Archive for the ‘Church History’ Category

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With The Pope Against The Homoheresy 2 — Fr. Dariusz Oko, Ph.D.

March 5, 2013
Gay marriage denies God and devalues human dignity, Pope Benedict XVI said Friday in his annual "state of the Church address at the Vatican.  Speaking to the Curia, the bureaucrats who run the global church of 1.2 billion Catholics, the pope said opposition to gay marriage is a way of defending humanity: "Whoever defends God is defending man." Benedict also quoted the chief rabbi of France, Gilles Bernheim, who has written that promoting a right to same-sex marriage is an "attack" on the traditional family made up of a father, mother and children.  The address echoed his recently released annual peace message, which said gay marriage, abortion and euthanasia are threats to world peace.

Gay marriage denies God and devalues human dignity, Pope Benedict XVI said Friday in his annual “state of the Church” address at the Vatican. Speaking to the Curia, the bureaucrats who run the global church of 1.2 billion Catholics, the pope said opposition to gay marriage is a way of defending humanity: “Whoever defends God is defending man.” Benedict also quoted the chief rabbi of France, Gilles Bernheim, who has written that promoting a right to same-sex marriage is an “attack” on the traditional family made up of a father, mother and children. The address echoed his recently released annual peace message, which said gay marriage, abortion and euthanasia are threats to world peace.

The Formation Mechanism Of The Homo-Community
As can be seen from the above examples, that lobby must have been allowed to have its way for a long time for such a situation to have been (and still be) possible. But the normal majority should not be intimidated by a disturbed minority. It is therefore necessary to understand the mechanism allowing that lobby to become so influential.

Everything begins with the fact that it is much more difficult for a seminarian with homosexual tendencies or an established homosexual orientation to become a decent priest. On the one hand, priesthood may appear attractive, seeming an ideal biotope, since he can stay here in his preferred manly company without the need to explain the absence of women in his life. On the contrary, this is, after all, seen as a great sacrifice for the Heavenly Kingdom, giving up the greatest value of marriage (even though he is not marriageable anyway). The situation appears to be very comfortable.

Consequently, if no requirements are made of such young men, in particular congregations or dioceses there may be many times more of them than in the world on the average, i.e. many times more than 1.5 percent[11]. Their exact number will depend on how dominating the position they have already achieved is, and how much other clergymen are intimidated or unaware of the significance of the problem.

On the other hand, homosexuality is a wound on the personality which may impair many other functions. Such impairments include distorted relationships with other men, women and children; the habit of constantly pretending, hiding something important in their lives; the pattern of playing a game which prevents honest, deep, emotionally fair relationships with peers and tutors.

It also hampers proper understanding and respect for the nature of femininity and marriage as the mystery of the love between a man and a woman. Besides, if a homosexual feel similar desires towards men as a man who is undisturbed in that regard feels towards women, these desires will be constantly aroused in him by the permanent, close presence of the objects of his desire. He finds himself in a situation analogous to that of a normal man who were to live for several years (or for the whole life) under one roof, using the same dormitory and common bathrooms with many attractive women.

The likelihood of maintaining chastity in such a situation would rapidly decline. We should respect and try to understand our homosexual brothers to the same extent we respect and try to understand any human being. They often do their best, try, and some of them succeed, live a decent or even a holy life. Objectively, however, it is much, much harder for them, and so they fail much more often.

If, however, they are unable to control their tendencies, and succeed in passing through the sieves of seminarian control, real trouble begins in priesthood or monastic life. They no longer benefit from the presence and control of their supervisors, their freedom is much greater. If they yield to temptation and go down the road of active homosexuality, their situation becomes desperate.

On the one hand, they administer the sacraments, celebrate the Holy Mass every day, deal with the holiest of holy objects; and on the other hand they keep doing the exact opposite, that which is particularly deplorable. This way they “become immune” to that which is higher, that which is holy, their moral life yields to atrophy, going steadily downhill towards the fall. The more of that which is higher dies in them, the more room there is for that which is lower – the desire for material, sensual things – money, power, career, lust and sex. They can hardly be helped, since the highest means of formation, faith and grace have failed.

They know well, however, that they may be exposed and embarrassed, so they shield one another by offering mutual support. They build informal relationships reminding of a clique or even mafia, aim at holding particularly those positions which offer power and money. When they achieve a decision-making position, they try to promote and advance mostly those whose nature is similar to theirs, or at least who are known to be too weak to oppose them.

This way, leading positions in the Church may be held by people suffering from deep internal wounds, hardly displaying the spiritual level expected of their office; people who have given themselves away to hypocrisy and are especially prone to blackmailing by the enemies of Christianity. People who never “speak from the heart”, never revealing it for fear of being brought to shame. Instead, they repeat what they have learned by heart, copy that which has been said by others. Often an atmosphere of hypocrisy and lifelessness can be sensed around them. Pharisaism in its pure form[12]. Even if they do not actively practice homosexuality, as a rule they try to shield and promote even those who do, with much solidarity, ready to “dig in their heels” together with them.

This way they prefer their own well-being to the well-being of the community, according to the rule which says: “Let the Church be disgraced, ridiculed and humiliated, as long as myself and “mine” are well-set for life, as long as there is always enough to satisfy us”. “Omertà” in its pure form. This way, however, they may actually achieve a dominating position in many areas of church hierarchy, become a “backroom elite” which actually has tremendous power in deciding about important nominations and the whole life of the Church. Indeed, they may even prove to be too powerful for honest, well-meaning bishops.[13]

The situation then becomes quite desperate for other priests. New clerical students may, for instance, include the younger partners of such homo-priests. When the vice-chancellor or another superior tries to remove them, they may end up being removed themselves instead of the homo-seminarians. Or, when a vicar tries to protect youth from the parish priest who molests them, it is the vicar and not the parish priest that is disciplined, ostracized and moved elsewhere. He goes through an ordeal for courageously fulfilling his fundamental duty. He may even be blackmailed, humiliated and slandered in the parish or among other priests as a victim of an organized campaign. And when a priest or a religious is molested by a peer or a superior and applies for help and protection to a higher instance, he often finds the office occupied by an even more ardent homosexual.

Along the road, members of the homo-clique can achieve such positions and influence that they come to believe they have extraordinary powers and will go unpunished forever.[14] Their life often becomes a diabolic caricature of priesthood, just like homosexual relationships are a caricature of marriage. As can be learned from the media, for instance, they act like homosexual addicts, becoming more and more unbridled, resorting to violence. They start to molest and abuse even minors. A grievous wrong may result, including murder and suicide.

I learned about Bishop Paetz by accident, from a seminarian who told me, all trembling from emotions and terror, about his having been molested by his own ordinary. He was at a brink of losing faith as well as mental and spiritual integrity. It was not an easy job to convince him that one man is not the whole Church, that such case is yet another reason to become a priest so that something as wonderful as that is not left in the hands of such people.

I have heard many similar stories from priests from Łomża and Poznań (where he served as an ordinary) I met during national and international academic symposia. Our interventions at various levels of Church hierarchy were of no avail, however; we encountered a wall that could not be overcome, even in a case as self-evident as that. In the case of a vicar or a catechist, a small part of such revelations would be enough to cause some reaction. In that case, a tremendous commotion in the media and reaching the Pope himself was necessary.

To quote F. Józef Augustyn once again: “The Church does not generate homosexuality, but falls victim to dishonest men with homosexual tendencies, who take advantage of its structures to follow their lowest instincts. Active homosexual priests are masters of camouflage. They are often exposed by accident. … The real threat to the Church are cynical homosexual priests who take advantage of their functions on their own behalf, sometimes in an extraordinarily devious way. Such situations cause great suffering to the Church, the priestly community, the superiors. The problem is indeed a very difficult one.[15]

The Struggle Of Benedict XVI
Benedict XVI has come to know that type of clergymen well during his long years of work in Vatican. He has repeatedly stressed how shocked he was to learn the extent of the plague of homosexual abuses in the Church, the size of that underground and the terrible damage caused to youth and the Church as a whole. He recalls: “Yes, it is a great crisis, we have to say that. It was upsetting for all of us. Suddenly so much filth. It was really almost like the crater of a volcano, out of which suddenly a tremendous cloud of filth came, darkening and soiling everything, so that above all the priesthood suddenly seemed to be a place of shame and every priest was under the suspicion of being one like that too.”[16]

It was mostly about such clergymen that he referred to while still a Cardinal during the famous Way of the Cross at the Colosseum in 2005, shortly before the death of John Paul II and his own election as Pope: “Should we not also think of how much Christ suffers in his own Church? … how often must he enter empty and evil hearts! How often do we celebrate only ourselves, without even realizing that he is there! How often is his Word twisted and misused! What little faith is present behind so many theories, so many empty words! How much filth there is in the Church, and even among those who, in the priesthood, ought to belong entirely to him! How much pride, how much self-complacency! … We can only call to him from the depths of our hearts: Kyrie eleison – Lord, save us (cf. Matthew 8: 25)”.

The Pope also said: “The greatest persecution of the Church comes not from her enemies without, but arises from sin within the Church”[17]. He knew what task was awaiting him, and taking office on April 24, 2005, said: “Pray for me, that I may not flee for fear of the wolves”[18].

The greatest persecution of the Church comes not from her enemies without, but arises from sin within the Church.

And that is why he took resolute and fast action as Pope. He made cleansing the Church from homosexual abuse and preventing its reoccurrence in the future one of the priorities of his pontificate. He removed compromised clergymen from their offices with much energy. In the very first months following his election, still in 2005, he had an instruction issued to strictly forbid ordaining untreated homosexuals. The instruction was preceded by a letter sent from the Holy See to bishops around the world, ordering that priests with homosexual tendencies be immediately removed from any educational functions at seminars[19].

A letter from the Congregation for Catholic Education issued in 2008 prohibited known homosexual priests admission to seminars. It says explicitly they may only be admitted after they have been permanently healed[20]. These principles were confirmed in 2010 by a Note from the Vicariate of Rome for the Successor of Saint Peter – a standard for the entire Church[21]. A model to be followed in such cases was also provided by the Pope’s pastoral letter to the Catholics of Ireland, also in 2010, on serious sins against defenceless children[22]. Just like the current President of Germany, Joachim Gauck, carried out a successful, model inspection in the former East Germany, his fellow countryman in the Vatican has been carrying out a thorough, honest, Christian cleansing of the Church[23]. The Pope is also trying not to allow for a similar disaster to happen again in the future by strictly prohibiting the ordaining of homosexually-oriented persons, by preventing the rebirth of that community.

That should be stressed, because in the Polish Church the issue of the relationship between homosexuality and priesthood has been underestimated. It appears that the breakthrough in that matter accomplished by Benedict XVI and the Holy See is not sufficiently understood here. Its results could be summarized as follows:

1)  Instead of a division into active and passive homosexuality, in his official documents the Holy Father introduces a division into temporary homosexual tendencies which occur during puberty, and tendencies which have become deeply rooted. Both forms are an obstacle which precludes holy orders, so the  requirements is not merely (usually temporary) freedom from active homosexuality.

2)   Homosexuality is irreconcilable with priestly vocation. Consequently, it is strictly forbidden not only to ordain men having any homosexual tendencies (be it temporary), but even to admit them in seminars.

3)   Temporary homosexual tendencies must be cured even before admission to the first year of studies or the novitiate.

4)  Seminars and monasteries, presbyteries and diocesan curias must be completely free from any forms of homosexuality.

5)   Men with homosexual tendencies who have already been ordained as deacons, priests or bishops remain to be validly ordained, but are called to keep all commandments given by God and the Church. Just like other priests, they should live in purity and desist from any activities harmful to man and the Church, in particular from any rebellion against the Holy Father and the Holy See, or any mafia-like activities.

6)       Clergymen who suffer from such disorders are strongly encouraged to immediately commence appropriate therapy[24].

In Benedict XVI’s Light of the World of 2010, we find as an afterword a very important passage about homosexuality and priesthood. These words of the Holy Father are, in a way, a comment on the earlier documents of the Holy See. It seems he is speaking “from the heart”, and is quite explicit:

Homosexuality is incompatible with the priestly vocation. Otherwise, celibacy itself would lose its meaning as a renunciation. It would be extremely dangerous if celibacy became a sort of pretext for bringing people into priesthood who don’t want to get married anyway. For, in the end, their attitude toward man and woman is somehow distorted, off centre, and, in any case, is not within the direction of creation of which we have spoken.

The Congregation for Education issued a decision a few years ago to the effect that homosexual candidates cannot become priests because their sexual orientation estranges them from the proper sense of paternity, from the intrinsic nature of priestly being. The selection of candidates to the priesthood must therefore be very careful. The greatest attention is needed here in order to prevent the intrusion of this kind of ambiguity and to head off a situation where the celibacy of priests would practically end up being identified with the tendency to homosexuality”[25].

The importance of the matter for the Pope and the Holy See is emphasized by the fact that despite a great shortage of priests and new vocations in Western Europe and America, the Church does not want to admit such candidates in its seminars; the grave abuses of homosexual clergymen have already caused too much evil, too many disasters, and have cost too much.

[NOTES]


[11] F. Hans Zollner SJ, Dean of the Institute of Psychology at the Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome, says that “in lay circles … the number of molested girls is greater than boys. Why is that? It certainly points to a higher percentage of persons with homosexual tendencies or orientation in those church communities in which numerous cases of paedophilia with a  homosexual tinge occurred than in the society in general”. (F. J. Augustyn SJ, Kościelna omerta [Omerta in the Church], an interview with F. Hans Zollner SJ, transl. by F. B. Steczek SJ, “Rzeczpospolita”, 19.04.2012).

[12] This also partially explains why the representatives of both groups sometimes display so much mediocrity, both in moral and intellectual terms. And yet, it is of such immense importance whether the Church is led by such bishops as Wojtyła, Wyszyński, Nagy, Jaworski, Nossol, Nowak, Pietraszko and Małysiak, or such as Paetz, Magee or Weakland.

[13] For instance, when he became the Archbishop of Warsaw, Archbishop Jozef Glemp, the Primate of Poland, said: “When I came to this diocese, I was surprised to see how strong the homosexual lobby is in the Church.” Cf. the blog of F. Wojciech Lemański: http://natemat.pl/5729,ks-lemanski-juz-prymas-glemp-mowil-o-silnym-lobby-homoseksualnym. Another Polish cardinal said: “The most difficult job is dealing with the gay lobby”.

[14] The mechanism of formation with such „homo-cliques” and „homo-mafias”, the mutual, monstrous “pulling one another up” is in fact sociologically quite typical for “uniform” services, employing almost exclusively men who remain in a strong hierarchal relationship of subordination. Similar problems are encountered in the army, the police and the prison system. It is destructive for any human community – when decisions about taking up tasks of particular importance are made based primarily on homosexual orientation, instead of professional competence, dedication and performance at work. It is also a fundamental injustice, discrimination of the normal majority.

[15] J. Augustyn, Bez oskarżeń i uogólnień, op.cit.

[16] Benedict XVI, Light of the World. The Pope, the Church and the Signs of the Times], a conversation with Peter Seewald, transl. by Michael J. Miller and Adrian J. Walker, San Francisco 2010, p. 23.

[17] Benedict XVI, Light of the World, op. cit., pp. 27.

[18] Ibid., p. 20.

[19] The document being referred to is: Instruction Concerning the Criteria for the Discernment of Vocations with Regard to Persons with Homosexual Tendencies in View of Their Admission to the Seminary and to Holy Orders, Rome 2005. Cf. a commentary on the document by G. Mansini, L. J. Welch, W posłuszeństwie Chrystusowi [In Conformity to Christ], “First Things. Edycja polska” 1, Fall 2006, pp. 10-12. It is a particularly apt analysis of the nature of Christ’s priesthood as contrasted with the homosexual approach.

[20] The document being referred to is: Guidelines for the Use of Psychology in the Admission and Formation f Candidates for the Priesthood, Rome 2008.

[21] Cf. Nota del Vicariato in merito all’articolo di “Panorama”, pubblicato il 23 luglio 2010, Rome 2010. The Note is a response to an article in the Italian „Panorama” which, together with films posted on the Internet, shows the sexual lasciviousness and cynicism of homo-priests working in the Vatican. Cf. http://blog.panorama.it/italia/2010/07/22/le-notti-brave-dei-preti-gay-una-grande-inchiesta-in-edicola-venerdi-con-panorama/

[22] Cf. Benedict XVI, Light of the World, op. cit. pp. 189ff.

[23] The resolve with which Benedict XVI fights against the plague of paedophilia and ephebophilia in the Church, and the extent to which he applies the “no tolerance” rule to them is reflected in a list of what he has done about the matter. It can be found in Italian at http://paparatzinger5blografaella.blogspot.com/2011/10/le-decisioni-elesempio-di-papa.html, and http://benedettoxvielencospeciali.blogspot.com/2009/11/chiesa-e-pedofilia-la-tolleranza-zero.html, and in German at http://www.katch.net/detail/php?id=33076.

[24] As regards these decisions, it would be a good idea now to prepare an account of their implementation in Poland; how faithful have we been to the Pope and the Holy See in that regard? After all, we have more than 100 seminars, we could organize a symposium to share our experiences. We could ask, for instance: What is the procedure of admission to seminars in Poland? What is the procedure with regard to sexual tendencies? Do candidates sign some kind of a statement on the matter, or are they properly examined by a psychologist as provided for in the Vatican document of 2008? What is the scale of the problem in Polish seminars? Where are candidates with temporary homosexual tendencies sent who want to have them treated before they are admitted to a seminar? Do we need a national centre offering special therapy? How has the instruction of the Holy See of 2005 been implemented, saying that all homosexual vice-chancellors and educators should be removed? An important help in dealing with that problem can be found in: Richard Cross, Ph.D. (With research data from Daniel Thoma, Ph. D.), The Collapse of Ascetical Discipline and Clerical Misconduct: Sex and Prayer, “Linacre Quarterly”, vol. 73, Februry 2006, No. 1, pp. 1-114.

[25] Benedict XVI, Light of the World, op. cit., pp. 152f.

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With The Pope Against The Homoheresy 1 — Fr. Dariusz Oko, Ph.D.

March 4, 2013
The sufferings of the Church come precisely from within the Church, from the sin existing within the Church. This too is something that we have always known, but today we are seeing it in a really terrifying way: that the greatest persecution of the Church comes not from her enemies without, but arises from sin within the Church, and that the Church thus has a deep need to relearn penance, to accept purification, to learn forgiveness on the one hand, but also the need for justice. (Pope Benedict XVI, Interview, May 11, 2010)

The sufferings of the Church come precisely from within the Church, from the sin existing within the Church. This too is something that we have always known, but today we are seeing it in a really terrifying way: that the greatest persecution of the Church comes not from her enemies without, but arises from sin within the Church, and that the Church thus has a deep need to relearn penance, to accept purification, to learn forgiveness on the one hand, but also the need for justice. (Pope Benedict XVI, Interview, May 11, 2010)

From the blog Rorate Caeli:

In June 2012, Polish magazine Fronda published an extensive, incisive, and influential article on the papacy and what it calls the “Homoheresy” and the great powers of the group it calls the “Homomafia” in all levels of the Church hierarchy, going all the way to the Roman Curia – and on how Benedict XVI has tried to curtail the great influence of this underground network of deviation. The Rev. Dr. Dariusz Oko, the author, is a Professor of Theology at the Pontifical Academy of Theology (Pontifical University John Paul II), in Krakow. The article was published in German as well (D. Oko, Mit dem Papst gegen Homohäresie, “Theologisches” 9/10 [2012] pp. 403-426), but it has been sparsely available in English.

In the days following the announcement of his resignation, we have been hearing the repeated warnings of Pope Benedict against the divisions in the Church. They recall one of the most somber declarations made by His Holiness, when, en route to Portugal, he said:

As for the new things which we can find in this [Fatima] message today, there is also the fact that attacks on the Pope and the Church come not only from without, but the sufferings of the Church come precisely from within the Church, from the sin existing within the Church. This too is something that we have always known, but today we are seeing it in a really terrifying way: that the greatest persecution of the Church comes not from her enemies without, but arises from sin within the Church, and that the Church thus has a deep need to relearn penance, to accept purification, to learn forgiveness on the one hand, but also the need for justice. (Interview, May 11, 2010)

Considering the dark influences that will try to reach even into the most secret places in the upcoming weeks of grave decisions for the Church, we thought, after having received the translated text from several Polish readers, that this is the right time to make it known to a larger audience among English speakers. We ask our readers to make this text as widely known as possible.

And after reading the translation I thought it most worthy to share. Today we will look at the introduction to the paper and Part I, A Global Phenomenon

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For several weeks now Poland has witnessed a heated discussion on the “huge homosexual underground in the Church”, provoked by the most recent book by Fr. Tadeusz Isakowicz-Zaleski entitled Chodzi mi tylko o prawdę[1](Truth Is All That Matters). Some deny any such underground exists, and put forward theses profoundly inconsistent with the teaching of the Church, both being at odds with truth[2]. The problem is serious to the extent I feel I must join in the discussion as well, because I also care about truth, and first of all about good, the fundamental well-being of man and of the Church – the basic community in which he lives.

Any discussion should have as its starting point the basic, axiomatic assumption that any one of us can know with certainty only a part, and that part is likely to be partially wrong. That should result in any opinions being presented with humility, and the arguments of partners or opponents being listened to with attention. That way we may best benefit from the parts of knowledge each of us has, and correct them. They will always remain only parts, but they will be bigger and purified from errors to a greater extent. That is the blessing of an honest dialogue, and it is in this spirit that I want to proceed.

My feeling of duty to take a stance results from my involvement in the philosophical criticism of homosexual ideology and homosexual propaganda (abbreviated to homoideology and homopropaganda), which I have dealt with for several years now to the order and with encouragement from many cardinals and bishops.[3] In doing that, I have accumulated what is probably the biggest Polish collection of writings on the topic, one of the largest collections of data.

This has been accomplished with the help of many friends and allies, both lay people and clergymen, university professors and practicing physicians, as well as a large number of people I had not known before, but who, encouraged by the opinions I have expressed and having read my articles, wished to add to and correct my knowledge. Thus, I have received news, results of scientific studies, and official documents from both around Poland and various regions of the world, particularly the United States, Great Britain, Ireland, Germany, Austria, Holland and Italy, and, first of all, from the Holy See.

I began my work as a struggle against a deadly, external threat to Christianity, but then gradually discovered that the division is not that simple. The enemy is not only outside the Church, but within it as well, sometimes perfectly camouflaged, like the Trojan Horse.

We are dealing not only with the problem of a homoideology and a homolobby outside the Church, but with an analogous problem within it as well, where homoideology takes the form of a homoheresy. One does not even need to study the archives of the Institute of National Remembrance, which is only one of many sources.

These facts are self-evident also in those countries which have not heard of any such Institute at all. It is enough to collect reliable information from lay and Catholic media concerning the recent years, and add to it the knowledge of human nature, some logical thinking, put two and two together and study documents which present the Church’s response to these facts.

A Global Phenomenon

We should first expose the common lie presented by the media. They keep talking about paedophilia among clergymen, while it is most often the case that the problem is ephebophilia, which is a perversion consisting in adult homosexual men being attracted not to children, but to pubescent and adolescent boys. It is a typical deviation related to homosexuality. Basic knowledge about that reality includes the fact that more than 80 percent of cases involving sexual abuse by clergymen reported in the U.S.A. were cases of ephebophilia, not paedophilia[4]! That fact has been carefully hidden and ignored, as it reveals particularly well the hypocrisy of the homolobby in both the world and the Church. It is all the more important that it be exposed.

In other countries, the situation is similar, it is therefore important to note that scandals involving sexual abuse which have shaken the global Church were mostly the work of homosexual clergymen. The Church has paid a very painful price for the tremendous offences which have been exposed, losing much of its credibility. This has caused dramatic difficulties both in spiritual and material terms in many dioceses, monasteries and seminars, with churches becoming empty in entire provinces of the Church.[5] It is estimated that the Church in the U.S.A. has had to pay more than one and a half billion dollars in damages so far[6]. None of that would have been possible without the existence of a significant underground, of which prosecutors usually reveal only a small part, the tip of the iceberg.

The scandals have also involved those holding the highest offices. In Poland, for instance, Archbishop Juliusz Paetz was dismissed from his office as Bishop of Poznań in 2002. In Ireland, so similar to Poland in spiritual and historical terms, so Catholic, several bishops have been removed from office in the recent years, including John Magee, Bishop of the Diocese of Cloyne, dismissed in 2010 on the grounds of  covering up the offences of paedophilia and ephebophilia committed by 19 priests in his diocese. Before that, Fathers Paetz and Magee had worked together in Vatican for many years as part of the closest, most influential associates of the last three Popes.

The lengths to which militant homosexuals in cassocks can go can be observed in the behaviour of the particularly “liberal” and “open-minded” Archbishop Rembert Weakland, who ruled the diocese of Milwaukee, U.S.A., in the years 1977-2002. He openly admitted to being gay and to having had many partners in life. Throughout the term of his office – for 25 years – he continuously opposed the Pope and the Holy See on many issues, particularly criticizing and rejecting the teaching of the Magisterium on homosexuality. He supported and protected active gays in his diocese, helping them avoid liability for sexual offences they repeatedly committed. At leaving his office, he defrauded about a half million dollars to support his ex-partner.

One of the most influential people in the Church of his time, Marcial Maciel Degollado, founder of the Legion of Christ, turned out to be bisexual and to have perpetrated serious sexual offences against many members and underage students in his own congregation, including even his own son…

All four went entirely unpunished for a long time, despite many complaints and charges against them sent to Rome for years. Only direct contact with the Pope or publications in the media finally helped. Otherwise, everything was blocked at lower levels of local or by the Vatican hierarchy. It was similar in many other cases. For instance, several years passed before Bishops Patrick Ziemann of Santa Rosa in California (1999), Juan Carlos Maccarone of Santiago del Estero in Argentina (2005), Georg Müller of Trondheim and Oslo in Norway (2009), Raymond John Lahey of Antigonish in Canada (2009), Roger Vangheluw of Bruges, in Belgium (2010), John C. Favalora of Miami (2010) and Anthony J. O’Connell of Palm Beach in Florida (2010) were removed from office for active engagement in[, or cover-up of,] homosexual paedophilia or ephebophilia. Similar steps had to be taken with respect to many other bishops who concealed or covered up such offences. The same applied to many, sometimes very influential priests.

Not only the number of serious sexual offences proves the power of that underground, but also – to an ever greater extent – the degree to which the process of selecting candidate bishops has been disturbed, who were allowed to make a great “career” in the Church despite their having perpetrated such offences, despite leading a double life. This is further confirmed by the efficiency with which such cases were covered up and concealed, the often insurmountable blockade of all attempts made within the Church to protect the wronged, to strive for elementary truth and justice.

It has been so difficult at times to take appropriate, self-evident measures against homosexuals, so many strange difficulties have arisen, and even any success in that area is limited, partial and temporary. We witness a terrible phenomenon – it turns out the comfort of homosexual offenders is more important than the fate of children and youth, the fate of the whole Church. If that was done deliberately, that would be high treason, the Church would be guilty of betraying the youth!

This can also be seen in the fear and confusion of the clergy, particularly in certain dioceses and congregations, when faced with that topic – they escape into silence, unable to articulate even elementary statements on the teaching of the Church on the subject. What are they afraid of? Where does that fear in entire groups of mature, adult men come from? And where do the neuroses, heart diseases and other complaints come from in priests who nevertheless try to oppose such phenomena, especially to protect children and youth? They must be afraid of some influential lobby which wields its power and which they may fall into disfavour with[7].

In order for such evil to be concealed and tolerated, it is necessary that the right people hold key positions, and that not only a homolobby, but a homoclique or a homomafia is created. Indeed, that is what the present Polish Minister of Justice, Jarosław Gowin, called that group when referring to the scandal of homosexual abuses perpetrated by priests in the Diocese of Płock, the offences of molestation against young people and seminarians, and the covering up of such facts. He said that when he intervened in the Church in the case of Archbishop Paetz, he had the impression he was dealing with a mafia, brutally negating even the most obvious principles and facts.[8]

Similar references to mafia have recently been made by F. Charles Scicluna, the main person responsible for sorting out such cases in the Church, a “prosecutor” in the Disciplinary Section of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. He spoke during the symposium entitled “Towards Healing and Renewal” held in February 2012 in Rome, devoted to the problem of sexual abuse in the Church.[9]

On behalf of Benedict XVI, he strongly condemned not only the perpetrators, but also their superiors in the Church who covered up their deeds, and called for a strong opposition to such behaviour, open cooperation with the police, taking the path of cleansing set out by the Holy See. The more organized offenders are successful in protecting their own interests, the more successful they are in bringing harm to others and in destroying the credibility of the Church. This way, a powerful impulse towards dechristianization comes forward from within the Church itself.

A particularly valuable comment in the discussion has been made by F. Professor Józef Augustyn SJ, who said: “The problem, in my opinion, is not “in them” but in our reaction “to them”. How do we, ordinary priests and superiors, react to their behavior? Do we yield to fear, step back, call for silence, pretend the problem does not exist? Or do we face the problem, are explicit about it, take away their influential positions, remove them from their offices? They should not work in seminars or hold any important positions. If the homosexual lobby exists and has anything to say in the structures of the Church, it is because we give in, withdraw, pretend, and so on.

The Holy See … has given us a clear sign, a direction on how such problems should be solved. Concealing the behavior of dishonest persons, which will sooner or later be exposed anyway, destroys the authority of the Church. The faithful spontaneously ask about the reliability of a community which tolerates such arrangements. If we make an a priori assumption that no lobby of homosexual priests has ever existed, exists now or will exist in the future, we actually support the phenomenon. The homosexual lobby of the clergy get off scot-free and become a serious threat”[10].

[NOTES]


[1] Cf. F. T. Isakowicz-Zaleski, Chodzi mi tylko o prawdę [Truth Is All That Matters].Warszawa 2012, pp. 114-119.

[2] Cf. F. J. Prusak, Lawendowa historia Kościoła [A Lavender History of the Church], „Rzeczpospolita”, 26 March 2012.

[3] In fulfilling that task, I have published a number of papers and articles: Dziesięć argumentów przeciw [Ten Arguments Against], “Gazeta Wyborcza” 28-29.05.2005, pp. 27 and 28; Godne ubolewania wypaczenie [A Lamentable Perversion], “Tygodnik Powszechny” 27 (2921) 2005, p. 6; Śmieci nie można zamiatać pod dywan [Rubbish Must Not Be Swept Under the Carpet], “Rzeczpospolita” 54 (7651) 5.03.2007, p. 3; W tej walce trzeba zaryzykować wszystko [In This Battle We Must Risk It All], “Rzeczpospolita” 18.05.2007, p. 8A; Zmaganie z głębi wiary [A Struggle From Within the Depths of Faith], An interview with Katarzyna Strączek and Janusz Poniewierski, “Znak” 11 (630) 2007, pp. 16-33; O czym można dyskutować na uniwersytecie [What Can Be Discussed at University], “Rzeczpospolita” 8.05.2009, pp. 2; Dezorientacja prawa [A Legal State of Confusion], a statement made together with the Ombudsman Janusz Kochanowski in an article by Przemysław Kucharczyk, “Gość Niedzielny” 24.05.2009 (56) 21, pp. 38-39; Na celowniku homolobbystów [At the Homolobby’s Gunpoint], a conversation with Bartłomiej Radziejewski, “Fronda” 51 (2009), pp. 188-208; Homoseksualizm nie jest normą [Homosexuality is Not the Norm], an interview with Bogumił Łoziński, “Gość Niedzielny” 13.09.2009 (56) 37, pp. 36-37; Dwugłos wobec homoideologii [A Duet On Homoideology], “Miłujcie się!” 4 (2009), pp. 38-41; Non possumus. Kościół wobec homoideologii [Non Possumus. The Church and Homoideology], in: T. Mazan, K. Mazela, M. Walaszczyk (ed.), Rodzina wiosną dla Europy i świata. Wybór tekstów z IV Światowego Kongresu Rodzin 11-13 maja, Warszawa 2007 [The Family is the Spring of Europe and the World. Selected Papers Presented at the 4th World Congress of Families, 11-13 May 2007, Warsaw],  Łomianki 2008, pp. 355-361; parallel: Homoideologia? Non possumus! [Homoideololgy? Non Possumus!], “Głos dla życia” 4 (87) 07/08 2007, pp. 12-14; „Non possumus.” Kościół wobec Homoideologii [Non Possumus. The Church and Homoideology], “Materiały Homiletyczne” 236 (2007), pp. 5-19; Kościół wobec homoideologii [The Church and Homoideology], “Miłujcie się!”, Part I, 1 (2009), pp. 40-43, Part II, 2(2009), pp. 41-44.

[4] A real mine of knowledge on the subject is found in the fundamental document of the Bishops’ Conference of the United States, a very reliable report drawn up on the basis of thorough studies carried out in all US dioceses: The Nature and Scope of Sexual Abuse of Minors by Catholics Priests and Deacons in the United States 1950-2002, New York 2004, known as thee John Jay Report 2004. http://www.usccb.org/issues-and-action/child-and-youth-protection/upload/The-Nature-and-Scope-of-Sexual-Abuse-of-Minors-by-Catholic-Priests-and-Deacons-in-the-United-States-1950-2002.pdf. See also R. Dreher, The Gay Question, “National Review”, 22 April 2002, and R.J. Neuhaus, Rozejm roku 2005? [The Truce of 2005?], “First Things. Edycja Polska” No. 1, Fall 2006, pp. 13-19, 18.

[5] George Weigel describes that situation and the fault of clergymen particularly well in his book Odwaga bycia katolikiem [The Courage to Be Catholic], transl. J. Franczak, Kraków 2005.

[6] Cf. D. Michalski, The Price of Priest Pederasty, “Crisis”, October 2001, pp. 15-19.

[7] It is so typical that even though the Church found Bishop Paetz guilty – for otherwise such rare a sanction as removal from office would not have been applied to him, the priests who contributed to it, who had the courage to defend the seminarians, have been persecuted ever since. It is suspected that one of the reasons for the apostasy (apart from an attempt at building a theology on poor philosophy) of F. Tomasz Więcławski, once a famous, honest and admired professor of theology, was confrontation with that kind of evil in the Church. Cf. W. Cieśla, Pokuta [Penance], http://religia.onet.pl/publicystyka,6/pokuta,35716, page1.html.

[8] J. Gowin said that on March 5, 2007 on Jan Pospieszalski’s programme “Warto rozmawiać” on TVP2 concerning the homosexual scandal in the Diocese of Płock. Cf. A. Adamkowski, Dwaj duchowni do prokuratury [Two Clergymen Brought for Prosecution], „Gazeta Wyborcza” March 3, 2007.

[9] Cf. T. Bielecki, Kościół zmaga się z pedofilią. Nie hołdujmy zasadzie omerta! [The Church Has Been Struggling with Paedophilia. Let’s Not Follow the Principle of Omerta!], “Gazeta Wyborcza” 11.02.2012.

[10]  Cf. J. Augustyn, Bez oskarżeń i uogólnień [Without Charges and Generalizations], an interview by T. Królak about homosexuality among priests for the Catholic News Agency of March 23, 2012:

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A Pope for the ‘New Evangelization’ — George Weigel

February 19, 2013
Lightning flashes over St. Peter's Basilica Monday, the day Pope Benedict XVI announced he will step down. Got your attention yet?

Lightning flashes over St. Peter’s Basilica Monday, the day Pope Benedict XVI announced he will step down. Got your attention yet?

The next pontiff must nurture Catholicism where it is growing and revive it where it is not. Mr. Weigel is the author of “Evangelical Catholicism: Deep Reform in the 21st-Century Church,” just published by Basic Books. Recently in the WSJ and rebroadcast here. Reviews of Mr. Weigel’s new book:

Timothy Cardinal Dolan, Archbishop of New York
“This sparkling read puts all the old Church-labels — liberal vs. conservative, progressive vs. traditionalist, pre- vs. post-Vatican II — in the shredder. Now there is only one valid adjective for all of us: evangelical! Simply put, this means we take our baptismal promises with the utmost seriousness. Like the Samaritan woman, we’ve met a man — Jesus — who has changed our lives.”

Charles J. Chaput, O.F.M. Cap., Archbishop of Philadelphia
“George Weigel has been the leading diarist of authentic Catholic renewal — its progress, detours, personalities, and hopes — for 30 years. In Evangelical Catholicism he turns his extraordinary skills to the needs of the Church in the coming decades, calling us back to the missionary vocation we received at baptism and offering us a road map to faithful, vigorous Church reform. Rich in its vision, engaging in style, on target in its counsel and invaluable for anyone trying to understand the Church and her challenges in the 21st Century, this book should not be missed.”

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The challenges facing the successor of Pope Benedict XVI come into sharper focus when we widen the historical lens through which we view this papal transition. Benedict XVI will be the last pope to have participated in the Second Vatican Council, the most important Catholic event since the 16th century. An ecclesiastical era is ending. What was its character, and to what future has Benedict XVI led Catholicism?

Vatican II, which met from 1962 to 1965, accelerated a process of deep reform in the Catholic Church that began in 1878 when the newly elected Pope Leo XIII made the historic decision to quietly bury the rejectionist stand his predecessors had adopted toward cultural and political modernity and to explore the possibilities of a critical Catholic engagement with the contemporary world. That reform process, which was not without difficulties, reached a high point of ecclesiastical drama at Vatican II, which has now been given an authoritative interpretation by two men of genius, John Paul II and Benedict XVI, both influential figures at the Council. According to that interpretation, the church must rediscover and embrace its vocation as a missionary enterprise.

Evangelical Catholicism — or what John Paul II and Benedict XVI dubbed the “New Evangelization” — is the new form of the Catholic Church being born today. The church is now being challenged to understand that it doesn’t just have a mission, as if “mission” were one of a dozen things the church does. The church is a mission. At the center of that mission is the proclamation of the Gospel and the offer of friendship with Jesus Christ. Everyone and everything in the church must be measured by mission-effectiveness. And at the forefront of that mission — which now takes place in increasingly hostile cultural circumstances — is the pope, who embodies the Catholic proposal to the world in a unique way.

So at this hinge moment, when the door is closing on the Counter-Reformation church in which every Catholic over 50 was raised, and as the door opens to the evangelical Catholicism of the future, what are the challenges facing the new pope?

Catholicism is dying in its historic heartland, Europe. The new pope must fan the frail flames of renewal that are present in European Catholicism. But he must also challenge Euro-Catholics to understand that only a robust, unapologetic proclamation of the Gospel can meet the challenge of a Christophobic public culture that increasingly regards biblical morality as irrational bigotry.

The new pope must be a vigorous defender of religious freedom throughout the world. Catholicism is under assault by the forces of jihadist Islam in a band of confrontation that runs across the globe from the west coast of Senegal to the eastern islands of Indonesia.

Christian communities in the Holy Land are under constant, often violent, pressure. In the West, religious freedom is being reduced to a mere “freedom of worship,” with results like the ObamaCare Health and Human Services contraceptive mandate.

Thus the new pope must be a champion of religious freedom for all, insisting with John Paul II and Benedict XVI that there can be neither true freedom nor true democracy without religious freedom in full. That means the right of both individuals of conscience and religious communities to live their lives according to their most deeply held convictions, and the right to bring those convictions into public life without civil penalty or cultural ostracism.

This defense of religious freedom will be one string in the bow of the new pope’s responsibility to nurture the rapidly growing Catholic communities in Africa, calling them to a new maturity of faith. It should also frame the new pope’s approach to the People’s Republic of China, where persecution of Christians is widespread. When China finally opens itself fully to the world, it will be the greatest field of Christian mission since the Europeans came to the Western Hemisphere.

Like his two immediate predecessors, the new pope should recognize that the church’s future mission in China will be imperiled by any premature deal-making with the Chinese Communist regime, which would also involve an evangelical betrayal of those Chinese Christians who are making daily sacrifices for fidelity to Jesus Christ.

The ambient public culture of the West will demand that the new pope embrace some form of Catholic Lite. But that counsel of cultural conformism will have to reckon with two hard facts: Wherever Catholic Lite has been embraced in the past 40 years, as in Western Europe, the church has withered and is now dying. The liveliest parts of the Catholic world, within the United States and elsewhere, are those that have embraced the Catholic symphony of truth in full. In responding to demands that he change the unchangeable, however, the new pope will have to demonstrate that every time the Catholic Church says “No” to something — such as abortion or same-sex marriage — that “No” is based on a prior “Yes” to the truths about human dignity the church learns from the Gospel and from reason.

And that suggests a final challenge for Gregory XVII, Leo XIV, John XXIV, Clement XV, or whoever the new pope turns out to be: He must help an increasingly deracinated world — in which there may be your truth and my truth, but nothing recognizable as the truth — rediscover the linkage between faith and reason, between Jerusalem and Athens, two of the pillars of Western civilization. When those two pillars crumble, the third pillar — Rome, the Western commitment to the rule of law — crumbles as well. And the result is what Benedict XVI aptly styled the dictatorship of relativism.

What kind of man can meet these challenges? A radically converted Christian disciple who believes that Jesus Christ really is the answer to the question that is every human life. An experienced pastor with the courage to be Catholic and the winsomeness to make robust orthodoxy exciting. A leader who is not afraid to straighten out the disastrous condition of the Roman Curia, so that the Vatican bureaucracy becomes an instrument of the New Evangelization, not an impediment to it.

The shoes of the fisherman are large shoes to fill.

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The Dream Of Dante’s Late Teens: The False Distinctions Of Sacred And Profane Love – A.N. Wilson

January 16, 2013
Victorian Art A.C. Lalli’s Dante’s Dream

Victorian Art A.C. Lalli’s Dante’s Dream

While I respect Mr. Wilson’s scholarship and his contributions to my understanding Dante and church history, his occasional forays into theology and current controversies are less than appreciated. Pardon my outbursts when coming across the latter in this essay.
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There are many paradoxes, of course, about the fact that the Church which persecuted the Albigensians for their cult of personal virginity should themselves worship a Virgin, that a Church which resented the Manichaean fear of the flesh expressed by the Albigensians should itself celebrate those human beings who had forsworn sexual relations. But the `paradox’ is in this instance simply explained. The Church owed much to the `heretical’ Albigensians. Much of its own asceticism derived from theirs. In order to win converts from the Cathar ranks, it was necessary to borrow Cathar clothes.

It was no accident or paradox that in the years when the Cathar threat to Catholicism rose to its height, the Church should have seen a revival of ascetic monasticism and the growth of the two most eloquent itinerant religious orders, those of St Francis and St Dominic.

The love poets of the Languedoc region, the inventors of Courtly Love, were themselves deeply imbued with the Cathar contempt for the body. In Purgatory, Dante and Virgil enter the circle of the sodomites. There they are greeted by the poet Guido Guinizelli, who was praised by Dante in his prose writings. Dante acknowledged Guinizelli as his, literary father or forebear. When he has recognized his old hero as Guinizelli, he exclaims:

It is your sweet lines that, for
as long as modern usage lasts, will still make dear their very inks.
[Purgatorio XXVI.112-14, Mandelbaum]

But here is something strange. Just as his old friend Brunetto Latini is among the sodomites in Hell, so his two heroes among the poets, Guinizelli and Arnaut Daniel, are in Purgatory being purified of their of… once again, sodomy. Why they are in Purgatory when Brunetto is Hell, Dante does not tell us.

They confess: ‘Nostro peccato fu ermafrodito‘ [Purgatorio. XXVI.82) Mandelbaum translates `our sin was with the other sex, but Dante is surely subscribing to the view of gay sex which Proust adopted (much to Gide' rage) at the beginning of Sodome et Gomorrhe, namely that gay men ar somehow hermaphroditic, or that they are women struggling to get out of men's bodies.

St Augustine of Hippo recalled that, during the exodus from Egypt, the Hebrew women stole the jewellery of the Egyptians. When Christian; thinkers took from the wisdom of the pagans -- as in his own borrowings from Plato -- it was `plundering the Egyptians.

The Church has always borrowed most shamelessly from those whose viewpoints it claimed most articulately to deplore. From the Albigensians, it derived its high medieval asceticism, its belief in a celibate clergy and, in part, its exaggerated cult of the Virgin. Dante, likewise, is able to borrow and develop the quasi-idolatrous worship of Idealized Woman of the troubadours and of the Courtly Love convention.

But while doing so, he can dismiss Guido Guinizelli and Arnaut Daniel to the company of the sodomites. He is saying that this treatment of women as an idealized figure, unapproachable, is a bit gay. This, perhaps, is what Dante is partly saying about his great precursors as love poets. Yet it beggars belief that this is all he is saying. Arnaut Daniel and Guido Guinizelli could have been suffering in Purgatory for any of the sins. Dante chose to specify this one.

The figure of Arnaut is, Momigliano says in his commentary, among the most delicate and nuanced in the entire Purgatorio. He was one of the most famous of the great Provencal troubadours. Petrarch gives him the first place among non-Italian love poets -- he calls him the `gran maestro d’amor.’ He represents all that is best in the Courtly Love tradition.

We might suppose that as Dante became more `mature, he gave up believing in the courtly conventions of romantic love, that he in some way or another `saw through' it as a sham. It would seem, though, as if the opposite were the case. He began a cynic. Trained by sour, misogynistic Jean de Meun, he had written in Il Fiore that love was just another word for pain (see the sonnet called `Reason' [Casciani and Kleinhenz, p. 109]). `Separate yourself from him or you will die.’ Reason teaches us, in Jean de Meun, to shun love. The many cynical sonnets in the later part of the sequence entitled `The Old Woman’La Vecchia — could have been written by Becky Sharp in old age:

If I had been a true expert
In the game of love when I was young,
I would be richer than any young noble woman
Or lady, whom you can see today.
[Casciani and Kleinhenz, p. 327]

Or

Many times my door was broken down
And battered, when I was sleeping:
But despite this I said nothing to them,
Since I had the company of another man;
I made him believe that his sexual pleasure
Pleased me more than any other thing in the world.
[Casciani and Kleinhenz, p. 329]

This breezy cynicism which so appealed to the very young Dante would give place, when he was broken and middle-aged, to a sense of the overwhelming power of romantic love. Arnaut Daniel had written of it in his now lost romance of Launcelot, the book which beguiled the lovers Paulo and Francesca.

This is the passage of the Inferno that even the most cursory readers of Dante remember. And again, as in the encounter with the totally charming Brunetto, suffering for the sin of sodomy, we are so made to sympathize with the adulterous lovers that we all but forget that what they have done is a sin. Thus, while being the most famous and most haunting passage in the Inferno, it is also the most subversive of the very doctrine of Hell, and of eternal punishment.

When I had listened to those injured souls
I bent my head and held it low until
the poet asked of me: `What are you thinking?’

When I replied, my words began, Alas,
how many gentle thoughts, how deep a longing,
had led them to the agonizing pass!’

Then I addressed my speech again to them,
and I began, `Francesca, your afflictions
move me to tears of sorrow and of pity.

But tell me, in the time of gentle sighs,
with what and in what way did Love allow you
to recognize your still uncertain longings?’

And she to me: `There is no greater sorrow
than thinking back upon a happy time
in misery — and this your teacher knows.

Yet if you long so much to understand
the first root of our love, then I shall tell
my tale to you as one who weeps and speaks.

One day, to pass the time away, we read
of Lancelot — how love had overcome him.
We were alone and we suspected nothing.

And time and time again that reading led
our eyes to meet, and made our faces pale,
and yet one point alone, defeated us.

When we had read how the desired smile
was kissed by one who was so true a lover,
this one, who never shall be parted from me,

while all his body trembled, kissed my mouth.
A Gallehault [Queen Guinevere's steward] indeed, that book and he
Who wrote it too; that day we read no more.’

And while one spirit said these words to me,
the other wept, so that — because of pity –
I fainted, as if I had met my death.
[Inferno V.109-41, Mandelbaum]

Arnaut speaks to Dante in his own language of Provençal. He says that he `plor e vau cantan, he weeps and sings at the same time. In thought he sees his past madness; with joy, he looks forward to the day of joy which awaits him [Puratorio XXVI.142-8]; but there is still some purging to be completed, so he retreats back into the refining fire.

In the dualistic mindset which possessed, and possesses, most Christian thinking, there would be no difficulty in seeing Arnaut Dani as a representative of false love; he laments his devotion to profane love, and rejoices because he is looking ahead to sacred love. It may even be the case that at certain points of Dante’s career, he too would have thought in this way.

But the reason that Charles Williams thought that the world was still not ready for Dante was that the Comedy is much bolder than this. In Dante’s finished and mature work, there is no such thing as profane love. Arnaut Daniel, and the Italian love poets who imitated him, and the traditions of Courtly Love poetry into which Dante, as a young man, were initiated were not idolaters — in the sense of focusing their love on false idols. What Dante was to venture was the possibility that in loving a woman, a man is not turning away from God but towards Him; that the meaning of Incarnation was that men and women, in the flesh as well as in the spirit, became like Christ. The Comedy is much too subtle a work to make its points loudly or by banging a drum. But the pity of the poet-traveler in Hell is more powerful, rhetorically, for the reader, than the supposed orthodoxy which condemns the lovers everlastingly.

The Cathars had believed that matter was evil, that the body was in itself impure, that the only good was spiritual good. The Church had rejected the heresy and persecuted it with the most terrible cruelty. But although the Church saw that the ideas of the Cathars were false, it was itself seduced by the very heresy which it purported to suppress. After the suppression of the Cathars, the Church laid more and more emphasis on the need for priestly celibacy. Sex itself was suspect. The body was suspect. Christianity lives, to this hour, with those old Cathar falsehoods — as is demonstrated from time to time when `orthodox’ Christians rise up to persecute, for example, gays in the twenty-first century. [Ugh. Such an ignorant observation. dj]

Even if you are not a Christian, common sense teaches us that the Cathar heresy is wrong. Of course, we are bodies not spirits! [Duh. How about embodied spirits? Wilson writes entertainingly and informingly of Dante but doesn’t know shit about Catholic theology. DJ ] Yet, from Plato to Mrs Baker Eddy and the Christian Scientists, from the Cathars to the Muslim men who swathe their women in burkhas, the human race has been attracted by the thrilling falsehood that their very bodily existence is sinful, that matter is illusory or evil. Common sense teaches us that physical existence — appetites of stomach or sexuality, the appearance of our bodies, the nerve endings in our brains — are what determine our existence. [So hard not to comment:This guy IS stupid! dj]

The mature Dante had put behind him the false distinctions of sacred and profane love. These he had learned, not from reading theology, but from reading the `heretical’ love-religion of Arnaut Daniel and the Provencal poets, and perhaps from dabbling with the heresy of the Cathars. The religion of Courtly Love had set the ideal Lady on a pedestal. The `tragedy’ of Paolo and Francesca was that in reading Arnaut Daniel’s romance of Launcelot, they had moved away from the fantasy of literature into an actual sexual encounter. `That day we read no more’ — ‘Quel giorno piix no vi leggemmo avante’ — a line of characteristic economy, irony, punch.

The confused erotic preoccupations of adolescence come to focus on an actual sexual object. The nine-year-old Beatrice, the little girl in a red frock, becomes an eighteen-year-old Beatrice, and Dante becomes aware of the body beneath the dress. Dante is walking along a street in Florence and sees her. We are not, surely, meant to suppose that Beatrice Portinari, who lived only yards from the Alighieri house, had really not been seen by a neighbor for nine years. There are seeings and there are `seeings.’ This is not a regular good-morning, it is an epiphany — and for the moment the girl next door is little lower than the angels. She is between two other women. `The miraculous lady appeared, dressed in purest white’ [VN III Musa]. She greets him, and he is overwhelmed. As he was to write of the incident after she had died, this was the first time that she had ever actually spoken to him.

If this account of his meeting the adult Beatrice is to be taken as literally true, it would suggest that Florentines kept their women in purdah until they were free to be handed over to their husbands, but I do not think you need to take it as the literal truth, even though the customs of the time and the doctrines of the Church both conspired to agree that women were inferior beings. `Whether of good or bad character, women needed to be kept down, if necessary violently. Buona femmina e mala femmina vuol baston. The common to a young bridegroom was to wish him, `Salute e figli maschi!’ and boy-children.

When, towards 1318-20, Francesco da Batberin his Reggimento e costume di donna he was not sure whether to recommend families of the middle class or the nobility to teach their children to read. As for the behavior of young girls and women, their great virtue is reserve, modesty and stillness. To agitate the limbs too much signifies in a female child, affectation, and in a young woman, an inconstant heart.

Beatrice, then, as she walked out with two female companions or chaperones, would have led an existence which was as restricted as that of the most strictly brought-up Muslim girl of today. Her daring to speak out of turn and to greet Dante, even if they had been neighbors for eighteen years, was a token of some boldness. Perhaps this was his reason — apart from the fact that she had for nine years become a goddess inside his head — for being so overwhelmed by the experience. He went home to his bedroom. We do not know where this bedroom was. Was it still with his half-brother and half-sister and stepmother? Or was it in the house of a guardian?

The vision of the child Beatrice had touched the most secret chamber of his heart. Here, once again, he goes to his secret chamber. His way of writing about these things, and his articulation of his feelings, signal a new development not only in literature, but in European consciousness. As the great Swiss cultural historian Jacob Burckhardt said, `The human spirit had taken a mighty step towards the consciousness of its own secret life.’

As he lay in his bedroom, Dante fell asleep. A fiery mist filled the room, and through its vapours he made out the fearsome Lord of Love, who declared that he was Dante’s Master. In the arms of the Lord of Love, a woman was asleep. She was naked, except for a blood-red cloth loosely wrapped around her body. Dante recognized the lady whom he had met in the street. In one of the Lord’s hands, Dante saw a flaming object. `Vide cor tuum’ — see your heart, says the Lord in Latin. (In the dream, which is related in Italian, the Lord of Love always speaks Latin, some of it unintelligible.) Then the Lord of Love woke up the young woman and forced her to eat the heart. The Lord, who had been joyful, started to weep, as he and Beatrice vanished, drifting upwards towards Heaven.

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Considering Vatican II — William Doino Jr. & Fr. Robert Barron & Francis Cardinal George

September 4, 2012

Second Vatican Council by Lothar Wolleh

Three contributions here. The first is a wonderful little blog posting from William Doino Jr. that I found very comforting to read. I hate to see my Church squabbling and a lot of post Vatican II “dialogues” seem to have been just that. Next Fr. Barron offers some perspective in a YouTube video. Finally a reading selection from Francis Cardinal George’s keynote address at the conference, “Keeping the World Awake to God’: The Challenge of Vatican II,” at the Pontifical John Paul II Institute for Studies on Marriage and Family at The Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C., 12-14 January 2012. Taken all together, an excellent look back at Vatican II as it nears  its 50th anniversary.

And a special invitation to any reader of PayingAttentiontotheSky who lives in the Boston area. I belong to a Communio Reading Group that will be taking up Cardinal George’s keynote address. If you would like to read the piece, I would be happy to email it off to you along with directions to St. Clement’s Shrine where we meet on September 23rd.  Join us and share some Catholic Fellowship as we discuss.

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It has now been almost fifty years since the Catholic Church created waves by opening the Second Vatican Council. And for many, the tumult continues. Vatican II has become nothing less than a battle over the mission of the contemporary Church.

The progressive left sees the Council as an open-ended innovation whose revolutionary promise has yet to be fulfilled. The traditionalist right views it with deep suspicion and is sometimes heard to say (if not openly, at least sotto voce) that the Church would have been better off had it never occurred. But the vital center of Catholicism — if it can be called that — has always defended the Council as a necessary and faithful extension of the Church’s evangelical mission to the modern world. The historian Edward Norman gave voice to this perspective when he wrote:

The remarkable thing about the Council was that it was able to produce more or less exactly what it set out to do: a statement of the Catholic faith in modules of understanding intelligible to modern culture yet completely conformable to past tradition — an achievement the more remarkable in view of the incoherence of western culture in the 1960s.

Norman’s perspective is better appreciated today. John Paul II’s Extraordinary Synod of Bishops in 1985, and Benedict XVI’s insistence on a “hermeneutic of continuity” rather than rupture have both helped to recover a “deeper reception of the Council” as the Synod’s final report requested. The wonderfully clarifying universal Catechism was one of the Council’s greatest fruits. But even as Vatican II, properly understood, remains an achievement of the first order, its immediate consequences were anything but.

No sooner had the final session of the Council ended than dialogue gave way to worldly adaptation: Priests started abandoning their collars and nuns their habits, if not their orders. Large portions of the Catholic laity, flushed with a sense of unbounded freedom, stopped going to confession and Sunday Mass. Consciences once formed in the light of Catholic teaching began to morph into self-interest. The Church’s teaching against contraception, for example, was effectively thrown out the window by the laity. These events were not authorized by the Council, and somehow secularism and relativism had penetrated the Church.

Leading Catholics whose writings had done so much to influence the Council — men like Yves Congar and Henri de Lubac, Louis Bouyer and Hans Urs von Balthasar, Jacques Maritain and Dietrich von Hildebrand — sounded the alarm. By 1967, Congar was asking: “Where do we go from here? Where shall we be in twenty years? I, too, feel almost every day a temptation to anxiety in the face of all that has changed or is being called into question.”

But none of these men turned their back on the Council or the Holy See. As von Hildebrand stressed:

When one reads the luminous encyclical Ecclesiam Suam of Pope Paul VI or the magnificent ‘Dogmatic Constitution on the Church’ [Lumen Gentium] of the Fathers of the Council, one cannot but realize the greatness of the Second Vatican Council. But when one turns to so many contemporary writings…one can only be deeply saddened and even filled with grave apprehension. For it would be difficult to conceive a greater contrast than that between the official documents of Vatican II and the superficial, insipid pronouncements of various theologians and laymen that have broken out everywhere like an infectious disease.

Among those who share von Hildebrand’s concerns is Father Paulo Molinari, S.J., who was a contributor to Lumen Gentium. Several years ago, I had the privilege to speak to him in Rome. In our lively discussion, three things stood out.

First, Vatican II was not a bolt out of the blue from Pope John XXIII. It was preceded by twenty ecumenical Councils, and Congar writes that “the Church has always tried to reform itself.” Pius XI and Pius XII had seriously considered holding a new Council themselves. Next, John XXIII’s famously jovial personality has led many to believe he was an unabashed progressive, and this has colored many accounts of the Council. But Molinari, a close friend of the pope, told me that this popular image of “Good Pope John” as easygoing and tolerant of almost any proposal, is “absolute nonsense.” Finally, statistics about the Church in the pre-Conciliar years are misleading, because there were many trends afoot — in theology, morality, politics, science, and exegesis — that were already having an unsettling impact on the internal life of Catholics.

At the end of our discussion, I still had one question: “All that being said Father, and granting the necessity, beauty, and orthodoxy of the Council’s teachings — how did their implementation go so disastrously wrong in the immediate years that followed?”

“The Council called us to find fulfillment in Christ,” he said gently, “but many Catholics confused that with their own self-fulfillment.” Stunned, I finally murmured, “That’s a pretty big mistake.” “Yes,” he replied, with tremendous understatement.

The Second Vatican Council wasn’t about us, but about Christ’s call, lovingly offered, to fulfill our potential on his terms, in and through the moral and spiritual teaching of his Church. It is the transformation that awaits us all — if we are prepared to accept it — promised by Christ two thousands years ago: “He that finds his life shall lose it and he that loses his life for my sake shall find it.”

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 The Church In The World

The internal unity of the Church as communion should establish and model the external unity of the human race in solidarity, of nations and cultures and peoples living together in peace. The council therefore was an exercise in ecclesial self-consciousness, as Pope John Paul II explained this from the viewpoint of his own philosophical anthropology. How is the Church to change her self-consciousness in order to be God’s instrument for changing the world? How does the Church situate herself in the world so that she can be, as the first paragraph of Lumen gentium, the decree on the Church, says, “the sacrament or … sign of union with God and of the unity of all mankind.”

With that declared purpose in mind, a few points about the Church’s life demonstrate how there is continuity of principle but in always changing circumstances. In a changing world, principles themselves sometimes take on a different cast as well. Pope Benedict XVI has explained this as the hermeneutic of reform. There is development of doctrine in the Second Vatican Council because of a changed understanding of the Church’s pastoral life and mission. It was a reform council, which means some things changed. What changed was our sense of the Church and her mission today. Nothing was taught that contradicted what Christ had said and done in establishing the Church, but there were new interpretations of teaching in order to establish new efforts to perfect the Church’s mission.

The great ecclesiologist after the Council of Trent and in the aftermath of the Protestant Reformation was St. Robert Bellarmine (1542-1621). He was building on the work of the late medieval jurists who studied ecclesiastical structures of governance in relation to the various civil societies in which the Church lived. The earlier councils of the Church were concerned with responding to errors about the mystery of the Godhead in the Trinity, and in clarifying the person and natures of Christ. In the late middle ages, as the way of life of many Christians, including many in the papal court, was more and more separated from the way of life presented and modeled in the Gospel, the reform councils of the Lateran spoke about the Church in moral terms.

One could easily argue that the Reformation was rooted in the scandal of the Church’s pastors and faithful not living in conformity to what they were professing as they proclaimed the Gospel. But schism in the Church pre-dated the Reformation, and it was answered in juridical terms by the medieval jurists. James of Viterbo, in the early years of the fourteenth century, wrote the first canonical treatise in ecclesiology. St. Robert Bellarmine was working out of that received juridical framework for understanding the Church as a visible society, because the reformers were saying that the structures of the Church are adventitious: it does not matter really what form the governance of the Church takes because the Church is invisible, she is a work of grace.

It is true that invisible grace is the life of the Church, but because the reformers relativized and almost put aside or confided entirely to civil rulers the apostolic structures of the Church, Cardinal Bellarmine’s reaction was to define the Church as a perfect society, like the state. The Church’s members are not morally perfect any more than the state’s citizens are morally perfect; but both are perfect in the legal sense that both have everything needed to do their work to accomplish their mission. The Church has all the gifts necessary to fulfill her mission from Christ, just as the state has everything that it needs in order to fulfill its mission in this world.

St. Robert Bellarmine explained, in a more theological framework, how the Church possesses all that is necessary for her mission. He defined Church authority and its juridical limits and gave these a basis in Scripture and Tradition; he clarified the rights and duties of different classes of Church members. The Church was examined from outside, as if by an observer. The analogy for the Church’s self-understanding was the kingdom of France or the republic of Venice. That controlling metaphor meant that Church governance was still legitimated by jurisdiction, by the legal power to act.

This left the Church in the modern age with the dilemma of competing jurisdictions: how does one separate the domain of the Church and the claims of the new nation-states created by the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648? Both Church and state are perfect societies; both are complete; both have their rights. Yet each makes both religious and secular claims. How does one separate the domains of competence and, more than that, how can Church and state peacefully and respectfully cooperate?

Various theories of the proper subordination of state to Church and of the Church’s liberty of action in the secular sphere have been elaborated. The Church needed an ecclesiology that established her freedom in the world for the sake of her mission that transcends the world. She also needed to explain how civil society is properly autonomous but not totalitarian. Before the Second Vatican Council, Pope Pius XII had already begun to draw on the thought of German theologians who, in the nineteenth century, moved beyond the juridical framework of the perfect society based upon jurisdiction toward a theology based upon the biblical metaphors that describe the Church in the New Testament.

The Church is related to Christ and the Holy Spirit as a mystery of faith and, in 1943, Pope Pius XII wrote on the Church as the Mystical Body of Christ in order to define the Church’s nature from the sources of her life from within rather than from her juridical organization. Pius XII wrote to combat the false notion that there are two different churches, an interior or spiritual church of all who believe in Christ and an external, visibly structured Church which can be analyzed without reference to her nature as a mystery of faith. He overcame ecclesial dualism by identifying the Mystical Body of Christ with the society and structures of the Roman Catholic Church, with no overlap.

The famous existet in of Lumen gentium says exactly that, but the council recognized the existence of gifts from Christ outside of visible Catholic communion. There are visible elements of ecclesial reality outside of the visible structure of the Catholic Church, and these relate people to the Church in ways that make salvation available. They are called vestigiae ecclesiae (vestiges of the Church). These elements of the Church outside of her pastoral and visible unity serve to include all Christians, in a certain limited sense, in her membership in such a way that it is possible to dialogue with them as brothers and sisters, to see something in them that is also in us, to see them as friends and as fellow believers, through a common baptism.

This is the conviction found also in the mission document of the council, Adgentes. Semina verbi, the seeds of the Word, are to be discovered in natural religions and in non-Christian religions so that, again, missionaries can dialogue with people of other faiths or of no faith at all, because seeds of the Word are present among them. God created the world, and the world therefore is good even in its own now fallen and wounded nature, the cosmos speaks of God to those who are listening. Our discerning everywhere vestiges of the Church and seeds of the Word enables the Second Vatican Council to say that all are already part of God’s family, even if not everybody realizes it. Catholics should therefore be the ones to initiate dialogue, and this ability presupposes that the Church is free to do so everywhere in the world.

Vatican II finessed the political dimensions of how the Church should be in the world by sidestepping the relationship between Church and state (which is still the unreconstructed way we speak of it in this country) and emphasizing instead the relationship between faith and culture. The most provocative and original section of the constitution on the Church in the world, Gaudium et spes, is the second chapter, on culture. The concept of culture is not too explicitly defined but nonetheless the Church’s parameters shifted from living the tension between two perfect societies to explaining the relationships between two normative systems — faith and culture.

We are who we are because of our culture, far more profoundly than because we are citizens of a particular nation state. Both faith and culture are normative for those who are believers; both are complete in themselves and both tell us what is important, what to think and how to act. If the Church is to be in the world as a leaven, then she must engage cultures. Just as the legalist approach to understanding the Church is inadequate to her full internal reality, so also her external relationship to the world through the institution of the state, while obviously still of great importance, becomes secondary.

The relationship between the Church and the world is defined by dialogue between faith and culture. The council fathers were therefore concerned about the conditions for authentic dialogue. To have an authentic dialogue between the universal faith and a particular culture, in order properly to situate the Church in the world in a new age, the council spoke to the freedom of the Church to fulfill her mission publicly and the personal freedom of conscience that is a natural right.

The council’s document on religious liberty, Dignitatis humanae, depended partially on the prior work of John Courtney Murray, S. J. His groundbreaking articles in Theological Studies in the 1950s, remain, however, an institutional analysis. In countries where the state claims vast jurisdiction over its citizens’ lives, a legally defined relationship between the Church and the state is necessary because the Church could not otherwise be free. But in the case of a state with limited government, and the best example is the restriction placed on the state by the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, the state is contained within its own domain and therefore leaves free every other domain of human activity.

The United States does not have a government ministry of religion nor of culture, as European states often have. Our constitutional guarantees were thought to give the Church greater freedom of action. The document on religious freedom in the modern world, however, starts not from institutional considerations but from anthropology. It decides who we are as free people, men and women made in God’s image and likeness and therefore necessarily exercising our religious duties to God and expressing our religious beliefs publicly in society. The state must respect and permit that freedom. The dignity of the human person is therefore the foundation of Dignitatis humanae, and the document explains how that dignity is given to every human person because of his or her relation to God. Dignitatis humanae also speaks of freedom of conscience, but it talks about freedom of conscience vis-a-vis the state, not vis-a-vis the Church.

Freedom of conscience means a person has the right and obligation to act according to his or her conscience, but conscience is a practical principle in Catholic moral teaching. Freedom of conscience does not mean one has the right to interpret personally or to deny what God has revealed in Christ and still call oneself a Catholic believer. Freedom of conscience is often understood as a function of the sovereign self in an individualistic society. It means that individuals have a right, even by reason of the Church’s own teaching, to deny what is declared by the Church as authentically revealed. Every individual would then be a Church of one.

Rather, freedom of conscience is understood within the community of faith differently from the way that it is understood within the civil community. It must be, as a principle of both belief and action, respected totally in the civil community. Within the community of faith it must be respected as a principle of action but not as a principle of belief. Faith is a response to what has been revealed by God. Its contents are assented to as a whole, or else it is not faith in a God who reveals himself. Thomas Aquinas explained that, if one believes every article of the Creed but one, he or she doesn’t believe any of the articles, because “faith” would be reduced to an “assent” to an individual’s personal value system. In the realm of faith, an individual’s intelligence and will cannot be the criteria of what God has revealed, as if God’s word were not trustworthy without our verification.

The council’s teaching on the relationship between culture and world and on the freedom of religion and conscience builds on what was taught before, but the council shifts the tradition so there is a reinterpretation and a new emphasis rather than a simple reiteration of teaching. There is authentic development; there is reform. Reform means a principle remains but is now worked out in different ways because circumstances have changed and new insights have come to shape the Church’s living tradition.

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Scholastic Thought – Professor William R. Cook

August 29, 2012

Giovanni Bellini’s Allegoria Sacra (Sacred Allegory) hangs in the Uffizi in Florence. The subject of this painting is a mystery to art historians. The earliest figures of Christian and ancient mythology are gathered together on a balustrade by a sea or a wide river, surrounded by hills on which can be seen, in the distance, village huts and a palazzo. St. Sebastian, the Madonna, a centaur, small children playing by a tree in the center, a Saracen-Muslim, a man somewhat like the Apostle Paul with a sword in his hand, in the background a peasant with a mule, two beautiful ladies one of whom is St. Catherine, a naked old man reminiscent of Job – this is a far from a complete list of the heroes who Bellini brought together in this picture. One interpretation of this painting is that it showed Purgatory, where the souls of the righteous, of virtuous pagans and of unchristened children await their fate – heaven or hell.

Some notes from Professor Cook’s great courses lecture on the history of the Catholic Church.

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In a real sense, Christian learning is as old as Christianity itself; that is to say, if we take a look at the texts of the New Testament, they are written by not only intelligent people, not only people of faith, but people who have a great deal of learning. We know, of course, than the entire New Testament was written in Greek, and therefore any New Testament writer could have read, and in many cases we know did read, great Classical texts by authors such as Plato or Thucydides. I mentioned examples of that: The Letters to the Hebrews, for example, pretty clearly shows in one passage that the author has read Plato and uses Platonic language and Platonic ways of thinking in order to explain a part of the faith to the people who were the original audience for that letter.

We need to remember from the very beginning that the question really arises: In what ways can Christians use things outside the biblical tradition, outside the Hebrew predecessors, to interpret the meaning of Jesus, to explain it, and to persuade people who were, in fact, very often Greek-speaking gentiles to follow, to convert to Christianity.

We know that there was a debate in the early church over exactly what kind of learning was useful, or even acceptable, to Christians. On more than one occasion I’ve already mentioned the famous question of Tertullian, a third century theologian: “What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?” What has that great pagan learning of the past to do with our faith and the way we teach and practice our faith? We saw that Tertullian’s answer was “It has nothing to do with it.”

It is important to say that Tertullian was not trying to dumb down Christianity; he wasn’t saying Christianity is for people who don’t think or don’t reason. In fact, Tertullian used a very sophisticated Latin vocabulary, even though he did not like the idea of using foreign — that is, non-Judeo-Christian — ideas as ways of understanding or explaining Christianity.

But we saw that Tertullian’s position really wasn’t the dominant position in the Latin-speaking West. For example, I’ve pointed out that both Augustine and Jerome in somewhat different ways both thought a great deal about the question of the relationship of pagan learning to Christianity to the revelation that’s contained in the Bible.

In both cases, we would say perhaps that Augustine and Jerome were sort of moderate on this issue; that is to say, clearly Classical knowledge doesn’t get you there. Classical knowledge, to use Augustine’s image, can sort of show  you where you want to go; but only faith in Jesus, only the knowledge of the Christian scriptures can show you how to get there. Nevertheless, Augustine and Jerome recognized value in their own lives personally of the classics, and also recognized their value in understanding, teaching, and explaining the Christian faith.

We saw that Jerome, in fact, was a great: scholar; he translated the Bible — that is to say, the Hebrew scripture and the Christian scripture, which of course was written in Greek — into Latin, ” and his translation became the standard translation used for 1,000 years of Catholicism. Clearly, it took a great scholar to be able to do that.

Let me also suggest that tone of the issues that the Latin-speaking West had to deal with was the fact — and again, I’ve mentioned this before — that all the councils, the four ecumenical councils, were held in the Greek-speaking word, had mostly Greek bishops, and issued all of their teachings and decrees in Greek; and there were some difficulties in translating some of that theology, some of those texts, into Latin because Greek was a more highly nuanced language with regard to having a sort of philosophical therefore borrowed theological vocabulary. It’s important to remember that Latin theology developed somewhat differently than the theology of what later on we’d call the Orthodox world at least in part simply because of the languages being so different.

When we talk about the development of Latin theology, as we saw in a previous lecture, the figure we turn the most to is Saint Augustine. Saint Augustine’s writings today — the ones that survived — are about 50 volumes worth of writing, and clearly he is the great Latin theologian of the West. However, remember that Augustine died in 430, and literally — the barbarians, in this case the Vandals, were at the gates of Hippo where Augustine was bishop and where Augustine died. Therefore, as we know, not long after Augustine died — less than a half century — Roman imperial authority in the West had essentially collapsed and for all practical purposes disappeared.

Therefore, what we tend to do, unfortunately, is sort of assume because here come the Germanic tribes of a, b, and c that somehow or other theology must have also sort of gone downhill if not almost disappeared; that’s sort of the mythology of the fall of the Roman Empire in the West.

Let me suggest there are very important Catholic writings that occurred, really, in every century; however, they aren’t necessarily often studied today. One reason is because these were works written by monks in monasteries to a great extent — although not entirely- and therefore those works seem to be about topics that are not of particular interest to, if you will, in the pew Catholics today.

Certainly people study them, but they don’t seem directly relevant to Christians — Catholics in particular — raise today. However, I want to suggest that there is some wonderful Christian history, history written from a Christian point of view; I mentioned, for example, Gregory of Tours and the Venerable Bede as examples.

I also want to point out that one of the most important Catholic genres of literature of the early Middle Ages were the saints’ lives; and today, again, to a great extent saints’ lives are out of vogue. They are out of vogue in part because they sort of sound like they’re history on the surface — they tell a story that starts at the beginning of a life and ends at the end of a life — but they contain a lot of things that seem to many people today to be believable; and therefore we tend to sort of be uncomfortable with them and maybe even push them aside and look for something more sophisticated, we might say.

I would argue that those works are very sophisticated whether it’s a life of Saint Patrick, for example, written in the seventh century, or other Saint’s lives. I would suggest that in some ways if more Catholics — and I mean the pew Catholics, not seminarians, monks, and whatever — got to know the literature. It’s around, it’s in existence, and a lot of it has been translated into English, but it’s still not very widely read or very well known.

I also want to suggest that during the period of Charlemagne — we call the period around the time of Charlemagne, because of some cultural developments that took place, the Carolingian Renaissance, although there are many who would not want to apply the term “renaissance” to anything that happened in the eighth and ninth centuries — there was a renewed interest in Classical literature, although very limited amounts of Classical literature and there was a good deal of theological discourse and indeed, theological dispute. Some of those issues that were disputed and debated again, tend not to have a lot of interest for people today; some of them seem very obscure to us, for example. But I simply want to remind you there is a continuous tradition of Catholic writing and Catholic learning that runs even through the darker periods of the Middle Ages and all of Christian

But about the year 1000, we began to get the development of new kinds of thought; it began slowly, and then we’ll see it developed in the 11th and 12th century and really flourishes in the 13th century. The place we usually start is with a man named Gerbert, who was ultimately elected Pope Sylvester, and he was, indeed, pope in the millennial year; he was pope in the year 1000.

In his life before he was elected pope, he was one of the men to say: We need to have better schools, we need greater learning we need to go back to a curriculum that had existed in antiquity, in late antiquity, called the Seven Liberal Arts. The Seven Liberal Arts, like a lot of things that have seven on them, are divided into a group of four and a group of three. The first three are called the trivium — it simply means “Three,” you can hear the “tri” in there — and they are grammar, rhetoric, and logic.

By the time that Gerbert’s around, around the year 1000, it seems that in the monastic schools — which are about the only schools in Europe — the only subject that’s really being studied is grammar.

“Grammar” means “learning how to read and write Latin properly”; grammar is broader than it might sound like to us, because grammar involves reading ancient models of Latin to learn what good Latin is like. That can be, for example, Cicero, or it can be Virgil for poetry, or whatever. Nevertheless, grammar, it seems, was largely what was taught in the monastic schools in the 10th century. Gerbert said we need to go beyond that and recapture the interest in and study of the other two parts of the trivium: rhetoric, which is in a sense learning to read, to write, and understand and speak Latin elegantly beyond just having proper qualities; and then there is logic, which is learning to speak, read, and write and make an argument in Latin. Gerbert is one of the first one to say to various monastic schools — and he himself came from a monastic tradition — we need to have this somewhat broader education. As I said, there are seven liberal arts, and the four others called the quadrivium are more close to what we would call science today.

They are: arithmetic; geometry; music, and music here don’t mean learning to play the fiddle, music means the study of harmonics and ratios, if you will; and the fourth one is astronomy. At least with Gerbert there was a little bit of interest even in the quadrivium; and as there as this renewed interest in the Seven Liberal Arts, or at least the first three of them, we began to get a little more interest in Classical texts. That’s Latin texts, which of course people could read because Latin was the language of the church, but also there had been some Greek texts that had been translated into Latin late in antiquity: some works of Greek philosophy, science, and whatever; they were quite limited.

For example, there was a little bit of Aristotle, a little bit of Plato, none of Thucydides, none of the great Greek tragedians we think of, none of Homer; so it was a very limited Greek list, but nevertheless, the interest in these subjects beyond grammar led to more interest in these Classical texts, because they would be of help in explaining, teaching, and persuading people about Christianity.

Around 1100, we had an Italian serving as the Archbishop of Canterbury in England, and his name was Anselm. Anselm used elements. of Greek Classical learning, in particular, formal logic — how to construct an argument — to write some very important books. He wrote a book called Why God Became Human (Cur Deus Homo, in Latin), and in it, he tried to explain using reason why, given the problem of sin and disobedience in the world; it was logical and necessary for God to send a son to take on our form, our life, and be crucified. It was trying to explain as much as possible the mysteries of the faith using reason, because, what Anselm believed was, if we can explain these things by reason or at least get closer to a full understanding by reason, that’s valuable in preaching, teaching, and evangelizing.

He wrote another book that is very interesting where he talked about the proof for the existence of God; how do you know God exists? Again, today, there are people who think his proof still makes some sense — we call it the ontological proof of the existence of God –  there are others who say, “Well, it doesn’t hold up today.”

Whichever one of those positions you take, what we need to recognize is Anselm believed it was important to try to explain as much as one can God’s existence by reason, because everybody can follow reason. Obviously you need faith, and, in fact, Anselm never lost sight of the primacy of faith; he even talked about the fact that what he’s trying to do was have his faith seeking understanding, or he said, “I believe in order that I may understand.” He did not deny the primacy of faith, but his faith could be reinforced and strengthened by reason, by being able to make arguments about the existence of God or why God became human — one of the unique claims, after all, of Christianity that would be a good thing. Anselm was an important churchman and a holy man; he is indeed Saint Anselm, there’s a college named for him in New England.

What I want to talk about now is to go another generation forward to a fellow named Peter Abelard. Peter Abelard was a Frenchman, kind of cocky as far as we can tell; he taught at what was called the Cathedral School in Paris. Ahelard sort of took some of what Anselm did and pushed the envelope further. Here’s the problem: We seek truth, but truth is very hard to find in the Christian tradition because, by this time, Christianity was more than 1,000 years old. You not only had the New Testament, but you had decrees of popes, decrees of councils, theological writings like those of Augustine — which again, run 50 volumes-and those of Jerome, Ambrose, Gregory, laid the other great writers of the church; and at least on the surface, they sometimes seemed to disagree with each other seriously. How do we deal with that? How do we understand what is true when our great authorities seemed to differ with one another?

Abelard had an answer. He wrote a book that has this wonderful title in Latin Sic et Non (it simply means Yes and No); and what Abelard says is, “What I want to do is construct wonderful questions, important questions, that we want an answer to. Then what I will do is the research to find what various authors have said about that topic”; some, no doubt, seeming to answer the question “yes” because he always sets the question up so it could be answered in theory “yes” or “no.” There are a number of “yes” answers, and very often a number of “no” answers. That’s as far as this book gets; that is to say, Abelard doesn’t draw the synthesis, doesn’t say, “the yeses are right,” or “the no’s are right,” or “both are sort of right,” he doesn’t do that; but what he suggests is this is the way we go about things: We ask the right questions, we do our research — we set these texts that seem to be in opposition to one another there — and then we use reason, we use our intellect to figure out what the truth is.

Peter Abelard really, in a sense, raised the bar for the importance of learning and reason, especially, again, that third part of the trivium, that is to say logic, in finding Christian truth. Some of you may know that Peter Abelard sort of got himself in trouble, not because of what he wrote so much — although there were opponents to what he wrote — over a, how do we say this politely, incident involving a student, a female student, he was tutoring is Paris named Eloise. The romantic story and the tragic aftermath is not relevant here, but if you don’t know that story, it’s the kind of thing of which operas are made; I’ll just leave it there and tell you that, by the way, their ashes are buried together — Eloise and Abelard — in a cemetery in Paris, and today, lovers and people about to get married go there and pay their homage to this tragic love affair of Eloise and Abelard.

As much as Abelard wanted to use reason, wanted to use logic, to figure out exactly what the truth of Christianity is through all the maze of a thousand years of tradition, he didn’t have very good tools to do it with it. The great writer about logic was Aristotle, and with very few exceptions Aristotle’s writings did not exist in Latin in Abelard’s time, so Abelard was using what we might say are snippets of Aristotle’s writing. But in the latter half of the 12th century, there was a movement to get Aristotle — all of Aristotle — into Latin so it could be used at the various schools and what would soon emerge as the universities of Europe.

Interestingly enough, the translation was not made from Greek into Latin, but rather from Arabic into Latin because Muslims had been using Aristotle for centuries; they had translated it from Greek into Arabic, they had commented on Aristotle – that is to say they’d written commentaries — and they were dealing largely with the same question that Christians were dealing with in making use of Aristotle: How can a Greek polytheist be of any use to a religion that is monotheistic, that is revealed, and that has a sacred text, because none of those things apply to any of the Greek forms of religion that Aristotle or others of his time would practice. The advantage of translating Aristotle from Arabic into Latin was that you had Arabic commentators, and they were used in the 13th century a great deal by the greatest theologians of that time as guides to how to use Aristotle for the kinds of things they were using Aristotle for.

Another thing that happened in the second part of the 12th century was the creation of what became the great authoritative textbook of theology called The Four Sentences of Peter Lombard.

Almost every student for the next several hundred years who did an advanced degree in theology wrote as what we might call a kind of doctrinal thesis, a commentary, on Peter Lombard’s Sentences. There were also new educational institutions developing, in particular the university. In Paris, Bologna and other cities, we had a new kind of institution because the monastic school; and the cathedral school really didn’t include the new kinds learning, the enthusiasm for Aristotle; and so the University of Paris evolved into the cathedral school that Peter Abelard taught in, it was not directly under the control of the bishop and the cathedral chapter as the school had been early on.

Another reason why we had a flourishing of theology and a concern for getting the details right in the 13th century was because of the rise of heresy; we talked about the Cathars and the Waldensians. When nobody challenges the basic truths of the faith, there isn’t any need to define it carefully; but when those are challenged, you need to get things in the right language. You need to say, “We believe this, we don’t believe that; this is correct, this is incorrect.” The very challenge of heresy led to the need for clarification and explanation in more detail than perhaps was necessary before.

What we talked about developing in the 13th century is a particular kind of theological discourse that we call scholastic theology. “Scholastic” doesn’t just mean here “academic”; scholastic theology refers to a kind of theology that was done at the universities — the most important one of which was Paris — in the 13th and following centuries.

Let me just simply try to say that although there is a method to scholastic theology very much based on what Abelard did; let’s make some questions — and by the way, it gets much more complicated: Is it the number of questions? How do you relate question one to question two? Then question three must follow question one and two; organization becomes important — but let’s ask questions, let’s get the various answers that exist in our tradition, and then let’s synthesize them. Maybe they really are ultimately not in disagreement at all; maybe one simply is right, one simply is wrong.

It isn’t always you get the same kind of answer; you don’t always get a synthesis. But very often what these theologians discovered was if you asked the right questions and read specific passages in context, understanding exactly what words meant in specific contexts, many of the apparent difficulties and contradictions disappeared or at least were minimized.

Let me suggest that not all scholastic theologians agreed on things; agreed on how you do things, nor did they get the same results. Let me try to suggest briefly three major schools within scholastic theology. The most conservative we can use as our representative here: Saint Bonaventure, the great Franciscan theologian who died in 1274. For Bonaventure, although the technique of Aristotelian argument was important to him, the substance of Aristotle’s thought — what he said about politics, literature, or ethics — was not particularly important to Bonaventure; so if you will, he borrowed more the technique than the content of Aristotle, and he was in that sense more conservative. I think it’s still fair to call Bonaventure an Augustinian; and his theology was perhaps as much mystical as it was academic.

The main school of scholastic theology, the one we know the best today, was represented by Thomas Aquinas who died the same year as Bonaventure, in 1274. Thomas Aquinas was a Dominican; and it’s Thomas Aquinas and his fellow Dominicans that really were the major figures in what we call scholastic theology.

By and large, it’s fair to say, that Aquinas used both the techniques — the methods of arguing — of Aristotle; but also much of the substance of Aristotelian thought, whether it’s about politics, literature, ethics, or the many other issues that Aristotle talked about. Don’t get me wrong, Thomas of Aquinas was perfectly willing to disagree with Aristotle when Aristotle directly contradicted scripture. Aristotle believed in the eternity of matter; Thomas Aquinas said, “Aristotle’s wrong, because we. know from Genesis that matter is not eternal. God created matter at the beginning”; we learned that in Genesis 1, after all.

But I think it’s fair to say in general that Aquinas believed that there was compatibility between what we might call faith and reason; between the revelation contained in scripture and the reason as the best reasoners — that is to say, people like Aristotle — were able to do things. Thomas Aquinas  developed this idea that Abelard had a century earlier way beyond anything that we could’ve imagined, perhaps. The collection of questions all very carefully arranged so that one follows the previous one, today, even though that work was unfinished, it covers about 4,000 printed pages (by the way, he died at the age of 50, which makes you wonder what you have done with your life since he was able to crank out 4,000 pages and he wrote other things, too, in his 50 years of life).

But in addition simply to the quantity, he tried to include everything; he wrote about all human knowledge. Even though we would say he was bound to fail in this great work called the Summa Theologiae, it’s one heck of a try; it’s one of the great intellectual achievements — Christian or not, it seems to me — in the history of the West.

The third school of scholastic theology, which is the least important and I’m going to mention it very briefly, we call the Latin Averroists, named after an Arabic commentator on Aristotle called Averroes. The Latin Averroists basically used Aristotle uncritically; while Thomas Aquinas was willing to challenge Aristotle when necessary and Bonaventure was skeptical of a lot of Aristotle, it seems these Latin Averroists were not particularly discriminating when they used Aristotle, and therefore they came to something that we sometimes call — maybe this isn’t quite the right term — a double truth; something could be true in philosophy but false in theology, and vice versa. They were always on the edge of condemnation at the University of Paris.

These scholastic theologians — again, Bonaventure and Aquinas being the greatest examples, but there were many, many more in the 13th and following centuries — turned out an extraordinary amount of theology, carefully argued and thought theology; but also, it’s clear when we read, for example, Thomas Aquinas, maybe the great reasoner about Christianity of all time. He was also a man of very deep and profound faith; he’s not just a great Catholic scholar, I remind you, he’s also a Catholic saint, and his life — as well as his writings — is an important contribution to Catholicism.

Let me suggest that one of the popularizers of a great deal of scholastic theology in the vernacular — because all of the theology was written in Latin — was the great Italian poet Dante. Dante, in fact, meets both Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure in Heaven, and clearly his laying out of this great scheme of the afterlife and trying to include all Christian knowledge is simply not a theological treatise in verse, but certainly he borrows very deeply from both Dominican and Franciscan tradition because he was educated by both of them in Florence.

Let me suggest that by the 16th century, there were some real problems. People like Erasmus (great Catholic writer) and Martin Luther (the founder of Protestantism) mocked the scholastic method because, they said, first of all, too much of this Aristotle guy; but even more so, they sort of mocked it because it could very easily be turned into trivialization of Christianity, it could become a lot of academic debate rather than a real search for truth. On the other hand, in the 16th’ century during the Protestant Reformation, Catholics wanted clarity in their thought; they wanted to be able to respond precisely to the Protestants. Who’s the number one guy who could help them do that? Good old 13th century Thomas Aquinas; and so Aquinas gained a great deal more importance in the Catholic Church because he’s the most useful theologian to refute the Protestants.

Let me suggest, finally, that as we look at scholastic theology, we can praise its great achievements and its contributions to the church; but let me also suggest a couple problems with this kind of theology: First of all, it’s hard to go from some of these very technical debates and these sort of very scholarly works to how does this make a preacher better? How does this make an individual Catholic better out there on the farm, in the workshop, as a merchant? It didn’t easily and automatically translate into better pastoral care. Second of all, it subordinated everything to theology: Science was included in Thomas Aquinas’s Summa, and everything in the Summa wasaimed toward knowing about God. If science is a handmaid of theology – a 13th century term — that means then that science has to be guided by theologians rather than being guided by having its own way of finding truth its own experimental way. It’s only really in the 14th century that there is least a partial divorce between science and scholastic theology that allowed for a more independent development of science.

Finally, to go back to the criticism of people like Erasmus, it was very easy to go from this profound kind of exploration of Christian understanding say, “I want to win a debate with you. Let’s argue more about less and less.” Anybody who’s been to a university knows that’s a tendency that academics have. So one of the criticisms of scholastic theology is what we might sum up as people spend their time debating how many angels can dance on the head of a pin rather than anything that really is relevant to the faith.

Scholastic theology is one of the most important kinds of theology church ever produced, and it flourished in the context of the other things we’ve talked about in the 13th century.

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Monasticism — Professor William R. Cook

August 10, 2012

St. Anthony’s Egyptian Coptic Monastery at Coma, Egypt in 2006

William R. Cook is a DistinguishedTeaching Professor at the State University of New York at Geneseo, and a collaborator and originator on numerous intellectual projects about Medieval and Renaissance literature, history, and culture. Cook earned his PhD from Cornell University and joined the Geneseo faculty in 1970. The following is lifted from his Great Course on the Catholic Church.

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Several quite distinct forms of monasticism developed in the chaotic years of the collapse of Roman authority.

Monasticism began in the Egyptian desert in the 3rd century, but by the middle of the following century there were monks living in the West. In the 6th century, Benedict composed a rule — a formal prescription for the life of the monastic community at his monastery of Montecassino. His rule spread throughout the West during the two centuries following his death in 547, its success due largely to the brilliance of its balance of strictness and common sense.

The monastic impulse among Christians can be traced to the 3rd century and in some ways to the earliest Christianity. Jesus spoke of the blessedness of the poor and lived as a poor, powerless, celibate man. In the first Christian centuries, some women, especially widows, chose lives of simplicity, prayer, and service.

In the 3rd century, something of a monastic movement began, first in the Egyptian desert among men living literally on the fringes of society. We associate the beginning of monasticism with a man named Antony, who became a monk (a word meaning “alone”) in 269. He lived in the desert for 87 years, dying in 356 at the age of 105. He was sought out and emulated by both men and women. Athanasius, the bishop of Alexandria, wrote a life of Antony, the very first work of hagiography — biography of a saint.

Monastic life began to take on a community form and began to spread throughout the Roman Empire. The first monastic communities developed in Egypt in the first half of the 4″‘ century and are associated with the first monk to write a rule for a community, Pachomius. Monastic practices spread into the Holy Land and took a variety of forms: hermitic, loosely gathered, and communal.

The literature of early monasticism had a profound effect on the church and on monasticism in the West. Athanasius’s life of Antony was translated into Latin. Many of the words of wisdom of these men and women of prayer were written down in Sayings of the Desert Fathers. Evagrius, a well-educated monk of the end of the 4th century, wrote foundational texts about prayer. John Cassian visited monks in Egypt and recorded conversations and lore in Latin texts that remained important to the development of monasticism for many centuries.

Eventually, Catholic monasticism developed using the Rule of Saint Benedict of Nursia. Benedict (480-547) was an Italian who lived as a hermit and later served as an abbot. His strictness angered his monks. About 529, he founded a monastery at Montecassino, south of Rome. For Montecassino, Benedict composed a rule, a formal prescription for the life of the monastic community.

The Rule of Saint Benedict gradually spread throughout the Latin-speaking part of Europe. Its success was largely due to its brilliance and its balance of strictness and common sense. Pope Gregory I (the Great) lived for a while under the rule and later wrote a popular life of Benedict, which served to publicize it.

Although Benedict expected his monks to be literate, he did not think of the monastery as a place of scholarship. There were scholarly traditions in other monasteries that came to influence Benedictine houses. Monasticism in Ireland was different because of the lack of Latin known there. As cities declined in the West, their centers of education ceased to be important, and monasteries became the centers of education for several centuries.

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Reading Selections from Professor Cook’s lecture:

The Monastic Impulse
In this lecture, I’m going to talk about monks; by the way, “monks” I’m using here as a non-gendered term, so it means male and female religious. This is too easy, but let me start this way: Monks make a lot of sense to the Orthodox, almost no sense to many Protestants, and they sort of make sense to many Catholics. Obviously, there is a long history of Catholic monasticism; and yet I think today especially — where monks are fairly rare after all, and there isn’t a monastery near every town and city — I think a lot of people either more or less ignore them, writing them off as a kind of leftover from a bygone age, or sort of wonder what monasticism is all about.

One of the easy criticisms is, “Gee, these monks say that they’re going to live a life like Jesus lived. But Jesus wasn’t a monk; Jesus didn’t live his life in a cloister, he didn’t spend certain times each day at prayer, and so on and so forth, so how can somebody who is a monk claim to be imitating Jesus?”

Let me remind you that the people who often make those comments are married, own property, have a 401k, three kids, and belong to a gym; and of course Jesus didn’t do any of those things either. When we think about imitation of Jesus — which is, after all, to some extent in non-literal and perhaps literal terms as well the goal of every Christian — I think we’ll see in this lecture how in many ways monks make sense as people who imitate Jesus; and monks play an important role in the history of Christianity, and particularly in the history of Catholicism. I think it’s fair to say that there has been a kind of monastic impulse — we might call it — from the very beginning of Christianity.

Let’s remember that monks are poor, and Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor.” Let’s remember that Jesus lived as a celibate man, he lived without property, and he lived a life of prayer and service. If we describe Jesus’ life that way — and we could — we can, I think, then begin to understand why there is this monastic impulse that’s always been a part of Christianity.

In the earliest Christian centuries — which I’ve mentioned before are not terribly well documented — we do know that groups of people, primarily widows, and we know this particularly about the city of Rome, chose to live in continence in simplicity, prayer, and service. They didn’t tend to move in to one house, but they would meet together regularly and the lives that they lived were lives that in some ways resembled at least many of the aspects of what later on we call monasticism.

Antony
However, it really was in the 3rd century that we can talk about the beginnings of monasticism. We know by at least the second half of the 3rd century around some towns — this is best documented in Egypt, by the way, which was of course part of the Roman Empire and a center of Christianity — there were men who were literally living on the fringes of the city, the fringes of society. We don’t know much about exactly what they did, but they lived in a certain kind of — although not a complete — solitude, and they lived lives of prayer, simplicity, and contemplation.

The reason we know about them is because in 269, in a small town in Egypt, an 18 year old named Antony whose parents had recently died was going to church one day, and as he got there the Gospel was being read. He heard the Gospel that says, “If you will be perfect, sell everything you have and give to the poor,” and (after another verse in there), “come and follow me.” Antony was so taken by the personal nature of this message to him — as he understood it that he did that; not immediately did he do every detail of it, but essentially what he did was sell everything he had, give it to the poor, and joined in that group of people who were living on the periphery of his town.

However, not .long after that, he went further into the desert to seek greater solitude, and for several years really lived a deeply personal experience of Jesus kind of life, living off by himself with very few contacts with other human beings. In fact, we can call him a monk because the word “monk” comes from the Greek word that means “alone”; you can hear the “mon” in there, the word that means “one,” after all.

If we can say nothing else about the first monk it is that being a monk was good for his health, because Antony lived in some way or other in the desert for 87 years and died at the age of 105; he was born in 251, he died in 356. I,et’s take a further look at Antony, because we’re pretty well informed about him. As we’ll see in a minute, we have a very important life of Antony that was written by somebody who lived more or less contemporarily with him, and also we have some of Antony’s own letters and sayings.

There were times when he lived really fully in solitude, and there were times when he lived a little bit closer to “civilization.” Oddly enough, he began to draw people who would come to him. Some would come for advice, sort of like going on retreat for a weekend — “I’ll go talk to that sort of weird holy guy out in the desert who talks to God all day” — and some people came and said, “I’d sort of like to live the life that you live.” So Antony would have, if you will, “disciples,” even though they didn’t live in anything like we would call a monastic community. But they might live in such proximity that at least from time to time they could consult with Antony, and we know that in many cases in the monks in the desert — since Antony and most of the others were not priests — that they would get together on weekends, because in that way a priest could serve them and do the liturgy for them.

We also know that from time to time Antony actually entered cities. He had to, for one thing, because however self-sufficient he tried to be, obviously he couldn’t do everything for himself, he couldn’t make everything for himself that he needed. Antony would make simple things – baskets, mats and so on — and he would have to take them into town and sell them in order to buy things he needed that he could not produce for himself. But also Antony would get involved in some of the theological issues of the day; in other words, he lived a life of solitude, but he did see himself as part of the church, part of this community of the faithful.

During his lifetime in Alexandria, things were quite tumultuous, because, in fact, the bishop who later wrote a life of Antony — Athanasius — was kicked out of Alexandria several different times. He was a defender of the decrees of the Council of Nicaea, while remember, the person condemned was Arias who had been a priest in Alexandria, the major see, the major diocese of Egypt so Antony would get involved, and Antony was involved on the side of the bishop. We need to appreciate in several ways as withdrawn as this first monk and some of his followers were, they did not live in utter solitude and they did not see themselves separate from the larger body of Christians that we call the church; the ekklesia in Greek.

Hagiography
As it turns out, as I mentioned, Athanasius wrote a life of Antony and we today call this the first work of Christian hagiography, a very important genre of literature that’s much misunderstood today.

Hagiography is the writing of a saint’s life; the “hagio” part means “holy,” and the “-graphy” part means “writing.” The first hagiographical work in the Christian tradition is the life of Antony by Athanasius. It’s important to remember if you’ve ever read a saint’s life — or if you ever do — that they’re not meant to be biographies in the modem sense, but rather they are works that edify; and therefore historical detail and accuracy is not their primary concern, it’s, to inspire, it’s to guide, it’s what Antony says to us in our place, in our time, rather than exactly what Antony did in his place, in his time.

But because we have this work, although it has to be studied critically, we know quite a bit about Antony, as it turns out. One of the phrases that Athanasius uses in describing Antony is that he is a “daily martyr.” Let’s go back and do some chronology again: Antony entered the desert in 269, which means roughly for the first 30 years he’s living in the desert; Christians are under periodic attack, persecution by the Roman Empire. But Antony lived until 356, long after we have Christian emperors and Christianity is growing by leaps and bounds. Antony’s life in the desert, therefore, really was part of that transitional period from a small, persecuted church to a large and dominant Christianity, and it’s important to remember that.

On Being A Real Christian
Here’s a question that could be asked in that second phase of his life: In the old days, the way you proved you were a real Christian was simply to be a Christian, because any day you could be martyred, and you were putting it all on the line when you identified yourself as a Christian. But now, lots of people were signing up who perhaps were lukewarm, wishy washy, or signing up at least in part because they were joining the emperor’s religion. How could those Christians who would have been — had they lived back in the old days — Christians ready to die, how could they still demonstrate that? What could they do — perhaps to show themselves, perhaps to show God — to show they would have been with those old-time Christians, ready to die?

One of the answers that’s suggested is to live as a monk: to give up a good deal of mobility, to give up sex, to give up delicate food, delicate clothing, power, and family, and to go live in the desert to pray, and to be with God; that’s a way to live with the kind of dedication that those earlier Christians of a past era — the era of martyrdom — had.

So the life of Antony is described a kind of daily martyrdom — that’s the phrase Athanasius uses — and, in fact, what do we discover? That especially after the acceptance of Christianity by Constantine and his successors, an awful lot of people headed to the desert, many more than before, to imitate Antony. In fact, in using again a favorite phrase from the 4thcentury, the  desert became a city; that is to say, it seemed that — not quite literal obviously — everywhere you went, or in every cave out in the desert, there was a monk, mostly men, some women as well (it’s important to say). We want to keep in mind that monasticism as a movement, although it began the era of persecution, it really flourished later on after the era of persecution.

Living out in the desert by yourself is tough: You’re cut off from society; you’re cut off — if’ you’re not a priest — from easy availability of the sacraments; and so on. We find by the middle of the 41h century — while Antony’s still alive, actually — we get the first monastic communities forming. The first person to really create a monastery and set up a set of guidelines — not really a Rule in a formal sense — for those monks was man named Pachomius, and we have fragments of the so-called Rule of Pachomius, and we have a life of Pachomius. We know that by the middle of the 4th century, we have the two major kinds of monastic life flourishing: the individual kind, we call it eremetical monasticism, the monasticism of hermits; but also the communal — we have a very fancy word for that — or cenobitic monasticism, the monasticism lived in communities.

There were other kinds of models as well: There were models where you had a group of monks living in proximity to one another so they had some of the element of the life of a hermit and some of the elements of the life of a community- based monk. So in addition to these two general forms that we talk about, we need to realize there were lots of what we might call experimental forms of living the monastic life in the desert.

There were some extremes of the hermit kind of monasticism. Perhaps the most famous of all these was a 4th and 5th century monk from Syria named Simeon the Stylite who stood on top of a column for more than 30 years; that’s pretty extreme, I think we’d say, by any standards. But also by the end of the 4th century, we have the works of Saint Basil of Caesarea. Caesarea’s in modem Turkey — and he was the first writer really to defend the superiority of communal monasticism and emphasize that those monasteries can do a great deal of work: They can help the poor, they can run hospitals and orphanages, and take care of pilgrims and travelers; and Therefore it’s Basil who, to a great extent, introduces the notion of monks as servants of the community, especially servants of the less fortunate members of the community. Although Basil’s writings were much more influential in the Greek-speaking world than the Latin-speaking world, nevertheless he’s important as the first writer to stress the importance and value of communal monasticism, not just these individual heroic hermits.

I want to say a little bit about the literature that comes out of the experience of monks in the desert in Egypt, Palestine, Syria, and so forth because it’s literature that’s extraordinarily important for the whole church and for Catholics in particular. First of all, I’ve mentioned the life of Antony; it was written by Athanasius in Greek, but it was very early on translated into Latin, and therefore Antony becomes a very popular saint in the Latin West. In fact, if you want to demonstrate that, just go to any museum with lots of Italian paintings and see how often Antony of the desert (as we sometimes call him) is one of the saints in a painting of the Madonna and child with a group of saints.

My favorite work of the desert is a collection of sayings; probably originally various hermits would say, “I once heard old Father So-and-So or old Brother So-and-So say the following,” and at some point these sayings were collected into what’s now called The Sayings of the Desert Fathers. They are these wonderful short stories, half a page or even one-liners, which really provide the wisdom of the desert for us. If you are by yourself, if you are away from noise and power and all kinds of activity and distraction, it might seem like an odd life to us but it also provides for a certain focus and clarity.

Sometimes some of the one-liners that were spoken by these monks and sisters — women, too — and written down are very important. For example, Antony says, “You should sell the New Testament to give to the poor, because after all the New Testament says, `Sell everything you have and give to the poor’; so if I kept the New Testament and didn’t sell it to give to the poor I’d be disobeying the book, and if I’m disobeying the book, what’s the value of owning it?” He says it much more succinctly than that; but that’s the point that Antony makes. There are a lot of these interesting one-liners, short stories, or reflections that come out of the wisdom of the desert, and they, too, were translated into Latin and were very important.

There was an important writer named Evagrius who was a monk at the end of the 4th century, and he was a very well educated man; most of the monks were not. Evagrius collected a lot of monastic lore and wisdom –in Greek — put it into a kind of intellectual framework. Monks, let’s remember are especially good at thinking about, talking about, and practicing prayer and I think it’s fair to say that Evagrius was one of the first writers about prayer, and that his writings — also translated into Latin – became an important element of Christian and Catholic thought and in general I think it’s fair to say monks have often been the prayer experts who taught the rest of the church about prayer; deep forms of prayer, variety of forms of prayer.

The other writer I would emphasize is a guy named John Cassian, and I mentioned him earlier when I talked about the various Latin fathers. John Cassian went to Egypt, interviewed monks, and wrote down dialogues of  conversations he had in Latin; and therefore a lot of that lore of the early monks was passed on to the West through the Latin writings of John Cassian, who lived toward the beginning of the 5th century. We need to note that none of these names probably — Evagrius, or the anonymous Sayings of the Desert Fathers — are on the Catholic best seller list today, and a lot of well-informed Catholics probably don’t know this body of literature, most of which originated in the East but was either translated or written down in Latin, that it is part of our tradition. But to recover that part of the Catholic tradition passed on through those desert fathers and mothers is an important thing that I think we ought to investigate, as Catholics, more and more.

We find monasticism coming to Western Europe beginning really in the 4th century; and by tradition, anyway, the first monk who lived in what’s now Western Europe — in fact, in France — was Saint Martin, called Martin of Tours because toward the end of his life he became the bishop of Tours in France. In Western Europe, monasticism took a variety of forms: there were hermits, there were loose gatherings, and there were monastic communities.

But remember, at the time monasticism was coming to the West, the Roman Empire in the West was sort of falling apart, and therefore the monasticism came in a variety of forms; and like the society in general, monastic practices in the West were rather unstable. You had some monasteries that were extremely acetic, some monasteries that were pretty loose; you had monasteries that emphasized scholarship, and monasteries that didn’t seem to give much of a fig about scholarship. So there’s this wide variety but no, I guess we would say, consensus of how the monastic life should be lived In the West, until, in the early part of the 6″‘ century, came Saint Benedict of Nursia (Nursia is the modem Italian city of Norcia, which is a little bit north of Rome).

Benedict had studied in Rome, found it sort of decadent, and went to live as a hermit at a place called Subiaco south of Rome; the cave where he lived now has a big church built over it. After a while living as a hermit, Benedict was called to be an abbot by some monks; again, one of those unstable monasteries. Benedict accepted the job and really tried to enforce some order, structure, and discipline in a fairly undisciplined monastery. According to tradition, the monks didn’t like that and actually tried to poison Benedict. At any rate, in 529, Benedict founded his own monastery on top of a mountain south of Rome at a place called Montecassino. For his monastic community, he wrote a Rule that today is, I guess you would say, sort of the size of a thick pamphlet or a very short book. It contains 73 chapters, and the “Rule of Saint Benedict” became the most important monastic document in the history of the West.

When we try to say why the Benedictine form of monasticism won out — Benedict didn’t set out to found an order or to codify life for monks all over Europe, he wrote it essentially for his own monastery; when, then, was it such a success? — here, at least, are some answers:

  1. Number one, it’s just intrinsically brilliant. Benedict sort of gets what some of the essential issues are. How do you have discipline, order, and structure and yet remember what human beings are like; that human .beings have foibles and peculiarities? How do you balance the need for structure and flexibility? I’m going to give a couple examples later on, but I think we’ll see that Benedict was brilliant in writing his Rule.
  2. Secondly — and I mean this sort of loosely — he had a great publicist. As it turns out, in the latter part of the 6th century, for a while in Rome, the man who became Pope Gregory the Great lived under the Rule of Saint Benedict; and, in fact, he wrote a hagiographical account (a life) of Benedict. Gregory, who was one of the four Latin doctors of the church — such an important figure in the history of the church, among other things —  (perhaps he didn’t mean to do it) publicized Benedictine monasticism because he had lived under it and he wrote the life of Benedict.

Therefore the Benedictine Rule began really to spread in Italy and beyond by a little after 800; one of the new emperors in the West actually asked this question: Are there any monks who live under any Rule other than the Rule of Saint Benedict? That is to say, by about 800 or a little after, it seemed to have become more or less the universally practiced Rule for monks in Western Europe. I might add, with some adaptation, it was also used for religious women, and most women who took monastic vows in the Middle Ages and also lived under a slightly adapted Rule of Saint Benedict; so it became not just for men but also for women.

Now what I want to turn to is some of the principles in the Rule itself to illustrate why this is so important. By the way, there is a whole bevy of modem Catholic literature about the wisdom of the monastic life as by the Benedictines and how it can help all Christians — all Catholics, in particular — in their own spiritual growth. I’m sure many of you know that many Benedictine monasteries and convents — we use the word to refer to women’s houses — have retreats where you spend a weekend at a monastery and get some counsel and wisdom, advice from people in the monastic community, and attend a monastic liturgy; that’s a very part of Catholics recharging their spiritual batteries, if you will.

But let me just run down some principles that Benedict enunciates in the Rule. First of all, there needs to be a strong leader.

He has very powerful statements about the nature of the role of abbot: He is the shepherd, and the shepherd is expected to care for his flock. One of the points he makes is every monk needs to be treated equally, and that does not mean that every monk needs to be treated the same. That is to say, some need, if you will, a pat on the back and a hug, and some need a kick in the tail. Benedict is very clear about that: The goal is for every monk, but the abbot has to discern the proper means to reach that goal. There’s actually a book out of the great wisdom of Benedict and how it can be used by modern CEOs; I don’t know whether Benedict would have approved of that.

Another element is that the monastic day is divided up between periods of manual labor and periods of prayer. The monks pray eight times a day according to the Rule of Saint Benedict, one in the night and seven during the daytime; and therefore work and prayer are so interactive — you do one for a little while and the other for a little while, and so on — that ultimately they come together that work and prayer are the same thing; that when you work you do it prayerfully and when you pray you are doing a kind of labor for God.

In fact, ora et labora (“pray and work”) is a kind of unofficial slogan or motto of the Benedictines. Benedict describes monks in a number of ways: as pilgrims, students, laborers, soldiers, athletes. Let’s just take one of those images: What do you say about an athlete? An athlete is striving for excellence, and an athlete knows that to reach his goal — of winning the Olympics or whatever it might be you have to have a lot of discipline. You can’t be preparing for javelin throw or the thousand meter run and be eating three lemon meringue pies every night and staying out late and partying. So he uses the idea of the monk as athlete to understand the role of discipline. You can imagine solider: There are enemies — meaning the devil and his works — and you have to be sort of armed and prepared. Benedict uses a variety of metaphors to describe the monastic life.

Benedict is firm about the fact that monks cannot own anything — nothing, nothing at all, he says — because you want nothing of the social structure of the world to interfere with the monastery. You don’t bring that with you, you leave that .behind. The only possible aristocracy in a monastery is an aristocracy of virtue, never one of who your parents were, or how much education you have, or even how long you’ve been a monk; Benedict specifically says young monks need to be heard, too. That’s an important principle.

Yet Benedict also allows for flexibility; that is to say, there is a way in which the Rule will say, “Here are the psalms you ought to sing at this time of the day, and here are the psalms you ought to sing at that time of day” and then Benedict says, “Maybe the abbot can come up with a better way of doing it, that’s fine.” Or Benedict says, “Monks shouldn’t drink wine; but [I'm paraphrasing] hey, this is Italy, people drink wine, so let’s limit the amount of wine a monk can drink in a day and say that it would be good if monks drank no wine at all.” That kind of flexibility makes the Rule adaptable and livable.

I have to tell you a quick story: I was at a monastery in Georgia and a monk pointed over on the hill and said there was a commune of hippies up there in the 60s and 70s but they didn’t last. He sort of shook his head and said “They should have come to us for advice, we’ve been in the commune business 1,500 years.” I think that’s an important thing to think about: It is, indeed, the sort of ultimate Christian commune.

Let me suggest that there’s one thing that very often shocks us as being missing in the Rule of Saint Benedict; and that is there is very little provision for copying manuscripts and what we would call scholarship. Benedict expects monks to be literate, but beyond that there’s very little about the library, studying, and all that sort of stuff.

But there were other monasteries that later on influenced Benedictine monasteries in Western Europe, especially monks who came from Ireland where scholarship was an important part of the Irish monastic tradition, and I’ll be talking about that when I talk about the Irish in a future lecture. But certainly our image of the monk primarily as the copyist of a book is not Benedict’s image; Benedict’s image would be either a monk in the church in prayer or a monk out on the farm laboring. I think that’s an important thing to remember.

As the cities of the Roman Empire broke down — they had been educational centers of ancient Rome — here’s a good question: What were the new educational centers? The answer is the monasteries.

They wrote works, and they copied works that were useful to them, both Christian works and Pagan works. Almost all the literature of the ancient world, Greek and Latin, survives in the earliest manuscripts from monasteries; not from the ancient world itself — all those manuscripts are gone — but they survive from monasteries. We are going to see in later lectures how the Benedictine tradition developed and changed, and how from time to time it was reformed. That will be the subject of a lecture coming up in a while.

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Christianity’s Transformative Preservation Of Paganism – Derek Jeter

July 13, 2012

As he was now drawing near, at the descent of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, `Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” And some of the Pharisees in the multitude said to him, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”
Luke 19:37-40

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A story generating a modicum of buzz in the blogosphere is the radical Islamist’s destruction of the heritage of the ancient Malian city of Timbuktu, razing tombs and attacking the gate of a 600-year-old mosque, despite growing international outcry.

The International Criminal Court has described the destruction of the city’s patrimony as a possible war crime, while Unesco’s committee on world heritage was holding a special session this week to address the pillaging of the site, one of the few cultural sites in sub-Saharan Africa that is listed by the agency. The militants claim the shrines represent an affront to their conservative interpretation of Islam.
Associated Press

The local al-Qaida rep in Mali had this response:

Reached by telephone in an undisclosed location in northern Mali, a spokesman for the Islamic faction said they don’t recognize either the United Nations or the world court. “The only tribunal we recognize is the divine court of Shariah,” said one of Ansar Dine’s spokesmen, Oumar Ould Hamaha.

“The destruction is a divine order,” he said. “It’s our Prophet who said that each time that someone builds something on top of a grave, it needs to be pulled back to the ground. We need to do this so that future generations don’t get confused, and start venerating the saints as if they are God.”

When confronted about the losses in tourism to the region:

Mr. Hamaha said he didn’t care about the impact that their actions will have on tourism. “We are against tourism. They foster debauchery,” he said.

Many atheists would be quick to point out that this is nothing new nor anything that would be confined to radical Islam as the West has had numerous incidents of sovereign and Christian attacks on cultures throughout its history. Yet the story of Christianity is less about conquest and subjugation of pagan populations as much as it is about the beneficence the orthodox, catholic Christian faith has bestowed upon human culture in its attempts to preserve what it perceives to be best within it.

I’ve been reading The Logic Of Christian Humanism, an article in the Spring 2009 issue of Communio by Peter M. Candler, Jr. which notes the following opinions:

Of course, one could cite instances where the arrival of Christianity was less hospitable to the ancient cultures, where it destroyed rather than saved, leveled rather than elevated. But I think that art historians and anthropologists would be hard pressed to deny that these were more the exception than the rule. And yet, the popular imagination tends simultaneously to hold two contradictory opinions: on the one hand, that Christianity simply co-opted pagan culture for its own purposes, in an act of unparalleled marketing savvy and opportunism; on the other, that Christianity, in a sustained act of ressentiment, obliterated every vestige of human culture which, in obedience to the first commandment, it perceived as idolatry.

We are all familiar with the story of how Christmas replaced the pagan festivals of Rome and the missionaries conquest of the Indian tribes of Mexico and Central America. Candler proffers a third way of considering Christianity’s relation to the pagan, one that takes hints from how pagan structures were consecrated as Christian religious structures:

The Venerable Bede records that Gregory, writing in 601 AD to Abbot Melitus about to depart for Britain, says that “we have been giving careful thought to the affairs of the English, and have come to the conclusion that the temples of the idols among that people should on no account be destroyed. The idols are to be destroyed, but the temples themselves are to be aspersed with holy water, altars set up in them, and relics deposited there. For if these temples are well-built, they must be purified from the worship of demons and dedicated to the service of the true God.

In this way, we hope that the people, seeing that their temples are not destroyed, may abandon their error and, flocking more readily to their accustomed resorts, may come to know and adore the true God.” [Bede the Venerable, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, trans. Leo SherleyPrice and rev. R.E. Latham (London: Penguin, 1990) I, 30, 92.]

In this same spirit, the rites of consecration which developed in the seventh century and following sometimes involved “a kind of baptism of the stone structure that enclosed the living Church,” using a special mixture of water, ashes and wine known as “Gregorian water,” owing to the Pope’s alleged authorship of the “Gregorian Sacramentary.” [Cf. Migne, Patrologia Latina 77, 153E Cf. also Louis Bouyer, Rite and Man: Natural Sacredness and Christian Liturgy, trans. M. Joseph Costelloe, S J., Liturgical Studies 7 (Notre Dame: Notre Dame, 1963), 187-78; Dom Gregory Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy (London: A. & C. Black, 1945), 570-73]

Now it may be possible to detect a whiff of opportunism in Gregory’s exhortation, but, according to Josef Jungmann, “[t]here is something to be learned from the fact that in the consecration ceremony … church and altar are `baptized’ and `confirmed’ almost like human beings; they are sprinkled on all sides with holy water and are anointed with holy oil.” [Josef A. Jungmann, S J., The Mass of the Roman Rite, vol. 1, trans. Francis A. Brunner (Allen, Tx.: Christian Classics, 1986), 254.]
Peter M. Candler, Jr., The Logic Of Christian Humanism

We’re seeing in the above a more basic theological impetus for how the Church approached the pagan:

The Christians are, each one, to be living stones, each one distinct but comprising together the great building whose foundation is Christ.”] That much at least should be obvious, but this sense that an intimation of the glory of God still somehow subsists in the stones is a function of an exclusively Christian dogma, to wit, that in Jesus of Nazareth God himself assumed human flesh and redemptively consummated it.
Janet Soskice, Resurrection and the New Jerusalem

The transformation of the pagan flows from an understanding of the logic of a well conceived Christian humanism. Pope Gregory, the great 7th century monastic prelate and Church father, related this all to the mystery of the incarnation and rooted his thought in opposition to the Apollinarian heresies of his time according to which God assumed a human body but not a human mind. Instead, the theory goes, the human mind was replaced by the divine logos. That is, in the human Jesus, the divine logos acts as the rational element in place of an ordinary human mind. This contained two unacceptable factors for Gregory: It denied the full humanity of Christ; and it also denied the human nature of human beings.

Another Gregory, (of Nazianzus) summed  it up here:

If anyone has put his trust in Him as a Man without a human mind, he is really bereft of mind, and quite unworthy of salvation. For that which He has not assumed He has not healed; but that which is united to His Godhead is also saved. If only half Adam fell, then that which Christ assumes and saves may be half also; but if the whole of his nature fell, it must be united to the whole nature of Him that was begotten, and so be saved as a whole. Let them not, then, begrudge us our complete salvation, or clothe the Savior only with bones and nerves and the portraiture of humanity. For if His Manhood is without soul, even the Arians admit this, that they may attribute His Passion to the Godhead, as that which gives motion to the body is also that which suffers.
Gregory of Nazianzus, Letter (101) to Cledonius the Priest Against Apollinarius.

The divine Word was not changed into a human nature, nor was a human nature absorbed by the Word’ (Denzinger 219 [428]); cf. also Third Council of Constantinople: “For just as His most holy and immaculate human nature, though deified, was not destroyed (theotheisa ouk anerethe), but rather remained in its proper state and mode of being” (Denzinger 291 [556]); cf. Council of Chalcedon: “to be acknowledged in two natures, without confusion, change, division, or separation” (Denzinger 148 [302]).

This may be somewhat familiar stuff to those who understand the Creed and the phrases (I believe) in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only Begotten Son of God, born of the father before all ages. God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten not made, consubstantial with the Father, through Him all things were made. This is the basis of Thomas’s famous maxim, that “grace does not destroy but perfects nature,” and is a reiteration of the principle Gregory of Nazianzus articulates to Cledonius above. As far as the human person is concerned, theosis is also anthroposis, deification also hominization. As Benedict XVI says, “Only Christ can humanize humanity and lead it to its `divinization. “‘ [Benedict XVI, Message to the Young People of the World on the Occasion of the 23`d World Youth Day, 2008.] And so it is that the Church embraces the pagan, sees the pagan impetus towards the divine and recognizes it in Christ. Grace does not destroy but perfects nature. It’s a lovely thought and stands in dignified opposition to the barbarism of radical Islam.

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Scripture, Tradition, and the Magisterium – Edward Sri

March 6, 2012

"Tradition is a reflection of the Father; Scripture is a reflection of the Son; Magisterium is a reflection of the Spirit. Scripture proceeds from Tradition, just as the Son proceeds from the Father. Magisterium proceeds primarily from Tradition and Secondarily from Scripture, just as the Spirit proceeds primarily from the Father and secondarily from the Son. Tradition, Scripture, Magisterium are three distinct aspects of One Divine Gift, just as the Trinity is three distinct Persons of One Divine Being. Sacred Tradition, Sacred Scripture, Sacred Magisterium are inseparable, just as the Father, Son, Spirit are inseparable. Sacred Tradition, Sacred Scripture, Sacred Magisterium are infallible because they are a true reflection and a true work of the Infallible Holy Trinity." http://www.catholicplanet.com/

Like three leading instruments in God’s “symphony” of his revelation, Scripture, Tradition, and the Magisterium play distinctive roles in God’s plan of revealing himself to his people. Each contributes in a particular way to making God’s revelation known, working in harmony with the other two. As Vatican II taught, “It is clear, therefore, that Sacred Tradition, Sacred Scripture, and the teaching authority of the Church, in accord with God’s most wise design, are so linked and joined together that one cannot stand without the others, and that all together and each in its own way under the action of the one Holy Spirit contribute effectively to the salvation of souls.

This beautiful harmony between Scripture, Tradition, and the Magisterium lies at the center of our fourth key for interpreting the Bible: being “attentive to the analogy of faith.” An analogy is a set of similarities between two or more things. The analogy of faith refers to the harmonious agreement between all the truths of the faith revealed by God and entrusted to the Church: the truths `’Written in Scripture and the truths handed on through Sacred Tradition. Both Scripture and Tradition flow from the same divine source.

Therefore, since God is the source of all revealed truth, Scripture can never contradict the elements of Christian faith such as the Creed or Church teaching, and similarly, the Christian faith itself can never be at odds with Scripture. In sum, the analogy of faith is “the coherence of the truths of faith among themselves and within the whole plan of Revelation.” (Catechism of the Catholic Church 114)

Reading “In Tune”
This principle helps ensure that one’s interpretation of Scripture remains on the right track. Truth cannot contradict truth. Therefore, since there is a unity of truth in God’s revelation, one’s interpretation of Scripture must be in harmony with Sacred Tradition and the teachings of the Church. If one were to interpret a passage of the Bible in a way that was opposed to Church teaching, that would be a sure sign that this understanding was “out of tune” with the symphony of God’s revelation. In this way, being attentive to the analogy of faith guards our interpretation of Scripture, preventing us from falling into error.

For example, if we were to interpret Jesus’ institution of the Eucharist at the Last Supper in a purely figurative way — as referring not to the Real Presence of Jesus but merely to a symbolic reminder of him — our interpretation would be in contradiction with magisterial teaching on the Eucharist and out of step with the way this passage has been interpreted throughout the centuries by the Fathers, Doctors, and saints of the Church.

Furthermore, the analogy of faith not only serves as a check and balance on our interpretation of the Bible, preventing us from falling into error. It also guides our interpretation of Scripture, illuminating the deeper meaning of biblical texts. For example, the New Testament often refers to Jesus as the “Son of God,” but the precise meaning of Christ’s divine sonship is not spelled out explicitly in the Bible.

In fact, some early Christians interpreted this title in a metaphorical way, as referring to Jesus’ closeness to God or to his being adopted by God as a Son — but not to his being truly divine. The Council of Nicea in AD 325 clarified the meaning of Jesus’ divine sonship, explaining that Jesus is “of the same substance” as the Father.

In other words, Jesus shares the same divine nature as the Father. This teaching is summed up in the Nicene Creed, which we recite at Mass. We do not say Jesus is “close to the Father” or is “an adopted son of the Father,” but that he is “one in being (consubstantial) with the Father.” This authoritative teaching about Christ’s divine sonship sheds important light on the many New Testament passages that refer to Jesus as God’s Son. This teaching not only prevents us from viewing Jesus as a merely human son adopted by God but also invites us to contemplate Christ’s divinity and the profound union he has with the Father.

The Only Authentic Interpreter?
Some may wonder, though, how the Catholic Church can claim that its Magisterium is the only authentic interpreter of Scripture. Where do the Church’s popes and bishops get the authority to teach officially for God’s people? Does the Bible say anything about this?

Both the New Testament and the writings of the Church Fathers make it clear that Christ gave his authority to the apostles and their successors to teach and lead the Church.

First, the New Testament highlights that Jesus chose twelve apostles and gave them authority to teach, heal, and act in his name. “And he called the Twelve together and gave them power  authority over all demons and to cure diseases, and he sent them out to preach the kingdom of God and to heal” (Luke 9:1-2). After his resurrection, Jesus entrusted to the apostles the same mission he had received from his heavenly Father: “As the Father has sent me, even so I send you” (John 20:21).

Before ascending into heaven, Jesus gave the apostles authority to baptize, teach, and make disciples of all nations, and promised that he would always be with them in this mission (see Matthew 28:18-20). Here, we see that the apostles were not simply important Church leaders who should be respected and followed. They were “ministers of a new covenant” (2 Corinthians 3:6), “ambassadors for Christ” (2 Corinthians 5:20), and “servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God” (1 Corinthians 4:1).

In this sense, the apostles represented Jesus Christ and taught in his name. Jesus made a close identification between his teachings and those of his apostles: “He who hears you hears me, and he who rejects you rejects me, and he who rejects me rejects him who sent me” (Luke 10:16). In other words, listening to the apostles is listening to Christ. No one in the first century could say to Jesus, “I want to follow you and your teachings, but I don’t want to accept the apostles’ teachings.” To reject the teachings of the apostles is to reject Jesus Christ himself.

Apostolic Succession
Second, the apostles passed on this authority to other men who would carry out Christ’s mission
. Like the apostles themselves, these successors (i.e., the bishops) do not take the place of Christ but represent him. They teach not on their own authority but with the authority of Christ himself. The importance of the apostles’ successors, the bishops, was already well known in the first decades of the Church. St. Paul writes about the office of bishop (1 Timothy 3:1-7), noting that a bishop must hold firm to the Gospel that has been passed on to him because he has the special role of faithfully teaching the “sound doctrine” he received, guarding it against skewed interpretations and attacks from those who oppose it (see Titus 1:7-9).

Then, in the first generation of Christians after the apostles, St. Clement of Rome clearly writes that the authority Christ entrusted to the apostles had been given to the apostles’ successors, the bishops. In his letter to the Corinthians, written around AD 96, Clement says the apostles “appointed their first converts — after testing them by the Spirit — to be bishops and deacons for the believers of the future. This was in no way an innovation, for bishops and deacons had already been spoken of in Scripture long before that.” (St. Clement of Rome, First Epistle to the Corinthians, 42, in Early Christian Writings, trans. by Maxwell Staniforth (London: Penguin Books, 1987)

Similarly, another early Church father, St. Ignatius, bishop of Antioch, calls on Christians to follow the authority of the bishops as if they were following Christ himself. In a letter from about AD 107, Ignatius warns the Christians in Tralles to obey their bishop as if he were Christ and “never [to] act independently of the bishop.” (St. Ignatius of Antioch, Epistle to the Trallians, 2, in Early Christian Writings.)

He develops this theme even more in his letter to the Christians in Smyrna, which says: “Follow your bishop, every one of you, as obediently as Jesus Christ followed the Father. Obey your clergy too, as you would the Apostles … Make sure that no step affecting the church is ever taken by anyone without the bishop’s sanction … Where the bishop is seen, there let all his people be; just as wherever Jesus is present, we have the catholic Church.” (St. Ignatius of Antioch, Epistle to the Smyrnaeans, 8, in Early Christian Writings.)

The earliest Christians saw the need to follow the leadership and teaching authority of the bishops. As the successors of the apostles, they were seen as authoritative interpreters of God’s word. Following the authority of the bishops in the early Church would have been crucial just to read the Bible, for (as we will see) it was they who officially taught which of the many early Christian writings were actually part of the New Testament Scriptures. Therefore, without the authority of Jesus Christ entrusted to the Catholic Church, we would not even have known for sure which books were inspired by God and therefore part of the Bible.

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The Importance Of Ritual Part II — Fr. Aidan Nichols O.P.

September 8, 2011

Hagia Sophia had been built during the reign of the Emperor Justinian between the years 532-537 AD and was the largest church in the world.

The first concept to be rendered questionable by both this definition [To repeat from the previous post: Liturgy [wrote I. H. Dalmais in Principles of the Liturgy] belongs in the order of doing (ergon) not of knowing (logos). Logical thought cannot get far with it; liturgical actions yield their intelligibility in their performance, and this performance takes place at the level of sensible realities, not as exclusively material, but as vehicles of overtones capable of awakening the mind and heart to acceptance of realities belonging to a different order.] and the sea change in sociological thinking charted by Flanagan is the notion of simplicity as a criterion for sound liturgical practice. To the sociologist, it is by no means self-evident that brief, clear rites have greater transformative potential than complex, abundant, lavish, rich, long rites, furnished with elaborate ceremonial. Noble simplicity of rite has been a theme of liturgical reforms since the Enlightenment, as the previous chapter noted. It had not commended itself, however, purely as an anthropological desideratum. It was also regarded as a hallmark of the primitive Church. Though falling outside the sociologist’s provenance, this too is now a matter of question.

The decision of the post-conciliar reformers to return to a pre-Carolingian Roman tradition as earlier and therefore simpler and so better was predictable given the influence on the tradition of liturgical scholarship of the “comparative liturgy” approach pioneered by the South German historian of liturgy Anton Baumstark. Baumstark’s book with that title was both liturgiologically pioneering and enormously successful; it was translated into various languages and enjoyed numerous reprintings. However, the work of F. S. West on Baumstark’s Comparative Liturgy [A. Baumstark, Liturgie comparee, 3d ed. (Chevetogne, 1953); the work's original is French, since it began life as lectures to Bauduin's monks at Amay.] in its intellectual setting has shown that his comparative method was itself drawn, somewhat strangely, from the biology of the German Naturphi!osophen (like Goethe) as well as from the comparative anatomy of such nineteenth-century natural scientists as Georges Cuvier and Charles Darwin. [F. S. West, Anton Baumstark's Comparative Liturgy in Its Intellectual Contex", doctoral thesis (Notre Dame, Ind. 1988), described in P. Bradshaw, The Search for the Origins of Christian Worship: Sources and Methods for the Origins of Early Liturgy (London, 1992)]

It assumed as a law, consequently, that liturgical evolution moved from simplicity and brevity to richness and prolixity, even though Baumstark had to admit that one could also see evidence of a contrary movement, a tendency later to abbreviate what earlier had been fuller. As the Anglican liturgiologist Paul Bradshaw, now professor of Liturgy at Notre Dame, Indiana, has pointed out:

This admission that liturgical development might in fact proceed in either direction robs [Baumstark's] classification of any predictive power. We cannot judge a liturgical phenomenon …..’late’ simply because it exhibits prolixity.
[Bradshaw, Search for the Origins]

Nor, a fortiori, can we make an adverse value judgment on some liturgical rite, text, or practice because it lacks that dubiously reliable hallmark of primitive authenticity. One member of the post-conciliar Consilium who found the eagerness to apply the criterion of simplicity quite excessive, the Premonstratensian liturgist and author of a standard study of the sources of the Roman Liturgy Dom Boniface Luykx, signified his displeasure rather strongly by transferring to the Byzantine ritual church where he is now abbot of the Byzantine-Ukrainian monastery of the Transfiguration in northern California. [18R Galadza, "Abbot Boniface Luykx as Liturgist and liturgisatel", in Following the Star from the East: Essays in Honor of Archimandrite Boniface Luykx, ed. A. Chirovsky (Ottawa, Chicago, Lviv, 1992)].

A second concept that Flanagan would see as treated by Churchmen with a marked degree of sociological naivete is that of intelligibility in rite. The notion that the more intelligible the sign, the more effectively it will enter the lives of the faithful is implausible to the sociological imagination. It cannot simply be assumed that people will naturally assent more deeply once they have comprehended.

As Flanagan explains, a certain opacity is essential to symbolic action in the sociologists’ account, so that to attempt to render symbols wholly transparent is, to their mind, a thoroughly misguided proceeding. “[Symbols] proclaim that which transcends the conditions under which clarity through intervention is possible. They embody that which is unavailable to rational manipulation. [Flanagan, Sociology and Liturgy] And if total vernacularization of liturgical language and the insistence on translation styles that win comprehension at the cost of banality were too frequently the result of the principle of immediate comprehensibility in the realm of the spoken word, an insistence on the complete visibility of every detail of what was happening at the altar (and hence not only the removal of rood screens but also the eventual victory of versus populum celebration) was its counterpart in the visual realm.

Here, as Flanagan remarks, it was not realized that, sociologically, “veiling”, “marking a distance”, and “tactful reticence” are necessary to reverence. But such terms as reverence, with its connotations of restraint, deference, and awe, soon became prominent by their absence in liturgical discussion.

A third key concept, community, has already been touched on apropos of Gueranger. To Flanagan, the concept of community as such — just like that, without any further qualification — is too vague to bear a specifically Christian meaning. Moreover, it can easily degenerate into the creation of a transiently benevolent atmosphere through (literal or metaphorical “glad-handing” (an eloquent Americanism). What liturgists needed but failed to find was a concept of community defined distinctively as the product of a ritual assembly itself keyed into a mystery exceeding that assembly’s limits.

As the English priest-sociologist Anthony Archer had pointed out in his study The Two Catholic Churches, the preconciliar Liturgy at least imposed a ritual authority on all classes and individuals, [A. Archer, The Two Catholic Churches: A Study in Oppression (London, 1986)] thus preventing the emergence of groups who would seize the Liturgy for their own purposes or of figures who would treat it as an opportunity for the display of their communications skills. It is not really clear whether clericalism, defined as the undue prominence, within an ecclesial community, of the sacramentally ordained, is less apparent or more apparent in a liturgical rite where the priest is constantly face to face with the congregation and encouraged to introduce some at least of the Liturgy’s salient parts, rather than being absorbed impersonally into a ritual role.

A fourth crucial idea, after simplicity, intelligibility, and community, an idea not so much this tune in the Council’s Liturgy Constitution or any official text as in the commentators who took it upon themselves to interpret the reformed rite to the clergy and others, was that of liturgical agency, in other words, the role, increasingly personalized and sometimes in a pejorative sense theatrical, to be played by the celebrant of the Liturgy and other liturgical ministers. Here Flanagan notes that, sociologically, a priest cannot as celebrant present himself at Mass in the same fashion as that in which he greets his parishioners afterward. The liturgical role must conceal or at least detract attention from the person, so as to focus it the more strongly elsewhere.

The liturgical actor wishes to cast glory onto God in acts of worship that somehow minimize or preclude these elements of worth falling onto himself. Like the self, the social has to be present to enable the act to appear, but it has to disappear if the end of reverence is to be realized.
[Flanagan. Sociology and Liturgy]

To the sociological eye, rites work best when they are repetitive and formalized, so that the liturgical actor can practice a certain forgetfulness of self, “playing into his role, as Flanagan puts it, “embodying the possibility of its existence”. In this he may need a certain distance, at least at points, from other worshippers. As Flanagan explains, too unilateral an emphasis on proximity is sociologically misplaced. Rites that do not allow a sense of distance deny to the people, paradoxically, a means of appropriating the act of worship, crippling them just at the point where they could be taking off Godward by a leap of religious imagination. For liturgical actors, though presented within a social frame, have to convey properties of what lies beyond that frame, a rumor of angels.

But where does this leave the notion of participation, which is so key not only to the Enlightenment and Catholic Revival discussions in their different ways but also to that modern movement begun in the years before the Great War as well as, and not least, in the papacy’s gradual acceptance of its proposals in the pontificates of the last three “Pian” popes, Pius X, Pius XI, and Pius XII? For Flanagan, active, outward participation is to be evaluated according to “the degree to which it generates inner appropriation, interior assent”. An English Benedictine liturgist, Dom Bernard McElligott of Ampleforth, founder of the Society of Saint Gregory, had commented on the philology as early as the year of the introduction of the Novus Ordo, 1970.

By using the word “active” for actuosa the Church’s intention has been misunderstood, and generally, if perhaps unconsciously, taken to mean bodily activity; whereas what the Church really asks for is full, sincere, mental activity, expressed externally by the body.
[B. McElligott, "Active Participation", in A Voice for All Time: Essays on the Liturgy of the Catholic Church since the Second Vatican Council, ed. C. Francis and M. Lynch (Bristol, 1994)]

As Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger has emphasized, the term actuosa participatio at the Council included silence as well as speaking and singing and hence disqualifies any activist misconstrual of “living participation” (as Trapp had called it — See his liturgical essays in The Feast of Faith (San Francisco, 1986). Flanagan’s interpretation is, evidently, not unwarranted.

The absence in the postconciliar Liturgy of the atmosphere of intense silence and devotion once so striking to observers raises the question as to whether actuosa participatio, assessed in terms of Flanagan’s criterion, is more advanced or less advanced than it was before the Council opened. Here of course tricks of memory and nostalgia, as well as wishful thinking based on ecclesiastical partisanship, may deceive us. Not every eucharistic worshipper at a celebration according to the Missale Pianum before 1962 was burning with fervor, just as not everyone at a celebration according to the Missale Paulinum after 1970 is manifestly bored. But a German sociologist’s investigation of a large suburban parish in 1960 provides an example of the relatively objective testing possible. As Flanagan comments,

Many of his subjects reported that they came to Mass to find a space in which to reestablish their spiritual equilibrium, the calmness of the rite — a re-iterated notion — giving a context in which they could adjust the proportions of an often confused existence.
[Flanagan, Sociology and Liturgy]

Nor could one accuse Msgr. J. D. Crichton, the doyen of living liturgists in England, of insouciance toward the new rites, yet he has spoken recently of a loss of reverence which ultimately leads to a loss of the sense of the transcendent God who is the supreme Object of all worship. In a way we are in danger of forgetting what worship is about. It is not just a heartwarming experience for those who like that sort of thing. [J. D. Crichton, Worshipping with Awe and Reverence, Priests and People]

Or, as Father Anthony Conlon, a London parish priest, has put it in a paper read to the International Eucharistic Congress at Seville in 1994:

The overemphasis on active participation, which only conceives of worship in terms of the community realizing its group dynamic through a bias in favor of “doing things”, is a serious hindrance to any understanding of the Mass as essentially a liturgical setting of an historic action of divine mercy and sacrifice.
[A. Conlon, The Participation of the Faithful in the Post-Conciliar Liturgy: A Critical Perspective on Contemporary Practice in XLV Convenlus Eucharisticus Internationalis, Sevilla 1-13. Vi .1993, Christus Lumen Gentiuci, Euchanstia el Evangelizatio (Vatican City, 1993)]‘

Here then it is not simply a question of failing to advert properly to the divine transcendence in general. More devastatingly, when the Mass is at issue, there is inadequate advertence to that supreme act whereby the divine transcendence engaged itself in Trinitarian fashion for our definitive salvation on Calvary, when the Son offered himself to the Father in the Spirit so that his Sacrifice could be fruitful in the renewed pouring out of himself in the propitiatory intercession of the Eucharist and its foundation in his High Priestly prayer in the heavens.

Too much can be centered on the contribution made by the participants as though that alone made for the efficacy of the Eucharist and less attention — if any — may be paid to the sacramental offering of the great High Priest.
[A. Conlon, The Participation of the Faithful in the Post-Conciliar Liturgy: A Critical Perspective on Contemporary Practice]

The fact that in many parish celebrations the church building is evidently regarded as simply an assembly point before Mass starts and a place of concourse when Mass ends, in sharp contrast to the former practice when many people made prayers of preparation before Mass and prayers of thanksgiving after it and certainly were not disabled in so doing by other worshippers, points toward the same conclusion. If active participation is rightly evaluated by the quality of inner participation it arouses, then, it would seem, it has not yet succeeded in its task.

What from the sociologist’s standpoint has been overlooked is that, as Flanagan remarks, liturgical forms operate in the manner of icons — opening up a sense of the presence of the divine, not of course by the painterly means of color and line, but through social actions believed to be endowed and intended to be endowed with “holy purpose”.

Flanagan’s overall conclusion is that the Roman Liturgy has fallen into the hands of “convivial Puritans”. For these, procedures for worship are to be kept as simple as possible so as to maximize social relationships in the production of the rite. A ritual minimalism serves to sustain a relaxed atmosphere where all may contribute informally. “Bind us together” is the theme song of a liturgical life where hierarchy and ceremony are treated as deleterious to happy togetherness.

To Flanagan, as to Martin, this is simply wrongheaded.

Informal or endlessly adaptable Liturgy may be beau mais ce nest pas la guerre. The shape of the rite takes on “unfruitful unpredictability”, impairing its claim to constitute, indeed, a public order of worship. As the phenomenologist of religion Rudolf Otto saw at the beginning of this century, an undisciplined rite clamantly [vocab: loudly]asserting direct links with the production of the numinous has little chance of representing the latter successfully when compared with one that humbly petitions the holy in solemn mode.

Such tacit, mysterious qualities of rite, Flanagan continues, are, moreover, what permit its endless replaying. He likens to this the way a literary classic (The Brothers Karamazov, Moby Dick) can be endlessly reread if it be in a positive sense “ambiguous”, namely, not increasing the reader’s uncertainty about meaning but rather maintaining openness to ultimate meaning (the sacred).

Repeated use, so Flanagan concludes: “generates a passage of growth into understanding the implications of what cannot be grasped, and at the same time fuels a wish to have more revealed from what is concealed.” [Flanagan, Sociology and Liturgy] The message is that the adhesive that holds rites together has become too diluted to stick, and Flanagan looks to older forms of the Latin Liturgy for assistance when he writes: “Formal traditional forms of rite cannot be dismissed as being inherently culturally incredible. These rites only become incredible when they are deemed to be so .” [Flanagan, Sociology and Liturgy]

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