depravity of one’s “enemy”, “swelling of the mind” imagines ways in which one can gain vengeance against the evildoer.

The daughters of speech are clamor and contumely.  The former denotes disorderly and confused speech.”  This is essentially what we would call unintelligible ranting.  While the latter, is unnecessarily harsh and insulting language.  Likewise the daughters of acts are blasphemy (contumely directed to God) and quarreling.  Quarreling bears special mention because it means more than just “arguing.”  Argument is a good thing when it is in the service of the truth, but often degrades to quarrelsomeness as jealousy for our own ideas creeps in.  This daughter also manifests in the habit of having imaginary arguments in your head, with either real or imaginary foes.

With the awareness of the daughters of wrath, we can see how often we fall victim to them and why we may have so much difficulty in controlling our anger.  It is these daughters, because they are feeding our anger, that need to be mortified.  We need to mortify our imagination and memory not allowing it to dwell on real and imaginary slights.  We should mortify our speech by controlling our volume and tone of voice.  We should avoid arguments about things that really don’t matter and be willing to concede when arguments become quarrelsome.

“Anger can be a sin, but only if you don’t learn how to use it!”

Reading the Fine Print

Lent, Passion of Christ, Suffering, The Life of Jesus, , ,

Sentimentality, as was mentioned in a recent post, is a great enemy to the spiritual life.  The solution proposed was to read Scripture with an absolute literalism.  In particular, when St. Paul tells the Romans that we are God’s children now and have a right to an inheritance as sons, we should understand the magnitude of such a high calling and live accordingly.  We would, however, fail in our quest for living in the truth if we did not also realize that, while this gift is free, it is not cheap.  If we are to live like sons, then we will act like the Son.  All too often we interpret this to mean “being nice to other people,” “love your neighbor”, “defend the teachings of the Church” or any other one of a variety of (usually)comfortable outward manifestations of the Christian life.  But we should read the fine print of St. Paul’s great promise: “if children, heirs also, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him so that we may also be glorified with Him” (Romans 8:17, emphasis added).

When reading fine print, it is always the preposition that matters.  We might be tempted to read the contingency as suffering for Christ, but St. Paul says we must suffer with Him.  That one word, with instead of for makes all the difference.  It makes all the difference because it forces us to move from the abstract to the real.  This move may feel like a gut punch from reality, but in reality, it is a liberation from fear.  Fear, as we talked about in a recent podcast, is always future- directed and thus fertile ground for anxiety or avoidance.  Suffering for Christ has an abstract quality about it in that causes our minds to wander, sometimes to the great sufferings of the martyrs or losing our jobs because of our faith or any other number of ways we might have to painfully witness to our faith.  We begin to wonder whether we will have what it takes when the moment comes or whether it is really all worth that. This causes on to hold back from God, but based only a hypothetical way, because, in truth, He isn’t asking for that thing.

Suffering with Christ has a now quality about it.  To suffer with someone implies that they are suffering currently and that what is required of me is to engage.  There may be fear of engagement, but I have come to a decision point.  There is nothing abstract about it, because it is real in the here and now.

An illustration might help make this clear.  When I consider the sufferings of someone close to me, I would do almost anything, endure almost anything, in order to participate in that suffering.  Tell me, as a parent, that I will have to suffer with my children, my mind goes everywhere.  Well not exactly, it usually goes to the “worst” thing I can possibly imagine.  In short, fear carves out its space and there is really no way to deal with it because there is always a chance that thing might happen.  It begins to affect how I act—I might be overly protective or draw back—but in order to manage the fear of the abstract, I must change my behavior.

Now tell me that my son has autism and no longer am I handcuffed by fear.  There is sorrow for sure, but once the decision is made to suffer with him the fear of suffering for him is gone.  In other words, once I am suffering with him, I am now willing to suffer for him as well.  His suffering becomes mine and I am on the constant quest to alleviate it.

Just as the both the duty and love of a father drives him to be willing to suffer with his son, St. Paul is really telling us that we must be willing to suffer with Christ in the same way.  Just as I feared suffering in the abstract for a loved one (and acted upon it), so too will I fear suffering for Christ in the abstract.  But give me a specific scenario and I will enter in.

Suffering With Christ

We should rightly question how is it that we can suffer with Christ, right here and now.  The days of His Passion are over.  He is both God and glorified man, incapable of suffering.  Sure, He can suffer in His Mystical Body, but that is to change the mode of St. Paul’s address.  He is speaking from our perspective not from Christ’s.  He is speaking about the sufferings of His Passion that we must enter into.  The key is to rightly see His Passion, not as some abstract event in the past, but as concrete and specific in the here and now.  To do this we will need to turn to the “abstract” St. Thomas Aquinas in order to lay the groundwork for this key spiritual practice.

When St. Thomas examines the sufferings of Our Lord during His Passion, he asks what at first seems to be a stupid question, that turns out to have great practical import.  He asks whether Christ endured all suffering during the Passion.  It is a relevant question because in order for Our Lord to give suffering redemptive value, He must first experience it.  And he must experience not in the abstract, but in the particular.  So how, for example, if Our Lord did not suffer burning, could burning have redemptive value?

St. Thomas points out that it would be impossible to experience all possible sufferings, especially since some are contraries.  One cannot both suffer having his ears removed and the cries of his loved ones for example.  Instead Our Lord suffered all classes of suffering.  First, He suffered at the hands of all kinds of people; men and women, rulers and commoners, His fellow Jews and seculars, His friends and His enemies.  Second, He suffered “from friends abandoning Him; in His reputation, from the blasphemies hurled at Him; in His honor and glory, from the mockeries and the insults heaped upon Him; in things, for He was despoiled of His garments; in His soul, from sadness, weariness, and fear; in His body, from wounds and scourgings.”  Finally, “ in His head He suffered from the crown of piercing thorns; in His hands and feet, from the fastening of the nails; on His face from the blows and spittle; and from the lashes over His entire body. Moreover, He suffered in all His bodily senses: in touch, by being scourged and nailed; in taste, by being given vinegar and gall to drink; in smell, by being fastened to the gibbet in a place reeking with the stench of corpses, ‘which is called Calvary’; in hearing, by being tormented with the cries of blasphemers and scorners; in sight, by beholding the tears of His Mother and of the disciple whom He loved” (ST III, q. 46, art. 5).

Why the Details Matter

This level of detail is important for two reasons.  First, because it should move us to love, realizing that Our Lord planned out His sufferings in a very specific manner.  There was no mere chance in even the slightest of His sufferings.  He knew each one of our very specific sufferings and sought to redeem them.  Secondly, and more relevant to the discussion at hand, is that by enumerating the categories we see how exactly we enter into Our Lord’s Passion right here and now.

Look at St. Thomas’ list again and think about your own personal sufferings in the past or presently.  Are there any that don’t fall into one of those categories?  This means that each of these is a personal gateway into His Passion here and now.  When we willingly embrace them as such, we are suffering with Christ.  He anticipated what you are going through and sanctified it and all that remains is to enter fully into it to receive the fruit of the Passion—sonship.  Big sufferings, little annoyances, all belong as long as we lovingly accept them as Christ did His Passion.   Where there is a will, there is the Way.

Do this enough and you know what happens?  The fear of suffering for Christ goes away.  We become like the Beloved Disciple at the foot of the Cross.  We have endured so much with Him, realized so much of the fruit of suffering that we trust His plan, grown to love Him so deeply, that we will suffer whatever comes.  He does not ask us to be masochists, but we will habitually choose those things which have more of the Cross in them because we know it brings us closer to Him.  Think of Simon of Cyrene and how close he was to Christ when he helped Him carry the cross.  That is us.

Now the wisdom of all the saints and their habit of meditating deeply on the Passion comes to light.  Each time we enter into the Passion in our prayer, we are in a very real sense anticipating our own role in it.  This Lent then let us resolve to meditate upon the Passion as one of our spiritual practices.  If the witness of the saints is any indication, then it will be a most fruitful Lent.

On True Friendships

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For those who approach Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics for the first time, they are often surprised by the fact that he devotes more pages, two whole books in fact, to the topic of friendship than to any other.  From the modern viewpoint, this seems to be an unnecessary tangent that has little to do with ethics.  That is, until we realize that for Aristotle and most Christian Philosophers up until the Middle Ages, ethics was not an abstract set of rules, but practical principles for living a full and happy life.  So when Aristotle apportions such a large percentage of his book on ethics to friendship we realize that he sees it as one of the most important components of a life well lived.  In fact he ranks it among one of the greatest of life’s goods saying that “friendship is especially necessary for living, to the extent that no one, even though he had all other goods would choose to live without friends.”

First, a disclaimer of sorts.  Because Aristotle struck out in his physics and his views on women and slaves, he has fallen out of favor in modern times.  But there is a certain timelessness to his writings, especially in his ethics, because he roots them in unchanging human nature.  Therefore we ought to take what he says seriously, even if we find good reasons to disagree with him.  In a culture undergoing a crisis in friendship his writings on the topic are like a hidden treasure whose mining promises to enrich our lives greatly.

Because everyone needs friends, everyone wants friends.  This natural desire for friendship can lead us into unhealthy friendships.  This is what makes his study of friendship so important—it enables us to see our relationships more clearly and to have the right expectations.  There is not a single person among us who has not at some point experienced betrayal in one of their friendships.  Like all the loves, friendship requires a certain level of vulnerability, but much pain can be avoided through a proper understanding of friendship in general and Aristotle’s three levels of friendship in particular.

For Aristotle, there are two factors of friendship.  There is the good will that the two friends bear towards each other and there is the common good that brings them together.  As a form of love, friendship is first and foremost about willing the good for another person.  Friendship is not just a relationship, but a mutual relationship in which both parties actively will some good for the other person.  Without this, no real friendship can be found.

CS Lewis in his book The Four Loves captures the second aspect well when he compares friendship with erotic love.  He says that erotic lovers stand face to face while friends stand side by side looking at the thing that brings them together.  He says that “friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”  This is what Aristotle means by the common good that brings them together.  Friendships are always based upon not just willing the good but willing a particular good.  These goods fall into three broad categories, each one corresponding to the different levels of friendship.

The Categories of Friendship

His first category is friendship of pleasure.  Because it is the lowest level of friendship, it is the most common, especially among younger people.  This is based upon two people “having a good time together.”  It might two “golfing buddies” who enjoy playing golf together simply for the pleasure of the game itself.  What makes this friendship rather than simply mutual use is that they each will that the other plays well and has a good time, not so they will have someone to play with again, but because they truly desire that pleasure for them.  They desire the particular good of pleasure for them, although not at the expense of their own pleasure.  These types of friendships tend to dissolve when the pleasure that united the parties ceases.  One of the golfers might stop playing golf for whatever reason and the two eventually lose touch with each other.

Aristotle’s second category is a friendship of utility.  In these types of friendships there is a certain tradeoff between the two parties in which they somehow supply each other’s needs.  They are brought together primarily for the love of the good they get from the other person.  This type of friendship is most common in the adult years when “working your contacts” has become an art form.  It is a mutual coincidence of wants that brings the two parties together, a transaction of sorts.  The notion of mutual service or sacrifice is likely not a part of this type of this friendship.  Once they cease being useful to each other, the friendship usually dies.

There is always a certain amount of use in these two types of friendships because the parties love the thing that unites them more than they love the person.  This does not make them wrong per se, just incomplete.  St. Thomas says they are not friendships essentially but incidentally because the person is loved more for what they can give than in themselves.  This is why Aristotle thought only the third category of friendship, that is a friendship of virtue, was the only true friendship.

A virtuous friendship is one in which, to borrow from CS Lewis’ definition, the two parties are both looking at virtue.  They desire true happiness for each other.  Aristotle thought this the only true friendship because only a virtuous person is capable of loving the other for their own sake and because only a virtuous person can actually help another person be happy.  It is not so much that the two people are perfect, but that they are both striving for perfection.

As a true friendship, it includes the other two friendships but in an authentic way.  Rather than a friendship of pleasure, one derives pleasure simply from pleasure his friend receives in doing something.  Rather than a friendship of utility, one receives payment simply by serving the other person.  True friends look upon each other as an “other self.”

The Work of Friendship

These categories are important for two reasons.  First because many of us lack true friendships.  This lack may be simply because we lack the capacity, that is virtue, for true friendships.  We prefer the superficial to the hard work of growing in virtue.  It may also be that we are trying to form authentic friendships with people who are not capable of it because they lack the virtue or, at least, the desire for virtue that is always necessary. Remember Lewis’ definition—we will not find true friends until we decide virtue is important.

The second reason is that we often fail to properly “categorize” our friends, leaving us with unreal expectations.   A person whom we only have a friendship of pleasure with is not someone we should be going to for personal advice in a time of crisis.  We may develop a friendship of utility with our mailman, but this does not mean we should have him sit down with us to open our mail.  Those types of friendship cannot bear the weight—either because one of the parties lacks the necessary virtue to truly will the good for the other person or because there is a lack of intimacy.  True friendships are rare not only because virtue is rare, but because we simply do not have the time and emotional energy to maintain authentic friendships with that may people.  Overcommitting ourselves to too many true friendships can be a mortal pitfall for our overall well-being.

Many people in today’s culture view friendship as an unnecessary luxury rather than an integral part of a truly happy life.  By reflecting on friendship in the works of Aristotle, we can come to enjoy what the book of Sirach calls “the elixir of life” (Sir 6:16).

Sacramental Momentum

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At the beginning of his extended treatise on the Eucharist in the Summa Theologiae, St. Thomas draws a parallel between our corporeal lives and our spiritual lives that helps explain the inner logic of the Sacraments.  Specifically he says “the spiritual life is analogous to the corporeal, since corporeal things bear a resemblance to spiritual. Now it is clear that just as generation is required for corporeal life, since thereby man receives life; and growth, whereby man is brought to maturity: so likewise food is required for the preservation of life. Consequently, just as for the spiritual life there had to be Baptism, which is spiritual generation; and Confirmation, which is spiritual growth: so there needed to be the sacrament of the Eucharist, which is spiritual food” (ST III, q.73, a.1).  While it is certainly a clever way to teach about the need for the Sacraments, to see it as only that would be to miss an important analogical corollary; one that has practical applications for our apostolic approach to those in various stages of conversion.

In mitigating the factions that had arisen within the Corinthian community, St. Paul reminds them of his (and our) role in the conversion of others.  It is by way of cooperation that we participate in the conversion of another, but it is ultimately God Who provides the growth (c.f. 1Cor 3:6-7).  We all intuitively grasp this and realize that our role is secondary (at best) and that only through grace does another person “grow to the full stature of Christ” (Eph 4:13).  Nothing new has been said so far.  But how that growth is provided is not at all intuitive.  In fact we might be tempted to think it is a mystery and only according to God’s good pleasure.  As Catholics we do know that there is one sure way that God causes growth—through the Sacraments.

 

Sacramental Inertia

This is where St. Thomas’ analogy between our corporeal lives and our spiritual lives fits in.  The analogy is not just about the inner logic of the Sacraments themselves but also represent a progression in our Spiritual lives.  Just as a living person has a natural drive toward food, the person who has been born again in Baptism has a supernatural drive to feed on the Bread of Life.  Just as the child who has been born and has nourished his life with food desires to grow up, so too in the Spiritual life there is a supernatural desire for Confirmation.  What St. Thomas doesn’t say, but which is implied, is that this supernatural desire is contained as a grace within the Sacraments.  Baptism leads to a desire for the Eucharist.  Baptism and the Eucharist lead to a desire for Confirmation.  Baptism and Confirmation lead to an increased desire for the Eucharist.  Each reception of the Eucharist leads to a more fervent desire for the Eucharist itself.  And so, through this analogy we see that within the Sacraments there are graces pushing the recipient towards the other Sacraments, most especially towards the “source and summit” in the Eucharist.  It is like Newton’s first law applied to the Spiritual life—that which is set in motion in Baptism stays in motion through the other Sacraments.

Like all theological truths, this (super)natural progression also has practical consequences, one which we ought to make profit of in our apostolic endeavors.  If we know that an infallible means of growth is the Sacraments and follow St. Paul’s model then we ought to push others towards the Sacraments.  When we meet someone who does not know God at all and is unbaptized, our focus ought to be to lead them to the Baptismal font.  Why?  Because the grace of conversion contains within itself a desire to be baptized.  If the person is Baptized, then our focus ought to be on pushing them towards Confession and the Eucharist.  Why?  Because the Baptized person is already being inwardly pushed towards those Sacraments.  They may not be able to identify the specific impulses, but they will know them when they see them.    Lukewarm Catholic already in communion with the Church?  Push them towards Jesus in the Eucharist Who is the fire that will set ablaze the most lukewarm of hearts.

I knew of a man who did nothing else but invite his Protestant friends to Eucharistic Adoration.  He reasoned that if his Protestant friends really knew Jesus, they would recognize Him when they met Him in the monstrance.  It might not happen immediately, but in many of the cases they kept going with him until it did.  If Jesus is really there, and He is, then it is hard to find a flaw in this approach.

Applying the Law Sacramental Inertia

Our apostolic endeavors are only effective insofar as we cooperate with grace already working interiorly in the person.  By making use of this principle of Sacramental Inertia we are assured that we are on the same page as the Holy Spirit.  The Sacraments become a sort of apostolic blueprint that represent a goal.  In Latin, the Mass ends with Ite Missa Est, literally “she is sent,” meaning that we are sent out into the world to bring others back with us.  Like John the Baptist our goal is simply to point out and bring others to Jesus.  If we really believe the Sacraments are what the Church teaches they are, we will make them our apostolic goals.

One last point merits our attention as well, especially if it seems that the picture I have painted is overly simplistic.  It is no coincidence that the Sacraments, especially the Eucharist (and Confession), as next steps are also the biggest obstacles.  The principle of Sacramental Inertia is not foreign to mankind’s greatest spiritual foe.  They are either mocked by direct attack, counterfeited or else indirectly attacked by attacking the Sacrament of Holy Orders.  We should be constantly aware that the last thing the Devil wants is for a non-Catholic to begin a Sacramental life and he will do all that he can to impede that.  Our approach, when not leavened with prayer and sacrifice, will always become mere apologetics.  The Sacraments are the greatest treasure of the Church and we must always recognize that sharing these gifts is our apostolic goal.

Catholics and the Seder Meal

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In recent years, one of the more popular Lenten practices of Catholics has become to participate in Seder Meals.  Their popularity is driven mostly by a desire to express a solidarity with the Jewish people and to understand the Jewish roots of our Faith.  While it may seem harmless to participate in them, there are some serious reasons why Catholics might want to avoid them all together.

In an age where the morality of a given act is mainly subject to our intention, it is important to begin any discussion on whether Catholics should participate in Seder Meals with a fundamental principle.  St. Thomas puts the principle this way—“external worship should be in proportion to the internal worship” (ST I-II q.103, a.3).  What the Angelic Doctor means by this is that our external acts of worship must always reflect our internal beliefs.  If our act of worship does not reflect our internal beliefs then we are guilty of superstition, that is giving worship to God in, what St. Thomas calls, an “undue mode” or in giving worship to a false god.

Trapped in a dualistic mindset, many of us would think that our external acts are just that—external—and there is no harm done if you do not really mean them.  But intuitively we all seem to think otherwise, especially when we reflect on the witness of the Martyrs.  Many martyrs refused to offer a pinch of incense to the pagan gods because they knew this would be an act of worship, even if they may not have believed in what they were doing.  Likewise there are those who have been tempted to desecrate an image of Christ in order to avoid martyrdom.  All too often the tempters would simply say, “It’s just an image.  All that matters to you is what you believe.”  Those who desecrated the image were considered apostates regardless of what they may have believed.  Not having our exterior acts reflecting our interior beliefs is a form of lying.

The Seder Meal and What it Means to Participate

Returning to the topic at hand, namely Seder Meals, it is without a doubt a religious act.  Many of these are sponsored by different Jewish Synagogues or, when done “do it yourself” follow the existing Seder liturgy.  A Seder Meal is one of the primary means by which the Jewish people hand on their faith.  It also reflects an act in faith in the coming of the Messiah.

For a Christian, that is, one who has faith that the Messiah has come, to participate in a Seder Meal is a false declaration of faith.  It is, as St. Thomas said, an act of worship of God in an “undue mode.”  While our faith in the Christ with the Jewish people may be the same, that faith must be expressed in different ways.  The Jews reflect the faith of Abraham, that is the Messiah to come, through circumcision.  The Christian expresses his faith in the Messiah who has come when they share in His life and death in Baptism.

St. Thomas says that all of the legal ceremonies of the Old Law, including the Passover meal, have passed away because each found their fulfillment with the coming of Christ.  Each of the ceremonies of the Old Law expressed the expectation of the coming Messiah, those of the New Law reflect His having already come.  In the mind of Aquinas, to continue to participate in these ceremonies is a lie and constitutes, at least objectively speaking, a grave sin.  Regardless of what one believes, by participating in a Seder Meal, the Christian is professing through his actions that Christ is yet to come.

The ceremonies of the Old Law were mere “shadows” (Col 2:17) of the Sacraments to come.  The Seder is but a foreshadowing of the Mass.  Why would one participate in shadow when the real thing is available?  Catholics are already participating the True Seder Meal, the Mass.

What if I Just Want to Learn More About Our Roots?

What about those who only do so out of curiosity or as a learning exercise to help them better understand the Mass?  Certainly their intentions do not change the fact that it is objectively wrong to participate, but still it may change their culpability.  This approach is worth unpacking further for a different reason as well.

The problem with this approach is that it denies an important historical fact.  Those who have studied the Passover meal that Our Lord celebrated with the Apostles are quick to point out that it differs from the first Passover as described in the Book of Exodus and not just because Our Lord added the elements of fulfillment.  At the time of Our Lord only the Levitical priesthood existed and thus all sacrifices occurred within the Temple.  What did not change however was that the Passover was not just a meal but also a sacrifice.

Once the Temple was destroyed, Judaism underwent a profound change.  Prior to 70 AD, Judaism was much like Catholicism in that they had priests who lead the worship which was centered upon sacrifice.  After 70 AD it became much like Protestantism in that the emphasis was placed on worship without sacrifice.  Judaism today is not the same Judaism of Our Lord and the Apostles.

In short, the Seder Meal that Jesus participated in the first 32 years of His life is profoundly different from the Seder Meal as it is celebrated within Judaism today.  The key element, the sacrifice of the Lamb, is missing.  With the sacrificial character removed it now bears little resemblance to the Mass which retains its sacrificial meaning.  A Seder Meal, as it is celebrated today, has little value for the Christian for learning the roots of the faith.

Certainly studying (without participating) the Seder Meal as it was during the time of Our Lord has value for us as Christians.  Studying the type or the sign helps us to better understand the archetype or thing signified.  Rather than spending your time organizing or attending a Seder Meal, you would be better off studying Dr. Brant Pitre’s Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist or listen to Scott Hahn’s Fourth Cup.  Although there are more, I have found these two resources invaluable for deepening our understanding of the meaning of the Mass and its relation to the Jewish Passover Meal.