Mathematics After The Fall

Archive for the ‘Catholicism’ Category

The Problem of Founders’ Intent

Bellarmine has an Easter Break, which allows me a little time to post reviews of books I’ve read this winter. The first is What Paul Meant, by Garry Wills. Dr. Wills doesn’t appear to have a Web page, because he’s of an older generation. This is part of his series that look at the early Church from a different perspective, which also includes perspectives on Jesus and the Gospels. This book is average on my scale, and receives a 2 out of 5. This book, and many books, would benefit by better use of white space, chapter sub-headings, and such. The other person I knew who read this book agreed. In parts, it’s too easy to get lost. The points look all the same, and just go on and on and on. Isn’t that weird for me to say? I’ve been changed by the visual generation, too.

In those long plain chapters, there are plenty of interesting things. Dr. Wills properly points out that we see Paul through the lens of 20 centuries of Church history. Paul’s viewpoint of the early Church had different context, and the words we use are not correct. In our context, there are better translations. With no fixed, written Gospel, Revelation is a better, less loaded term. Similarly, for ekklesia, “Church” brings to mind pews and big buildings, thus “Gathering” runs closer to what really happened. Reading this book forced me to consider what Paul was thinking when he wrote his notes, and what the early communities were thinking, and that Luke in Acts did not have the same first-person perspective. Historical perspective is good for a historical-psychological theologian.

Nevertheless, this book fails, and it fails because the author is still not fully detached from modern perspective. Many conservatives have this idea of “Founders’ Intent”, whether in the first-century Church or the first-decade US Constitution. I’ve long felt that determining true intent from short documents like letters or declarations is impossible; there just isn’t enough context. Invariably, one’s reading of intent is contaminated by one’s own perspective. For instance, a Justice that invokes “originalism” usually winds up serving modern interests, like those of corporations which did not exist during the “original” period. It’s amazing how often “originalism” looks new, and fails to see the multiple opinions that formed compromises for a document. It’s biased unbiasness.

Dr. Wills does that here. His anger at the Institutional Catholic Church, documented in earlier books like Papal Sin and Why I am a Catholic, comes forward here. The hierarchy in Jerusalem (as in today’s Vatican City) is almost never right. The key quote, from the end, I read as “Religion took over the legacy of Paul as it did that of Jesus – because they both opposed it.” Well then, why was Paul trying to assist the leaders of city communities? Why organize? Why standardize? The writer has his own biased unbiasness. That’s not an evil thing; it’s very difficult to remove personal feelings. I can’t all the time. Plus, exposing other biases is a great help. Nevertheless, what makes this book only average, besides the droning, is the reality of unclear founders’ intent.

Pro-life, Death Penalty, and Torture

Given my belief that humans have souls, and that those souls exist from the time of their conception, it is not surprising that I oppose abortion. The ultimately acceptable number of abortions is zero. I differ from many “Pro-Life” groups in that I think the answer is primarily moral, not legal. Without belief in the additional human life, there’s no reason to prohibit abortion. A fetus certainly causes discomfort to the woman. A law prohibiting fetus killing could not be enforced in 2005 America. There’s a high probability of civil and criminal disobedience. I value the avoidance of scandal a lot more than philosopher conservatives, and to me a unenforceable law is worse than no law.

That said, you’ll also note that I put “Pro-Life” in quotes. Too many of these groups have weakened the phrase by making it apply only to anti-abortion statements. They avoid the great issues of state-sanctioned vengeance, the death penalty, and state-sanctioned disrespect, torture. I’ll use this University’s group as an example. There’s no statement on torture. Worse yet, from the website, “Does your organization take a stand on the death penalty?”
“No. Our members have different opinions about this issue.”

The numbers are not proportionate; there are over 1 million abortions in America each year, while government executes less than 100 people. The torture numbers appear to be in the hundreds as well. The problem is with the ethic. Once a people decides that some class of humans loses their inalienable rights endowed by their Creator, it becomes easy to extend that definition. For a two-month fetus, preventing seven months of pain for the woman is a not uncompelling reason to allow a killing. In terms of pain and suffering, those seven months are a more compelling reason than what a convicted murderer can effect from prison.

There are other excuses given for accepting the death penalty. We can set aside deterrent, since research haven’t shown effectiveness; as a Supreme Court justice once said, to be fairer and perhaps deterring America would need to make lethal injection far more popular. Instead, we do have vengeance – often misstated as justice – and retribution, the Mosaic Law reformed. We’re saying that the acts of particular people deserve killing. These actions are terrible, despicable, gravely evil acts. We shouldn’t like them, and we shouldn’t like those people. Getting to vengeance, though, is not for us. I could take a long theological tour on the misreading of Biblical liberalism, but it’s not necessary. Instead, a valid argument here is world opinion, the avoidance of scandal. According to Amnesty International, the United States is fourth in worldwide executions, behind China, Iran, and Vietnam. I’m sure all “Patriotic Christians” enjoy being on this list. It erodes America’s moral capital.

Of course, there’s another large, more current erosion: torture. According to Dana Priest, in the original and perhaps no longer available Washington Post article, the CIA holds subjects in secret prisons, at sites “including Thailand, Afghanistan and several democracies in Eastern Europe, as well as a small center at the Guantanamo Bay prison in Cuba.” This is utterly despicable. Senator John McCain, a former torture victim in Vietnam, recognized the problem and introduced an amendment to establish the Army Field Manual as the guideline for interrogations.
Vice President Cheney, Vietnam War shirker, non-torture victim, and purely evil man, has tried to kill the bill. President Bush, Vietnam War shirker, non-torture victim, and thoroughly evil man, has threatened a veto. They’ve argued for a CIA exemption, since they’ve done it before. It is to most Senators’ credit that they did not agree.
Because it’s worth remembering, here is the list of the Pro-torture Nine:

Allard (R-CO), Bond (R-MO), Coburn (R-OK), Cochran (R-MS),
Cornyn (R-TX), Inhofe (R-OK), Roberts (R-KS), Sessions (R-AL),
Stevens (R-AK). This is nine more than there should be. You might follow the link for a statement from Senator McCain, which I almost reposted in full. This isn’t exactly what I would say, as it’s more patriotic and less religious than my tastes, but it’s still quite good.

Why would I concentrate on the death penalty and torture? Because the humans on which these evils are our most hated. As I said, the people we consider for killing and waterboarding and the like are mostly gravely evil people. Yes, there are some innocent men, and that weakens the case for extreme punishment a lot more. I don’t even need that. Pretend that every sentenced person is guilty, and pretend that every captured person is involved. That makes them the worst people we know, total and absolute strangers. Fetuses have a much better reputation; the only time they’re described as evil is around the eleventh hour of labor. Often they’re even called innocent. Their souls, or at least potential souls, are pretty clear. It’s much easier to have sympathy or empathy for the respectable.

Calling yourself “Pro-Life” requires respect for the respectable, but it also requires respect for the least loved, the most reprehensible. It requires opposing all policies that are against life and human decency. That’s much more difficult, but it’s what the words mean. Americans are smart enough to look at simple words and realize they aren’t actually being followed, that thing called hypocrisy. Perhaps Americans have become too enamored with anti-hypocrisy, the “keeping it real” movement. Nevertheless, the “Pro-Life” groups are hypocrites on these issues, which substantially reduces their effectiveness. That just won’t do.

The Violence of Love

From time to time, I am violent. I do not mean physically violent, gunplay and beatings. The only Love associated with physical violence should be Leave Out Violence, a Canadian group. And by the title, I definitely don’t mean violence within love, domestic violence, more grave evil. For that effect, you can look at Shattered Love, Broken Lives, articles by SouthCoast Today of Massachusetts. By violent, I mean the definition – force, swift and intense, that attracts people, challenges them, perhaps changes them. Let me tell you a story.

In 2003-2004, I was assigned to TA two undergraduate courses, Mathematical Statistics and Regression Analysis. Over the two quarters, I got to know some of the students. At least five looked into the field. One of those undergraduates was Lucy. Lucy is extremely cheerful, friendly, and open. She was rare summer in the U of C, the land of perpetual winter. Not one to initiate, but one to reciprocate and return affection, I was very pleased to deal with her. By the end of our two quarters, we would greet each other with hugs. Lucy continued in statistics, was accepted to masters’ programs in biostatistics, and graduated in June. While I’m happy that she entered the field, I’m happy that at least four other people from those classes are in statistics as well. That’s good, and I take pride in doing my job well, that’s not the violent act.

At the Statistics “Holiday” party in December 2004, Lucy and I attended separately. Earlier, I had served as one of the three dancers to the live band, and we drew a small crowd. I hadn’t seen Lucy in a couple months, and so we chatted a bit. She was in the application process, and I offered her my personal statement as an example. We talked for a while, then said goodbye with an expression of happiness and thanks, a giant hug. I saw the expressions on those who saw us, like one professor. He was shocked, almost alarmed, that we could have a connection like that. Like the dancing, we had gawkers. Violence, indeed.

What is the Violence of Love? I borrowed the title from a book of Oscar Romero quotes, available as a free e-book from the Bruderhof. Romero was a priest, considered fairly conservative, who was appointed Archbishop of San Salvador, El Salvador in 1977. Latin American churches have a reputation for supporting governments, even corrupt and oppressive ones, and most thought that Archbishop Romero would at most protest quietly. Not so. Almost immediately, he began speaking of the murder and torture, exhorting for peace and forgiveness and justice. The Catholic radio station broadcast his sermons each Sunday, except when it was jammed or bombed. It’s surprising that he lasted three years before he was assassinated. There are so many pieces I could use here, but I’ll stick with the quote for the title, from November 24, 1977.

We have never preached violence, except the violence of love, which left Christ nailed to a cross, the violence that we must each do to ourselves to overcome our selfishness and such cruel inequalities among us. The violence we preach is not the violence of the sword, the violence of hatred. It is the violence of love, of brotherhood, the violence that wills to beat weapons into sickles for peaceful work.

Setting aside “never” (the Crusades are a little messy), no wonder Romero was killed. We have to transform ourselves, force inwards. It’s not easy; more than anything else, this journal is about my transformation and my failings, my fallible nature. And I’m committed; I have no idea how hard it must be without the willpower. It’s far easier to plod along, find someone to marry and purchase a house in the suburbs and raise two kids and keep steady work and watch football on Sundays. When the TV shows a tragedy, like
Katrina, send a check. That’s something, and it’s better than doing evil. But that safety is not violent.

Worse yet, violence hurts. Occasionally, love-violence can be joyful and beautiful, like the story above. Usually, it’s not. Outwardly, love-violence makes adversaries and enemies. Romero got killed. I’m unlikely to get shot, yet I’m still careful, to not push hard or make people so uncomfortable that they reject the message and me. Inwardly, one has to expect failure and setback and unrequited love and pain and tears. Lots of people, even good Christians, shy away because of the vulnerability. Augustine once wrote that Christians should love God alone, because human love is transient and will expire. Augustine was an idiot. In The Four Loves, C. S. Lewis states the counterargument better than I might:

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.

About six months ago, I introduced a new concept of dignity and love, the AntiMortification, in an strong critique of Negative Obedience. As I’ve journaled through Lent and Eastertime and summer, I’ve always had the goal of defining a positive Christianity. I thought about some summary with bullet points, or a list of recommended actions. That’s too specific. Instead, I’m going to illustrate the idea with a reading and a comment. The reading is Isaiah 61:1-3, read by Jesus in his first public act in Luke – so it meant something. At the Mass before the Conclave, of all the readings available, the Cardinals heard these words – so it means something.

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; He has sent me to bring glad tidings to the lowly, to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners, To announce a year of favor from the Lord and a day of vindication by our God, to comfort all who mourn; To place on those who mourn in Zion a diadem instead of ashes, To give them oil of gladness in place of mourning, a glorious mantle instead of a listless spirit. They will be called oaks of justice, planted by the Lord to show his glory.

As for the modern interpretation, there’s Romero. Security forces invaded a retreat house where a youth retreat was occurring, murdering a priest and four young men. Archbishop Romero preached at the funeral, to thousands both inside and outside the cathedral. He is not Pelagian, as many would argue; God has a role to play, both as source and actor. The day of his sermon was my fourth birthday, January 21, 1979. 26 years later, I don’t know how I’ll be judged. And I know I don’t have to be violent all the time; severe force is restricted to severe occasions. But I do know that when I hit that final evening of life, whether today, tomorrow, or in 40 years, I’m hoping that the scales of my justice exist and tilt the right way. With love.

All pomp, all triumphs, all selfish capitalism, all the false successes of life will pass with the world’s form. All of that passes away. What does not pass away is love. When one has turned money, property, work in one’s calling into service of others, then the joy of sharing and the feeling that all are one’s family does not pass away. In the evening of life you will be judged on love.

The Loss of the Song

• Let him kiss me with kisses of his mouth!
• Ah, you are beautiful, my beloved, ah, you are beautiful! Your eyes are doves behind your veil.
• I have come to my garden, my sister, my bride; I gather my myrrh and my spices, I eat my honey and my sweetmeats, I drink my wine and my milk. Eat, friends; drink! Drink freely of love!
• His arms are rods of gold covered with chrysolites. His body is a work of ivory covered with sapphires. His legs are columns of marble resting on golden bases.
• Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the handiwork of an artist. Your navel is a round bowl that should never lack for mixed wine. Your body is a heap of wheat encircled with lilies. Your breasts are like twin fawns, the young of a gazelle.
• Come, my lover, let us go forth to the fields and spend the night among the villages. Let us go early to the vineyards, and see if the vines are in bloom; if the buds have opened, if the pomegranates have blossomed; there will I give you my love.

Where did I get such words? I wonder what the Parents Television Council would say about them. I have a suspicion that the sexual innuendo, with an outright offer of sex (even married), would make this not a green light show. Where, again? The Bible, silly! More specifically, The Song of Songs. (The exact passages are chapter 1: verse 2, 4:1, 5:1, 5:14-15, 7:2-4, and 7:12-13.)

In a world with great consternation about love and sexual acts, Christians have this entire book of Holy Scripture with a bride and bridesmaids and groom, thinking about male and female, and passages like the ones above. A logical person might conclude that the words would be part of the schedule of readings. I am generally a logical person, so I used this really good
lectionary website to search for the Song of Songs in the lectionary. How many times does it appear in the Sunday schedule? NONE! Habakkuk is read once, on the 27th Sunday of year C. Paul’s advice about submissive wives gets in there, but there’s no room for the poem. Still, there are a lot of texts not on the Sunday schedule. What about the standard daily readings? As far as I can tell, NONE! Even the letter of Philemon gets one day, Thursday of Week 32 of year II. Yet there is no room in a two-year schedule, over 400 options, for one about Solomon’s bride and groom. It is said that Martin Luther wanted to remove the book of James from the Bible. The Song of Songs appears to be Catholicism’s James.

At least the Catholic church doesn’t go as far as Joseph Smith, who expunged the poem from his Inspired Version, used by Mormons. But how does the commentary to the Catholic translation of the Bible, the New American, explain the book? From the introduction, “The author of the Song, using the same literary figure, paints a beautiful picture of the ideal Israel, the chosen people of the Old and New Testaments, whom the Lord led by degrees to an exalted spiritual union with himself in the bond of perfect love.” Thus, the bridegroom is God and the bride is the Jewish people Israel. Another allegorical concept developed throughout the centuries, placing Christ as the groom, bringing the church as bride. A third approach developed with God and the Virgin Mary as the actors. Reading the text literally is also mentioned, but only as a secondary possibility: “While the Song is thus commonly understood by most Catholic scholars, it is also possible to see in it an inspired portrayal of ideal human love. Here we would have from God a description of the sacredness and the depth of married union.”

The problem with all this allegory is found through Occam’s Razor, named after the theory’s populist, medieval Franciscan monk William of Ockham. (He was excommunicated, actually, which makes him an interesting choice for this series.) William’s exact phrase was Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate; in English, Plurality should not be posited without necessity. We generally use it to summarize parsimony, that of two equivalent explanations, the simpler one is to be preferred. It’s very Bayesian, like me. The complicated explanation for the appearance of this Canticle we’ve done, as allegory. What’s the simpler choice? Romantic love was a subject important enough to include writings about. The Hebrew Scriptures include laws and rules, like most of Leviticus. They include historical notes. They include practical advice for living, the Proverbs. Why wouldn’t there be a description of married love?

It took a while for Hebrew authorities to agree upon the books in their scriptures. Even in the 2nd century AD, there was some question about the Song of Songs. It is a little different; it doesn’t mention the name of God explicitly, unlike pretty much everything else. Thus, it’s not surprising that as the Christian churches developed, they struggled with the difference. It got harder, since strong Stoic influences infiltrated the church, with disdain of pleasure and joy. Then there were the Manicheans, who were taught to avoid the “evil” material, passionate, and emotional, to become fully “good”, spiritual and rational. Obviously, sex and love were far too passionate. Manicheanism, popular in the third and fourth centuries, was condemned as a theology, based on an incorrect understanding of good and evil, which doesn’t involve salvation through Christ. On the other hand, the negativity around sex, and promotion of celibacy, was very popular. Celibacy was promoted by fourth century male theologians John Chrysostom, Augustine, Athanasius, and Jerome. Extrapolating wildly from a short passage, in this case Pauline advice in 1 Corinthians, has happened, is happening, and will happen again. The problem is when it leads to messes. I’ve written before about the consequences, in the Benedict bit and elsewhere, including the jumping off point for this series. I’m not sure Manicheanism lost. The razor of Occam was defeated, as the purpose of the Song became increasingly complicated, stories and allegories proposed and advanced.
It’s not surprising, since most of the people in charge were celibate males, conditioned against the beauty and happiness of sex.

The last century has brought back to religion, partially and reluctantly, the idea of unity and sexuality. We need more. A positive Christianity must take God’s world as not evil; it cannot be Manichean, or even approach those ranks. Recovering the lost meaning of the Song of Songs will help greatly. Placing more emphasis (or should I say any emphasis) on the book in the Lectionary would lead to more discussion, more instruction, and greater knowledge. Plus, there’d be more joy. Catholic christianity is currently a movement that has confused respect with emotionlessness. Even allegorically, the canticle reverses that sense, flowing with poetic emotional language. We learn about God through a means other than suffering. Taken properly, we see the inherent goodness of love, kisses and beautiful descriptions and hints of gifts and happy circumstance.

Suffering and a nation of kings

During the past month or so, two different people have made a statement so shocking that it caused me to doubt their sanity. It arose during discussions on Catholic instutional issues, including the papal conclave. They felt that American and western European people are too comfortable. I’ve heard this from other people, and disagree with this point, but I’ll withhold that argument. The shocking statement goes farther, much farther. I’ll make this a headline for emphasis:

There is not enough suffering in the world.

This is insane. At least, it’s insane with the proper definition of suffering. I’m using that from Salvifici Doloris, which I’ve meditated upon previously. From section 7 of that apostolic letter, “man suffers whenever he experiences any kind of evil.” Thus, to increase suffering means increasing evil. This is unthinkable.

The letter spends a great deal of time talking about the lessons from suffering, atonement and redemption and even completion. So much so, that I even noted that suffering sounds almost good. Thus, I can see how a person with an poorly formed conscience could leap from use to need. At least, I can see that until the consequences become apparent. To increase suffering is not just mortification. If we take suffering as good, we should exhibit that good – walk up and punch people, steal wallets, maybe even shoot a few folk. I pray, fervently, that once folks realize the implications of that statement, they will repent. To make it more obvious, I think if I ever hear that again I’m going to just slap the speaker to demonstrate the idiocy.

A speaker might qualify the statement, backing down from inflicting pain, instead talking about the wealth of the First World (Canada, western Europe, and the USA). If the comment was directed at poverty, I would agree; after all, there’s the Gospel verse about camels, needles, and rich men, and the Gospels mention poverty a lot. That’s not right, though; my opponents talk about comfort, particularly easy sexuality. Again, given their cellphones and tennis shoes and clean mixed fabric clothes and hot showers, I question their honesty, but there’s something there. Compared to 1850, or even 1950, there has been a big shift in prosperity. Instead of worrying about starvation and the great depression, now we battle against obesity and stock bubbles. As I’m fond of reminding people, in 1850 slightly over half of all babies born in London did not reach 25 years of age. Now it might be 5 percent. The vast majority of us enjoy food, housing, and structure exceeding the upperclass of 100 years ago. I am not forgetting the underclass, or youth hunger (the only appropriate number of underfed kids is zero), but in general, America has become a nation of kings.

Our problems are different now. The basics of survival are satisfied. When I had a blood infection in college, an antibiotic kept me from losing my arm. Glasses let me read. Electricity led to the light and the plane and the computer. I consider these all wonderful testaments to the brains God gave us. However, they change the rules. Our capacity for evil has increased, not just through the ability to destroy humankind via nuclear device. The consequences of sexuality (pregnancy and disease) are more avoidable, and generally less deadly, though AIDS is a major exception. Television and the Internet spread lots of concupiscence and evil, though they do have good parts. On a more basic level, almost everyone can read, and thus we’re not dependent on hearing the Word read to us. We have cheap Bibles, too. Some of us even read theological and pastoral works, making us more knowledgeable than the average priest of 300 years ago. We are not “simple lay people” anymore.

When the speakers talk about an excess of comfort, they feel that the lack of trial makes us more likely to ignore God. They spy lots more priests and religious in the Third World, where physical suffering is greater. The fact is true, but that doesn’t mean we should abandon our advances. There have always been people with comfort, and some of those believed, and some even became Saints. The Church has preached to the Kings as well as the Peasants. Though the truth of the message remains, the specific emphases and tactics change from time to time and place to place. The reduction of physical suffering doesn’t mean that we recreate it, for as I noted, suffering proceeds from evil. It means that we find new ways to talk about God, or adapt the old ways. There still are plenty of problems to serve as starting points. We might even use intelligence, and talk more about thought and theology. But I will never argue to create suffering. If anyone needs some, just ask and I’ll share.

Salvifici Doloris

Suffering is an extremely difficult concept. From the dictionary, I get a couple definitions – distress; agony; a state of acute pain. One source even called suffering and pain virtual equals. In the last piece, I described suffering as the assumption of pain. That was nice to distinguish it from sacrifice, which is why I said that, but it’s not fully correct. Here, I want to focus on a different definition; suffering as misery resulting from affliction.

That definition is much closer to the Catholic understanding, very different from the secular one. Some people consider the difference very stark. One such writer is Nicholas C. Lund-Molfese, M. A., J. D., involved with higher education ministry for the Archdiocese of Chicago. Nick was involved with the transition after Father Mike’s resignation. He is not a good man. Also, I am extremely unhappy with his leadership. Fortunately, that doesn’t cloud my mind and prevent my learning from his scholarship. You can find some of his writings
on this site. In
“Salvifici Doloris: A Challenge to Catholic Social Scientists”, the following excerpt appears. It’s a strong but not unusual viewpoint of what folks call the culture of death.

According to our culture, suffering is first of all meaningless and second of all perceived as the greatest evil. It is meaningless in that, in a world without God, human suffering is not ultimately explicable. Suffering becomes the greatest possible evil to be avoided at any cost and by any method: be it abortion, euthanasia, or infanticide. There has even developed substantial popular approval for abortion, and to a lesser extent infanticide, as morally praiseworthy choices. Such killing is perceived as necessary to end present suffering or to prevent future suffering. Thus, killing a disabled child before birth becomes a “compassionate” choice or “the best choice in a difficult situation.” Mark Barton of Atlanta, before killing his wife, two children and ultimately himself, left a note for police explaining his actions: “I killed the children to exchange for them five minutes of pain for a lifetime of pain. I forced myself to do it to keep them from suffering so much later.”

The title of that paper refers to a 1984 letter from the Pope on the understanding of human suffering, available in full. There are a lot of letters and promulgations from the Vatican, and I’m glad Nick pointed this one out. I’ve spent the last week reading the letter, and I want to look at a few things. But before moving to the Pope’s paper, what about Nick’s claims?

A few of his claims ring true, but most are false. He is right about the difficulty of explaining suffering without God, which I’ll come back to later. Furthermore, majority support does exist for abortion. Many of those people, a decent percentage if no majority, label abortion a moral choice. On the other hand, infanticide and selective abortion do not have popular support. Elsewhere, Mr. Lund-Molfese tries to correlate low sentences for new mothers that kill babies with public support for the practice. If he were to listen – to commentary and outcry – he would realize the opposite. People feel the internal penalty of having killed one’s child is so great that only a small additional penalty is necessary. There’s plenty of outrage. Calling Mark Barton, someone who committed suicide, a normative example is a great stretch. And as for abortion, I rarely hear abortion defended as a release of suffering, or even a release of pain. The most common defense is power over the female body, freedom to do what one wants. Tangentially, there’s avoidance of pain, because bearing and raising a child takes time and effort. At least from what I hear, the pain is secondary to the control and liberty. The claim, like many others, is not correct. Putting two facts together and divining causation doesn’t work.

Enough digression; I return to the main topic, suffering. The Pope’s paper covers a lot of ground, more than I could justly place in one musing. I’d need a whole page, and probably a month of nightly journaling, which I don’t want to spend. Maybe I could give a lecture or something. Here, I want to focus on the basic definition, what Nick rightly says a world without God lacks, full understanding of suffering.
Suffering is humankind’s response to evil. Man suffers when he experiences evil. Section 7 of Salvifica Doloris points out that linguistically, the Old Testament Hebrew doesn’t have a root to distinguish between evil and suffering. Greek, and the New Testament, separated the two words. The concepts, though, haven’t separated much. Evil, in its many forms, causes misery. Sometimes we bring this misery upon ourselves, because of our own ungood acts. Not all suffering is a consequence of our fault, or any fault, though; the Christian sense (and section 10) does not label all suffering punishment.

There’s an tricky point about death. Watching people contract cancer, or stroke out, or attending funerals causes sadness. I wrote about that earlier on this page. When I die, whether today, tomorrow, or in the future, I expect pain as well. Any honest definition of suffering must account for death. A world without another, without God, must consider death immensely great pain. And it does. Even us Christians, who claim to believe, have some trepidation over the process. After all, our belief is less provable than the solution to linear regression. Plus, the physical pain, trouble of change, and struggle with loss lead to suffering. But can we call death evil? I have to duck, focus the evil on the process, and hope for the Rapture. But that’s not fulfilling. So I’ll duck, admit the problem for now, and head back to the letter.

The Pope focuses on atonement theology, that Jesus suffered redemptively. “Each man, in his suffering, can also become a sharer in the redemptive suffering of Christ,” he writes in section 19. The Bishop of Rome points out that Jesus calls us to suffer with him. In Luke 21 it is said “you will be brought before kings and governors for my name’s sake. … You will be hated by all for my name’s sake.” Christians shouldn’t be afraid to proclaim the Gospel, and take whatever problems may arise. I fully assent here; I’m often annoyed because my Church does not proclaim enough. What scares me is that the Pope’s view of atonement goes farther, much farther than suffering for Christ. Suffering is talked about as glorious, as necessary, as completing the messianic suffering of Christ. I’m not sure about needing to finish anything; maybe remembering or upholding would be better. The most pernicious quote lies in section 24:

“Suffering has a special value in the eyes of the church. It is something good, before which the Church bows down in reverence with all the depth of her faith in the Redemption.”

How can suffering be good? Suffering is the experience of evil. Suffering is caused by evil. We can talk about the redemptive value. It’s not useless – we remember Christ’s choice, we understand our limitation and fallibility. The world doesn’t see these values, that meaning. Suffering is not useless; that I understand, and that every human needs to understand. But our promise, our Revelation, is of a world where every tear will be washed away. Our future is without evil and pain, without suffering. Calling our temporary situation good confuses the terms, and that’s an error.

The other problem with atonement is that it neglects our responsibility to oppose evil. While reading, I wrote “But why don’t we have more?” There are movements, like those talked on this page, who decided that the proper course was to create pain for themselves. Others might cite the positivism, the “goodness”, to let pain and evil continue. This makes no sense, and the letter rightly states so: “Christ’s revelation of the salvific meaning of suffering is in no way identified with an attitude of passivity.” Unfortunately, this appears in section 30, long after several pages on atonement and glory. That’s too late, and too dangerous, and I’m worried about that. Do my worries override the helpful parts of the letter? Well, no. I’m glad I read and studied it. Suffering’s not the greatest possible evil, and it has value, but that still doesn’t mean I should mortify myself or create it.

Mortification is for Wimps

In the Four Failures, I mentioned this group Opus Dei, “The Work of God”, and I called them the shining favored example of Catholicism as Obedience. Recently, the group has accelerated its quiet recruiting at Calvert House and on the University of Chicago campus. Well, less quietly now that there’s no priest. I guess this is fitting, given that the first American cell was established near the University of Chicago. Given this place, that doesn’t surprise me. As you might expect, I strongly oppose the group. I can give procedural reasons – a special structure outside every other rule of the church; the personality cult around “Our Father”; restrictions in reading and mail; some leaders’ support of the Franco regime. Those are all important, particularly given my interest in high pressure religious groups and mind control, but the Lenten series of reflections is supposed to be on faith and practice. Instead, I want to critique three points where the group explicitly fails to follow its mandate. According to the propaganda, the group is primarily for ordinary lay people, and tries to act in the world. Here’s a quote from the founder cited on the official webpage:

“Ordinary life can be holy and full of God … Our Lord is calling us to sanctify the ordinary tasks of every day, for the perfection of the Christian is to be found precisely there.”

One of the things about critiques is that it invariably tells much about the critiquer, what he or she finds important. By saying X and Y and Z are malformed, I’m defining not X and not Y and not Z as good practice, as normative. (A normative act is not only well-ordered for an individual, but also should become common practice, the norm.) In this case, that’s precisely the point. Twelve fruits, particularly the musings, is about me; what I do, I think, I believe. Some of what I post is more objective and less personal, like about church seating or courtship or even romanticism. This is not one of those pieces. I’m defining my normative Catholicism in stark opposition to the Escrivites.

• Secrecy: When I meet someone at a Catholic event who belongs to a religious order, even as a postulant, he tends to bring up his group quickly. In faith type situations it’s important enough to mention, and the people have confidence to do so. Do Opus Dei members do the same? Not that I know. Potential members are even encouraged to not discuss their decision with others, including parents. Are they even decent enough to put signage or religious symbols in front of their New York headquarters? Apparently not. Even their
  official descriptive website article does not give the address. I had to search pretty hard through the site to find an address on this page, which is apparently only good if you want to report an intercession. (Also, I think it lists a secondary entrance.) For your information, the almost 50 million dollar building is at Lexington Avenue and East 34th Street, 243 Lexington Avenue.
  I won’t argue that the group should publish a public list of its members. That’s too much. But there’s something lacking in not publishing leaders, phone numbers, and locations of local chapters. Christians are called, according to Matthew 28, to go and make disciples of all the nations, to witness. That involves public proclamation, for how else will the nations know? Not listing addresses or buildings is not witnessing for the group, which supposedly seeks to help people live up to their Christian calling, and supposedly has a universal call. If I had a great way to live my Christian life, I would want to tell everyone, or at the very least every Christian. Yet they don’t seem to do that. Maybe it’s just isn’t so great.
• Sexuality: Opus Dei has a deformed viewpoint on the concept of sexuality and relations between men and women. Usually sexuality in Catholicism refers to chastity, the condition of being pure, decent, and modest. Often, even chastity gets reduced, to abstinence from sexual intercourse before marriage and then fidelity afterwards. That’s a starting point, which I fulfill. But chastity and sexuality encompass more than avoiding penetration. It’s working with women, hanging out, talking, courting, praying; acting in the world. The world has lots of women and lots of men, roughly half each. I need to deal with both halves.
  Look first at the system of Opus Dei. Men and women are kept sequestered; they have different leadership and different structures. That’s not unusual in churches – well, evangelical fundamentalist churches, with Men and Women’s Ministry. Though I bet the group wouldn’t consider that a flattering comparison, their system goes further. I could quote from various writings about how women have inflamed passions, need to be tamed, and so on, but someone could contest context and translation. Besides, I like to focus on actions over words; in this case, the design of the headquarters. The architects, May and Pinska, talk about the challenges given them in this article. The construction went much farther than different ministries. They were asked to build separate entrances for men an women, on separate streets, complete with separate on-site parking for men and women. (I wonder what happens if a visitor accidentally parks in the wrong lot.) This also explains the different intercession address above, and it doesn’t surprise me that tracking prayers became woman’s work. Inside, the architects describe the request for “separation visually and acoustically of men and women within the building.” The retreat center at the top is used alternatively, no mixed groups. No mixed conversation, no multiple gender prayer, no learning from the other sex. Celibacy is enforced through removal and denial. That’s not in the world at all.
  Sexuality is much more complicated than separation. First, there’s the call to marriage for many people. I’m a single guy, and I admit moments of concupiscence, temptation to sexual sin. I can get distracted by short skirts, and I have thought of how certain women would look in a bikini. Am I going to solve that problem by avoiding women? Not at all; imagination rolls right past reality. Maybe some people struggle so much with sexual concupiscence that they should avoid situations with the other sex. They should steer clear. But in no way can that be normative. We humans were made with appreciation of attractiveness and beauty and romantic love. Has anyone read the Bible lately? Like the Song of Songs? Scholars have tried to deny the human focus, interpreting it as God and church. That’s a shame. Go read it. The first verse is “Let him kiss me with kisses of his mouth!” Later, “your eyes are doves behind your veil.” “Your lips are like a scarlet strand; your mouth is lovely.” It’s a spectacular view of romantic love; the bride and the groom talk about anticipation, and being chaste, and waiting for one another. Catholic romantic sexuality would be greatly improved by reading it.
  Sexuality also includes how we treat one another, for not all people are called to marriage, but all deal with women and men. Sure, there are differences between XX and XY, but there are many more similarities. I form friendships of both genders, depending on the qualities of each individual person. A majority of my friends right now are female. This makes logical sense, since I have a strong social worker streak. We (I and my male and female friends) talk; we eat; we discuss faith; we pray; we console each other; we assist each other; we hug and touch and live together. I can do all these things and still remain celibate and modest. I don’t want to lose half the world because of a chromosome. That’s what separation does, a grave shame, and it cannot be normative.
• Mortification: The most intimate members, the numeraries, do physical harm to themselves. This point is not in doubt. They whip themselves at least weekly with a small cord, displayed through the link, a discipline. Many also wear a metal chain around their thigh, a cilice, for two hours a day. Despite some worries, the practice is not physically dangerous, a false criticism. There is historical tradition as well, and no statute forbids the practice. Thus, it’s legal. Yet there is no reason that any person in this current world should physically damage themselves. If the idea is self-punishment or penance, this is sinful. The flagellant has either taken vengeance into hand, a point reserved to God, or attempted to complete reconciliation privately, outside the Catholic guidelines about penance. This also leads very quickly into self-destructive behavior, denying that our bodies are temples of the Lord to be kept whole and in good shape. (Some defend mortification by saying it’s less painful than gym workouts. This is likely true, and some people do punishment via treadmill. But others, like myself, look at healthiness as part of God’s mandate. Gym work keeps my body, my gift from the Lord, in proper shape, while beating it does not.)
  The most common defense is purification through sacrifice. This is completely incorrect, based on a terribly misguided sense of sacrifice and suffering. Sacrifice is the denial of pleasure. Suffering is the assumption of pain. They are very different. For instance, not eating meat on Friday is sacrifice, despite what a Texan might claim. Fish or pasta or cereal can easily substitute without damaging the body, perhaps even improving part of God’s creation. Some things are borderline, like sleeping on a board instead of a mattress. There is extra goodness in a plush bed, so as long as it doesn’t hurt a back or lead to fatigue things are acceptable. On the other hand, whipping oneself does not reduce pleasure; it causes pain. That’s creating suffering. That is sinful.
  Yes, I said sinful. There is so much suffering, so much pain in the world right now that voluntary creating more sins against those in pain. It’s showing a lack of knowledge about people, likely from that secrecy and splitting of the world. Look at my last year, for instance. As a matter of fact, we’re called to relieve suffering, not cause it. Matthew 25 lists the tasks on which we’ll be judged; feed the hungry, hydrate the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the ill, visit the prisoner. Spend time whipping oneself? Not on that list.

Wearing the cilice shows that Opus Dei is not committed to sanctifying ordinary tasks and the ordinary world. Through excessive secrecy, they not only deny the stranger, but also lose track of life. Through malformed sexuality, they not only deny true chastity, but also shrink away from potentially valuable relationships. They can’t realize the needs of the world, because they’re not part of it, and thus must resort to pain creation. To me, it looks like fear. It looks like a six-year-old, perhaps Calvin (and Hobbes), with a secret clubhouse and worries about cooties. That immature fear builds the title of this piece – Mortification is for Wimps.

True strength comes from striding forth, talking with people male and female, speaking the Gospel and trying to relieve their pain. That’s my normative Christianity. It’s what I try to live. Know what? I’m inventing a new practice, the AntiMortification. Instead of whips, there are hugs. Instead of the cilice, there is the flower. Instead of fraternal correction, there is fraternal praise. Instead of private holding pain, there is public relieving suffering.
The other way might be favored now, but I (at least according to the Chrism Mass Gospel, Luke 4) have the truer work of God.

Hope

The following reflection ran in the Calvert bulletin on 27 February. It’s very appropriate to the situation. In reality, I had written almost all of this in late January, anticipating March 1 and the next topic. It’s based on the following three pieces of scripture:
Romans 5:1-8,
Revelation 21:1-6 and 22:1-5.

Ninth week is starting, the winter has been harsh, and things can look pretty bleak about now. In the reading at Mass, Paul wrote about the trinity of great theological virtues, faith, hope, and love. Given the time of year and quarter, it’s very appropriate to start with hope, our Christian Hope. The best definition I’ve seen is the following:
“The resting of the heart on God, with full trust that He always cares for our salvation, and will give us the happiness He has promised.”

The two passages from Revelation describe the eventual fulfillment of that promise. “The Lord will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain …” It’s marvelous poetry and a brilliant bit of inspired text. The author John manages to describe at least part of what we will receive in the Kingdom to come, with the return of the Messiah. Sometimes called the eschatological (or end-time) hope, it’s a powerful message. Through the cross, Jesus has demonstrated caring for our salvation. Through Resurrection, he pointed the way to salvation, and this wonderful world to come. Believing in that eternal message, and resting our heart in it, is a very useful thing to ponder this week.

Yet there’s more to hope. When I read these Revelation passages, I’m reminded of a book. No, not Left Behind; rather, Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. At the end, the protagonist Montag is searching his mind for something to help his fellow travellers, to make the trip a little easier. He chooses this passage. “And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.” Why this bit? It entwines eternal hope with the other type, temporal hope. As the definition states, God cares for our salvation and happiness. That care is not only in the future. It is also in the present. By choosing that passage, and choosing it to help others, Montag reminds us of hope here and now.

This temporal hope can be very hard to find, particularly in Hyde Park, particularly right now. Cold, wind, clouds, snow, darkness, grey walls, papers, readings, projects, problem sets, dissertations – who doesn’t see this? It’s so, so easy to get lost, turn away, and lose the assurance of God’s care. That’s sad. But not only sad, it drives the heart away from the Lord, and towards hell – once accurately described as the total absence of hope, the tactile proof of despair.

The mission for the week can be to perform acts of hope, that by bringing it to others, it also comes closer to us. Assuring people of God’s love is not simple. It’s certainly not walking around Hyde Park shouting “Jesus loves you!” No, there are many better ways. Occasionally, it’s a massive gesture, like holding his hand when he’s crying or answering her frantic midnight knock. More commonly, it’s smaller things: complimenting someone in discussion; smiling; inviting the quiet neighbor to tea; setting a small bag of chestnuts at the door.

Montag’s searching and speaking is one of those actions. I don’t know how the travellers felt later in that day, when he spoke the words and they considered them. The book doesn’t say. In my mind, I want the intent to came through, that they could trust in God and believe in his caring. And I want it to be true for all of us.

There’s Something About Mary

Catholicism in the public sphere has had a busy couple of months. Senator Kerry, homosexual advocates, various bishops, Iraq, abortion, and sexual abuse fallout have combined into a giant mess. There’s no good solution remaining; all options will be painful and incomplete. It’s going to take a long time for me to ponder over all the positions, and likely even longer to write about them. I’ve had a breakdown type of day today, winding up with me curled up crying, then taking a nap, two things not good for my progress. I swallow too much of my anger. Thus, the first piece of this exploration is going to be negative. It’s my mood.

The American Catholic Church today has an obsession with Mary,
occasionally bordering on Marydolatry. Many of you, imaginary readers, are screaming now, looking for tracts, clutching rosary beads, checking on excommunication laws, or some such. Before we go farther, I’ll give you a minute, and collect my symbols.

Recently, I was looking at days of obligation for various countries. The 1983 Canon lists ten, three relating to Mary. The American Bishops have reduced that number to six, but kept all three related to her. Other countries have taken a more balanced approach. For instance, Ireland has two Marian days out of six, England one of seven. Canada and Australia keep the minimum, one Marian day and Christmas. [Historical aside: Holy day count has changed over time. At the time of the Revolution, Americans celebrated over 30; this became 11 in 1777, and 10 in 1789 with the removal of St. George.] As with many things, the choice doesn’t appear strange on its face, and it’s not. The bishops have full rights to make that choice, and the United States has Mary as a patroness. But it’s highly symbolic.

Another symbol is closer to home, in my current house of worship.
Some basement space was cleaned and converted to house a bench, a kneeler,
and a monstrance. That makes one adoration chapel. The symbol here is the
holder of the consecrated host. It’s a huge statue of Mary, in comparison
to the small bread. I have great difficulty praying there – it feels
like worshipping a Goddess. Yes, I know it’s not, but it’s
uncomfotable.

My last symbol is experiential. I know many people have a devotion to Mary. Some, I think, have a worship of her – but that’s an individual story for another time. In this argument, the interesting thing is that these people are almost uniformly ultramontane and retrogressive. Here I use ultramontane to identify those that prefer strong hierarchy in the church, and a more direct style led by Rome. That’s not me, even though by the standards of the 1914 definition, I am ultramontane. I use retrogressive to describe those who say that civilization is in decline, like my dinner conversationalist one night who thought that returning to the 14th century order of things would be better. Beyond the simple metric of life expectancy (in 1850 America, half of all humans born died before the age of 30), there are other improvements – maybe I’ll post a list sometime. As a starter, how else would you be reading this?

Although a statistician puts relatively little faith in ancedote, the accumulated weight has become very heavy. I’ve meditated on this question for a couple weeks, searching for illumination. This question has surprised me because of my vehemence about the subject. Even three years ago, I kept a rosary in my bag, but now I see great danger. Right now, I want to learn why the hierarchial (conservative/traditionalist, though that’s unfair to them) wing is so Marian.
One possibility is that because the current pope favors Marian devotions,
the highly following have adopted the ways. For lots of people I know,
including me, John Paul II is the only pope we can remember. A related possibility is anti-Protestantism. In America, Marian thought, devotion, and such is basically limited to the papists. By charging down that route, Catholics emphasize their own identity – Baptists don’t have rosary beads. The cost goes beyond attempts at ecumenism; it excludes and cuts off paths for Protestants to look at the main church. More distressingly, it cuts off paths for Romanists to learn and grow through the good developments of the new movements. There are enough adversaries around that we don’t need to retreat from potential allies.

A more theological hypothesis might be what I consider a concept of
mission, as sub-mission. Mary gets portrayed, rightly or wrongly, as pliant;
after acceeding to the Lord’s demands, very little appears about her actions.
She’s behind the scenes. There are some exceptions, like the wedding at
Cana, but that’s sort of a behind the scenes request – helping with the
cooking. The readings at Sunday Mass yesterday, the 27th, dealt with the
costs of following the Lord, those like Elisha who could, and others who
could not. In the homily, the presider spoke about people who made great
sacrifices of personal faith, a feel-good testimony approach.
Key, though, was that these people took active stances, the full mission.
Relying on quiet Mary as role model is too passive, too sub, at least for me.
Overall, I just don’t know. What is it about Mary?

Low Church, not Low Faith

A few weeks ago on this page, in the Isaiah musing, I stated a disdain for choir chanting, Latin, violins, and other complex music settings at Mass. More generally, I prefer a service style that tends toward “low” church. When I use this, it’s relative in contrast to “high” church. It’s not in the strict Anglican sense, or the articles of faith sense, described in this Catholic Encyclopedia piece. High and Low Masses are an old Catholic term, so I thought I’d start with some history.

Up until just before my birth, the Tridentine Mass was the standard worship form of Roman Catholicism. Introduced after the Council of Trent, in 1570, it served until the Novus Ordo Missae was introduced in 1969. There were various forms. A Pontificial High Mass was one sung by a bishop and choir. When the Bishop was unavailable, but a priest, choir, and deacon could serve, the High Mass was celebrated with chant and incense. Poorer churches, who could not afford or staff fully, had a spoken or Low Mass. As with any change, the Novus Ordo caused a lot of controversy. Some people objected to the loss of mandatory Latin. I have read complaints about vestments, direction, simplicity, communion in the hand, communion under both kinds, women near the altar, lack of Gregorian chant, and the disadvantage of laity understanding things. A simple Google search will find many defenders of the Trent service. It is not the point of this article to argue fully on this subject. Briefly, the change to Latin (from Greek) was primarily political in the fourth century. Later, Trent never dogmatically condemned the vernacular, rather preferring Latin and standardization as a means to counteract challenges of Protestantism. The so-called “uniformity” had exceptions in the Ambrosian and Mozarabic Rites, as well as various religious orders.

After three weeks more thought on this issue, I realize it comes down to two concepts, tempo and participation. For those of you who don’t play competitive bridge, the term tempo is used to describe the speed at which one makes bids and plays. To quote from the Laws of Bridge, “Calls and plays should be made without special emphasis, mannerism or inflection, and without undue hesitation or haste.” There’s a natural pace, and breaking that pace has consequences; it’s improper, and can be considered cheating. Tempo is one of the reasons I don’t play serious bridge, actually; I greatly prefer collectible card games, where the bluff of tempo is rather important. I generally play quickly, and like when other people play quickly. A slow player frustrates me, or one that stutters and constantly changes tempo.

I also like that tempo in my worship. It’s not that I want a shorter service; the daily Mass often feels too rushed for my tastes. It’s about flow. Even cadence, keeping a pace, keeping the air alive with words – that’s what I want. Slow tempo is fine, as long as things keep the speed. I grimace when someone talks about bells during the Consecration, because to me they’re like slaps to the head of the flow of the Eucharistic prayer. (Actually, I suggested to one such supporter that I would just slap them instead of bells. Well, to me it’s the same result.) When an organist takes four or five warmup notes before a Great Amen, I cringe; the beauty of a chanted doxology, ruined. Too frequently, when the musicians get hold of a liturgy, it becomes a series of stops and starts, like a beginning card player. Spoken Masses, the “Low” form, hold their tempo tighter, and so I prefer them.

Back to the musicians, and the second point, participation. In my mind, the Mass is the expression of the people of God. To do that, the people need to express. The General Instruction states the role of a choir in number 103, including “fostering the active participation of the faithful through the singing.” Additionally, the 50-70 minutes within a Mass is the primary worship of many parishioners. While everyone spending more spiritual time would be nice, a realist cannot understate the importance of activity in the limited time frame. I understand that my background in American evangelicalism markedly colours this area. So it does. I find Mass more praiseworthy when I hear my neighbor in the responses and songs, when the priest avoids unwarranted attention by steering clear of big fancy chants, when the organ and choir do not overpower any attempts at singing.

Too often I see a Mass choir acting like a Gospel choir. Instead of a worship aid, they become the worship, choosing a difficult song, like Latin when few people understand (except at Calvert), or multipart harmony, or range outside the average one octave. I really like Gospel music, and Gospel choirs; I spent a good deal of Easter Sunday watching and listening to Gospel Challenge on TV One, sort of a low-budget AME American Idol. That’s not Mass music, though, and I don’t want it there. Mass music should foster the goal of the service – commemoration of the life, sacrifice, and renewal of our Lord. “Low” Masses, with less complex pieces or even spoken parts, allow people to have greater confidence and better entry into the commemoration. If you’re not sure about this point, experiment. At a typical parish Mass, compare the proportion of people who say a response against the proportion that sing. I have, and the spoken word triumphs. That gets people involved, and draws them actively to the path of transformation, where I want to walk.