et Vetera Nova Summer 2022 • Volume 20, Number 3 The English Edition of the International Theological Journal Co-Editors Matthew Levering, Mundelein Seminary Thomas Joseph White, O.P., Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Associate Editors Holly Taylor Coolman, Providence College Gilles Emery, O.P., University of Fribourg Paul Gondreau, Providence College Scott W. Hahn, Franciscan University of Steubenville Thomas S. Hibbs, Baylor University Reinhard Hütter, Catholic University of America Christopher Malloy, University of Dallas Bruce D. Marshall, Southern Methodist University Charles Morerod, O.P., Bishop of Lausanne, Geneva, and Fribourg John O’Callaghan, University of Notre Dame Chad C. Pecknold, Catholic University of America Michael S. Sherwin, O.P., Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Board of Advisors Anthony Akinwale, O.P., Dominican Institute, Ibadan, Nigeria Khaled Anatolios, University of Notre Dame Robert Barron, Bishop of Winona-Rochester John Betz, University of Notre Dame Bernhard Blankenhorn, O.P., Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Christopher O. Blum, Augustine Institute Stephen Brock, Pontifical University of the Holy Cross Peter Casarella, Duke University Divinity School Boyd Taylor Coolman, Boston College Michael Dauphinais, Ave Maria University Archbishop J. Augustine Di Noia, O.P., Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith Douglas Farrow, McGill University Anthony Fisher, O.P., Archbishop of Sydney, Australia Simon Francis Gaine, O.P., Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Timothy Gray, Augustine Institute Nicholas J. Healy, Jr., Pontifical John Paul II Institute (Washington, DC) Russell Hittinger, University of Tulsa Paige Hochschild, Mount St. Mary’s University Andrew Hofer, O.P., Dominican House of Studies Dominic Legge, O.P., Dominican House of Studies Joseph Lienhard, S.J., Fordham University Steven A. Long, Ave Maria University Guy Mansini, O.S.B., Ave Maria University Francesca Aran Murphy, University of Notre Dame Thomas Osborne, University of St. Thomas (Houston) Michał Paluch, O.P., Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Trent Pomplun, University of Notre Dame Christopher J. Ruddy, Catholic University of America Richard Schenk, O.P., University of Freiburg Michele Schumacher, University of Fribourg Janet Smith, Sacred Heart Major Seminary Christopher Thompson, St. Paul Seminary Thomas Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap., Capuchin College William Wright, Duquesne University Instructions for Contributors 1. Address all contributions, books for review, and related correspondence to Matthew Levering, mjlevering@yahoo.com. 2. Contributions should be prepared to accord as closely as possible with the typographical conventions of Nova et Vetera. The University of Chicago Manual of Style (16th edition) is our authority on matters of style. 3. Nova et Vetera practices blind review. Submissions are evaluated anonymously by members of the editorial board and other scholars with appropriate expertise. Name, affiliation, and contact information should be included on a separate page apart from the submission. 4. Galley-proofs of articles are sent to contributors to be read and corrected and should be returned to the Editors within ten days of receipt. Corrections should be confined to typographical and factual errors. 5. Submission of a manuscript entails the author’s agreement (in the event his or her contribution is accepted for publication) to assign the copyright to Nova et Vetera. Nova et Vetera The English Edition of the International Theological Journal ISSN 1542-7315 Summer 2022 Vol. 20, No. 3 Tracts for the Times Tract 3: Corporate Sanctity in the Thought of John Henry Newman.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anonymous 705 Tract 4: Rekindling Attraction for the Sacrament of Penance. Anonymous 719 Tract 5: St. Joseph, Terror of Demons and Protector of Holy Church.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anonymous 727 Tract 6: Eucharistic Life in a Weary World: Insights from St. Albert the Great.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anonymous 733 Commentary What Makes the Common Good Common? Key Points from Charles De Koninck. . . . . . . . . . . . . Aquinas Guilbeau, O.P. 739 To Bear Man’s Greatness: On the Moral-Theological Message of a Recent Document of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Samaritanus Bonus. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Andrzej Kucinski 753 Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth. . . . . . . . . Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez 773 Dei Filius and Theology Today: A Symposium for the 150th Anniversary of Vatican I Introduction to Dei Filius and Theology Today. . . . . . . . . Andrew Meszaros 793 Dei Filius in Context.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Patrick Gorevan 803 Dei Filius I: On God, Creation, and Providence.. . . . . . . . . . Rudi A. te Velde 823 Dei Filius II: On Divine Revelation. . . . . . . . . . . . . Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. 839 Dei Filius III: On Faith. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gaven Kerr 855 Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. 873 Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conor McDonough, O.P. 891 Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma. . . . . . . . . . Andrew Meszaros 909 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith. . . . . . . . . . . . . 939 Bibliography for Further Reading. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 959 Book Reviews Benedict XVI, A Life: Volume 1, Youth in Nazi Germany to the Second Vatican Council 1927–1965 by Peter Seewald.......... Emil Anton 963 Modernity as Apocalypse: Sacred Nihilism and the Counterfeits of Logos by Thaddeus J. Kozinski.................................................................. Mehmet Ciftci 966 Dogma and Ecumenism: Vatican II and Karl Barth’s Ad Limina Apostolorum edited by Matthew Levering, Bruce L. McCormack, and Thomas Joseph White. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gavin D’Costa 971 The Trinitarian Christology of St. Thomas Aquinas by Dominic Legge, O.P.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michael Gorman 975 What Does It Mean to Believe? Faith in the Thought of Joseph Ratzinger by Daniel Cardó.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jean-Paul Juge 979 The Light that Binds: A Study in Thomas Aquinas’s Metaphysics of the Natural Law by Stephen Brock.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Angel Perez-Lopez 981 Modern Biblical Criticism as a Tool of Statecraft (1700–1900) by Scott W. Hahn and Jeffrey L. Morrow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Steven C. Smith 985 John the Theologian and His Paschal Gospel: A Prologue to Theology by John Behr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew Z. Vale 989 The English edition of Nova et Vetera is published quarterly and provides an international forum for theological and philosophical studies from a Thomistic perspective. Founded in 1926 by future Cardinal Charles Journet in association with Jacques Maritain, Nova et Vetera is published in related, distinct French and English editions. The English edition of Nova et Vetera welcomes articles and book reviews in theology, philosophy, and biblical studies that address central contemporary debates and discussions. We seek to be “at the heart of the Church,” faithful to the Magisterium and the teachings of the Second Vatican Council, and devoted to the work of true dialogue. Nova et Vetera (ISSN 1542-7315; ISBN 978-1-64585-258-2) is published quarterly by St. Paul Center for Biblical Theology, 1468 Parkview Circle, Steubenville, OH 43952. Nova et Vetera is distributed to institutional subscribers for the St. Paul Center by the Catholic University of America Press. 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Nova et Vetera Subscription Rates: • Individuals: one-year $40.00, two-year $75.00 International: one-year $60.00, two-year $115.00 • Students: one-year $30.00, two-year $50.00 International: one-year $40.00, two-year $70.00 • Colleges, Universities, Seminaries, and Institutions: one-year $110.00, one-year print + electronic subscription $150.00 International: one-year $135.00 To subscribe online, please visit http://www.nvjournal.net. For subscription inquiries, email us at novaetvetera@stpaulcenter.com or phone 740-264-9535. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 705–718 705 Tract 3: Corporate Sanctity in the Thought of John Henry Newman “It is not good for man to be alone.” (Gen 2:18) John Henry Newman is recognized as a forerunner of the Second Vatican Council. His work on conscience informs contemporary Catholicism’s understanding of the teaching and governing authority of the pope and the Church, and his insistence on the futility of religious compulsion is a precursor to magisterial pronouncements on religious freedom. Here I shall address how Newman contributes—and hopefully will continue to contribute—to the retrieval of sanctification as deification, specifically in its corporate dimension. As he says, “man is a social being and can hardly exist without society,”1 and “Christians should live together in a visible society here on earth, not as a confused unconnected multitude, but united and organized one with another, by an established order, so as evidently to appear and to act as one.”2 Christians’ divinely desired unity is to exist both in the Church’s visible order and its corporate action. Newman therefore sees life in Christ as both individual and communal, and investigating his meaning is a profitable enterprise for the Church in the twenty-first century. 1 2 John Henry Newman, The Idea of a University, ed. Martin J. Svaglic (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1982), 188. John Henry Newman, “The Unity of the Church,” in Parochial and Plain Sermons, vol. 7 (London: Longman and Green, 1891), 234. 706 Anonymous Individual Sanctity Before investigating corporate sanctity, I shall first note some marks about Newman’s vision of individual sanctity, particularly in how he understands the laity. Newman has famously written: “We can believe what we choose. We are answerable for what we choose to believe.”3 And he notes that “a man is responsible for his faith,” in part because the individual is responsible for “his likings and dislikings, his hopes and his opinions, on all of which his faith depends.”4 Taking this responsibility seriously, Newman urges the laity not to be comfortable in ignorance, but to continue their doctrinal formation as their ability and duties allow. To this end, he proposes lay theology as part of Catholic university education. He says, “I would have students apply their minds to such religious topics as laymen actually do treat, and are thought praiseworthy in treating,”5 and he views ignorance of sacred doctrine as generally to be avoided, and as shameful in educated Christians. Knowledge of sacred doctrine is important for the layman’s pursuit of a consistent life of faith and also for his apostolate. “He fills a station of importance” in the life of the Church and needs to be able to respond to comments, criticisms, or queries as they come “in conversation between friends, in social intercourse, or in the business of life”; it is gravely inadequate for him to be unable even to state his beliefs and instead retreat, saying, “I leave it to theologians,” or “I will ask my priest.”6 The province of Newman’s laity is not, as the cliché goes, merely to pray, pay, and obey, nor is it, as one Victorian cleric protested, “to hunt, to shoot, to entertain.”7 Newman’s desire for laymen doctrinally informed, personally devout, and evangelically active in the world heralds the Second Vatican Council’s desire that “many of the laity will receive a sufficient formation in the 3 4 5 6 7 John Henry Newman, Letters and Diaries of John Henry Newman, vol. 12 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 228. John Henry Newman, “Faith and Reason, Contrasted as Habits of Mind,” in Fifteen Sermons Preached before the University of Oxford, vol. 12 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1909), 192. Newman, Idea of a University, 282. Newman, Idea of a University, 283–4. Letter of Monsignor George Talbot to Archbishop Henry Edward Manning, April 25, 1867, after Newman proposed that the laity be consulted on matters in their fields of expertise that were relevant to Church policy (W. Ward, The Life of John Henry Cardinal Newman, vol. 2 [London, 1913], 147). Corporate Sanctity in the Thought of John Henry Newman 707 sacred sciences”8 and its recognition that “what specifically characterizes the laity is their secular nature,” a statement which defines the lay state not negatively (as the lack of a clerical or religious character), but positively: as contributing to the Kingdom of God principally “by engaging in temporal affairs and by ordering them according to the plan of God.”9 Newman is therefore a champion of a personal and vibrant faith for every member of the Church. And balancing this strong advocacy for the individual, his rights, and his responsibilities is a perspicacious appreciation for the corporate character of Christian life. Thus, I shall introduce Newman’s conception of corporate sanctity by considering a theme perhaps more explicit in his work, particularly that of corporate genius. Corporate Genius Newman keenly perceives that institutions frequently have a unity of organization and action that is distinct from the integrity and activity of their particular members. This unity can be observed, he says, in “the action of bodies politic and associations, which is often so different from that of the individuals who compose them,” and thus one discerns variety among “the character and the instinct of states and governments, of religious communities and communions.”10 This corporate spirit is an animating principle, a soul, so to speak, that quickens the various parts and organs of an institution or a people. It is important that certain institutions do have this principle. Thus the university community constitutes a whole which, when it comes to maturity, “will take the shape of a self-perpetuating tradition, or a genius loci, . . . which haunts the home where it has been born, and which imbues and forms, more or less, and one by one, every individual who is successively brought under its shadow.”11 Tradition thus is not a lifeless hand-me-down persisting through time, but an activity with its proper internal principle. Tradition is an act of the living. By speaking of a genius loci Newman highlights that the soul of an institution is partly constituted by time and place; thus, he was probably doomed to think that it is the nature of universities to be “composed of men, not women; of the young rather than the old; and of persons either 8 9 10 11 Second Vatican Council, Gaudium et Spes, §62. Second Vatican Council, Lumen Gentium, §31. John Henry Newman, Apologia Pro Vita Sua, ed. Ian Ker (London: Penguin Classics, 1994), 45. Newman, Idea of a University, 111. 708 Anonymous highly educated or under education,”12 while today we see things rather differently. Similarly, the soul of the University of Oxford would be different from that of Leuven, Paris, or Berkeley, California, just as the spirits animating the Great Books programs at St. John’s College and Thomas Aquinas College live and move and have their being differently. And it is not just universities: we may expect colleges within a university to be inspired by different daemons; hence it was said in Newman’s day that “the Oriel Common Room stank of logic,”13 while mid-twentieth-century Balliol was informally christened the People’s Republic, given its devotion to a radical political muse quite distant from the College’s official patroness, Saint Katherine of Alexandria.14 Significantly, the corporate genius of a community not only shapes individuals but can also find its expression in them. It is along these lines that Newman conceives classical literature. As he puts it, “every great people has a character of its own, which it manifests and perpetuates in a variety of ways.”15 And in a people’s great literature we find “the voice of a particular nation.”16 From this vantage, he adds, “as the exploits of Scipio or Pompey are the expression of [Rome’s] greatness in deed, so the language of Cicero is the expression of it in word”; therefore, “neither Livy, nor Tacitus, nor Terence, nor Seneca, nor Pliny, nor Quintilian, is an adequate spokesman for the Imperial City. They write Latin; Cicero writes Roman.”17 The capacity to capture or instantiate the corporate genius of one’s people is, consequently, an excellence, and another important signal that corporate genius matters for Newman. But does a theory of corporate genius legitimately develop into one of corporate sanctity? Corporate Sanctity The link appears, since for Newman Christianity is the joining and surpassing of two, perhaps three, different corporate spirits. Before Leo Strauss could conceive of the notion, Newman, echoing the Alexandrian Fathers, 12 13 14 15 16 17 Newman, Idea of a University, 312. Newman, Apologia, 159. Also famous is the enmity between the spirits of progressive Balliol and traditional Trinity. In Dorothy Sayers’s Murder Must Advertise (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1933), for example, a Trinity man remarks: “If there is one thing more repulsive than another it is Balliolity” (7). Newman, Idea of a University, 230. Newman, Idea of a University, 232. Newman, Idea of a University, 212. Corporate Sanctity in the Thought of John Henry Newman 709 already discussed the intellectual tradition of the West as “the lineal descendant, or rather the continuation, mutatis mutandis, of the civilization which began in Palestine and Greece.”18 Put another way, “Jerusalem is the fountain-head of religious knowledge, as Athens is of secular,” and so “in the ancient world we see two centres of illumination,” which “are made over and concentrated in Rome,” the inheritor of “both sacred and profane learning.”19 This is true not just of intellectual culture, but of Christianity as a civilization. Thus, “the Greek poets and sages were in a certain sense prophets,” and of course, “there had been a directly divine dispensation granted to the Jews,” but “in the fulness of time both Judaism and Paganism had come to nought” with the coming of Christ and his Church, which united the best of Athens, Jerusalem, and Rome.20 And so, Newman says, “Christianity . . . is at once a philosophy, a political power, and a religious rite”;21 it is visibly united in creed, code, and cult. The legacies of Greek philosophy and Hebrew religion are relevant for their conceptions of sanctification, understood in terms of deification or divinization. The model of Greek philosophy—separate from Greek mythology—is individual: the philosopher pursues likeness to God22 principally in his own person. The ancient practice of philosophy as a way of life is elite and reliably anti-democratic: wisdom and psychic purification are pursued not in the life of the many. As Pierre Hadot notices of the ancient schools: “Each . . . will elaborate its rational depiction of this state of perfection in the person of the sage, and each will make an effort to portray him. . . . In [the] transcendent norm established by reason, each school will express its own vision of the world, its own style of life, and its idea of the perfect man.”23 And again: “Each school had its own therapeutic method, but all of them linked their therapeutics to a profound transformation of the individual’s mode of seeing and being.”24 Sanctification for Jews, on the other hand, is sought through the community, precisely because they constitute a holy people, chosen by God, whose Law—necessarily a communal good—constituted their way 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 Newman, Idea of a University, 190. Newman, Idea of a University, 199. Newman, Apologia, 44. John Henry Newman, The Via Media of the Anglican Church, vol. 1 (London: Longmans and Green, 1888), xl. See, for example, Plato’s Theaetetus 176b Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 57 (emphasis added). Hadot, Philosophy, 83 (emphasis added). 710 Anonymous of perfection. Newman observes: “When even a fallen servant of God and his satellites entered the company of prophets under the Old Law, and saw them prophesying, . . . the Spirit of God came upon the intruders, and they too began to prophesy.”25 There is among the Hebrews a holiness proper to the community that is prior to that of its individual members. The Christian Church, through all its history, has maintained both forms of sanctity, individual and corporate. Hence the insistence on sanctity for members and the institution. Speaking of the latter, Newman reports: “When even an unbeliever came into the assemblies of the infant Church, . . . he was overcome and transformed by the harmony of her worship. Her very presence and action was the sufficient note of her divinity.”26 The holiness of the whole is again distinct from that of the parts. It is worthwhile to contrast this view with recent remarks of Gregory Floyd, who emphasizes: “Groups are not saints, individuals are.”27 In the anglophone mouth, these words possess an almost self-evident flavor, but rendered into the ancient tongues of Christianity, they are impossible to swallow: the sancti or hagioi of Christianity comprise far more than mere individuals. As early as the apostolic era, the Church is referred to as “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation” (1 Pet 2:9), and at every solemnity the faithful worshiping in the Roman Rite for centuries have confessed faith in Sancta Ecclesia, the holy or saintly assembly of God’s people.28 In late antiquity Augustine’s Rule begins by exhorting members to a harmonious common life, envisioning a community living a shared holy life, united in God with one heart and one soul.29 Likewise, Dominic O’Meara explains that Pseudo-Dionysius’s neo-Platonic ecclesiology envisioned bishops along the lines of Plato’s philosopher-kings, in a structure where the ecclesiastical hierarchy of embodied intelligences (i.e., humans) is part of “a larger system of divinization” or “divine assimilation” through imitation of and assimilation to the celestial hierarchy of pure intelligences (i.e., the ranks of angels).30 As for Newman himself, he sees the Church as “that one elect, holy, and highly-favoured Mother, of which individuals are 25 26 27 28 29 30 John Henry Newman, “Order, the Witness and Instrument of Unity,” in Sermons Preached on Various Occasions (London: Longmans and Green, 1904), 198. Newman, “Order,” 198. Gregory P. Floyd, “Desanitizing Chrisitanity after St. Benedict and After Virtue,” Church Life Journal: A Journal of the McGrath Institute for Church Life, July 16, 2018, churchlifejournal.nd.edu/articles/desanitizing-christianity-after-st-benedict-andafter-virtue/. See the Nicene Creed. Augustine of Hippo, Rule of Augustine 1.3. See Acts 4:32. Dominic O’Meara, Platonopolis (Oxford: Clarendon, 2003), 161–73. Corporate Sanctity in the Thought of John Henry Newman 711 but the children favoured through her as a channel.”31 In the words of Ian Ker, “Newman never saw the individual sacraments of the Church apart from the primordial sacrament, the Church herself.”32 This corporate sanctity is found not only in the universal Church, where it is indefectible,33 but also in subsidiary Christian societies. Newman observes that the Roman Church outdoes the Anglican in vigor and beauty in part because the former has a greater abundance of “confraternities, . . . monastic houses, . . . and institutions”34 that are expressions of divine life, and explicitly references, in particular, a certain “holy sisterhood of mercy” found within her.35 Newman takes the growth and development of communities to be like to that of individuals,36 and so we may infer that, just as the sanctity of individual saints diversely discloses the plenitude of God’s nature,37 so too do the different charisms of Christian communities. For example, one of the ancient names of the Dominicans is “the Holy Preaching”: they were not just a collection of preachers, but rather their communal way of life was itself, as a whole, a sanctified proclamation of the Divine Word. Similarly, there is a stress on holy poverty among the Franciscans and, arguably, holy subtlety for the Jesuits. Newman himself embodies part of the corporate genius of the Church of England, with its congenital inclination to navigate and negotiate between apparent extremes. To his mind, one ought not to be too individualist or corporatist. Thus, polemically, he identifies in Protestantism a narrow focus on private judgment, a “bondage to their feelings”38 or individualism parasitic on corporate sanctity, and criticizes the Greek Church for preserving “its doctrine, and its ritual and devotional system” while being diminished in the life-giving principle that is to animate the whole and the members.39 Newman’s experience of the Eastern Churches is very limited, and his meaning is not entirely clear, but it would seem he is 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 Newman, “Unity of the Church,” 233. Ian Ker, Newman on Vatican II (New York: Oxford University Press), 61 (emphasis original). See Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §39. Newman, Apologia, 156–57. John Henry Newman, An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine (London: James Toovey, 1845), 138. Newman, Idea of a University, 232. Newman, Idea of a University, 300. John Henry Newman, “On Preaching the Gospel,” in Lectures on Justification, 2nd ed. (London: Longmans and Green, 1840), 386; Newman, Apologia, 225. Newman, Via Media, lxxx; Newman, Essay on the Development of Doctrine, 72. 712 Anonymous commenting on the more Hebraic qualities of the oriental churches insofar as they tend to have an ethnic character that has entangled them with secular powers and to possess less energy and enthusiasm for proselytism and missionary work as compared to Protestants and Catholics. Within the Catholic Church, Newman foresees the vulnerability of the contemporary papacy: individualism in the Petrine Office. As Avery Dulles argues, Newman had misgivings about “attributing infallibility to the pope as an isolated individual,” seeing the seat of infallibility as being primarily in the Church herself, even if the pope has special authority.40 In this he was opposed to infallibilists such as W. G. Ward, whose saying “I should like a new Papal Bull every morning with my Times at breakfast,” is a precursor to Thomas Rosica’s ultramontanist panegyric, which gushed: “Our Church has indeed entered a new phase. With the advent of its first Jesuit pope, it is openly ruled by an individual rather than by the authority of Scripture alone or even its own dictates of tradition plus Scripture.”41 For Rosica, the pope is essentially the only Catholic allowed to live as a Protestant, to live by private judgment. Newman’s view of a moderate papacy, on the other hand, was espoused by Benedict XVI, when the newly elected Pontiff preached: “The Pope is not an absolute monarch whose thoughts and desires are law. On the contrary: the Pope’s ministry is a guarantee of obedience to Christ and to his Word. He must not proclaim his own ideas, but rather constantly bind himself and the Church to obedience to God’s Word.”42 The present condition of hypersensitivity to and from the papacy, then, is a predicament born of the First Vatican Council, and made more intense, as Marshall McLuhan would have predicted, by life in the age of electronic media. Newman had no desire for a proliferation of papal bulls, nor would he think it healthy how much of the Church fixates, for example, on papal in-flight interviews. The faithful should not be analyzing every vocalized opinion of the pope; nor should the papal court attempt to control what appears in parish bulletins. For too many of us, the pope, not Christ, is the head of the Church. Our crises and confusions about authority are not a mark of the Church’s sanctity, but a departure from her 40 41 42 Avery Dulles, S.J., “Newman on Infallibility,” Theological Studies 51 (1990): 434–49, at 441 and 447. Of course, the tragic irony of the Rosica affair was that he was plagiarizing an anti-Catholic writer. Benedict XVI, Homily at the Mass of the Possession of the Chair of the Bishop of Rome, May 7, 2005 (see the homilies section of Benedict’s page on the Vatican website). Corporate Sanctity in the Thought of John Henry Newman 713 historic balance between the individual and the common, the common which binds also the pope. The Second Vatican Council Newman’s thought on corporate sanctity foreshadows the Second Vatican Council’s reiteration of the universal call to sanctity. The Council fathers stressed that the sanctity of God and of his Church is manifest “in individuals, who in their walk of life, tend toward the perfection of charity,” and in a special way by the living out of evangelical counsels, “under the impulsion of the Holy Spirit, . . . either privately or in a Church-approved condition or state of life.”43 The universal call to sanctity, then, is addressed not just to individuals but also to the various communities in the Church, such as the college of bishops, the fraternity of the priesthood, married couples, and Christian families;44 indeed, reflecting, on the Church’s history, Lumen Gentium explains that “[religious life] has come about, that, as if on a tree which has grown in the field of the Lord, various forms of solidarity and community life, as well as various religious families have branched out in a marvelous and multiple way from [the] divinely given seed.”45 A principal aspiration of the Council was the renewal of personal sanctity in both its individual and communal forms. But Newman is acutely aware that institutions, like individuals, are at risk of inconsistency and decline. As he sees it, “when the seductions of the world and the lusts of the flesh have eaten out [its] divine inward life, what is the outward Church but a hollowness and a mockery?”46 So, despite the hopes of the Council, the story of twentieth-century Catholicism is one of dramatic corporate collapse. Infidelities have ravaged the authority and morale of priests and bishops; too many religious abandoned their vows, and whole orders (and perhaps even national episcopal conferences) have entered into rebellion, open or no, against the magisterium; Catholic universities and medical institutions are cautionary tales of institutional apostasy; parishes survive in ghostly communal life; and proselytism is seen, contrary to the witness of the saints, as morally and psychologically suspicious, caricatured as a kind of inferiority complex, an obsession with 43 44 45 46 Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §39. Vatican II, §§39–42. Vatican II, §43. John Henry Newman, “Unreal Words,” in Parochial and Plain Sermons, vol. 5 (London: Longmans and Green, 1891), 41. 714 Anonymous increasing the mere number of people on “our” side.47 Contemporary crises about admitting non-Catholics as well as Catholics “obstinately persevering in manifest grave sin”48 to Holy Communion, and even the contest for Newman’s legacy, where controversialists paint him as “a famous opponent of papal infallibility,”49 indicate that a mind for the corporate sanctity of the Church has been eclipsed and that a spirit of private judgment is ascendant or regnant. And this is even without commenting on the more and more frequent antinomian pronouncements of prelates, where law is childishly presented as an obstacle to the pastoral care of souls,50 or the remarkably idiosyncratic ways in which the sacraments are celebrated. Newman offers, in contrast, a Catholic via media that does not have us choose between the inspirations of individuals and communities, but instead insists on the sanctity of both. As a partly Platonizing theologian, he conceives the visible world as bespeaking the invisible, in just about every aspect51—even in our communal life. Thus, he thinks that nations are vivified by lower spirits, and, following patristic authors, believes that there are guardian angels not just for individuals but also for peoples and local churches.52 On this theme, his motto is simply “the more we can enlarge our view of the next world, the better.”53 The project of the Second Vatican Council has stalled, and its relevance in daily life is less and less obvious. That said, heeding Newman could help us recover the healthy aspirations of the Council fathers. A better appreciation of the holy seasons of the Christian year would remind us, for instance, of the rogation days, ember days, and other traditional rites, disciplines, and devotions made holy by their long cultivation and use in the heart of the Church, and therefore of a shared Christian life. Likewise, the office of readings and public liturgies such as vespers afford occasions for 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 On the other hand, Hans Urs von Balthasar reminds us: “The Church doesn’t dispense the Sacrament of Baptism in order to acquire for herself an increase in membership, but in order to consecrate a human being to God and to communicate to that person the divine gift of birth from God” (Unless You Become Like this Child [San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1991], 42). The Church and the world need the baptized faithful. Code of Canon Law (1983), can. 915 Austen Ivereigh, Twitter, July 1, 2019, later quoted approvingly by James Martin, S.J. ( July 1, 2019 on the Facebook page of Fr. James Martin, S.J.). Surely a grim irony in the shadow of the various abuse crises. See John Henry Newman, “The Invisible World,” in Parochial and Plain Sermons, vol. 4 (London: Longmans and Green, 1909). Newman, Apologia, 45–6; cf. Rev 2:1 through 3:22. John Henry Newman, “The Powers of Nature,” in Parochial and Plain Sermons, vol. 2 (London: Longmans and Green, 1909), 366. Corporate Sanctity in the Thought of John Henry Newman 715 Christians to read and interpret the Scriptures corporately. The restoration of such tried and tested devotions and disciplines is to be preferred over the bureaucratic inventions of committees, curial or parochial. It is no surprise that the religious orders now experiencing renewal are typically those recalling their founding charisms, those performing corporate anamnesis. Newman’s principles might even be profitable for liturgical restoration. Critiquing those who can achieve only an inadequate imitation of classical Latin, he has a fictional professor pronounce: “Every word is classical, every construction grammatical: yet Latinity it simply has none.”54 Of many contemporary celebrations in the Roman rite, we may analogously say that many a word is licit, most actions valid, yet Romanitas too often they have none. Newman could help us investigate and discern what is and is not proper to the corporate geniuses of the Latin Church and her sisters. And still, beyond recovery and reform, Newman opens for us ways forward. At the local level, the field of theology on holy matrimony is still largely untilled soil, and the sanctity of the Christian household, which has its pattern in the Holy Family of Nazareth, also waits to be explored—may we speak of guardian angels of domestic churches? Or delve deeper into the image of the domestic monastery?55 Beyond the family, Ker believes that Newman’s insights into communal charisms “can . . . be applied to our own situation where an increasingly atomized and individualistic society, afflicted by the breakdown of marriage and family life, leads to much isolation and loneliness and loss of faith among Catholics whose needs the parish structure cannot meet but which can be met by new ecclesial communities and movements.”56 In the case of the diocese, would that our shepherds spoke more often about seeking the sanctity of their local Churches, using the sacral language of the Scriptures and our theological traditions, and talked less like managerial consultants with their focus-grouped best practices and often materialist key performance indicators. Pope Francis’s extraordinary Urbi et Orbi blessing during the dark depths of the COVID-19 pandemic, in the hauntingly empty Saint Peter’s Square, was an eloquent, luminous reminder that the Church has corporate treasures—unparalleled in the world—that the bishops employ too infrequently. As for the global Church, the holiness 54 55 56 Newman, Idea of a University, 272. In some ways, the vision of a domestic monastery (not original to me), invoking ideas of communal prayer, study, and work, may be more concrete and illuminating than that of a domestic church. Ker, Newman on Vatican II, 92. 716 Anonymous of creation as whole, within a theology of Christian ecology, has little been developed—to wit, Newman considers the order of Nature to be an effect of angelic activity,57 while the Roman Rite today still lacks a Solemnity of God the Father, Creator, and we are remarkably unruffled by this lacuna.58 Contemporary piety might know something of Saint Francis’s Canticle of the Sun, but is little aware that recognizing the whole cosmos at prayer is scriptural, as in the “Canticle of the Three Holy Children” (taken from Dan 3:28–68), and patristic, as in Tertullian’s theology.59 There is, indeed, already a cosmic character to corporate prayer: the liturgical year and seasons follow the solar cycle, the monthly praying of psalms and the weekly observance of the Lord’s Day recall the lunar cycle, the liturgy of the hours and the angelus turn on the Earth’s rotation, and the various devotions for practicing continual presence of God (e.g., the Jesus Prayer and other ejaculatory prayers) mimic rhythms of breath and pulses of blood in the body. We do not simply pray in the world; we are to join the universe in prayer. Our theology of individual sanctity, then, is not balanced by an equally sophisticated theology of communities. And yet it is the clear and consistent testimony of history—especially the martyrology, if we cared to recall it with more attention and devotion—that holy persons are often formed within holy unions and fellowships: marriages, families, friendships, religious communities, and so on. Gregory of Nyssa names three aspects of Christian life: action, speech, and thought. This schema is helpful for summarizing and concluding this reflection. We can reflect on the corporate thought of the Church: how do we vivify our profession of faith, appreciation of sacred doctrine, and reading of Scripture as the Body of Christ and subsidiary Christian communities? On corporate speech: what are the forms of corporate preaching and evangelizing available to us, and sought by us? And on corporate action: do we appreciate the importance of shared disciplines and devotions, of liturgical continuity though space and time, of corporate charity—not reduced to donations—and works of mercy? Newman invites us to recover the beauty of common life for the Church and the various societies within her, for whom she is the model of sanctity. Striking the Gregorian note in a corporate key, he writes: 57 58 59 Newman, “Powers of Nature,” 362–33. Liturgies in the Byzantine Rite, on the other hand, do have several explicit, thematic references to the creative activity of God and the wonder of creation on the first day of their liturgical year, even if they have no explicit feast of the Creator. See Tertullian, On Prayer, chs. 28–29. Corporate Sanctity in the Thought of John Henry Newman 717 In the awful music of [the Church’s] doctrines, in the deep wisdom of her precepts, in the majesty of her Hierarchy, in the beauty of her Ritual, in the dazzling lustre of her Saints, in the consistent march of her policy, and in the manifold richness of her long history—in all these we recognize the Hand of the God of order, luminously, illustriously displayed.60 Newman draws us to remember once again that the Church and the communities under her need, as unities in the Holy Spirit, unifying wisdom and vision in governance, shared thirst for introducing souls to Christ, and holy integrity of corporate life and activity. Christianity is not about privatized holiness. And more than merely a remedy for old and contemporary ills, Newman’s view of corporate sanctity is fertile ground for cultivating new, saintly growth. 60 Newman, “Order,” 189. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 719–726 719 Tract 4: Rekindling Attraction for the Sacrament of Penance One has to be advanced in years to remember the long lines of penitents outside confessionals that were once common on Saturday afternoons in the most ordinary parishes. These were usually not great sinners, naturally. The high incidence of confessional practice simply reflected a healthy comfort with the sacrament as a source of grace. The awareness in faith of a divine act taking place in the words of absolution, the certainty that God touched the soul in that brief encounter, was an unquestioned Catholic assumption. It seems today, however, that for the vast majority of Catholics, even for those who attend regular Sunday Mass, the sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation, as it is now called, is infrequently used, and sometimes not at all. This in itself is a significant sign of decline in the post–Vatican II era. The reasons for the disappearance of confessional practice in the last decades are no doubt various. Unfortunately, priests played their part and contributed to the devaluing of the sacrament when they no longer preached the need in the case of grave sin for repentance and a sacramental confession before receiving the Holy Eucharist and no longer provided easy access to confessions with predictable times. To this day too many parish bulletins advise that confessions are available only by appointment. In former days, one did not need to make a reservation to seek the solace of the confessional box. There are other telling factors in the abandonment of confessional practice in the Church. Almost forty years ago, in his very fine 1984 post-synodal apostolic exhortation On Reconciliation and Penance, Pope St. John Paul II stressed a link between the loss of God in the modern world and a loss of a sense of sin. A tragic effect of the absence of God in lives is typically a collapse in moral clarity. Without God in one’s personal life, without consistent prayer, it is almost inevitable that an insensitivity 720 Anonymous about moral matters takes hold. When serious sin is no longer considered an offense against God that cost Jesus Christ the terrible hours of his crucifixion, the seductive appeal of sensual pleasure and self-centered pursuit is likely to prevail. Sometimes, conversely, it happens that a breakdown in personal morality in the years of youth, even with a background of religious upbringing, becomes the catalyst to the loss of God. People turn from the Church or lose their faith because they do not want a God to exist who would judge their lifestyle as sinful and worthy of condemnation. Clearly, religious faith and moral uprightness are complementary in their mutual reinforcement of each other, but they diminish together as well. When Catholic commitment falters or is indecisive, personal morality usually becomes at best a confused amalgam of subjective determinations. This connection between faith and personal morality, between loss of God and an incomprehension of the true nature of sin, is on display in the sparse contemporary use of the sacrament of Penance. The general indifference to the sacrament, even worse, the refusal to acknowledge its necessity in the case of mortal sin, is symptomatic of a progressive shift in our era to purely subjective modes of engagement with religious truth. An imbalanced turn to excessive subjectivism in religious matters implies always a susceptibility to error. The loss of a sense of sin that St. John Paul II decried amounts to a withdrawal from objective religious truth. Mortal sin is no longer perceived in its actual reality as a serious offense against God with grave consequences for the life of the soul. In many lives the subjective sense of the unimportance of particular grave sins—a presumption that cannot be separated from a person’s understanding of God—is formed in tandem with the continuing indulgence in these sins. In some cases, the same people still retain religious commitments, or even attend Mass and receive the Eucharist with consistency. However, they live their Catholic life with the accompaniment of objectively grave sins which are no longer acknowledged as such or, in some cases, are justified as permissible or necessary in their private or public circumstances. The pro-abortion Catholic politicians are an egregious case in point, but it would seem that many people exercise a similar callousness. Confusion about the proper role of conscience, and its necessary formation by the Church’s clear moral teachings, contributes significantly to this problem. The overconfident claim of a conscience at ease with morally grave choices is common today. Disregard for the Church’s moral teachings is then accompanied by disrespect for the sacredness of the Church’s sacramental life—in the presumptuous reception of the Eucharist and in the failure to seek the sacrament of Penance. Despite grave sins, no need is Rekindling Attraction for the Sacrament of Penance 721 felt for recourse to a sacramental grace received by means of a priest’s absolution. Instead, some form of self-exoneration worked out in the isolation of private ruminations replaces the objective necessity for a sacrament of the Church. One would guess that people who never seek the sacrament of Penance despite grave sins have convinced themselves over time, by voluntary willfulness and vague sentimentality, that no great wrongdoing is present in their lives. This failure of recognition that mortal sin requires repentance, a firm resolution, and the absolution of a priest is a serious departure from Catholic doctrinal teaching on the sacrament of Penance. As a habitual attitude, moreover, it is a formidable block to any possible conversion. Worse, it ignores the costly truth of a crucified Savior who suffered in great agony on a Roman cross for these same sins. Most significantly, it is a risk to the eternal salvation of a soul. If we are to begin to recover the importance of the sacrament of Penance in the Church, an essential Catholic truth needs to be taught explicitly today, namely, that the sacrament of Penance cannot be separated from the divine gift of the Eucharist. Lack of respect for the necessity of confessional practice impinges directly on Catholic faith in the reality of Our Lord’s divine Presence in the Eucharist. The loss of confessional practice among Catholics in the last decades has coincided with a breakdown of Catholic faith in the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist. Indeed, the sacrament of Penance is valued properly only when the sacredness of the Eucharist is a deep conviction of faith. The reception of the Eucharist at Mass demands not only faith in the invisible Presence of Our Lord in his actual Body and Blood, Soul, and Divinity under the appearance of bread and wine. The privileged encounter with the person of Christ and his sacrificial offering in the reception of the Eucharist requires, as a matter of reverent respect for God, that a soul receive him in a state of sanctifying grace. Catholic teaching affirms that the gift of sanctifying grace inhabits the soul in a permanent manner as long as no mortal sin has been committed which has not yet been confessed and absolved in the sacrament of Penance. In former days this teaching was acquired as a basic catechetical truth taught to youngsters, but it seems all too clear that the same cannot be said today. On this point, it is striking to realize how quickly the early Church, under the guidance of St. Paul, and long before the doctrinal development of the teaching on grace, embraced the profound responsibility entailed in consuming the Body of Christ and drinking his Blood. St. Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 11 are exacting and even stern, implying a necessary remedy to reverse a condition of unworthiness to receive the Eucharist. Perhaps, 722 Anonymous sadly, the serious tone of warning in these ancient words is why the Church in our time dropped them from any reading at Mass during the course of the Church year. We seem to live in an era when the reality of a soul standing nakedly before the judgment of God is generally avoided. Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For all who eat and drink without discerning the body eat and drink judgment against themselves. (1 Cor 11:27–29; NRSV) These words of St. Paul urge the understanding that the Church comprehended in due time. The sacredness of the Eucharist as an encounter with our divine Lord is a primary reason for the existence of a sacrament of healing for the soul that would otherwise be deprived of the great gift of Christ’s Body and Blood. Unworthiness is not a terminal state of being. The loss of sanctifying grace as a consequence of mortal sin is never a hopeless condition. Never is a soul abandoned after serious sin to live out a spiritual tragedy for the rest of life. Always in this life the invitation is present to return to a state of grace by recourse to a concrete means of reconciliation with God. And always this return of a soul to a friendship with God after a sacramental absolution has its true purpose in allowing a soul to step forward subsequently to a worthy reception of the Eucharist. The contemporary tendency of many to turn to subjective approaches in relations with God, forgoing the necessity of sacramental graces, is certainly contrary to Catholic tradition. We can observe a striking contrast in the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas, who wrote a commentary on the sacrament of Penance at two different times in his life. They can be found in the last questions of the third part of the Summa theologiae and in the early questions of the Supplement to the third part, a section gathered after his death from his early commentary on book IV of the Sentences of Peter Lombard. In both treatments, he maintains a strongly objective mode of response in his replies. This is worth noting because the nature of confessional practice, involving a priest and a solitary penitent, has a sacred dimension of privacy that depends much on subjective dispositions, as is true of all serious prayer. Yet Aquinas keeps a clear eye on normative issues of confessional practice that do not tolerate private interpretations or arbitrary approaches. The indispensable necessity of the sacrament and the vital requirements for its effectiveness on the part of the priest and penitent Rekindling Attraction for the Sacrament of Penance 723 are his primary focus. The one question that overlaps in the two treatments is precisely the question of the sacrament’s necessity for salvation, a rather important consideration in an era like our own that has shown great neglect for this sacrament and, as well, for the immortal salvation of the soul. The question of the sacrament’s necessity for salvation parallels the necessity of being in a state of grace if we are to receive the Holy Eucharist worthily. But here we can observe an even more significant link. Indifference to the sacrament of Penance cannot be separated from an apathy and unconcern for the risk of suffering eternal damnation. St. Thomas Aquinas’s insistence on the sacrament’s necessity for salvation assumes the context of a sinner in mortal sin, in the case of which a person must seek recourse to the sacrament. No one can be saved except by the power of the Savior’s redemptive act of sacrificial offering on the Cross. This power of Christ’s Passion is encountered through the sacraments. The fundamental truth of all sacramental actions is to allow the Passion of Christ to exercise a direct effect on the soul by means of a sacrament. Aquinas states in regard to sacramental confession: “The power of Christ’s Passion operates through the priest’s absolution and the acts of the penitent, who cooperates with grace unto the destruction of his sin” (ST III, q. 84, a. 5, corp.; my translation). Just as we need the power of Christ’s Passion to be saved, so too it is at the risk of salvation that a soul in mortal sin neglects to seek out a priest when a priest can be approached for confession. This requirement of confession in the case of mortal sin is of Divine Law (ST Suppl., q. 6, a. 2, corp. and q. 6, a. 3, corp.); no one can be dispensed by any authority, even by the Pope, from its necessity in the case of mortal sin. St. Thomas affirms: “Penance . . . is a necessary sacrament, even as Baptism is. Since therefore no one can be dispensed from Baptism, neither can one be dispensed from confession” (ST Suppl., q. 6, a. 6, corp.).” Aquinas, interestingly, does not advert in his discussion to the act of perfect contrition, which had been taught at the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215. The magisterial teaching is that an act of perfect contrition does return a soul to a state of sanctifying grace prior to a sacramental absolution, and indeed would permit reception of the Eucharist prior to a sacramental confession. Nonetheless, subsequent recourse to a sacramental confession, without great delay if that is possible, must be intended as a condition for the genuine quality of perfect contrition. The necessity of confessing mortal sins and a sacramental absolution of these sins from a priest always remains even after an act of perfect contrition, which may be why Aquinas does not in any explicit manner bring perfect contrition into his discussion. It might also be asked, given the necessity of the sacrament 724 Anonymous of Penance for salvation, whether a soul can have hope of salvation without an opportunity for confession, and of course the answer is yes. The soul in distress at its state of sin when near death is capable of drawing the infinitely merciful condescension of the Lord. The saving act of God in that case takes place in an analogous manner to Baptism by desire; in effect, the repentant person nearing death who appeals to God’s mercy can be restored to grace by a type of Penance by desire. In addressing the spiritual dispositions of the penitent which the sacrament of Penance demands, St. Thomas Aquinas upholds again a standard of notable objectivity. The very personal act of confessing sins is effective and graced only on the condition that it fulfills clear requirements. The first of these is the willingness to give up the privacy of one’s own self-judgment and submit personal sins with their possible shame to the sacred tribunal of a sacramental confession. Contrition for sins is not just personal sorrow and regret, which can be variable in people depending on emotional factors. Contrition imposes a demand upon a penitent to be open and transparent in the revelation of all categories of mortal sins. This need for a clear manifestation of specific mortal sins without concealment or vague obfuscation is sign of respect for God, who naturally is fully aware of the sins clinging to the depths of the soul. Moreover, it is required that a penitent is sincerely contrite for each mortal sin, not just sorrowful in a general sense for sin. A problem for sinners can be that shame for sin keeps them from confessing clearly because they are thinking not so much of God but of the discomfort in speaking sins to a man. Needless to say, the value of anonymity by means of a confessional screen between priest and penitent is a safeguard and encouragement to good confessional practice. Confession requires a contrition that is animated by an awareness that God listens to our heart and soul as we confess, a truth that we ordinarily teach young children who are preparing for a first confession. Contrition likewise requires, by its very nature, the penitent’s sincere resolution not to continue in any mortal sin that has been confessed. In the case of a person mired in a vice, this means at the least a resolution to struggle against all temptation to this sin and to avoid the occasions that can provoke these temptations. The so-called “law of gradualness” of St. John Paul II acknowledges that the struggle to overcome a pattern of indulged sin can sometimes take time once a person has decisively entered the path of conversion. The sacrament of Penance is essential as a person walks the path to renunciation and removal of a sin from a personal life. On the other hand, a confession of a particular mortal sin in which a person fully intends to resume this sin or to continue it unchecked elicits an invalid Rekindling Attraction for the Sacrament of Penance 725 absolution, if an absolution has been given. The refusal of an absolution may not be so unusual. An unmarried couple living together in a sexual relationship might for some reason have a desire for confession, such as to receive Holy Communion with their families at a Christmas Mass. But they cannot be absolved if their intent remains to continue in their current state of cohabitation. The inability of a priest to grant absolution in such a case has nothing to do with an arbitrary decision, but simply responds to the factual reality. A clear intention against the continuance of a mortal sin is obligatory for a valid confession. A spiritual truth is evident in this need for a spirit of strong resolution when we exit a confessional. The importance of a sacramental confession is not simply to free a soul from the painful burden of guilt for sin, but also to strengthen a commitment to the pursuit of virtue and the love of God. Admittedly, a release from the discomfort of subjective guilt may draw people to sacramental confession. While this motive is sufficient for the reception of the sacramental grace, it can be somewhat self-centered and perhaps does not produce the fruit of a strong resolution against repeating a sin. Rather, we should seek confession, even in confessing venial sins, with an awareness of a wound inflicted on the heart of Christ by our personal sins. The desire not to wound him provides the proper incentive in love not to repeat the failures that we have just confessed. The centuries-old Catholic teaching regarding the seal of confession has a beauty that extends beyond simply a strict discipline imposed on the priest as confessor. St. Thomas Aquinas writes that the priest hears what he hears not as a man, but as God hears. Likewise, he knows what he knows of sins not as a man, but as God knows them (ST Suppl, q. 11, a. 1 ad 2; a. 3, corp.). Aquinas uses that principle to defend the right of the priest to refuse any inquiry under any circumstance that would question him or probe for information about matters heard from a penitent in confession. Since what he has heard belongs in its privacy to God alone, he is free to deny even under oath any information or knowledge that he may have received as a man from a penitent’s confession. The seal is inviolate without any possible exception and a priest must suffer even death rather than reveal what he has heard regarding the penitent’s sins or the sins of others who were accomplices in those sins. Martyrdom for the sake of the confessional seal took place during the last century. In Mexico, St. Mateo Correa Magallanes was shot to death in 1927 for refusing to reveal the confessions of Cristeros, and during the Spanish Civil War Blessed Filipe Ciscar Puig and Blessed Fernando Olmedo were executed in 1936 after hearing confessions and refusing to speak to their interrogators. The magnitude of the 726 Anonymous seal derives from the sacred context in which the words of the penitent are pronounced. We speak to God as though face to face with him within this sacramental boundary and we receive from God his own silent touch of mercy upon our soul. A last word might be addressed to the very real Catholic phenomenon of people seeking the sacrament of Penance after long years of not practicing their Catholic faith. Priests stationed in urban settings are accustomed to this not unusual reality of souls returning to God after decades away from the Church and the Eucharist. It is likely not primarily a burden of guilt that brings such people finally to confession, but a mystery of grace. And what is the source for such an extraordinary, often shocking, grace? The only legitimate Catholic answer is that many hidden souls pray and sacrifice for this intention. The quiet cells of cloisters and monasteries have always burned with this desire for souls in grave danger to come back to God. Those who pray the Rosary every day join by the thousands in a plea to our Mother in heaven to “pray for us now and at the hour of our death.” The desire of the Lord’s holy Mother to see souls return to her Son and the state of grace is immeasurable. She does not inspire souls in danger with a thought simply to exercise a private act of repentance. She leads them to the sacrament by which the power of her Son’s Passion will wash clean their souls. It is worth noting finally that a sacramental confession can easily be the catalyst to a strong reawakening of faith in our lives. This is precisely what occurred in the life of Blessed Charles de Foucauld. In October, 1886, when he was still in a condition of unbelief and spiritual distress, he sought out a well-known priest in Paris in the one place where Abbé Henri Huvelin could likely be found, in the confessional at the Church of Sainte-Augustin. Charles approached the confessional and told the priest initially that he wanted only to talk, not to confess, but the priest insisted that he kneel down and confess his sins. Charles did so and spoke of this confession and the absolution he received as a moment of truth when his faith stirred alive again in an undeniable manner. The story should not be thought so remarkable. We place ourselves in the immediate proximity of God himself and his power to touch our soul when we confess our sins. The sacrament is always capable of being used by God as an instrument to change our lives, sometimes in dramatic ways. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 727–732 727 Tract 5: St. Joseph, Terror of Demons and Protector of Holy Church St. Joseph is the most obscure of saints. Not a word of his is recorded in Scripture. The Western Church’s cult around this saint took centuries to be established. And yet one could argue that his excellence is higher even than that of the angels. This is precisely because of St. Joseph’s relationship to Mary—the Theotokos, the Mother of God—and to her Divine Son. It has long been a matter of established theology that Our Lady is afforded the highest veneration of the faithful because of her proximity to the hypostatic union. St. Thomas writes: “The Blessed Virgin from the fact that she is the mother of God . . . [has] a certain infinite dignity from the infinite good, which is God.”1 This is an unsurpassable good—Mary, though a creature like every other man and angel, is the one most likened to God, precisely because she is related to this hypostatic order. She shares the closest affinity with God, even above the angels. Mary’s maternity directly associates her with the hypostatic order. Her maternity is a higher good than even sanctifying grace or the beatific vision. Since the nature of a relation is determined by the dignity of the one to whom one is related, so too with Mary—Mary gives birth not to a human person, but to a divine person, the second person (hypostasis) of the Blessed Trinity, the Eternal Word. Thus, Mary’s mission pertains by its term to the hypostatic order, through intrinsic physical and immediate cooperation—she is directly related to the Trinity, and this is greater than even the orders of grace and glory. And if this were not enough, Mary’s dignity increased because, in her maternity, she consented to the whole 1 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 25, a. 6, ad 4. 728 Anonymous of the redemptive order. As Fr. Réginald Garrigou-Lagrange puts it: “By her consent . . . she conceived her Son not only in body, but also in spirit because he awaited her consent.”2 This act of consent was in the name of the whole human race. By consenting to her maternity, she consented to everything that would proceed from this—namely, the Passion and Cross—to which she is co-related. Her mediation is universal because, as St. Thomas writes: “The whole order of precedence is first and originally in God; and it is shared by creatures accordingly as they are nearer to God. For those creatures, which are more perfect and nearer to God, have the power to act on others.”3 But what of her most chaste spouse? Surely, the one who is bound to her in marriage and selected by our Lord himself to be his representative father on earth also shares in this great dignity. Leo XIII writes: “But as Joseph has been united to the Blessed Virgin by the ties of marriage, it may not be doubted that he approached nearer than any to the eminent dignity by which the Mother of God surpasses so nobly all created natures.”4 Consider how the Church speaks of St. Joseph in the versicle for First Vespers: “He appointed him lord of his household; and ruler of all his substance.”5 “Substance” can be understood in both the physical and the metaphysical senses, and surely the Church intends both when she appeals to St. Joseph in this manner. For St. Joseph was the master of Our Lord’s physical substance—his literal household—and the provider for the Holy Family. More importantly, St. Joseph was the lord of Christ’s very person, his sacred humanity. And this touches on the metaphysical meaning of substance. “Substance” signifies essence or nature insofar as it is that which exists in itself and serves as the basis for all else that possesses it.6 First substance is the “in itself ” that does not exist in another.7 Second substance is the abstract, universal nature which has existence in reality only as concrete and individual—only when actualized as first substance.8 Thus, first substance realizes in terms of actual existence the essence or nature. When we say that Christ truly possesses human nature, we are concerned with first substance: he was an individual, concrete, 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Réginald Garrigou-LaGrange, O.P., Reality: A Synthesis of Thomistic Thought, trans. Patrick Cummins, O.S.B. (Lexington, KY: Ex Fontibus, 2015), 198. ST I, q. 109, a. 4. Leo XIII, Quamquam Pluries (1889), §3 (trans. from Vatican website). Roman Missal, Feast of St. Joseph, March 19. Thomas Aquinas, In VII metaphys., lec. 2, nos. 1270–76. Cf. ST I, q. 29, a. 1, ad 2; a. 2. Aquinas, In VII metaphys., lec. 2, no. 1273. Aquinas, In VII metaphys., lec. 2, no. 1274. St. Joseph, Terror of Demons and Protector of Holy Church 729 existing nature, complete and perfect in all that pertains to human nature, so perfect in itself that it cannot be predicated of another. Yet, first substance—even Christ’s—is not a person, it lacks the higher perfection of ontological personality. A person is a substance: again, a being of a certain nature, concrete, individualized and existent, existing in itself without the support of another. But a person as an individuated substance is so perfected that it is incommunicable to another. Person is free, self-subsistent, and perfect; substance is not. The perfectly actualized metaphysical whole is the person. What, ultimately, is the substance of the Word-become-flesh if not his divine hypostasis wed to his human nature? When St. Luke tells us that the child Jesus was subject to his parents, was he not subject as the one divine person with his divine nature present in his sacred humanity? For this is precisely the meaning of the hypostatic union. Thus, one could argue that St. Joseph, after Our Lady, has the highest relation to the divine hypostasis of any creature. It is true that Our Lady in a wholly unique way is daughter of the Father, mother of the Son, and spouse of the Holy Spirit; and yet by the will of Divine Providence, is not St. Joseph in some mysterious way the vicar of the Father in his role as foster father of Jesus? And, in his chaste union with Our Lady, he enters into the divine mystery in the most intimate way, a way that no angel could approach. For this reason, we can argue that in fact his dignity amongst creatures is second only to Mary, and that his assistance is therefore universal. St. Joseph, as master of Our Lord’s substance, is not only the master of his earthly needs and his historical household, not only the shepherd of his sacred humanity, but also the ruler of his substance as it extends trans-historically: the Church. Again, we can appeal to Leo XIII: “Now the divine house which Joseph ruled with the authority of a father, contained within its limits the scarce-born Church.”9 For the Church is the mystical body of Christ, as St. Paul articulates so well: “For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and all were made to drink of the one Spirit” (1 Cor 2:12; emphasis added). Christ is identical with his body the Church. Christ’s very substance is the Church. For this reason, St. Joseph, Protector of Christ, is rightly invoked as the Protector of Holy Church. The Church is in a very real sense Christ himself living and acting in the 9 Leo XIII, Quamquam Pluries, §3. 730 Anonymous world. The union between the Church and Christ, its invisible Head, is such that Christ remains with the Church in a real way, even after ascending to the Father and leaving the Church a visible head, his vicar on earth, the pope. Christ and his Church are one thing, or else what did Our Lord mean when he said to St. Paul on the road to Damascus: “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” (Acts 9:4). Christ and his followers form a whole. The Head and body form one organism; they form one person. The Head directs and guides the movements of the whole person. Hence, no matter the failings, degradations, sins, or scandals of her members, the Church herself is perfect, immaculate, indefectible, infallible, and holy. Christ, though invisible, vivifies the whole visible Church, which is the Church militant, and the invisible Church—the Church triumphant and the Church suffering. The Church is holy because Christ himself is holy. St. Joseph is ruler over Christ’s substance, the Church. What, then, is the substance of the Church? Her sacraments and her doctrine. There is no other purpose for the Church except the extension of Our Lord’s salvific grace throughout all time in her “rational worship” (logikēen latreian) and in her teaching. St. Paul writes: “I beseech you, therefore, brethren, by the mercy of God, that you present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy, pleasing unto God, your rational worship” (Rom 12:1). Christianity is fundamentally a rational (though not rationalist) religion. And this is because it springs from the side of its Crucified Lord, who is the Logos. And this Word, this divine Logos, the one Word spoken from all eternity by the Father, is the foundation of all reality and of being. He is indeed Being itself. St. Thomas puts it eloquently in his Eucharistic hymn Adore Te Devote: “There is nothing truer than this Word of truth.” In the Eucharistic sacrifice of the Mass, the fullness of the Christic kenosis and the power and grace of Christ’s real presence become fundamentally real to us. And yet, our culture is marked by a profound irrationality and an inability to recognize the real, which take the form of almost pathological self-assertion. The liturgy of the world is self-worship. And so the titles of St. Joseph that most recommend themselves to the modern age are Protector of Holy Church and Terror of Demons (from the Litany of St. Joseph). What does it mean to be the Terror of Demons, and why should such a seemingly antiquated title be employed for St. Joseph today? To give answer, it would be instructive to turn to St. Thomas’s treatment of the angels in his treatise on creation. The angels are pure intellect, unique in substance, created to serve God and fulfill the plans of Divine Providence. On the contrary, the demons, corrupted by sin, have perverted the end for St. Joseph, Terror of Demons and Protector of Holy Church 731 which they were made.10 Whereas the good angels assist the unfolding of God’s plan on earth and provide direction and consolation to the faithful in their pilgrim wayfaring (status viatoris), so too do the demons exercise a kind of anti-ministry, seeking to erect a corpus diaboli on earth grounded in the hatred of God.11 The hatred of God is also the hatred of reality, of Being and Truth and Goodness itself, and so the goal of the demons is the setting up of “an absolutely independent anti-reality,”12 which is of course an impossibility, since it is contrary to Divine Providence. St. Thomas tells us that the principal intention of the demons is to prevent the salvation of men by tempting them to sin.13 Sin is the only evil thing, since it entails separation from God. Another way to describe this anti-providential anti-reality is as an anti-Church, governed by false prophets, St. Augustine’s alternate City of Evil. In his sermon on the third Sunday after the feast of the Apostles Peter and Paul,14 St. Thomas equates the false prophets of Matthew 7:15 with false magistri and gives a list of their characteristics: they preach and teach false things, like Arius, “who wanted to correct the doctrine of Christ”; they say things the world wants to hear; they call good evil and evil good; they are falsely inspired (either deluded by the devil or by their own will); they sow doubt and discord. And the principal vice of false magistri is hypocrisy. In what way does Saint Joseph terrorize these demons of malice, discord, hypocrisy, and false teaching? Principally through his perfection of the evangelical counsels. His perfect poverty is evidenced by the humble cave of Christ’s birth and the turtledoves offered at the Presentation in the Temple. His perfect chastity is demonstrated in his care for Our Lady, in his fatherly model for Jesus, and in his unfailing fortitude in the face of suffering. And his perfect obedience is evidenced by his unquestioning abandonment to Divine Providence. St. Joseph’s secure faith and his perfect humility led him to trust in God even in the most obscure of circumstances. Because of his profound humility, we can accord him as the friend of the angels. For 10 11 12 13 14 See Serge-Thomas Bonino, O.P., Angels and Demons: A Catholic Introduction, trans. Michael J. Miller (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2016), 193. Bonino, Angels and Demons, 281. See also ST I, q. 114, a. 1. Bonino, Angels and Demons, 282. ST I, q. 114, a. 1. Thomas Aquinas, “Attendite A Falsis: Sermon on the Third Sunday After the Feast of the Apostles Peter and Paul,” in Thomas Aquinas: The Academic Sermons, trans. Mark-Robin Hoogland, C.P., The Fathers of the Church, Medieval Continuation (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2010), 195–213. 732 Anonymous after all, it was an angel who instructed him to take Mary as his wife, an angel who commanded him to flee to Egypt to protect the Holy Family, to return to Israel after the death of Herod, and to go to Galilee (Matt 2:19–23). St. Joseph’s mastery of the evangelical counsels and of the virtues is precisely what makes him the Terror of Demons. He is not grounded in self-assertion; he is grounded in God. If the intention of the demons is, as St. Thomas writes, the loss of souls, then we need St. Joseph today more than ever. St. Paul reminds us that we are fighting against “principalities and powers, against the ruler of the world of darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in high places” (Eph 6:12). St. Joseph is the terror of the demons of every age, who seek the destruction of the Church, because they seek to destroy Christ. St. Joseph is in every age the terror of false magistri, who attempt to pervert the singular mission of the Church, the salvation of souls. If in every age the Church is tempted by worldly aims and to conformity to this world, then in every age there stands St. Joseph as Protector of Holy Church, pointing her to her supernatural mission. If in every age the Church is challenged by the hypocrisy of her own members, then in every age stands St. Joseph in his interior and exterior purity, as the Terror of Demons, ready to purify the Church through his intercession and to protect the authentic magisterium of the Church. For this reason, we may confidently pray, as the Church does: “Defend, O most watchful guardian of the Holy Family, the chosen offspring of Jesus Christ. Keep from us, O most loving Father, all blight of error and corruption. Aid us from on high, most valiant defender, in this conflict with the powers of darkness. And even as of old thou didst rescue the Child Jesus from the peril of His life, so now defend God’s Holy Church from the snares of the enemy and from all adversity.”15 15 Leo XIII, Quamquam Pluries, concluding “Prayer to Saint Joseph.” Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 733–738 733 Tract 6: Eucharistic Life in a Weary World: Insights from St. Albert the Great The Eucharistic theology of St. Albert the Great speaks to our current times. We live in an age of weariness. This lethargy can result from fear— fear of sickness, failure, or rejection. Paradoxically, it may be the result of being over-busy. Goals accomplished often do not bring complete satisfaction. No adult life is without the experience of having been betrayed, disappointed, or hurt in some way by a beloved friend. The Catholic faith does not promise a life without sad weariness; the classic prayer, the Salve Regina, describes our time on this earth as a “valley of tears.” Yet, neither does the faith leave us without a source of strength and joy. This source may not overcome all of the weariness of this life, but will enable us to endure it and even often to rejoice in the midst of it. The source of this energy is, of course, the eternal bliss of God, source of all goodness. In his sacramental theology, Albert the Great looks towards this being of God as a help in the challenges of life. Albert is the farthest thing from a process theologian. He looks to the unchanging goodness of God with hope and trust, rejoicing in the fullness of the unchanging Godhead. He is also realistic about the difficulties of human life. When describing what it means for Christ to have become man, Albert discusses the metaphysics of the hypostatic union. Then he adds that this means that Christ also took up “all the weariness of human life.”1 When Albert teaches us about how to open our own hearts to the 1 Albert the Great, On the Body of the Lord, trans. Sr. Albert Marie Surmanski, O.P., Fathers of the Church Medieval Continuation 17 (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2017), 149. 734 Anonymous sweetness, beauty, and joy of the eternal life of the Trinity, he speaks about the Eucharist. Of course, union with the Trinity is established through the sanctifying grace given in baptism. It is the Eucharist that deepens this union by offering us repeated moments of connection. Albert calls the eternal overflowing of being and unity from the Father to the Son to the Spirit the “golden chain.” Here he reflects on Jesus’s own statement in John 17:21: “As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us” (NRSV). Christ’s Incarnation and Passion offer us a chance to connect our lives to the chain. The link that connects us is the Eucharist. Albert warns us, “and all who fall from this chain perish.”2 For Albert, being united to the Trinity is not simply about avoiding perishing. It connects our life to a “sweetness” which touches our human experience. This “sweetness” might be a consoling moment in which one recognizes the divine presence; it also seems to include the faith-based recognition that our life is dynamically moving towards a heavenly goal; it also includes the energy or strength which flows from the hopeful and loving desire to attain this goal. A metaphor that Albert offers is that of the mixing of water into the wine at Mass. He understands this as imaging the way in which the sometimes “insipid” or “tasteless” character of our daily life is mixed into the more “flavorful” wine of the divine life.3 The divine life is so great that its wine swallows up the small drops of our life without being diluted by it. How does the Eucharist make human life more “flavorful” or joyful? This question is best addressed through Albert’s discussion of the Eucharist as spiritual food. It is not meaningless that Christ gave us the Eucharist under the appearances of bread and wine. Albert invites us to consider the sacramental appearances. Bread and wine are not merely “placeholders” that point to where Christ is. Instead, they speak eloquently about the way in which Christ comes to us in this sacrament—as spiritual food. When Albert talks about our need for spiritual food, he compares it to our need for physical food. If we fast for a long period of time, we become hungry, weak, and tired and begin to waste away. Physical hunger brings about physical weariness. So, Albert recognizes that life in this world results in a similar loss of spiritual life or energy.4 He says that abstaining from spiritual food means that “the substance of the spirit and the strength and the substance of the natural good are lost.”5 This loss of spiritual energy 2 3 4 5 Albert, On the Body of the Lord, 171–72. Albert, On the Body of the Lord, 38. Albert, In IV sent., d. 1, a. 2, in Opera Omnia, vol. 30, ed. Auguste Borgnet (Paris: Vives, 1894). Albert, On the Body of the Lord, 124. Eucharistic Life in a Weary World: Insights from St. Albert the Great 735 is not sin itself, but is a result of sin—of our various small unfaithfulnesses, imperfections, and moments in which we fail to respond to the Lord. Albert says that “man is corrupted by the evil of his work.”6 Small and large sins dissipate our attention and can weaken our love of God. Perhaps a certain weariness or tendency to discouragement also originates in our encounter with the brokenness of the world around us, the sins, sickness, and the failures of others which hurt us. Albert does not chastise his readers for suffering and weakening in this way. By comparing a spiritual tendency to grow weak to the human need for food, he shows that it is not completely avoidable in this life. Just as we do not become angry and frustrated when we discover that we are hungry and weak at the end of the day when we have not eaten, so we should not be upset at ourselves when we discover a growing spiritual weariness. Albert invites his readers who experience such lassitude to turn to the Eucharist for strength. How does the Eucharist offer strength? For Albert, the “spiritual refreshment” of the Eucharist is first of all a deepened union with the Lord in love.7 The immediate grace of the Eucharist impacts the soul at a level below that of experience, uniting the person to God through indwelling grace. Thus the strength given in the Eucharist can nourish us in a quiet and hidden way, giving us interior energy without our immediate conscious awareness of it. One could consider this spiritual nourishment as working in a way parallel to the increased physical strength which seeps into our muscles after we assimilate the vitamins and calories in a good meal. The spiritual life, however, also involves conscious attitudes and habits of mind and heart. As adult Christians, we do not receive God’s grace as entirely passive: we need to cooperate so as to grow in faith and love, to use in our actions the strength we have received. The interior strength offered in the Eucharist needs to work its way into our experience so as to color our daily life. This is one of the reasons why the sacraments are given as visible signs and embedded in the wider liturgy. St. Albert emphasizes that the material elements in the sacraments were chosen by God to speak to us, giving us an opportunity to step forward to receive the Christ who comes to us. From another perspective, Albert reminds us that Christ taught with wisdom as well as healed with power. Thus the sacraments offer wisdom by teaching us 6 7 Albert, On the Body of the Lord, 124. Albert, In IV sent., d. 8, a. 12. 736 Anonymous about the grace which they give.8 This means that the experience of receiving the Eucharist should include a cognitive and affective encounter with Christ. As is taught by Psalm 104, Christ comes to us under the appearance of bread to promise us strength. He comes to us under the appearance of wine to promise us joy (see Ps 104:15). To eat the bread of the Eucharist we need to open our mouths, receive it, and chew. Albert notes that literal chewing is necessary so that we do not choke on the host.9 This chewing, however, is an image of the way in which we should spiritually process our encounter with Christ so that it will nourish us. Chewing is an image of meditative pondering, “since meditation is nothing but a repetitive movement of the mind upon the same thing by thought and devotion and affection.”10 Part of the effectiveness of the sacrament of the Eucharist comes from consciously reflecting on the One who is present in the Eucharist. This conscious act of faith and love allows the grace given in the Eucharist immediately to inform our outlook and attitude. Albert goes on to note that the teeth represent the mind and the will which are white because of a clean conscience. A soul free from serious sin is a requirement for a fruitful reception of communion. Albert advises the one receiving communion to reflect on Christ’s humble suffering to open herself to a re-ordering of her loves.11 He advises the communicant to reflect on “the joy in which he boldly endured the cross for us” so that fear may be cast out from her heart.12 Such reflection allows the inner encounter with the Lord to be translated into acts of faith, hope, and love which then impact Christian experience. Sacramental reception is a moment to exercise faith, hope, and charity.13 It is when these acts are made that the inner strength offered by the Eucharist blossoms into our experience. When Albert talks about the Eucharist as elevating us in hope, he quotes from Matthew 28: 20: “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Christ fulfills this promise by his presence in the Eucharist. Reminding ourselves of it while we receive the Eucharist allows the “lightness of this hope” to lift our weariness—our own act of hope supported by the grace of Christ.14 In his 2007 encyclical Spe Salvi, 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 Albert, De Sacramentis, tr. 1, a. 2, ad. 3, in Opera Omnia Sancti Doctoris Alberti Magni, Cologne ed., vol. 26, ed. Albertus Ohlmeyer, O.S.B. (Munster: Aschendorff, 1958). Albert, On the Body of the Lord, 124. Albert, On the Body of the Lord. 155. Albert, On the Body of the Lord, 123. Albert, On the Body of the Lord, 123 Albert, In IV sent., d. 8, a. 1. Albert, In IV sent., d. 8, a. 1. Eucharistic Life in a Weary World: Insights from St. Albert the Great 737 Pope Benedict XVI writes: “Our daily efforts in pursuing our own lives and in working for the world’s future either tire us or turn into fanaticism, unless we are enlightened by the radiance of the great hope that cannot be destroyed even by small-scale failures or by a breakdown in matters of historic importance”(§35; Vatican website). The moment of encounter with Christ in the Eucharist is a privileged place to allow ourselves to be reminded of this truth. With this model in mind, Albert offers a dramatic image of the “exchange” which we should seek in the Eucharist. Drawing on the idea of the “marvelous exchange” between God and humanity, Albert pictures Christ’s mediation in the Mass as a shipping channel. Albert lists the things that we bring to the exchange—“poverty of spirit, mourning for sins, tears, fasting, afflictions and chastisements of the body”—which are “plentiful among us . . . but lacking in heaven.”15 Albert does two things here: he recognizes the sorrows of this life and offers us a place to which to bring them. Many of the “goods” Albert pictures us shipping are conscious acts of penance, but “tears” and “afflictions” could include any of the many wearying sufferings of human life borne well. In return, Albert promises, “this river carries to us that in which we are deficient, and which abounds in heaven, that is, joy of heart, and consolation of the Holy Spirit, and the sweetness of the taste of the divine, and a certain fruit of the virtues, that we may desire them more strongly, [and] more easily scorn those things in which we are [surrounded].”16 The “sweetness” of the presence of God may include a mystical awareness of the presence of Christ, or it may be the chosen “sweetness” which recognizes that, even here on earth, we are united to God who is the ultimate good. Here, Albert’s theology serves remarkably well to interpret the teaching of the Second Vatican Council when Lumen Gentium teaches about the role of the laity at Mass: The supreme and eternal Priest, Christ Jesus, since he wills to continue his witness and service also through the laity, vivifies them in this Spirit and increasingly urges them on to every good and perfect work. For besides intimately linking them to His life and His mission, He also gives them a sharing in His priestly function of offering spiritual worship for the glory of God and the salvation of men. For this reason the laity, dedicated to Christ and anointed 15 16 Albert, On the Body of the Lord, 265. Albert, On the Body of the Lord, 266. 738 Anonymous by the Holy Spirit, are marvelously called and wonderfully prepared so that ever more abundant fruits of the Spirit may be produced in them. For all their works, prayers and apostolic endeavors, their ordinary married and family life, their daily occupations, their physical and mental relaxation, if carried out in the Spirit, and even the hardships of life, if patiently borne—all these become “spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (Pt. 2:5). Together with the offering of the Lord’s body, they are most fittingly offered in the celebration of the Eucharist. Thus, as those everywhere who adore in holy activity, the laity consecrate the world itself to God. (§34; Vatican website) Albert’s image of ships taking the lives and sacrifices of communicants to heaven and bringing back a sense of purpose and spiritual strength encapsulates the same description of the “spiritual sacrifices” offered by the laity which “consecrate the world to Christ.” Albert adds the assurance that, along with his blessing, Christ returns to those who receive communion worthily and mindfully the joy and purpose that they need. To end this consideration, let us move from the image of the shipping channel to a more intimate reflection. When asked about why we sometimes experience a felt closeness to Christ when we receive the sacrament and sometimes do not, even when we are in state of union with Christ, Albert reminds us that the Eucharist is panis voluntarius or “bread with a will.”17 Christ comes to us in the Eucharist offering the precise experience which will strengthen, enlighten, arm, and move us forward in our relationship with him. Awareness of this invites us to respond to Christ in the Eucharist as a true Person—a good and wise Teacher who will give us what we need. Albert invites us to reflect on the Passion of Christ, the Gospel readings, and other teachings presented at Mass. He invites us to expect and to allow our hearts to be consoled by Christ’s goodness in coming to us in the Eucharist. He expects us to make an act of hope—reminding ourselves of the heavenly goods to which we aspire and to which we are united. When the Eucharist is received in this way, faithfully, our precise Eucharistic experience will vary, but the light and strength which we need will be infused into our intellects and wills. 17 Albert, In IV sent., d. 13, a. 16. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 739–752 739 What Makes the Common Good Common? Key Points from Charles De Koninck1 Aquinas Guilbeau, O.P. Dominican House of Studies, Washington, DC In even the most capable philosophical hands, the common good remains a slippery concept. Its essence eludes the grasp of those who reach for it. This is due in part to the concept’s complexity. “Common good” is composed of two rich, philosophically pregnant notions: goodness and commonness. Reflection on these two notions is ancient, of course. How a thing is good has preoccupied philosophers since the dawn of time. How a thing may be common has exercised philosophers less throughout history, but even the ancients recognized that the question of a thing’s commonness remains as intricate as the question of a thing’s goodness. Despite their long philosophical history, however, the notions of goodness and commonness evade quick and easy description. Because they represent elemental characteristics of being itself, they share in being’s fundamental mystery. As a result, millennia of reflection have not exhausted these notions’ meanings. Like being, goodness and commonness require careful study by each generation, so that its intellectuals and teachers might clarify these notions’ remaining secrets. Thus does each generation contribute to the perennial philosophy. When we modern and post-modern thinkers try to describe the common good, and thereby grapple with its notions of goodness and commonness, we find one of these two notions more elusive than the other. Which of the two might surprise us. It is not the common good’s goodness. 1 A version of this paper was delivered at the Thomistic Circles Conference held February 26–27, 2021, at the Dominican House of Studies in Washington, DC. Organized by the Thomistic Institute, the conference examined the question “What is the Common Good?” 740 Aquinas Guilbeau, O.P. Despite the philosophical confusions of our age, we more or less still agree publicly as to what constitutes a good, and as a result what constitutes an evil. We deem health a good, for example, while we deem disease an evil. We embrace one as perfective; we repulse the other as destructive. To my knowledge, no one has yet extolled COVID-19 as a good. So, we moderns and post-moderns have not completely lost hold of reality. We still share a sense of goodness, even if our generation mislabels some evils as goods. When it comes to describing the common good, therefore, it is not the common good’s goodness that eludes us. Rather, it is its commonness that we have difficulty grasping. What does it mean for a good to be common? How is a common good common? Are all common goods common in the same way? How is the example of health common? Is health a common good properly speaking, or does it only appear to be common? How do we know the difference? Is there a difference? Unfortunately, few of us can answer these questions well. The reasons may not all be our fault, but we should admit that, along with our secular contemporaries, we remain largely unversed in commonness. A sign of our inexperience with the concept is that we seldom ask questions about commonness. Instead, we take it for granted that we know what commonness involves. When pressed to describe it, however, we quickly discover just how uncommon understanding of commonness is. In the first half of the last century, Charles De Koninck was well aware of modernity’s inexperience with commonness. He recognized that individualism and its philosophical prerequisites had so captured the popular imagination, even among Catholics, that the common quality of the common good was disappearing from view. As a result, political discourse—to say nothing of political life—had entered serious difficulty. Between the World Wars, De Koninck spoke up among Catholic philosophers to remind them of the “primacy of the common good,” not simply as a practical concept but as a speculative one, in accord with its classical conception. De Koninck recalled for his contemporaries not only that but also how commonness, like goodness, is primarily something objectively real and metaphysically constituted, and only secondarily something subjectively perceived and practically useful. To revive the objective and metaphysical notions of goodness and commonness among Catholic intellectuals—many of whom had traded these for easier subjective and practical notions2— 2 De Koninck pointed to Fr. Herbert Doms’s instrumentalization of the marital good in his Dom Sinn und Zweck Der Ehe (1935), and to the instrumentalization of the What Makes the Common Good Common? 741 De Koninck composed his famous essay The Primacy of the Common Good, Against the Personalists.3 In it, De Koninck spends eighty pages reviewing the objective, metaphysical notions of both goodness and commonness, aiming his explanations at correcting modernity’s speculative depreciation of the common good. To this end, De Koninck does not treat the notions of goodness and commonness equally. In the entire essay, he dedicates only three sentences to reviewing the common good’s notion of goodness. In the whole rest of the essay, he reviews the common good’s notion of commonness. This is remarkable. De Koninck knew his audience, and he spoke directly to its difficulty with grasping not goodness but commonness. Accordingly, De Koninck aimed to revive the notion of commonness for modern thinkers, and thereby to render the common good intelligible again—not only as good but also as ontologically common—in philosophical and political discourse. For the sake of the saving the embattled common good of the political community, De Koninck wanted his modern readers to appreciate the common good again as St. Thomas and the medievals had, and as Aristotle and the ancients had before them. In the short sections that follow, we shall review De Koninck’s work in The Primacy of the Common Good to revive the concept of commonness. Unfortunately, his argument there is neither systematic nor linear, so we are forced to extract from his text the principles that he employs to explain commonness. We shall examine four of these principles: (1) the more diffusive the cause, the more elevated it is; (2) the common good is distinct from the particular good; (3) the common good is not a composite of particular goods; and (4) a good common in causando is distinct from a good common in praedicando. None of these principles alone exhausts the richness of the common good’s commonness, but all together they paint a metaphysical picture in which commonness, properly understood, appears in sharp relief. 3 political good by Mortimer Adler and Fr. Walter Farrell in their “The Theory of Democracy” (The Thomist, 1941), as examples of subjective analyses of the common good displacing objective ones. Charles De Koninck, La primauté du bien commun, contre les personalistes (Québec: Éditions de l’Université Laval, 1943). All translations from the original French are my own. For a translation of the entire text, see Ralph McInerny’s in vol. 2 of The Writings of Charles De Koninck (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2009), 63–163. 742 Aquinas Guilbeau, O.P. The More Diffusive the Cause, the More Elevated It Is In Primacy, De Koninck reviews the notion of the common good’s goodness in only three sentences, as was just mentioned. These sentences read: “The good is what all things desire inasmuch as they desire their perfection. The good therefore bears the note of final cause. Accordingly, the good is the first of causes and, consequently, diffusive of itself.”4 We need not comment further on this review, except to note how it ends. The last of the good’s qualities that De Koninck mentions is the good’s self-diffusion. This is significant, because De Koninck’s review of the common good’s goodness ends where his review of the common good’s commonness begins. It is precisely in the good’s self-diffusion that De Koninck locates the good’s potential to be common. The first step that De Koninck takes toward describing the commonness of the common good, therefore, is to note that not all goods, as final causes, diffuse their goodness to the same extent. Some goods communicate their goodness widely to a number of effects, while others diffuse their goodness narrowly to only a few or even to just one effect. As a result, goods naturally rank themselves hierarchically according to the extent or reach of their self-diffusion. Within this hierarchy, widely diffusing goods rank higher than narrowly diffusing goods. To underscore this point, De Koninck quotes from Aquinas’s commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics: “It must be acknowledged that the higher a cause is, the more it extends its causality to many. A higher cause thus has its own proper higher effect, which is more common and is found in many things.”5 What De Koninck derives from Aquinas’s observation here is a simple syllogism that describes the commonness of higher causes. The higher a cause is, the greater its diffusion. The greater a cause’s diffusion, the more beings it affects. Consequently, the higher a cause is, the more beings it affects, or the more common it is. To climb the scale toward higher causes, therefore, is to climb toward increasingly common causes. “Common” here emerges as a term denoting the extension of a thing’s goodness, as a final cause, to two or more effects. The goodness of the thing is common to its multiple effects. Once De Koninck draws speculative attention to the metaphysical ordering of higher and lower causes, he makes a practical observation. Because higher causes extend themselves more widely than lower ones, 4 5 De Koninck, Primauté, 7. Thomas Aquinas, In VI metaphys., lec. 3, no. 15. Translations from the original Latin of the works of Thomas are my own. What Makes the Common Good Common? 743 they demand a higher and nobler love from their participants. De Koninck supports this claim by citing a long passage from Aquinas’s commentary on the Ethics. In this passage, Aquinas accounts for Aristotle’s assertion that statesmanship ranks highest among the practical sciences. It is clear that every cause, inasmuch as it is stronger and more important, extends itself to many proper effects. Therefore, the good, which carries the note of final cause, and inasmuch as it is stronger and more important, extends itself to many effects. Thus, if the same end were the good of one man and of the whole city, it seems better by far and more perfect to undertake—that is, either to procure or to save and preserve—that which is the good of the whole city than that which is the good of one man. Now, certainly it belongs to the love that obtains among men that a man should strive for and preserve the good even of a single individual, but it remains better and more divine that this love should be shown to the whole nation and to cities. That is to say, while indeed love should be shown to only one city, by far it remains more divine to show this love to the whole nation, in which many cities are contained. [Aristotle] calls “more divine” that which relates more to the likeness of God, who is the universal cause of all good.6 Within this text, De Koninck finds Aquinas’s rationale not only for considering higher goods better and nobler—and thus more loveable—than lower ones, but also for distinguishing common goods from particular goods. This passage from the Ethics commentary provides De Koninck a key principle: the universal extension of higher goods. For Aquinas, the universal extension of higher goods carries an air of divinity. For De Koninck, however, a good’s universal extension points to a more basic reality. “The common good differs from the particular good,” De Koninck writes, “according to this very universality.”7 In keeping with the ontological character of his study, De Koninck identifies in the universal extension of higher causes the metaphysical principle that distinguishes a common good from a particular good. 6 7 Thomas Aquinas, In I eth., lec. 2, lns. 170–188. De Koninck, Primauté, 8. 744 Aquinas Guilbeau, O.P. The Common Good Is Distinct from the Particular Good De Koninck’s identification of a metaphysical distinction between com­mon and particular goods is important, if only because the metaphysical distinction is not obvious at first glance. The logical distinction between these goods is much more likely to catch our attention. For example, it is impossible to mention the common good without also calling to mind the particular good, at least indirectly. The same is true when calling to mind the particular good: its mere mention evokes the common good. Each kind of good carries the notion of the other by way of negation: to be common is not to be particular, and to be particular is not to be common. But the logical distinction between common and particular goods has not told us why or on what grounds the two goods are distinct in reality. We may suppose that their real distinction has something to do with the number of participants attracted to the good—either one participant, or more than one—but this explains their distinction only externally. Such an external description tells us little of what distinguishes the goods internally, or ontologically. Still less does the greater number of the common good’s participants justify its claim to primacy over the particular good. De Koninck is right, therefore, to fix on the universal extension of higher goods as the principle of higher goods’ distinction from lower goods. This principle tells us something real about common and particular goods themselves, something that is more than a mere description of things drawn to their goodness. As a result of the universal extension of higher goods, the common good bears what De Koninck calls the “note of superabundance.”8 He means that the common good possesses a superabundance of goodness, which by nature the particular good lacks. Numerically one, the particular good is capable of extending its goodness only to a single effect or participant. Because interiorly its goodness is minimal—a quality that, as a final cause, restricts its extension—the particular good can by nature satisfy only one beneficiary. By satisfying one beneficiary, the particular good cannot for that fact satisfy another. My ice cream cone is mine, for example, and no one else’s. Also numerically one, the common good is by contrast capable of extending its goodness to many effects or participants. Because interiorly its goodness is abundant—a quality that, as a final cause, increases its extension—the common good can by nature satisfy many beneficiaries at once. By satisfying one, therefore, the common good is not for that fact 8 De Koninck, Primauté, 8. What Makes the Common Good Common? 745 prevented from satisfying another. The good of my family is mine, for example, but it is not mine alone. The good of my family belongs also to the other members of my family. While mine, the good of my family is also ours. Such then is the external effect of the common good’s internal superabundance: in belonging to one, the common good belongs to all to whom its extensive goodness remains proper. For De Koninck, the common good’s “note of superabundance” distinguishes common goods ontologically from particular goods. The note of superabundance is not the only principle of distinction between common and particular goods, however. Other principles flow from the common good’s superabundant goodness. For example, De Koninck writes that the common good is “more communicable” than the particular good, which reveals the degree to which, due to its superabundance, the common good is “eminently diffusive of itself.”9 In addition, De Koninck observes that the common good “extends itself to the individual more than the particular good.” As more communicable, the common good has more of the individual’s proper good to communicate. My family is more mine, for example, than my ice cream cone. These three principles of distinction between common and particular goods—superabundance, communicability, and extension—lead De Koninck to declare the common good “the better good of the individual” than his particular good. In this brief statement, we see De Koninck’s argument for the primacy of the common good beginning to take shape. Already, we can appreciate how his argument is not practical but ontological in nature. Satisfied that he has adequately distinguished common goods from particular goods, De Koninck turns to apply this distinction against a manner of speaking by which particular goods are often confused for common goods. The Common Good Is Not a Composite of Particular Goods In accord with St. Thomas, De Koninck recognizes that the superiority of the common good over the particular good is qualitative and not merely quantitative. The common good is superior in form and not just in matter. The common good is truly better than the particular good, and not just bigger than it. Because Aquinas and De Koninck value the superiority of the common good as something objectively real, each is sensitive to 9 De Koninck, Primauté, 8. 746 Aquinas Guilbeau, O.P. how we obscure this reality in everyday speech. For example, De Koninck observes that we habitually label as “common goods” gathered quantities of particular goods. This is a misnomer, De Koninck argues, not only for implying that the common good is simply bigger than the particular good, but more importantly because a collection of particular goods bears no formal resemblance to the common good. De Koninck explains the formal difference between the common good and the particular good as follows: “The common good is better [than the particular good], but not because it might include the particular good of all individuals. So constituted, it would not have the unity of the common good as something universal. It would be a pure collection and, as such, only materially better [than the particular good].”10 A candy jar in a doctor’s office, a company’s pension fund, and a city’s water reservoir are “pure collections” of this kind. We routinely call these collections “common goods” because, as the source of particular benefits enjoyed commonly by individuals, the collection itself appears as a good common to its beneficiaries. But, as De Koninck explains, the collection only appears common. In reality, it is not, strictly speaking. While these collections may produce common effects—content children in a waiting room, for example—these collections are not formally common. They lack the principle distinctive of common goods properly so called, which is a unity that diffuses its goodness universally. Unlike a common good, a “pure collection” of particular goods does not constitute a unity capable of diffusing its goodness wholly and universally to its participants. Instead, as an aggregate of particular goods, a collection diffuses goodness by dividing and dispersing the goods that it collects. Thus, what attracts individuals to the candy jar, the pension fund, and the water reservoir is not a single common good, but rather a multitude of particular goods: the jar’s many pieces of candy, the fund’s monthly disbursements, and the reservoir’s numerous gallons of water. Hence, despite our casual use of the term “common good” for these collections, De Koninck insists that we not confuse a collection of particular goods with a common good. The reason is that a collection differs only materially, or quantitatively, from the single particular goods that it collects. The collection is simply more of the particular good. Formally or qualitatively, therefore, one particular good and a collection of particular goods remain identical, for the goodness each diffuses carries the note of particularity. Neither carries the formal note of commonness. Qualitatively similar to 10 De Koninck, Primauté, 8. What Makes the Common Good Common? 747 the particular good, a collection of particular goods remains qualitatively dissimilar to the common good. De Koninck reinforces the formal distinction between a common good and a collection of particular goods by highlighting the former’s wide communicability. “The common good is better for each individual who participates in it, insofar as it is communicable to other individuals. Communicability is the very reason for its perfection.”11 As the common good diffuses itself, it communicates its abundant goodness, whole and undivided, to each and all of its participants. This is in contrast to the particular good, which communicates its limited goodness only to one beneficiary. A moral corollary follows immediately upon this ontological principle. De Koninck explains that breadth of communicability is so integral to the reality of a common good that, unless one embraces the common good as widely communicable, he does not embrace the common good properly. “The individual does not attain the common good under the very note of common good,” De Koninck writes, “unless he attains it as communicable to others.”12 In other words, one cannot desire and enjoy a particular good and a common good in the same way. Each good must be loved according to its formal and not simply its material quality. The particular good is properly desired and enjoyed in its particularity. Likewise, the common good is properly desired and enjoyed in its commonness. After reviewing the formal distinction between a common good and a collection of particular goods, De Koninck provides an example of a common good to illustrate just how, in contrast to a collection of particular goods, the common good diffuses and communicates its one goodness universally and widely. The example that De Koninck chooses is the common good of the family. “The good of the family is better than the particular good,” De Koninck writes, “not because all the members of the family find their particular good in it; rather, the good of the family is better because, for each of its individual members, it is also the good of the others.”13 De Koninck clarifies here that the family is not like a candy jar or a pension fund, a collection of particular goods out of which individuals commonly draw their particular lot. Rather, as a common good properly so called, the good of the family constitutes a single good that extends and communicates itself whole and entire to all the members of the family at once. For that reason, unlike a collection of particular goods, the family 11 12 13 De Koninck, Primauté, 8. De Koninck, Primauté, 8. De Koninck, Primauté, 8–9. 748 Aquinas Guilbeau, O.P. need not be divided in order for its good to be enjoyed by family members. Rather, the good of the family belongs to each member such that the whole good is entirely one member’s and is also entirely another’s. By belonging wholly to all members, the good of the family, as one good, is commonly distributed to them and thus commonly held by them. A Good Common In Causando Is Distinct from a Good Common In Praedicando Collections of particular goods are not the only kind of good that can appear common. St. Thomas himself applies the term “common good” widely to all sorts of goods that appear to generate common benefits. As Gregory Froelich has noted, Aquinas labels things as varied as “money, honor, victory, justice, peace, happiness, the perpetuation of the species, the order of the universe, the good convertible with being, God, and even children” as common goods.14 Despite his wide application of the term “common,” however, Aquinas does not consider all of these goods to be common in the same way. He observes that some of these goods we only call common, while others are common in actual fact. Aquinas explains this distinction in article 6 of question 7 of De veritate. A thing is called common in two ways. First, a thing may be called common by way of attainment or predication (per praedicationem), as when, through an act of reasoning, one thing is found in many things. What is more common in this sense is not more noble but more imperfect, as “animal” is more common but less perfect than “man.” Thus is the life of nature more common than the life of glory. Second, a thing may be called common in recognition of its causality (per modum causae), as a cause that remains numerically one extends itself to multiple effects. In this way what is more common is nobler, as the preservation of the city is nobler than the preservation of a family. According to this second way, the life of nature is not more common than the life of glory.15 In this text, Aquinas distinguishes what is common in praedicando from what is common in causando in order to explain why the life of nature, 14 15 Gregory Froelich, “The Equivocal Status of Bonum Commune,” The New Scholasticism 63, no. 1 (1989): 38–57, at 42. Thomas Aquinas, De veritate, q. 7, a. 6, ad 7. What Makes the Common Good Common? 749 which is found more commonly than the life of glory, is not for that fact nobler than the life of glory. The reason is that neither the life of nature nor the life of glory represents a cause. Each is rather a good found in multiple instances. Only a cause that is more common is for that fact nobler; as common, it is nobler because it extends itself to more effects. Because they are not causes, Aquinas concludes, the life of nature and the life of glory are common in some other sense, according to which what is more common is in fact inferior to what is less common. Aquinas observes that “the life of nature” and “the life of glory” are not common causes but rather common names that we construct to signify what we find existing in numerous separate instances. What we find in all animate creatures we call the “the life of nature,” and what we find in the beatified we call the “the life of glory.” Though at times we may speak of life as a cause extending itself to living things, such talk is only metaphorical. We do not mean that there is an actual “life,” numerically one, extending itself to and animating various receptive forms. The extension of life takes place only in our reasoning as we predicate a common name to what is possessed individually by all living things. It is thus by predication—in praedicando—that life is something common. As Aquinas observes, what is more common by predication is inferior to what is less common, as in the case of the common names “man” and “animal.” Though less common in praedicando than “animal,” “man” is nobler, as it names something more perfect. Thus the life of glory, though less common in praedicando than the life of nature, is nobler than the life of nature. By contrast, a good common in causando is a single reality that, through the exercise of final causality, extends goodness to many effects. It is thus that the good of the family and the good of the city are common. Numerically one, each as a final cause diffuses its goodness to many at once. As real causes, the good of the city is nobler than that of the family, as it is more common in causando and extends itself to more effects, including families. This distinction between the good common in praedicando and the good common in causando is crucial for understanding the heart of De Koninck’s project of reviving a classical sense of commonness for a modern audience. In defending the primacy of the common good, De Koninck means to exalt, above the particular good of the individual, goods common in causando and not goods merely common in praedicando. These latter are in themselves, despite their common predication, goods held individually and particularly. Again, the scholarship of Froelich is helpful here. He explains how the commonness of goods common in praedicando is only virtual and not actual: “Health, temperance, and knowledge are goods 750 Aquinas Guilbeau, O.P. realized in individuals, but they take on a universal character in the intellect. What really exist are many individual habits of health, temperance, and knowledge.”16 In other words, unlike goods common in causando, goods like health, temperance, and knowledge are not goods numerically one that many can pursue at once. Rather, each is a good numerically one in individuals who possesses health or temperance or knowledge. In a group, therefore, there exists not one health, one temperance, or one knowledge, but individuals who are healthy, temperate, or knowledgeable. It should be apparent by now that when we speak of the common good of the family and the common good of health, for example, we are employing the term “common” in an equivocal manner. These two goods—the first common in causando and the second common in praedicando—are not common in the same manner. Health is a good that acquires a single, common quality only in the intellect while it remains multiple and particular in reality. By contrast, the family is a good numerically one in reality that diffuses its goodness commonly to many effects at once. In The Primacy of the Common Good, De Koninck does not press the equivocal status of these two uses of “common,” but he is certainly aware of it. In comparison to the particular goods of individuals, he elevates only goods common in causando as being higher and nobler. Before closing, it is important to recall that predicating as common something not causally common does not represent an error in reasoning or in speech. We do not have to correct our interlocutors every time that they call health, or truth, or virtue a common good. Because we can distinguish goods common in praedicando from goods common in causando, we can employ both modes of attribution intelligently, alert to the kind of commonness we are treating in each instance. Conclusion Commonness becomes conceptually less slippery once we understand how it is metaphysically constituted. To this end, three truths regarding commonness must be recognized: (1) commonness is an ontological reality and not just a logical or practical one; (2) commonness is primarily in things and not only in their effects; (3) commonness introduces real diversity into created being and created goodness. This last point bears particularly on the mystery of human happiness. The metaphysical diversity 16 Gregory Froelich, “On the Common Goods,” The Aquinas Review 12 (2005): 1–28, at 9. What Makes the Common Good Common? 751 written providentially into things introduces moral variety into human life. In so doing, commonness constitutes not only the ontological foundation of family and political life, providing the principle of communication in all human societies. Commonness also constitutes the ladder on which the intellectual creature—reaching from one higher and common good to the next—climbs knowingly and lovingly toward God. For the sake of pursuing our natural and supernatural happiness intelligently, therefore, we moderns and post-moderns must master the concept of commonness again. St. Thomas and his faithful interpreters provide us the philosophical tools necessary for this revival. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 753–772 753 To Bear Man’s Greatness: On the Moral-Theological Message of a Recent Document of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Samaritanus Bonus1 Andrzej Kucinski Rome, Italy Background and Objective When, in 1582, Camillus de Lellis, the later-canonized founder of the Order of Camillians, the “servants of the sick,” had the inspiration to found a society of men who would serve the sick for religious motives,2 the revolutionary nature of such a decision was clear. An unprecedented hope broke into the world of the hopelessly marginalized, who did not have sufficient means to be cared for at home, and therefore had to go to hospitals, where they were often assisted only by untrained caregivers, who did so under obligation because they were either criminals or compelled by economic need to perform such menial service. This hope consisted in the message that the love of God urges the voluntary and sacrificial service of dedication to the sick, and especially to those who will not recover from their illness. However, this service should be holistic, because the welfare of the needy encompasses all the dimensions of the human person: the body and the soul, but also the spirit. The letter of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF) Samaritanus Bonus, dated July 14, 2020—the liturgical day of commemoration of Camillus of Lellis—on the care of persons in the critical and 1 2 This piece was originally published in German in Trierer theologische Zeitschrift 130, no. 3 (2021): 264–83. See “Ein Leben im Dienst der Kranken und Armen. Kamillus von Lellis, Gründer des Ordens der Kamillianer,” kamillianer.at/kvlellis/kvlellis.htm. 754 Andrzej Kucinski terminal phases of life, seeks to promote the same concern for comprehensive service to the sick out of respect for the divinely anchored dignity of the human person. The letter suggests that it is this dignity, and therefore the incomparable greatness of each human being, that makes it necessary, contrary to any logic of efficiency and a cost–benefit calculation, to persevere at the side of the (terminally) ill until their natural death. This article aims to highlight some (in the author’s opinion) central elements of this letter, and to comment on them specifically against the background of the magisterial positions underlying the document. For this purpose, I will often quote Robert Spaemann, the German philosopher who died in 2018 and whose ethical views appear in parts as well suited to illuminate from the ethical point of view the foundations of thought of the universal Church magisterium with regard to the relevant topics and to prepare these foundations for a scientific discussion. However, it is explicitly not the aim here to engage in such a discussion or to analyze the already existing relevant contributions. Rather, it is to deepen the current Church teaching in certain aspects on the basis of this new document. In this sense, contributions from the press conference on its presentation on September 22, 2020, will also be drawn upon. After the exploration of what one could understand as “core” of the letter according to a certain reading of the document, some concretizations follow under the guiding perspective of the “Catholic” approach to the terminally ill. The Core of the Document The structure of Samaritanus Bonus will be briefly described: An introduction, in which above all the need for magisterial intervention is justified, is followed by chapter 1, on the comprehensive character of the care which is always possible for persons in critical states, according to the principle that “the judgement that an illness is incurable cannot mean that care has come at an end” (8).3 Chapter 2 then further explicates the grounds of Christian hope in the face of approaching death, starting from the mystery of the Crucified, with special reference to those who stay around him at the moment of the Passion. Chapter 3 recalls the positive meaning of human life as an expression of inalienable human dignity and as the source of certain imperatives in dealing with it. A clear reference to the proclamation 3 All the numbers in parenthesis in the article, unless otherwise indicated, reference the page numbers of the printed English version of Samaritanus Bonus, on the Care of Persons in the Critical and Terminal Phases of Life (Vatican City: Vatican Library, 2020). To Bear Man’s Greatness 755 of Pope Francis is made in chapter 4, which explains some “cultural obstacles” to the recognition of the “sacred value of every human life.” Finally, chapter 5 (the longest) addresses individual bioethical, medical-ethical, legal, pastoral, and educational issues related to care at critical stages of life. In substance, the doctrine set forth in the new document is not really new, as is clearly shown by the oft-quoted various previous magisterial writings (e.g., the Declaration on Euthanasia, Iura et bona [1980], the encyclical letter Evangelium Vitae [1995], the New Charter for Health Care Workers [2015], and various pronouncements of recent pontificates back to Pius XII). However, it was necessary to raise the universal Church’s voice again on this matter especially because of “the present situation, determined by the international legislative context, which is characterized by an ever greater permissiveness with regard to euthanasia, assisted suicide and advanced directives for treatment, concerning the end of life,”4 as the congregation’s prefect, Cardinal Luís Ladaria, explained in his statement at the aforementioned press conference. Within this context, laws have been passed in which the individual judgment of some of those affected with regard to their lives is elevated to general criteria for dealing with terminally ill patients.5 Such phenomena create a need for ethical clarification. It is a matter of giving pastoral orientation to the faithful in their concerns and doubts about the care of the sick in the critical phases and in the terminal phase of life (4), especially in view of the complexity of some questions that have recently arisen in this area. In order to better classify the practical indications given by the text, it is worth trying to determine its fundamental moral core. To this end, the document’s initial questions point the way: On what basis should we not be permitted to use certain medical technological achievements in dealing with human beings, or to regard these achievements as sufficient criteria for dealing with them in a certain way, as the letter introduces, citing Pope Benedict XVI? “Advances in medical technology, though precious, cannot in themselves define the proper meaning and value of human life” (3).6 4 5 6 Luís Ladaria, “Intervento,” in Conferenza Stampa di presentazione della Lettera Samaritanus bonus sulla cura delle persone nelle fasi critiche e terminali della vita, redatta dalla Congregazione per la Dottrina della Fede (interventions by Luís Ladaria, S.J., Giacomo Morandi, Gabriella Gambino, and Adriano Pessini), September 22, 2020, press. vatican.va/content/salastampa/it/bollettino/pubblico/2020/09/22/0477/01073. html. Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own. See Adriano Pessina, “Intervento,” in Conferenza Stampa. With reference to Benedict XVI, Spe salvi, Encyclical Letter on Christian Hope (2007), §22. 756 Andrzej Kucinski This makes one wonder about the ever-increasing relevance of technology for ethical reflection today. A paradox arises, which was explained in the press conference as follows: Ours is an era that evokes personal dignity, autonomy, individual freedom, but then delegates to technology, medical science and pharmacology the techniques of treatment and medical care. And, when technology can no longer do anything, when the stages of illness require the patience of personal involvement and death is approaching, the temptation to delegate to death the response to the question of “meaning” of life arises—in the form of assisted suicide, euthanasia, withdrawal of therapeutic care. However, this is a question that no machine, not even the most sophisticated artificial intelligence, can answer.7 However, the question of the meaning of life accompanies man not only at its end, but also at its beginning, so that the problem of euthanasia—in a deepened analysis—coincides with the questions of the transmission of life. Spaemann refers to this logical connection in his philosophical admonition against the compulsion of feasibility: Procreating a child is a gift. Child-making is a vulgar expression that does not fit the dignity of procreation. Therefore, the systematic separation of sexual intercourse and the transmission of life will have consequences for human beings. There is an increasing tendency to manipulate the transmission of life, which is connected with the tendency to dominate life at its end and to carry out euthanasia.8 Although Samaritanus Bonus does not specifically address the dignity of procreation,9 the section dealing with individual issues does speak of prenatal pathologies “incompatible with life” and the “little patients” whose life is “sacred, unique, unrepeatable, and inviolable, exactly like that of every adult person” (29). Reference is also made to “sometimes 7 8 9 Pessina, “Intervento.” Robert Spaemann, “Das Gezeugte, das Gemachte und das Geschaffene,“ in Schritte über uns hinaus, Gesammelte Reden und Aufsätze 2 (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2011), 301–20, at 305. See Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, Donum Vitae, Instruction on Respect for Human Life in Its Origin and on the Dignity of Procreation Replies to Certain Questions of the Day (1987). To Bear Man’s Greatness 757 obsessive recourse to prenatal diagnosis” which, along with today’s culture unfriendly to disability, “prompts the choice of abortion, going so far as to portray it as a kind of ‘prevention’” (30). Such developments, according to Spaemann, would stem from the emancipation of technology as the “making” and “producing” from the context of human “doing,” the broader practice in which humans develop as humans according to their natural disposition. Without these goals (and thus also limits) given by the nature of man, technology threatens to give itself goals, with the result that “making the feasible becomes the goal.”10 With regard to the causal research for the weakened appreciation of human life at its limit of death in today’s reality, however, the document rather only mentions three “cultural obstacles” (14–17): the wrong notion of “dignified death,” a certain concept of “compassion,” and the individualism that sees others as a threat to one’s own freedom. All of these elements suggest that “feasibility,” which is ethically neutral in itself, in the realm of the human could not have achieved its destructive emancipation from embedding in human dignity if it had not found a favorable cultural humus. Ideas have consequences. Whether one calls such ideational preconditions with Francis a “throw away culture” or with John Paul II a “culture of death” (16), in any case we are moving here on a level that allows one to ask deeper questions about the meaning and purpose of the humanum in general. Basically, then, it is a question of the “reach” of the human being as a person: Is he/she identical with his/her momentary sensations, feelings, and other fleeting states of a physiological-psychological nature (on the basis of which he/she may ask for death)? And what entitles us to such a reduction if we know empirically that this person lives, moreover, in a social, moral, spiritual, or religious context? For, if this reduction takes place, which does not allow to see the human being in his/her comprehensive truth as a distinctive “being in itself,” the reason for the fact that it is not possible to replace him or her arbitrarily disappears. This, too, can be explained with reference to Spaemann with regard to the functionalism of technical civilization prevailing today: The functional way of thinking tends to always explain or replace the one by the other. This reductive or substitutive process does not accept “being in itself.” Everything that is, is a function of something else and can be replaced by equivalents. . . . Only objects are given to 10 Spaemann, “Das Gezeugte,” 306. 758 Andrzej Kucinski the ateleological process of science; subjects, being in itself, personhood, on the other hand, are systematically excluded.11 Those who do not want to surrender to this interchangeability of man find an ally in Christian anthropology, according to which there is life after death, for which our decisions today have a meaning. But, in order to accept this, it seems necessary to agree on something which, in my opinion, could be called the implicit “core” of the document, and which recalls the refrain of the first creation account: “God saw that it was good” (Gen 1). In fact, the recognition of the inviolable value of human life is linked to a decisive premise: “It is good that human beings exist”; or “Human life is an unquestionable good.” What is meant is life without additional qualifications, life in the comprehensive sense that connects this world and the hereafter. Neither the empirical sciences nor the political media debates can force the acceptance of the principle, because it is a matter of the basic moral decision and not only the intellect but also the will is claimed. To be sure, the document asserts that “the Church affirms that the positive meaning of human life is something already knowable by right reason, and in the light of faith is confirmed and understood in its inalienable dignity” (13). Thus, human reason (“etsi Deus non daretur”— even if God were not a given) is presumed to have the capacity to perceive the absolute value of human life. But, this positive statement, which incidentally opens the way to an interconfessional and interreligious communication to work together for human life, needs to be flanked by the open question of the recognition of the goodness of life. Samaritanus Bonus itself quotes Evangelium Vitae §34: “Life is always a good. This is an instinctive perception and a fact of experience, and man is called to grasp the profound reason why this is so” (13). After all, this “profound reason” is explained in the encyclical directly with the help of the biblical foundation, which also needs to be acknowledged. One is confronted here with metaphysical-anthropological assumptions, which, among other things, raise the question of the distinction between ontological and epistemological levels. As theological texts, the aforementioned documents profess within the order of being an unconditional justifying instance of certain ethically relevant assertions. The generalizing character of morality, however, implies that these ethical coordinates in 11 Eduard Zwierlein, “Gezeugt, nicht gemacht, Personsein zwischen Wert und Würde: Die Einsprüche Robert Spaemanns,” in Grundvollzüge der Person: Dimensionen des Menschseins bei Robert Spaemann, ed. Hanns-Gregor Nissing (Munich: Institut zur Förderung der Glaubenslehre, 2008), 83–106, at 87–88. To Bear Man’s Greatness 759 the order of knowledge can otherwise be achieved by practical reason itself. However, since one can also refuse to accept what is cognizable, one ultimately always remains dependent on an ideological “assumption.” Such assumptions, after all, have far-reaching consequences for judgments in the realm of the humanum, when it comes to judging the fact itself that man exists. Rémi Brague makes this connection clear: The slight preference that man has today for the idea of divine law . . . is therefore more than a matter of sensibility. It is the consequence of a decision as a matter of principle. This exclusion of everything that is non-human has serious consequences now and may prove fatal in the long run. Without a point of reference outside, without an authority capable of saying, like the God of the first creation account, that what is human is “very good” (Gen. 1:31), we cannot know whether the existence of the species homo sapiens on this earth is a good thing.12 Thus, it remains possible not only to oppose the judgment of one’s own reason about the goodness of life. One can also judge about it quite erroneously. And that it is not at all (any more) self-evident that the existence of man in itself on this earth represents something good is shown nowadays most clearly by certain radical currents of the ecological movement which declare the decision not to have children to be a sign of responsibility for the world and “nature.” Since this nature must recover from the human race by which it is oppressed, it is better if there are few people on earth.13 Along this line, although with specific reference to the question of quality of life, the CDF states: “Human life is thus no longer recognized as a value in itself ” (15). What “in itself ” (an sich) means can again be deepened with Spaemann. With regard to human dignity, one can claim, on the basis of Spaemann’s position, that what is specifically human about this dignity “is the thought that in its justification the determination of valence ‘for itself ’ [für sich] is not sufficient.” The absolute “in itself ” of the self-purposefulness [Selbstzwecklichkeit] must be added, so that the 12 13 Rémi Brague, “Natürliches und göttliches Gesetz,” Communio 39, no. 2 (2010): 140–49, at 148–49. See the campaign “One planet—one child” with the following “Intro”: “The One Planet, One Child Billboard Campaign alerts people to the overpopulation crisis and celebrates the choice to have a small family. Small families are helping to create a healthy planet, better lives and a promising future” (accessed February 18, 2021, but no longer visible, at oneplanetonechild.org/). 760 Andrzej Kucinski human being in his/her dignity can also absolutely escape the possible diversion from his/her real purpose.”14 The guarantee of such an absolute justification could therefore ontologically come only from an unconditional instance, as whose “representation” man is to be understood: “That man—as Kant says—has not a value but a dignity, that means his existence, the existence of a ‘being-for-itself ’ [Für-sich-Sein] as a representation of the unconditional, is good in itself.”15 Accordingly, when reflecting with the Letter to the Romans on the meaning of man, one cannot avoid asking the question of God, which, according to the Church’s teaching, always gives the ultimate reason that man should be treated with respect: human persons “can live and grow in the divine splendor because they are called to exist in ‘the image and glory of God’ (1 Cor. 11:7; 2 Cor. 3:18). Their dignity lies in this vocation. God became man to save us, and he promises us salvation and calls us to communion with Him: here lies the ultimate foundation of human dignity” (11–12). What remains decisive is that such a transcendently anchored dignity is neither quantifiable nor addable, nor can it be lost, and this makes the human being unconditionally dignified even in the face of death: “Whatever their physical or psychological condition, human persons always retain their original dignity as created in the image of God” (11). This dignity cannot be tied to any additional factors beyond simply being human: “Pain and death do not constitute the ultimate measures of the human dignity that is proper to every person by the very fact that they are ‘human beings’” (4). In this, one can see a reference to the biological belonging to the human race, which is sufficient as a reason of attribution of human dignity and personhood.16 The positive value of human life is established in Samaritanus Bonus both on the basis of natural law and in the “light of faith,” which affirms man’s supernatural vocation to participate in inner Trinitarian love. The goodness of life derives concretely from the inalienable human dignity, which is ultimately grounded in creation but accessible to all open reason, 14 15 16 Andrzej Kuciński, Naturrecht in der Gegenwart: Anstöße zur Erneuerung naturrechtlichen Denkens im Anschluss an Robert Spaemann (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2017), 370; see also Robert Spaemann and Reinhard Löw, Natürliche Ziele: Geschichte und Wiederentdeckung des teleologischen Denkens (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2005), 245. Robert Spaemann, “Das Natürliche und das Vernünftige,” in Das Natürliche und das Vernünftige: Essays zur Anthropologie (Munich: Piper, 1987), 109–35, at 134; see also Kuciński, Naturrecht in der Gegenwart, 347. See Kuciński, Naturrecht in der Gegenwart, 348. To Bear Man’s Greatness 761 whereby the suspicion of the subjective “arbitrariness” of such a criterion of positivity is unjustified.17 It becomes understandable that, in the logic of Samaritanus Bonus, such a framing of the human reality requires bearing the life of human being with all its ups and downs because it is necessarily good. In this sense, the supposed supplementary provisions such as the “quality” or the “value” of life would be obtained on the basis of extra-moral criteria that would not do justice to the unconditional character of human life. Human life is good simply because it is willed by God. The unconditional goodness of life imposes on us certain moral duties in dealing with it. This dealing is put to the test especially at the limits of life, as here: in the critical and final phases of life. But the dependency of this life on the unconditionality that is supposed to make it intangible also entitles us to question the “unconditioned,” which some call “God,” about the meaning of life in the face of inevitable suffering, pain, and death. In other words: if life is considered intangible, then any purely immanent explanation of suffering is incomplete, even though it would be coherent in itself.18 One could then say that, therefore, man rightly demands a definitive, transcendent answer to that which he battles all his life and yet ultimately cannot defeat. The CDF states that the last word on suffering belongs to God. Some Concretizations If Christianity is to provide a plausible answer to the low points of human destiny out of faith in the incarnate God, then a further question can be asked: how can this message of the document, designed with the people in mind, be made concrete? 17 18 The CDF states: “This criterion is neither subjective nor arbitrary but is founded on a natural inviolable dignity. Life is the first good because it is the basis for the enjoyment of every other good including the transcendent vocation to share the trinitarian love of the living God to which every human being is called” (15), with reference to: Pontifical Council for Pastoral Assistance to Health Care Workers, New Charter for Health Care Workers, English ed., trans. National Catholic Bioethics Center, Philadelphia (2017), §1. The CDF states: “These pressing questions [about the meaning of life] cannot be answered solely by human reflection, because in suffering there is concealed the immensity of a specific mystery that can only be disclosed by the Revelation of God” (5; emphasis original; with reference to John Paul II, Salvifici Doloris, Apostolic Letter on the Christian Meaning of Human Suffering [1984], §4). 762 Andrzej Kucinski The Fight against Disease and Acceptance of the Inevitable First of all, there is the message of a tension in the Christian approach to the subject, which, after reading the document, could be summarized as follows: A Christian fights suffering where he can, but at the same time he submits to its superiority and inevitability. A basis for this is provided by a passage from John Paul II’s apostolic letter Salvifici Doloris (1984): What we express by the word “suffering” seems to be particularly essential to the nature of man. . . . Suffering seems to belong to man’s transcendence: it is one of those points in which man is in a certain sense “destined” to go beyond himself, and he is called to this in a mysterious way. (§2)19 Therefore, at the same time, one can claim both that there is nothing lovable about illness and that the sick person is always lovable.20 Toward illness, then, a clear attitude arises for the faithful in this logic: “Responsible communication with the terminally ill person should make it clear that care will be provided until the very end: ‘to cure if possible, always to care’” (8).21 With regard to the question of euthanasia, one could summarize the position of the document as follows: Separate ontologically the suffering from the person. And the reason for this, in my opinion, would be that, while it remains factually inseparable from the person, it is not identical with the person. The person is always more than what he/she experiences at the moment. In this respect, one can and should fight against suffering without threatening the life, and thus the dignity, of the person. The document also indicates where this tension can be learned: it happens under the Cross, which remains a mystery, when it shows how God deals with human suffering by undergoing it in his Son (see chapter 2). The letter places the emphasis first on the testimonial nature of Christ’s work: Christ is a witness to physical suffering, to provisionality and despair, which in him become a trusting reliance on the Father.22 In relation to the suffering of the sick, it is made clear here that the same God who leads the history of salvation with mankind is the one who went through the human 19 20 21 22 Cited in note 67 of Samaritanus Bonus. See Pessina, “Intervento.” Quoting John Paul II, Address to the participants in the international Congress on “Life-sustaining Treatments and Vegetative State: Scientific Advances and Ethical Dilemmas,” March 20, 2004, §7 (available in the speeches section of John Paul II’s page on the Vatican website). See Ladaria, “Intervento.” To Bear Man’s Greatness 763 experiences of pain, loneliness, and abandonment and remained nailed to the Cross until the end, just as many patients today remain attached to medical devices.23 So one could conclude that such a God cannot be dismissed as a mere observer of human fate; rather, he has acquired once and for all the status of an “expert” for the suffering of his creatures. But, to be in solidarity, according to the CDF, would still be too little for Christ to heal mankind from the Cross. Samaritanus Bonus also shows the Crucified as the one who establishes hope and trust. It is not a matter of mere hope for recovery, which in the case of an incurable illness would be a mirage, but also not of mere consolation into the hereafter, where everything will be well again (11). With all emphasis on the inviolable dignity of human life, it is made clear at the same time—within the same tension— that earthly life is not to be the highest value: “Ultimate happiness is in heaven. Thus the Christian will not expect physical life to continue when death is evidently near. The Christian must help the dying to break free from despair and to place their hope in God” (20–21). This is its own relativization of life, but it does not coincide at all with the relativization that arises in the context of the postulates of euthanasia. For, it is here that a holistic conception of human life is thought of. According to the Christian conception, death is not the interruption of life, but the transformation of its form.24 Since man is destined for eternity, human existence goes beyond death. This does not diminish, but enhances the significance of earthly life, because it thus has meaning for the future, the document indicates. Such a tension in care, in which the natural and the supernatural are ultimately blended, becomes an “invitation to return ‘meaning’ to the long periods of illness and disability, that is, ‘meaning’ to the mortal human condition, without surrendering to any vitalism and without trivializing the seriousness of dying.”25 In the clinical field, this tension can be clearly implemented from the perspective of Samaritanus Bonus: rejection of euthanasia with a simultaneous commitment to renounce the so-called “aggressive medical treatments,” that is, disproportionate therapeutic measures that either 23 24 25 See Pessina, “Intervento.” See “Preface I for the Dead,” in The Roman Missal, Renewed by Decree of the Most Holy Second Ecumenical Council of the Vatican, Promulgated by Authority of Pope Paul VI and Revised at the Direction of Pope John Paul II. English Translation according to the Third Typical Edition, for use in the dioceses of the United States of America (International Commission on English in the Liturgy Corporation, 2010), 622: “Indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed not ended.” Pessina, “Intervento.” 764 Andrzej Kucinski do not (or no longer) achieve their goal or are associated with unjustifiable burdens for the patient. Therefore, the following distinction can be introduced: To precipitate death or delay it through “aggressive medical treatments” deprives death of its due dignity. . . . In the specific case of aggressive medical treatment, it should be repeated that the renunciation of extraordinary and/or disproportionate means “is not the equivalent of suicide or euthanasia; it rather expresses acceptance of the human condition in the face of death.”26 (22–23) One can draw the conclusion that whoever holds on to man in the horizon of his creaturely “whence” and “whereupon” can tolerate this balancing act of, on the one hand, avoiding the temptation of anticipating death and, on the other hand, not postponing it unnecessarily. For, to acknowledge that death belongs to life means to respect one’s own condition together with its objective: it is not a matter of holding on to life under all circumstances, but of living a dignified life constantly within the horizon of its intangibility and gift-ness. In my opinion, this approach turns against a certain mentality of extremes in dealing with death. To choose the moderate approach, however, would mean to respect the difference between “mere” life and “good” life, which Spaemann, following Aristotle, uses for the distinction between good and bad in the realm of human existence.27 Man is not destined to a simple existence, but he is to come to a natural self-realization in his existence. Therefore, he always remains in the center of all medical efforts, which are not finalized other than toward him and his well-being.28 In the letter, the assumption of the inevitability of death without actively inducing it is also guiding for the possibility of the so-called deep palliative sedation with the help of analgesics, but under the condition 26 27 28 Quoting John Paul II, Evangelium Vitae, Encyclical Letter on the Value and Inviolability of Human Life (1995), §65. See Robert Spaemann, Über Gott und die Welt: Eine Autobiographie in Gesprächen (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2012), 148–49. See Gonzalo Miranda, “La proporzionalità terapeutica in ‘Iura et bona,’” in Sull’eutanasia: Testi e commenti, ed. Congregation for the Doctrine the Faith, Documenti e studi 4 (Vatican City: Vatican Library, 2016), 109–24, at 122: “Medical intervention is not an end in itself. Its only purpose is to promote the well-being of the patient from the point of view of his health and life. But the patient, this patient must be seen in his personal integrity and not merely as an organism to be kept alive at any price.” To Bear Man’s Greatness 765 that the intention to kill is excluded, even if it is possible to influence the already inevitable death with this measure (32). Finally, the letter forbids seeing in the unconscious patient (i.e., in a “vegetative state”) or in a person in the state of “minimal consciousness” a living being who has ceased to be a person merely because he/she seems to be barely able to establish contact with the outside world. The dignity of this person is also then inviolable and he/she should also then receive appropriate care. However, the CDF points out the burdens that such care can impose on relatives, when the latter sometimes have to care for their unconscious patients for years (33). Therefore, the document emphasizes in several places that care for persons in critical states and in the final phase of life must be, first, holistic (including the psychological and spiritual dimensions) and, second, complemented by attendance of their relatives or caregivers, since the latter often face dramatic situations in which they themselves are in dire need of adequate assistance (34). The Uncrossable Border There are increasing attempts to declare euthanasia and assisted suicide to be freely chosen options, as well as legal regulations in several countries, some of which have already provided for it for a long time and are pushing the limits of what is permitted in this context. Therefore, it is understandable from the point of view of the magisterium that the reaffirmation of the Church’s rejection of both options in the document is the starting point of the practical consequences (see chapter 5: “The Teaching of the Magisterium”) that follow the theoretical foundation. The judgment, based mainly on the encyclical Evangelium Vitae, §65, is the following: Euthanasia, therefore, is an intrinsically evil act, in every situation or circumstance. In the past the Church has already affirmed in a definitive way “that euthanasia is a grave violation of the Law of God, since it is the deliberate and morally unacceptable killing of a human person. This doctrine is based upon the natural law and upon the written Word of God, is transmitted by the Church’s Tradition and taught by the ordinary and universal Magisterium. Depending on the circumstances, this practice involves the malice proper to suicide or murder.” (18; emphasis original to John Paul II) Furthermore, any form of complicity in euthanasia and assisted suicide is also condemned in strong terms (18). Apart from this clear condemnation of actions that objectively aim at 766 Andrzej Kucinski euthanasia, one should ask about the point of view under which this—in itself not new—position appears in the new magisterial document. If one reads it as a whole, including its positive statements on the end of life, it seems to me that here especially the perspective of resignation resonates as the reason for the trains of thought that culminate in this radical decision. And it is not only the resignation of the person concerned who gives himself or herself up and actively wants to exit life; rather, the document refers in various ways to the resignation that has already taken place before—on the part of family members, other close persons, and finally society. In this perspective, the sick person finally gives up because he/she was previously given up, at least mentally, by others. It is therefore significant that assisted suicide is constantly mentioned here together with euthanasia, which is a sign for a further differentiation of the modes of determining death time itself. The document indicates that, with the development of medicine, the methods which can be used against their very purpose (to protect life) would also be refined. This is made clear with regard to attempts to introduce euthanasia through the “back door,” as it were, by medical protocols which, among palliative methods, also provide for the active inducing of death (27) or, according to the CDF, give rise to evident abuse if applied in euthanistic perspective without the patient’s consent (17). In particular, the document responds to those two arguments in favor of euthanasia or assisted suicide which, on the side of the “death assistant,” appeal to respect for the autonomy of the individual with the concept of “dignified death” and to compassion toward the sufferer. For some arguments, the document gives an indication of the background against which such concepts would obviously be formulated. Behind this, there are already ideologically bound presuppositions, particularly a certain and not at all neutral anthropology: Among the obstacles that diminish our sense of the profound intrinsic value of every human life, the first lies in the notion of “dignified death” as measured by the standard of the “quality of life,” which a utilitarian anthropological perspective sees in terms “primarily related to economic means, to ‘well-being,’ to the beauty and enjoyment of physical life, forgetting the other, more profound, interpersonal, spiritual and religious dimensions of existence.” (14)29 29 Quoting Pope Francis, Address to Participants in the Commemorative Conference of the Italian Catholic Physicians Association on the Occasion of Its 70th Anniversary of To Bear Man’s Greatness 767 It is not possible to speak of respect for the autonomy of another person as a reason for assisted suicide or euthanasia. This is like depriving the patient of his or her freedom and has the effect30 of excluding “any further possibility of human relationship, of sensing the meaning of their existence, or of growth in the theologal life” (14). The idea of “compassion,” which often occurs in the context, would also distort this positive quality, to which the document draws attention: “In reality, human compassion consists not in causing death, but in embracing the sick, in supporting them in their difficulties, in offering them affection, attention, and the means to alleviate the suffering” (15). Such argumentative approaches seem to form a second “wall of protection” when it comes to making plausible the condemnation of the actions involved: if a “mere” moral appeal to the inviolability of human life on the basis of the dignity that ultimately goes back to the Creator is not (no longer) sufficient, then one can still show that the ends pursued by these actions turn into their opposite: instead of helping, one eliminates the person one wanted to help. It is a special feature of the document in that it broadens the view to include the social environment of the patient who decides to undergo euthanasia. From this perspective, it can be concluded that whoever allows himself to be killed leaves a hole in many respects. Euthanasia is not an event that takes place exclusively between the affected person and his/her doctors; rather, it has dramatic consequences for other people who can no longer relate to the person and can no longer grow from this relationship. In this way, the criterion of low quality of life could be considered as an instrument of anthropological discrimination,31 because the suffering person is forced to interpret his/her life as a burden for his/her fellow human beings. Furthermore, euthanasia introduces a nuisance into society, because every single case of killing falsely asserts that human life is up for grabs. It is no longer absolutely good to be a living human being. Finally, it also contributes to the social lie by proclaiming that life consists exclusively in the pursuit of wellness, consumption, convenience, and health. Suffering, which empirically is a part of human existence, has no place there and may be eliminated together with its carrier. Once such a taboo has been broken, this “may” can then soon become 30 31 Foundation, November 15, 2014 (available in the speeches section of Francis’s page on the Vatican website). At this point, one can support the argumentation with Kant, to whom Spaemann refers in “Es gibt kein gutes Töten,” in Grenzen: zur ethischen Dimension des Handelns (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2001), 428–40, at 432. See Pessina, “Intervento.” 768 Andrzej Kucinski “must.” Spaemann has repeatedly pointed out such consequences in a particularly memorable way: Making suicide a right has dire consequences. The bearer of this right is then responsible for all the consequences, all the burdens of a personal and financial nature that result from not making use of this right. This creates, with logical necessity, an inadmissible pressure on the sick or elderly person. The patient is free from responsibility only if there is no legal possibility at all for him to achieve his killing by others.32 Correspondingly, according to Spaemann, the sick person, the old person, the person in need of care is seen as “mak[ing] others pay for the fact that he/she is too selfish and too cowardly to vacate the place. . . . Who would want to go on living under such circumstances?”33 If one agrees with this assessment, there is nothing left but to hold on to the taboo of the prohibition of euthanasia as some principle like: “There is no right to dispose absolutely of one’s own life. And man cannot demand that another man want him to disappear.”34 In the anthropology underlying the letter, it is clear that one must sometimes act against the explicit will of the other in order to protect his dignity: “Just as we cannot make another person our slave, even if they ask to be, so we cannot directly choose to take the life of another, even if they request it” (14). In order to assert such a thing, however, one must rely on the idea that there are ethically uncrossable boundaries for human beings, and that morality consists in allowing oneself to be so claimed by the other and his/her dignity that one no longer feels able to touch that dignity. It is a requirement “that you cannot cross the line where you give respect to yourself and others” (7).35 32 33 34 35 Robert Spaemann, “Menschenwürde und menschliche Natur,” Communio 39, no. 2 (2010): 134–39, at 138–39; see also Spaemann, “Sterbehilfe? Euthanasie? Wir müssen JETZT auf die Bremse treten!,” Katholische Nachrichten, April 20, 2015, kath.net/news/50228. Robert Spaemann, “Es gibt kein gutes Töten,” 433; see also Spaemann, “Geleitwort,” Denken, schreiben, töten, ed. Bastian Till (Stuttgart: Hirzel, 1990), 7–8. See Robert Spaemann, “Sterben in Würde: Interview mit Robert Spaemann,” January 29, 2015, bistum-chur.ch/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/Sterben_in_Wuerde.pdf. Since the English translation is not literal at this point, in this case I use my own translation from the Italian original (Vatican City: Vatican Library, 2020), 8: “Di non poter scavalcare il limite in cui si dà il rispetto di sé e dell’altro.” To Bear Man’s Greatness 769 The Catholic Alternative Concept of End-of-Life Care If euthanasia and assisted suicide can be understood as a sign of resignation in the face of the unwanted and untreated suffering of the other, and at the same time as a strong confession that there is nothing beyond death for which it would be worthwhile to refer with dignity, then the positive response of the Catholic Church to the problem of the prolonged “going home” stands in the logic of the document of the CDF under the motto “Don’t give up!” This applies both to the sick person himself/herself and—which is expressed particularly strongly in Samaritanus Bonus—to all those who “stand” around him/her in the narrower and wider sense. The document is serious about the phrase it quotes from the founder of the hospice movement and palliative care, Cicely Saunders: “The Christian answer to the mystery of suffering and death is not an explanation but a Presence” (28).36 With “Presence” here is meant first of all the presence of God, but then it can be extended in the context of care to other subjects of “presence” who actualize and express the divine presence with the sick. In this sense, the scena corale of the Cross at the beginning of the document acquires a key meaning: the Christian, exposed to the claim of accompanying presence that must endure the suffering of the sick neighbor, does not depend on his or her own strength, but draws strength from the redeeming death of Christ, who was the first to accept the unacceptable. Care in the Christian sense according to the judgment of the CDF thus goes far beyond a mere concept of treatment and recovery. It is characterized by its comprehensive character (6). For, the goal is not health at any price, but the concrete person and his/her successful life as a whole. Here the document speaks about the finite status of the human being: “The need for medical care is born in the vulnerability of the human condition in its finitude and limitations” (5). However, “vulnerability” is accompanied by the desire for infinite love. It becomes clear why care should refer to the whole person—also in his/her spiritual dimension. For the sick person, experiencing in illness the division of body and soul, longs for a restoration of this unity. It is a longing to which the culture of anthropocentrism or autonomy does not do justice. To grasp the meaning of concrete suffering, one must venture a step beyond human reason. The answer, in the end, is a face of love that looked at humanity from the Cross.37 In the sense of the document, in opposition to the contractualist mentality based on 36 37 Quoting Cicely Saunders, Watch with Me: Inspiration for a Life in Hospice Care (Lancaster, UK: Observatory, 2005), 29. See Gabriella Gambino, “Intervento,” in Conferenza Stampa. 770 Andrzej Kucinski the principle of autonomy and reciprocity, according to which the sick person should enjoy care as a “favor” (16) proven by contract, the Christian position represents a solidary option of suffering with the person, which displays the “contemplative gaze that beholds in one’s own existence and that of others a unique and unrepeatable wonder, received and welcomed as a gift” (7). In this context, it is clear that care must result in the opening of a supernatural horizon of the illness. In such an approach, it is possible to tell the truth to sick persons not only by preparing them for the passage to the encounter with God, but also if necessary, by correcting their wrong decision for euthanasia or assisted suicide. It is also a sign of not giving up in the face of the dignity of one’s neighbor to stop him/her with all one’s strength from negating his/her life. Starting from the vulnerability of the human being, one thus arrives at a comprehensive “ethics of care” (6). It aims at letting suffering be endured. This is possible if there is a hope grounded in the “Presence,” as shown above (26).38 Palliative care—including its spiritual component (26)—is an essential form of this presence that sustains hope, but it must not be guided by the direct intention of shortening life (which the document emphasizes in order to avoid confusion with euthanasia) (27). To the comprehensive character of care must be added the irreplaceable role of the family (28), the importance of hospices (28), including perinatal care (29), pastoral attendance (37), and care for those who care (41). Each of these essential elements is discussed more broadly in the document at appropriate points. In this way, according to the judgment of the CDF, a “healing community” (comunità sanante) is established—a concept that clearly expresses the participation of different individuals and groups, as well as the diversity of the forms of attendance and the multiplicity of its addressees (4). Ultimately, this shows that the care of persons in critical stages of life should concern the whole of society (35). Societal attitudes concerning issues of euthanasia and assisted suicide in general may be indicative of this. Finally, it is the decided intention of the CDF that the Church, with its principles, enters into dialogue with non-Catholics in order to work with them, provided they share certain fundamentals, in favor of man (13). It is understandable, because even one who does not believe in life after death longs for presence and hope that give meaning to his life. 38 See Giacomo Morandi, “Intervento,” in Conferenza Stampa. To Bear Man’s Greatness 771 Final Remarks If one wishes to give fundamental approval to the position set forth in Samaritanus Bonus, then it can be concluded that whether euthanasia and assisted suicide become a possible option for shaping one’s life in a given country depends in part on each individual. For one’s speech and actions can contribute to the old and sick being considered an expendable burden for a high-performance society, or one can, through one’s own testimony, work for the spread of a humanism which is open for transcendence and for which the fundamental goodness of human life is not questionable. A comunità sanante (“healing community”), which Samaritanus Bonus invites to be founded around the sick, has in this respect a meaning not only for the persons concerned themselves, but also for the wider entourage, which, as in Tertullian’s description of the first believers in Christ, should be able to marvel again: “See how they love one another.” In my estimation, in the magisterial perspective described, it is clearly expressed that man, as a creature of God destined for eternity, is so great that it costs something to “endure” him or her to the end of his or her life. However, there is no alternative but to insist on and live up to this greatness. Again, this does not mean reducing the complexity of the issues surrounding illness, medical care, and death, but finding a reliable starting point: the comprehensive well-being of human beings in their integrity. As it seems, the magisterium wants to deal with the individual bioethical questions in collaboration with scientists from this starting point, which has proven itself in its tradition. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 773–792 773 Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez Saint John Vianney Theological Seminary Denver, CO Introduction Sacred Scripture describes different examples of moral conscience dictating civil disobedience. For instance, think of the situation of Daniel (see Dan 6:6–10). In this and many other cases, we always find, above all, a defense of truth and of its primacy over conscience and civil authority.1 In a culture that rapidly abandons Christendom and rejects the Catholic social values once prevalent, this same issue is gaining prominence. Recent civil mandates related to Covid-19 vaccination are raising anew the challenging moral question, among faithful Catholics, concerning the legitimacy of civil disobedience.2 Part of the difficulty consists in the strug1 2 See John Paul II, Veritatis Splendor [VS] (1993), §91. For a more detailed moral analysis of the use of these vaccines, see Ezra Sullivan and Kuriakos Pereira, “Using Abortion-Derived Vaccines: A Moral Analysis” Nova et Vetera (English) 19, no. 4 (2021): 1011–1109. We agree with the conclusions of this moral analysis. It supports the statements from the magisterium. However, in our essay, we want to deal with a more specific issue which is only partially mentioned by Sullivan and Pereira: the primacy of truth as the paradigm to understand the proper relationship between conscience and civil law. We believe that our approach to this issue is more metaphysical, and it deals with the unfortunate transformation of faith into fanaticism which occurs when the primacy of truth is forgotten, when relativism is adopted, and when ideology prevails over truth. Given the late controversies concerning conscientious objections, we believe that our contribution adds a needed and harmonious aspect to Sullivan and Pereira’s wonderful piece. 774 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez gle to harmonize two statements from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF) concerning the Covid-19 vaccines. On the one hand, it is affirmed that, under certain circumstances, the use of some of these vaccines is morally permissible: “When ethically irreproachable Covid-19 vaccines are not available (e.g. in countries where vaccines without ethical problems are not made available to physicians and patients, or where their distribution is more difficult due to special storage and transport conditions, or when various types of vaccines are distributed in the same country but health authorities do not allow citizens to choose the vaccine with which to be inoculated) it is morally acceptable to receive Covid-19 vaccines that have used cell lines from aborted fetuses in their research and production process.”3 On the other hand, the CDF also affirms that vaccination should be voluntary; it is not obligatory as a rule: “Practical reason makes evident that vaccination is not, as a rule, a moral obligation and that, therefore, it must be voluntary.”4 Some Catholics are clinging to the first affirmation to advocate for the primacy of authority in the civil mandate to be vaccinated. Others, instead, are clinging to the second affirmation to uphold the primacy of conscience and the right to civil disobedience. The controversy is reaching a boiling point in the United States. It seems that tertium non datur. In this essay, however, aided by the guidance of our moral magisterium and Thomas Aquinas, we would like to show how these two statements from the CDF are not incompatible. We would like to offer a third option to the ones previously described. Our thesis is that the way to bring about the harmony of both statements consists in underscoring the primacy of truth, in our comprehension of conscience, authority, and civil disobedience. The essay will be divided into two different sections. The first section deals with the general principles at play in the Catholic understanding of conscience and civil disobedience under the primacy of truth. Thus, it focuses on providing some needed information to get rid of the relativistic and political lenses through which many Catholics today are approaching the vaccine mandates. The second section of the essay is instead more particular. It makes a moral evaluation of the recent mandates to be vaccinated. 3 4 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF), Note on the Morality of Using Some Anti-Covid-19 Vaccines (2020), §2. All magisterial texts are taken from the official Vatican webpage. CDF, Note on the Morality of Using Some Anti-Covid-19 Vaccines, §5. Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth 775 General Principles Too Political? As Catholics, we should not be so radical as to think that moral theology has nothing to say about these political matters. A legitimate understanding of the separation between church and state does not forbid the Church’s magisterial teaching and moral theology to be concerned with this issue. The Church is not only a mother but also a teacher: “The church’s motherhood can never in fact be separated from her teaching mission, which she must always carry out as the faithful Bride of Christ, who is the Truth in person.”5 Moreover, “life in common within the State possesses a relevant moral value and presents specific demands that—according to the law of the Incarnation, though with a completely particular modality—enter in to form a part of the following of Christ. Therefore, moral theology must treat of it.”6 Thus, we would like to invite our readers to divest from political biases that may be influencing their reasoning. This is not about being Republican or Democrat first and then using one’s faith to express our political views. The issue here is truth, not ideology. First and foremost, we are Catholic. Political ideals must be subordinated to our Catholic faith, not the other way around.7 For instance, “the right to privacy” or Martin Luther King’s views on civil disobedience are not Catholic principles in nature.8 They do 5 6 7 8 VS, §95 (see also §101). Angel Rodríguez-Luño and Enrique Colom, Chosen in Christ to be Saints: Fundamental Moral Theology (Rome: EDUSC, 2014), 293. In fact, Pope Benedict XVI explains in Caritas in Veritate [CV] (2009): “The exclusion of religion from the public square— and, at the other extreme, religious fundamentalism—hinders an encounter between persons and their collaboration for the progress of humanity. Public life is sapped of its motivation and politics takes on a domineering and aggressive character. Human rights risk being ignored either because they are robbed of their transcendent foundation or because personal freedom is not acknowledged. Secularism and fundamentalism exclude the possibility of fruitful dialogue and effective cooperation between reason and religious faith. Reason always stands in need of being purified by faith: this also holds true for political reason, which must not consider itself omnipotent. For its part, religion always needs to be purified by reason in order to show its authentically human face. Any breach in this dialogue comes only at an enormous price to human development” (§56). See Charles J. Chaput, Render unto Caesar: Serving the Nation by Living Our Catholic Beliefs in Political Life (New York: Image, 2009). For a good explanation as to why the right to privacy does not belong to our 776 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez not belong to our moral teaching as a church. Therefore, they should not be the main guides for our conclusions. We must also acknowledge how difficult it is to divest oneself from political and cultural principles which may not align with our faith. Sometimes they are part of our own worldview. They have become the very lenses through which we think and see. Consequently, it is hard to make them the object of our own reflection without the help of another.9 In this essay, we want to provide some guidance in this respect, especially when it comes to relativism.10 Deformations of the Understanding of Conscience In these confusing times, in which we are trying to wrestle with the question of civil disobedience, we must avoid at all cost falling in the same error already condemned by Veritatis Splendor concerning conscience. We cannot forget the primacy of truth. Otherwise, our civil disobedience and conscientious objection will never be Catholic. What we want to avoid is perfectly described by Pope Saint John Paul II in the following words: The individual conscience is accorded the status of a supreme tribunal of moral judgment which hands down categorical and infallible decisions about good and evil. To the affirmation that one has a duty to follow one’s conscience is unduly added the affirmation that one’s moral judgment is true merely by the fact that it has its origin in the conscience. But in this way the inescapable claims of truth disappear, yielding their place to a criterion of sincerity, authenticity and “being at peace with oneself,” so much so that some have come to adopt a radically subjectivistic conception of moral judgment.11 As Joseph Ratzinger has explained elsewhere, “conscience is understood by many as a sort of deification of subjectivity, a rock of bronze on which even the magisterium is shattered. It is said that in light of the conscience, no other cases apply. Conscience appears finally as subjectivity raised to the 9 10 11 Catholic moral teaching, see Janet Smith, The Right to Privacy (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2008). This point is very well explained in Max Scheler, “The Idols of Self-knowledge,” in Selected Philosophical Essays, trans. David R. Lachterman (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1973), 3–97. Pope Francis has alerted us of the dangers of relativism in Evangelii Gaudium (2013), §§61, 64, and 80. VS, §32 (emphasis added). Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth 777 ultimate standard.”12 In order to not fall into this gigantic error, we need to retrieve the traditional teaching, according to which conscience is an act of practical reason that judges the morality of an action either already performed or about to be performed.13 In the practical judgment of conscience, which imposes on the person the obligation to perform a given act, the link between freedom and truth is made manifest. Precisely for this reason conscience expresses itself in acts of “judgment” which reflect the truth about the good, and not in arbitrary “decisions.” The maturity and responsibility of these judgments—and, when all is said and done, of the individual who is their subject—are not measured by the liberation of the conscience from objective truth, in favor of an alleged autonomy in personal decisions, but, on the contrary, by an insistent search for truth and by allowing oneself to be guided by that truth in one’s actions.14 Since conscience is a rational judgment (and not a feeling), it is always subordinated to the primacy of truth. Truth is above conscience, not the other way around. Yet, in many Catholic circles which discuss the question of civil disobedience, one finds an undue emphasis on the primacy of conscience. It is forgotten that moral conscience, as an act of the intellect, is always subordinated and directed to the truth.15 The primacy belongs to the latter, and not to conscience as a supreme tribunal, infallible in its judgments, simply because it is sincere and at peace with itself. This emphasis in certain Catholic circles underscores that, at the heart of the controversy regarding Catholic civil disobedience, there is a conflict between two rival and erroneous views: those who maintain the primacy of conscience and those who foster the primacy of authority. These rival conceptions are profoundly interrelated and share a common fallacious premise pointed out by Veritatis Splendor and Fides et Ratio: the denial of 12 13 14 15 Joseph Ratzinger, On Conscience: Two Essays (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2007), 51. See Catechism of the Catholic Church, §1778. See also: Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 79, a. 13, in Latin–English ed. of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 13–20, ed. J. Mortensen and E. Alarcón (Lander, WY: Aquinas Institute, 2012); Ramon García de Haro, La conciencia moral (Madrid: Rialp, 1978). VS, §61. See VS, §32. 778 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez any possible realistic metaphysics, and the consequent and parallel anthropological subjectivism and epistemological immanentism.16 Both rival conceptions are blind to the primacy of truth because both are “children,” as it were, of our relativistic culture and worldview. Both spring from the subjectivism inherent in postmodern relativism and are also present, as we will see, in its immediate predecessor: modern rationalism. To solve that dilemma and to shed light on the controversy, we need to adopt a Catholic position that affirms the primacy of truth over both conscience and authority. As Catholics, we need to faithfully adhere to our moral teaching concerning this very issue: “In any event, it is always from the truth that the dignity of conscience derives.”17 As John Paul II emphasizes, “the dignity of this rational forum and the authority of its voice and judgments derive from the truth about moral good and evil, which it is called to listen to and to express.”18 As we learn from Sacred Scripture, both conscience and authority are subordinated to the Eternal and Uncreated Truth, our Lord Jesus Christ: “He is the image of the invisible God, the first-born of all creation; for in him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or authorities—all things were created [also our conscience] through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Col 1:15–17; emphasis added). The splendor of Christ, the Truth, must shine once again amid our relativistic culture. Just like our Teacher, Jesus’s disciples are called to be a sign of contradiction in this era (see Luke 2:34). Exposing Relativism “Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may prove what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Rom 12:2). To follow this imperative, we need to make our relativistic postmodern worldview the object of our own reflection, especially as it touches upon the understanding of conscience and authority.19 16 17 18 19 See John Paul II, Fides et Ratio [FR] (1998), §5. For the connection of these errors, see Israel Pérez-López, “Los Fundamentos Rahnerianos del Teorema de la Opción Fundamental: Un Discernimiento desde el Pensamiento de Santo Tomás de Aquino,” Fulgentina 23, no. 47–48 (2014): 43–67. VS, 63 (emphasis added). VS, 60 (emphasis added). See VS, §112. Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth 779 Postmodern relativism is a recycled reformulation of the old skepticism.20 Its main argument rests on the suspicion cast upon the capacity of our knowledge to attain certainty and reality as it is in itself.21 To be sure, we have sensible knowledge of those things. But, sensible knowledge is defective sometimes. Thus, the senses are not trustworthy. If they could be wrong once, they can always be wrong.22 The experience of error, relativists claim, proves that at most we can have opinions about appearances. By contrast, in the metaphysical realism that is part of our Catholic and biblical worldview, reality is the measure of the human mind.23 In every judgment, the human mind goes beyond itself towards reality. The intellect adjusts its judgment with the state of affairs in real things. Moreover, the experience of error is not an enemy, but an ally of this realism. When one rectifies one’s error, he or she is acknowledging reality as the measure of that very rectification, especially when the latter occurs against our desires.24 Relativism distorts the relationship between the human intellect and reality in our knowledge of the truth. Deep down, it denies that our mind conforms to and is measured by reality. Abandoning Catholic realism, it furtively claims a prerogative which belongs to God alone, namely, to be the measure of reality itself. Relativizing the absolute character of truth, postmodern relativism cryptically absolutizes the human mind in a way quite similar to what happened very explicitly in modern rationalism. Depending on the kind of relativism, the subjective measure of truth is ascribed to the individual mind of a human person (individual relativism), to the nature of the mind of humanity (specific relativism), to the mindset 20 21 22 23 24 See Israel Pérez-López, Enseñar a Amar Educando en la Virtud: La perspectiva teleológica de la formación de la personalidad humana en el pensamiento de Antonio Millán-Puelles (Beau Bassin: Editorial Académica Española, 2018). See FR, §5: “Abandoning the investigation of being, modern philosophical research has concentrated instead upon human knowing. Rather than make use of the human capacity to know the truth, modern philosophy has preferred to accentuate the ways in which this capacity is limited and conditioned. This has given rise to different forms of agnosticism and relativism which have led philosophical research to lose its way in the shifting sands of widespread scepticism.” For the connection between relativism and the philosophy of René Descartes, see Antonio Malo, Cartesio e la postmodernità (Rome: Armando Editore, 2011). John Paul II explains that this realism is exemplified by Aquinas: “Saint Thomas was impartial in his love of truth. . . . Looking unreservedly to truth, the realism of Thomas could recognize the objectivity of truth and produce not merely a philosophy of ‘what seems to be’ but a philosophy of ‘what is’” (FR, §44). The Polish Pope also explains that relativism is rejected by Sacred Scripture (FR, §80). See Antonio Millán-Puelles, La Estructura de la Subjetividad (Madrid: Rialp, 1967). 780 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez of a determined culture (cultural relativism), or to the agreed mindset of a collective group that holds social power (ideological relativism). For those who hold any of these relativisms, there is no truth common to all. One should retain as “true” whatever his opinion is. The true good for the human person, therefore, is a matter of belief, at least in one’s private life. When it comes to life in society, since there is no true good for all, relativism proposes that we reach a certain agreement regarding certain useful and pragmatic principles to live in community: “Any reference to common values and to a truth absolutely binding on everyone is lost, and social life ventures on to the shifting sands of complete relativism. At that point, everything is negotiable, everything is open to bargaining.”25 The sound exercise of reason, allied with Christian revelation, is an antidote for this immanentistic and relativistic culture: Christian Revelation is the true lodestar of men and women as they strive to make their way amid the pressures of an immanentist habit of mind and the constrictions of a technocratic logic. It is the ultimate possibility offered by God for the human being to know in all its fullness the seminal plan of love which began with creation. To those wishing to know the truth, if they can look beyond themselves and their own concerns, there is given the possibility of taking full and harmonious possession of their lives, precisely by following the path of truth.26 This lodestar is of the outmost importance nowadays, especially if we want to clearly understand the proper relationship between Catholic conscience and civil disobedience, under the primacy of the truth, and if we want to avoid totalitarian ideologies. Relativism and Totalitarian Ideologies Within the sphere of relativism, civil laws are not viewed anymore as ordinances of reason which need to be evaluated, as just or as unjust, under the light of truth. Rather, they are the result of the will of those governing, or the result of the will of the collective group who agreed to promulgate them. This alliance between relativism and democracy is a real danger. According to Saint John Paul II, it leads to totalitarianism: 25 26 John Paul II, Evangelium Vitae [EV] (1995), §20. FR, §15 (see also §81). Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth 781 This is the risk of an alliance between democracy and ethical relativism, which would remove any sure moral reference point from political and social life, and on a deeper level make the acknowledgement of truth impossible. Indeed, “if there is no ultimate truth to guide and direct political activity, then ideas and convictions can easily be manipulated for reasons of power. As history demonstrates, a democracy without values easily turns into open or thinly disguised totalitarianism.”27 We are witnessing today this same alliance between ethical relativism and democracy in our country. It is very far from being peaceful. It destroys the very possibility of dialogue. There can be no two people sharing their logos (reason, word) if there is no objective truth. “Truth, in fact, is lógos which creates diá-logos, and hence communication and communion.”28 But, there is no possible authentic communication and communion within the sphere of relativism. For instance, the relativist does not want to dialogue about his foundational claim about the non-existence of objective truth. One cannot ask him to answer the following question: Is the claim “there is no objective truth” an objective truth? The relativist is left without words. Instead of dialogue, his only resort is violent imposition. For this reason, at first, it might seem that relativism exalts the moral conscience of the individual as the ultimate criterion of morality. But, this is only an appearance, a mirage. That same conscience would be reduced to nothing if it dares to confront some of the ideological principles which are violently imposed on others, either by the majority or by a powerful minority. Think, for instance, on the issue of abortion: “The original and inalienable right to life is questioned or denied on the basis of a parliamentary vote or the will of one part of the people—even if it is the majority. This is the sinister result of a relativism which reigns unopposed.”29 Hence, there is no respect for others and for the validity of their opinions under the light of truth when one opposes the principles violently imposed by ideological relativism. “In this way democracy, contradicting its own principles, effectively moves towards a form of totalitarianism.”30 We can see now how false the relativistic claim is that only a weak notion of truth can be the foundation of tolerance and peace for life in society.31 27 28 29 30 31 VS, §101. See also John Paul II, Centesimus Annus (1991), §44. CV, §4. EV, §20. EV, §20. See: Joseph Ratzinger, Truth and Tolerance: Christian Belief and World Religions 782 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez The idolatry of the human mind, inherent in relativism, leads to a form of violence and voluntarism, in sharp contrast to the way God governs creatures according to their nature. Indeed, “the inseparable connection between truth and freedom—which expresses the essential bond between God’s wisdom and will—is extremely significant for the life of persons in the socio-economic and socio-political sphere.”32 By following the dictates and commands of Divine Providence, the rational creature grows in freedom.33 Obedience to God’s commandments does not diminish the dignity of man and it does not turn him into a slave, precisely because of the primacy of truth. The Lord’s commandments shine in the mind of the human person in such a way that the latter can perceive the most fundamental moral principles with evidence. Thereby, truth has the gentle but profound power to win over the human intellect without violence and impositions.34 Thanks to this power of truth, conscience bears witness to man’s own rectitude or iniquity to man himself but, together with this and indeed even beforehand, conscience is the witness of God himself, whose voice and judgment penetrate the depths of man’s soul, calling him fortiter et suaviter to obedience.35 By contrast, the alliance of democracy and relativism tends to violently impose its ideas against the mind of those who do not share that ideology. There is no room for evidence or dialogue. Winning the mind of another by those means is not important. The authority of an ideological and totalitarian system like this one acts with violence, imposing on its subjects 32 33 34 35 (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2004), 116–17; René Girard and Giacommo Vattimo, Verità o fede debole? Dialogo sul cristianesimo e relativismo (Massa, Italy: Transeuropa, 2006), 29–61. VS, §99. Without the transcendent reference to the Creator as the source of the authority, the political power claims to be absolute. For that reason, there is an inherent tendency to the absolutism or the dictatorship in these immanentistic conceptions. See Pius XII, Summi Pontificatus (1939), §§52–53. To be sure, God can command something beyond our understanding. This is perfectly possible, since the Lord is wiser than we are. Yet, even then, it is possible for us to understand that God is good, that he is Wisdom in himself, and that he governs us by directing us to our final end, etc. In this sense, there is no divine imposition against human reason. It could be a commandment beyond human reason. VS, §58. Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth 783 something contrary to the very nature of the human intellect, by trying to encapsulate and to enclose it in its own immanence. Therefore, as Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger prophetically said more than fifteen years ago, we need to acknowledge what is happening around us: “We are building a dictatorship of relativism that does not recognize anything as definitive and whose ultimate goal consists solely of one’s own ego and desires.”36 This dictatorial view of things results from abandoning the primacy of truth. Not only is it present in our political systems, but this same mindset also affects the members of our Church, transforming some of our faithful into ideological fanatics. Not so Postmodern Although we normally characterize relativism as a post-modern trend of thought, it is not so beyond modernity and its rationalism as one might think.37 Relativism is the other side of the coin of rationalism. The exalted and the humiliated cogito are closely connected by immanentism and by the claim that the human mind cannot grasp reality itself with certainty, but rather knows only its own ideas, representations, or appearances of that same reality. Rationalism claims that “what is rational is real and what is real is rational.”38 But, this claim hides the pretense that the ideas of our mind must be right and correspond to reality. Thus, this kind of idealism engenders ideologies which also impose with violence a system of ideas over reality itself. Think, for instance, about Marxism as an offshoot of the philosophy of Hegel. In this modern paradigm, authority consists in the imposition of the ideas of the powerful people who have created the rationalistic system. There is no room for the conscience of the individual. The state would have the authority to impose its own ideology. What things are or what the mind of anyone could know of that same reality is simply irrelevant. In this way, the obedience demanded by a rationalistic system quite resembles the demands of the alliance between democracy and ethical relativism. Those who hold the primacy of authority are simply reformulating the principles already present in rationalism. They are falling into a sort of 36 37 38 Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, “Pro Eligendo Romano Pontifice: Homily of His Eminence Card. Joseph Ratzinger, Dean of the College of Cardinals,” April 18, 2005. See also Joseph Ratzinger, Truth and Tolerance: Christian Belief and World Religions (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2004), 190–91. See FR, §91. See Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Philosophy of Right, trans. S.W. Dyde (Kitchener, Canada: Batoche, 2001), 18. 784 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez totalitarian view which does not respect human nature. Nevertheless, those who are upholding the primacy of conscience are not too far from their opponents. They are also upholding a form of totalitarian and ideological violence against the nature of the human mind. These erroneous rival views on conscience and authority are like brothers. In fact, they both resemble the brothers of the parable of the prodigal son (see Luke 15:11–32). For different reasons, the two were far and distant from their father. Similarly, the relativistic and rationalistic views on authority and conscience imitate each other, because the pair are far from the truth and from its primacy.39 In both instances, in which truth has lost its place of primacy, the obedience demanded is ideological and violent. It is quite paradoxical and contradictory to the very nature of our intellect. It is an obedience completely unrelated to the truth. One is not to understand the commandment of the superior. One should simply obey it. We can easily appreciate how violent this is to the nature of our minds. They are made to know the truth. But, the truth is irrelevant in the violent imposition of ideologies. New Fanatical Pharisees? Relativism and rationalism share their disregard for reality and for how our mind is measured by it in the knowledge of the truth. Such disregard tends to transform faith into an ideological faith, namely, into a set of fanatical principles. This transformation occurs because the disregard for reality and truth leads one to concentrate on a system of ideas and of human traditions. The Gospels give us an example of fanatics who shared in this same attitude: the Pharisees. They were not about the truth, but rather, they were about themselves. They changed God’s word for human traditions (see Mark 7:8). In fact, Pope Benedict XVI offers a beautiful meditation on this point. On the one hand, he identifies Pontius Pilate as the image of the relativist, who questions even the possibility of knowing the truth (see John 18:38). On the other hand, the Pharisees are the image of the fanatics. Both, however, are enemies of the Truth, namely, of Christ. Both end up killing him.40 The fanaticism of the Pharisees appears clearly in the accounts of Jesus’s Passion. In his commentary, Thomas Aquinas points out their vain superstition. They did not want to enter the praetorium, so as not to become 39 40 See René Girard, Sacrifice (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2011). See Benedict XVI, Homily at Plaza de la Revolución José Martí, Havana, March 28, 2012. Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth 785 impure. Yet, they were totally willing to hand over an innocent person and to put him to death.41 This contradiction is the result of an ideological faith, which wants to enclose God in human ideas and to have a complete disdain for reality and for the primacy of truth. A significant number of Catholics in our country are adopting positions that resemble this transformation of the faith into ideology. For this reason, some Catholics are ideologically advocating for the primacy of authority, while others are ideologically advocating for the primacy of conscience, disregarding that our faith should lead us to advocate for the primacy of truth. We need to divest ourselves from these worldly attitudes. Only if we follow that path will we have a meaningful and rational dialogue about the issue of Catholic conscience and civil disobedience. Conscience Subordinated to the Truth Our conscience must be formed in the truth and be subordinated to it. Like any other of our judgments, it can be true or false depending on whether what is affirmed or denied conforms to reality or not.42 The moral life of the Christian is a life of virtue ordered to union with God. One’s conscience may affirm that a moral action is choice-worthy. That judgment, however, will be true depending on the same action’s capacity to lead to a virtue that ultimately unites us to God. This Catholic view of conscience allows us to interpret correctly a key affirmation of the Second Vatican Council which directly concerns our topic: “Every man has the duty, and therefore the right, to seek the truth in matters religious in order that he may with prudence form for himself right and true judgments of conscience, under use of all suitable means.”43 In other words, human persons have the right and the obligation to discover the truth on their own. And, they also have the right and the obligation to conform their lives to that truth once discovered. Note how Dignitatis Humanae does not mention only a right. It is also a duty, an obligation.44 Hence, conscience is not infallible. It can be erroneous. If it is, one has the duty or obligation to correct it through intellectual and moral formation. 41 42 43 44 See Thomas Aquinas, Super Ioan 18, lec. 5, nos. 2331, 2334 in Latin–English Edition of the Works of St. Thomas Aquinas 35–36, trans. F. R. Larcher (Lander, WY: Aquinas Institute, 2013). See VS, §§62–64. Second Vatican Council, Dignitatis Humanae [DH], §3. See: CCC, §1782; VS, § 31. 786 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez This is accomplished particularly through the virtue of prudence and the study of our moral doctrine, especially that of the magisterium.45 The Church puts herself always and only at the service of conscience, helping it to avoid being tossed to and from by every wind of doctrine proposed by human deceit (cf. Eph 4:14), and helping it not to swerve from the truth about the good of man, but rather, especially in more difficult questions, to attain the truth with certainty and to abide in it.46 Thus, a conscientious objection is not like a “get-out-of-jail-free” card from the Monopoly game. Invoking one’s conscience should not be used in that way, to simply end an argument or a reasoning process, without any attention to the truth of its claim. Rather, a conscientious objection is always an appeal to truth, willing to dialogue, and to explain the reasons behind it. Catholic Conscience and Civil Law Civil disobedience consists in the act whereby a human or civil law is not followed due to a conscientious objection. However, there are many theories of civil disobedience. Not all of them are Catholic. In evaluating our position as Catholics concerning recent mandates, we need to think with the mind of Christ and of his Church, avoiding relativism and ideological faith. Civil law promulgates and renders more explicit some of the demands of natural law. Civil law is not concerned with all the precepts of natural law.47 Rather, it selects some: the ones necessary for making our common civic life possible and adequately regulated.48 Competent civil authorities promulgate, render explicit, and determine the natural moral law insofar as it promotes the political common good.49 These laws are meant to ensure what is necessary or helpful for rendering possible the free, just, and peaceful life in society.50 In general, civil law obliges in conscience.51 But unjust civil laws can be 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 See CCC, §§1783–85. VS, §64. See ST I–II, q. 96, aa. 2–3. See ST I–II, q. 95, a. 2. See: DH, §7; CCC, §§2254, 2256. See: ST I–II, q. 100, a. 2; EV, §71. See Vatican II, Gaudium et Spes, §§30; 74. Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth 787 potentially disobeyed. Their being unjust needs to be proven. They need to be manifested as illegal. In other words, it must be proven that such a law fails to fulfill the definition of law: an ordinance of reason directed to the common good, made by him who has competent authority, and promulgated.52 However, not all illegal laws should be disobeyed. Disobedience to an unjust civil law could cause greater harm to the common good than compliance with such a law. The harm, according to Thomas Aquinas, could consist in scandal and/or disturbance. In this context, scandal does not mean shame or causing another to be appalled, but rather “the attitude or behavior which leads another to do evil.”53 For instance, the non-compliance with an unjust law could cause in others disregard for the law in general. It could also foster the disobedience to just laws which are inconvenient to others. For this reason, the non-compliance with an unjust law which does not mandate the violation of the divine law can also be the cause of disturbance (turbationem), that is to say, confusion, commotion, disorder, or even anarchy. In these cases, Catholics are called to practice a higher virtue than that of the scribes and Pharisees (see Matt 5:20). We are called to justice and to its perfection in charity. We must avoid the error of thinking that the virtue of charity must be restricted to one’s private life and has no impact on our political life. That error is not only part of the Protestant American view on religion reduced to the private sphere, but also common in moral theologies founded upon relativistic and immanentistic premises which forgo the primacy of truth.54 Thomas Aquinas, by contrast, believes that such a public impact is of the utmost importance. In fact, to explain why we should comply with these unjust laws, the Angelic Doctor cites the Sermon of the Mount: “If anyone would sue you and take your coat, let him have your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles” (Matt 5:40–41). The context of the quote is clearly legal. The verse about being forced to go a mile probably is referred to a military officer who abuses his legal power. The verse about taking one’s clothing, in turn, is about a lender 52 53 54 See ST I–II, q. 90, a. 4, corp. CCC, §2284. For instance, the “fundamental option” theory condemned by John Paul II in VS (§§65–68) shares in the aforementioned immanentism and in the loss of the primacy of truth. Such a theory makes a very sharp distinction between the categorical and the transcendental realms, excluding thereby the social and political impact of the virtue of charity. 788 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez who demands it as a legal pledge on a loan—something clearly forbidden in the Mosaic law.55 Consequently, we are to comply with some unjust laws to avoid scandal, undue social disturbance, and a greater harm to society than the unjust law itself would inflict. We need to remember that “the law is always a principle of order necessary for social life, and disobedience, even when it is not completely unjustified, can easily become a principle of anarchy, of injustice, and sometimes even violence.”56 The clearest case in which Catholic civil disobedience is seen at work is when a civil law prescribes something against the divine moral law. In that instance, we will always disobey that civil law. A clear affirmation of this same principle can be found in Pope Saint John XXIII’s Pacem in Terris: “Governmental authority, therefore, is a postulate of the moral order and derives from God. Consequently, laws and decrees passed in contravention of the moral order, and hence of the divine will, can have no binding force in conscience, since ‘it is right to obey God rather than men.’”57 In this case, we are ready to give our lives not simply for the sake of conscience, but above all for the sake of truth: “The voice of conscience has always clearly recalled that there are truths and moral values for which one must be prepared to give up one’s life. In an individual’s words and above all in the sacrifice of his life for a moral value, the Church sees a single testimony to that truth which, already present in creation, shines forth in its fullness on the face of Christ.”58 Indeed, “unjust laws do not oblige in conscience, rather, there is moral obligation to not follow their provisions, to not accept them, to manifest one’s disagreement with them, and to seek to change them as soon as possible and, if that is not possible, to seek to reduce their negative effects.”59 Moral Evaluation of the Vaccine Mandate To Be Vaccinated as a Morally Good Action Instead of getting into the difficult technicalities of the different kinds of cooperation in evil, let us make a correlation between the morality of 55 56 57 58 59 See: Exod 22:25–27; Deut 24:10–13; ST I–II, q. 96, a. 4, corp. and ad 3. For a commentary on this very point, see also J. Budziszewski, Commentary on Thomas Aquinas’s Treatise on Law (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 387–89. Rodríguez-Luño and Colom, Chosen in Christ, 303. John XXIII, Pacem in Terris (1963), §51. VS, §94. Rodríguez-Luño and Colom, Chosen in Christ, 302. Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth 789 the use of the vaccines for Covid-19 and another moral scenario, which may shed more light on the matter.60 Imagine that you are a patient in a hospital, waiting for a kidney transplant. Your life is at risk. But, no donor has appeared yet. Suddenly, you get the news that a compatible kidney is available. When you ask about it, you find out that someone was murdered, and his kidney could save your life. Can you accept this organ and be morally upright? Obviously, one would not be morally upright if he or she approved of the murder, if he or she ordered it, if he or she provided something essential for the crime to take place, or if his or her acceptance of the kidney promoted more murders in the future. But given that those things are excluded, the simple fact of receiving this organ would not make you morally guilty of anything. You would not be doing something wrong. On the contrary, you would be doing something morally good. Something similar happens in the case of the Covid-19 vaccines. They are related to murder. So is the kidney in our example. However, the CDF has clarified that getting those vaccines is morally acceptable. This means that, provided one opposes abortion and the evil acts of those who partook in it, such a choice is morally good. We can never forget what the Catechism of the Catholic Church underscores as a rule which always and in every case applies to the judgment of conscience: “One may never do evil so that good may result from it.”61 Therefore, if one follows the instructions of the CDF to avoid cooperation in evil, to be vaccinated against Covid-19 is not against the divine moral law. On the contrary, since there are not executed actions that are morally indifferent, it is a morally good act.62 And this moral good may be morally binding or obligatory for some individuals, even if it is not made civilly compulsory or obligatory, as a rule for everyone and everywhere. Pope Francis has been explaining this exact point in his recent messages. To protect the vulnerable and those who cannot receive the vaccine, others should be vaccinated. It is their way of promoting the common good and of doing so with charity. The choice-worthiness of the action of being vaccinated is shown by its orientation toward the virtues of justice and charity. Therefore, we should avoid at all costs labeling vaccinated Catholics as 60 61 62 For a profound view on the moral theology of cooperation with evil, see Kevin Flannery, Cooperation with Evil: Thomistic Tools of Analysis (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2019). CCC, §1789. Aquinas explains why there are no human acts that are both executed and morally indifferent in ST I–II, q. 18, a. 9. 790 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez second-class Catholics who are not serious enough about prolife issues. The Church does not permit evil to achieve good.63 The end never justifies the means. Ideological faith or fanaticism may lead a person with a relativistic mindset to defend his prolife views beyond the measure of reason. Moreover, an objection of conscience should be made only thanks to an informed judgment. The CDF has made clear the principles under which vaccination is morally good. A conscientious objection cannot be based on a judgment in contradiction to that teaching. Civil Mandate on Vaccines At the same time, the CDF has expressed that we cannot say that getting the vaccine is a rule for everyone. This should not be imposed against the will of citizens. They should choose voluntarily to be vaccinated. This position does not contradict what was said before about the moral goodness of being vaccinated. The key point here is to underscore the role of circumstances in the moral evaluation of an action. Something that is morally good in its object and intention may not be morally binding for everyone and everywhere, due to particular circumstances. In fact, circumstances have the capacity of altering the very nature of the action chosen. A moral theologian should always keep in mind that his study concerns “human acts according as they are found to be good or evil, better or worse: and this diversity depends on circumstances.”64 Personal circumstances may make vaccination morally evil for one given individual. However, in these instances, what makes vaccination a morally bad action for a given individual, who follows the instructions from the CDF, is not its being tainted with abortion. Were we to uphold that last view, we would be contradicting ourselves or betraying the principle that evil cannot be done to attain something good. A very important consideration nowadays in our evaluation of circumstances has to do with the different kind of opinions which one may find concerning medical data. Not all opinions are equally valid. One must carefully distinguish competent and informed medical authorities from those who are not sufficiently competent. Only the former should be informing our moral judgments. Conspiracy theorists often confuse people who do not make this distinction. Hypothetically, imagine that, for medical reasons accredited by competent authorities, a person whose immune system is severely compromised 63 64 See CCC, §1789. ST I–II, q. 7, a. 2, corp. Catholic Conscience and Civil Disobedience: The Primacy of Truth 791 wants to abstain from vaccination because of his unwillingness to risk his own life. Hence, this person should not be obliged to be vaccinated. Moreover, he should not be out of a job because of it. A civil law that promotes such a thing is not just. To be forced to risk one’s life in this manner is against the natural law. And as Aquinas explains, “if in any point human law deflects from the law of nature, it is no longer a law but a perversion of law.”65 Precisely because there may be difficult cases like this one, the best way to contribute to the common good and to protect people in these or other circumstances is for the rest of us to be vaccinated. There is also a reasonable objection of conscience that may take place. A sincere person, who has not yet come to understand the teaching on why getting vaccinated is not a moral evil, despite its relationship with abortion, may need some time to be informed and reach that understanding. Such a person has a right and an obligation to discover the truth and to conform his or her life in accord with it after the truth in question is known, according to Dignitatis Humanae. However, in this case, this objection of conscience comes with a severe duty to seek formation of conscience and the virtue of docility, thanks to prayerful reflection and instruction.66 Obstinacy due to political convictions should be avoided. Humility and trust in the pope and other competent Church authorities must inform his or her counsel. We are not saying that one should act against his conscience, when this conscience is erroneous. What we are saying is that one can be morally responsible for this error (culpable ignorance), and that he or she should amend the situation as soon as possible, for his or her own good, and for the common good as well. Those most vulnerable and unable to get the vaccine should not be sacrificed at the altar of culpable ignorance, political convictions, and obstinacy. Three Scenarios The CDF has affirmed two complementary things regarding the use of the Covid-19 vaccines. First, under certain circumstances such a use is morally acceptable. Second, vaccination should be voluntary and cannot be considered obligatory as a rule for everyone. We have shown how these two statements are in harmony with each other if we abandon the relativistic lenses through which they have been interpreted, appealing either to the primacy of conscience or to the primacy of authority. These two paradigms 65 66 ST I–II, q. 95, a. 2, corp. See VS, §64. 792 Angel Perez-Lopez and Israel Perez-Lopez do not agree with the Catholic faith. The latter offers another view of understanding conscience, authority, and civil disobedience through the lenses of the primacy of truth. After a brief analysis of some general principles regarding relativism, conscience, civil law, and civil disobedience, we have made a moral evaluation of the vaccine mandate, reaching a threefold conclusion corresponding to three potential and different moral scenarios. The first scenario could be named “Catholic Civil Disobedience.” In the cases in which the civil mandate of vaccination attempts to compel someone to violate the divine moral law due to his or her circumstances, civil disobedience is completely warranted. The Church should aid these individuals in expressing their religious objection to be vaccinated. One should always obey God before men. It is better to die than to sin. The second scenario could be named “Comply but Complain.” In the cases in which the vaccine mandate does not have the effect of compelling a sinful behavior, after due formation of conscience, one should carefully consider the social disruption that civil disobedience entails and comply with the law even if it is not completely just. At the same time, one should also make his voice heard and complain about the unjust character of the law. The third moral scenario could be named “Give Me Some Time.” There can be cases in which people need time to attain the needed formation in order to not act against their conscience. These people, as we mentioned, have a right and a severe obligation to seek, to discover the truth with docility, and to conform their life in accord with it. In these three scenarios, we can see the primacy of truth at work. They are not inspired by political or ideological premises. They are simply the result of the application of our Catholic moral principles to the question of Catholic civil disobedience and conscience. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 793–802 793 Introduction to Dei Filius and Theology Today Andrew Meszaros St Patrick’s Pontifical University Maynooth, Ireland The pandemic year of 2020 quickly torpedoed the modest intentions of formally reflecting on the contemporary significance of Dei Filius on its 150th anniversary. Nevertheless, the year’s delay proved providential: in holding an online symposium, “Dei Filius and Theology Today,” on April 22–24, 2021, the symposium was able to reach more participants than could have realistically travelled to Ireland, and was able to end on April 24, the same day Pius IX promulgated the constitution 151 years ago.1 In what follows, I lay out briefly the rationale for the commemoration and the publication of its proceedings. The “Spirit of Vatican I” Perhaps the most consistently disputed theological issue of the last fifty years has been the correct interpretation of the Second Vatican Council. The dispute is often but inaccurately pitched as a tension between the spirit and the letter of the Council. While such a distinction is valid (for one cannot hold that the Council’s meaning is utterly exhausted by its texts, nor can one simply collapse the spirit into the text), and while debates over the interpretation of a council in its aftermath is not unique in the history 1 I would like to thank the Maynooth Scholastic Trust at St. Patrick’s Pontifical University for its generous support of the event. I am also grateful to Reverend Dr. John-Paul Sheridan for his technical assistance with Zoom. And finally, I would also like to thank heartily all the contributors, not simply for all the work they put into their contributions, but also for their perseverance and patience in bearing with me throughout the starts, stops, and uncertainties caused by the pandemic. 794 Andrew Meszaros of the Church, and while it is not uncommon for historians to attribute something equivalent to a “spirit” or ethos to a given period in the history of the Church, it is noteworthy that few if any contemporary Catholic scholars (whether historians, philosophers, or theologians) seek to identify the “spirit of Vatican I,” let alone do so in order to establish an ecclesiastical program or stake out a “direction” in which to move. Indeed, what would such a “spirit of Vatican I” look like? For some the spirit of Vatican I might best be encapsulated by the episcopal motto of Vatican II’s killjoy, Cardinal Ottaviani: semper idem—“always the same.” In that motto we find, allegedly, all the close-minded, ahistorical rigidity and complacency that Vatican II’s spirit of openness, aggiornamento, and reform tried to overcome. Such a caricature of both Councils, however, seems to violate the hermeneutical principle taught by the bishops gathered at the extraordinary synod of 1985, for any aggiornamento or reform that moves outside established tradition is an aggiornamento or reform that separates the spirit from the letter of the Council. In the same way, it is not legitimate to separate the spirit and the letter of the [Second Vatican] Council. Moreover, the Council must be understood in continuity with the great tradition of the Church, and at the same time we must receive light from the Council’s own doctrine for today’s Church and the men of our time. The Church is one and the same throughout all the councils.2 An erroneous understanding of a conciliar spirit as an ecclesiastical license for a theological free-for-all might cause one to question the language of “spirit” in relation to a council. But this statement by the bishops suggests that there is a legitimate (and illegitimate) way of attributing a “spirit” to a council. Rightly understood, the spirit of any council is an ethos or shared disposition, catalyzed by that council, according to which the Church seeks to move forward on her pilgrim journey through history—the temps de l’église—which will come to a halt only at the second coming of the Son. (One might say that history’s councils are the smaller events that help guide the Church in her mission to communicate the fruits that stem from the ultimate event of salvation history: namely, the dual sending of the Son and the Spirit.) Their doctrinal teaching must be safeguarded (1 Tm 6:20) and their practical directives implemented. It is an ethos, stemming from 2 The Final Report of the 1985 Extraordinary Synod, no. 5, https://www.ewtn.com/ catholicism/library/final-report-of-the-1985-extraordinary-synod-2561. Introduction to Dei Filius and Theolog y Today 795 a particular historical event, that moves individuals and the Church as a whole to accomplish these tasks in accord with that event.3 To the extent that a council addresses a variety of concerns, both temporal and eternal, the spirit of any council will involve contextually dependent and temporary stimuli (e.g., the Lateran Councils’ spirit of reform in relation to clerical abuse), and more perennial stimuli (e.g., the first four councils’ spirit of guarding the deposit delivered once and for all to the saints, or Trent’s spirit of reform, and Vatican II’s spirit of Christian unity). There are, then, elements of a conciliar spirit that transcend the historical-contextual “moment” because they pertain to Christian truth. While addressing a specific disciplinary problem might be relevant only to a particular time and place, the preservation of the deposit and the unity of the Church are values integral to the Church at all times, not simply during a particular era. With this brief consideration of what a conciliar spirit amounts to, we return to the question posed earlier. How would one characterize the spirit of Vatican I? I would submit an alternative “spirit of Vatican I”: one that is consonant with the texts Dei Filius and Pastor Aeternus, but is not reducible to them because it presupposes the entire Catholic Tradition behind it. This spirit can be expressed as “holding fast to the God who speaks” or to supernatural revelation. The theology of Vatican I was concerned to show how right understandings of reason, faith, and revelation all hang together, with implications for the disciplines of theology and philosophy, and ecclesiological implications for the authority with which the Church teaches. Mark McGrath expresses this well: The core of the whole question is the motive of faith. If we grant that revealed truths come from God and must be accepted on His authority, then the basic principle of rationalism (the rejection of all authority outside of reason) is destroyed, the infallible magisterium bestowed upon the Church by God must be accepted, and it is she, not reason, which determines the truths we must believe. Granted the motive of faith, or the formal object, the truths of faith, or the material object, are made secure. In other words, there will never be 3 Elsewhere, I have argued that keeping the spirit and the letter of a council together means that the “conciliar texts are the minimal negative measure of subsequent theological and pastoral development.” One cannot implement a council by contradicting or ignoring what is affirmed in the texts. Andrew Meszaros, “Vatican II as Theological Event and Text according to Yves Congar,” Josephinum Journal of Theology 22, no. 1–2 (2015): 78–92, at 91. 796 Andrew Meszaros any danger of false evolutions of dogma if our faith rests truly upon the authority of God and of His Church; but there will always be if our faith (not its proemia, but faith itself ) rests upon any merely human reason.4 In short, Dei Filius is the Church’s dogmatic reaffirmation of the supernatural order. To reduce the spirit of Vatican I to “papal supremacy” or “ecclesial centralization” is to miss the deeper point: ecclesial authority derives from God speaking. If there is no divine revelation given to a visible community (i.e., if what we call “divine revelation” is simply a human construct), then that visible community requires no divinely assisted visible center of unity that assists it in preserving revelation from the tumults of human innovation and infidelity. Ecclesial authority, then, is at the service of maintaining the object of faith as divinely revealed. What makes Pastor Aeternus necessary is the teaching contained in Dei Filius. While it would take another symposium to begin to unpack that statement, the assertion itself merits consideration and suggests the importance of commemorating Dei Filius on its 150th anniversary. Why Study Dei Filius? Conciliar hermeneutics also determines the relative attention we give to Dei Filius (DF). In contemporary discussions on revelation, faith, faith and reason, and doctrinal development (to mention only some), DF is at times understood to be irrelevant, the obsolete and displaced utterance on the matter. We infer this from its absence from texts where one might expect a reference to it. Worse, DF can become the negative foil against which subsequent teaching is juxtaposed. Accordingly, DF is not enhanced or embellished by subsequent Tradition, but surpassed by it.5 This is lamentable because many of the intellectual ills we face today were also, in general terms, faced by Vatican I. Though reform and an update of discipline were not absent from Vatican I’s agenda, there was a consensus that, while there was no particular or single heresy of the day, a general 4 5 Mark G. McGrath, The Vatican Council’s Teaching on the Evolution of Dogma (Rome: Pontificium Athenaeum Internationale Angelicum, 1960), 121. This tendency is by no means universal. Many instructors teach Dei Filius in their classes, and many a good theological text appeal to the Constitution at crucial moments. See, e.g.: Guy Mansini, Fundamental Theology, Sacra Doctrina (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2018); Frederick C. Bauerschmidt and James J. Buckley, Catholic Theology: An Introduction (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2016). Introduction to Dei Filius and Theolog y Today 797 rationalism and its consequent denial of the supernatural order required some ecclesial response because, with them, erroneous interpretations of Catholic doctrine proliferated. As much of the material that this response would work with was already familiar to the drafters through previous magisterial interventions—interventions to which they themselves were privy or in which they might have had a hand—the Council fathers had the advantage of not having to be overly creative, but could rather be selective and prioritize issues in such a way that would allow for the most coherent and effective presentation of the Catholic faith. While the document bears its nineteenth-century imprint, its perennial content, coupled with the thoughtfulness that went into its drafting, renders it worth our attention today. Dom Cuthbert Butler, writing between the Vatican Councils, even went so far as to aver that, far from it being a second-fiddle constitution thrown hastily together in order to get on to the real business of papal infallibility, perhaps never in the history of the world has any legislative act been subjected to a discussion more free, or a sifting more thorough, or a criticism more searching, or a weighing of objections more painstaking, or a transformation more complete, than found place in this Vatican dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic faith.6 The first schemas that attempted to summarize and respond to nineteenth-century errors, taking Pius IX’s Syllabus as a cue, but in the form of a dogmatic constitution, came from the pen of Austrian Jesuit Johann Baptist Franzelin (1816–1886), a member of the pre-synodal commission. The second of Franzelin’s schemas was the first to be discussed at Council, entitled De doctrina catholica contra multiplices errores. The shortcoming of Franzelin’s draft was not substantive but stylistic: it began with a condemnation and erred on the side of thoroughness, explicitly condemning materialism, pantheism, rationalism (chs. 1–2), and treating revelation, its sources, and necessity (chs. 3–5), matters concerning faith and credibility (chs. 6–9), the right relationship between faith and human science (ch. 10), and the immutability of dogmatic meaning held by the Church (ch. 11); the rest of the schema amounted to a summary of orthodox Catholic teaching on doctrines which had been denied or deformed 6 Dom Cuthbert Butler, The Vatican Council: The Story Told from Inside in Bishop Ullathorne’s Letters, 2 vols., 2nd ed. (London: Longmans and Green, 1936 [originally 1930]), 1:187. 798 Andrew Meszaros by nineteenth-century (semi-)rationalism: God (ch. 12), the Trinity (ch. 13), Christ (ch. 14), human nature (ch. 15), the supernatural state of original justice (ch. 16), original sin and its consequences (ch. 17), and the supernatural order of grace gained by Christ’s redemptive work (ch. 18). The schema ran more than fifteen columns, not counting Franzelin’s explanatory notes.7 Franzelin’s schema was deemed too long, too technical, at times abstruse, and lacking focus with its condemnation of bygone errors (rather than focusing on attacks on the foundations of the faith) and its lack of positive Church teaching from the beginning. Like De fontibus revelationis at Vatican II, De doctrina catholica contra multiplices errores was sent out to the deputation de Fide to be remade: “mangled and pulled to pieces,” and “bleeding in every limb,” as [Bishop] Ullathorne put it. The fate of the schema came as a surprise to the theologians and the Curia and the Presidents and the Pope himself; it had been taken for granted that the prepared schemata would go through easily and quickly with little amendment; it was not anticipated that the bishops were going to take things so seriously.8 With this schema and task in hand, the Deputatio fidei went about creating a subcomission consisting of bishops Victor-Auguste-Isidor Deschamps (Malines), Louis-Édouard-François-Desiré Pie (Poitiers), and Konrad Martin (Paderborn), the last of whom chose one of the principal (and most well-informed) critics of nineteenth-century rationalism and fideism, and spearhead of the neo-Scholastic revival, the German Jesuit Josef Kleutgen (1811–1883), to do the lion’s work of the schema’s recasting.9 7 8 9 “Schema constitutionis dogmaticae de doctrina catholica contra multiplices errores ex rationalismo derivatos partum examine propositum,” in Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio (1759), ed. Ioannes Dominicus Mansi, vol. 50 (Leipzig: H. Welter, 1926), cols. 59–74. His adnotationes in the form of forty-three notes run through col. 119! Butler, Vatican Council, 1:198. As the bulk of philosophical errors stemmed from Germany, it was Martin who took the lead in the redrafting. Kleutgen was also an old friend of Martin’s from their student years (see John O’Malley, Vatican I: The Council and the Making of the Ultramontaine Church [Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 2018], 166–67). Kleutgen is perhaps most well known for his works Die Philosophie der Vorzeit and Die Theologie der Vorzeit. He was also instrumental in drafting Pastor Aeternus (1870) and Aeterni Patris (1879). Some of the rumors of Kleutgen’s scandalous (and lurid) behavior have been confirmed. The most thorough but not always sober account of the scandal Introduction to Dei Filius and Theolog y Today 799 Kleutgen’s re-working of Franzelin’s schema was radical only in appearance. Franzelin’s original schema—four times as long as Dei Filius—was essentially distilled into a prologue, four chapters, and several canons for each chapter, following Trent’s template. McGrath observes: The doctrine [in Kleutgen’s draft] remains the same [as in Franzelin’s], and the return in the final formulation to some of Franzelin’s phraseology, omitted in the first alteration of his schema, is proof that the Fathers and theologians kept his original schema before them during their subsequent deliberations.10 Given the gravity of the nineteenth-century context, it was crucial for the council fathers to craft a clear, coherent, and concise summary of the Catholic faith. Three drafts later, the final constitution, presented on April 12 and voted on and promulgated on the 24th, was the product of a thoughtful and meticulous process. Butler comments further: Almost every word has had its special discussion, and consequent modification. It is so compact, that each sentence, however short, strikes at one or more errors or heresies, and the uninitiated will require a guide through them.11 Herein lies yet another reason for these proceedings. They do not constitute a full-fledged commentary. Nor do the contributions in any way attempt to offer an exhaustive treatment of all the historical-contextual theological issues at stake in each chapter of DF. Rather, the contributions here serve as an introduction to the text that takes the reader beyond it into contemporary philosophical and theological issues. In short, they lay hold of the ongoing relevance of Vatican I’s Dei Filius for philosophers and theologians today. The interpretation of Dei Filius, like that of any conciliar text, is not always straightforward. The careful reader must identify what the Council fathers are teaching formally and what is included—whether authoritative 10 11 is Hubert Wolf ’s The Nuns of Sant’Ambrogio: The True Story of a Convent in Scandal (New York: Vintage, 2016). For a brief assessment of the affair that contains both honest acknowledgement and much-needed theological perspective, see Ulrich Lehner’s helpful review of the book in “Prurient History,” First Things, March 2020, firstthings.com/article/2020/03/prurient-history. McGrath, The Vatican Council’s Teaching, 116. Butler, The Vatican Council, 1:300 (my emphasis). 800 Andrew Meszaros doctrine or argumentation—alongside that formal teaching. Unlike the documents of Vatican II, however, Dei Filius has the virtue of the canons, which not only help explain the content of the text, but also indicate the formal intentions behind the text. The Proceedings of the Symposium The proceedings consist of seven contributions followed by the actual text of DF (in both Latin and Norman P. Tanner’s English translation). First, Patrick Gorevan gives a general overview of the two intellectual extremes to which the Council—and DF in particular—was responding: (semi-) rationalism and fideism. The next three contributions are dedicated, one each, to the first three chapters of DF: Rudi te Velde offers an interpretation of DF ’s teaching against pantheism in chapter I that simultaneously avoids a God–world dualism while maintaining the fundamental “distinction” between God and creation. Simon Gaine, O.P., reflects on chapter II’s teaching on our natural and supernatural knowledge of God, its teaching on Tradition and Scripture and the latter’s canonicity and inspiration, with pertinent attention to the meaning of teneo, showing that, unlike contemporary usage, the constitution’s usage extends to both teachings de fide and so-called “secondary” objects of infallibility, thus requiring care in interpreting the contents of all that chapter II contains. Gaven Kerr shows how Cartesian anthropology issues in either rationalism or fideism and that the Catholic understanding of the act of faith found in chapter III, is founded on a fundamentally different anthropology. The last three contributions are dedicated to different aspects of the longest chapter of DF, chapter IV. Cajetan Cuddy, O.P., identifies the unique feature of this chapter in its attention to both principles and objects, a distinction which establishes not only a twofold order of knowledge, but also the mutual but differentiated aid that faith and reason provide each other. Conor McDonough, O.P., examines theology in DF IV with particular attention to the discovery of the connections between the mysteries of faith (nexus mysteriorum). Finally, Andrew Meszaros argues that, far from being obsolete, the chapter’s teaching on the development of dogma, with its appeal to St. Vincent of Lérins, is more relevant than ever in a theological climate permeated by neo-rationalism. The topics of the contributions aim at capturing the spirit of Vatican I proposed here: the reaffirmation of the supernatural order. Read in this key, the way in which the seminal parts of the document hang together becomes clearer. There is no doctrinal development without theology that Introduction to Dei Filius and Theolog y Today 801 explores the revealed mysteries of faith. There is no theology without reason illuminated by supernatural faith. There is no supernatural faith without a revealed object, and no revealed object without a God who reveals; and there is no God who reveals without God. That is why we, following the order of Dei Filius, proceed with reflections on (1) God, (2) revelation, (3) faith, (4) faith and reason, (5) theology, and (6) development. The point of any commemoration is to recall, to mark, and to celebrate precisely with a view toward the present and the future. These proceedings are not definitive commentaries, but catalysts for further study. It is for this reason that a modest bibliography is appended to the end of the proceedings. As one reads the contributions, one will quickly notice that DF’s length and theological density are inversely related: despite the brevity of the constitution, there are many more issues to consider. There is more work to be done. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 803–822 803 Dei Filius in Context Patrick Gorevan St. Patrick’s Pontifical University Maynooth, Ireland “On January 3, Vérot, bishop of Savannah, made his debut at the council with a common-sense but long-winded speech, laced with witting or unwitting touches of humor that pleased some but annoyed others. He asked why the council was wasting time in refuting the errors of some obscure German philosophers. It should instead focus on real issues.”1 This article is an attempt to help understand the First Vatican Council’s efforts which resulted in its Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith, Dei Filius, in the face of skepticism by Bishop Augustin Vérot (and others) about the need for the debate and subsequent constitution on faith and reason. The philosophers in question were not particularly obscure: Georg Hermes and Anton Günther were influential figures in the Catholic intellectual world of the mid nineteenth century, while Louis Bautain, and indeed Antonio Rosmini-Serbati, even apart from their influence in Catholic intellectual circles, were inspiring spiritual figures, founders of important and widespread religious orders which flourish to this day. Their “errors” were influential, and represented a broad flank of Christian thinking in the aftermath of the Enlightenment, in many cases demonstrating the truth of Karl Barth’s remark that, in those years, “theology . . . retreated into the narrow regions of epistemology and ethics that Kant left for it.”2 1 2 John W. O’Malley, Vatican I: The Council and the Making of the Ultramontane Church (Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 2018), 159. Karl Barth, The Humanity of God, trans. Tomas Wieser and John Newton Thomas (Richmond, VA: John Knox Press 1960), 16, quoted in Kenneth Oakes, “Karl Barth 804 Patrick Gorevan Their “errors” also reflected the dialogue which Christians, haltingly and awkwardly sometimes, but unavoidably, were carrying on with the world of the Enlightenment. Hermann-Josef Pottmeyer concluded his assessment of Dei Filius by saying that the constitution was nothing less than the solemn recognition of the elements of truth in the Enlightenment.3 Pottmeyer is offering a benign assessment of the council’s attitude, for the preface to Dei Filius rather speaks about problems to be solved, which had been caused or accentuated by the Enlightenment.4 Perhaps it would be nearer the truth to say that the Catholic semi-rationalists, ontologists, and even fideists were the ones trying to discern the truthful elements emerging from the Enlightenment.5 This introductory paper will try to assess: what the semi-rationalists such as Hermes and Günther, the ontologists such as Rosmini-Serbati, and the semi-fideists such as Bautain were trying to achieve; what the maturing judgment of the Church, assisted particularly by the theologians of the “Roman School,” was on their efforts; and how this prepared the ground for the Council and the constitution Dei Filius. The Role of Semi-Rationalism It is clear that semi-rationalism, the Catholic version of rationalism as it were, is one of the chief explicit targets of Dei Filius. While rationalism or a total reliance on reason for religious truth, ignoring or rejecting revelation in the process, is a bridge too far for Catholics, semi-rationalism in its 3 4 5 and Modernity,” in Christian Wisdom Meets Modernity (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark 2016), 99. See Hermann-Josef Pottmeyer, Der Glaube vor dem Anspruch der Wissenschaft: die Konstitution über den katholischen Glauben Dei Filius des Ersten Vatikanischen Konzils und die unveröffentlichten theologischen Voten der vorbereitenden Kommission (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1968), 460. The preface of Dei Filius refers to rationalism and its emphases: individual judgement; the Bible assimilated to the inventions of myth; the doctrine of rationalism, spread far and wide throughout the world and utterly opposed to the Christian religion, since this is of supernatural origin; the rule of simple reason or nature; the abyss of pantheism, materialism, and atheism; “confusing nature and grace, human knowledge and divine faith”; etc. In Rethinking the Enlightenment (Manchester, NH: Sophia Institute, 2020), Joseph Stuart explains how the strategies of conflict, engagement, and retreat had been used by Christians throughout the eighteenth century to test the ability of faith to come to terms with the “Reason” of the Enlightenment at many different levels: political, philosophical, and scientific. Dei Filius in Context 805 many forms can seem to offer a different kind of bridge, keeping Christian thought in touch with the deliverances of enlightened reason. Semi-rationalism is the view that, while the revelation of God is important and even necessary for knowledge of religious truths (either initially or for the uneducated), human reason can independently demonstrate all or almost all of the truths known through revelation. Accordingly, on this view there are no or very few divine mysteries that cannot be independently proven through reason. Semi-rationalism was especially popular among German Catholic philosophers and theologians at the start of the nineteenth century, as a way to defend Catholicism in post Enlightenment times.6 Thinkers of this kind who take center stage in the mind of the fathers of the Council, and of the Church’s doctrinal concern in the years leading up to Vatican I, are Hermes, based in the University of Münster, and Günther, a Bohemian who worked and taught (privately) in Vienna. To these we turn. Georg Hermes (1775–1831) Hermes was an influential priest and theologian, professor of dogmatic theology in Münster and eventually in Bonn, with a wide following among his colleagues and students. He was motivated by his exposure to Kantian thought to approach theology as an apologist. His thought is sometimes termed an apologetic theology, a sustained attempt precisely to reconcile Christianity with Enlightenment rationalism. Hermes is a key theological response to the eighteenth-century enlightenment, the first modernity. He discovers Christian revelation through practical reason, as a postulate we need for successful functioning of freedom in moral life. He accepted Kant’s basic project in this regard: going beyond knowledge to make room for faith. Cartesian Doubt and Kantian critique Hermes starts with the methodical doubt of Descartes, holding that theological investigations must begin by doubting all dogmas of faith and religious beliefs including the existence of God: “I have been scrupulous in 6 Alan Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy: The Nineteenth Century (Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 2008), 49. 806 Patrick Gorevan maintaining my resolution to doubt everything for as long as possible and to accept nothing as being determinately the case until I have been able to show the absolute rational necessity of admitting such determination.”7 Hermes works within the Kantian critical parameters of speculative and practical reason but still tries to find a rational basis for faith. His hope, of course, is to overcome Kant’s agnosticism, but he is respectful of Kant’s achievement: a rational basis for religion and ethics. Hermes’s thought oscillates between the poles of Kant’s paradigmatic duality: speculative reason and practical reason. He goes beyond Kant in believing that speculative reason can reach a number of the truths which Kant had ruled beyond its powers: the self, God, and even some of the attributes of God such as immutability. Speculative reason can also prove the existence of God, using the arguments from contingency. God is necessary for understanding the ultimate ground of change in the conditions of the inner and outer worlds. He is not part of the series of causes and processes, but the total cause of it. So far, so Scholastic, one might conclude, and as Aidan Nichols puts it, Kant would have thought this a “relapse into metaphysics”.8 Hermes does follow Kant closely when he deals with practical reason. Kant has successfully identified the a priori structure at work when we judge morally, just as he had identified the a priori structure in our scientific knowledge: he recognizes the existence of categorical imperatives such as (1) “establish and preserve human dignity in yourself and others” and (2) “use your intelligence and your experience. In general use all the experience which is absolutely necessary to fulfill a possible moral duty whether you already possess this experience yourself or must acquire it from others.”9 We must accept as true whatever is necessary for these a priori imperatives to make sense and lead to happiness and flourishing: in particular, a just and almighty God. This “practical reason” demands that we accept God’s revelation and ultimately his self-revelation in the Incarnation. Speculative reason obviously cannot underpin these, but practical reason, our sense of duty and 7 8 9 Georg Hermes, from the preface to the first part of his Einleitung in die christkatholische Theologie, trans. in Bernhard Reardon, Religion in the Age of the Romantics: Studies in Early Nineteenth-Century Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 120 (quoted in Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 50–51). Aidan Nichols, From Hermes to Benedict XVI: Faith and Reason in Modern Catholic Thought (Leominster, MA: Gracewing, 2009), 39–40. Trans. in Gerard McCool, Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism: The Search for a Unitary Method (New York: Fordham University Press, 1989), 62 (quoted in Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 52). Dei Filius in Context 807 moral necessity, can. As Hermes put it: “The alleged revelation perfectly agrees in all its doctrines with moral reason, in such a way that it cooperates with the will and assists it to fulfil the demands of moral reason.”10 How do we prove the truth of revelation then? Hermes answers by saying that, while critical natural theology can say only that it is not contradictory to God’s nature to introduce into human consciousness a plan for saving the world and so on, to say that it has actually happened relies on the fact that practical reason finds that what revelation offers is an invaluable means, of a kind unavailable otherwise, to achieve this, and we must accept this; practical reason finds it absolutely compelling, in a way that theoretical theology could not. As Nichols points out, the moral necessity of revelation after the fall is a commonplace; the semi-rationalist “Catholic Enlightenment” often felt that this necessity was really for the masses; for the mature, “the natural light of human reason and the fact of moral freedom was enough.” Nichols surmises that Hermes did reach such people, the serious, the dutiful, the enlightened, at a distance from popular piety and rich liturgy.11 At any rate, neither the German bishops nor Rome were convinced, and his teachings met with posthumous official disapproval in 1835. The Church’s response to Hermes Pope Gregory XVI’s brief Dum Acerbissimas (1835), concerning the thought of Hermes, contains the following statement as a summary of Hermes’s method: Reason is the chief norm and only medium whereby man can acquire knowledge of supernatural truths.12 It also condemned the view that all theological enquiry should be based on positive doubt. In 1837 two Catholic professors from the University of Bonn, Johann Wilhelm Joseph Braun and Peter Joseph Elvenich, journeyed to Rome 10 11 12 Georg Hermes, Introduction to Christian-Catholic Theology, pt. I, sec. 85, trans. in Romance and the Rock: Nineteenth-Century Catholics on Faith and Reason, ed. Joseph Fitzer (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1989), 128 (quoted in Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 53). Nichols, From Hermes to Benedict XVI, 47. Heinrich Denzinger, Enchiridion Symbolorum definitionum et declarationum de rebus fidei et morum [DH], ed. Peter Hünermann, 38th ed. (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1999), no. 2738 (cf. no. 2739). 808 Patrick Gorevan bearing a treatise titled Meletemata theologica oder theologische Studien defending the rationalistic position of their master, Georg Hermes; but the Roman curia refused even to open it, and Braun and Elvenich withdrew ignominiously back to Germany. In the 1840s Ignaz Ritter, a former colleague of Hermes in Bonn but now teaching church history in Breslau, made further somewhat naïve attempts to have the Brief either reformulated or explained in a way more favorable to his friend, but in vain.13 Anton Günther (1783–1863) Günther was born in Bohemia and studied philosophy in Prague. There he lost his faith due to the influence of Kant’s critical approach and turned to Johann Fichte and Friedrich Schelling for a more complete view of things, along the lines of a Romantic Idealism. He spent most of his life in Vienna as a tutor, but returned to the practice of the Catholic faith with the encouragement of St. Clemens Maria Hofbauer (who called Günther his “Augustinus”) and also found that Idealism might be combined with Catholicism.14 He was ordained as a diocesan priest, briefly tried his vocation with the Jesuits, then returned to Vienna, where he had a number of posts, including one in the censorship office of the government, was offered a canonry and lived, and worked as a private scholar, with major influence in university faculties from Vienna to Munich. Günther went beyond Hermes by asserting that reason could prove not just that a revelation of God had occurred, but also what its individual contents were. Günther’s primary motivation was to attack pantheism, and he found it everywhere: ancient philosophy, of course, did not have a theory of creation, but the Fathers of the Church were somewhat tarred with the same brush. Scholasticism, too, he claimed, was pantheist, and also fearful: saying that we can only show that Christian doctrines are not counter-rational. Günther goes further, and claims that they are positively reasonable. He also points to dangerous quasi-pantheist Scholastic ideas such as “participation” in metaphysics. But it is Hegelianism which has really made Günther’s enterprise necessary, as it is pantheism in its purest form. 15 Nichols remarks that, while critical of Hegel, Günther drew much from him, especially the description of nature as the representation of the 13 14 15 Hubert Jedin, “Eine Denkschrift Joseph Ignaz Ritters über Georg Hermes,” in Annalen des Historischen Vereins für den Niederrhein 174 (1972): 148–61. Nichols, From Hermes to Benedict XVI, 49–50. Nichols, From Hermes to Benedict XVI, 64–65. Dei Filius in Context 809 concept, his view of the propulsive power of negation, and the place of process in being. He wished to purify Idealism evangelically in the service of Catholic thought and he also tried to profit by its advances, above all its sense of the unique status of self-consciousness and the importance of organic development.16 Günther begins by offering a proof of the existence of the soul and of God from reason: The conditionedness of spirit itself . . . is an undeniable fact of consciousness and is called into the light of self-consciousness only by an unconditioned spirit.17 But he goes further: once God’s existence is established, reason can go on to reflect on God’s nature and rationally prove truths of Christianity that up to now were known only from faith in revelation (i.e., mysteries of the faith). This stands in stark contrast to Thomas Aquinas, who, after proving the existence of God, goes on to state that we cannot say what he is, even at the approximate level of natural awareness—only what he is not!18 Reason (with some difficulty and complexity) can show that God must be triune for Günther: The moments of self-consciousness constitute the Triune God. We have the representer and the represented and the representation as the unity and likeness of the first two. In self-consciousness Spirit makes itself (not another) the object of inner representation. If God is as being through himself, and therefore also knowledge through himself, he makes his absolute being as such immediately the object of its contemplation. . . . . Likewise, a second moment of self-objectification which in addition to the subject and object posits a 3rd element (Spirit) in the absolute self-consciousness. It is, like the two previous moments, absolute substance, which proceeds from subject and object and attests to the simultaneous positing of the two members in opposition, that is, of these in their perfection and completion. In the divine self-consciousness the principle moves to itself as such in the 16 17 18 Nichols, From Hermes to Benedict XVI, 66. Anton Günther, from epistle 11 in pt. I of Propaedeutic to the Speculative Theology of Positive Christianity, trans. in Fitzer, Romance and the Rock, 141 (quoted in Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 57). Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 3, prol. 810 Patrick Gorevan opposition and thus has its conviction in a moment in which those two members again find themselves undivided and identical, because it has proceeded from both as third principle alongside both.19 Creation and Incarnation, too, can be proven. Creation: in opposition to the self-consciousness of God, Günther sees the world as non-Ego, with its thesis, antithesis, and synthesis—spirit, nature, and man as a blend of both. God’s love for this world-idea is the motive for realizing it and as necessarily involving the three factors of nature, spirit, and man, and in man we find the resolution of nature and spirit, a resolution that is flawed but which finds its fulfillment in the Incarnation, which is required in order to restore the harmony of human nature, the rapport between spirit and nature, lost by Adam’s sin. Jesus Christ alone, the Son of the Father, is able to do this, and to restore human beings as images of the Blessed Trinity, through his obedience to the Father. This obedience re-orders our appetites to God, re-orders our human spirit to the divine spirit.20 Günther’s works were placed on the Index in 1857 and in a brief to the archbishop of Cologne, Pius IX explained that this step was in response to the errors on the Trinity, the person of Christ, the nature of man, God’s freedom in creation, and rationalism. Günther bowed to the Roman judgment but was disappointed by it, as were his many “neo-dualist” (i.e., anti-pantheist) followers in Austrian and German clerical and academic circles, some of whom moved to Old Catholicism in the aftermath of the condemnation of semi-rationalism in Dei Filius.21 In his discussions with his opponents, who claimed that he had reduced faith to reason, Günther had explained his position by allowing that faith could well serve as a basis for the religion of many, and indeed that there are mysterious aspects of a person’s commitment to religion that can be experienced only in faith, not simply by an understanding of religious truths, and of course even more so, there are aspects of the Trinitarian divine life which are pervious only to faith in scriptural deliverances.22 19 20 21 22 Günther, epistle 11 in pt. 1 of Propaedeutic, trans. in Fitzer, Romance and the Rock, 140 and 142–43 (quoted in Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 58–59). Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 58 (on creation) and 60 (on the Incarnation). Nichols, From Hermes to Benedict XVI, 66–67. Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 60–61. Dei Filius in Context 811 Ontologism Ontologism is the view that all humans can acquire a direct vision of God (or a component of God) in this life. All human beings possess this direct vision or immediate intuition of God while on earth because without it knowledge of any kind is impossible. Many ontologists believe in innate ideas, and many of them would point out that our exposure to sensible realities simply awakens our understanding to the inborn ideas which form the essence of our knowledge. Various forms of ontologism had flourished in the wake of the theory of innate ideas put forth by Descartes: the pantheistic ontologism of Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677), for whom our innate idea of God is a modality of God himself; the ontologism of Nicolas Malebranche (1638–1715), who believed that we do not know things in themselves, but in the divine nature. In the nineteenth century, this latter sort of ontologism underwent a renaissance at the hands of Vincenzo Gioberti (1801–1852), for whom the first idea (being) and the first reality (God) are one and the same. Gioberti did not claim that we know God in himself, but in his creative act and his relationship to his creatures. He believed that the properties of our knowledge (universality, veracity, immutability, etc.) cannot simply emerge from the senses, a posteriori, but need to be shaped a priori by a higher spiritual idea or ideas. Rosmini-Serbati (1797–1855) was a priest, founder, and political leader in the papal states, and a foremost exponent of ontologism at this time. His approach emerges from his project, encouraged by Pope Pius VIII, to develop a renewed Christian philosophy, in his New Essay on the Origin of Ideas (1830). Here he muses on the ideal being present to our mind, which permits any knowledge whatever; after all, we can know things only qua beings. The realities presented to us by the senses—the “matter” of our knowledge—need to be given their “form” by divinely implanted intuition of ideal being, an innate idea in our soul. Our knowledge, he explained, Kant-style, is composed of the chaotic welter of sense impressions, the general idea of being, and finally judgments, by which we join the idea of being with our sensations, thus giving them form.23 Many ontologists proved God’s existence by using versions of the ontological argument, since our knowledge of the world around us assumes in varying degrees a knowledge of God. Rosmini-Serbati, on the other hand, 23 Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 97. 812 Patrick Gorevan true to his aim of renewing Catholic thought, found ways of using proofs from the created world as well. In any case, ontologism began to be addressed at Rome from 1840 on, and Rosmini-Serbati’s works came under scrutiny, with two of them appearing on the Index in 1849. In 1854 a papal commission investigated his ontologism but found nothing worthy of censure in his works. In 1861 some ontologist propositions were indeed condemned by the Holy Office, not specifically associated with Rosmini-Serbati: 1. Immediate knowledge of God, habitual at least, is essential to the human intellect, so much so that without it the intellect can know nothing, since indeed it is itself intellectual light. 2. That being which is in all things and without which we understand nothing is the divine being. 3. Congenital knowledge of God as being simply involves in an eminent way all other cognition, so that by it we hold as known implicitly all being, under whatever aspect it is knowable. 4. All other ideas do not exist except as modifications of the idea by which God is understood as Being simply.24 In 1862 further propositions were censured, and finally in 1864 the work of Casimir Ubaghs of Louvain was ruled out of court. While ontologism is not specifically mentioned in Dei Filius, the preface’s reference to doctrines which confuse nature and grace does seem to emerge from the Church’s engagement with ontologism in the previous two decades. As far as Rosmini-Serbati was concerned, after the Council, under Pope Leo XIII, in a decree of the Holy Office entitled Post Obitum (1887), some propositions of his, mostly taken from posthumously published works and not far removed from those condemned in 1861, were indeed censured, due in part to the Thomistic renewal which Pope Leo had instigated in Catholic thought. In 2001, however, a Note on the Force of the Doctrinal Decrees concerning the thought of Fr Antonio Rosmini-Serbati issued by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith established that the propositions condemned were not to be understood in the sense in which the Holy Office had then understood them, and that the intention of the decree Post Obitum was rather to guard against interpretations of Rosmini-Serbati’s somewhat ambiguous thought. Rosmini-Serbati himself, it pointed out, 24 Quoted in Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 116 (condemnations found in DH, nos. 2841–45). Dei Filius in Context 813 had never denied any truths of faith, although his system was “insufficient and inadequate to safeguard and explain certain truths of Catholic doctrine” (§5). Rosmini-Serbati was subsequently beatified (2007). Fideism Dei Filius also speaks of the positive ability of reason to prove the existence of God, and other central truths linked to revelation. “If anyone says that the one, true God, our creator and lord, cannot be known with certainty from the things that have been made, by the natural light of human reason, let him be anathema” (can. 1 of Dei Filius II). Fideism can be regarded as a reliance upon faith alone when it comes to the pursuit of basic religious truths. To a greater or lesser degree, fideism considers that reason is not able to justify itself and needs a deeper source or series of postulates to underwrite its deliverances, a point of view that seems to unite Kantian criticism to some forms of postmodernism. Faith or tradition is able to underwrite the axioms of reason. We begin by looking at the trajectory of Louis Bautain, a foremost fideist, who undertook a journey from a youthful rationalism to a conviction that reason needed a deeper wisdom which faith could offer. Louis Eugène Marie Bautain (1796–1867) Bautain (1796–1867) was born in Paris. After studying from 1814 to 1816 under the eclectic philosopher Victor Cousin, and brilliantly attaining a doctorate in literature, he took a position teaching philosophy at the Collège royale and the nearby University of Strasbourg in 1816. Hegel admired him. By this time Bautain had come to completely reject the Catholic faith in which he had been raised and instead he embraced a rationalist idealism influenced by the thought of Cousin, Fichte, and Hegel. Immersing himself too greatly in his academic work, Bautain had a mental breakdown while teaching and fell into a severe depression. He was helped at this time by a Catholic mystic, Louise Humann, a devotee of Meister Eckhart, a woman of deep and somewhat anti-rational spirituality. With her inspiration, Bautain reconverted to Catholicism in 1820. While this conversion helped him to regain his well-being (Bautain resumed teaching in 1820), the fideistic tendencies already evident in his thought caused a suspension from teaching in 1822 when he began to proclaim that reason was powerless to know philosophical truth. He was nevertheless ordained in 1828, and taught in Strasbourg minor seminary. After some vicissitudes, including a visit to Rome to defend his work 814 Patrick Gorevan in the face of his bishop’s condemnations, he moved to Paris to teach at Juilly, wrote The Philosophy of Christianity in 1835, founded the St. Louis Congregation in 1842, and became vicar of the diocese of Paris and professor of moral theology at the Sorbonne from 1853 to 1863.25 Bautain’s fideism positively claimed that doctrine casts light on other areas of life and knowledge and negatively asserted that no preamble of faith based on objective assessment of the historical evidence is worth formulating. No rational reconstruction of revelation either in its grounds (Hermes) or its content (Günther) is possible. In his introduction to the course of philosophy contained in his major work Psychologie expérimentale (1835), Bautain explains that philosophy seeks the good, the true, the self, and the non-self. This leads us first to sensualism, then to a philosophy of imagination, and finally to a rationalism or pantheism or idealism. All of this leaves us dissatisfied until we reach the depths that Christian revelation alone can plumb within us. For Bautain, la raison is limited, plodding, workmanlike, and abstract, bound to the phenomena alone. As Kant has shown, reason can generate arguments for the “big issues” (God, world, and soul), but these will be countered by their contrary arguments. Any idea of God that reason can come up with will be limited, idolatrous, and probably a-moral. The best speculative reason can do in this area is to confirm what faith has already granted the human mind. Intelligence, on the other hand, is intuitive, profound and able to receive innate ideas. It can open itself up to truths of a higher order, and it does this particularly when it receives the faith. This is the source of metaphysical truths. It is in the soul, spontaneously open to intuitive truth, that God speaks, and on the basis of this hearing we can understand the relation between finite and infinite, created and uncreated. Every science needs basic principles and this is the principle of metaphysics, it is from here that our knowledge of the important factors of life emerges. The only true philosophy is the Philosophy of Christianity. Bautain is convinced, from his own bitter experience, that no philosophy can come up with the answers to the problems posed by human beings. “What is the meaning of life?” “What is our origin and destiny?” Look to the catechism for the solutions, he says; the Christian has the knowledge, flowing from the doctrine of Christianity as a matter of course. He saw rationalism in 25 Paul Poupard, “Louis Bautain: Apologist and Apostle,” in Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review 48, no. 192 (1959): 443–50; Bríd O’Doherty, S.S.L., “A Man with a Message: Louis Bautain (1796–1867),” in The Maynooth Review / Revieú Mhá Nuad 11 (December 1984): 11–25. Dei Filius in Context 815 the approach taken by the clergy, and its fruits in the phenomenon of large-scale defection from the Church. For Bautain, intellect, the intuitive faculty which forms ideas, perceives truth, and weighs evidence, has a better chance by far of founding certainty based on faith in the three great metaphysical ideas: the triune creator God; the fall of man and the redemption accomplished by the second Adam.26 These views led to problems with the very bishop of Strasbourg who had privately tutored Bautain, admitted him to ordination, and appointed him rector of the seminary; Bautain’s dismissal of Scholasticism, of the praeambula fidei, and of the general reasonableness of faith did not go down well, and the bishop was pleased to refer to Bautain’s “mongrel philosophy.” Bautain himself felt that he was defending the faithful from the danger of semi-rationalism. The bishop alerted Rome, submitting a series of propositions to which he suggested Bautain be asked to subscribe. As it happens, when Bautain traveled to Rome in 1838, he was met with an understanding attitude and found a mentor in the great critic of Hermes, Giovanni Perrone, S.J. (1794–1876), of the Collegio Romano, who helped Bautain to understand his own position better and that of his bishop. His visit facilitated a greater familiarity with Thomism, which he eventually embraced, and he was encouraged by Pope Gregory XVI, who explained to him that he had “only sinned by an excess of faith [peccasti tantum excessu fidei].”27 He was not asked for any further assurances, nor were the bishop’s propositions, or Perrone’s, put to him. Only in later years, in 1844, when he was engaged in founding the St. Louis Congregation, was he asked to subscribe to some somewhat milder propositions: reason can attain to the existence of God, the immortality of the soul, other basic principles of metaphysics, and the motives of credibility.28 Paul Poupard refers to him as “Apologist and Apostle,” and these titles are merited. His disciples included future bishops, Marie-Alphonse de Ratisbonne, founder of the Congregation of Our Lady of Sion, and Auguste Gratry, who renewed the French Oratory. Above all we should mention his foundation of the St. Louis Congregation. 26 27 28 See Louis Bautain, Psychologie expérimentale, vol. 1 (1839), ch. 1: “Course of Philosophy, Introduction: On Philosophy in General, First Section: Definition of Philosophy” (trans. C. Michael Shea at academia.edu/1034247). Poupard, “Louis Bautain,” 447. See also Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 33–35. Poupard, “Louis Bautain,” 447–48. 816 Patrick Gorevan Traditionalism A variant on fideism which must also be mentioned is traditionalism. It, too, is distrustful of the ability of reason to reach the truths about God and man which are regarded as preambles of faith. Instead, traditionalism places its faith in an ancestral revelation which has given us awareness of such matters, as directly implanted by God in the human collective spirit. As Louis Gabriel Ambroise de Bonald (1754–1840) would put it: How can those who admit a Supreme Being, and even the creation of the human, suppose that this Being, essentially powerful and good, would have placed humans on the earth in order to live here in society, without recognizing at the same time that He had to give them or breathe into them, from the first moment of their existence, the necessary knowledge [les connaissances] for their individual and social, physical and moral life, knowledge which, transmitted naturally from father to children, and from generation to generation, has developed with society, and has deteriorated as society has?29 De Bonald, a conservative soldier and politician who was exiled during the French Revolution and returned under Napoleon, held prominent academic posts and also worked with François-René de Chateaubriand on the Mercure de France gazette, receiving many awards and decorations during the latter years of his life. He taught that, while human intelligence can deal with particular truths and images through the senses and through reason, the more abstract and general realities are more difficult for the human mind, beset as it is by passion and prejudice. In language, an original gift to the human race, these realities are made accessible, and this points to an ancestral revelation made to humanity in language, which made possible our grasping and retaining of such important truths. While the Enlightenment had rejected inherited beliefs and traditions, the competing and irreconcilable philosophies which emerged from it had, for de Bonald, cast a shadow over the powers of individual judgments to attain religious and moral truths. Corporate judgments, on the other hand, carrying memory from age to age and allowing us to think of the “past as present,” were tried and tested and could be relied upon to carry the weight of such far-reaching and needful assertions in the moral and 29 Louis Gabriel Ambroise de Bonald, Philosophical Studies, pt. 2, in Oeuvres complètes, ed. Jacques-Paul Migne, 3 vols. (Paris, 1859), 3:66–67; cf. de Bonald, Primitive Legislation as cited in Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 45. Dei Filius in Context 817 religious spheres. De Bonald pointed to the ubiquity of language, an anonymous process without a subject, which no one has created, as a proof of the existence of God as a First Cause and guarantee of the truths needed for social existence. Félicité Robert de Lamennais (1782–1854) was equally committed to the witness of the race, and claimed that the authoritative consent of humanity is the principle of human knowledge and certitude. While his ultramontane views, which regarded the Pope as the guarantee and organ of this witness, gained some approval at Rome, his denial of natural theology, and thus of the gratuitous nature of supernatural revelation, merited him a papal denunciation in Pope Gregory XVI’s Singulari Nos of 1834. Later, in the pontificate of Pius IX, the traditionalist (and fideist) view that reason cannot uphold the rationality of faith was censured in Qui Pluribus (1846), as was the traditionalism of Ubaghs in 1861. The Role of the “Roman School” in Preparing for the Council Michael Shea points out that the two constitutions of the First Vatican Council, Pastor Aeternus on infallibility and Dei Filius on faith and reason, in their interconnection, reflect the influence of the Collegio Romano (now known as the Gregorian University) and the “Roman School” based there, in particular the work of Perrone. Shea claims that the Council’s dogmatic teachings reflected central themes from Perrone’s theological curriculum. Other members of its staff such as Clement Schrader, Johann Baptist (later Cardinal) Franzelin, S.J. (1816–1886), Joseph Wilhelm Karl Kleutgen, S.J. (1811–1883), Franz Hettinger, and Willibald Maier made effective contributions to the workings of the Council. 30 The college had been returned to the Jesuits in 1824, ten years after the re-constitution of the order. Perrone was subsequently director of studies and rector, in a career which lasted over forty years. Under his guidance, the Collegio Romano became very influential, in a most practical way: “non sumus episcopi,” Perrone remarked, “sed facimus episcopos”—we are not bishops, but we make bishops.31 Many of the more influential bishops at 30 31 C. Michael Shea, “Ressourcement in the Age of Migne: The Jesuit Theologians of the Collegio Romano and the Shape of Modern Catholic Thought,” Nova et Vetera (English) 15, no. 2 (2017): 579–613; Carlo Pioppi, “Scuola romana,” in Dizionario di Ecclesiologia, ed. Gianfranco Calabrese, Philip Goyret, and Orazio Francesco Piazza (Roma: Città Nuova, 2010), 1298–1301. C. Michael Shea, “Giovanni Perrone’s Theological Curriculum and the First Vatican Council,” Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 110, no. 3–4 (2015): 789–816, at 793. 818 Patrick Gorevan the Council owed their theological training to the college; the “collegial” unanimity of the fathers of the Council and the relatively serene passage of Dei Filius may owe something to this; perhaps they recognized the framework of the curriculum they had studied in the first schema presented. The influence of the Roman School was particularly strong from 1839 until 1879, when Leo XIII’s Encyclical Aeterni Patris encouraged the use of the works of St. Thomas in Catholic philosophical circles. Catholic writers associated with the school also included Cardinal Edward Manning, Matthias Scheeben, and Heinrich Denzinger. The school was one of the main instruments used by the Holy See in the preparation of magisterial documents during the Pontificate of Blessed Pius IX, in particular Ineffabilis Deus (1854) and the Syllabus of Errors (1864).32 Perrone and other members of staff were deservedly influential in the life of the Church and of the curia, in which they served as consultors to congregations such as the Congregation of the Index and Propaganda Fide, thus contributing to the prehistory of the Council by analyzing many of the central figures in the drama of rationalist and fideist responses to modernity, in particular Hermes, and also by accompanying and befriending thinkers such as Bautain and John Henry Newman.33 Perrone’s famous curriculum, Praelectiones Theologicae, was particularly influential: a manual, but more than a manual, offering a sweeping view and system of theology, strikingly anticipating many of the Council’s themes, such as faith and reason, the public and ecclesial nature of faith, hierarchy, and the role or “anteriority” of the Church, which was key in Perrone’s mind for understanding all that concerns Scripture and Tradition.34 For Perrone, faith and reason were indeed key matters of the day, and issues concerning them and their relationship bookended his treatise. In 1860, Perrone’s work was referred to as a touchstone for orthodoxy in disputes between the Congregation of the Index and theologians at the University of Louvain regarding faith and reason. The Congregation of Propaganda went so far as to quote Perrone’s own writings in its response in 1868 to William G. Ward on the teaching role of the pope.35 Perrone can be defined, loosely, as a Scholastic thinker, but was rather 32 33 34 35 Pioppi, “Scuola Romana,” 1298. Shea, “Ressourcement in the Age of Migne,” 606–7; Nichols, From Hermes to Benedict XVI, 97. Shea, “Ressourcement in the Age of Migne,” 609. Shea, “Giovanni Perrone’s Theological Curriculum,” 804. Shea points out that this step was quite unique at the time, but reflected Perrone’s “substantial labours” for curial congregations in the years leading up to the Council. Dei Filius in Context 819 more of a positive than a speculative cast of mind. He collaborated informally with Newman in 1847, and some of Newman’s ideas concerning the development of doctrine appear to have been discussed with Perrone. Newman remarked in 1849 that “the Pope has in a way taken up Perrone.”36 The work Perrone published in 1847 as a contribution to the debate on the definability of the Immaculate Conception shows that the development of doctrine, however this may be defined, was much on his mind.37 When it came to the Council, its immediate preparation, and the workings of the commissions, the influence of the Roman School continued, above all with the work of Franzelin and Kleutgen, two Jesuits who were influenced by both the approach of the Roman school and the rebirth of Thomism, to which Kleutgen contributed under Leo XIII. Franzelin was from the Austrian Tyrol and a polymath, at home in various Eastern languages, as well as in dogmatic theology, having been assistant professor of dogma in the Collegio Romano since 1850, and he contributed a key votum to the preparation of the conciliar debate on faith and reason. His schema, entitled Definitio doctrinae catholicae contra multiplices errors ex impio rationalismo derivatos vel contra multiplices absoluti ac temperati rationalism errores,38 was discussed and eventually gave rise to a second schema, composed by Franzelin, which was the one dealt with at the Council and eventually was the basis of Dei Filius.39 This second schema was found by the Council fathers to be too long and complex. In early January, therefore, it was decided that the schema should, as Cuthbert Butler reports, be “retained in substance” but “shortened . . . and made more clear,” and that “its tone should be tranquil, as befits the decree of a General Council.”40 The proposed emendations were sent to the Deputation on Faith, a twenty-four-member group elected by the council whose president was appointed by Pope Pius IX. Three members of the Deputation on Faith were chosen to carry out the emendations: Victor Auguste Dechamps, Louis François Désiré Pie, and Konrad Martin. Martin, the head of the group, asked for the assistance of two theologians: Kleutgen and Charles Louis Gay.41 36 37 38 39 40 41 Shea, “Giovanni Perrone’s Theological Curriculum,” 803. Shea, “Ressourcement in the Age of Migne,” 606. Franzelin’s Definitio can be found in appendix of Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 90*–105*. See Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio (1759), ed. Ioannes Dominicus Mansi, vol. 50 (Leipzig: H. Welter, 1923–1927 [vols. 49–53 = Vatican I]), cols. 59–74. Cuthbert Butler, The Vatican Council, 1869–1870: Based on Bishop Ullathorne’s Letters (Westminster, MD: Newman Press, 1962), 169. Butler, Vatican Council, 170. 820 Patrick Gorevan Kleutgen was a prominent member of the Society of Jesus. He was born in Westphalia, entered the diocesan seminary in Paderborn, but was ordained priest in Switzerland in 1837 after joining the Jesuits there. He began working in Rome in 1843 for the Jesuit generalate, and also in 1851 for the Congregation of the Index, where he was helpful in dealing with issues raised by German-speaking writers, in particular the semi-rationalism of Günther and Hermes. He also resisted the doctrine of the traditionalists and fideists, pointing out that human reason is able to have a firm grasp on the basic principles of reasoning and the praeambula fidei. He was thus well versed in the issues which the Council wished to treat. In later years his profound knowledge of St. Thomas Aquinas drew him into Pope Leo’s project of the revival of Scholasticism, during which he was in charge of editing the encyclical Aeterni Patris (1879).42 Kleutgen had been caught up in the scandals surrounding the enclosed Franciscan nuns of the monastery of Sant’Ambrogio, whom he had served as extraordinary confessor since 1858. As a result of his indiscretions there, he had been stripped of his posts and sentenced to imprisonment.43 Pope Pius IX commuted this sentence to a kind of house arrest, during which he was permitted to continue writing. Subsequently he made his contribution to the workings of the Council. His task was to rework Franzelin’s schema in order to improve its clarity, presentation, and serenity. He succeeded in condensing it into four chapters, which eventually became the four chapters of the constitution Dei Filius. Conclusion St. John Paul II, in his encyclical Fides et Ratio, on the question of faith and reason, remarked that the Church has often intervened with regard to philosophical teachings, referring specifically to Dei Filius: “If the Magisterium has spoken out more frequently since the middle of the last [i.e., nineteenth] century, it is because in that period not a few Catholics felt it their duty to counter various streams of modern thought with a philosophy of their own.”44 Hermes, Günther, Rosmini-Serbati, and Bautain were indeed addressing the chief streams of the thought of their day, and attempting to discern the truthful elements emerging from the Enlightenment. Dei Filius would, as Pope John Paul remarked, deal with these 42 43 44 Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy, 124. For a brief summary of the “Kleutgen fiasco,” see Nichols, From Hermes to Benedict XVI, 134–35. St. John Paul II, Fides et Ratio (1998), §52. Dei Filius in Context 821 philosophies in an “even-handed” way, identifying both the distrust of reason’s natural capacities in the thought of fideists and pointing out that rationalism attributed to natural reason a knowledge which only the faith could confer.45 In the years coming up to the Council and in connection with issues of faith and reason which would later be dealt with at the Council, the magisterium was also even-handed, alert to exaggerations on both sides, sometimes even managing to temper attitudes and form a more balanced disposition toward questions concerning faith in dialogue with reason, as we have noted in the case of Bautain. The work of members of the “Roman School” had a part to play in this when it came to the Council itself, but they were already active in previous years both in the strictly academic and pedagogical area, forming many of the bishops who would be active in the council, and by way of tackling the erroneous and negative developments in Catholic thinkers in those years, through both contribution to magisterial documents and personal contacts. The serene and smooth passage of Dei Filius also owed much to their influence. 45 St. John Paul II, Fides et Ratio, §52. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 823–838 823 Dei Filius I: On God, Creation, and Providence Rudi A. te Velde Tilburg University Tilburg, Netherlands In this essay, I want to share my impressions of the first chapter of the dogmatic constitution Dei Filius of Vatican I. It begins its declaration of the basic truths of Christian faith in a language which is similar, and probably intended to be similar, to that of a solemn confession of faith: “The holy, catholic, apostolic, and Roman church believes and acknowledges that there is one true living God, creator and lord of heaven and earth.”1 It reminds one, in some of its formulations, of the Nicene Creed, but with a remarkable difference: here, in the text of the constitution, the object of the confession is formulated as a proposition about God’s existence.2 What is said is not, for example, “I believe in one God, the Father almighty”; but the Church believes and holds it to be true that there exists a God. One can notice a subtle shift from a confession of faith to the proclamation of a (rational) truth. The Pope, gathered with all the bishops of the Church, declares that there exists a God, the one and true living God, a doctrinal statement directed, by implication, against those who dare to deny the existence of God. The opening sentence of chapter 1 corresponds with its canon, which says that, “if anyone denies the one true God, creator and 1 2 Dei Filius [DF] I, in Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, From Trent to Vatican II, ed. Norman Tanner (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990) 804–11, at 805. The association with the Nicene Creed appears to be not without ground. At the second session of the Council ( January 6, 1870), Pope Pius IX opened the meeting with a solemn declaration of the whole doctrine of Catholic faith, beginning with the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed of 381, in the version of the confession of Trent. 824 Rudi A. te Velde lord of things visible and invisible: let him be anathema.”3 Thus the constitution says that the “one, true living God” of the biblical faith exists, that this is a truth, and that, as consequence, the opposed thesis of atheism is false and must be rejected. Who is asserting this truth? Who is speaking and with which authority? The text leaves no doubt about the speaking subject. It is the Church, entitled to speak with authority about matters of faith, because it is the Roman Church, holy, catholic, and apostolic. The Church speaks, in the person of the pope, the legitimate successor of St. Peter, with authority granted to her by God himself through his Son Jesus Christ. In the preface preceding chapter 1 of the constitution, it is said that the Church is appointed by God to be “mother and mistress of nations.” Hence: She can never cease from witnessing to the truth of God . . . and from declaring it, for she knows that these words were directed to her: “My spirit which is upon you, and my words I have put in your mouth, shall not depart out of your mouth from this time forth and for evermore” (Is 59:21).4 This gives the pope, sitting in the chair of Peter, the authority of “teaching and defending Catholic truth and condemning erroneous doctrines.”5 And the first thing to be declared, as part of the Church’s task to proclaim the Catholic truth to all the nations, is to assert the existence of God against the error of atheism. It is important to understand the genre of a dogmatic constitution. It is a document in which the Church, by mouth of the pope together with the bishops, expounds the basic tenets of Christian teaching. The purpose of a dogmatic constitution is to reaffirm the basic truths of Christian doctrine, to clarify the fundamentals of faith in a message to the world. A constitution may be occasioned by actual developments in the world and society, but it speaks as it were from the standpoint of eternity. In case of the constitution Dei Filius, the addressee is the world of the mid-nineteenth century, a time of dominance of scientific reason, of materialism, naturalism, atheism, and not unimportantly, of current forms of idealistic pantheism (Georg Hegel, Friedrich Schelling, the influence of German Idealism in general); what the constitution especially stands opposed to 3 4 5 DF I, can. 1 (p. 809). DF, preface (p. 805). DF, preface (p. 805). Dei Filius I: On God, Creation, and Providence 825 is the view of supernatural religion as being irrational. For this purpose it wants to reclaim reason and to overcome the disastrous gap between faith and (modern) rationality. The double program underlying the constitution—teaching the Catholic truth and condemning erroneous doctrines—reminds one of the Summa contra gentiles [SCG] of Thomas Aquinas.6 The language and spirit of the Council, gathered in order to reaffirm and to proclaim the basic truths of Catholic faith, seem to be influenced by the apologetic program of Aquinas’s SCG in at least two respects: first in the emphasis on teaching (proclaiming, making known to others) the truth of Catholic faith together with the critical rejection of the opposing errors, and secondly in the claim of the rationality of faith or of the basic truths of faith such as the existence of God, his attributes, creation, and providence. These are the respective subjects of the first three books of the SCG, in which Aquinas follows the “way of natural reason.” Natural reason plays a central role in the project of the SCG. Its distinctive feature is the appeal made to reason in order to formulate a rational account of the truth of what faith professes about God. Especially in the nineteenth century, the SCG was often considered to be a philosophical summa (in contrast to the theological summa), a work of Christian apologetics aiming at a rational defense of faith against the rationalism and naturalism of the Greco-Islamic intellectual culture. In a similar vein, a most characteristic aspect of the Council’s declaration on the basics of Catholic faith is that these basic truths about God, creation, and providence are claimed to be knowable in the natural light of reason, and moreover, that the truth about God’s existence especially can be proved by natural reason, and that this conviction is declared to be part of faith.7 Against the widespread view in the nineteenth century that religion is irrational and that its beliefs are not justifiable by the standards of scientific rationality, the Church proclaims the rationality of faith, with the remarkable result that the thesis that the existence of God can be 6 7 For the intention and the order of Aquinas’s Summa contra gentiles, see my article “Natural Reason in the Summa Contra Gentiles,” Medieval Philosophy and Theology 4 (1994): 42–69. DF II: “The same Holy mother Church holds and teaches that God . . . can be known . . . by the natural power of human reason” (p. 806). The claim is made with implicit reference to the well-known text in St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans 1:19. Most theologians today would deny the possibility of proving the existence of God through natural reason alone. Denys Turner, however, has recently published a book in which he defends this claim of Dei Filius. For his defense of the proof of the existence of God, see David Hammond, “Interpreting Faith and Reason: Denys Turner and Bernard Lonergan in Conversation,” Horizons 35, no. 2 (2008): 191–202. 826 Rudi A. te Velde known by natural reason is now proclaimed to be a dogma of the Catholic faith. One might see in this claim a confusion between the natural and the supernatural. The First Vatican Council speaks from the presupposition that the Church has the God-given task and responsibility to preserve, to teach, and to defend the truth of God. This saving truth is undoubtedly more than a series of theoretical propositions about God’s existence, his nature, and his essential attributes. But as I read the intention behind the text of the constitution, it is that the full saving truth of the Christian religion, revealed by God through his Son, and as such entrusted to the Church, must be proclaimed and taught each time again, even in the way of a series of semi-rational truths which demarcate the doctrine of faith against the erroneous ideologies of one’s time.8 Formulating the Basics in a Hybrid Manner: A Confession of the Truths of Faith in the Reflective Form of Theism The first sentence of chapter 1, beginning in the style of a confession of faith, as we saw above, continues in a more formal Scholastic language in which a series of divine attributes are stated: “almighty, eternal, immeasurable, incomprehensible, infinite in will, understanding and every perfection.”9 One observes in the text of the constitution a notable shift from an initial language of confession to the more reflective language of the theistic approach to God, his nature and his essential attributes. Clearly the fathers of the Council want to proclaim and defend specifically the truth of theism against the contemporary ideologies of atheism, materialism, and pantheism. “Theism” is the common name of a certain rational-reflective approach to religious belief in God. It is not simply the same as believing in God. One speaks of “theism” in connection with a certain philosophical engagement with the rationality of religious belief. For instance, Norman Kretzmann published a work under the title The Metaphysics of Theism, in which he comments on the first part of Aquinas’s SCG.10 The term “theism” 8 9 10 The propositions of the constitution may be called “semi-rational” insofar as they are indebted to a Scholastic rational style of thought but as incorporated in a document of faith. This interplay of two genres gives the text a characteristic ambiguity, for instance where a scholastic formal language is mixed with words of praise. An example of this is the use of the word excelsus in DF I (see note 21 below). DF I (p. 805). Norman Kretzmann, The Metaphysics of Theism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997). Dei Filius I: On God, Creation, and Providence 827 was used by him in the sense of a complex of epistemic beliefs concerning the existence of a divine being, his nature and attributes (eternity, immutability, etc.), and his relationship to the world. According to Kretzmann, Aquinas’s SCG contains a fully developed philosophical doctrine of theism; it is a work of natural theology, which aims to provide a rational justification of theistic belief. Another well-known philosopher of religion who is engaged in the theistic project of defending the rationality of religious belief is Richard Swinburne. In his book The Coherence of Theism he defines a “theist” as a person who believes that there is a God. By a “God” he understands something like a “person without body, who is eternal, free, able to do anything, knows everything, is perfectly good, is the proper object of human worship and obedience, et cetera.”11 Christians, Jews, and Muslims are in this sense all theist; underlying their common faith is a certain idea of God, of what kind of being God is (most perfect, simple, self-sufficient), what kind of properties he has (eternity, immutability, omniscience), and how he relates to the world (as an intelligent and free cause). My thesis is that the constitution proclaims, in the first chapter, the truth of the Catholic faith in the reflective form of a theistic belief against the position of atheism and pantheism. Speaking in the name of the holy institution of the Church to which the divinely revealed teachings of faith are entrusted for the sake of human salvation, the constitution nevertheless uses the theistic language of natural theology. Not only does Vatican I declare, in the words of the constitution, that the Church believes that there is one true and living God, but it presents what it believes and confesses as the contents of propositional belief, which can be known “by means of the natural light of reason.” The specific selection of divine attributes in the text of the constitution impresses one as quite arbitrary and without a well-thought-out order. It begins with the classic “almighty,” an attribute which specifically pertains to God’s power to create. Its place at the beginning of the series makes one think of the phrase “the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth” from the Creed. It is another indication of the ambiguity in style. Then follows the attribute of eternity, central to the conception of God according to classical theism. The theistic God is eternal, existing outside time and the temporal world. “Eternal” (or “everlasting”) is a common biblical adjective of God. Eternity means that God is without beginning or end; and added to this is the exclusion of any succession in God. There are no different 11 Richard Swinburne, The Coherence of Theism, rev. ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 1. 828 Rudi A. te Velde temporal states in God, no development; and neither is God essentially involved or implicated in the world of time. The next attribute which is mentioned is “immense” (or “immeasurable”). In traditional dogmatic treatises, the immensitas Dei was normally connected with the ubiquitas Dei: God is wholly present to all creatures; he is everywhere, not restricted to a determined place. God’s immensity is commonly identified as a mode of his infinity. In Aquinas’s Summa theologiae, for instance, the attribute of infinity is treated in question 7 of the prima pars, and immediately after this, as a sort of corollary, Aquinas comes to speak of the “existence of God in things” (q. 8), that is his ubiquitas.12 Attributing to God eternity and immensity, as added to his incomprehensibility, means that the divine essence is beyond time, space, and every finite understanding. God’s immensity is such that he exceeds every human concept. Then, in line with the attributes of eternity and immensity, God is declared to be infinite. Infinity, in this context, means unlimited fullness of perfection. God is infinite in every perfection, in particular in intellect and will. By adding the phrase “in intellect and in will,” Réginald Garrigou-Lagrange explains, the Council condemns the materialistic pantheism which considers the divinity as merely a blind and impersonal necessity, a sort of law of fatality without either intelligence or will.13 It is clear that, by adding the properties of intellect and will, God is thought as a personal being, which is central to the position of theism as opposed to pantheism. Thinking the Distinction against Pantheism After having stated the essential attributes of God, the text of the constitution continues with expressing the fact that God is really distinct from the world: “Since he is one, singular, completely simple and unchangeable spiritual substance, he must be declared to be in reality and in essence, distinct from the world.”14 The keyword in this sentence is “distinct”; as part of the constitution’s defense of a theistic conception of God, the distinction between God and the world is emphasized. Distinction here implies independency. The one and simple substance which is God exists independently from the world, cannot possibly be affected (unchangeable!) by what happens in the world, and is in his essence distinct from all other things (as consequence of his simplicitas). 12 13 14 See my Aquinas on God (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2006). Réginald Garrigou-Lagrange, God: His Existence and His Nature, a Thomistic Solution of Certain Agnostic Antinomies, 2 vols. (St. Louis, MO: B. Herder, 1934), 1:4. DF I (p. 805). Dei Filius I: On God, Creation, and Providence 829 “Distinction,” especially when it receives the full emphasis, is an ambivalent word. As part of the theistic conception, it may create the impression of an unapproachable and distant God, a God who stands apart from the world. The mark of distinction is explicitly meant to exclude the error of pantheism, in which God is essentially involved in his world. Pantheism denies in one way of another the essential distinction between God and the world. We see that the chapter’s corresponding canon 3 condemns the position of pantheism: “If anyone says that the substance or essence of God and that of all things are one and the same: let him be anathema.”15 But the possible negative connotation of distinction (apart from the world, distant) is corrected, one must say, by the introduction of the notions of creation and providence. God created the world “in order to manifest his perfection,” not because of any need. Creation is not the process of divine self-realization, a way for God to increase or to acquire happiness, to become fully complete and satisfied in himself; on the contrary, being from the start in se et ex se beatissimus, God decided to create “by an absolutely free plan” (liberrimo consilio).16 God is most perfect from the beginning, and hence no creature can add to his perfection or be brought into existence because of what it can add. Thus not pantheism but free creation is what the Church defends; and the free act of creation is, then, continued by God’s providence, by which he “protects and governs” everything he has made. The notion of providence is clarified by means of two biblical quotations which traditionally figure in the doctrinal treatment of the notion of providence. First is the well-known text from the book of Wisdom (8:1): “. . . reaches from one end of the earth to the other and orders all things well [disponens omnia suaviter],” and then the text from the Letter to the Hebrews (4:13): “All things are open and laid bare to his eyes [omnia enim nuda et aperta sunt oculis eius].”17 Thus God, by his providence, orders all things well, and he knows everything. Nothing in the world happens by pure chance, apart from God’s knowing it. There is no “dark side of the moon” in the world, a dimension of evil or meaninglessness, where God is absent. The distinction, one might conclude from this, implies not only independency, but also the relationship of being involved in the world of creatures by care and governance. It must be said, however, that this relation from the side of God is regarded in Thomistic theology as not a real relation, but only 15 16 17 DF I, can. 3 (p. 810). DF I (p. 805). DF I (p. 806). 830 Rudi A. te Velde secundum rationem. The creature is really related to God, but not vice versa: God is not really related to the created world, since this would make him dependent on something else.18 The emphasis on the distinction can be seen as a characteristic feature of the theistic account of religious belief in God. God is said to be transcendent in the sense that God exists independently of the world; that God is “transcendent” is taken to mean that it is possible for him to exist without the world, being ontologically self-sufficient (beatissimus) and wholly independent (the traditional word for this is “aseity”). But if the distinction, as implicated by the theistic conception of God, is taken to mean that God can exist even without the world, what then about the relationship of creation? Is it not paradoxical to think the “distinction,” which as such implies a relation, in such a way that God is understood as possibly all there is without the world? If God would be all there is, then there is no distinction any more. The theistic understanding of God’s absolute independence, which we see in the phrasing of the text of the constitution, is also recognizable in how Robert Sokolowski explains what he calls the “Christian Distinction.” For Sokolowski, the distinctive mark of the Christian (biblical) God, as distinguished from how the divine was understood in antique Greek philosophy, consists in the radical distinction between God and the world; and this distinction is defined as the one “between the world understood as possibly not having existed and God understood as possibly being all there is with no diminution of goodness or greatness.”19 Sokolowski’s emphasizing the “free transcendence” of the Christian God aligns with the distinction as highlighted in the first chapter of Dei Filius. I think it is an essential feature of the Christian-biblical doctrine of God. From the Christian perspective, one cannot accept an ontological continuum between the Creator and the world of creatures. The Bible warns us against confusing the one and true God, creator of all things, with created reality. There is an essential distinction between, on the one hand, God the creator of heaven and earth, and on the other, the temporal world 18 19 For Aquinas’s view on the “mixed relation” between God and the creature, see Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 13, a. 7. God’s creative action does not bring about a real relation in God with respect to the creature—that is to say, not a relation which posits a new res in God (which implies a change in God). Not a real relation, however, does not mean not a relation at all. It would be wrong to draw the conclusion that, according to Thomistic theology, God is wholly unrelated to what happens in the world. Robert Sokolowski, The God of Faith and Reason: Foundations of Christian Theology (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1982), 23. Dei Filius I: On God, Creation, and Providence 831 of creatures. Thus it is perfectly right to assert the fact of the distinction, as the constitution does, but the question here is how to conceive the distinction in such a way that it does not result in an untenable dualism between God and world. The way Sokolowski formulates the distinction is, in my view, problematic. In an attempt to do justice to the absoluteness of God (his aseity), abstraction is made from the (contingent) existence of the world, so that God, existing absolutely in himself, remains all there is; God, then, is everything, not as the cause of everything, but prior to his being the cause of everything that might come into existence. Something goes wrong, I think, when God is thought in this way apart from the world. God is then conceived of as a free-standing object, which one can think of and describe by all kinds of essential attributes, without the world as the essential condition for us to say all these things about God. Even if God can exist without the world, God’s existence cannot be conceived by us without the world. God is so truly perfect and self-sufficient that he does not depend on something else. He is free to choose to create or not create; thus God is God, even if the world, hypothetically, did not exist. This theistic language, emphasizing God’s distinction vis-à-vis the world, is not as such wrong or misguided in its approach to God. It accords with the biblical emphasis on the sovereign freedom of God with respect to the whole of creation. But the theistic emphasis on the “distinction,” which can be recognized in the language of Vatican I, does not do justice sufficiently to the inclusive nature of God’s transcendence. One might get the impression that, in its zeal to condemn pantheism, the constitution facilitates the paradoxical idea of God without the world, or more abstractly, distinction without identity, which could be called “negative transcendence.” This hypothetical possibility of “God alone,” thus distinction as purely external to the identity of God, is paradoxical because it denies the general conditions under which the reality of God is intelligible for us. To get clear what is meant by inclusive transcendence, as the alternative to negative transcendence, it might be useful to consult here Thomas Aquinas for how he understands the distinction between God and the world. After all, it was shortly after Vatican I, in the encyclical Aeterni Patris (1879) of Pope Leo XIII, that the study of the thought of Thomas Aquinas was recommended to be used in the educational institutes of the Church. And the constitution Dei Filius, with Joseph Kleutgen as one of its chief authors, bears witness of the revival of Thomistic thought in the nineteenth century. When we look at Aquinas, especially the Aquinas whose metaphysical thought centers around the notion of participation, 832 Rudi A. te Velde undiscovered yet by the Thomists of the nineteenth century, then it appears that his view of the distinction differs from the usual theistic view in an essential aspect. In the first place, for him, we cannot speak of “distinction” without “identity.” It will not do to assume the existence of the world, on the one hand, and the existence of God on the other, and then to posit, from an external point of view, their distinction, as if they both occupy their proper ontological place. For Aquinas, the “distinction” is part of the complex manner in which the intelligibility of God can be determined by us, approaching God from the world. The reality of God, Aquinas says, is known to us per effectum: insofar as he is the cause of all things, and as cause distinguished from all things. Distinction (as in the statement “God is not the world”) goes along with identity (God is in a certain sense the whole of what exists, in the sense that all the effects pre-exist in the power of the cause). What is said of God—and that include all the attributes mentioned in Dei Filius—is said of him as cause. Thus God must be said to be distinct from the world not prior to the relationship of causality, but in the sense that the cause is distinct from its effects. Being the cause of everything, he is not one of the items of this everything. It is a distinction as implied by the causal relationship of creation. Here we see the gist of Aquinas’s understanding of the distinction. Instead of an abstract transcendence, over against the immanence of the world, Aquinas offers us a notion of “excessive (or inclusive) transcendence,” transcendence understood in terms of participation. This notion of transcendence as implying distinction as well as identity can be illustrated by Aquinas’s reading of an interesting passage in Pseudo-Dionysius. One cannot speak well of God, Dionysius remarks in his On the Divine Names, as if he is “this” but not “that”; God cannot be treated as if he is an object among other objects, distinguished from other objects in a categorical sense (by being this or such). On the contrary, Dionysius continues, God is “everything insofar as he is the cause of everything” [omnia ut causa omnium]”.20 This formulation, which may strike the reader as having an air of pantheism, must be understood in the light of the neo-Platonic notion of causality. The cause is said to be its effect (moment of identity), in the manner of the cause (moment of negation), in the sense that the positive reality existing in the effect pre-exists eminently in the cause (moment of excess). To be a creature means to have received from its creative cause, 20 Dionysius, De divinis nominibus 5.8; cited by Aquinas in ST I, q. 4, a. 2. The distinction between God and the world, as implied by the causal relationship of creation, corresponds with the moment of negation in the threefold way God can be known from the world in the light of natural reason. Dei Filius I: On God, Creation, and Providence 833 God, the very reality (being, form, perfection) it has; and to be a cause means to communicate to another from its own reality (being, goodness). From this it is clear that the “first cause” cannot be characterized in terms of one among others, a particular entity distinguished from other particular entities. God is in a certain manner everything: the original fullness of all being which is divided and multiplied over the many things in the world. The Dionysian expression speaks the language of “participation,” in which identity (affirmation: “God is everything”) goes together with distinction (negation: “God is the cause of everything and as such distinguished from everything”). The text of the constitution does not explain how the distinction must be understood; it only states the distinction: “[God] must be declared to be in reality and essence distinct from the world.” But considering the fact that the theistic affirmation of the distinction goes together with an unambiguous rejection of the pantheistic identity of God and world, one might conclude that the distinction, as understood by the Council, leaves hardly room for including the aspect of identity in the speculative sense as conceived by Aquinas. One must realize that the dominant systems of philosophical thought in the nineteenth century were radically immanent and anti-Platonic. The philosophical absolute did not exist in itself apart from the sensory and changeable reality of the world; it is something which realizes itself only in and through the concrete world of experience. The Council’s laudable rejection of this kind of immanence of the absolute, as leading to unacceptable forms of pantheism, might have facilitated formulations which suggest a dualistic form of transcendence with emphasis on the distinction at the expense of the identity aspect; this can be recognized in the text of the constitution where it says, “inexpressibly loftier [excelsus] than anything besides himself which either exists or can be imagined.”21 What one can learn from Aquinas in this respect is that the “Christian Distinction,” as such crucial for the Christian understanding of the relation between God and the world and affirmed in the constitution as part of the Catholic faith, need not necessarily be conceived in a dualistic form of 21 DF I: “super omnia, quae praeter ipsum sunt et concipi possunt, ineffabiliter excelsus” (p. 805). Here, a term such as excelsus serves to stretch the distance between God and all other things; instead of excelsus, which is, I think, primarily a term of praise, Aquinas would use in this context the conceptually more precise terminology of the via eminentiae, for instance in the sense that the perfections of all things are said to pre-exist excellenter (secundum eminentiorum modum) in God. Where the effect of excelsus is to enlarge the distance between God and the world, Aquinas’s excellenter underlines the inclusive transcendence of God’s perfection. 834 Rudi A. te Velde transcendence, but that participation may open the way to a non-dualistic transcendence (what I have called “excessive transcendence”). The Principle of Free Creation The constitution requires a certain way of reading. It is not an argumentative text, nor a text which clarifies or explains the basic terms through which the Catholic faith is defined. It is a text in which the Church, represented by the Council gathered under the authority of the Pope, formulates the basic truths of faith in conformity with the Bible and the declarations of faith from Tradition. These basic truths function as the parameters of faith: if one deviates from one of these landmarks, then one will deviate from the truth of Catholic Faith. One of these landmarks is the so-called “Christian Distinction.” God is distinct from the world, perfect and fully happy in himself, and thus not necessitated in any way to create the world. The thesis of free creation in De Filius I (“he creates by an absolutely free plan”22) is a corollary of the Christian Distinction. How such a free creation must be understood is not explained. Apparently, given the context and genre, the Council fathers did not see this as their responsibility. But it will be clear to everyone that, in light of biblical faith, free creation is indeed a basic truth of the Christian religion. Denying or compromising the free character of creation means, therefore, that one in fact deviates from the truth of Catholic faith. In the fourth canon of chapter 1, three philosophical positions are mentioned which all contradict the idea of a creation out of nothing by God’s free will. The first position consists in the view that “finite things, both corporal and spiritual, or at any rate, spiritual, emanated from the divine substance.”23 The key word here is “emanation” (emanare), well-known from the neo-Platonic account of creation. The second position holds that “the divine essence, by the manifestation and evolution of itself becomes all things.” Here, a typical nineteenth-century buzzword, “evolution” (evolutio), attracts our attention. God, the divine essence, is in itself incomplete, but must become all things by evolution. The third proposition condemned in the same canon says that “God is a universal or indefinite being [ens universale seu indefinitum] which by self-determination establishes the totality of things distinct in genera, species and individuals.” 22 23 DF I (p. 805). DF I, can. 4 (p. 810). Dei Filius I: On God, Creation, and Providence 835 In his book God, His Existence and His Nature, Réginald Garrigou-​ Lagrange gives a helpful explanation of this dense passage on pantheism in the constitution of Vatican I. What is condemned in the fourth canon, he says, are the three principal forms of pantheism: “(1) Emanatistic Pantheism; (2) the essential Pantheism of Schelling; (3) the essential Pantheism of the universal being.”24 In this last form of pantheism, the canon presumably refers, Garrigou-Lagrange says, to the theories of Antonio Rosmini-Serbati (1797–1855), condemned by decree of the Holy Office on December 14, 1887, and especially with regard to his teachings of ontologism, condemned on September 18, 1861. Two of the propositions condemned in 1861 read: “(1) What we understand by the term being as applied to all things and without which they mean nothing to us, is the divine Being. (2) Universals, objectively considered, are not really distinct from God.”25 A doctrinal constitution such as Dei Filius usually shows restraint in identifying the concrete source of the ideas which are condemned as being incongruent with the truth of faith. It is possible that the fathers of the Council, when formulating the canon against pantheism, had in mind specifically the thought of Rosmini-Serbati, or more likely the influence of certain heterodox interpretations of his thought.26 It is clear that after his death in 1855 the Church felt increasingly the need to distance itself from Rosmini-Serbati’s system of thought and to warn against possible erroneous interpretations in favor of idealism, and in particular of ontologism. The doctrine of “ontologism” is associated with the name of Nicolas Malebranche (1638–1715) and consists in the affirmation that the human 24 25 26 Garrigou-Lagrange, God, 1:2. Heinrich Denzinger, Compendium of Creeds, Definitions and Declarations on Matters of Faith and Morals, 43rd ed., Latin–German, ed. by Helmut Hoping and Peter Hünermann [DH], Latin–English ed. and trans. Robert Fastiggi and Anne Englund Nash (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2012), nos. 2842–43 (cited in Garrigou-Lagrange, God, 1:2, according to original Denzinger nos. 1660–61). Also associated with pantheistic ontologism, rejected by the constitution Dei Filius, were other Catholic thinkers in the nineteenth century such as Vincenzo Gioberti in Italy and Gérard Ubaghs in Belgium. It is possible that the third proposition of the canon primary envisages the pantheistic consequences of Gioberti’s ontologism, more than Rosmini-Serbati’s, especially considering the fact that the latter himself has emphasized the distinction between the universal being and God. The idea of being is not God himself, but something which has divine-like characteristics such as infinity, universality, and necessity. An enlightening discussion of his attempt to construct a Christian metaphysical philosophy in response to Kantianism and of his Thomistic critics (Kleutgen among others) can be found in Alasdair MacIntyre’s book Three Rival Version of Moral Enquiry (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1991), 70–71. 836 Rudi A. te Velde spirit enjoys an intuitive knowledge of God and perceives in God the ideas through which it is able to know things. Far from being a precisely defined doctrine, ontologism seems to be primarily an idealistic consequence of the Augustinian notion of illumination, which entails the immediate presence of the divine light of truth to the human intellect. Rosmini-Serbati was suspected of ontologism because of his thesis about the a priori idea of being, which is originally given in the mind in such a way that it refers to the illuminating action of God. According to Rosmini-Serbati, human concepts are nothing but determinations of the simple and elementary notion of being. This idea of being is indeterminate and universal; it manifests itself to the mind as an intelligible object simply by illuminating it. This ideal being is not God, but we may call it, says Rosmini-Serbati, an appurtenance of God. Essential for Rosmini-Serbati is the idea that the human mind must have in itself an ideal element transcending the contingent and finite realm, which links the mind with God, so that the possibility of knowledge of the absolute can be explained. In the formulation of the canon, we see that the universal being is immediately identified with God, and that this universal being “determines” itself into the totality of things. The logical determination of the idea of being in the order of human knowledge, concretized into many special concepts, becomes here a real process of self-determination of God in and through the totality of things. I want to conclude this essay with a reference to a 2001 note concerning the thought and work of Rosmini-Serbati by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger while he was prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith, published in 2001.27 In this note, Ratzinger describes the main points of the history of the Church’s critical engagement with the thought of Rosmini-Serbati. One of the factors mentioned by Ratzinger in explanation of the distancing of the Church, resulting in the condemnation of Rosmini-Serbati in de doctrinal degree Post Obitum (1887), was the choice of Thomism, promoted by the encyclical Aeterni Patris (1879), as a philosophical system which could offer a unifying synthesis of ecclesiastical studies: “The adaption of Thomism created the premises for a negative judgement of a philosophical and speculative position, like that 27 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF), with Joseph Ratzinger as prefect, “Note on the Force of the Doctrinal Decrees concerning the Thought and Work of Fr. Antonio Rosmini-Serbati” (2001). Ratzinger refers in his note to the encyclical of John Paul II Fides et Ratio, which named Rosmini among the recent Catholic thinkers who achieved a fruitful exchange between philosophy and the Word of God (see Vatican website for text). Dei Filius I: On God, Creation, and Providence 837 of Rosmini, because it differed in its language and conceptual framework from the philosophical and theological elaboration of St. Thomas Aquinas.”28 In light of this remark, the dogmatic constitution Dei Filius of Vatican I may be seen itself as a sign and expression of the need to strengthen the theoretical and philosophical formation of the clerics in order to come to a fruitful and more inclusive dialogue with the modern world. The example of Rosmini-Serbati shows how important it is for the Catholic Church to accept the challenge of modern thought and to stimulate forms of contemporary Christian philosophy which makes a case for the human intellectual openness to transcendence. 28 CDF, “Note on the Force of the Doctrinal Decrees,” §4. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 839–854 839 Dei Filius II: On Divine Revelation Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Rome, Italy With chapter 2 of Dei Filius, the First Vatican Council’s Constitution on the Catholic Faith moves on from the confession of faith in God, the Creator of all things, to the fact of God’s revelation to us human creatures. The chapter covers first natural revelation through creation and the possibility of our natural knowledge of God, then why we also need a further revelation which is supernatural, the presence of that supernatural revelation in Scripture and Tradition, and finally the canonicity, inspiration, and interpretation of the Bible.1 The first sentence of the chapter declares that “holy Mother Church holds and teaches that God, the beginning and end of all things, may be known with certainty by the natural light of human reason.”2 This sentence, with its affirmation of the possibility of sure natural knowledge of God without the benefit of supernatural revelation, is perhaps the most well-known of the chapter, the most hotly debated at the council itself, and the most discussed in the secondary literature.3 Hardly any comment is 1 2 3 Heinrich Denzinger, Compendium of Creeds, Definitions and Declarations on Matters of Faith and Morals, 43rd ed., Latin–German, ed. by Helmut Hoping and Peter Hünermann [DH], Latin–English ed. and trans. Robert Fastiggi and Anne Englund Nash [San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2012]), nos. 3004–7. See also Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, ed. Norman Tanner, vol. 2, Trent to Vatican II (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990) 804–11. Unless there is a question of an official English translation, translations from magisterial documents are my own. DH, no. 3004. See, e.g.: Theodor Granderath, Geschichte des Vatikanischen Konzils von seiner ersten Ankündigung bis zu seiner Vertagung (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1903–1906), 2:422–40; Marcel Chossat, “Dieu (Connaissance naturelle de),” Dictionnaire de 840 Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. ever made, however, on how the second chapter begins with the statement that the Church “holds and teaches” what follows. This phrase tenet et docet contrasts neatly with how the first chapter began: “The Holy Catholic, Apostolic, Roman Church believes and confesses that there is one, true and living God,” and so on. While chapter 1’s opening sentence spoke of the Church believing and confessing, chapter 2’s opening sentence speaks instead of the Church holding and teaching, employing the verb teneo (hold) in contrast to credo (believe).4 One can easily recognize a structural parallel between the two phrases: the inner act of holding in chapter 2 corresponds to the inner act of believing in chapter 1, and the external act of teaching in chapter 2 corresponds to the external act of confessing in chapter 1. I shall say something about the Church’s holding and teaching, and its overall contrast as a unit with the earlier unit of believing and confessing, before going on to say something about the wider content of the chapter in that light. I do this partly because this symposium is about not only Vatican I’s Constitution on the Catholic Faith, but also theology today. Catholic theology today is familiar with a precise distinction between “believing” and “holding,” and while it is closely related to the distinction between believing and holding found in Dei Filius, I do not think the two distinctions are quite the same. So, in order to avoid confusion, I shall say something about the distinction familiar in theology in today, and then say something about the distinction at work in Vatican I. 4 théologie catholique, vol. 4/1 (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1911), 756–874; Ambrose Ryan, “The Knowledge of God Attainable by Human Reason, according to the Vatican Council,” Franciscan Studies 3 (1943): 364–73; Cuthbert Butler, The Vatican Council, 1869–1870, Based on Bishop Ullathorne’s Letters (London: Collins and Harvill, 1962), 235–47; Bernard Lonergan, “Natural Knowledge of God,” in A Second Collection (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1974), 117–33; Lawrence Moonan, “Certo cognosci posse: What Precisely Did Vatican I Define?,” Annuario Historicae Conciliorum 42 (2010): 193–202; Fergus Kerr, “Knowing God by Reason Alone: What Vatican I Never Said,” New Blackfriars 91 (2010): 215–28. Jean-Michel-Alfred Vacant, exceptionally, did comment on tenet et docet (Études théologiques sur les constitutions du Concile du Vatican, 2 vols. [Paris: Delhomme et Briguet, 1895], 1:42, 309). He initially treated “believes and confesses” and “holds and teaches” as equivalent indications of infallible definitions, but later, when treating the particular case of natural knowledge of God, he denied that the chapter itself defined anything at this point but merely gave an exposition of what the Church teaches. The latter interpretation differed from the view expressed at the Council that definitions were made in the chapters as much as in the canons. See, e.g., Sacrorum Conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, ed. Ioannes Dominicus Mansi, vols. 49–53 [Vatican I] (Leipzig: H. Welter, 1923–27), 51:44, 394, 415. Dei Filius II: On Divine Revelation 841 The Profession of Faith in use in the Church since 1989, after quoting the Nicene Creed, continues as follows: “With firm faith, I also believe everything contained in the word of God, whether written or handed down in Tradition, which the Church, either by a solemn judgment or by the ordinary and universal Magisterium, sets forth to be believed as divinely revealed.”5 But to this primary profession of what is usually called theological or divine faith, since it is a response to God’s revelation, there is then added the following: “I also firmly accept and hold each and every thing definitively proposed by the Church regarding teaching on faith and morals.”6 A third category, which pertains to non-definitive teaching and to which the appropriate response is “religious obedience of will and intellect,” need not detain us here.7 The Latin of “I accept and hold” is amplector et retineo, and in the 1989 Profession, it is said in definite contrast to faith and belief as an assent distinct from but related to that of divine faith itself. Though officially translated as “hold”—which might also have rendered teneo—retineo seems to connote guarding and preserving something, holding onto it, rather than merely holding it. The difficulty in interpreting such formulas (including terms such as “profess,” “hold,” and so on) is indicated by the fact that the previous Profession of Faith, which had come into use after the Second Vatican Council, used precisely the same phrase, amplector et retineo, for assent to what includes defined dogmas of faith.8 The difference between the two twentieth-century Professions is that, while the earlier Profession referred amplector et retineo to revealed dogmas which, as such, fall under divine faith, the current Profession instead transfers the phrase to an assent clearly distinct from divine faith, though intimately related to it. In this we find reflected the distinction normally made in Catholic theology between two objects of the Church’s infallibility,9 a distinction also made by those present at Vatican I.10 The primary object contains those things believed by divine faith as divinely revealed. In contrast, the secondary object contains those things that are not in themselves divinely 5 6 7 8 9 10 See DH, no. 3011, for chapter 4 of Dei Filius. DH, no. 5070. For amendments to canon law arising from this point, see Ad Tuendam Fidem in no. 5065. For the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith’s doctrinal commentary, see nos. 5071–72. See Robert Ombres, “The New Profession of Faith and Oath,” Priests and People 3 (1989): 339–43. Acta Apostolicae Sedis 59 (1967): 1058. E.g., Avery Cardinal Dulles, Magisterium: Teacher and Guardian of the Faith (Ave Maria, FL: Sapientia Press, 2007), 59–99. See e.g., Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 52:1226–227. 842 Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. revealed, but are closely connected with the truths of faith such that the faith itself cannot be adequately proposed or defended without the additional holding of those other truths, and so the Church’s infallibility extends to them too. So, while there are some truths which are directly revealed and so are believed by faith, there are others that are firmly accepted and held in connection with faith. Were we to suppose that Dei Filius was making precisely the same distinction when it spoke in chapter 2 of the Church holding and teaching rather than, as it had done in chapter 1, of believing and confessing, we might suppose that the content of chapter 2 was not de fide, strictly speaking, but was rather to be held on the basis of what is believed. The Council seems, however, to have been making a closely related but slightly different distinction. I am not suggesting that the two distinctions are mutually exclusive, but merely that the one is not the other, and we should not confuse them, if we are to gain a more precise understanding of what exactly Dei Filius was proposing in chapter 2.11 The term “holds” has its own history of different use, perhaps more complex than that of amplector et retineo. An example of its historic employment is in reference to the dogma of faith regarding the existence of purgatory. The Council of Trent, in its Decree on Purgatory, of December 3, 1563, had commanded the bishops to see that the “sound doctrine of purgatory” be “believed [credi], held [teneri], taught [doceri], and preached everywhere [ubique praedicari].”12 What it is for the doctrine to be believed, taught, and preached is clear enough, but what does holding the doctrine add to its being believed? I suggest that, in context, “hold” brings out the connotation of firm adherence or preservation, not unlike the meaning of retineo in today’s Profession. Of the four pertinent verbs in Trent’s decree, only one found its way into the Tridentine Profession of Faith (promulgated by Pope Paul IV in 1555) regarding purgatory. A considerable variety of terms expressing assent is found throughout this Profession, but the verb chosen out of the four for purgatory was teneo: “I steadfastly hold that there is a purgatory.” This Profession was still in use in the time of Vatican I, and a version of it was recited during the Council’s second public session on January 6, 1870. However, while acknowledging the undoubted complexity in the history of the theological use of “hold,” 11 12 For a useful discussion of “believe” and “hold” at the Council, but which does not cover chapter 2, and which seems slightly to confuse the distinction with the one that would later appear in the 1989 Profession of Faith, see Michaele Nicolau and Joachim Salaverri, Sacrae Theologiae Summa, vol. 1, Theologia Fundamentalis (Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 1958), 817–19. DH, no. 1820. Dei Filius II: On Divine Revelation 843 of which its historic use regarding purgatory is only one example, I intend to explore the meaning of “holds” in chapter 2 of Dei Filius against the immediate background of the word’s use in the preparation of the conciliar documents themselves. The phrase “holds and teaches” came to be introduced into chapter 2 of the constitution after an intervention by the Dominican archbishop of Saragossa and later Cardinal Manuel García y Gil, on March 4.13 García y Gil had been elected to the Deputation on Faith, and was among those who scrutinized the first draft by theologian Josef Kleutgen, S.J., at committee stage, after the earlier schema by Johann Baptist Franzelin, S.J., had been set aside. Kleutgen had put “believe and confess” at the beginning of chapter 1, but began chapter 2 with only “the Church teaches.”14 García y Gil suggested a lengthy rewrite of the whole sentence on natural knowledge of God, but the only part of his suggestion that made it into the revised draft printed on March 14, and so appeared in the final text, was the insertion of “holds and.”15 The resulting phrase “holds and teaches” thus reproduced more or less a phrase, tenet ac docet, already present in the draft’s preamble.16 I suggest that in both cases what the Church “holds and teaches” is not said in strict exclusive contrast to what the Church believes and confesses, but represents a broader category under which matters of faith definitely fall, but which matters of faith do not exhaust. From the first discussions of the pre-conciliar theological commission on September 24, 1867 it was clear that the documents would tackle not only heresy but also other errors which were not opposed to faith per se, but went against further undoubted and certain truths beyond what was strictly to be believed.17 I suggest that “holds and teaches” was not restricted to this second kind of truth, but was designed to encompass both kinds. We have a sense of this meaning being already in place from the pre-conciliar theological commission’s discussion of a draft document on marriage on September 10, 1868. The preamble announced that it would cover various matters that “no one from now on should dare to believe.” 13 14 15 16 17 Vito-Tomas Gómez García, El Cardenal Fr. Manuel García y Gil, O.P.: Obispo de Badajoz y Ârzobispo de Zaragoza (1802–1881) (Valencia: Nacher, 1990). Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 53:165. In Franzelin’s draft, the possibility of natural knowledge of God had at first been introduced with “we declare” and was later modified to “it cannot be doubted that” (50:60). Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 53:185. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 53: 164. The preamble to Franzelin’s draft had similarly spoken of what the Church “holds and teaches” (tenet et docet; 50:59). Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 49:619–20. 844 Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. It was recorded that one of the consultors made the point that, since “believe” indicates an act of faith, and not all of the points dealt with in the document on marriage were dogmas of faith, the text should be amended from “believe” to “hold.”18 In this way the text itself would recognize that its scope, while including truths of faith, went beyond them. And this is indeed what later appeared in the revised schema, namely, that “no one from now on should hold, preach or teach” other than in accordance with the content of the document.19 Since the Council had to be closed prematurely on account of the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War, the schema was of course never finally voted on. The distinction also showed itself after the final approval of Dei Filius in the debates leading up to the definition of papal infallibility in the constitution Pastor Aeternus. The draft formula which had previously been circulated to the Council’s membership said the pope was infallible when he defines “what in matters of faith and morals is to be held [tenendum] by the universal Church.”20 This use of “held” (rather than, say, “believed”) reflected the common position among theologians that, while ecclesial infallibility included matters of faith, it extended beyond them to further certain truths, that is, the secondary object of infallibility. Some proponents of papal infallibility at the Council, however, felt that the definition should be more cautious, since, while it was the case that the extension of ecclesial infallibility to matters of faith was already something believed within the Church, its extension to further truths was in contrast something held by theologians to be only certain, rather than believed as such. In this situation they felt it safer to make explicit only the pope’s infallibility regarding what was strictly de fide, rather than speak more broadly of matters to be held.21 Thus Bishop Konrad Martin of Paderborn proposed replacing the draft’s “hold” with saying that the pope is infallible when he defines “what is to be believed by the universal Church as of Catholic faith.”22 After some unsatisfactory compromise formulas were explored,23 the process turned full circle and the original formula, more or less, appeared in Pastor Aeternus.24 My point is that both sides in this dispute recognized that, 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 49:652. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:719. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 53:243. For an English translation of the relevant diary entry of Bishop Ignatius von Senestréy of Regensburg, who supported “hold” in the definition, see Butler, Vatican Council, 376–78. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 53:249. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 53:250, 255. DH, no. 3074. Dei Filius II: On Divine Revelation 845 while talk of holding truths included matters of faith, strictly speaking, it went beyond them to include more. At Vatican I “hold” was a more global, generic term which included faith, but more besides. These interventions give us a context for understanding the opening of Dei Filius’s chapter 2: “Holy Mother Church holds and teaches.” All that is to come is not something only held rather than believed, but, given the generic meaning of hold, will be either a truth of faith, strictly speaking, or instead a sure truth connected to faith. One might have thought that inclusion in an anathema would be a reliable guide that something was de fide rather than of lesser authority. After all, the pre-conciliar commission originally planned that the canons would condemn only heresies, strictly speaking.25 However, this point of method had inevitably been dropped when Franzelin’s draft set aside the basic distinction between chapters and canons, and the point was not revived when Kleutgen’s draft restored the distinction of chapters and canons. Kleutgen was satisfied to follow the same method as Trent, which he took to have allowed the canons’ anathemas to range beyond matters of faith to define things that were not in themselves revealed.26 So it would seem that the canons of Dei Filius are not restricted to what is de fide, strictly speaking. With regard to the chapter’s first point, however, there seems never to have been any real doubt during the council that what was under discussion was meant to be a matter of faith, namely, natural knowledge of God. Vatican II would certainly interpret Vatican I in this way nearly a hundred years later when Dei Verbum, its Constitution on Divine Revelation, introduced its quotation of Vatican I on natural knowledge with the words “the Sacred Synod confesses” (confitetur).27 In this way Vatican II clarified that Vatican I’s teaching on certain natural knowledge of God is de fide, though the matter was hardly in any doubt at Vatican I itself. The bishop of Orléans, Félix Dupanloup, for example, was in no doubt that this was what was at stake when, during the general congregation on April 7, only five days away before the vote on the whole constitution, he attacked the idea that the certainty of rational knowledge could be defined as revealed. When St. Paul spoke in Romans 1 of knowledge of God had from things God had made, Dupanloup thought it was not clear that either this knowledge or a knowledge that these things were created by God, was certain.28 He was, however, very much in a minority, and his intervention 25 26 27 28 Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 49:654. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 53:329. DH, no. 4206. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:354–58. 846 Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. served only to manifest that the consensus was the other way. I think it is fair to say that, for the other bishops, a clear perception of God’s invisible nature, and of his eternal power and deity, which St. Paul said had left people without excuse for not honoring him, could be nothing less than certain. This leaves us with the question of how this natural certainty was understood more precisely by the Council, and the implications for theology today. It is reasonably well known that, while Dei Filius defined the possibility of certain natural knowledge of God, it did not at the same time say anything about “demonstration.”29 That term did not even appear in the text which so exercised Dupanloup over certain knowledge. It had been included back in Kleutgen’s first draft, though not in chapter 2 but in its corresponding first canon, which condemned those who denied that God “can be known with certainty and demonstrated” from the things he had made. In the meantime, it had disappeared, after the theologians decided to go for either one phrase or the other. When the revised text came to be circulated to the Council fathers, Bishop Henri Maret, who was dean of theology at the Sorbonne, proposed an amendment to add to chapter 2 the word “demonstrated,” which was seemingly intended as clarificatory of what “certain knowledge” means. Though Maret, like his fellow countryman Dupanloup, was opposed to defining papal infallibility, his early sympathy for traditionalism had lessened, and their contributions to the debates on revelation came from different angles.30 Replying on behalf of the deputation on April 4, the prince-bishop of Brixen, Vincent Gasser, conceded that “certain knowledge” and “demonstration” might seem to be equivalent up to a point. However, there was a difference, and he said that the deputation had opted for the “softer” rather than the “harder” terminology. This seems to suggest that “demonstration,” as the tougher phrase, while including the meaning of certain knowledge, adds something extra, which toughens it up. It seems to me that this something extra involves certain knowledge taking the form of a conclusion to a rigorous philosophical argument. So while demonstration includes certain knowledge, the two are not quite the same thing. And so, Kleutgen, for example, in his manual published eleven years after the Council, characterized denial of certain knowledge as heretical, but denial of demonstrability as of some lower rank of error, say rash or proximate to faith at most.31 We 29 30 31 Kerr, “Knowing God.” Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:262. On Maret’s earlier sympathy for traditionalism, see Bernard Reardon, Liberalism and Tradition: Aspects of Catholic Thought in Nineteenth-Century France (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 186–89. Josef Kleutgen, De Deo Ipso (Regensburg: Pustet, 1881), 98. Dei Filius II: On Divine Revelation 847 should note here that in no way does the fact that Vatican I’s deputation on faith kept the term “demonstrated” out of the document mean that the Council rejected the possibility of demonstration. It simply means that the Council ended up not making demonstration part of its explicit doctrine, and no more than that. Just because a council comes not to speak about something does not necessarily mean it rejects it. What then is the effect on the final text itself of speaking of certain knowledge instead of demonstration? It seems to me that this takes the focus of the text away from the formal activities of professional theologians and philosophers, and puts the full focus onto human beings in a general way. Theologians, including St. Thomas Aquinas, have known that people can come to be certain of God’s existence from his creatures without expressing this knowledge in the syllogistic form of a strict demonstration, with explicit premises about not being able to go back to infinity in per se chains of causes, or whatever it might be.32 One can see an extension of this interest in how St. John Henry Newman, in his Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent, completed in the same year as the Council closed, explored how human beings in fact often come to certainty in ways other than by following a strict philosophical demonstration.33 And in today’s Catechism of the Catholic Church, there is talk of “ways” of approaching God from creation, proofs of his existence in the sense of “‘converging and convincing arguments,’ which allow us to attain certainty about the truth.”34 That the text of Vatican I is in principle open to such a range of thinking about how we can come through natural revelation to be certain of God’s existence is perhaps suggested by the range of thinking present at the Council itself. While Kleutgen was a devotee of Aquinas’s five ways of proving God’s existence,35 many of the bishops would have been more familiar with the approach of René Descartes, especially what is known as the ontological argument. When Maret of the Sorbonne proposed the addition of demonstration to chapter 2, he also proposed an alternative, longer amendment, which said that certain knowledge and demonstration were achieved “through metaphysical, cosmological and moral arguments.” It was easy for Gasser to see where Maret was coming from, thanks to the latter’s speech in the general congregation back on March 28. Maret had said that the text, in affirming support for cosmological arguments, could 32 33 34 35 See, e.g., Aquinas, Summa contra gentiles I, ch. 3, and Super Psalmos 8. John Henry Newman, An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985). Catechism of the Catholic Church, §31. Kleutgen, De Deo Ipso, 100–111. 848 Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. be taken to be excluding metaphysical arguments which took their starting point from the content of the human mind. These Maret characterized as Augustinian, including St. Anselm among St. Augustine’s followers.36 Gasser countered Maret’s proposed amendment with the reply that knowledge from creatures did not exclude a metaphysical argument, as one could just as well argue from the image impressed on the immortal human soul as one could from the traces present throughout all creation. He added that no one was going to condemn Anselm, whatever they thought of his ontological argument.37 All this suggests that Dei Filius is in principle open to theologians, including theologians today, exploring a wide range of approaches to natural knowledge of God’s existence. But if Dei Filius is so open in general, what approaches does it not leave open for Catholic theology? From one of Gasser’s responses to proposed amendments we learn that its emphasis on the certainty of natural knowledge arose partly in response to the French encyclopedists and to German critical philosophy and the limitations posited in their accounts of the scope of reason’s speculative power.38 In other words, it arose at least partly in response to different forms of rationalism. From the perspective of Dei Filius, then, to whatever extent a Catholic theologian might appropriate something of these philosophies, say from Kant, that can never go so far as a denial of certain natural knowledge. Moreover, one approach which admitted certain natural knowledge, but was in fact implicitly ruled out, is what is known as “ontologism,” where natural knowledge of God arises only from an intuition of the divine being essential to the human mind. This had already been rejected by a decree of the Holy Office in 1861,39 and despite a desire from some bishops at the Council for an explicit reiteration of this condemnation in chapter 2, the deputation left this more complicated matter for another day, which never arrived.40 What took up a good deal of the Council’s attention was the fact that the opening of chapter 2 and its canon 1 also ruled out what was known as “traditionalism.”41 Indeed, in his initial presentation of the text to the 36 37 38 39 40 41 Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:167–69. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:276. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:274. He was replying to Gandolfi’s proposed amendment, which introduced an element of mitigated traditionalism by reference to the context of natural reason in adult society (51:262). DH, no. 2841. See Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:273, for the proposed amendment of Bishop Pietro Rota of Guastalla; for Gasser’s reply to, see 51:262. See Reardon, Liberalism and Tradition. Dei Filius II: On Divine Revelation 849 Council, Archbishop János Simor of Hungary, who as an opponent of defining infallibility had ended up on the deputation “by a mistake,”42 related that the main target here was in fact traditionalism.43 Traditionalism and its account of revelation may be understood as correlative to the fideism explored earlier in this symposium by Patrick Gorevan. This intentionally Catholic-friendly French and Belgian response to the rationalist rejection of any role for supernatural revelation and tradition in the name of human reason had already attracted a negative judgment from the magisterium. What had concerned the Roman magisterium from the 1830s onwards was any going to the opposite extreme of undermining human reason in the name of revelation and tradition, including the denial of the possibility of natural knowledge of God, which was being made in the name of a primitive supernatural revelation at the origin of humanity. But traditionalism came in a number of forms, from its basic emphasis on human reason as always situated within a communal and linguistic setting, through a general conclusion that it was activated by a primitive revelation made by God to Adam, to a particular denial that God’s existence could be known without such a supernatural revelation at the origin of humanity, then transmitted to subsequent generations. Louis Bautain and Augustin Bonnetty had both subscribed to theses presented to them, which, in contrast to radical traditionalism, included a thesis on the possibility of certain natural knowledge of God.44 One view at the Council was that the matter had in that way been closed by Rome and was best not dragged up again by the Council. Bishop Francesco Giuseppe Gandolfi of Città Vecchia, who seems to have been sympathetic to a milder form of traditionalism, was also concerned that no legitimate theological opinion be excluded by the Council.45 When he expressed his regret at the text, the Dominican García y Gil responded spontaneously on behalf of the deputation with a clearer distinction between milder and more radical forms of traditionalism.46 What was condemned in Dei Filius was not the milder view that there had been a primitive revelation, but rather the more radical idea that God could not be known with certainty without that supernatural revelation taking place. This position surely has implications for theology today. St. John Paul II’s encyclical Fides et Ratio recognized the importance of Dei Filius 42 43 44 45 46 Butler, Vatican Council, 147. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51: 46–47. DH, nos. 2765, 2812; cf. no. 2751. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:119– 22 (cf. 51:70). Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:122–23. 850 Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. for Catholic commitment to the power of natural reason as well as to supernatural faith.47 To be sure it is relatively unusual for any theologian today to speculate about a revelation being made to the first human beings or indeed about anything pertaining to the first human beings. However, the Council can still be cited by those critical of theologies which, by way of a modern or postmodern perspective, underplay the reach of natural human reason. For example, Aidan Nichols, O.P., writes in his critique of John Milbank’s Theology and Social Theory: “And notably, in posing the question of God, Milbank cannot do justice to the affirmation found in the “Catholic reading” of Scripture . . . at the First Vatican Council that the divine existence is naturally knowable by human reason; like Hans Küng in Does God Exist? he could only maintain that, at any rate, trusting oneself to an ultimate mothering reality is the sole alternative to Nietszche’s nihilism.”48 After the constitution affirms the possibility of natural knowledge and so of natural revelation through creation, it immediately affirms God’s revelation of himself and of his decrees “by another and supernatural way,” quoting the opening verses of the Letter to the Hebrews, according to which God spoke through the prophets and then by his Son. I take this supernatural revelation to include God’s revelation of himself as Trinity, and of his decrees regarding say the Incarnation, redemption, the Church and sacraments, and the Last Things. Here, and in the accompanying canons 2 and 3, the text has turned from traditionalism to focus more strongly against rationalism. Chapter 2 also affirms at this point that this supernatural revelation is responsible for the fact that truths attainable in principle by human reason alone can also be known with ease, firm assurance, and no error mixed in, even in our present condition. While the text avoids theological speculation about the different conditions of human nature, it is clearly envisaged that human reason is to some extent weakened by the fall, such that it is in fact difficult for reason alone to manage what it can in principle achieve on its own. The influence of Aquinas on the text is evident: supernatural revelation helps weakened reason achieve with ease what otherwise would have been not impossible for it, but difficult.49 It seems to me that here chapter 2 has passed on to something the Church holds and teaches which is not divinely revealed. This is confirmed by the fact that Vatican II, having confessed natural knowledge of God, again quotes Vatican I, but this time 47 48 49 St. John Paul II, Fides et Ratio (1998), §52. Aidan Nichols, “‘Non tali auxilio’: John Milbank’s Suasion to Orthodoxy,” New Blackfriars 73 (1992): 326–32, at 329. See, e.g., Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] II-II, q. 2, a. 4. Dei Filius II: On Divine Revelation 851 says merely that the Church “teaches” (docet) that supernatural revelation makes it easier to know what we could in principle know by reason.50 An important point which is immediately clarified is that this does not explain why supernatural revelation is “absolutely” necessary for us. This would seem to be because human reason alone can still grasp knowledge of God, though our present condition makes that difficult to some degree. Instead, the explanation of why supernatural revelation is absolutely necessary is that God, out of his infinite goodness, has ordered human beings to a supernatural end. In witness of this supernatural end 1 Corinthians 2:9 is quoted—“eye has not seen”—but it is expressed theologically in recognizably (though not exclusively) Thomist terminology as “supernatural.” The connection between this end and the knowledge required to attain it is also recognizably Thomist. The end to which God has ordered us is supernatural, and so a revelation that is supernatural is required for us to have the knowledge needed to reach that supernatural end.51 Gandolfi had another worry here, which he mentioned in his speech and which touches on current interests in theology. Gandolfi thought that, in saying God had of his goodness called us to a supernatural end, the text might be taken to imply the alternative possibility of a merely natural end for human beings in a state of what is called “pure nature.”52 Such a broadly Thomist reading of the text seems fair enough to me, and indeed explicit reference to a “natural beatitude” had appeared back in Franzelin’s draft.53 That phrase had not appeared in Kleutgen’s draft,54 possibly to avoid opinions legitimately debated among theologians. Thomists and others normally appealed to pure nature to safeguard the gratuitousness of our being ordered to a supernatural goal: the goal is a free gift because God could have done otherwise. Gandolfi’s problem, however, was that pure nature was only a theological opinion and the text seemed to rule out any position that sought to secure divine gratuitousness without appeal to it. His proposed amendment, however, which switched the emphasis to our needing revelation to live well, at the same time obscured the precise nature of his worry about Kleutgen’s text.55 Gasser, in contrast to his response to Maret, only took into account the formula of Gandolfi’s proposed amendment, and so the concern behind it was never truly addressed by his 50 51 52 53 54 55 DH, no. 4206. See ST I, q. 1, a. 1. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:121–22. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 50:71. See Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 53:231. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:265. 852 Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. response.56 I call attention to this because of current interest in Henri de Lubac’s position on pure nature from the middle of twentieth century and the wider debate it engendered.57 It is interesting to note that, as far as I can see, de Lubac made no mention of the concerns expressed by Gandolfi at Vatican I.58 The remainder of chapter 2 was an update of Trent on what we would now call Scripture and Tradition. It first links what has been said about supernatural revelation to what Trent’s Decree on the Reception of the Sacred Books and Traditions had said about the presence of the “truth and discipline” of the Gospel in Scripture and Tradition.59 So, if one wants to know where this supernatural revelation is present, it is specified by Dei Filius as the Church’s “universal faith” that it is found in the written Scriptures and unwritten traditions coming from Christ and from the apostles by the Holy Spirit. While this presence of supernatural revelation is identified as a matter of faith, not all the matters touched on here could be identified as strictly de fide. While it may seem obvious that the divine inspiration of a book can be known only by divine revelation, it has by no means been directly revealed by God that the correct list of books is exemplified in a named historic version or translation of Scripture, such as the Vulgate, or that a specific Council, such as Trent, has given the correct list, or even that that particular Council was such as to have had authority to promulgate a definitive list. However, with its more generic heading of “holds and teaches,” such matters are not determined explicitly in the text, but are left to theologians to ponder over. What chapter 2 in fact does next is simply to make a succinct statement renewing Trent’s decree, such that those books are to be received in their 56 57 58 59 Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:280. Granderath realizes that Gasser made some kind of mistake, but takes him to have supposed that Gandolfi’s objection hinged on supernatural revelation rather than end (Geschichte des Vatikanischen Konzils, 2:435–36). See, e.g.: Lawrence Feingold, The Natural Desire to See God according to St. Thomas Aquinas and His Interpreters, 2nd ed. (Naples, FL: Sapientia Press, 2010); Steven Long, Natura Pura: On the Recovery of Nature in the Doctrine of Grace (New York: Fordham University Press, 2010); Bernard Mulcahy, Aquinas’s Notion of Pure Nature and the Christian Integralism of Henri de Lubac: Not Everything is Grace (New York: Peter Lang, 2011); Jacob W. Wood, To Stir a Restless Heart: Thomas Aquinas and Henri de Lubac on Nature, Grace, and the Desire for God (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2019). Henri de Lubac, Augustinianism and Modern Theology (New York: Crossroad, 2000), restricts himself to the general observation that the Council avoided whatever was simply an opinion of a theological school (272–73). DH, nos. 1501–5. Dei Filius II: On Divine Revelation 853 integrity as sacred and canonical which were listed by Trent and were contained in the ancient Vulgate. Having followed Trent thus far, the text now turns to more contemporary issues by adding an explanation of why the foregoing books are received by the Church as sacred and canonical. Whereas the earlier paragraphs of the chapter had made its positive doctrinal presentations with the errors of various “movements” of thought (such as traditionalism) in view, the concern here seems to have been more with the defective content of textbooks then in use in seminaries. The canonicity of biblical books was sometimes explained in terms of a mere approval of them by the Church subsequent to their human composition or with reference to the fact that they contained revelation with no error mixed in.60 In response, Dei Filius taught that the biblical books were not canonical for such reasons but because they were inspired, that is, because they had been authored by God. In this way Vatican I was more explicit about the inspiration of the texts themselves than Trent had been, as can be seen especially in canon 4 of chapter 2, which condemned those who denied the biblical texts were divinely inspired. The Council thus gave encouragement to theologians, including theologians today, to reflect not simply on the inspiration of the human authors, but on what it means to say that texts they authored are themselves inspired.61 Moreover, in view of more recent interest in the Church’s reception of the biblical books as canonical, it is useful to note that, for the Council, inspiration is something prior to canonicity and cannot be reduced to it. The Church recognizes the authority inherent in these texts and so is subject to them, rather than the Church seeing herself as conferring authority on them from above. Chapter 2 then closes by renewing a further Tridentine Decree on the Manner of Interpreting Sacred Scripture. This disciplinary decree had laid down that no one should interpret Scripture on matters of faith and morals pertaining to the building up of Christian doctrine “contrary to the unanimous consent of the Fathers” of the Church or “contrary to the sense that Holy Mother Church has held and holds” (tenuit et tenet).62 I would not of course venture so anachronistic a view as that Trent 60 61 62 See James Tunstead Burtchaell, Catholic Theories of Biblical Inspiration since 1810: A Review and Critique (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 50–58. For a recent consideration of issues relating to inspiration and canonicity by a former member of the Pontifical Biblical Commission, see Denis M. Farkasfalvy, A Theology of the Christian Bible: Revelation—Inspiration—Canon (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2018). DH, no. 1507. 854 Simon Francis Gaine, O.P. formulated tenuit et tenet in view of the broader theological meaning of the verb in use at Vatican I. However, the quotation of it in chapter 2 does seem of a piece with that later use, because any particular “sense” affirmed definitively by the Church of some portion of Scripture need not itself be divinely revealed. But what Dei Filius was in fact concerned to do was to give an interpretation of Trent’s decree that guarded against a minimalist interpretation of it, where someone might avoid a denial of dogma, but at the same time avoid a more positive engagement with the Church’s reading of Scripture.63 Pius IV’s Tridentine Profession of Faith had already addressed this to some extent by placing immediately before acceptance of Trent’s negative prohibition a more positive acceptance of Scripture “according to the sense which Holy Mother Church has held and does hold, to whom it pertains to judge concerning the true sense and interpretation of the Sacred Scriptures.”64 What Vatican I’s constitution did was to treat the issue at a doctrinal and not merely disciplinary level, thereby manifesting the doctrine at work implicitly in the prohibition.65 It achieved this by teaching the need for positive commitment to ecclesial interpretation, while adding in the final version that the negative prohibition is a consequence of that positive commitment. Putting together a positive formulation that did not seem to introduce a new law restricting the freedom of Catholic exegetes or set up the Church and the Fathers as two rival tribunals for the correct interpretation of Scripture had proved a challenge for the deputation.66 There was therefore some disappointment among the bishops that its final draft, which contained only the new positive formula and not Trent’s negative one, spoke of the Church only and not also of the consensus of the Fathers, as Trent had done.67 A number of bishops proposed amendments to insert such a mention of the Fathers in the positive formula.68 In the end, their desire was satisfied by the appending of the old negative prohibition, with its mention of the Fathers, to the positive formulation. With that declaration, the decree then passes on to chapter 3, from the topic of revelation to the correlative topic of faith. 63 64 65 66 67 68 Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:286–87. DH, no. 1863. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:286. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:267. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:34. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 51:266–67. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 855–872 855 Dei Filius III: On Faith Gaven Kerr St. Patrick’s Pontifical University Maynooth, Ireland The First Vatican council offers a straightforward, traditional, some might say perfunctory account of faith in its short chapter dedicated to the issue. Were it not for the particular stage in the history of thought out of which the Council emerged, one would be tempted to say that the chapter on faith is an exercise in Scholastic theology, recognizable to those who are familiar with the treatment of the same in many of the Scholastic doctors, especially Aquinas. However, given the movement of thought in the nineteenth century, especially the emergence and predominance of certain philosophical views about human nature and the self, the chapter on faith not only (re)articulates a highly traditional account of the nature of faith but also envisages an account of man without which such an account of faith would be impossible.1 In this essay, I propose to do two things. Firstly, I will set out Aquinas’s account of faith and connect it with the Council’s account of the same. Secondly, I will show that this account of faith is incompatible with modern accounts of man which present him as a disunified and disengaged self. Having done that I will conclude that in order to honor the Council’s account of faith, we need to return to a pre-modern view of man in which he is seen in his engaged unity. 1 For the historical background see Roger Aubert, “La Constitution Dei Filiuis du concile du Vatican,” in De Doctrina Concilii Vaticani Primi (Rome: Liberia Editrice Vaticana, 1969), 46–66. This is a portion of Aubert’s larger study, Le problème de l’acte de foi (Louvain: Warny, 1945). 856 Gaven Kerr On Faith Chapter 3 of Dei Filius is devoted to faith. Therein the Council document affirms a number of traditional tenets pertaining to faith that can be seen defended in the thought of St. Thomas Aquinas; indeed, one might argue that the text on faith is an engagement with and refinement of Aquinas’s thought on the same.2 Aquinas holds that faith is a particular habit of mind by which we are disposed to believe the things of God because they are from God. As we shall see, this habit of mind has God for its object, in which case it cannot be developed in us by natural reason or practice, but comes as a gift, a grace from God. Thus, the one who has faith is already in a relationship with God, since, in accepting the gift of faith from God, the faithful is not resistant to God. Faith is the beginning of the spiritual life, whereby the truth about what is revealed is accepted by the faithful and offers a glimpse of the vision of God that will be enjoyed by the blessed.3 For Thomas, the formal object of faith is the first truth—God in himself—whereas its material objects are those things which pertain to God.4 The reason why God, the first truth, is the object of faith, is because formally speaking faith assents to something only because it has been revealed by God. Hence, the divine truth is the object on which the assent of faith is based. The other things of faith come under its assent because they are related to God in some way.5 2 3 4 5 This should be no surprise, as the authors of the text in question were Johann Baptist Franzelin and Joseph Kleutgen, both prominent in the revival of Scholastic and particularly Thomist thought in the nineteenth century. Kleutgen in particular is notable for his influence on Pope Leo XIII’s encyclical Aeterni Patris, which put in place the neo-Thomist revival of the twentieth century. For details see chapter 10 of Gerald McCool, Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism: The Search for a Unitary Method New York: Fordham University Press, 1977), and Aubert, “La Constitution Dei Filius,” 46–47, 61–62. See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] II-II, q. 4, a. 1: “Faith is a habit of mind by which eternal life begins in us, making the intellect assent to what is not apparent.” See also; De veritate, q. 14, a. 2: “Hence, in order that man be ordered to the good of eternal life, there must be a certain beginning of it in him to whom it is promised. Eternal life consists in the full knowledge of God, as is clear from John 17:3. Hence, there must be some beginning of this supernatural knowledge in us; and this is through faith, which by the infusion of light holds what exceed natural knowledge.” Unless otherwise noted, translations are my own. See: Aquinas, ST II-IIa, q. 1, a. 1, De veritate, q. 14, a. 8. See ST II-II, q. 1, a. 1: Concerning faith, if we consider its formal object, that is nothing other than the first truth; for the faith about which we are speaking assents to Dei Filius III: On Faith 857 As the object of faith, this first truth is not an object of vision, for we do not have a direct and immediate intuition of God. Rather, faith’s object is unseen (Heb 11:1). As something assented to but unseen, the intellect is not compelled by the certainty of what is seen, as in normal epistemic circumstances. Hence, there is required an act of the will by which the assent is willed rather than drawn by the natural light of the intellect itself.6 The act of faith then is a willed assent to those things about God which are not seen by the natural light of human reason. This assent is accompanied by certainty given that it is the first truth which moves the will to command the intellect to assent.7 The certitude of faith then does not lie in the intellect’s being compelled by the evidence, but in the will’s attachment to God as the good itself.8 On the basis of the foregoing, there are three different modes by which the object of faith can be considered: (1) believing God (credere Deo); (2) belief in God (credere Deum); and (3) believing in God (credere in Deum). These three components are coordinated with the intellectual and volitional components of the act of faith. On the side of the intellect there is the object (God) considered both formally and materially. Formally considered this involves (1) believing God when he reveals something for us to believe; materially considered this involves (2) belief in God or belief that God exists. On the side of the will, the intellect is willed to assent to the object of faith, and this because it refers that object to an end which is desired; this volitional component involves (3) believing in God as such a desirable end.9 The object of faith then relates to both the intellect and the will. As related to the intellect it falls under the nature of the true, regarding the existence of God and the trustworthiness of what God has 6 7 8 9 nothing unless it is revealed by God. Thus, faith depends on the divine truth as a kind of medium. . . . Other things do not fall under the assent of faith unless they have some order to God, for example, that man is aided toward enjoying God through certain effects of divinity. And even here the object of faith is in a way the first truth insofar as nothing falls under faith unless in relation to God.” See ST II-II, q. 1, a. 4: “In another way the intellect assents to something not because it is sufficiently moved by its proper object, but through a certain choice voluntarily leaning on one side more than the other. And if this follows with doubt and fear of the other side, it will be opinion; if however it follows with certitude and without any fear, it will be faith.” See ST II-II, q. 2, a. 1. De veritate, q. 14, a. 2. See ST II-II, q. 2, a. 2. 858 Gaven Kerr revealed; as related to the will it falls under the nature of the good, regarding an end that is desired.10 With the foregoing in mind, there is some justification for the following scriptural definition of faith: the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things unseen (Heb 11:1).11 The object of faith is unseen and believed in as an end under the aspect of the good. If the object of faith believed in as an end is unseen, then it is not possessed, but hoped for, in which case faith provides the substance of such things. For, the hope for God, who is not yet seen, is contained primordially in faith, which hope is thereby substantiated. Furthermore, insofar as faith disposes the intellect to believe the truths about God that have been revealed, faith is the evidence of things unseen.12 On this account, faith is not blind, nor is it wholly independent of reason; rather, reason can prepare or dispose the individual for faith. This can occur in three ways: (1) by establishing the preambles of faith, such as the existence and nature of God; (2) by providing creaturely similitudes by which to understand the truths of the faith, such as the psychological model for the Trinity; and (3) by showing that doctrines contrary to the faith are either false or not necessary, such as the eternity of the world.13 In all these cases, faith builds upon reason and does not eradicate it. 10 11 12 13 See ST II-II, q. 4, a. 1: “The act of faith then is to believe, which is an act of the intellect determined to one [object] from the command of the will. Thus the act of faith has an order to the object of the will, which is the good and an end, and to the object of the intellect, which is the true.” See also De Filius [DF] III, in Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, Trent to Vatican II, ed. Norman Tanner (Washington DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 804–811, at 807–8. All English translations of DF III are taken from Tanner. See ST II-II, q. 4, a. 1. See: Aquinas, In I Boethium de Trinitate, q. 2, corp. 3 (“In sacra doctrina, we can make a threefold use of philosophy. First, for demonstrating the preambles of faith, which are the things necessary to know in faith, such as those things concerning God that can be demonstrated by natural reason, e.g. that God exists, that God is one, etc., or what can be proved about God and creatures and which faith presupposes. Secondly, for clarifying by creaturely likenesses those things which are of faith, as Augustine in the De Trinitate uses multiple likenesses drawn from the teachings of the philosophers to manifest the Trinity. Thirdly, for resisting those things that are said contrary to faith, whether by showing such things to be false, or showing that they are not necessary”); ST I, q. 2, a. 2, ad 1: (“That God exists and other such things about God that can be known by natural reason, as said in Romans 1, are not articles of faith, but preambles to the articles. Thus, faith presupposes natural knowledge, just as grace presupposes nature and the perfection the perfectible”); II-II, q. 2, a. 10, ad 2 (“Demonstrative reasons adduced for those things of faith are preambles to the articles [of faith]”). Dei Filius III: On Faith 859 Given what we have seen, there is clearly a co-ordination of intellect and will in the act of faith such that, if intellect and will are in disharmony, it will be impossible to make the assent of faith. Let us consider an example offered by John Jenkins to help us think our way into this matter. Our will can be misinformed by various vices, and given this malformation we are not inclined to believe the truth when we hear it. Consider a smoker so addicted to his vice that, despite the overwhelming scientific evidence showing the negative health outcomes of smoking, he refuses to believe or indeed suspends the assent of the intellect to that or any truth that undermines his smoking. Accordingly, the smoker is disinclined to believe a set of truths precisely because his will is bent upon a particular vice which such truths oppose.14 As a result, the smoker neither believes the truths about smoking nor has his will formed in such a way that, even if he did believe such truths, his character would change so that he would stop smoking. Similarly in divine matters, an individual can be such that he is not inclined to believe the truth when it is revealed. This may be because he may be ignorant of truths about God naturally knowable by human reason, so that when such truths are revealed they are dismissed. Or it may be because, although he recognizes truths as coming from God, he is in such a state in life that he would have to change dramatically were he to accept the truths. In either case, God is not recognized as the truth or the good itself. Consider by contrast someone not so disinclined to believe. The will of such an individual does not restrict the intellect’s assent to faith, but in fact encourages it to assent to one’s true good. Given the subject’s dispositions, he is moved to assent to the truths that God has revealed about himself. There are all sorts of dispositions that a subject may have in being so inclined to assent, such as being in possession of a solid proof of God and his attributes. Given the consistency of the latter with what God has revealed along with the subject’s recognition of God as his true good, the individual assents more readily to the truths of faith.15 But things need not be so technical. What matters for the will in moving the intellect to assent to faith is that God is seen as the true good in which man’s heart can rest. In other words, the individual falls in love with God as the ultimate good in whom his perfection consists, and like a lover with his beloved, he is disposed to accept as true what his beloved reveals to him. 14 15 John Jenkins, Knowledge and Faith in Thomas Aquinas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 208–9. In III sent., d. 24, q. 1, a. 3, qc. 3: “Reason that is led by faith is not made to see what is believed, and therefore the difficulty of the work [of faith] is not diminished, so far as it is in itself; but it makes the will more prompt to believe.” 860 Gaven Kerr Demonstrative proof of the philosophical tenets of classical theism can help irrigate the soil of faith and direct the will to God as the ultimate good; but so too can an appreciation of the goodness of God in the feeling of his mercy in forgiveness of sin, in the blessing of a happy life, spouse, offspring, in the presence of God in prayer and particularly the sacraments. This account of faith defended by Aquinas is unthinkable within the philosophical outlooks that were prevalent at the time of the First Vatican Council. One of the central concerns of the modern philosophical project has been that of the self. The genesis of this concern can be traced back to the influence of late medieval nominalism and the closing off of the world from the realm of ideas. Yet, the single most significant contributor in turning philosophical attention inward on the self was René Descartes. As is well known, Descartes sought to cut through the dry and pejoratively titled “scholastic” debates in philosophy in order to place it on a firm foundation akin to that enjoyed by mathematics.16 In this respect he sought out some indubitable foundation on which to build knowledge. And as even many non-philosophers are aware, that foundation was the cogito.17 The subject of the cogito knows that he exists, for were he not to exist, he could not be such a subject. That being the case, the primary truth of which I can be aware is my own individual being; and this independent of any truths I can affirm about the world, objects, or even my body. I am a res cogitans, a thinking thing, and whatever else I am, I am primarily that.18 What presents itself now with some urgency is how to get from the 16 17 18 See discourses I and II in René Descartes, Discourse on Method, trans. F. E. Sutcliffe (London: Penguin, 1968). Note in particular what he says in discourse II: “As far as all the opinions I had accepted hitherto were concerned, I could not do better than undertake once and for all to be rid of them in order to replace them afterwards either by better ones, or even by the same, once I had adjusted them by the plumb-line of reason” (p. 37). Note what he says about the Scholastics in discourse VI: “I have never noticed that, by the method of disputation practised in the schools, any truth has been discovered of which one was ignorant before’” (p, 84); “[The Scholastics] are like the ivy which does not seek to climb higher than the trees which support it. . . . Their fashion of philosophising is most convenient for those who have only mediocre minds; for the obscurity of the distinctions and principles which they use enables them to speak about all things as boldly as if they really knew them. . . . They seem to me like a blind man who, in order to fight a person who can see, without disadvantage, brings him into the depths of a very dark cellar” (p. 85). See meditation II in René Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, trans. John Cottingham in The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, vol. 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 16–17. Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, 18 (meditation II). Dei Filius III: On Faith 861 mind to the world. Our knowledge of the world has been put in serious doubt, so a no-less-serious engagement with that doubt must be made. Effectively, the bridge that we use to cross the chasm opened between mind and world must be strong enough to quell the doubt that opened the chasm in the first place. Whilst his successors may not have been as keen to follow him in his conclusions, those who came after Descartes certainly adopted his initial starting point, to the effect that our grasp on the world is in jeopardy, and we need to construct a bridge of such reliability that the skeptical problem cannot even arise.19 What this outlook engendered was the conviction that, for knowledge to be worthy of the name, it must be apodictically certain, for only such knowledge could put to rest the skeptical problems that emerge once the self is disengaged from the world. Consequently, post-Cartesian thinkers began to build up epistemological theories about how mind and world interact, with the primary concern being to establish such a rigid link between the two that to deny the deliverances of our epistemic faculties would be to refuse to think. This movement came to its pinnacle in the thought of Immanuel Kant, who in the Critique of Pure Reason sought to establish those conditions without which it would be impossible to know. On Kant’s view, the only way that speculative reason can establish anything with apodictic certainty is if the content of knowledge is suffused by the formal structures of the a priori subject. Thus, the content of our experience is formally structured by space and time, and the space-time manifold is in turn thought through by the categories of the understanding. All such thought is a thought for a subject and so brought under the unifying conditions of the subject.20 Failure to think about the world in this way is not simply to think falsely, but is a failure to think. Accordingly, one can have apodictic knowledge of the world only if what is signified by the term “world” is what comes into conformity with the a priori structures of the mind. 19 20 See Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of Modern Identity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), 159: “Descartes’ disengaged subject, like his procedural notion of rationality, is not just an idiosyncratic conception. For all the challenges and disagreements to his dualism in modern thought, with the central idea of disengagement he was articulating one of the most important developments of the modern era.” See Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, trans. Norman Kemp Smith (Hampshire: Palgrave, 1929), “Transcendental Aesthetic” (for the a priori forms of intuition) and “Transcendental Analytic,” bk. 1, ch. 1 (for the metaphysical deduction of the a priori categories of understanding), and ch. 2 (for the transcendental deduction of the categories, and thereby the necessity of their application in thought). 862 Gaven Kerr On this Kantian account, historical knowledge of contingent facts is impossible. This is because, in order to be known, such contingent facts must come under the a priori structuring of the mind, and thereby lose their contingency. Whatever can be known of contingent facts can be only what is universal and necessary. Accordingly, the historical facts that disclose to us various matters pertaining to faith, such as Christ’s resurrection as a promise of our own, cannot be known. Hence, the speculative intellect can offer no credibility for faith. Indeed, for Kant, faith cannot pertain to knowledge; for, as he famously claims, he denies knowledge in order to make room for faith.21 Consequently, the speculative intellect cannot have a role to play in faith. Nevertheless, Kant does recognize that there can be a rational affirmation to faith—it is not mere opinion—and this comes by way of practical reason. Kant believes that, if we are morally bound as rational agents to pursue a certain end, then that end must at least be possible, otherwise we cannot be rationally bound to pursue it. But according to Kant we are morally bound to will the highest good (and all that pertains to it), in which case the highest good (and all that pertains to it) must be attainable. But this would not be so were the highest good (and all that pertains to it) not to exist.22 We can thus be convicted by moral faith according to Kant insofar as the object of practical reason commands our assent. Notice here that, for Kant, the certitude of the act of faith is not that of the will’s adhesion to God as the true good. Rather, the certitude is an intellectual certitude, such that the practical intellect is compelled to believe lest it forfeit the possibility of practical reason as such. Hence, unless one assents to God as the highest good, one cannot reason practically. Faith is thereby a necessary condition for practical reason. This faith is quite different from that of Aquinas. For him, the faithful assent to the truths revealed in historical facts not because it would be impossible to think without thereby assenting, but because of the authority of the One who reveals them. Such an outlook is impossible in a post-Kantian philosophical climate. Accordingly, Catholic thinkers typically went in one of two directions when dealing with the post-Kantian challenge to faith. On the one hand, there were those who looked inward for an interior 21 22 Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, B-xxx. In this regard it should be noted that at the end of the Critique, A822/B850, Kant takes faith or belief (Glaube), in contrast to knowledge, to be subjectively sufficient but objectively insufficient. See Allen Wood, “Rational Theology, Moral Faith, and Religion,” in Cambridge Companion to Kant, ed. Paul Guyer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 401–3, for more details on this argumentation. Dei Filius III: On Faith 863 illumination of faith, whereby faith is impressed upon the soul by the inner light of God. This is reminiscent of the Augustinian move from outer experience to internal illumination. This was the position of certain traditionalists who espoused a kind of fideism whereby the truths of the faith proclaimed by the Church excite one’s interior sense of faith and stimulate assent. There can be no rational demonstration then of the preambles of faith, for such does not excite the interior divine sense; only the truth of the faith proclaimed by the Catholic Church can do so.23 On the other hand, there were some who sought to think through the Kantian challenge to faith on more rationalistic grounds and to come out the other end with an affirmation of faith by reason that is apodictically certain. George Hermes maintained that Kant’s critical idealism did indeed undermine the traditional Scholastic theology of Aquinas and others, but that one could salvage the act of faith by means of Kantian philosophy. This act of faith was not that of speculative reason, whose pretensions for metaphysical speculation Kant had undermined; rather, it was a moral faith grounded in practical reason. As we have seen above, for Kant, practical reason can be reasonable only when the demands of such reason are possible to be met. Hermes held that practical reason will command our assent to something, even when speculative reason does not render it absolutely necessary. Speculative reason may force us to accept something as true on pain of relinquishing thought altogether; in such cases assent is necessary, not voluntary. Practical reason by contrast can oblige us to accept something as true not because one cannot withhold assent, but because one is morally obliged to assent for the purposes of the categorical imperative. With these distinctions in place, Hermes held that historical truths pertain to practical reason, to which we are obliged to assent, in which case we are convicted of a moral, but not a speculative faith.24 In a similar fashion, Anton Günther believed that we can proceed in a geometric fashion in deducing truth after truth, and this applies not only to philosophical truths but also to theological ones, wherein we can deploy Hegelian concepts pertaining to the dialectic of self-positing spirit and thereby deduce independently of revelation, the Trinity, the Incarnation, and man’s redemption. For both Hermes and Günther, the truths of faith 23 24 For details see ch. 2 of McCool, Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism; note in particular the position of Louis Bautain on (46–56). For details of Bautain’s fideism and the development of his position to something more acceptable to Rome, see Aubert, Le problème, 112–22. For details, see McCool, Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism, 59–67, and Aubert, Le problème, 103–12. 864 Gaven Kerr must impress themselves upon us with such certainty that to deny them would not only be unreasonable, but would be a failure to reason.25 One can see between the positions of the inward-looking fideists and the outward-looking rationalists a preponderance for extremes that the position of Aquinas held in a delicate balance. On the one hand, the fideist view tends towards envisaging acceptance of the truths of faith as a wholly internal occurrence guided by an intuitive sense of God’s revelation as found within the Catholic Church. There is thus a convicting trust in that revelation with no external impression of reason, no establishing of the preambles of faith, to guide the believer. By contrast, the rationalist view tends toward the need for the truths of faith to impose themselves extrinsically upon the believer, so that the believer is compelled to accept them on pain of being irrational; the free response essential to the willed assent of faith is thereby denied. In both cases, something essential to the Thomistic position, whether that be the intellect’s acceptance of the truth or the will’s assent to the good, is denied. The Church sought to navigate between the two extremes in the nineteenth century, and we see the final destination of that navigation and the culmination of these attempts in the chapter on faith in De Filius. Dei Filius chapter 3 is relatively short. It begins with the affirmation that we are drawn to give faith to God because he is the primary truth. The affirmation of faith is the beginning of salvation, for faith is a supernatural virtue (a habit of the mind) by which we are moved to believe in something because it is God, the first truth, who has revealed it.26 This faith does not go against reason, but it is brought into accord with reason by external divine acts which are accessible to reason, such as miracles and prophecies. These external acts function as signs of God’s revelation and serve to confirm what God has revealed. The assent of faith requires the illumination of the Holy Spirit; and true obedience is given to God when a man yields to the gift of faith. Insofar as faith is an assent, it assents to things that are to be believed, and these are what have been revealed in Scripture and the teachings of the Church.27 25 26 27 See ch. 4 in McCool, Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism. This is in accord with the definition of faith given at the Council of Trent, session 6, ch. 6: “They are disposed to justice when excited and assisted by divine grace, conceiving faith through hearing, they are moved freely toward God, believing those things to be true that have been divinely revealed and promised [Disponuntur autem ad ipsam justitiam dum excitati divina gratia et adjuti, fidem ex auditu concipientes, libere moventur in Deum, credentes vera esse quae divinitus revelata et promissa sunt]” (DH, no. 1526). DF III, at pp. 807–8. Dei Filius III: On Faith 865 Given the foregoing, it is impossible to be pleasing to God without faith. This is because one who is without faith in some way does not believe the things that God has revealed (and thereby doubts God as the first truth) or he does not yield to the Holy Spirit—and thereby resists the grace that the Spirit offers; in both cases, such a man is resistant to God. Accordingly, without faith, a man cannot achieve justification or eternal life. The Council goes on in Dei Filius III to proclaim that the Son founded the Catholic Church to ensure perseverance in faith, and that there are various signs of credibility of the Church, including her propagation, holiness, goodness, unity, and stability. For the purposes of this paper, we need not consider these. Added to this account of faith are several canons that target both the rationalist and fideist positions that undermine the traditional Thomist position. Canons 2 and 5 target the rationalist view that faith can be arrived at through some form of natural reasoning, and not through a willed assent to God the first truth.28 Canons 3 and 4 target the fideist position that faith relies on an internal occurrence and cannot be moved by external signs, not even miracles.29 These canons are consistent with the account of faith articulated in the chapter and in turn with the traditional Thomistic account. What they, along with the chapter, emphasize is that there is both an intellectual and a volitional component to faith, so that the act of faith involves a balancing between external realities that reveal some truth to the intellect, on the one hand, and the internal reality of having one’s will be drawn to God as the true good, on the other, and thereby believing the truths that have been revealed. Both the rationalists and the fideists overemphasize either of these dichotomies, such that what Thomas was able to articulate and 28 29 DF III, can. 2 (“If anyone says that divine faith is not to be distinguished from natural knowledge about God and moral matters, and consequently that for divine faith it is not required that revealed truth should be believed because of the authority of God who reveals it: let him be anathema” [p. 810]); can. 5 (“If anyone says that the assent to Christian faith is not free, but is necessarily produced by arguments of human reason; or that the grace of God is necessary only for living faith which works by charity: let him be anathema” [p. 810]). DF III, can. 3 (“If anyone says that divine revelation cannot be made credible by external signs, and that therefore men and women ought to be moved to faith only by each one’s internal experience or private inspiration: let him be anathema” [p. 810]); can. 4 (“If anyone says that all miracles are impossible, and that therefore all reports of them, even those contained in Sacred Scripture, are to be set aside as fables or myths; or that miracles can never be known with certainty, nor can the divine origin of the Christian religion be proved from them: let him be anathema” [p. 810]). 866 Gaven Kerr defend in a balanced way they articulate in an unbalanced way, attributing either too much to human reason, or too little. The account of faith then articulated in Dei Filius is a move away from modern outlooks that emerged only in response to post-Cartesian philosophical concerns toward a pre-modern account that can be found in the work of Aquinas. In the next section I shall argue that what drives the modern account of faith is not just an epistemic situation found in the writings of Descartes and his successors, but a view of the self that is fundamentally at odds with what Thomas, and arguably Catholics, believe. The Modern Self The Cartesian self is the foundation of the modern self. On that account, I lead an inner disengaged life; as a self, I confront a world that is represented to me, whose veracity is judged by me. My worldhood is not that of extended things within the world, but of a private disengaged space against which the world pushes. Experience no longer is the mode by which I enjoy being amongst things and in which the world is disclosed to me, but the experience itself is an object from which I am disengaged and which impresses the world upon me. Thinking then is veridical when the ideas it forms against the tribunal of experience are clear and distinct. Should I think of things without clarity and distinctness and yet affirm them to be true, my will has interfered and, lacking the requisite clarity and distinctness, affirmed what does not stand to me as an object clear and distinct. A willed assent to things wherein the certainty of such an assent is attributable to the will is the path to falsehood.30 The epistemic situation of the loss of the world turns upon a presupposed commitment to a self as disengaged from the world. So the epistemic situation that we find in modern philosophy, wherein the key question is adjudicating on the veracity of our knowledge, is pressing only when a detached and disengaged Cartesian self is presupposed. The differing epistemological trends in modern philosophy all share the 30 Note what Descartes says in meditation IV of the Meditations: “So what then is the source of my mistakes? It must be simply this: the scope of my will is wider than that of the intellect; but instead of restricting it within the same limits, I extend its use to matters which I do not understand. Since the will is indifferent in such cases, it easily turns aside from what is true and good, and this is the source of my error and sin” (pp. 40–41). Dei Filius III: On Faith 867 peculiar Cartesian view of the self as a privatized subject of experience that confronts the world.31 Furthermore, the detached self is not attuned to the recognition of what is true. This is because, for Descartes, there is common representational content between a true and a false thought, in which case it is an urgent matter as to how to distinguish between the two. The driving force of this outlook is the neutrality that the detached intellect has with regard to mental content. The self is a receptacle for such content, but is not so constituted that that content must be of a certain kind, and hence what informs that receptacle may be objective features of the world, or it may be the machinations of an evil demon, or a scientist controlling a brain in a vat, or any number of counterfactual scenarios designed to bring forth demon skepticism with some urgency. Insofar as the Cartesian self receives content but does not seek it out, there is no intentionality to thought. This is because, on the Cartesian account, acts of thought do not systematically differ in accord with that about which they are acts. An act of thought about some false content is the same act of thought about some true content; what differs is not the act, but the content. So the act is not intentionally directed upon something in the world in the case of having a true thought, as opposed to being directed upon some illusory experience in a false thought. That being the case, the Cartesian self is not an engaged self, but as we have been stressing, a disengaged one. With this detached self, faith must be either something imposed extrinsically, as with the rationalists, or the result of an inner movement and recognition of God, as with the fideists. But in no way can faith be a willed assent to the truths that God has revealed, for neither do these impress themselves extrinsically nor are they the sole result of an inner intuition, and hence the need for a willed assent. Not only that, but given the lack of any natural finality of the intellect to rest in the true, God’s authority and status as the first truth and one’s beloved are not enough for assenting to what God reveals; for, the same act of thought could have as its content what is false just as easily as what is true. Hence there is a need to secure the content of faith either in an extrinsic impression of truth on the intellect or in an interior intuition. Whilst I have been stressing the Cartesian subject here and his 31 This is the case even for David Hume, who, failing to have an experience of such a self, rejects the existence thereof rather than entertain that the self could be something other than a privatized enduring subject of experience, see Hume (see bk. 1, pt. 4, ch. 6, of A Treatise of Human Nature [London: Everyman, 2003]). 868 Gaven Kerr detachment from reality, it was this subject that drove the philosophical tendencies of modern thought. All serious post-Cartesian philosophers, especially those with whom we are familiar as the representatives of modern thought, such as Locke, Hume, and Kant, took seriously the Cartesian subject’s detachment from reality and sought to explain how to regain reality having presupposed its loss to the subject in the first place. So, whilst not all modern philosophers were Cartesians, they were certainly post-Cartesian’s insofar as they philosophized in a world in which the Cartesian self and the problems it engendered came to dominate the philosophical scene. This was the case not only for thinkers like Locke, Hume, and Kant, but also for the Catholic thinkers who sought to offer respectability to faith in a post-Cartesian world. Thus, as we have seen, both the fideists and the rationalists sought to root faith either in the internal movements of a detached self or on the inescapable impressions of the truths of faith upon the self. In both cases, it is the self ’s detachment that renders internal movement or external impression plausible in giving an account of faith. By contrast, a pre-modern thinker like Aquinas was not in general challenged by the urgency of the mind–world relation as it appears in Descartes and post-Cartesian thinkers. This is because he had his own philosophical anthropology on the basis of which the modern mind–world problem could not emerge. For Thomas, a person is not a privatized self, a mind, intimately and primarily aware of the internal and only secondarily and at a distance aware of the external world. Rather, the person is a rational substance whose form of life is the rational life.32 That being the case, the person is primarily within the world and aware of the goings on in the world; only secondarily and reflectively is the person aware of what goes on in his thinking.33 Thought, on this account, is a power in which the rational animal can engage, and it is a power not primarily turned on itself, but turned on 32 33 See Aquinas, In II de anima, lecs. 1–2; ST I, q. 75 (note in particular Aquinas’s denial in a. 4 that man is to be identified with his soul). See: ST I, q. 89, a. 2 (“For as long as the soul is united to the body, it understands by turning to the phantasms. Thus, it cannot understand itself unless it is made intelligent in act through species abstracted from phantasms, and thus through the same act it understands itself ”); Summa contra gentiles II, ch. 49 (“As the intellect understands a thing so too it understands its own understanding”); In II de anima, lec. 6, no. 4 (“It is to be noted that the possible intellect is in potency in the order of intelligibles; it is actuated through abstraction of form from the phantasm. Nothing then is known unless it is in act; hence the possible intellect knows itself through intelligible species”). Dei Filius III: On Faith 869 things, on substances. Hence, the being of the person is being in the world, and so the person does not look out from an internal space at the world. Experience then is not an object for the subject, but the way in which objects are disclosed to the subject. Access to the world is not a matter of stepping back from experience within a disengaged mental space and taking a good hard look. Rather, the rational animal has a particular mode of access to the world in which, were his powers of intellect and will not utilized in accessing it, the world would not be accessed. Hence, contribution from our rational faculties is a necessary enabling condition for our knowledge of things. But if this is the case, then the conceptual content that emerges in our engagement with things does not occlude or make subjective the things to which we have access. Rather, conceptual content is how we have access to the world. It is the individual man with all his rational powers that has knowledge of things. Accordingly, thinking is not involved in a polarity of some truth impinging itself extrinsically or the subject becoming convinced internally of some private experience. Rather, insofar as the subject is a unified whole existing in the world, his intellect is attuned to truth, and so can rest in the truth once revealed. A willed assent does not reflect the contributions of a confused subject who wishes something to be true for which he has no good reason to think it true. Rather, a willed assent involves both the intellect and will working in cooperation so that the truth assented to is known to be reasonable and revealed by good authority and draws our will to it as the good. Such willed assent crucial to the act of faith can occur only when the self is an engaged self in the world dealing with objects in an intelligent manner, not disengaged within a space of reasons that can only be either breached from without or moved from within. Why is this the case? For a disengaged self, thoughts differ not qua acts, but qua contents. Hence, an act of faith is no different qua act from one of knowledge. That being the case, what differentiates faith from knowledge is the content involved. By contrast, on Aquinas’s account, acts of thought differ not in terms of their contents, but qua act. This is precisely because there is an engaged intentionality to thought. Thinking on this account does not involve occupying a detached space and looking out; rather, thinking involves conforming one’s thought to that about which it is a thought. In the case of knowledge, this is rather straightforward and involves affirming that the world is thus and so because it is indeed thus and so. In the case of faith, what is being thought about is God, the first truth and final end. Hence, both the intellect and the will are engaged to affirm what is revealed. The difference of faith from knowledge is that the former affirms 870 Gaven Kerr something to be thus and so not because it is thus and so (whether extrinsically compelled or internally convinced), but because God has revealed it as thus and so and he is our beloved; this amounts to a different act of thought than in the knowledge case. Post-Cartesian views of the self cannot honor this outlook, because thinking for a post-Cartesian self is the same act as that of believing; only its content differs. The pressing question then is how to adjudicate the veracity of such thoughts, and in the case of faith how to account for the certainty thereof. Given that a willed assent is ruled out, such certainty can come only from rational compulsion (Hermes, Günther, et al.) or inner intuition (fideism). Hence, once one abandons the Thomistic self and embraces the Cartesian self, one is led down the path of a faith that is irreconcilable with what was defined in Dei Filius. Conclusion In the foregoing we have considered the nature of faith as articulated by Aquinas and defended by the First Vatican Council. We have noted that what drove the post-Cartesian accounts of faith was a view of the self that was detached, and so had to be moved by either extrinsic impressions or internal conviction. Neither were faithful to the traditional Catholic account of faith, and both were denied at the Council wherein the traditional account was upheld. It is not a mere historical circumstance that the anthropologies adopted by Aquinas and the post-Cartesian thinkers coincide with their differing accounts of faith. Rather, as we have seen, the act of faith takes on the character of a willed assent when the self, the one who is faithful, is considered as a rational substance engaged in the world; by contrast, the act of faith loses the character of a willed assent when the self is disengaged. All of this carries with it a salutary lesson for our reading of the Council today. In contemporary popular discourse, the Cartesian self is often taken to be the most self-evident of views, with many taking their personal identity to be that of some kind of mental identity independent from bodily considerations. Indeed, in a technologically driven age where human engagement with the world and each other is minimized to the extreme, the self can seem not only disengaged, but entirely isolated, such that it is nothing more than a private subject. This is especially the case in the age of digital technology wherein a subject’s private world can be represented within the digital sphere: rather than having the outside enter the inside of the mind, as Descartes and those who came after him thought, we are now in a situation where the inside is being represented outside through the Dei Filius III: On Faith 871 various digital platforms. Hence, thinking now is even more detached than was the initial Cartesian self: the latter was still answerable to the clarity and distinctness of objectivity. And within the digital realm, the private self seeks to transform the world in his own image. At our point in history, it does not matter what thought looks like; as long as there is thought, it can be represented in some digital media. It would not be overstating things to say that the Cartesian self predominates in popular thinking. If the Cartesian self predominates, then the concomitant constraint on how to envisage faith must go with it: faith is either (1) extrinsically imposed or (2) the result of an internal movement. Hence, faith is either absolutely certain in light of extrinsic conditions or mere personal opinion. By and large, it is the second option that is preferred today, whereby faith is seen as a sincerely held yet private belief. In more contentious situations, faith is seen by many popular new atheists as belief without thinking, nothing more—a remnant of human thought whilst humanity was still in an age of intellectual immaturity. Yet, for the Catholic, we are bodily beings in the world, not detached intellects. We are engaged selves and all that goes with that. Accordingly, faith is a willed assent to what God has revealed because God has revealed it. We cannot retreat to the domain of private sincerely held beliefs; for we are affirming something as true and as coming from he who is the good for all humans. But in doing so, we cannot overemphasize the intellectual component of faith; for we assent because it is God who has revealed these things. We must carry the middle ground in which faith can be shown to be reasonable yet requires the free assent of the faithful. The task of evangelization and transformation of a culture toward faith has many aspects to it, but if we want to encourage people to take seriously the Catholic account of faith, then one thing we need to do is highlight the inconsistency of that with a post-Cartesian self. Stripping away the Cartesian underpinnings of popular contemporary misgivings about faith will aid in the transformation of our culture and in turn dispose those within that culture for the willed assent to God and his truth. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 873–890 873 Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. Dominican House of Studies Washington, D.C. In this essay, we will examine the presentation of faith and reason in the fourth chapter of the First Vatican Council’s dogmatic constitution Dei Filius.1 Our examination focuses primarily on the intelligibility of the constitution’s exposition of faith and reason in its fourth chapter. Secondarily it looks for the implications that this intelligible teaching bears for Catholic thought in our own contemporary moment. To achieve this twofold finality, we will divide our essay into four parts. The first will identify what makes this chapter textually unique in relation to the three chapters that precede it. In light of chapter 4’s textual distinctiveness, we will then attempt, in the second part, to unpack what we suggest is the speculative foundation of the constitution’s presentation of faith and reason. Thirdly, we will examine how this speculative foundation serves the document’s integrated account of faith and reason. Fourthly, we will conclude with a summary of the chapter’s integrated account of faith and reason with an eye towards its theocentric orientation. The late Avery Cardinal Dulles once observed that “without actually mentioning Thomas Aquinas, Vatican I endorsed his [Aquinas’s] position” on faith and reason.2 Our analysis of Dei Filius IV will largely proceed 1 2 We base our analysis of the constitution’s word frequency, etc., upon the Latin text of Dei Filius as found in Constitutio dogmatica de fide catholica, in Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, Trent to Vatican II, ed. Norman P. Tanner, S.J. (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 804–11. Unless otherwise noted, all English translations of the Latin text are mine. Avery Cardinal Dulles, S.J., “Faith and Reason: From Vatican I to John Paul II,” in The Two Wings of Catholic Thought: Essays on Fides et Ratio, ed. David Ruel Foster 874 Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. along Thomistic lines. Although we recognize that one need not be a Thomist in order to profit from a study of Dei Filius, we do believe that Aquinas’s teaching about faith and reason helps to illumine its central themes. What Makes Dei Filius IV (“On Faith and Reason”) Unique? We begin our study of faith and reason in Dei Filius with a question: What makes chapter 4 unique when considered in relation to the whole of Dei Filius? In order to answer this question, we note that Dei Filius comprises six main parts: a prologue, four chapters, and a series of canons (divided into discrete groups associated with particular chapters).3 According to their respective titles, the first chapter is about God, the creator of all things (De Deo rerum omnium creatore). The second chapter is about revelation (De revelatione). The third chapter is about faith particularly (De fide). And the fourth chapter is about faith and reason together (De fide et ratione). Dei Filius, unsurprisingly, refers to “God” (the subject of chapter 1) in each of its five other parts. It references “revelation” (the subject of chapter 2) in chapters 2–4 and in the canons associated with chapters 2–4. “Revelation” is thus absent only in the prologue and in the first chapter. The subject of chapter 3 (i.e., “faith”) appears in the prologue, in chapters 2–4, and in the canons associated with chapters 3–4. Finally, the constitution references “reason” in the prologue, in chapters 2–4, and in each group of canons. This terminological recurrence reflects the constitution’s integrity. Each individual chapter coheres with the other parts that precede and (or) follow it. This cohesion, however, can occlude the precise formal distinction between chapters 3 and 4. Both of these final two chapters treat of faith. The third chapter considers faith while the fourth chapter considers faith in relation to reason. Consequently, we might be tempted to identify reason as the specific difference between chapter 3 and chapter 3 and Joseph W. Koterski, S.J. (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2003), 193–208, at 193–94. Dulles continues: “A decade later, in 1879, Pope Leo XIII published his encyclical Aeterni Patris, proposing St. Thomas as the thinker whose synthesis of faith and reason should be accepted as a solid foundation from which to grapple with more recent questions in philosophy and science” (194). There is also a ninety-seven-word (Latin) conclusion that follows the canons. Given the conclusion’s hortative (rather than expository) nature and the subject of this essay, we will devote only passing attention to the conclusion. Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason 875 4. This suggestion has merit. Reason does receive unique consideration in the fourth chapter. Nonetheless, as we have already noted, chapter 3 also mentions “reason” (as does every other part of Dei Filius except chapter 1).4 From these considerations, chapters 2–4 each appear to treat of “faith and reason” in some way and to some degree.5 Again, we ask our question: What makes Dei Filius IV unique when compared to the constitution as a whole? And thus far a clear answer to our question does not immediately appear. Given that the conciliar fathers deemed the subject “faith and reason” worthy of a separate chapter, however, we reasonably assume that chapter 4 does contribute something proper and distinctive to its subject.6 This proper and distinctive contribution is the object of our inquiry. We propose that the key to our question’s answer lies in the opening lines of chapter 4: “The perpetual consensus of the Catholic Church also held and holds that there exists a twofold order of cognition [duplex ordo cognitionis], distinct not only in principle but also in object.”7 This twofold 4 5 6 7 “Reason” (ratio) appears twenty-one times in Dei Filius (excluding section titles). It appears three times in the prologue to Dei Filius (including “rationalism”). It appears twice in the second chapter (De revelatione). It appears three times in the third chapter (De fide). It appears ten times in the fourth chapter (De fide et ratione). It appears three times in the canons (once in the canons associated with chapter 2, twice in the canons associated with chapter 3, and once in the canons associated with chapter 4). “Faith” (fides) appears fifty-two times in Dei Filius (excluding section titles). It appears four times in the prologue to Dei Filius (including reference to “the faithful” [fidelium]). It appears twice in the second chapter (De revelatione). It appears fourteen times in the third chapter (De fide). It appears nineteen times in the fourth chapter (De fide et ratione). It appears eleven times in the canons (ten times in the canons associated with chapter 3, and once in the canons associated with chapter 4). It also appears twice in the conclusion following the canons (in the phrases omnes Christi fideles and fidei lumen). The respective lengths of the integral parts of Dei Filius also highlight the final chapter’s significant role in the constitution. Chapter 4 is the longest part of Dei Filius (slightly longer than even the lengthy prologue). Chapter 4 comprises 634 words. The prologue comprises 631 words. Chapter 3 comprises 588 words. The canons comprise 542 words. Chapter 2 comprises 383 words. Chapter 1 comprises 172 words. The conclusion comprises 97 words. “Hoc quoque perpetuus Ecclesiae catholicae consensus tenuit et tenet, duplicem esse ordinem cognitionis, non solum principio, sed obiecto etiam distinctum.” DF IV continues here: “In principle, because we know in one by natural reason, in the other by divine faith; in object, because—beyond those things to which natural reason can attain—there are proposed to us for belief mysteries hidden in God which, unless [they are] divinely revealed, are not able to be know.” in object, because—beyond those things to which natural reason is able to attain—there are proposed to us for belief 876 Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. order of cognition comprises both principles and objects. It comprises principles “because we know in one [principle] by natural reason, in another [principle] by divine faith.” This order of cognition also comprises objects, “because beyond those things to which natural reason can reach, there are proposed to us for belief mysteries hidden in God, which unless they are divinely revealed, are not able to be known.” In sum, Dei Filius IV explains that the knowledge of natural reason and the knowledge of divine faith proceed from two distinct kinds of principles to two distinct kinds of objects. Hence, there exists a twofold order of cognition. Several textual details support our emphasis on these opening lines in Dei Filius IV. First, none of the other sections of the constitution invoke “principle” or “object.” Chapter 4 alone utilizes these two key terms. This observation seems to be significant in light of the fact that the constitution utilizes both “faith” and “reason” throughout its other parts and chapters. Principles and objects, then, are elements peculiar to chapter 4, and they would seem to contribute to the distinct presentation of faith and reason in chapter 4. Moreover, chapter 4 references “principle” and “object” three times each. “Principle” and “object” are not only unique to this chapter, but they are also prominent in the chapter. We suggest that this distinction between principles and objects serves as (1) the heart of chapter 4’s argumentation, and (2) the element that renders the chapter unique in Dei Filius. From the preceding textual analysis, we will now examine the speculative integrity of Dei Filius IV. In other words, we now turn our attention to the way that principles and objects coalesce in the “twofold order of cognition” highlighted in the chapter’s opening lines. Principles, Objects, and the “Twofold Order of Cognition” Dei Filius IV begins with the “perpetual consensus” of the Church: there exists a twofold order of cognition. And this duplex order encompasses real distinctions on the level of principles and on the level of objects. Consequently, in this section, we will investigate: (1) the nature of principle, (2) the nature of object, and (3) how these result in this twofold order of cognition. We recall the most basic definition of a “principle”: that from which mysteries hidden in God which, unless [they are] divinely revealed, are not able to be known.” Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason 877 something proceeds in any way.8 We also recall that a principle “is not an absolute thing; it is strictly a relative concept of a reality entirely unintelligible except in terms of what proceeds from it, the principiatum.”9 Indeed, Aquinas explains that “principle implies a certain order in any procession.”10 Principle, therefore, implies relation. In the order of logic, an example of a principle is the principle of identity or the law of non-contradiction—from these first truths the human mind can reason (i.e., “proceed”) to valid conclusions that are true. Of course, beyond the logical order, there are also principles of being (matter and form, potency and act, etc.). We also recall that there is a distinction— sometimes logical, sometimes real—between principles and causes. A cause is that from which something proceeds with the qualification of dependence in being. Therefore, all causes are principles (e.g., matter and form), but not all principles are causes (e.g., the real distinction between being and non-being). The constitution, however, employs “principle” in a more specific sense. Dei Filius is speaking about the dynamics of actual human knowledge. The 8 9 10 Jorge J. E. Gracia offers the following summary of “principle” and its dynamics: “The term principium normally translated as ‘principle’ in English had a rather broad meaning for scholastics. It meant not only principle but also origin, beginning, source, foundation and element. It was generally defined as ‘that from which something proceeds.’ When used technically, scholastics distinguished three separate types of principles: logical, physical, and metaphysical. Logical principles, such as the principle of noncontradiction, the rule of inference, and even the premises of particular demonstrations, were considered the starting points of knowledge. Physical principles, such as a father of a child, are the same as causes, and therefore external to the things of which they are principles. Finally, metaphysical principles fall between these two. Like logical principles, they are not separable from the things of which they are principles, but, unlike them and like physical principles, they are really distinct from it. As such they are neither physical entities nor mental concepts, but rather real constituents of things. The most universally accepted of these were substance and accident, essence and existence, and the matter and form which composed individual material substances. Strictly speaking and for most authors, then, the notion of principle is broader than that of cause. Not all principles are causes, but all causes are principles” (“Numerical Continuity in Material Substances: The Principle of Identity in Thomistic Metaphysics,” The Southwestern Journal of Philosophy 10, no. 2 [1979]: 73–92, at 78). James A. Weisheipl, O.P., “The Spector of Motor Coniunctus in Medieval Physics,” in James A. Weisheipl, O.P., Nature and Motion in the Middle Ages, ed. William E. Carroll (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1985), 99–120, at 103. In I phys., lec. 1, no. 5: “Principium vero importat quendam ordinem alicuius processus.” Aquinas continues here: “Hence something can be a principle which is not a cause, as that from which motion begins is a principle of motion, but [is] not a cause, and a point is a principle of a line, but not a cause” (translation mine). 878 Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. text says that we know in one principle by natural reason (naturali ratione) and in the other principle by divine faith (fide divina). Natural reason and divine faith are really distinct principles by which human knowledge (cognitio) proceeds (i.e., comes to be). This point resonates deeply with the philosophical convictions of St. Thomas Aquinas. In the Summa theologiae, Aquinas explains that “there is in every human a certain principle of knowledge, namely the light of the agent intellect, through which certain universal principles of all the sciences are naturally known immediately at the first instant [cognoscuntur statim a principio].”11 The title “agent intellect” (sometimes “active intellect” for reasons that will be clear in a moment) delineates the active, “illuminative” role that the human intellect exercises in its acquisition of conceptual knowledge. For the sake of brevity, we will not trace each of the epistemological tributaries that feed into the reservoir of human knowledge. For our purposes it will suffice to note (1) that Aquinas refers to the light of the agent intellect as a principle of human knowledge, and (2) that it is from this principle that natural intellection occurs and human reasoning proceeds. Likewise, faith is also a principle of human knowledge—albeit really distinct from and greatly superior to the knowledge of human reason. Aquinas explains that the proper act of divine faith is supernatural belief—“to think with assent” to the divine truth that is God because it is God who reveals it.12 The act of faith reveals its nature and subject: faith is a supernatural habitus—a theological virtue—that resides in the human intellect.13 As a habitus, the theological virtue of faith is a stable, 11 12 13 Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 117, a. 1: “Knowledge is acquired in man, both from an interior principle, as is clear in one who acquires knowledge through his own discovery; and from an exterior principle, as is clear in one who learns. There is in every human a certain principle of knowledge, namely the light of the agent intellect, through which certain universal principles of all the sciences are naturally known immediately at the first instant. Now when someone applies such universal principles to some particular things, the memory and experience of which he acquires through sensing; through his own discovery he acquires knowledge of things of which he was ignorant, proceeding from the known to the unknown” (emphasis added; all translation from ST is my own). This reference to the “light” of the active intellect, of course reminds us of DF II: “The same Holy Mother Church holds and teaches that God, the principle and end of all things, is able be known with certainty from created things by the natural light of human reason: ‘from the creation of the world, his invisible qualities have been clearly perceived through the things that have been made’” (emphasis added). See ST II-II, q. 2, a. 1. See ST II-II, q. 4, a. 3. Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason 879 supernaturally perfective disposition in the cognitive power of the soul. Consequently, faith is an intrinsic principle (principium intrinsecum) of human action that orders the human person’s knowing power to the supernatural act of belief.14 In sum: Dei Filius explains that two principles inform the human power of knowing: reason and faith. Both natural reason and theological faith are principles of human knowledge. Moreover, they are really distinct from each other. Although they are both operative in the dynamics of human knowing, reason is a natural principle of knowledge while faith is a divine principle of knowledge. Thus, with the aid of Aquinas, we can recognize the duplexity of human knowledge on the level of principles. As we have seen, however, the constitution does not limit the “twofold order of knowledge” to the level of principle. The duplex ordo cognitionis extends from principles to objects. And this comes as no surprise to a Thomist. Put simply, a principle of action that lacks an object is impossible. Conversely, an object without reference to a principle is simply unintelligible. Principles and objects—in their very natures—are mutually referential.15 The nature of objectivity frequently eludes our comprehension. We commonly attempt to express the nature of objectivity through some kind of opposition to subjectivity. This common tendency is not without reason. There is a distinction between the nature of a subject and the nature of an object. Moreover, their respective natures are distinct such that a subject insofar as it is a subject is not an object, and an object insofar as it is an object is not a subject. Nonetheless, the distinction between subjects and objects is just that: a distinction. There is no metaphysical or logical tension between subjectivity and objectivity. Indeed, Aquinas explains that objects and subjects give rise to each other. The nature of objectivity is very dear to Aquinas. Indeed, “among the words that St. Thomas uses constantly in constructing his doctrinal synthesis, none is used more frequently or more variously than object. . . . Remove 14 15 See ST I-II, q. 49, prol.: “After actions and passions, the principles of human actions must be considered: and firstly of intrinsic principles, secondly of extrinsic principles. The intrinsic principle is power and habit. But because powers have been spoken of in the first part [of the Summa theologiae], habits now remain to be considered.” L. M. Régis, O.P., writes: “The subject is included in the definition of the object, and the object is included in the definition of the subject. They neither exist nor are intelligible except simultaneously. To suppress one of the terms, soul or res, is to suppress the object” (Epistemology, trans. Imelda Choquette Byrne [New York: Macmillan, 1959], 178). 880 Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. the word object and its substitutes from St. Thomas’ writings, and you suppress one-third of his works.”16 Three principles give rise to objectivity: (1) A thing (i.e., a res), (2) a knowing being (e.g., a rational being), and (3) the relation between the thing and the knowing being.17 In the most general sense, something is an “object” (of the soul) if that something has some relation (aliquam habitudinem) to the soul.18 Objectivity comprises the active and passive relational elements between a thing and the soul. Only when there is some actual relation between a thing and the soul does objectivity emerge.19 And with the rise of an object also arises a subject. Objectivity and subjectivity exist only when there is some relation between a soul and a thing. Moreover, although the soul and the thing can subsist independent of each other, objectivity and subjectivity cannot. Objects and subjects are correlated parts of habitudo. And as we have already said, a subject or an object is not intelligible as such without the other. They always—as such—come as a pair. To give an example: Imagine that there is a rock outside. Imagine also that only the rock is outside (nothing else). This rock—this thing—in its current isolated situation is not an object. It is simply a thing (i.e., a res). Now, in our imaginary scenario, we walk outside and look at the rock. That rock is now rendered an object. Our very act of looking at the rock has introduced objectivity to the rock. It is now an “object” of our vision. Notice that the rock in its being (i.e., as an existing thing, as a res) has not changed. It was a thing before we looked at it (i.e., a rock), and it is still the same thing in itself (i.e., the same rock) after we have begun to look at it. It was not an object of our sight before we began to look at it, however. Let us break down this imaginary scenario into its objective and subjective parts. At the beginning of our scenario, the rock was only a thing and not an object (of our sight). At the end of the story, the rock was both a thing and an object (of our sight). It is a thing in itself; but in relation to us it is an object. Consequently, our act of seeing has rendered us a subject—we are a seeing subject in relation to the seen rock (the object of our sight). Without the rock as a thing, we could have no objectivity nor 16 17 18 19 Régis, Epistemology, 176 (emphasis original). We use “knowing” here in a broad sense that includes both sense apprehension and intellectual apprehension. “Dicitur autem aliquid esse obiectum animae, secundum quod habet aliquam habitudinem ad animam” (De veritate, q. 22, a. 10). See Régis, Epistemology, 177: “The object is not taken as an absolute, nor the soul taken as another absolute, but a habitudo between things and the soul and vice versa.” Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason 881 any concomitant subjectivity. Why? “It is impossible to see without seeing something.”20 The seen rock (i.e., the object) specifies our act of sight. If someone were to ask us “what are you doing?” in this scenario, the full and complete answer is not “we are looking,” but rather “we are looking at a rock.” The rock is the object of our act of sight. And our reflective awareness that we are looking at the rock gives rise to subjectivity—we know that we are the subject looking at a rock (i.e., an object of our sight).21 “Object” signifies “the reality, thing or person, that engages an act.”22 Objects specify action. Actions specify principles of action (i.e., potencies and the habitus of potencies—like the theological virtue of faith). Therefore, objects specify principles of actions. This is why Dei Filius includes both principles and objects in the twofold order of knowledge. It would be impossible to divide the order of knowledge only on the level of principle. If the principles of knowledge (i.e., natural reason and divine faith) are real principles—ordered to real acts of knowledge—then they require real objects of knowledge. Just as it is impossible to see without seeing something (an object of sight), so it is impossible to know without knowing something (an object of knowledge). And this is true of both the natural 20 21 22 Régis, Epistemology, 255. We can also identify two more precise kinds of objective relation between the soul and a thing. These relations are really distinct. The real distinction between them is based upon the inverse directions of their respective relations. If something is ordered to exist in the soul, the relation between them is one of knowable objectivity (and the thing is an intelligible object of the soul). In contrast, if the soul is ordered to a thing as it exists in itself, the relation between them is one of appetible objectivity (and the thing is an appetible object of the soul). The former (knowable) objectivity assumes the spiritual existence of the soul. The latter (appetible) objectivity lies in the concrete existence of the thing. This, of course, accounts for the real distinction in the soul between the intellect and the will. Aquinas explains in De veritate, q. 22, a. 10: “Hence, where we find different aspects of relatedness to the soul, there we find an essential difference in the object of the soul, and this indicates a distinct genus of the soul’s powers. Now a thing is found to have a twofold relationship to the soul: one by which the thing itself is in the soul in the soul’s manner and not in its own, the other by which the soul is referred to the thing in its own existence. Thus something is an object of the soul in two ways. (1) It is so inasmuch as it is capable of being in the soul, not according to its own act of being, but according to the manner of the soul—spiritually. This is the essential constituent of the knowable insofar as it is knowable. (2) Something is the object of the soul according as the soul is inclined and oriented to it after the manner of the thing itself as it is in itself. This is the essential constituent of the appetible insofar as it is appetible” (translation mine). T. C. O’Brien, “Appendix I—Objects and Virtues,” in Thomas Aquinas, Faith, ed. and trans. T. C. O’Brien, vol. 31 (II-II, qq. 1–7) of Summa Theologiae (London: Blackfriars, 1974), 178–85, at 178. 882 Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. knowledge of human reason and the supernatural knowledge of divine faith. “As perceived or present in the [knowing or loving] soul, objects reveal the existence of powers or habitus, and as analyzed by reflection, they reveal the nature of these powers, for they not only signify but cause the activity of our powers or habitus.”23 The “Twofold Order” of Faith and Reason The “light” of human reason and that of divine faith are really distinct principles of knowledge. And as distinct principles of knowledge, they are ordered to two distinct objects. The constitution explains that the principle of human knowledge extends to objects within the “reach” (pertingere potest) of human reason. It cites the first chapter of St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans for an inspired example of these objects. The Apostle to the Gentiles identifies two such objects: (1) “the things that are made” (i.e., created reality), and (2) God himself known “through the things that are made.”24 The constitution explains then that both created reality and God are objects of the natural principle of human knowledge. The natural principle of human knowledge can reach created things and the uncreated God himself. This may strike us as odd given the strict division in the twofold order of knowledge that the text maintains. We will return to this point in a moment, but for now we note with St. Paul that God’s objectivity vis-à-vis human reason is a refracted objectivity. In other words, God is not a direct object of human cognition. Rather, God is an object of human knowledge through the things that he has created. Dei Filius expresses the objects of faith in reference to the objects of reason. Unsurprisingly, the objects of faith lie beyond the scope of natural knowledge: “Beyond those things to which natural reason is able to reach, mysteries hidden in God are proposed to us for belief which, had they not been divinely revealed, are not able to be known.”25 Although natural reason can know many things, there are divine mysteries hidden in God that exceed its grasp. These divine mysteries are the proper and exclusive object of faith. The document returns to the Apostle Paul’s explanation in 23 24 25 Régis, Epistemology, 181 (emphasis original). “Quocirca Apostolus, qui a gentibus Deum per ea, quae facta sunt, cognitum esse testatur” (DF IV). “Obiecto autem, quia praeter ea, ad quae naturalis ratio pertingere potest, credenda nobis proponuntur mysteria in Deo abscondita, quae nisi revelata divinitus, innotescere non possunt” (DF IV). Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason 883 the First Epistle to the Corinthians about the hidden wisdom of God that the Father has made known through Jesus Christ and revealed by the Holy Spirit.26 The text’s reference to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit points to the preeminent mystery hidden in God himself: the mystery of the Holy Trinity. Faith alone enables the human person to come to knowledge of this divine truth. In sum, Dei Filius has outlined (in admittedly cursory fashion) the speculative mechanics that underlie what it teaches about the relation between faith and reason. There is a twofold order of knowledge. And this twofold order resides not only in the principles of knowledge (i.e., natural reason and divine faith) but also in the objects of knowledge (e.g., things naturally knowable and things knowable only through divine revelation). After laying this foundation of fundamental distinction, the chapter then explains how faith illumines and elevates reason. “Indeed, reason illumined by faith, when it zealously, piously, and soberly seeks, attains with the help of God some understanding—and that a most fruitful—of the mysteries.”27 This statement clarifies that, even though faith exceeds reason both in principle and in object, nonetheless, faith illumines reason such that reason can attain—by God’s help—a most fruitful (fructuosissimam) understanding of the mysteries that lie beyond reason’s native reach. How is this possible? The council states that reason attains this most fruitful understanding under the illumination of faith both from “those things which it [reason] naturally knows, by analogy, and from the interconnectedness of the mysteries among themselves and with the ultimate human end.” These references to analogy and to human finality attract particular interest. Although this essay does not explore analogy—either logical or ontological—analogy’s presence in this passage indicates that there is real continuity between the reality of naturally knowable objects and the objectively mysterious reality hidden in God. With regard to human finality, we will return to that in our closing remarks. Although the document assures reason that the rationality and intelligibility for which human understanding searches are not absent on the supernatural level, the text also explains that reason’s naturality will always serve as something of a limit to reason’s contemplation of the mysteries. Even if illumined by faith, the created intellect can never know the divine mysteries as it knows the truths proper to its own objective reach (“object” 26 27 DF IV. DF IV: “Ac ratio quidem, fide illustrata, cum sedulo, pie et sobrie quaerit, aliquam, Deo dante, mysteriorum intelligentiam eamque fructuosissimam assequitur.” 884 Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. is explicitly mentioned here). In this life, the divine mysteries will always remain somewhat elusive to human understanding. And, paradoxically, the very faith that extends reason’s objective reach is the same faith that leaves the divine mysteries veiled in the presence of created intelligence this side of eternity. A natural principle remains a natural principle—even when faith presents it with a supernatural object. Beyond the illumination that faith can extend to reason, the constitution does not fail to acknowledge the aid that reason can give to faith. Indeed, theirs is a mutually beneficial relationship. The document identifies two ways through which reason aids faith and two ways through which faith aids reason. “Right reason” (recta ratio) aids faith (1) by demonstrating the fundamental bases of faith (recta ratio fidei fundamenta demonstret), and (2) (when reason is illumined by faith) by cultivating or perfecting the science of divine things (rerum divinarum scientiam excolat). These are no mean assistances. Reason’s dignity does not suffer unjust diminution in Dei Filius. The first of these aids appears to encompass the praeambula fidei. As we recall, the preambles of the faith refer to those divinely revealed teachings that on the level of material objectivity lie just within the native natural grasp of human reason. The preambles refer to those truths that the human person can naturally discover—in reference to the natural principle and natural objectivity of human knowledge—but commonly does not.28 The preeminent example, of course, is God’s existence. Human reason can 28 See ST II-II, q. 2, a. 4: “It is necessary for man to accept by faith not only things which are above reason, but also those which can be known by reason: and this for three motives. First, in order that man may arrive more quickly at the knowledge of Divine truth. Because the science to whose province it belongs to prove the existence of God, is the last of all to offer itself to human research, since it presupposes many other sciences: so that it would not be until late in life that man would arrive at the knowledge of God. The second reason is, in order that the knowledge of God may be more general. For many are unable to make progress in the study of science, either through dullness of mind, or through having a number of occupations, and temporal needs, or even through laziness in learning, all of whom would be altogether deprived of the knowledge of God, unless Divine things were brought to their knowledge under the guise of faith. The third reason is for the sake of certitude. For human reason is very deficient in things concerning God. A sign of this is that philosophers in their researches, by natural investigation, into human affairs, have fallen into many errors, and have disagreed among themselves. And consequently, in order that men might have knowledge of God, free of doubt and uncertainty, it was necessary for Divine matters to be delivered to them by way of faith, being told to them, as it were, by God Himself Who cannot lie” (English translation taken from Fathers of the English Dominican Province [New York: Benziger, 1911]). Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason 885 demonstrate the existence of God, objectively speaking. Nonetheless, most human persons (unaided by grace) do not, individually and actually, arrive at a valid demonstration. Even apart from the praeambula fidei, however, we could suggest that the implications latent in objectively natural truths like the law of non-contradiction and the principles of causality serve as—at least remote but essential—fundamentals of the faith. Because God is the creator of all natural reality, there is no natural object that does not lie within the providential structures of reality. All things (each res) bear the ordering wisdom of God according to their respective natural or supernatural identities.29 Therefore, all naturally knowable truths, because they fall under the order of divine wisdom, can serve as foundations of the faith in one way or another—and, perhaps, in many ways (e.g., substance, the Eucharist). We also pause briefly to note the reference to scientia in the second way reason aids faith. We recall that Thomas Aquinas framed his presentation of the sacra doctrina in the opening question of the Summa theologiae around the nature of science. Of course, “science” in this context carries connotations different from that of contemporary parlance. Scientia denotes certain causal knowledge proceeding from first principles. One assumes that those theologians and bishops who worked on Dei Filius were familiar with the nature of scientia in general and the different methods proper to each of the various sciences (e.g., physics, metaphysics, theology).30 For any reader familiar with Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics, with medieval controversies surrounding the nature of theology, and with the importance of objectivity in the division and methods of the sciences, the phrase “science of divine things” (rerum divarum scientia[m]) is pregnant with meaning and implications. For Thomas and the Thomists (and for many others from 1240 onward), the word scientia always signaled objectivity (just as it did 29 30 For more on the ordering wisdom of God impressed on all created being, see Cajetan Cuddy, O.P., “Isidore and Augustine in Aquinas’s Teaching on the Essence and Kinds of Law (ST I-II, qq. 90–91),” in Reading the Church Fathers with St. Thomas Aquinas: Historical and Systematic Perspectives, ed. Piotr Roszak and Jörgen Vijgen (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), 187–231. John W. O’Malley writes: “For the bishops at the council, the teaching of Dei Filius reflected much of what they had learned in their seminary days, and therefore it came as no surprise to them. They might disagree with some point or another, but by and large they found themselves on familiar and basically uncontested ground. They accepted without question the document’s implication that faith was an assent to truths expressed in propositions” (Vatican I: The Council and the Making of the Ultramontane Church [Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 2018], 171). 886 Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. an objectively known thing and a knowing subject).31 Scientia is objectivity formalized on the level of disciplines. “Science” is the precise, consistent, and systematic working out of and within a distinct formal object. The historic importance of scientia in philosophical and theological contexts also renders intelligible the constitution’s observation that “God is the Lord of the sciences,” and the Church’s express support for scientific disciplines, “each in its own ambit,” to make use of their discipline’s respective “proper principles and proper method.” God is the cause of all of reality. Therefore, he is the first principle of all principles of knowledge and objective things. He is Lord of all of the sciences. The legitimate formalization of scientific disciplines poses no systemic threat to the divine mysteries hidden in God. In this section of the text, we also read of the aids that faith provides reason. Numerically parallel to the inverse aids we just considered, faith helps reason in two ways: (1) Faith liberates and guards reason from errors, and (2) faith instructs reason with a manifold knowledge (multiplici cognitione instruat). These aids that faith provides to reason appear to operate on horizontal and vertical planes. Faith liberating reason from present errors and guarding it against future errors serves to assist human knowledge on the plane of its own proper cognitive act. Any errors from which faith can liberate reason seem to apply to cognitive disorders that emerge between knowing principle and natural objectivity. The errors of rationalism and of semi-rationalism appear particularly germane to this specific aid. Although the errors of rationalism materially comprise supernatural objects, these errors are, formally, errors of reason. The rationalist who erroneously claims supernatural objects as naturally accessible to human reason (or who denies the existence of supernatural objects because of human reason) errs on the level of human reason, not on the level of divine faith. The rationalist’s error—in both of its expressions—is ironically a natural error. Human reason can neither reach supernatural objects by its own native principles nor invalidate supernatural objects by its own native principles. Because nature cannot natively reach supernature, it can neither prove supernature nor disprove supernature. Natural reason fails in both counts because of the duplex ordo cognitionis. Both the principle and the objects of natural reason are really (formally) distinct from the principle of faith and the 31 For an interesting study of the origin of obiectum, see Lawrence Dewan, O.P., “Obiectum: Notes on the Invention of a Word,” in Wisdom, Law, and Virtue (New York: Fordham University Press, 2007), 403–43. Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason 887 divine mysteries. Faith alone can elevate reason, because faith’s sublime supernatural formality (principle and objectivity) comprises natural as well as supernatural being. In other words, reason has no uninvited access to the formality of faith. Therefore, when faith liberates and guards reason from error, faith is actually reminding reason of its own proper dignity, its own proper principle, and its own proper objectivity. Faith does not expel natural reason from faith’s domain because natural reason never had access to faith’s proper domain. Rather, faith liberates reason from its own self-delusion and disorder. The themes in Dei Filius imply that rationalism is not an epistemological imposter sitting upon an unmerited throne in the kingdom of faith. Rather, rationalism is like an inebriated reason—a deranged fool that is so disoriented that it has fallen from its own dignified chair at the head of the table of natural rationality. Faith can instruct as well as liberate reason because faith is a principle of a higher order. Moreover, faith’s proper objects (i.e., the mysteries hidden in God) are the causes of both reason’s principle and reason’s proper objects. The manifold knowledge that faith imparts to reason originates in the divine being (the res) that stands as faith’s proper object. Faith’s knowledge is manifold because its proper knowledge is materially and formally divine—its knowledge bears the supernatural formality of God himself as First Truth Speaking about himself and what he has made and done. Faith shares its knowledge with reason, and reason finds this shared knowledge to be consistent with reason’s own objectivity but also infinitely excelling reason’s own objectivity. Faith, Reason, and God We now turn in this final, concluding, section to the reality that underlies each part of Dei Filius: God. God’s being and his causal influence in all of created being and knowing—on both natural and supernatural objectivities—shape the form and matter of Dei Filius. Thus, the constitution says that, “even though faith is above reason, there can never exist any true dissension between faith and reason.” And the explanation that the First Vatican Council provides for the impossibility of any contradiction between faith and reason is nothing less than God himself: “The same God who reveals mysteries and infuses faith has instilled [indiderit] the light of reason in the human soul.” This is an argument pointing to causality. The God who is the cause of divine revelation and of the habitus of faith is the same God who imparted the natural light of reason to the rational human 888 Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. soul. Consequently, because “God is not able to negate himself, neither [can] truth contradict truth.” God’s divine unity, then, serves as the principle for the unity of faith and reason.32 Although we have suggested above that the constitution unpacks the twofold order of knowledge according to the distinction between natural and divine principles and objects (united through their respective cognitive acts), God enjoys ultimate primacy. He is the cause of natural and divine principles and objectivities. Moreover, he is the principle to which all the beings he has created tend. God is the end of all of reality. God is the end of natural reason with its natural objectivity. He is also the end of divine faith and its supernatural objectivity. God is the highest thing (res) that perfects the objectivities of natural and divine knowledge in the human person. The principle of natural reason proceeds to God according to its proper natural objectivity. The principle of divine faith proceeds to God according to its proper supernatural objectivity. But it is the same God behind both objectivities. In order to understand this, we recall that a single thing (res) can sustain diverse objectivities. For example, a single bird (a res) can be an object of sight for the seeing power and an object of sound for the hearing power. The powers of sight and hearing are really distinct—as are their respective objectivities (seeing is not identical with hearing). Nonetheless, a single thing can bear multiple (and even simultaneous) formal objects (i.e., aspects under which a thing is known or loved). God is both the natural and the supernatural end of the human person. For those unfamiliar with the integration of principles, powers, acts, objects, and ends, this may sound like a contradiction. It is not, however, a contradiction. God as a being is one, but he sustains a plurality of different objectivities in relation to different principles of created rational action. He is the object of natural reason. He is also the object of divine faith. And he is (in his being) the one true God. This line of analysis bears significance for God’s centrality—as first cause and ultimate end—in the dogmatic constitution Dei Filius. For it implies that God is the end of the human person both naturally and supernaturally—and that God’s natural finality and his supernatural finality vis-à-vis the human person are really distinct. As natural end, God is that towards which the natural principle of human knowledge reasons under 32 DF IV: “Verum etsi fides sit supra rationem, nulla tamen umquam inter fidem et rationem vera dissensio esse potest; cum idem Deus, qui mysteria revelat et fidem infundit, animo humano rationis lumen indiderit; Deus autem negare seipsum non possit, nec verum vero umquam contradicere.” Dei Filius IV: On Faith and Reason 889 the objectivity of first cause of all of created reality. This is really distinct from God’s objectivity as one’s supernatural end. As supernatural end, God is that towards which the divine principle of faith is ordered under the objectivity of supernatural beatitude (i.e., known and loved and desired under the aspects of the sacred mysteries he divinely reveals). The twofold order of knowledge that Dei Filius articulates presupposes and implies that God is the twofold end of rational creatures.33 Thomas Aquinas’s teaching on the nature of principles, potencies, acts, and objects maintains their proper order of specification: potencies are distinguished by acts, acts are distinguished by objects, and objects are distinguished by ends. Therefore, if the principle of natural knowledge extends to natural acts of reason and knowledge that are specified by natural objects, then God, ultimately, is the natural end of the human person. Likewise, if the divine principle of faith so orders the graced human person to the theological act of belief, and this act of belief is specified by the theological objectivity of God as First Truth Speaking, then God, ultimately, is the supernatural end of the human person. God’s causal primacy and his objective identities (as natural and supernatural ends) render a contradiction between reason and faith impossible. Because the natural objectivity of reason and the divine objectivity of faith both terminate in the same being (i.e., God), and God cannot negate himself, therefore the objectivities under which reason and faith consider him cannot contradict each other either. Dei Filius invokes the importance of God’s natural and supernatural finality when it speaks of reason’s “most fruitful” knowledge that arises from both what it naturally knows, by analogy, and the ultimate end of the human person. To summarize our analysis, God as first cause and ultimate end (both naturally and supernaturally) accounts for the dynamism between the natural and the divine in the twofold order of knowledge. And, finally, the twofold order of knowledge ultimately leads natural reason and divine faith, both, to God as their final end under their own proper and respective objectivities. We suggest, at the conclusion of this essay, that the wisdom 33 Aquinas distinguishes this twofold order (natural and supernatural) of theological finality throughout his writings. For example, see ST I, q. 75, a. 7, ad 1: “This argument proceeds from the proximate and natural end. Eternal happiness is the ultimate and supernatural end.” See also De veritate, q. 14, a. 10, ad 2, and Quaestiones de anima, a. 7, ad 10. For a consideration of these texts (among others) and these themes, see Steven A. Long, Natura Pura: On the Recovery of Nature in the Doctrine of Grace (New York: Fordham University Press, 2010), 10–51. 890 Cajetan Cuddy, O.P. of St. Thomas Aquinas helps to unveil many speculative riches in the First Vatican Council’s dogmatic constitution Dei Filius. God is the cause of faith and of reason—on the level of principle and of object. God is the end of faith and reason—also on the level of principle and of object. And St. Thomas Aquinas is a most wise intellectual cartographer who sketches a speculative map that indicates why the pathway of reason and the pathway of faith are never contradictory, are always complementary, and objectively order human cognition to God. In an age when objective knowledge about God (both natural and supernatural) continues to fall subject to an ever-greater skepticism, Dei Filius IV remains a precious resource for all those who want to know the truth about knowing God. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 891–908 891 Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum Conor McDonough, O.P. Dominican Studium Dublin, Ireland From the point of view of Church history, chapter 4 of Dei Filius might seem like dull terrain. Dei Filius as a whole has been regarded as the “forgotten decree” of the First Vatican Council,1 and the principal controversies during its passage through the Council were, for the most part, proxy battles over papal infallibility.2 Of the whole document, the fourth chapter, on the relationship between faith and reason, provoked the fewest interventions from the Council fathers.3 On April 24, 1870, the day the constitution was passed unanimously by the Council fathers, an American bishop, John McQuaid of Rochester, described Dei Filius in a letter: 1 2 3 John W. O’Malley, Vatican I: The Council and the Making of the Ultramontane Church (Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 2018), 176. For other accounts of the genesis and development of the constitution, see the relevant sections of the following: Jeffrey A. Allen, “A Commentary on the First Vatican Council’s Dei Filius,” Irish Theological Quarterly 81, no. 2 (2016): 138–51; Roger Aubert, Vatican I (Paris: Orante, 1964); Christopher Butler, The Vatican Council, 1869–1870 (Westminster, MD: Newman Press, 1962); Hermann-Josef Pottmeyer, Der Glaube vor dem Anspruch der Wissenschaft: Die Konstitution über den katholischen Glauben Dei Filius des Ersten Vatikanischen Konzils und die unveröffentichten theologischen Voten der vorbereitenden Kommission (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1968). For a detailed theological commentary on Dei Filius, see Jean-Michel-Alfred Vacant, Études théologiques sur les constitutions du Concile du Vatican: la constitution Dei Filius, 2 vols. (Paris: Delhomme et Briguet, 1895). See, for example, Bishop Josip Strossmayer’s intervention and the intense response it provoked (Aubert, Vatican I, 185–86). Aubert, Vatican I, 187. 892 Conor McDonough, O.P. “There are some obstruse [sic] metaphysical points which few can fathom and certainly will never trouble the brains of any but a German philosopher for whose especial benefit they seem to have been made. The rest is quite simple theology.”4 Whether McQuaid regarded chapter 4 as “obstruse” or “simple theology” is anybody’s guess, but it is clear that it was indeed composed with German thinkers in mind, especially the rationalists Georg Hermes (1775–1831) and Anton Günther (1783–1863),5 and its composition and passage through the conciliar process was also largely the work of Germanophone theologians: Johann Baptist Franzelin, S.J. (1816–1886), Joseph Kleutgen, S.J. (1811–1893), and Bishop Vincent Gasser (1809– 1879).6 It may not have provoked much debate on the floor of the Council, but its careful pronouncements on faith and reason were a vital antidote both to rationalism and fideism. More than that, Dei Filius outlines key points of theological method, making explicit what had long been implicit in the work of theologians. As we shall see, these insights are of enduring relevance to the wise practice of theology. Reason’s Work and the Mysteries of Faith What is the role of reason in relation to the mysteries of the faith? Or, to put it another way, how does theology proceed? Rationalism and fideism both answer these questions badly. Speaking very broadly, we can say that rationalism, in its more extreme variety, claims that reason can actually construct the whole edifice of faith. God has revealed mysteries of the faith, like his triunity, for example, but reason can—so claim the rationalists—arrive independently at the same mysteries of faith (rendering them, one might add, somewhat less mysterious). Fideism, in its extreme forms, gives hardly any role to reason at all: we receive revelation, and we repeat and transmit it, with little room for reflection and growth in understanding. The light of faith, according to 4 5 6 Henry J. Browne, “The Letters of Bishop McQuaid from the Vatican Council,” The Catholic Historical Review 41 (1956): 408–41, at 423. For brief summaries of their thought, see Alan Vincelette, Recent Catholic Philosophy: The Nineteenth Century (Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 2009), 49–67. For a description of their respective roles in the development of the text that became the second paragraph of Dei Filius IV, see Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 372–92. For a more detailed consideration of Franzelin’s work at Vatican I, see Bernhard Knorn, S.J., “Johann Baptist Franzelin (1816–86): A Jesuit Cardinal Shaping the Official Teaching of the Church at the Time of the First Vatican Council,” Journal of Jesuit Studies 7 (2020): 592–615. Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum 893 this view, makes redundant the natural light of reason, at least in the realm of the revealed truths. Dei Filius rules out these two extremes: reason does not independently reconstruct the mysteries of faith, nor does it merely repeat these mysteries. But the constitution does not limit itself to ruling out extremes. In chapter 2 it affirms the capacity of human reason to know God’s existence independently of revelation, and in chapter 4 it develops a positive account of the role of reason within faith, enunciating basic principles of sound theological method. Having affirmed in this final chapter a “twofold order of knowledge,” accessible by natural reason and faith, respectively, and having affirmed the existence of truths “which, unless they are divinely revealed, are incapable of being known,” the constitution outlines the kind of work human reason can carry out on these mysteries: Reason, enlightened by faith, when it seeks persistently, piously, and soberly, does achieve by God’s gift some understanding—a most profitable understanding—of the mysteries, both by analogy from what it knows naturally, and by the connection of these mysteries with one another and with the final end of humanity; but reason is never rendered capable of penetrating these mysteries in the way in which it penetrates those truths which form its proper object.7 Avoiding any hint of rationalism, Dei Filius indicates here two methods or paths8 by which reason can gain “some understanding” of the mysteries revealed by God. By these paths reason “develops [excolat] the science of divine things.”9 The first path proceeds by analogy (ex analogia) with what we naturally know, connecting the mysteries of the faith with natural and social phenomena. The second path, on the other hand, proceeds by considering the connections between the mysteries of the faith (“e mysteriorum ipsorum nexu inter se”), and their connection with our ultimate end. 7 8 9 De Filius [DF] IV: “Ratio, fide illustrata, cum sedulo, pie, et sobrie quaerit, aliquam, Deo dante, mysteriorum intelligentiam eamque fructuosissimam assequitur, tum ex eorum, quae naturaliter cognoscit, analogia, tum e mysteriorum ipsorum nexu inter se et cum fine hominis ultimo; nunquam tamen idonea redditur ad ea perspicienda instar veritatum, quae proprium ipsius obiectum constituunt” (Latin from Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, ed. Norman Tanner, vol. 2, From Trent to Vatican II [Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990], 808; trans. mine). Art and Weg are the terms use by Pottmeyer in his major study of Dei Filius: “The Council names two ways or paths by which to gain an understanding of faith” (Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 385; trans. mine). Tanner, From Trent to Vatican II, 809–10. 894 Conor McDonough, O.P. What should be clear from this, but is worth underlining, is that Dei Filius uses the phrase nexus mysteriorum not principally to assert the fact that the mysteries are connected, but in order to outline a way for theology to gain insights into the mysteries, taking this fact as a starting point. This section of the constitution, after all, is indicating what reason can do in the face of revealed truths. The nexus mysteriorum is presented as the foundation of a method in theology, a method which Aidan Nichols has appropriately dubbed “criss-crossing the mysteries.”10 Much of what Dei Filius IV affirms concerning faith and reason is familiar to readers of St. Thomas Aquinas, and that pedigree is made explicit in the first stage of the document’s development, the votum prepared by Franzelin.11 In the section of the votum outlining “the functions of reason concerning revealed truths,” Franzelin appeals repeatedly to Thomas’s commentary on Boethius’s De Trinitate,12 but he could equally have pointed to the opening chapters of the Summa contra gentiles to bolster many of his affirmations: that faith and reason represent a twofold approach to God, that reason can arrive at the knowledge of God’s existence, that there are truths about God which are inaccessible to reason,13 and that reason can fruitfully gather analogies between supernatural and natural realities.14 What is absent from Thomas’s writings on faith and reason, though, 10 11 12 13 14 Aidan Nichols, From Newman to Congar: The Idea of Doctrinal Development from the Victorians to the Second Vatican Council (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990), 263. The text of the votum is found in Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 28*–89*. Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 59*–61*. Thomas Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles [SCG] I, ch. 3. See SCG I, ch. 8: “Sensible things, from which the human reason takes the origin of its knowledge, retain within themselves some sort of trace of a likeness to God. This is so imperfect, however, that it is absolutely inadequate to manifest the substance of God. For effects bear within themselves, in their own way, the likeness of their causes, since an agent produces its like; yet an effect does not always reach to the full likeness of its cause. Now, the human reason is related to the knowledge of the truth of faith (a truth which can be most evident only to those who see the divine substance) in such a way that it can gather certain likenesses of it, which are yet not sufficient so that the truth of faith may be comprehended as being understood demonstratively or through itself. Yet it is useful for the human reason to exercise itself in such arguments, however weak they may be, provided only that there be present no presumption to comprehend or to demonstrate. For to be able to see something of the loftiest realities, however thin and weak the sight may be, is, as our previous remarks indicate, a cause of the greatest joy” (On the Truth of the Catholic Faith: Summa contra Gentiles, Book One: God, trans. Anton C. Pegis [New York: Image, 1955]). Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum 895 and is present in Dei Filius and in its various stages of development,15 is the phrase nexus mysteriorum,16 and the elaboration of the second path, alongside that of analogy, by which reason can gain insight into the mysteries of the faith. It is this second path or method which we will investigate in what follows. Is it a novelty? To answer this question, we turn first to the immediate historical context of Dei Filius, before considering the Christian theological tradition synoptically. The Nexus Mysteriorum in the Nineteenth Century Since Franzelin’s votum is considerably more detailed in its exposition than the resulting constitution, it is worth analyzing its treatment of the nexus mysteriorum and the associated theological method. The relevant passages are as follows: [The mysteries of the faith] can, supposing faith and under the magisterium of the Church, be developed towards a certain more distinct understanding both of the dogmas in themselves and their mutual connection, so that one can be illuminated by, and understood to follow on from, another.17 It is the task of reason illuminated by faith to conceive of a certain knowledge (notitia) of super-rational truths and to develop this knowledge towards a certain, more distinct, understanding. This understanding is nevertheless only analogical or, as St Thomas says, “those things which are of faith may be made known by likenesses.” Also, according to this analogical knowledge [cognitio], reason can perceive the connection between the dogmas and their congruence with rational ideas, and make explicit what is implicit, and deduce from them their consequences.18 15 16 17 18 It is worth noting that not all the schemata drafted in preparation for Dei Filius include reference to the nexus mysteriorum: it is absent from the relevant section of schema 3, Kleutgen’s revision of Franzelin’s earlier work (see Allen, “Commentary,” 142), but reinserted in schema 4 (Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 485). This reinsertion appears to have been done at the initiative of Bishop Gasser (Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 377). Or equivalent phrases: connexio mysteriorum; nexus dogmatum; etc. “Haec ipsa notio mysterii, quam revelationis radius secundum modum nostrum ad nos perveniens suppeditat, potest fide supposita et sub Ecclesiae magisterio excoli ad distnctiorem aliquam intelligentiam tum dogmatum in se, tum mutuae eorum connexionis, ut unum ex alter consequi intelligatur ac illustretur” (quoted in Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 60*; trans. mine). “Rationis per fidem illustratae munus est ut de ipsis veritatibus superrationalibus 896 Conor McDonough, O.P. Reason could never deduce the mysteries of the faith themselves, but by considering these dogmas in their connectedness, reason can deduce many other truths. Thus the organic structure or system of revealed truths yields, by the operation of reason, an even larger structure of interconnected truths. In this way the mysteries themselves become known “more distinctly.” It is worth noting that those responsible for reworking Franzelin’s votum quite deliberately prescinded from the scientific tone of these passages, leading to the simpler and more general phrasing found in Dei Filius. The language redolent of syllogistic Konklusionstheologie was abandoned in favor of a broader conception of how the practice of connecting the mysteries might yield understanding.19 The idea that the mysteries of the faith are intricately connected was not, of course, original to Franzelin. The conception of revealed truths as a system or organic structure was a striking feature of much nineteenth-century Catholic theology, especially in the German-speaking world. The Tübingen School was particularly inclined to speak of theology as an architectonic or organic system, under the influence of thinkers such as Immanuel Kant, Georg Hegel, and Friedrich Schelling.20 Already in 1819, the Tübingen theologian Johann Sebastian Drey was keen to underline, in a book written for beginners in theology, that there was no randomness (Zufälligkeit) in the mysteries of the faith.21 Beginners might 19 20 21 aliquam concipiat notitiam eamque excolere possit ad distinctiorem quamdam intelligentiam, quae tamen non potest esse nisi analogica seu, ut loquitur S. Thomas, “ad notificandum per similitudines ea, quae sunt fidei”; atque ut secundum hanc analogicam cognitionem et dogmatum nexum inter se et aliquam cum notionibus rationalibus congruentiam perspicere, et implicita explicare, et consequentia alia ex aliis deducere queat” (quoted in Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 60*–61*; trans. mine). See Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 386: “Above all, Franzelin has the model of conclusion theology in mind, based on the Aristotelian concept of science. Progress in knowledge means, for him, that the implicit is made explicit and conclusions are drawn from the truths of faith. As already mentioned, a consultant of the preparatory commission drew attention to the problems of applying this scientific concept to theology. In fact, the Council did not commit itself to this model and there is no longer any mention of the development of the implicit and of logical conclusions in the drafts that followed the vote” (trans. mine). See Bernhard Casper, “Der Systemgedanke in der späten Tübinger Schule und in der deutschen Neuscholastik,” Philosophisches Jahrbuch 72 (1965): 161–79, at 162. Johann Sebastian Drey, Die Apologetik als wissenschaftliche Nachweisung der Göttlichkeit des Christentums in seiner Erscheinung, 3 vols. (1838–1847). For a helpful introduction to Drey’s thought, especially as influenced by Schelling, see Thomas O’Meara, O.P., Romantic Idealism and Roman Catholicism: Schelling and the Theologians (Notre Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum 897 have the impression, he noted, that Christian dogmas are like dry leaves on a forest floor which happen to have been brought together by the wind. It is the task of the scientific theologian to show that this randomness is only apparent.22 “System” became a leitmotif in Drey’s writing and teaching, although by this he did not intend to compare theology to a deductive system like mathematics. The system of theology is organic; it accounts for unity and diversity in the same way that the system of a living body does.23 The unity of this system is, of course, grounded in the unity of God himself, and the unity of revelation. As Bernhard Welte explains, for Drey: First of all Christian teachings are a living ideal unity and therefore a system in the eternal understanding of God, but then the historical series of deeds, i.e. the history of revelation, through which God gradually communicates his “system,” is also a system. In contrast to this objective, divine, and historical system of revelation, is the derivative but necessary system of theology.24 Far from being a pile of disconnected dry leaves, the mysteries of faith, in their revelation in history and in their articulation in theology, are profoundly interconnected for Drey, and for those under his influence at Tübingen and elsewhere (including, for example, Bishop Gasser25 and Franzelin26 himself ). Hermann-Josef Pottmeyer points out that this interest in systematicity was typical also of the Roman School in the nineteenth century, naming figures like Carlo Passaglia and Clement Schrader.27 Franzelin was also, of course, a major figure in this intellectual community. Among the greatest theologians produced by formation in Rome at this period, including substantial study under Franzelin, is Matthias Scheeben. His writing, even before the Council, consciously adopts the method proposed in Dei Filius IV: 22 23 24 25 26 27 Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1982), 94–108. See Bernhard Welte, “Beobachtungen zum Systemgedanken in der Tübinger Katholischen Schule,” Theologische Quartalschrift 147 (1967): 40–59, at 40–41. Welte, “Beobachtungen,” 43. Welte, “Beobachtungen,” 44–45. This insistence on the dependence of theology on revelation is, of course, key to distinguishing Drey’s understanding of the systematicity of theology from that of the rationalists. Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 380. Aidan Nichols, O.P., Romance and System: The Theological Synthesis of Matthias Joseph Scheeben (Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Academic, 2021), 8. Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 380. 898 Conor McDonough, O.P. We must look upon the various mysteries as members of a great whole, in which the purpose of any one mystery is determined not only by its individual character, but also by its bearing on the whole. We must observe how the members of this whole are designed for one another in God’s plan, how they are built up on one another, how all the mysterious works of God are connected with the mystery of the Godhead as their principle, and how they are strung together for the communication of God to the creature and for His own glorification. In a word, we must gain an insight into the wonderful plan of the supernatural order, and so endeavour to appreciate the significance of the individual mystery in terms of its relationship with the whole, and the whole in its harmonious unity as resulting from the proportion and correlation of the several parts.28 As [the mysteries] are intimately connected with one another, so that the one invariably appears as the prolongation and continuation of the other, they not only must be in accord with one another as regards their supernatural meaning, purpose, and operations, but must mutually support, promote, and explain one another.29 In the case of the Eucharist, for example, Scheeben illuminates the mystery by tracing its connections to the mysteries it presupposes: the Incarnation and the eternal generation of the Son from the Father. He then goes on to connect the Eucharist with the life of grace and the mystery of the Church.30 Scheeben points out too what happens when this method is not followed: [The] mysteries involve one another, [so] that one supernatural mystery can keep its meaning, and hence vindicate its nature and reality, only as a link in a chain, as a member in an organism of related species. Wrested from this chain, deprived of their position in the supernatural organism, the mysteries, as we have insisted over and over again, turn into obscurities, and can scarcely be detected by blind faith, despite the most earnest searchings of reason. But when strung on this chain, when integrated in an organism, the dead members spring to life, the darkness turns into light, and, as though 28 29 30 Matthias Joseph Scheeben, The Mysteries of Christianity, trans. Cyril Vollert, S.J. (St Louis, MO: Herder, 1951), 758. Scheeben, Mysteries, 479. Scheeben, Mysteries, 477–79. Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum 899 an electric current were suddenly switched on, brilliance and life stream from them.31 Just like the final version of Dei Filius, Scheeben’s understanding of the “criss-crossing” task of theology does not limit itself to syllogisms; rather, each mystery is variously illuminated by reference to many other mysteries and to all together. Criss-Crossing the Mysteries: Universal Best Practice Thus described, connecting the mysteries is not a novel project, or a nineteenth-century development; it is simply the principal part of the intellectual work of the Church on earth. This is especially so if we adopt a broad definition of “mystery,” referring not only to a short list of defined dogmas but also to, for example, the sacraments, the saving events recounted in Scripture, and all of moral theology considered as the mystery of life in Christ.32 And with this broad understanding, we can easily see that the activity of connecting mysteries is simply the warp and weft of Christian theology in every generation, so evidently what theologians do that it was unnecessary to make it explicit until modern developments undermined traditional theological method. The explication of this task is, to use Bishop McQuaid’s terms, both for the “especial benefit” of German thinkers, and “quite simple theology.” As a foundational example, we might consider, for example, Our Lord on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24), explaining to the despairing disciples the significance of the suffering and entrance into glory of Christ by connecting this mystery with the mysteries found in Moses and all the prophets and all the Scriptures. Saint Paul, for his part, is a virtuoso in the connecting of mysteries. Just in 1 Corinthians, for example: he considers moral questions in light of the mystery of the Church (“Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? Shall I therefore take the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute?” [1 Cor 6:15]); he thinks about marriage in light of the Second Coming (1 Cor 7); he interprets the present moment of the Corinthian Church in terms of the Exodus story (“Do not be idolaters as some of them were, we must not indulge in immorality as some of them 31 32 Scheeben, Mysteries, 481. This broad understanding of what is included in the nexus mysteriorum is found, for example, in Vacant, Études théologiques, 221–22. 900 Conor McDonough, O.P. did” [1 Cor 10:7]); he considers extraordinary spiritual gifts in light of love (“If I have prophetic powers . . . but have not love, I gain nothing” [1 Cor 13:2]); and he thinks through our resurrection by connecting it with the resurrection of Christ (1 Cor 15). We might consider also the great patristic works of theology addressing particular heresies. The constant refrain in these works is that heretics reduce Christian faith to a selection of favorite biblical verses and doctrines and refuse to do precisely the work of connecting each mystery with other mysteries. They thus end up making central in their systems what is not truly central. Tertullian, writing against Praxeas and his party, who had denied any distinction between Father, Son, and Spirit, makes this form of argument with wonderful clarity: I must take some further pains to rebut their arguments, when they make selections from the Scriptures in support of their opinion, and refuse to consider the other points, which obviously maintain the rule of faith without any infraction of the unity of the Godhead, and with the full admission of the Monarchy. For as in the Old Testament Scriptures they lay hold of nothing else than, “I am God, and beside me there is no God” (Isaiah 45:5) so in the Gospel they simply keep in view the Lord’s answer to Philip, “I and my Father are one” ( John 10:30) and, “He that has seen me has seen the Father; and I am in the Father, and the Father in me” ( John 14:9–10). They would have the entire revelation of both Testaments yield to these three passages, whereas the only proper course is to understand the few statements in the light of the many. But in their contention they only act on the principle of all heretics. For, inasmuch as only a few testimonies are to be found in the general mass, they pertinaciously set off the few against the many.33 Praxeas, in other words, has failed in the task of connecting the mysteries. He has failed to consider his favorite few doctrines in light of the whole organism of revelation, and so the mysteries of the faith become for him, to borrow Scheeben’s term, obscurities. Many other Fathers present arguments of this form, appealing to the fullness of revelation in the face of reductive heretical sloganizing. One 33 Tertullian, Against Praxeas 20, in The Ante-Nicene Fathers, 6 vols., ed. and trans. Alexander Roberts et al. (New York: Cosimo, 2007), 3:615. Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum 901 example will suffice. Alexander of Alexandria, who had the pleasure of being Arius’s bishop, claims the Arians have made their selection of verses and ignore the rest of Scripture: And having collected all the passages which speak of his plan of salvation and his humiliation for our sakes, they endeavour from these to collect the preaching of their impiety, ignoring altogether the passages in which his eternal divinity and unutterable glory with the Father is set forth.34 The Arians, like the modalists, neglected to adequately connect the mysteries of the faith. It seems to me that it is in the thirteenth century that Christian theologians as a body most assiduously engage in the task of criss-crossing the mysteries. As they commented on a particular book of the Bible, for example, Scholastic theologians would begin with a prologue opening with a verse from another biblical book entirely, interpreting the whole book to be commented upon in light of that verse. Thus Aquinas’s commentary on John begins with a discussion of Isaiah 6:1, his commentary on Romans begins with Acts 9:15, and so on. This could perhaps be dismissed as a token gesture, but consider too the Scholastic practice of disputation. Is there any more intense example of the work of connecting mysteries? A particular theological question is illuminated, in a disputation, in light of a dozen or more other mysteries. In the case of St. Thomas, we have noted already that the phrase nexus mysteriorum is not found in his works, but when Franzelin’s votum expands on this theme, it nevertheless makes reference to Summa theologiae I, q. 1, a. 8. There Thomas explains that, in debates with those who deny one article of faith, one may make appeal to another article.35 In other words, in order to clarify the problematic mystery, one considers it in light of another. In less controversial contexts too Thomas practices the method of connecting the mysteries. One need only consider, for example, the many and various ways in which he analyzes and connects the twelve (or 34 35 Alexander of Alexandria, Letter to Alexander of Constantinople, in Roberts, Ante-Nicene Fathers, 6:291. Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 1, a. 8, resp.: “Disputamus . . . per unum articulum contra negantes alium.” I follow here the Latin text of the ST as given in Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, ed. Dominican Fathers, 5 vols., 3rd ed. (Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 1961–65). 902 Conor McDonough, O.P. fourteen) articles of faith.36 The connection of the mysteries is particularly vivid in his De articulis et ecclesiae sacramentis. In the first part of this opusculum, Thomas outlines twelve articles of faith—six associated with the divinity of Christ (along with the Father and the Spirit), and six associated with his humanity—and briefly refutes errors against each article. The second part treats of the seven sacraments, but (crucially for our purposes) it is not an independent treatise; it is presented as an expansion of the fourth article of faith, on the effects of grace.37 The sacraments might not be mentioned in the Creed, but they are understood here as being organically connected with its affirmations. Thomas’s explanation of the meaning of the word “article” shows once again his awareness of the interconnectedness of the mysteries. This word, he explains, refers to a certain “fit” (coaptatio) between various distinct parts, as in the limbs of a body: “For this reason the credibilia of the Christian faith are said to be distinguished into articles in that they are divided into parts which fit with one another.”38 And just as Drey grounds the unity of theology’s “system” in the unity of God himself, so Aquinas insists that the scientia of holy teaching is established on the scientia of God and the blessed.39 It is surely this strong sense of the unity and coherence of the mysteries of faith which led Thomas and so many of his contemporaries to compose theological summae, organized expositions of Christian doctrine no longer following the structure of a biblical book, for example, but structured, as Thomas says in his prologue to the Summa theologiae, as the ordo disciplinae requires.40 In the age of the summa, the selection and arrangement of 36 37 38 39 40 See Joseph Goering, “Christ in Dominican Catechesis: The Articles of Faith,” in Christ Among the Medieval Dominicans, ed. Kent Emery Jr. and Joseph P. Wawrykow (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1998), 127–38, esp. 131. Thomas Aquinas, De articulis fidei et ecclesiae sacramentis, no. 612: “Now the sacraments of the Church remain to be considered, which can nevertheless be taken together under a single article, since they pertain to the effect of grace” (Opuscula theologica, vol. 2, ed. Raimundo Verardo, O.P. [Turin: Marietti, 1954]). ST II-II, q. 1, a. 6, resp.: “Unde et credibilia fidei Christianae dicuntur per articulos distingui inquantum in quasdam partes dividuntur habentes aliquam coaptationem ad invicem.” “ ST I, q. 1, a. 2, resp. ST I, prol.: “We have considered that beginners in this doctrine have been greatly hampered by those works which others have written: partly on account of the multiplication of useless questions, articles, and arguments; partly because those things which are necessary to beginners to know are not handed on according to the order of teaching, but following the order of exposition of books, or according to what disputation offers; partly too since frequent repetition generated both fatigue and confusion Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum 903 topics became a major task of the theologian, since any given arrangement connects and elucidates the mysteries of the faith in a particular way. The resulting concern for the systematic arrangement of topics in theological summae is not limited, of course, to medieval Catholic theology, but is found also in Protestant theologians like Philipp Melanchthon in his Loci communes, and John Calvin in his Institutes, which he edited and reorganized on multiple occasions precisely out of a concern to connect the mysteries of the faith in a congenial fashion.41 We can discern the importance of the nexus mysteriorum in more recent theology too. When twentieth-century theologians critiqued the theology of the manuals and proposed a renewal of theology, it was precisely, once again, on the basis of reconnecting mysteries that had become disconnected. As Karl Rahner famously claimed in the case of the doctrine of the Trinity: The treatise on the Holy Trinity remains rather isolated in the structure of dogmatic theology as a whole. To put it crudely . . . : once this treatise has been dealt with, it does not recur again in dogmatic theology. Its general function with regard to the whole is only vaguely seen. The mystery appears to have been revealed merely for its own sake.42 When Rahner complains about the isolation of Trinitarian doctrine and insists that “in all dogmatic treatises . . . the realities of salvation with which they deal cannot be made comprehensible without recurring to this primordial mystery of Christianity,” such that “the intrinsic connection between the various mysteries [appears],” he is doing no more, in terms of theological method, than what Dei Filius IV recommends. Contemporary Restatement: Webster, Schoot, Williams Even if it is clear that healthy Christian theology instinctively carries out the task of seeking understanding by assiduously connecting the mysteries 41 42 in the minds of the hearers. Seeking to avoid these and similar things, we will attempt, with confidence in divine assistance, to set forth those things which pertain to sacred doctrine, briefly and clearly, as the subject itself permits.” Richard Muller, The Unaccommodated Calvin: Studies in the Foundation of a Theological Tradition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 118–39. Karl Rahner, Theological Investigations, vol. 4, trans. Kevin Smyth (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1974), 82. 904 Conor McDonough, O.P. of the faith, we have already seen that unhealthy theology typically fails to do so. More fundamentally, rationalism sets aside this task altogether, seeking to construct by reason alone the edifice of faith, rather than engaging in the humbler task of comparing and re-arranging the given mysteries in the hope of new insight. The spread of this methodological malady is why Dei Filius needed to give explicit statement to an aspect of theological method that had long remained implicit, but it would be foolish to think that Dei Filius solved the problem. The wounds inflicted on Christian theology by rationalism are, in many cases, still open, and several theologians in recent decades have felt the need to recall the discipline to the task of humbly connecting the mysteries. John Webster’s inaugural address as Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity at the University of Oxford in 1997, for example, traces the “history of the alienation of theology from its own habits of thought,” especially in the tendency of theologians in post-Enlightenment universities to speak about God in terms of “generic theism” without reference to doctrines of Trinity and Incarnation.43 He points also to the rise in prominence of the doctrine of revelation in modern Protestant theology, under the pressure of epistemological challenges to faith, and notes that such treatments, as sophisticated as they might be, “threaten to sever the ties [between the doctrine of revelation] and the loci that follow: Trinity, Incarnation, Spirit, Church.”44 Similarly, apologetic strategy brought the question of Christ’s resurrection to the fore in modern theology, but theologians tended to “extract [this doctrine] from its proper Christological home.”45 All of these developments, Webster argues, bespeak a “certain forgetfulness of the inner structure and dynamic of Christian doctrine.”46 Because of this forgetfulness of what lends unity to the theological enterprise, its various sub-disciplines become vulnerable to the gravitational pull of related (non-theological) disciplines: The theological disciplines have . . . been pressed to give an account of themselves in terms drawn largely from fields of enquiry other than theology, fields which, according to prevailing criteria of academic propriety more nearly approximate to ideals of rational activity. And so the content and operations of the constituent parts of the 43 44 45 46 John Webster, “Theological Theology,” in Confessing God: Essays in Christian Dogmatics, vol. 2 (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 11–31, at 18. Webster, “Theological Theology,” 19. Webster, “Theological Theology,” 20–21. Webster, “Theological Theology,” 20. Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum 905 theological curriculum are no longer determined by specifically theological considerations, but by neighbouring disciplines. . . . This process of assimilation means that, for example, the study of Scripture, or doctrine, or the history of the church draw their modes of enquiry from Semitics, or the history of religions, or social anthropology, from philosophy, or from general historical studies.47 We could add to this list: moral theology becomes ethics, ecumenical theology becomes peace studies, and, most globally, theology becomes religious studies. Webster makes no reference to Vatican I, but his principal insights in this lecture resonate powerfully with the appeal of Dei Filius to the nexus mysteriorum. In a more recent inaugural lecture, Henk Schoot (University of Utrecht) offers a similar analysis, referring not only to Webster’s inaugural lecture but also to Dei Filius itself. He outlines the method of connecting the mysteries, illustrated with examples, and points then to the vulnerability of such a method in the contemporary university: When the relationship between [Christ’s resurrection] and [the general resurrection] is studied, this results in greater insight into each of the two mysteries of faith. Theology is not able to provide a generally acceptable proof for one of the two mysteries alone, but the detailed examination of the connection between them can certainly make a contribution to the plausibility of both. . . . A theology based on the nexus mysteriorum is vulnerable. It has few pretensions to meeting the challenges posed to theology by modern science [since it] often takes the form of searching for conformity, for fittingness.48 Christian theology, Schoot insists, is more receptive than constructive, more interested in coherence than proof. He recognizes that the theological task conceived in this way is unlikely to be understood or appreciated in the modern university, but he mounts a stout defense for such a “theological theology,” faithful and ecclesial in the face of pressure to secularize and disintegrate. Finally, the Anglican theologian A. N. Williams offers a book-length 47 48 Webster, “Theological Theology,” 22. Henk Schoot, “Holy, Holy, Holy: A Plea for the Holiness of Theology,” Jaarboek Thomas-Instituut te Utrecht 26 (2007): 7–33, at 11. 906 Conor McDonough, O.P. exploration of the proper systematicity of Christian theology in her work The Architecture of Theology.49 For her, reason plays a vital role in theology not by “generating doctrines,” but by “extrapolating from other givens and modulating the final shape of doctrines in light of their compatibility with each other.’50 Without referring to Dei Filius, Williams shows how theologians as diverse as Anselm, Calvin, Luther, and Leonardo Boff make use of precisely the mystery-connecting theological method proposed in the constitution. The opening page of her book sums up her understanding of the systematic nature of Christian theology: [Theology] exhibits an impetus towards coherence and comprehensiveness. Theology may in this sense be said to be systematic when it traces links between discrete theological loci, or when the treatment of a single locus or issue is shaped by the awareness of its potential to interlock with other loci, indeed in some cases, its dependence on them for its own shape. Theology that is in this sense systematic may be likened to a jigsaw puzzle: even if one does not have all the pieces, the shape of any one of them reflects its orientation towards others as parts of a larger pattern. When there are enough such pieces to hand, a complete picture forms, but even in the absence of a whole, unified image, a solitary piece displays by its very shape its trajectory towards linkage.51 Williams thus adds her voice to that of Schoot and Webster in the defense of the practice of theology as a unified discipline. She, with them, stands against the disintegration of theology into its sub-disciplines, not by appealing merely to an intellectual tradition, but by pointing to the “trajectory towards linkage” inherent in the very mysteries themselves. A theology which neglected to connect the mysteries, and to be comprehensive in its attempt to connect all the mysteries, would fail, on this account, to honor the unity of the triune God.52 49 50 51 52 A. N. Williams, The Architecture of Theology: Structure, System, & Ratio (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). Williams, Architecture, 7. Williams, Architecture, 1. See Williams, Architecture, 4: “The fact that Christianity holds that all that exists is either the Trinity or necessarily related to the Trinity grounds and precipitates systematic theology: Christian theology cannot help but trace connections, since they exist by divine will as a consequence of the very act of creation.” Dei Filius IV: On Theological Method and the Nexus Mysteriorum 907 The Nexus Mysteriorum and the Task of Theology Today The very fact that these defenses have been necessary in recent decades shows that the mystery-connecting habit of Christian thought made explicit in Dei Filius is at risk in the contemporary practice of theology. One of the things Dei Filius asks of theologians today, then, is whether we are practicing and transmitting this habit even when our professional environments make it awkward for us to do so. Do we give in to modularization, for example, making student choice, rather than some carefully discerned ordo disciplinae, the organizing principle of theological studies? Is it possible, for example, for students in our programs to become “qualified theologians” while successfully avoiding courses on the Trinity and Christology (as I did in my first degree)? Do we accept the disintegration of theology as a unified discipline, or do we work to sustain a genuinely theological conversation across sub-disciplines? When we teach, do we think long and hard about the structure of our courses? Do we cultivate the habit in our students of tracing the connections between the mysteries by enacting it in our teaching? Would we dare, for example, to develop a point about moral theology in a class on eschatology? Or to give a lecture on the mystery of the Church in a course on the Trinity? Or a lecture on the Mass in a course on John’s Gospel? Or to discuss providence in a course on Church history? (I’m reminded here of one of my teachers of dogmatic theology at the University of Fribourg, Benoît-Dominique de la Soujeole, O.P., who would punctuate his classes with la minute pastorale). We are perhaps afraid of stepping on our colleagues’ toes, or going beyond our expertise, especially if our own formation as theologians has not been as well-rounded as it might have been, but it seems to me that Dei Filius challenges us to take these risks. And with the Final End . . . “[Reason achieves some understanding] by the connection of these mysteries with one another and with the final end of humanity.” This final phrase we have so far largely ignored, and it is fitting to turn to it in conclusion. This addition seems to have been the original contribution of Bishop Gasser, accommodating the concerns of the Council fathers who feared what they saw as the overly-scientific language of the earlier drafts.53 These 53 Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 386–88. 908 Conor McDonough, O.P. few words help avoid an unhistorical understanding of reason’s task in the face of revelation: the mysteries of faith are not truths in an abstract system; they are saving truths, revealed to us by God so as to lead us to God. The insistence of Dei Filius that we connect the mysteries of faith with the final end of humanity reminds us that our study of these mysteries is not an intellectual game, but that the little glimpses of truth which theology permits can truly transform minds and hearts, and lead our students, readers, and colleagues closer to the end they desire. It reminds us too that, while faith enlightens reason here and now, the veil of faith will one day give way to vision, and the work of reason will eventually cease, as the mind rests at last in the simple vision of the truth it ever sought. Theology is provisional, and the theologian ought to yearn for the end of theology.54 As Williams points out, “theology is not a mason’s enterprise, but an architect’s,”55 and all the blueprints of this age, all our subjective reception and articulation of the mysteries revealed by God, will ultimately be set aside and the long-desired sight will be unveiled: the glorious simplicity of the triune God in whom all mysteries cohere. Until then, reason enlightened by faith seeks persistently, piously, and soberly. 54 55 The “Episcopal Ghost” of C. S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce is a salutary warning in this regard. Williams, Architecture, 12. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 909–938 909 Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma Andrew Meszaros St Patrick’s Pontifical University Maynooth, Ireland Introduction Historically, it is indisputable that the intention of the latter part of chapter 4 of Dei Filius was to restate the substantial immutability of the deposit of faith, not for the sake of rejecting doctrinal development, but for the sake of establishing parameters for a certain profectus fidei—progress or development in the faith—which no Catholic theologian doubted, not even nineteenth-century neo-Scholastics. Then-contemporary (e.g., John Henry Newman and the Tübingen school) and subsequent (e.g., Yves Congar and Henri de Lubac) theologians’ theories that were more thoroughly worked out presupposed this immutability. The argument here is simple: Dei Filius’s teaching on the immutability of dogma not only did serve as the necessary foundation for any sound (i.e., Catholic) theory of doctrinal development, but continues to do so. While the teaching of Dei Filius itself is limited and incomplete, it is essential. Furthermore, its key feature of dogmatic immutability is not compromised by even the most dramatic of doctrinal developments. To establish the ongoing relevance of Dei Filius for contemporary discussions on doctrinal development, I will first draw out certain key similarities between the nineteenth-century, modernist, and contemporary contexts. This will be followed by a presentation of the relevant portions of Dei Filius. Finally, in the longest section, I will discuss what is at stake in the teaching of Dei Filius and offer some different examples of how doctrines develop in ways that uphold the fundamental-theological principle laid out 910 Andrew Meszaros in Dei Filius: namely, that all doctrinal development is homogenous with, or in continuity with, the deposit of faith. Anton Günther and Theology Today We can identify two major factors that led to the Vatican Council having to address dogmatic development. The first, and perhaps most important, factor is the implication that Anton Günther’s (1783–1863) understanding of faith and reason had on dogma and its immutability. The second factor is simply the fact that, in the midst of these pervasive philosophical and theological disputes over faith and reason, Pius IX not only managed to define the Immaculate Conception as dogma, but did so by papal definition: the 1854 definition was the freshest example of what would later be defined in 1870.1 A brief examination of the thought of Günther will help us better understand why the paragraph on development (i.e., the immutability and progress of dogma) pertains to the faith–reason relationship and, hence, appears in the fourth chapter. 2 Günther’s major concern is a noble one: namely, to respond to the Kantian critique of supernatural religion. To do so, he sees it as necessary not only to defend rationally but also to explain rationally—according to the philosophical systems of Schelling and Hegel—Christian dogma. Günther is no brash and pure rationalist. He believes in the history of supernatural revelation. He acknowledges that reason alone could never discover supernaturally revealed truths; but, as a so-called semi-rationalist, he believes that, once made known to it, reason can then penetrate and, indeed, prove these revealed truths.3 1 2 3 Mark G. McGrath, The Vatican Council’s Teaching on the Evolution of Dogma (Rome: Pontificium Athenaeum Internationale Angelicum, 1960), 71. For a summary of Günther’s approach to faith and reason, see Gerald A. McCool, Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism: The Search for a Unitary Method (New York: Fordham University Press, 1977), 88–112, esp. pp. 89–92, 106–109. McCool, Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism, 103. The following summary of Günther’s thought depends on a variety of sources, not only McCool. In Hermann-Josef Pottmeyer’s judgment, much of nineteenth-century theological criticism levelled against Günther misrepresented his thought (Der Glaube vor dem Anspruch der Wissenschaft: die Konstitution über den katholischen Glauben Dei Filius des Ersten Vatikanischen Konzils und die unveröffentlichten theologischen Voten der vorbereitenden Kommission, Freiburger Theologische Studien 87 [Freiburg in Breisgau: Herder, 1968], 435–36). We are not in a position to evaluate this judgment; what concerns us here is the Council’s teaching. However unfair it is to misrepresent a thinker, the meaning of conciliar teaching is determined not by the theological accuracy concerning the historical error, Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 911 But if revealed mysteries are discoverable by human reason, then those same mysteries have to be interpreted in such a way that is, indeed, within the reach of reason using its proper resources.4 Not Scholasticism but German idealism—especially its category of self-consciousness—was Günther’s vehicle for giving an account of the faith. Such a re-interpretation of Christian dogma according idealism’s categories naturally alters the original understanding of that dogma. But for Günther, this reinterpretation is necessary if revelation is to be accessible to reason. So, for example, because modern psychology cannot make sense of a distinction between “person” and “nature” that is not coterminous, we must conclude, against Ephesus, that Christ is in fact a unity of two persons. Nor, for that matter, is the human person a composite of body and soul as defined by the Council of Vienne (1311–1312). Because God is self-conscious spirit, there is a process of trebling in God that tends toward the tritheistic,5 whereby God becomes three by virtue of thesis (the self-conscious subject), anti-thesis (the self-conscious object), and synthesis (the consciousness of equality between the subject and object). Each person, though distinct from another, denies that he is another; such a denial of the infinite then leads God to think the finite, and hence create necessarily.6 And because these three distinct realities were united only by virtue of their origin and not their nature, he denies the Fourth Lateran Council’s and the Council of Florence’s teaching that the works of God ad extra have only one origin, and hence are the works of the entire Trinity.7 Günther’s ultimate error is reducing Christian doctrine to natural 4 5 6 7 but by the response to what was considered to be erroneous, whether rightly or wrongly attributed to Günther (or any one of his disciples). Be that as it may, Pottmeyer does admit that Günther’s identification of personhood with self-consciousness was a novelty that did not sit well with previously defined dogma (441). For a helpful summary of Günther’s semi-rationalism as a prelude to false development, see Klaus Schatz, Vaticanum I: 1869–1870, vol. 2, Von der Eröffnung bis zur Konstitution Dei Filius (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1993), 335–39. P. Gondet notes that, because “person” for Günther is tantamount to self-consciousness, the Güntherian Trinity amounts to a tritheistic three consciences/consciousnesses, three substances, three centers of operation which, in turn, have knock-on effects for our understanding of the Incarnation, etc. (“Günther, Antoine,” in Dictionnaire de théologie catholique, vol. 6 [Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1908], cols. 1992–93). See also “Tritheism,” in Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, ed. E. A. Livingstone, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 1654., and Pottmeyer, Der Glaubet, 435–36. Michael O’Carroll, “Günther, Anton,” in Trinitas: A Theological Encyclopedia of the Holy Trinity (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1987), 120–21. Ludwig Ott, Fundamentals of Catholic Dogma, trans. Patrick Lynch (Rockford, IL: Tan, 1974), 72. 912 Andrew Meszaros reason so as to better understand and penetrate that doctrine. In so doing, he subordinates “theology to autonomous philosophy,”8 or, conversely, elevates reason to a norm that determines the meaning of revelation.9 The progressive dynamics of the human sciences can and should justify a similar progress or adjustment in Christian doctrine. Gerald McCool explains: Christ’s positive historical revelation [for Günther] is not a collection of pre-given ideas. It is the concrete intelligible self-revelation of Christ’s inner experience. Christ’s experience is transmitted to the intelligences of Christian believers through the concrete language of their Christian tradition. Since this is so, there will be a development in theology, as cultural and scientific development increases Vernunft’s ability to intuit and thematize the intelligibility incarnate in the words of Christian tradition. . . . The urgent concern of the Church must always be that in each generation the Christian faith is thematized through a theology whose breadth of vision and systematic rigor can meet the demands of contemporary culture. . . . The unfolding of revelation’s doctrinal content through scientific Wissen is achieved by philosophical reflection, according to the rigorous demands of scientific method, upon the intelligibilities passively received through faith.10 This progress or unfolding of content in the tradition inevitably involves abandoning the original interpretation of a dogmatic formula for a newer one—one more in concert with contemporary philosophy or science. Does the requisite reinterpretation of dogma negate the divine origin of dogma and the infallibility of the Church’s teaching? By no means! As semi-rationalist, Günther upholds the divine origin of revelation and he wants to affirm the Church’s infallible teaching. But this infallible teaching is still provisional; it is only the Church’s best available judgment in a given context, which does not preclude further precisions of doctrine that slowly and gradually render the entire body of doctrine discoverable by human 8 9 10 Thomas Guarino, “Vincent of Lérins and the Hermeneutical Question: Historical and Theological Reflections,” Gregorianum 75, no. 3 (1994): 491–524, at 500–502. He is summarizing the votum of Franzelin, re-published in the appendix of Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 28*–89*. Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 435. McCool, Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism, 108–9. Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 913 reason.11 Dogmas are revisable or perfectible according to the progress of Wissenschaft. And this is necessary if one wants to bring revealed truth “into line,” as it were, with reason. Such a view of doctrine and its development can be considered, historically speaking, a prelude to the modernist crisis.12 While nineteenth-century (semi-)rationalism and turn-of-the-century modernism are two very different things, there are noteworthy similarities. Like Günther, George Tyrrell was concerned with “making peace between faith and reason.”13 The revelation that the Church transmits is, for both Günther and Tyrrell, not so much a revealed teaching, but Christ’s spiritual or religious experience. Tyrrell’s valid insight, which Günther would second14—the insight that animated the modernist crisis, and to which so many nouvelle theologians felt called to respond—was that all dogmatic utterances were thoroughly contextually or historically conditioned. From this Tyrrell infers that any attempt at understanding the meaning of them required a scholarly training that few possessed.15 In order to make valid his own faith, let alone the foi de charbonnier, Tyrrell divests dogma of its scientific import. For Tyrrell, dogma is not a theological statement, but an ecclesiastically privileged statement that expresses and protects the data of a religious experience (i.e., revelation).16 To give dogma a scientific value is the ultimate heresy of what he calls “theologism.”17 Dogma might contain religious truth while containing scientific error in the same way that Scripture’s utterances about the sun moving round the earth is a prophetic, not 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 In this summary, I am indebted to Alfred Vacant’s Études théologiques sur les constitutions du Concilde du Vatican d’après les actes du concile, 2 vols (Paris: Delhomme et Briguet, 1985), 2:282–84. Eugene Kevane argues that many histories of Catholic modernism ignore the German-speaking precedents to the crisis at the turn of the twentieth-century, but credits Louis Billot’s philosophical treatment of it as being more thorough and accurate (The Lord of History: Christocentrism and the Philosophy of History [Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Academic, 2018], 91–92; see also Louis Billot, De immutabilitate Traditionis contra modernam haeresim evolutionismi, 4th ed. [Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1929]). George Tyrrell, Through Scylla and Charybdis, or The Old Theology and the New (London: Longmans, and Green, 1907), 335. For Günther, dogmas do not “fall from heaven” (“vom Himmel gefallen”), but are the result of an interaction between an objective given and subjective self-understanding (Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 440). Tyrrell explains this over the course of many pages, but particularly in his response to Jules Lebreton in Through Scylla and Charybdis, 308–54, esp. at 336–37. Tyrrell, Through Scylla and Charybdis, 203n1. Tyrrell, Through Scylla and Charybdis, 202–13, 238, 308–54. 914 Andrew Meszaros an astronomical, truth. Dogmas, for Tyrrell, inevitably must undergo the same criticism as Scripture.18 Hence, he essays to make sense of the Virgin Birth by comparing it to other symbols that teach us about a deeper spiritual truth, regardless of their historicity, such as the Child of Prague about Christ’s Kingship and the sacred heart about Christ’s love, and so the Virgin Birth about each Christian as a Christ-bearer.19 Because Günther and Tyrrell situate theology and science in relation to revelation and dogma differently, they become the inverse of each other with respect to development theory. For Günther, dogma progresses because Wissenschaft progresses. For Tyrrell, dogma does not “progress” because it has no philosophical, scientific, or “proper” value that would render it capable of progressing.20 Both, however, are happy to revise dogma insofar as the Church’s understanding of it is not necessarily maintained. The differences between Günther and Tyrrell reveal to us the different ways in which contemporary revisionists operate: either revise the dogma explicitly to fit contemporary intellectual culture or, more subtly, take the intellectual bite out of dogma so that one can re-interpret without tampering with the formula. Whether in a neo-Güntherian or neo-modernist mode, this refusal to maintain the same sense of dogma is still with us. Leo Scheffczyk points out: Insofar as the dogma still has meaning for the new situation, it does not have to be explained in terms of its origin [nicht genetisch erklärt], but must be interpreted according to the new horizon of understanding. Instead of explaining the progress of dogma, there is a hermeneutic that is less interested in the immutable existence of dogma and its agreement with its origin than in its modern understandability. In this way the contemporary situation becomes the measure [Auswahl- und Selektionsprinzip] for the dogmatic content, the meaning of which is decided by scientific-hermeneutic theology. Therefore (according to a modern epistemological necessity that has not actually been proven), “transubstantiation” must be understood as “transfinalization,” “original sin” as “sin of the world,” the 18 19 20 Tyrrell, Through Scylla and Charybdis, 330–34. Tyrrell does not outright reject the historicity of the Virgin Birth, but concedes that his understanding of dogma would allow him to do so, and would be contrary to magisterial teaching at the time he was writing; see his letter to Von Hügel in George Tyrrell’s Letters, ed. M. D. Petre (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1920), 56–61. Tyrrell, Through Scylla and Charybdis, 12–13, 294–96, 324–25. Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 915 “Immaculate Conception of Mary” as a mere statement about the possibility of protection from sin, without the “new understanding” being checked [nachgeprüft] against the content of the original. Clearly, disinterest in the development of dogma leads de facto to its abandonment.21 Scheffczyk here highlights contemporary rejections of a defined dogma’s sense. Some rejections might be more attributable to a Güntherian, others to a Tyrrellian, conception of theology and science. Irrespective of their genesis, these rejections are akin to the nineteenth-century ones that catalyzed the teaching of Dei Filius. Dogmatic Development according to Pius IX and Dei Filius The teaching of Dei Filius on dogmatic development is anticipated by numerous interventions of the Pian magisterium, especially against Günther. For instance, in Qui Pluribus of 1846, we have a clear anticipation of Dei Filius: Those enemies of divine revelation, exalting human progress with the highest praise, with a rash and sacrilegious daring would wish to introduce it into the Catholic religion, just as if precisely this religion were the work, not of God, but of men or were some philosophical discovery [philosophicum inventum] that could be perfected by human means.22 Pius IX here is teaching that revelation, being something fundamentally received, is no human philosophy, capable of being perfected. This point will be reiterated in only slightly different terms in Dei Filius. We also find a precursor to the maintenance of the same sense or meaning of the doctrine in Qui Pluribus: “The divine words should be received 21 22 Leo Scheffczyk, Grundlagen des Dogmas, Einleitung in die Dogmatik, Katholische Dogmatik 1 (Aachen: MM Verlag, 1997), 169–70 (trans. mine). Other examples could be given, such as the re-interpretation of final damnation as annihilationism. See, e.g., Edward Schillebeeckx, “Theological Quests,” in Essays: Ongoing Theological Quests, Collected Works of Edward Schillebeeckx 11 (London: T&T Clark, 2014), 111–61, at 137. Heinrich Denzinger, Compendium of Creeds, Definitions and Declarations on Matters of Faith and Morals, 43rd ed., Latin–German, ed. by Helmut Hoping and Peter Hünermann [DH], Latin–English ed. and trans. Robert Fastiggi and Anne Englund Nash (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2012), no. 2777. 916 Andrew Meszaros entirely according to the same sense [divina eloquia eo plane sensu sunt accipienda] as this Roman See . . . has always maintained.”23 In his 1857 letter to Cardinal Geißel of Cologne (Eximiam tuam), Pius IX warns that, through Günther’s subordination of faith to reason, the immutability of the faith is disturbed: “The faith, which is always one and the same, while philosophy and human studies do not always stay the same and are not exempt from a multiple variety of errors.”24 Pius’s Syllabus collects these rationalist and semi-rationalist errors, of which the most relevant to doctrinal development in Dei Filius include: reason as the sole judge of truth (no. 3); reason as the origin of religious truth and norm of such knowledge (no. 4); the conflation of philosophy and theology (no. 8); Christian dogma deemed subject to philosophical inquiry (no. 9). Perhaps the most important is no. 5, which reads: Divine revelation is imperfect and hence subject to continual and indefinite progress, which ought to correspond to the progress of human reason.25 Given these magisterial precedents, the teaching on dogmatic development in Dei Filius surprised no one. Because erroneous theories of doctrinal evolution are, at their root, due to a rationalist error (whereby reason becomes the ultimate criterion of religious truth at the expense of authority, both divine and ecclesial), the first teaching concerning doctrinal development in Dei Filius can already be found in the third canon of chapter 2: If anyone says that a human being cannot be divinely elevated to a knowledge and perfection which exceeds the natural, but of himself can and must reach finally the possession of all truth and goodness by continual development [iugi profectu]: let him be anathema.26 While not speaking directly to development theory per se, it does speak to a crass rationalist theory of evolution in knowledge. This canon condemns 23 24 25 26 DH, no. 2781. DH, no. 2829. Cf. Pius’s condemnation of a similar tendency in Jakob Frohschammer in his 1862 Gravissimas Inter (DH, nos. 2850–61, esp. 2857–59). DH, nos.2901–80, esp. 2903–9. Vatican I, Dei Filius [DF] ch. 2, can. 3, trans. Norman P. Tanner in Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 2 vols. (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 2:804–11, at 810. Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 917 that rationalism—referred to by Vincent Gasser as “progressionist”27— which excludes the supernatural order (divine revelation, grace, authority) from progress in religious knowledge whatever. But for the condemnation of false theories of dogmatic development held by semi-rationalists, one must turn to the last paragraph of chapter 4: For the doctrine of the faith which God has revealed is put forward not as some philosophical discovery capable of being perfected by human intelligence, but as a divine deposit committed to the spouse of Christ to be faithfully protected and infallibly promulgated.28 Hence, too, that meaning of the sacred dogmas is ever to be maintained which has once been declared by Holy mother Church, and there must never be any abandonment of this sense under the pretext or in the name of a more profound understanding. May understanding, knowledge and wisdom increase as ages and centuries roll along [and in the progress of ages], and greatly and vigorously flourish, in each and all, in the individual and the whole Church: but this only in its own proper kind [but only within the proper limits], that is to say, in the same doctrine [within the same dogma], the same sense [the same meaning] and the same understanding [the same judgment].29 First, we observe that divine revelation is specified as a teaching (doctrina fidei), and that this teaching is entrusted as “a divine deposit” (divinum depositum).30 The allusion to 1 Timothy 6:20 is clear: “O Timothy, guard 27 28 29 30 Relatio of Vincent Gasser in Vacant, Études, 1:672. Cf. Pastor Aeternus, ch. 4 “For the holy Spirit was promised to the successors of Peter not so that they might, by his revelation, make known some new doctrine, but that, by his assistance, they might religiously guard [sancta custodirent] and faithfully expound [fideliter exponerent] the revelation or deposit of faith transmitted by the apostles” (Tanner, Decrees, 2:816). DF IV (Tanner, 2:809; with Fastiggi’s Denzinger translation in brackets). The echoes of Vincent of Lérins are already here, before we even get to the second canon: “What is the deposit? It is that which has been entrusted to you, not that which has been discovered by you; that which you have received, not which you have invented; not a matter of innate intelligence, but of instruction [Quid est depositum? Id est, quod tibi creditum est, non quod a te inventum; quod accepisti, non quod excogitasti; rem non ingenii, sed doctrinae]” (Commonitorium 22; Patrologia Latina [PL], 50:667; trans. mine). 918 Andrew Meszaros what has been entrusted to you [depositum custodi].” The conceptualization of revelation as a deposit represents its objective and immutable character.31 Furthermore, the Council fathers contrast this deposit of doctrine with some philosophical discovery (philosophicum inventum). Here the distinction between the natural and supernatural orders established earlier in the chapter are determinative: philosophical discoveries can be perfected by human inquiry, trial and error, and reflection (humanis ingeniis perficienda); a divine deposit, however, belonging to the supernatural order, comes from God because its object surpasses that which is connatural to reason. This supernatural deposit, therefore, cannot be perfected, but, as something received, must be “faithfully protected and infallibly promulgated [fideliter custodienda et infallibiliter declaranda].” These two verbs are significant. Custodire means to “safeguard, protect, keep safe”; declarare, to “announce, testify, or make known,” implies a judgment that interprets or gives a meaning to some set of data.32 According to one commentator, the magisterium’s mission to safeguard pertains to the deposit’s immutability, while its mission to declare, and hence interpret, pertains to its progress.33 That the formula alludes to progress in dogma is also based on the fact that the formula was simply replacing Franzelin’s original “cuius custodia, explicatio et definitio,” whose “explicatio et definitio” was, according to Franzelin himself, meant to affirm true dogmatic progress (verus profectus).34 The fathers also teach that this deposit is delivered not to human individuals, but to the Spouse of Christ. The Council fathers could have used any image for the Church, but they chose spouse, presumably to emphasize here the requisite fidelity to Christ. Implicit here is also that an unfaithful spouse who corrupts that gift with which she has been entrusted becomes a bad mother to her children, for whom that treasure was intended.35 For the Church to be a good mater, she has to be a good magistra. Continuing with the text, we see that, because revealed doctrine is 31 32 33 34 35 Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 446–47. Vacant appeals to Franzelin’s 1870 De divina traditione et scriptura, thesis 26, Eph 4:11 (Études, II, 2:304–5). Safeguarding and declaring are the two ways in which the magisterium fulfills Christ’s great commission of teaching all that has been commanded, and in this way, involves both dogmatic immutability and progress. Vacant, Études, 2:305. No. 24 in the Adnotationes in Acta et decreta sacrosancti oecumenici concilii Vaticani, ed. Theodor Granderath, Collectio Lacensis 7 (Freiburg- im Breisgau: Herder, 1982), col. 537. Vacant, Études, 2:290. Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 919 already perfect (not impeccable but complete), the “meaning [sensus] of the sacred dogmas is ever to be maintained” and “there must never be any abandonment of this sense under the pretext or in the name of a more profound understanding.” Here, the sacred dogmas refers to the Church’s authoritative, solemn, interpretation of God’s word, entrusted as a “deposit.” This interpretation, being historical and finite, is also infallible and irrevocable and, therefore, cannot be abandoned for some other, ostensibly more profound interpretation.36 This “more profound understanding” (altior intelligentia) is directly aimed at Günther and his disciples’ idealism in whose key they have transposed Catholic doctrine.37 Crucially, Dei Filius does not deny that the Church can acquire a more profound understanding of the revealed deposit. But this deeper understanding cannot abandon the sense of the doctrine that came before it. Otherwise, one is no longer deepening one’s understanding of the deposit, but proposing something new. Next comes Vincent of Lérins’s famous passage from the Communitorium which contains his so-called “second canon”: “in eodem scilicet dogmate, eodem sensu, eademque sententia.”38 The popularity of this text soared in the nineteenth century. Joseph Kleutgen already appealed to the second canon in his initial critique of Günther in Theologie der Vorzeit.39 Giovanni Perrone used it when he drafted Ineffabilis Deus in order to justify the Immaculate Conception as a legitimate development of dogma.40 It is closely paraphrased two years later in Pius IX’s encyclical Singulari Quidem (1856): There is great progress! But it is truly the progress of faith [vere profectus sit fidei], which is not change [non permutatio]. The 36 37 38 39 40 This distinction between “deposit” and “dogma” begins in the medieval period. With Vincent, the two are identical (Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 449–53, and see the notes for the studies Pottmeyer cites in support). Pottmeyer, Der Glaube, 447. The first canon is his “Quod ubique, quod semper, quod ab omnibus creditum est” (Vincent of Lérins, Commonitorium 2 [PL, 50:640]). Joseph Kleutgen, Die Theologie der Vorzeit vertheidigt (Münster: Theissing, 1860), 4:698n2. Despite Kleutgen’s coming late to the text, his influence was more decisive that Franzelin’s, as he was called upon to rework Franzelin’s schema. See Winfried Schulz, Dogmenentwicklung als Problem der Geschichtlichkeit der Wahrheitserkenntnis: eine erkenntnistheoretisch—theologische Studie zum Problemkreis der Dogmenentwicklung (Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1969), 89. For a summary of nineteenth-century theological reception of Vincent’s second canon, including Vatican I, see Guarino, “Vincent of Lérins and the Hermeneutical Question,” 494–511; see also Guarino, “St. Vincent of Lérins and the Development of Doctrine,” Logos 17, no. 3 (2014): 103–17. 920 Andrew Meszaros intelligence, wisdom, and knowledge of everybody should grow and progress . . . but always in the same fashion and doctrine, in the same meaning and judgment, so that we can speak in a new manner rather than new substance [ut cum dicantur nove, non dicantur nova].41 Here Pius IX’s paraphrase draws on both chapters 22 and 23 of the Communitorium, the former of which contains the line in which Vincent enjoins others to speak in a new manner rather than saying something new (“dicas nove, non dicas nova”). This line, which immediately precedes the second canon of chapter 22, is present in Franzelin’s pre-conciliar work, and appears again in the various relationes of the Council fathers.42 Appealing to Vincent, Franzelin himself argues that what constitutes a profectus in intelligentia dogmatis rather than a permutatio dogmatis is making what is less well (minus diserte) or obscurely expressed and implicit to be eloquent (disertius), clear (clarius), and explicit (explicite), rendering it more distinctly understood (intelligatur distinctius).43 Vincent’s second canon eventually comes to replace a passage in Kleutgen’s draft, which runs: Therefore, one applies oneself piously and praiseworthily to the ever-fuller understanding of the doctrine of faith according to [the Church’s] declared teaching. However, every change of those things which have been established by the infallible magisterium of the Church must be considered, not an increase of understanding, but a corruption of error.44 41 42 43 44 Pius IX, Singulari Quidem (1856), §8, in Papal Encyclicals (1740–1878), ed. Claudia Carlen (Wilmington, NC: McGrath, 1981), 341 (Latin in Pii IX Pontificis Maximi Acta [Rome: Typographia Bonarum Artium Habita Facultate, 1858], 2:517). The process whereby Vincent of Lérins enters into the final text is thoroughly and accessibly narrated by Guarino in “Vincent of Lérins and the Hermeneutical Question,” 503–9. The Hungarian Bishop Simor of Esztergom, in his relatio on March 18, presenting the schema reformatum, makes reference to Vincent: “ecclesia nove dicit et non dicit nova” (Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, ed. Ioannes Dominicus Mansi, vol. 51 [Leipzig: H. Welter, 1923–1927], cols. 42–48). Franzelin’s critique of Günther, along with his appeal to Vincent in that very context, reappears in his De divina traditione et scriptura, thesis 25: “On the conjoined office of guardians and teachers of the faith, and the manner of explaining the deposit [De munere coniuncto custodum atque doctorum fidei, et de modo explicationis depositi]” (trans. mine). Granderath, Acta et decreta, col. 537. Granderath, Acta et decreta, col. 1631: “Quare ad eam secundum hanc declarationem plenius semper intelligendam pie et laudabiliter incumbitur; omnis autem commutatio Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 921 Considering this formulation by Kleutgen serves as a key to understanding the purpose of Vincent’s second canon. Why they replaced Kleutgen with Vincent is unclear. For our purposes, we would only note that, according to the relatio of Bishop Louis-Édouard-François-Desiré Pie on April 8, 1870, the intention behind the inclusion of the Lerinian’s quotation is to articulate a sound understanding of “true progress” in doctrine.45 Not wanting in terms of theological substance, then, perhaps Kleutgen’s more technical formulation was replaced by Vincent’s in order to elevate the text with a patristic source that was already in the Pian magisterial ether. The quotation from the Communitorium acknowledges a certain kind of dogmatic progress. “May understanding, knowledge and wisdom increase”46 and “vigorously flourish,” say the Council fathers with Vincent. This increase happens in time, as “ages and centuries roll along.” Alfred Vacant rightly observes that the temporal aspect of progress also implies a contextual aspect. Just as one’s personal development depends to a significant extent on external factors, so does the development of doctrine. The farmer’s hands are different from a pianist’s. In the same way, Vacant acknowledges the significance of the context or environment in which doctrine grows.47 This development occurs “in each and all, in the individual and the whole Church;” that is to say, in individual Christians and in the whole Church as a corporate person or collective whole.48 45 46 47 48 eorum, quae infallibili ecclesiae magisterio stabilita sunt, non profectus intelligentiae, sed corruptela erroris reputanda est” (trans. mine). Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum, 51:366–67. As the Council fathers do not explain the sense of the Vincentian canon, theologians and commentators are free to offer a more developed interpretation that might be consonant with, but goes beyond, the meaning of the canon in Dei Filius. This, it seems, is what Vacant does to good effect in his commentary on the intelligentia, scientia, and sapientia in Dei Filius, notably, in a Thomistic key, relating them not only to the intellectual virtues but also to the corresponding gifts of the Holy Spirit. This progress in understanding, knowledge, and wisdom, according to Vacant, takes place both before and after dogmatic definitions, wherein more of what is implicit, confused, or uncertain is rendered explicit, precise, and certain (Études, 2:314–19). Vacant, Études, 2:307. The sensitivity to history that Vacant exhibits becomes more pervasive in the decades following Vatican I. This phrase brings to the fore the ecclesiological dimension of teaching. Whatever the personal contributions of individuals—bishops, their theologians, and their flock— when it comes to an authentic interpretation of the faith, it is the Church herself (not the sum total of her members) interpreting and teaching. See my “Ecclesia Docens et Cogitans: Doctrinal Development and the Illative Sense of the Church,” Newman Studies 15, no. 1 (2018): 5–28, at 23–27. 922 Andrew Meszaros It is important to note here that the progress of our understanding of revelation is not a perfection of revelation (which already exists in the Godhead from whom this revelation emanates),49 but a perfection of our knowledge of the revelation. In other words, it is the subjective aspect of dogma that is increasing, despite the fact that we often say, with Dei Filius, that there is “progress in doctrine” or that “doctrine develops.” One helpful way of understanding this potential point of confusion is to note that a doctrine is ultimately a kind of judgment. If human knowledge, unlike angelic knowledge, grows through a series of successive judgments, then we can say that doctrine grows, not in the sense that the deposit’s substantial content increases, but that successive judgments (and, hence, articulations) concerning its content are added to the deposit. There is, then, no progress in revelation per se, but only quoad nos.50 While this understanding increases, it does so only according to specific parameters according to which the meaning of a dogma, once declared by the Church, is maintained: “sed in suo dumtaxat genere, in eodem scilicet dogmate, eodem sensu eademque sententia”—“in its own proper kind, in the same doctrine, the same sense, and the same understanding.” Dogma evolves only “within the limits imposed upon it by its own immutable nature.”51 Each of these parameters or limits deserve attention. In suo genere: “in its own proper kind” refers to the nature of the thing being developed. The nature of what is being developed is revealed doctrine, or our understanding of mysteries which we can come to understand only because God has revealed them to us, not because they are in any way discoverable.52 If they were discoverable, our understanding of them could be perfectible, but because they are revealed, our understanding is limited to what is given to us by God through the Church. In eodem dogmate: “in the same doctrine” pertains to the specific doctrinal judgment that is being elaborated, whether it is Christological doctrine, Eucharistic, or other. In his Communitorium, Vincent compares doctrine to seeds planted and harvested. If 49 50 51 52 Vacant, Études, 2:297. This interpretation is corroborated by Kleutgen in his Theologie der Vorzeit, 4:968–67. McGrath, The Vatican Council’s Teaching, 129. Bernard Lonergan notes that the object of permanence here is the meaning of revealed mystery, as opposed to revealed truth generally. For, some revealed truths can also be known by reason, and if this is the case, then “truths within reason’s competence would seem capable of being known more accurately with the progress of science.” It is otherwise with mysteries, which totally transcend reason’s competence and, by virtue of being revealed, “stand beyond the status of the products of human history” (Method in Theology [London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1971], 322–23). Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 923 the doctrine sown was wheat, one should be able to harvest wheat, and so on—the same doctrine.53 When a new dogma emerges, it is articulating the same doctrine in a newer, deeper, more profound way. The last two phrases, eodem sensu et in eadem sententia, come from the Vulgate of 1 Corinthians 1:10: “I appeal to you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree and that there be no dissensions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment.” Eodem sensu, “the same mind or same sense,” means that the Church maintains the same meaning that she once gave to a dogmatic formula. The sense or meaning is maintained when a newer (i.e., different) formulation accords with a previous interpretation. What is permanent and “ever to be maintained” is the meaning or sense of the dogma, not necessarily the formulation. The phrase eadem sententia is slightly more ambiguous.54 It can mean the same understanding, or the same judgment, but even the same way of thinking, the same purpose, intention, or the same feeling or sentiment. Given the scriptural context of Paul’s exhortation to the Corinthians, it would make sense to understand eadem sententia as “same judgment” in the sense of an ecclesial consensus or common approval that is manifest in what and how the Church teaches. Vacant, for example, uses the French sentiment or opinion to render sententia. The Church’s opinion, position, or sententia concerning revealed doctrine is discernible, for example, in the elucidations or explanations of that doctrine provided by her. One is maintaining the same sententia, the same judgment, the same pronouncement, of the Church when one is developing or appealing to theological explanations that have been unanimously held by the Church, even those that are not fixed in dogmatic formulae.55 In short, eodem sensu et eadem sententia are ultimately criteria—the first with respect to the objective, while the second speaking more to the subjective—that seek to uphold the material continuity or homogeneity of Tradition, and thereby seeks to prevent the Church from abandoning landmark dogmatic achievements in the Tradition.56 Vincent’s second canon is the criterion that 53 54 55 56 Vincent of Lérins, Communitorium 23 (PL, 50:668). St. Paul’s Greek, while not crucial to our interpretation of St. Vincent of Lérins, is still instructive: γνώμῃ (gnōmē), which can mean opinion, counsel, judgment, intention, decree, or resolve. This, at least, seems to be similar to what Vacant holds (see Études, 2:314–16). The work of Guarino is especially helpful here, not only in his explanation of Vincent’s rule, but also in his application of that rule to the Second Vatican Council (Thomas G. Guarino, The Disputed Teachings of Vatican II: Continuity and Reversal in Catholic Doctrine [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2018], esp. 15–16). See also, in particular, Thomas Guarino, Vincent of Lérins and the Development of Christian Doctrine (Grand 924 Andrew Meszaros Günther’s anti-rationalism violates: Günther gives dogmatic formula not the same meaning, idem sensus, but a foreign one, a sensus alienus. Contemporary Approaches to Dogmatic Development The Challenge of Contemporary Hermeneutics According to Mark McGrath, while Dei Filius affirms legitimate dogmatic progress, it refrains from explaining how or the manner in which this progress occurs.57 Detailed explanations of this how are generally dealt with by theologians, and the drafters of Dei Filius (e.g., Franzelin and Kleutgen) generally held to a logical explicitation theory.58 In subsequent decades, however, other nineteenth-century influences (e.g., Newman and Tübingen) held greater sway among theologians on this question, such that, with Dei Verbum, a modest step was taken in this regard. There the Council fathers explain that the Church’s understanding of the deposit grows (1) through contemplation and study, (2) through an experiential understanding of spiritual things, and (3) through the guidance of the infallible episcopal college.59 In its specification of the how of development, Dei Verbum §8 uses the same verbs—proficere and crescere—as Vincent and Dei Filius and references the relevant text.60 The most coherent interpretation of Dei Verbum, then, is that it is able to explain how the Tradition develops precisely because it already presupposes with Dei Filius the immutability of the deposit. Contemporary theological tensions arise not from what the two constitutions say, but rather from what they do not. If Dei Filius said nothing about the historical conditionality of dogmatic teaching, the hermeneutical questions concerning the sense of dogma and how to identify it, and 57 58 59 60 Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2013), esp. the first chapter. McGrath, The Vatican Council’s Teaching, 126. Without exploring it further, the two key texts that exemplify this are Kleutgen’s pre-conciliar Theologie der Vorzeit and Franzelin’s post-conciliar De divina traditione et scriptura. Second Vatican Council, Dei Verbum, §8. Dei Verbum, §8 (note 5). On the other hand, the absence of an explicit reference to Vincent’s second canon, rather than just a general one to Dei Filius, must be considered. Guarino has done this thoughtfully in “Vincént of Lerins and the Hermeneutical Question,” 514–17. The likely grounds for this rejection were not that the theological commission believed that the meaning of dogmas, once defined, could indeed be changed, but that including the second canon did little to encourage or promote theological awareness of historicity and development, and could be used by some to resist any reform of the tradition. Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 925 the criteria by which one judges the point at which this sense has been abandoned (and not simply recast or supplemented), Dei Verbum did not do much better. Theology, however, has made real progress in this regard. I submit that the real reason Dei Filius’s teaching on development is more relevant than ever is because the problem to which it was responding— namely, the doctrinal consequences of Güntherian semi-rationalism—still exist today. And while some of the theological solutions to Günther are not present in Dei Filius itself but come after, those solutions rely, in part, on the dogmatic principles of revelation’s immutability as laid out in Dei Filius. Like Günther of last week and the modernists of yesterday, the revisionists today accord only a provisional status to dogma. As neo-modernists, they subordinate dogma to experience; as neo-Güntherians they have assimilated certain elements of post-modern philosophy and the linguistic turn, which, in theological discourse, seem to render obsolete not only Dei Filius but also Dei Verbum and the entire post-conciliar magisterium, which repeatedly makes a distinction between what Pope John XXIII referred to as “the truths contained in our venerable doctrine,” on the one hand, and the “fashion in which they are expressed,” on the other. As Thomas Guarino points out, the statement by John XXIII not only implies Vincent’s canon but actually cites it in the official Latin version (despite its absence in various vernacular versions), thereby bringing it into various conciliar debates.61 But to maintain the same meaning and judgment of dogma, one has to be able to identify them. For the radical hermeneuticist, one cannot identify and isolate the meaning of a dogma because one cannot distinguish and isolate the content from its form. To acknowledge certain contingencies in the formulation is not enough. To concede that all meaning is contextual, or that context is the necessary condition for meaning to be communicated, is not enough. For these latter-day neo-Güntherians— who, like Günther himself, are looking to solve a real problem that is posed by historical change in the Tradition—the Vatican Councils, along with 61 Guarino, “Vincent of Lérins and the Hermeneutical Question,” 512. The relevant passage of Gaudet Mater Ecclesia reads: “What is needed is that this certain and unchangeable doctrine, to which loyal submission is due, be investigated and presented in the way demanded by our times. For the deposit of faith, the truths contained in our venerable doctrine, are one thing; the fashion in which they are expressed, but with the same meaning and the same judgement, is another thing” (trans. Joseph Komonchak, jakomonchak.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/john-xxiii-opening-speech.pdf ). The original is in Acta Sanctae Sedis 54 (1962): 792. 926 Andrew Meszaros St. Vincent and the classical theological tradition, would be considered to exhibit a hopeless hermeneutical naiveté. They all share the mistaken assumption that one can actually identify the substance or nugget of a doctrine that must ever be maintained, while that which is accidental to the doctrine can be reformed, disposed, precised, as the case may be. For the neo-Güntherians, this is an impossible task. Instead of identifying and safeguarding a particular dogmatic meaning (which anyway eludes us), it is better to re-contextualize the Gospel by re-interpreting it in such a way that it answers to the contemporary conditions of today—the state of science, reason, and experience. While I cannot respond directly to the hermeneutical turn here, I can, appealing to Congar’s gloss on Dei Filius, elaborate the rationale behind a theological position that upholds the intelligibility of dogma such that maintaining its meaning becomes possible. In Congar’s theological handbook published in 1962, his eighth thesis echoes the formula of Dei Filius: “It is always necessary to maintain the meaning of sacred dogmas that are determined once for all by our Holy Mother Church.”62 For Congar, the Church uses a formula to express her meaning, not the meaning that a concept might have had in a philosophical system. “When she adopts a formula, the Church knows that which she wants to say and it is the meaning [sens] of her conviction that matters. The words are for her only an instrument to express it.”63 In that way, a technical term that is borrowed from a philosophical system, for example, is used by the Church in her own way for an extended period, purifying its meaning to suit her own purposes and thereby appropriating the word from a technical setting, whose meaning is known to the specialist alone, for an evangelical purpose whose meaning is accessible to all, even if explanation or catechesis be necessary. The Church might also use a philosophical notion in order to lay hold of reality or for its truth content (simple contenu de vérité) rather than for its particular philosophical form or its particular role in a philosophical system.64 In her dogma, the Church avoids as much as possible expressions that are too reliant on technical terms. (E.g., the Church avoids use of “accidents” and uses instead “Eucharistic species.”65 ) For Congar, the meaning that the Church intends to express can be investigated by historical study and is accessible to all humans by virtue of 62 63 64 65 Congar, La foi et la théologie (Paris: Desclée, 1962), 62 (all translation from La foi is mine). Congar, La foi, 64. Congar, La foi, 65–66. Congar, La foi, 65. Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 927 a sens commun, a common sense, a human capacity for the real.66 There is nothing that the Church teaches, even in its most abstract language, that cannot be expressed or explained in a way that is accessible to the human’s common sense. Again, at times, history will be necessary to discern the meaning, for the term alone does not necessarily communicate the Church’s meaning prima facie. But once discerned, that meaning is accessible to the Church, the theologian, the catechist, or the parent, all of whom can, in turn, communicate that meaning in non-technical terms which all can understand.67 It is the meaning that the Church gives to an expression, the Church’s sensus, that is important, invariable, and ultimately, absolute. It is in dogma itself that two crucial aspects of this last paragraph in Dei Filius intersect: there must be in the deposit of faith a meaning that is (1) immutable and intelligible if (2) the Church is to guard and infallibly declare it.68 If, by virtue of a radical hermeneutics, we are actually incapable of accessing the perennial sensus Ecclesiae of a given dogma, then the Church would be rendered incapable of fulfilling her mandate to “hold fast” to apostolic 66 67 68 Congar himself refers to a sens commun. There are “technical expressions borrowed from a terminology which go beyond that of the sens commun” (La foi, 64); the words of a formula “affirm nothing that cannot be expressed in terms accessible to the sens commun” (65). Despite their historical situatedness, for example, in the Greco-Latin milieu, dogmatic formulations use common notions (notions communes) which are, ultimately, with the requisite effort, translatable into (i.e., capable of being explained or taught in) the language of all times and peoples (69). For an exposition, critique, and defense of “common sense” and the intelligibility of dogma, see Guy Mansini, “The Historicity of Dogma and Common Sense: Ambroise Gardeil, Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, Yves Congar, and the Modern Magisterium,” Nova et Vetera (English) 18, no. 1 (2020): 111–38. When the Council of Vienne defines that the “rational and intellectual soul” is the “form of the body” (forma corporis humani), the Church is not defining and thereby inserting Aristotelian hylomorphism into the deposit of faith, but is defining something about our religious relationship with God: “Jesus saves the entire human and unites the entire human to God, and not simply a spiritual soul without an essential link with our body promised at the resurrection” (Congar, La foi, 65). Congar is appealing to the study by Michel Debièvre, “La définition du Concile de Vienne sur l’âme, 6 mai 1312,” Recherches de science religieuse 3 (1912): 321–44. We can see here that, in addressing Günther’s theology, Dei Filius proceeds from what is more certain for Günther to what is less. Günther does not deny the magisterium’s prerogatives; he believes that the magisterium is itself guided infallibly to teach the deposit ever more accurately, but in a way that might entail abandoning a previously defined meaning. Dei Filius first states that the Church guards and declares the deposit (with which Günther agrees), but states that, pace Günther, such guarding and declaring involves precisely the maintenance of the same sense. 928 Andrew Meszaros teaching, or to teach the nations all that Christ commanded, or to defend that faith which was “once for all delivered to the saints” (2 Thess 2:15; Matt 28: 19–20; Jude 1:3). Nothing less than the catholicity of the faith is at stake. Testifying against this radical hermeneutical conclusion is the Church’s experience of evangelization and her real, if only partial, missionary success.69 It is true that there is no one criterion accessible to all by which the homogeneity of a development can be determined, for the solemn judgment of the magisterium is not a willful one, but one based on theological argument, historical research, and a deep-seated instinct on the part of the faithful. If this were not so, there would be no reason for theologians to debate. The enduring sense or meaning of a dogmatic formula, even after a definition, is not always immediately apprehendable, but it is discernible with time, effort, study, reflection, and—it must be added—a consideration of the historical circumstances or challenges which give rise to and shape that study and reflection. In a word, in some difficult cases, the meaning of a dogma might take time to be properly distilled. What is the exact meaning of “extra ecclesiam nulla salus”? The prima facie or literal interpretation of the words themselves is not enough to get it. Against radical hermeneuticists, then, I would argue that identifying the enduring meaning or sense of dogma is indeed possible and, once identified, accessible to all Christians, whatever their intellectual acumen; but with them, I agree that it is not always a straightforward or intuitive process. The challenge requires effort and attentive discernment. The challenge, then, remains: how does one address theologically contemporary questions and novel situations without altering the meaning of dogma that was defined in a bygone age? How does one incorporate or assimilate new insights into one’s theology without letting what is new change the substance of what is old? The Permanence of Dogmatic Meaning: Examples of Its Maintenance Development means change. This is precisely what the organic images of Vincent (and later of Newman) are meant to convey. The same substantial subject is not a new subject, but the same subject existing in a new way (i.e., in a grown, matured, way). This is presumably what Vincent means when he writes, “teach still the same truths which thou hast learnt, so that though thou speakest after a new fashion, what thou speakest may not be 69 See Congar, La foi, 69. Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 929 new [dicas nove non dicas nova].”70 A developed Peter does not become Paul; a developed Peter, rather, exists in a new, developed, way. Applying this “criterion of identity”—as Reinhard Hütter calls it—to an analysis of the homogeneity of the Christian doctrinal tradition requires a sensitivity to the weight of a particular doctrine. A newer teaching cannot contradict a defined dogma because truth, once established—even in an imperfect and limited way—cannot cease to be true. The very notion of “contradiction” also indicates the seminal role of logical reasoning in the theological endeavour that seeks to establish this homogeneity within the dogmatic tradition.71 Where a discontinuity (or contradiction) is identified in undefined, non-infallible doctrine, does the need to establish homogeneity disappear? I would answer: negative. But the locus of this homogeneity has to shift to something broader and deeper than what immediately preceded the newer teaching. By the different examples below, some dogmatic, others not, I hope to show how Vincent’s “docas nove non dicas nova” can apply to both, albeit differently. To say something new simpliciter amounts to abandoning the original meaning once given to a particular dogma. Replacing “transubstantiation” with “transignification,” for example, is saying something “new,” which, in this context, is a failure to maintain Vincent’s second canon. Re-defining the matrimonial bond’s “indissolubility” to denote an aspiration of the marital bond rather than an intrinsic dimension of it, would be giving the term a new meaning that contradicts the one given to it by the Church. It is clear what to avoid. But given these constraints, is Vincent’s exhortation to avoid saying something new and, instead, to simply say it in a new way, naïve and reductive? Is there any real bite or significance in saying something “in a new way”? The simplest way of saying something (that is, teaching the faith) in 70 71 Vincent, Comm., XXII, Schaff ed, Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church. Second Series. XI (Edinburgh: T&T Clark). Cf. International Theological Commission, The Interpretation of Dogma (1989), III.1: “In this process in history, the Church adds nothing new [non nova] to the Gospel, but she constantly renews [noviter] the newness of Christ” (vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/ cfaith/cti_documents/rc_cti_1989_interpretazione-dogmi_en.html). Absent this appeal to theological reason, as Reinhard Hütter rightly observes, the alternative is a theological voluntarism, authoritarianism, or anti-intellectualism, separating magisterial teaching from theology (“Progress, Not Alteration of the Faith: Beyond Antiquarianism and Presentism—John Henry Newman, Vincent of Lérins, and the Criterion of Identity of the Development of Doctrine,” Nova et Vetera [English] 19, no. 2 [2021]: 333–91, at 3778–85, esp. 379). 930 Andrew Meszaros a new way is to use new but equivalent expressions72—perhaps less technical—to communicate a dogma whose original meaning may elude us. What does “consubstantial with the Father” or “one person in two natures” mean? Explaining—or better, transposing (to use Bernard Lonergan’s phrase)—the Church’s meaning from one context into another is tantamount to what a good catechist or religious instructor does: one proclaims the faith anew while maintaining the original meaning intended by the Church’s original pronouncement. But saying something in a new way can mean saying something that enhances or lays hold of another, newer aspect or dimension of the deposit of faith while not replacing or substituting a new meaning for a defined one. This is tantamount to the traditional understanding of doctrinal development as rendering explicit that which has been implicit; that which is obscure and confused, clear and precise; that which is only probable, certain. This way goes beyond simply using newer but equivalent expressions and places the novelty on the level of precision or depth. The obvious examples here are the Marian definitions of 1854 and 1950. They are saying something—that is, they are teaching the truth about Mary– in a new way by maintaining, shoring up, and building upon her divine maternity defined in 431.73 There are, however, more complex ways of saying something in a new way. One is also uttering the same dogma in a new way by using newer philosophical insights to elaborate a dogma theologically. This is what is happening when—sticking with Mariology for the moment—John 72 73 What exactly amounts to an “equivalent expression” is not easily determined. In his dispute with Henri Bouillard, Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange argues that an equivalent term is one thing, but a different notion changes the nature of a judgment. Such a new judgment might be coherent with the previous one; it may not necessarily contradict its antecedent, but it is no longer the same judgment and, hence, in judging differently, what we come to then understand is then different (“Vérité et immutabilité du dogme,” Angelicum 24, no. 2 [1947]: 124–39, at 131–35). To use a new notion would be to develop a theological elaboration, which is legitimate only if it does not seek to replace the defined notion. The same can be said of certain interpretations of Eucharistic doctrine. “Transsignification” and “transfinalization,” when taken to exclude or replace “transubstantiation,” would violate Vincent’s second canon and so be an attempt to say something new; when taken as a theological elaboration of the consequences of substantial change in the Eucharist, these same terms can assist in communicating the truth of the Eucharist in a new, and, indeed, enhanced way by reflecting on the finality and meaning of the sacrament. For contours in which the terms must be understood in order to uphold the dogma of transubstantiation, see Paul VI’s Mysterium Fidei (1965). Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 931 Dadosky re-conceives the dogma of the Immaculate Conception according to Girardian categories. Mary’s sanctifying grace breaks the recurrent cycles of mimetic rivalry, violence, and scapegoating. Dadosky opens up the social dimension of grace in the dogma while never abandoning, but supplementing, the dogmas meaning as defined in 1854.74 In a similar fashion but in a different area, the Church’s immutable teaching on the nature of marriage and the morally licit ways to achieve its ends are taught in a new way by John Paul II in his “Theology of the Body.”75 He is not simply using equivalent but less technical expressions, but is appropriating newer philosophical insights about, for example, language of the body, precisely in order to maintain the same sense and the same understanding or judgment of the Church. Another example might be contemporary hypotheses on how God created our first parents in part through the instrumentality of evolving species.76 Is this not saying the same thing—maintaining the dogma of creation, including the creation of the human soul—in a new way, in a way in which, prior to Darwin, Catholic scholars never did and, indeed, never could? Saying something in a new way, then, means not only using newer expressions, but saying something in a new context with newer developments. This kind of development exemplifies how contemporary theology has moved beyond Dei Filius and its scholastic drafters while maintaining its teaching on the immutability of the deposit. Dei Filius, while admitting authentic doctrinal progress, never quite comes to terms with historicity and the plurality of formulations that, say, Newman or Tübingen theologians acknowledged.77 Such an acknowledgement has never been completely absent (e.g., witness the theological diversity of the medieval schools), but the diversity of theological elaboration that is recognized today is greater. 74 75 76 77 John D. Dadosky, “Woman without Envy: Toward Reconceiving the Immaculate Conception,” Theological Studies 72 (2011): 15–40. John Paul II, Man and Woman He Created Them: A Theology of the Body, trans. Michael Waldstein (Boston: Pauline Books, 2006). See in particular the substantial introduction to the volume by Waldstein on 1–128. E.g., Nicanor Pier Giorgio Austriaco, “Defending Adam After Darwin: On the Origin of Sapiens as a Natural Kind,” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 92, no. 2 (2018): 337–52. Guarino, “Vincent of Lérins and the Hermeneutical Question,” 510. Guarino asks here, for example, whether there is not something true in Günther’s “recognition that a dogmatic formula offers aliqua veritas [some truth]” and whether “the formula may, in fact, be only aptissima [fittest] for a particular age,” concluding that neither admission “would necessarily militate against the realism that Franzelin is interested in defending.” 932 Andrew Meszaros What is key is that there is no contradiction between maintaining the sense and meaning of immutable dogma, on the one hand, and allowing for diverse theological elaborations of that dogma, on the other. Puzzling or difficult cases of doctrinal development remain. These cases, unlike those we have looked at thus far, are not characterized by using different and more accessible but nevertheless equivalent terms; nor by adding precision to an already-defined dogma whose original meaning is retained; nor by deploying newer insights from reason to uphold a doctrine of faith or morals. Rather, the difficulties emerge in those cases where a particular aspect which, prima facie, seems to be part and parcel of traditional Catholic teaching is simply jettisoned. These cases are often called “reversals.” They constitute the opposite of the tidy, linear progress, from, say, Nicaea to Ephesus to Chalcedon, or from the Theotokos, to the Immaculate Conception to the Assumption. So-called “reversals” or “dramatic” developments are easier to account for when they never involved infallible teaching or a dogmatic definition. This is how Vatican II’s teaching on religious liberty is often justified: the mere toleration of other religions and the ideal confessional state were never infallible teaching. That the doctrine of limbo no longer enjoys the unanimity it once did, but in fact has practically been cast aside,78 is dealt with simply by pointing out that the doctrine and sense of limbo never needed to be retained because it was never defined as being a part of the deposit of faith. Something similar can be said to have happened to the doctrine of Jesus’s beatific vision.79 Similarly, there exist doctrinal developments whose changing matter pertains to popular presentations or non-infallible theological elaborations of a given dogma such that the dogma itself, though infallibly taught, is untouched by the changes. Presentations and theological speculations about purgatory, for example, vary radically and have changed over the centuries, despite the practical ubiquity of some points for more than a millennium; but the Church has never defined anything about purgatory’s 78 79 International Theological Commission, The Hope of Salvation for Infants Who Die without Being Baptized (2007), vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/ cti_documents/rc_con_cfaith_doc_20070419_un-baptised-infants_en.html. The contemporary magisterium’s silence on the matter, including the Catechism’s, as well as the increasingly ecclesial toleration of theologians who deny it, seems to cause no problem because Christ’s beatific vision, though at one point practically universally held—at the very least, as sententia communis or, in some books, as an even higher sententia certa—was never defined as revealed. In a word, doctrine that has never been taught de fide, even if practically ubiquitous, is not subject to Vincent’s second canon. Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 933 duration, its location, or the nature of its fire (if it even has one). The defined meaning of purgatory—that souls are purified and that the Church’s prayer aids them—is untouched by these variations.80 In making sense of these “reversals” or dramatic developments, it is theologically crucial to establish that what is being reversed or jettisoned is not infallible teaching. But to stop there seems inadequate, too easy. A mechanical process of establishing the meaning and weight of a teaching—however straightforward or difficult that might be—does little to determine whether the outcome of that reversal (the newer teaching) is an authentic profectus or a corrupt permutatio of the deposit. It is one thing to establish that limbo was only a common theological opinion, never defined; it is another to infer that the teaching of entrusting unbaptized infants to the mercy of God (Catechism of the Catholic Church §1261) is homogeneous with the deposit. It is one thing to establish that even longstanding authentic magisterial teaching, such as that on the relationship between Church and state, is neither dogma nor infallible; but it is another to conclude that the teaching on religious freedom (as given in Dignitatis Humanae) is an authentic development. In such cases of reversals or so-called dramatic developments, establishing homogeneity requires more of a retrieval of deeper principles than the maintenance of the idem sensus of a teaching that immediately preceded a newer teaching. For, when an immediately antecedent teaching is dropped, one no longer has that antecedent teaching to measure the developed teaching against. In lieu of the immediately antecedent teaching (which is being left behind), other points of reference become determinative. This is where a theory of development such as Newman’s becomes crucial. His “notes of authentic development” are more versatile. The Vincentian “preservation of type” is only one note of seven. In the case of Dignitatis Humanae, for example, two of Newman’s notes are particularly relevant: “power of assimilation” and “conservative action upon the past.” (This is not to say that other of his notes could not apply.) Dignitatis Humanae is the result of, among other factors, the Catholic doctrine’s assimilation of what Benedict XVI called the “true conquests of the Enlightenment.”81 It also shored up—or exerted conservative action 80 81 Such speculations, no matter how traditional and pervasive in the tradition, do not constitute the dogma of purgatory. The relatively novel presentations of purgatory by some such as Catherine of Genoa, Newman, and Benedict XVI do not violate Vincent’s second canon precisely because they are saying the same thing (i.e., the defined dogma) in a new way. Benedict XVI, Address to the Members of the Roman Curia at the Traditional 934 Andrew Meszaros upon—past Christian teaching on conscience and human dignity. As Guarino points out, there was both ressourcement and aggiornamento at work here.82 The result is a definite discontinuity between conciliar and pre-conciliar teaching on particular points, made possible and legitimate, however, by a deeper continuity pertaining to other points, especially de fide teaching on Christ, the Church, and salvation. Underlying this way of achieving continuity is a deeper instinct on the part of the faithful that—when confronted with a wide panorama of classical teaching, Gospel witnesses, and historical precedents and customs—can detect the congruity of a newer teaching with the Christian faith. In Newman’s theory, the primary point of reference for contemporary developments is not an immediate doctrinal antecedent, but the Christian idea, whose numerous “aspects” are brought to bear on newer questions.83 In addition to these non-infallible reversals stand those teachings that have been unambiguously taught by the ordinary magisterium and on occasions reiterated extraordinarily, but whose sense, at least prima facie, seems to have changed drastically. The dogmatic axiom “extra ecclesiam nulla salus” is a perfect example. The patristic understanding of the axiom, culminating in the fifteenth-century Florentine decree, says nothing about invincible ignorance or the possibility that one can be saved without an explicit intention to be baptized. By the nineteenth century, however, Pius IX is happy to declare that all those invincibly ignorant of the Catholic religion, but who seek the truth and follow the natural law, can be saved.84 The example brings to the fore an issue of hermeneutics: the theologian, using the best tools available to him or her, both historical and theological, must discern which appended judgments are truly corollaries of the dogma— that is, which are intrinsic or essential to the dogma—and which ones only “accompany” the dogma coincidentally, as it were, for example, by being simply assumptions held by those who professed the dogma, assumptions which are extrinsic to, or are not essential components of, the dogma.85 82 83 84 85 Exchange of Christmas Greetings, December 22, 2006 (see the “speeches” section of Benedict’s page on the Vatican website) Guarino’s treatment is brief but very ad rem. See Guarino, Disputed Teachings of Vatican II, 190–203, esp. 193–94. I want to thank Lewis Ayers for his helpful comments on this after the symposium. Such a line is simply reiterated in Lumen Gentium §14. E.g., such hermeneutical discernment becomes necessary with respect to Aristotelian categories of substance and accident with respect transubstantiation as defined by Lateran IV and reiterated at Trent. Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 935 In this case, the practical judgment that was attached to the axiom throughout antiquity—namely, that all who found themselves outside the Church were outside of it in a culpable way and therefore deserved damnation—has been dispensed with. Consequently, dispensed with is also the judgment that one group or another (e.g., Jews or heathens) cannot be saved. In this way, the Catholic theological tradition has slowly distilled the essence of the axiom, or the dogmatic meaning of the axiom which must ever be maintained: God provides the means of salvation only to the Catholic Church and has commissioned only this Church to carry out his saving work.86 When, then, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith condemned de iure soteriological pluralism, or theories about parallel paths of salvation, it did so not because it denied that non-Christians can be saved or because it somehow regressed from the achievement of Vatican II’s teaching on this matter, but because such pluralistic or parallel soteriologies violate Vincent’s second canon; the distilled and authentic meaning of “extra ecclesiam nulla salus” is not maintained in these newer theories. What cases like Dignitatis Humanae and “extra ecclesiam nulla salus” have in common is that fulfilment of Vincent’s second canon involves the abandonment of certain judgments. Some of these had been taught explicitly (e.g., particular points in the papal magisteriums of Pius IX and Leo XIII). Others had been left more or less implied (e.g., that those who find themselves outside the Church are outside of it culpably). At first glance, it may seem odd to suggest that a continuity of the “same meaning” is even relevant in this dynamic of “continuity and discontinuity at different levels.” Benedict XVI comments that these abandoned judgments are contingent in nature. “The Church’s decisions on contingent matters—for example, certain practical forms of liberalism or a free interpretation of the Bible—should necessarily be contingent themselves, precisely because they refer to a specific reality that is changeable in itself.”87 With this crucial observation, one is in a better position to specify Vincent’s second canon: the sense that is to be ever-maintained is the sense that pertains to immutable aspects of revelation which, in turn, have as their ultimate principle God’s own immutability. This is precisely what the Hungarian primate of Esztergom, János Simor, points out in his relatio: “To keep and preserve the deposit of faith, . . . that is the principle task and duty of the 86 87 For a more detailed analysis, see Andrew Meszaros, “Extra Ecclesiam nulla salus: Lessons for Doctrinal Development Theory in Catholic Theology,” International Journal of Systematic Theology 24, no. 1 (2022): 100–121. Benedict XVI, Address to the Roman Curia at the Traditional Exchange of Christmas Greetings, December 22, 2005 (English from Vatican website). 936 Andrew Meszaros Church. Objects of discipline can change according to the circumstances of the times, things, and people; but faith itself is immutable just as God is immutable, from whom it proceeds.”88 Here we arrive at the threshold of a reflection on the relationship between metaphysics and (the development of ) doctrine. “The truth of an affirmation does not consist in its conformity with points of human knowledge in every epoque; it consists in its conformity with the reality of things.”89 If the reality does not vary, then the judgment conforming to that reality cannot vary. And the Church’s gift of sharing in God’s own infallibility in her teaching means that her judgments of revealed reality cannot be in error and, therefore, are irreformable. Bernard Lonergan states: What is true, is permanent: the meaning it possessed in its own context can never be denied truthfully…. One is denying divine transcendence if one fancies man has at his disposal the evidence that would enable him to substitute some other meaning for the meaning that has been revealed.90 The immutability of divine revelation (and the dogma that communicates it) supposes, then, that sacred teaching conforms to an unchanging reality, whether it is God’s nature itself or the mode of the Incarnation defined by Ephesus. It is an immutable God who speaks to us his eternal decrees (see ch. 2 of Dei Filius). Conclusion In his history of Vatican I, which engages most with papal primacy and infallibility, the Jesuit historian John W. O’Malley acknowledges that Dei Filius fulfilled an important purpose by asserting “a few basic truths that served the church as solid guidelines in a shifting reality” and that the iteration of these truths was “badly needed in a world that many religious people believed was in danger of going spiritually barren.”91 Among these 88 89 90 91 Granderath, Acta et decreta, cols. 80–88 (at col. 81): “Depositum enim fidei illibatum custodire atque conservare, ita ut ex eodem nec iota unum, nec apex unus aut pereat aut vero immutetur, hoc est praecipuum Ecclesiae munus et officium. Disciplinaria obiecta pro temporum, rerum et personarum circumstantiis mutari possunt; fides vero ipsa immutabilis est sicut immutabilis est Deus, a quo procedit” (trans. mine). Vacant, Études, 2:286. Lonergan, Method in Theology, 323. John O’Malley, Vatican I: The Council and the Making of the Ultramontane Church Dei Filius IV: On the Development of Dogma 937 he includes (2) the existence of God and his knowability; (2) that faith and reason are compatible and that faith itself is not unreasonable; and finally, (3) that faith opens up to us a realm that transcends our human understanding. Conspicuously absent from this list is the last paragraph on the immutability and progress of dogma. There is, rather, a tacit disapproval of the teaching that our understanding of dogma cannot change “under the pretext of a more profound understanding.”92 The document’s limitations arise from what he calls the style of thinking that rests upon abstract, ahistorical arguments, in which Christian truths stand above and apart from the historical contexts in which they were formulated and above and apart from the centuries through which they travelled.93 The reason why assessments such as this are so familiar to us is because there is some truth to it: one of the most prominent characteristics of the nouvelle théologie was an attention to the historical and therefore contingent factors that contributed to doctrinal judgments and formulations. In a similar vein, Newman’s Essay on Development was novel in part because the coherent development of Catholicism was being defended not primarily by witnesses to its supernatural origins, but by recognizing it as a historical “idea” like so many others that take time to develop. Indeed, Newman and the nouvelle théologie recognized that Christian truths—understood as the body of doctrine which Christians believe—do not “stand above and apart” from history. But they can and must be distinguished from it, for they lay hold of realities that transcend history. The entire exercise of trying to make sense of how God reveals himself to us in history makes sense only if Vincent’s second canon—“canonized,” as it were, by Dei Filius—is still perennially valid. Because God the Son is hidden but recognizable in the flesh, so can divine truth be hidden though recognized in history. Without this capacity to identify enduring truth, doctrinal development no longer becomes an ever-more profound understanding of the deposit, but a succession of different propositions which express the Church’s historico-contextual religious experiences. But if that is the case, one is no 92 93 (Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 2018), 177–78. O’Malley refers to this point twice on 171 and 177 of Vatican I. The first reference is followed by “the teaching of Dei Filius reflected much of what they had learned in their seminary days.” O’Malley, Vatican I, 177. 938 Andrew Meszaros longer talking about doctrinal development. As noted by Vincent and the last paragraph of Dei Filius, nothing less than the supernatural character of Christianity is at stake. The teaching of Dei Filius on dogmatic development both affirms dogmatic progress and defines its limits. Because it is silent as to the precise manner of this progress, theologians are at liberty to investigate explanations and theorize about this progress within the limits Dei Filius sets out with St. Vincent. But because those limits are situated squarely within the immutable God who reveals, the teaching of Dei Filius cannot be pitted against the more dynamic §8 of Dei Verbum, much less dismissed as a specimen of nineteenth-century intransigence. It is no less severe or restrictive than what the fathers at Vatican II taught in Gaudium et Spes: The Church also maintains that beneath all changes there are many realities which do not change and which have their ultimate foundation in Christ, Who is the same yesterday and today, yes and forever. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 939–958 939 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith The English translation is that published in Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, ed. Norman Tanner, vol. 2, From Trent to Vatican II (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990): 804–11 (© Norman Tanner, 1990, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Sheed & Ward, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.). The original Latin edition is from Acta Sanctae Sedis 5 [1869–1870] (1911): 481–93 (vatican.va/archive/ass/ documents/ASS-05-1869-70-ocr.pdf ). Neither the Latin text of the ASS 5 nor that in Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio (1759), ed. Ioannes Dominicus Mansi, vol. 51 (Leipzig: H. Welter, 1926), cols. 429–36, have parenthetical citations, but only twenty footnotes. These footnotes from the ASS 5 and Mansi are inserted into the text here in bold. Any other parenthetical citations here are Tanner’s additions, not included in the ASS 5 or Mansi. Sessio III 24 apr. 1870 Session 3 24 April 1870 Constitutio dogmatica de fide catholica Pius episcopus servus servorum Dei, sacro approbante concilio, ad perpetuam rei memoriam. Dogmatic constitution on the catholic faith Pius, bishop, servant of the servants of God, with the approval of the Sacred Council, for an everlasting record. Dei Filius et generis humani Redemptor Dominus Noster Iesus Christus, ad Patrem caelestem rediturus, cum Ecclesia sua in terris militante omnibus The Son of God, redeemer of the human race, our lord Jesus Christ, promised, when about to return to His heavenly Father, that He would be with this 940 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith diebus usque ad consummationem saeculi futurum se esse promisit (cf. Mt XXVIII, 20). Quare dilectae sponsae praesto esse, adsistere docenti, operanti benedicere, perìclitanti opem ferre nullo unquam tempore destitit. Haec vero salutaris eius providentia, cum ex aliis beneficiis innumeris continenter apparuit, tum iis manifestissime comperta est fructibus, qui orbi christiano e Conciliis oecumenicis ac nominatim e Tridentino, iniquis licet temporibus celebrato, amplissimi provenerunt. Hinc enim sanctissima religionis dogmata pressius definita uberiusque exposita, errores damnati atque cohibiti; hinc ecclesiastica disciplina restituta firmiusque sancita, promotum in Clero scientiae et pietatis studium, parata adolescentibus ad sacram militiam educandis collegia, christiani denique populi mores et accuratiore fidelium eruditione et frequentiore sacramentorum usu instaurati. Hinc praeterea arctior membrorum cum visibili Capite communio, universoque corpori Christi mystico additus vigor; hinc religiosae multiplicatae familiae, aliaque christianae pietatis instituta; hinc ille etiam assiduus et usque ad sanguinis effusionem constans ardor in Christi regno late per orbem propagando. Church militant upon earth all days even to the end of the world (cf. Mt 28, 20). Hence never at any time has He ceased to stand by His beloved bride, assisting her when she teaches, blessing her in her labors and bringing her help when she is in danger. Now this redemptive providence appears very clearly in unnumbered benefits, but most especially is it manifested in the advantages which have been secured for the Christian world by ecumenical councils, among which the Council of Trent requires special mention, celebrated though it was in evil days. Thence came a closer definition and more fruitful exposition of the holy dogmas of religion and the condemnation and repression of errors; thence too, the restoration and vigorous strengthening of ecclesiastical discipline, the advancement of the clergy in zeal for learning and piety, the founding of colleges for the training of the young for the service of religion; and finally the renewal of the moral life of the Christian people by a more accurate instruction of the faithful, and a more frequent reception of the sacraments. What is more, thence also came a closer union of the members with the visible head, and an increased vigor in the whole mystical body of Christ. Thence came the multiplication of religious orders and other organizations of Christian piety; thence too that determined and constant ardor for the spreading of Christ’s kingdom abroad in the world, even at the cost of shedding one’s blood. Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith 941 Verumtamen haec aliaque insignia emolumenta, quae per ultimam maxime oecumenicam Synodum divina clementia Ecclesiae largita est, dum grato, quo par est, animo recolimus; acerbum compescere haud possumus dolorem ob mala gravissima, inde potissimum orta, quod eiusdem sacrosanctae Synodi apud permultos vel auctoritas contempta, vel sapientissima neglecta fuere Decreta. While we recall with grateful hearts, as is only fitting, these and other outstanding gains, which the divine mercy has bestowed on the Church especially by means of the last ecumenical synod, we cannot subdue the bitter grief that we feel at most serious evils, which have largely arisen either because the authority of the sacred synod was held in contempt by all too many, or because its wise decrees were neglected. Nemo enim ignorat, haereses, quas Tridentini Patres proscripserunt, dum, reiecto divino Ecclesiae magisterio, res ad religionem spectantes privati cuiusvis iudicio permitterentur, in sectas paullatim dissolutas esse multiplices, quibus inter se dissentientibus et concertantibus, omnis tandem in Christum fides apud non paucos labefactata est. Itaque ipsa sacra Biblia, quae antea christianae doctrinae unicus fons et iudex asserebantur, iam non pro divinis haberi, imo mythicis commentis accenseri coeperunt. Tum nata est et late nimis per orbem vagata illa rationalismi seu naturalismi doctrina, quae religioni christianae utpote supernaturali instituto per omnia adversans, summo studio molitur, ut Christo, qui solus Dominus et Salvator noster est, a mentibus humanis, a vita et moribus populorum excluso, merae quod vocant rationis vel naturae regnum stabiliatur. Relicta autem proiectaque christiana religione, negato vero Deo et Christo eius, prolapsa tandem est multorum mens in pantheismi, materialismi, atheismi barathrum, ut iam ipsam rationalem naturam, omnemque Everybody knows that those heresies, condemned by the fathers of Trent, which rejected the divine magisterium of the Church and allowed religious questions to be a matter for the judgment of each individual, have gradually collapsed into a multiplicity of sects, either at variance or in agreement with one another; and by this means a good many people have had all faith in Christ destroyed. Indeed even the Holy Bible itself, which they at one time claimed to be the sole source and judge of the Christian faith, is no longer held to be divine, but they begin to assimilate it to the inventions of myth. Thereupon there came into being and spread far and wide throughout the world that doctrine of rationalism or naturalism—utterly opposed to the Christian religion, since this is of supernatural origin—which spares no effort to bring it about that Christ, who alone is our lord and savior, is shut out from the minds of people and the moral life of nations. Thus they would establish what they call the rule of simple reason or nature. The abandonment and rejection of the Christian 942 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith iusti rectique normam negantes, ima humanae societatis fundamenta diruere connitantur. Hac porro impietate circum quaque grassante, infeliciter contigit, ut plures etiam e catholicae Ecclesiae filiis a via verae pietatis aberrarent, in iisque, diminutis paullatim veritatibus, sensus catholicus attenuaretur. Variis enim ac peregrinis doctrinis abducti (cf. Heb XIII, 9), naturam et gratiam, scientiam humanam et fidem divinam perperam commiscentes, genuinum sensum dogmatum, quem tenet ac docet Sancta Mater Ecclesia, depravare, integritatemque et sinceritatem fidei in periculum adducere comperiuntur. religion, and the denial of God and His Christ, has plunged the minds of many into the abyss of pantheism, materialism and atheism, and the consequence is that they strive to destroy rational nature itself, to deny any criterion of what is right and just, and to overthrow the very foundations of human society. With this impiety spreading in every direction, it has come about, alas, that many even among the children of the Catholic Church have strayed from the path of genuine piety, and as the truth was gradually diluted in them, their Catholic sensibility was weakened. Led away by diverse and strange teachings (cf. Heb 13, 9), and confusing nature and grace, human knowledge and divine faith, they are found to distort the genuine sense of the dogmas which Holy mother Church holds and teaches, and to endanger the integrity and genuineness of the faith. Quibus omnibus perspectis, fieri qui potest, ut non commoveantur intima Ecclesiae viscera? Quemadmodum enim Deus vult omnes homines salvos fieri, et ad agnitionem veritatis venire (1 Tm II, 4); quemadmodum Christus venit, ut salvum faceret, quod perierat (Lc XIX, 10), et filios Dei, qui erant dispersi, congregaret in unum (Io XI, 52): ita Ecclesia, a Deo populorum mater et magistra constituta, omnibus debitricem se novit, ac lapsos erigere, labantes sustinere, revertentes amplecti, confirmare bonos et ad meliora provehere parata semper et intenta est. Quapropter nullo tempore a Dei veritate, quae sanat omnia (cf. Sap XVI, 12), testanda et At the sight of all this, how can the inmost being of the Church not suffer anguish? For just as God wills all people to be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth (1 Tm 2, 4), just as Christ came to save what was lost (Lk 19, 10) and to gather into one the children of God who were scattered abroad ( Jn 11, 52), so the Church, appointed by God to be mother and mistress of nations, recognizes her obligations to all and is always ready and anxious to raise the fallen, to steady those who stumble, to embrace those who return, and to strengthen the good and urge them on to what is better. Thus she can never cease from witnessing to the truth of God which heals all (cf. Wis Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith 943 praedicanda quiescere potest, sibi dictum esse non ignorans: Spiritus meus, qui est in te, et verba mea, quae posui in ore tuo, non recedent de ore tuo amodo et usque in sempiternum (Is. LIX, 21). Nos itaque, inhaerentes Praedecessorum Nostrorum vestigiis, pro supremo Nostro Apostolico munere veritatem catholicam docere ac tueri, perversasque doctrinas reprobare numquam intermisimus. Nunc autem sedentibus Nobiscum et iudicantibus universi orbis Episcopis, in hanc oecumenicam Synodum auctoritate Nostra in Spiritu sancto congregatis, innixi Dei verbo scripto et tradito, prout ab Ecclesia catholica sancte custoditum et genuine expositum accepimus, ex hac Petri Cathedra in conspectu omnium salutarem Christi doctrinam profiteri et declarare constituimus, adversis erroribus potestate nobis a Deo tradita proscriptis atque damnatis. 16, 12) and from declaring it, for she knows that these words were directed to her: My spirit which is upon you, and my words which I have put in your mouth, shall not depart out of your mouth from this time forth and for evermore (Is 59, 21). And so we, following in the footsteps of our predecessors, in accordance with our supreme apostolic office, have never left off teaching and defending Catholic truth and condemning erroneous doctrines. But now it is our purpose to profess and declare from this chair of Peter before all eyes the saving teaching of Christ, and, by the power given us by God, to reject and condemn the contrary errors. This we shall do with the bishops of the whole world as our co-assessors and fellow-judges, gathered here as they are in the Holy Spirit by our authority in this ecumenical council, and relying on the word of God in Scripture and tradition as we have received it, religiously preserved and authentically expounded by the Catholic Church. CAPUT I DE DEO RERUM OMNIUM CREATORE CHAPTER 1 ON GOD THE CREATOR OF ALL THINGS Sancta Catholica Apostolica Romana Ecclesia credit et confitetur, unum esse Deum verum et vivum, Creatorem ac Dominum caeli et terrae, omnipotentem, aeternum, immensum, in comprehensibilem, intellectu ac voluntate omnique perfectione infinitum: qui cum sit una singularis, simplex omnino et incommutabilis substantia spiritualis, praedicandus The Holy, Catholic, Apostolic and Roman Church believes and acknowledges that there is one true and living God, creator and lord of heaven and earth, almighty, eternal, immeasurable, incomprehensible, infinite in will, understanding and every perfection. Since He is one, singular, completely simple and unchangeable spiritual 944 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith est re et essentia a mundo distinctus, in se et ex se beatissimus, et super omnia quae praeter ipsum sunt et concipi possunt, ineffabiliter excelsus. Hic solus verus Deus bonitate sua et omnipotenti virtute non ad augendam suam beatitudinem, nec ad acquirendam, sed ad manifestandam perfectionem suam per bona, quae creaturis impertitur, liberrimo consilio simul ab initio temporis utramque de nihilo condidit creaturam, spiritualem et corporalem, angelicam videlicet et mundanam, ac deinde humanam quasi communem ex spiritu et corpore constitutam (Conc. Later. IV c. 1, Firmiter). Universa vero, quae condidit, Deus providentia sua tuetur atque gubernat, attingens a fine usque ad finem fortiter, et dissponens omnia suaviter (Sap VIII, 1). Omnia enim nuda et aperta sunt oculis eius (cf. Heb IV, 13), ea etiam, quae libera creaturarum actione futura sunt. substance, He must be declared to be in reality and in essence, distinct from the world, supremely happy in Himself and from Himself, and inexpressibly loftier than anything besides Himself which either exists or can be imagined. This one true God, by His goodness and almighty power, not with the intention of increasing His happiness, nor indeed of obtaining happiness, but in order to manifest His perfection by the good things which He bestows on what He creates, by an absolutely free plan, together from the beginning of time brought into being from nothing the twofold created order, that is the spiritual and the bodily, the angelic and the earthly, and thereafter the human which is, in a way, common to both since it is composed of spirit and body (Lateran Council IV, constitution 1). Everything that God has brought into being He protects and governs by His providence, which reaches from one end of the earth to the other and orders all things well (Wis 8, 1). All things are open and laid bare to his eyes (cf. Heb 4, 13), even those which will be brought about by the free activity of creatures. CAPUT II DE REVELATIONE CHAPTER 2 ON REVELATION Eadem Sancta Mater Ecclesia tenet et docet, Deum, rerum omnium principium et finem, naturali humanae rationis lumine e rebus creatis certo cognosci posse; invisibilia enim ipsius, a creatura mundi, per ea quae facta sunt, intellecta, conspiciuntur (Rm I, 20): attamen The same Holy mother Church holds and teaches that God, the source and end of all things, can be known with certainty from the consideration of created things, by the natural power of human reason: ever since the creation of the world, his invisible nature has been Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith 945 placuisse eius sapientiae et bonitati, alia, eaque supernaturali via se ipsum ac aeterna voluntatis suae decreta humano generi revelare, dicente Apostolo: Multifariam, multisque modis olim Deus loquens patribus in Prophetis: novissime, diebus istis locutus est nobis in Filio (Heb I, 1-2). clearly perceived in the things that have been made (Rm 1, 20). It was, however, pleasing to His wisdom and goodness to reveal Himself and the eternal laws of His will to the human race by another, and that a supernatural, way. This is how the Apostle puts it: In many and various ways God spoke of old to our fathers by the prophets; but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son (Heb 1, 1–2). Huic divinae revelationi tribuendum quidem est, ut ea, quae in rebus divinis humanae rationi per se impervia non sunt, in praesenti quoque generis humani conditione ab omnibus expedite, firma certitudine et nullo admixto errore cognosci possint. Non hac tamen de causa revelatio absolute necessaria dicenda est, sed quia Deus ex infinita bonitate sua ordinavit hominem ad finem supernaturalem, ad participanda scilicet bona divina, quae humanae mentis intelligentiam omnino superant; siquidem oculus non vidit, nec auris audivit, nec in cor hominis ascendit, quae praeparavit Deus iis, qui diligunt illum (1 Cor. II, 9). Haec porro supernaturalis revelatio, secundum universalis Ecclesiae fidem, a sancta Tridentina Synodo declaratam, continetur in libris scriptis et sine scripto traditionibus, quae ipsius Christi ore ab Apostolis acceptae, aut ab ipsis Apostolis Spiritu sancto dictante quasi per manus traditae, ad nos usque pervenerunt (Conc. Trid. sess. IV decr. de can. script.). Qui quidem veteris et novi Testamenti libri integri cum omnibus suis partibus, prout in eiusdem Concilii Decreto recensentur, et in It is indeed thanks to this divine revelation, that those matters concerning God which are not of themselves beyond the scope of human reason, can, even in the present state of the human race, be known by everyone without difficulty, with firm certitude and with no intermingling of error. It is not because of this that one must hold revelation to be absolutely necessary; the reason is that God directed human beings to a supernatural end, that is a sharing in the good things of God that utterly surpasses the understanding of the human mind; indeed eye has not seen, neither has ear heard, nor has it come into our hearts to conceive what things God has prepared for those who love him (1 Cor 2, 9). Now this supernatural revelation, according to the belief of the universal Church, as declared by the sacred Council of Trent, is contained in written books and unwritten traditions, which were received by the apostles from the lips of Christ Himself, or came to the apostles by the dictation of the Holy Spirit, and were passed on as it were from hand to hand until they reached us (Council of Trent, session 4, 1st decree). The 946 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith veteri vulgata latina editione habentur, pro sacris et canonicis suscipiendi sunt. Eos vero Ecclesia pro sacris et canonicis habet, non ideo quod sola humana industria concinnati, sua deinde auctoritate sint approbati; nec ideo dumtaxat, quod revelationem sine errore contineant; sed propterea quod Spiritu Sancto inspirante conscripti Deum habent auctorem, atque ut tales ipsi Ecclesiae traditi sunt. complete books of the old and the new Testament with all their parts, as they are listed in the decree of the said Council and as they are found in the old Latin Vulgate edition, are to be received as sacred and canonical. These books the Church holds to be sacred and canonical not because she subsequently approved them by her authority after they had been composed by unaided human skill, nor simply because they contain revelation without error, but because, being written under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, they have God as their author, and were as such committed to the Church. Quoniam vero, quae sancta Tridentina Synodus de interpretatione divinae Scripturae ad coercenda petulantia ingenia salubriter decrevit, a quibusdam hominibus prave exponuntur, Nos, idem Decretum renovantes, hanc illius mentem esse declaramus, ut in rebus fidei et morum, ad aedificationem doctrinae Christianae pertinentium, is pro vero sensu sacrae Scripturae habendus sit, quem tenuit ac tenet Sancta Mater Ecclesia, cuius est iudicare de vero sensu et interpretatione Scripturarum sanctarum; atque ideo nemini licere contra hunc sensum, aut etiam contra unanimem consensum Patrum ipsam Scripturam sacram interpretari. Now since the decree on the interpretation of Holy Scripture, profitably made by the Council of Trent, with the intention of constraining rash speculation, has been wrongly interpreted by some, we renew that decree and declare its meaning to be as follows: that in matters of faith and morals, belonging as they do to the establishing of Christian doctrine, that meaning of Holy Scripture must be held to be the true one, which Holy mother Church held and holds, since it is her right to judge of the true meaning and interpretation of Holy Scripture. In consequence, it is not permissible for anyone to interpret Holy Scripture in a sense contrary to this, or indeed against the unanimous consent of the fathers. Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith 947 CAPUT III DE FIDE CHAPTER 3 ON FAITH Quum homo a Deo tamquam Creatore et Domino suo totus dependeat, et ratio creata increatae Veritati penitus subiecta sit, plenum revelanti Deo intellectus et voluntatis obsequium fide praestare tenemur. Hanc vero fidem, quae humanae salutis initium est, Ecclesia catholica profitetur, virtutem esse supernaturalem, qua, Dei aspirante et adiuvante gratia, ab eo revelata vera esse credimus, non propter intrinsecam rerum veritatem naturali rationis lumine perspectam, sed propter auctoritatem ipsius Dei revelantis, qui nec falli nec fallere potest. Est enim fides, testante Apostolo, sperandarum substantia rerum, argumentum non apparentium (Heb XI, 1). Since human beings are totally dependent on God as their creator and lord, and created reason is completely subject to uncreated truth, we are obliged to yield to God the revealer full submission of intellect and will by faith. This faith, which is the beginning of human salvation, the Catholic Church professes to be a supernatural virtue, by means of which, with the grace of God inspiring and assisting us, we believe to be true what He has revealed, not because we perceive its intrinsic truth by the natural light of reason, but because of the authority of God Himself, who makes the revelation and can neither deceive nor be deceived. Faith, declares the Apostle, is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen (Heb 11, 1). Ut nihilominus fidei nostrae obsequium rationi consentaneum esset, voluit Deus cum internis Spiritus Sancti auxiliis externa iungi revelationis suae argumenta, facta scilicet divina, atque imprimis miracula et prophetias, quae cum Dei omnipotentiam et infinitam scientiam luculenter commonstrent, divinae revelationis signa sunt certissima et omnium intelligentiae accommodata. Quare tum Moyses et Prophetae, tum ipse maxime Christus Dominus multa et manifestissima miracula et prophetias ediderunt; et de Apostolis legimus: Illi autem profecti praedicaverunt ubique, domino cooperante, et Nevertheless, in order that the submission of our faith should be in accordance with reason, it was God’s will that there should be linked to the internal assistance of the Holy Spirit outward indications of His revelation, that is to say divine acts, and first and foremost miracles and prophecies, which clearly demonstrating as they do the omnipotence and infinite knowledge of God, are the most certain signs of revelation and are suited to the understanding of all. Hence Moses and the prophets, and especially Christ our lord Himself, worked many absolutely clear miracles and delivered prophecies; while of the 948 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith sermonem confirmante, sequentibus signis (Marc XVI, 20). Et rursum scriptum est: Habemus firmiorem propheticum sermonem, cui bene facitis attendentes quasi lucernae lucenti in caliginoso loco (2 Pt. I, 19). Licet autem fidei assensus nequaquam sit motus animi caecus: nemo tamen evangelicae praedicationi consentire potest, sicut oportet ad salutem consequendam, absque illuminatione et inspiratione Spiritus sancti, qui dat omnibus suavitatem in consentiendo et credendo veritati (Conc. Araus. II (529), can. 7). Quare fides ipsa in se, etiamsi per charitatem non operetur, donum Dei est, et actus eius est opus ad salutem pertinens, quo homo liberam praestat ipsi Deo obedientiam, gratiae eius, cui resistere posset, consentiendo et cooperando. apostles we read: And they went forth and preached everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the message by the signs that attended it (Mk 16, 20). Again it is written: We have the prophetic word made more sure; you will do well to pay attention to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place (2 Pt 1, 19). Now, although the assent of faith is by no means a blind movement of the mind, yet no one can accept the gospel preaching in the way that is necessary for achieving salvation without the inspiration and illumination of the Holy Spirit, who gives to all facility in accepting and believing the truth (Council of Orange II [529], canon 7). And so faith in itself, even though it may not work through charity, is a gift of God, and its operation is a work belonging to the order of salvation, in that a person yields true obedience to God Himself when he accepts and collaborates with His grace which he could have rejected. Porro fide divina et catholica ea omnia credenda sunt, quae in verbo Dei scripto vel tradito continentur, et ab Ecclesia sive solemni iudicio sive ordinario et universali magisterio tamquam divinitus revelata credenda proponuntur. Quoniam vero sine fide impossibile est placere Deo (Heb 11, 6), et ad filiorum eius consortium pervenire; ideo nemini umquam sine illa contigit iustificatio, nec ullus, nisi in ea perseveraverit usque in finem, vitam aeternam assequetur. Ut autem officium veram fidem amplectendi, in eaque constanter perseverandi satisfacere possemus, Deus per Filium Wherefore, by divine and Catholic faith all those things are to be believed which are contained in the word of God as found in Scripture and tradition, and which are proposed by the Church as matters to be believed as divinely revealed, whether by her solemn judgment or in her ordinary and universal magisterium. Since, then, without faith it is impossible to please God (Heb 11, 6), and reach the fellowship of His sons and daughters, it follows that no one can ever achieve justification without it, neither can anyone attain eternal life unless he or she perseveres in it to the end. Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith 949 suum unigenitum Ecclesiam instituit, suaeque institutionis manifestis notis instruxit, ut ea tamquam custos et magistra verbi revelati ab omnibus posset agnosci. Ad solam enim catholicam Ecclesiam ea pertinent omnia, quae ad evidentem fidei christianae credibilitatem tam multa et tam mira divinitus sunt disposita. Quin etiam Ecclesia per se ipsa, ob suam nempe admirabilem propagationem, eximiam sanctitatem et inexhaustam in omnibus bonis fecunditatem, ob catholicam unitatem, invictamque stabilitatem, magnum quoddam et perpetuum est motivum credibilitatis et divinae suae legationis testimonium irrefragabile. So that we could fulfill our duty of embracing the true faith and of persevering unwaveringly in it, God, through His only begotten Son, founded the Church, and He endowed His institution with clear notes to the end that she might be recognized by all as the guardian and teacher of the revealed word. To the Catholic Church alone belong all those things, so many and so marvelous, which have been divinely ordained to make for the manifest credibility of the Christian faith. What is more, the Church herself by reason of her astonishing propagation, her outstanding holiness and her inexhaustible fertility in every kind of goodness, by her Catholic unity and her unconquerable stability, is a kind of great and perpetual motive of credibility and an incontrovertible evidence of her own divine mission. Quo fit, ut ipsa veluti signum levatum in nationes (Is. XI, 12), et ad se invitet, qui nondum crediderunt, et filios suos certiores faciat, firmissimo niti fundamento fidem, quam profitentur. Cui quidem testimonio efficax subsidium accedit ex superna virtute. Etenim benignissimus Dominus et errantes gratia sua excitat atque adiuvat, ut ad agnitionem veritatis venire possint (cf. 1 Tm II, 4); et eos, quos de tenebris transtulit in admirabile lumen suum (cf. 1 Pt II, 9; Col I, 13), in hoc eodem lumine ut perseverent, gratia sua confirmat, non deserens, nisi deseratur. Quocirca minime par est conditio eorum, qui per caeleste fidei donum catholicae veritati adhaeserunt, atque eorum, qui ducti So it comes about that, like a standard lifted up for the nations (cf. Is 11, 12), she both invites to herself those who have not yet believed, and likewise assures her sons and daughters that the faith they profess rests on the firmest of foundations. To this witness is added the effective help of power from on high. For, the kind Lord stirs up those who go astray and helps them by His grace so that they may come to the knowledge of the truth (cf. 1 Tm 2, 4); and also confirms by His grace those whom He has translated into His admirable light (cf. 1 Pt 2, 9; Col 1, 13), so that they may persevere in this light, not abandoning them unless He is first abandoned. Consequently, the situation of those, 950 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith opinionibus humanis, falsam religionem sectantur; illi enim, qui fidem sub Ecclesiae magisterio susceperunt, nullam umquam habere possunt iustam causam mutandi, aut in dubium idem eandem revocandi. Quae cum ita sint, gratias agentes Deo Patri, qui dignos nos fecit in partem sortis sanctorum in lumine (Col I, 12), tantam ne negligamus salutem (cf. Heb II, 3), sed aspicientes in auctorem fidei et consummatorem Iesum (Heb XII, 2), teneamus spei nostrae confessionem indeclinabilem (Heb X, 23). who by the heavenly gift of faith have embraced the Catholic truth, is by no means the same as that of those who, led by human opinions, follow a false religion; for those who have accepted the faith under the guidance of the Church can never have any just cause for changing this faith or for calling it into question. This being so, giving thanks to God the Father who has made us worthy to share with the saints in light (Col 1, 12) let us not neglect so great a salvation (cf. Heb 2, 3), but looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith (Heb 12, 2), let us hold the unshakable confession of our hope (Heb 10, 23). CAPUT IV DE FIDE ET RATIONE CHAPTER 4 ON FAITH AND REASON Hoc quoque perpetuus Ecclesiae catholicae consensus tenuit et tenet, duplicem esse ordinem cognitionis, non solum principio, sed obiecto etiam distinctum: principio quidem, quia in altero naturali ratione, in altero fide divina cognoscimus; obiecto autem, quia praeter ea, ad quae naturalis ratio pertingere potest, credenda nobis proponuntur mysteria in Deo abscondita, quae nisi revelata divinitus, innotescere non possunt. Quocirca Apostolus, qui a gentibus Deum per ea, quae facta sunt, cognitum esse testatur (cf. Rm 1,20), disserens tamen de gratia et veritate, quae per Iesum Christum facta est (Io I, 17), pronuntiat: Loquimur Dei sapientiam in mysterio, quae abscondita est, quam praedestinavit Deus ante saecula in gloriam nostram, quam meno principum huius saeculi cognovit: The perpetual agreement of the Catholic Church has maintained and maintains this too: that there is a twofold order of knowledge, distinct not only as regards its source, but also as regards its object. With regard to the source, we know at the one level by natural reason, at the other level by divine faith. With regard to the object, besides those things to which natural reason can attain, there are proposed for our belief mysteries hidden in God which, unless they are divinely revealed, are incapable of being known. Wherefore, when the Apostle, who witnesses that God was known to the gentiles from created things (cf. Rm 1, 20), comes to treat of the grace and truth which came by Jesus Christ (Jn 1, 17), he declares: We impart a Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith 951 nobis autem revelavit Deus per Spiritum suum: Spiritus enim omnia scrutatur, etiam profunda Dei (1 Cor II, 7-8, 10). Et ipse Unigenitus confitetur Patri, quia abscondit haec a sapientibus, et prudentibus, et revelavit ea parvulis (cf. Mt XI, 25). secret and hidden wisdom of God, which God decreed before the ages for our glorification. None of the rulers of this age understood this. God has revealed it to us through the Spirit. For the Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God (1 Cor 2, 7–8, 10). And the Only-begotten Himself, in His confession to the Father, acknowledges that the Father has hidden these things from the wise and prudent and revealed them to the little ones (cf. Mt 11, 25). Ac ratio quidem, fide illustrata, cum sedulo, pie et sobrie quaerit, aliquam, Deo dante, mysteriorum intelligentiam eamque fructuosissimam assequitur, tum ex eorum, quae naturaliter cognoscit, analogia, tum e mysteriorum ipsorum nexu inter se et cum fine hominis ultimo, numquam tamen idonea redditur ad ea perspicienda instar veritatum, quae proprium ipsius obiectum constituunt. Divina enim mysteria suapte natura intellectum creatum sic excedunt, ut etiam revelatione tradita et fide suscepta ipsius tamen fidei velamine contecta et quadam quasi caligine obvoluta maneant, quamdiu in hac mortali vita peregrinamur a Domino: per fidem enim ambulamus, et non per speciem (2 Cor V, 6–7). Now reason, if it is enlightened by faith, does indeed when it seeks persistently, piously and soberly, achieve by God’s gift some understanding, and that most profitable, of the mysteries, whether by analogy from what it knows naturally, or from the connection of these mysteries with one another and with the final end of humanity; but reason is never rendered capable of penetrating these mysteries in the way in which it penetrates those truths which form its proper object. For the divine mysteries, by their very nature, so far surpass the created understanding that, even when a revelation has been given and accepted by faith, they remain covered by the veil of that same faith and wrapped, as it were, in a certain obscurity, as long as in this mortal life we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, and not by sight (2 Cor 5, 6–7). Verum etsi fides sit supra rationem, nulla tamen umquam inter fidem et rationem vera dissensio esse potest: cum idem Deus, qui mysteria revelat et Even though faith is above reason, there can never be any real disagreement between faith and reason, since it is the same God who reveals the 952 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith fidem infundit, animo humano rationis lumen indiderit; Deus autem negare seipsum non possit, nec verum vero umquam contradicere. Inanis autem huius contraditionis species inde potissimum oritur, quod vel fidei dogmata ad mentem Ecclesiae intellecta et exposita non fuerint, vel opinionum commenta pro rationis effatis habeantur. Omnem igitur assertionem veritati illuminatae fidei contrariam ommino falsam esse definimus (Conc. Lat. V sess. VIII, bulla Apostolici regimis). Porro Ecclesia, quae una cum apostolico munere docendi, mandatum accepit, fidei depositum custodiendi, ius etiam et officium divinitus habet falsi nominis scientiam proscribendi, ne quis decipiatur per philosophiam, et inanem fallaciam (Col II, 8). Quapropter omnes christiani fideles huiusmodi opiniones, quae fidei doctrinae contrariae esse cognoscuntur, maxime si ab Ecclesia reprobatae fuerint, non solum prohibentur tamquam legitimas scientiae conclusiones defendere, sed pro erroribus potius, qui fallacem veritatis speciem prae se ferant, habere tenentur omnino. mysteries and infuses faith, and who has endowed the human mind with the light of reason. God cannot deny Himself, nor can truth ever be in opposition to truth. The appearance of this kind of specious contradiction is chiefly due to the fact that either the dogmas of faith are not understood and explained in accordance with the mind of the Church, or unsound views are mistaken for the conclusions of reason. Therefore we define that every assertion contrary to the truth of enlightened faith is totally false (Lateran Council V, session 8). Furthermore the Church which, together with its apostolic office of teaching, has received the charge of preserving the deposit of faith, has by divine appointment the right and duty of condemning what wrongly passes for knowledge, lest anyone be led astray by philosophy and empty deceit (Col 2, 8). Hence all faithful Christians are forbidden to defend as the legitimate conclusions of science those opinions which are known to be contrary to the doctrine of faith, particularly if they have been condemned by the Church; and furthermore they are absolutely bound to hold them to be errors which wear the deceptive appearance of truth. Neque solum fides et ratio inter se dissidere nunquam possunt, sed opem quoque sibi mutuam ferunt, cum recta ratio fidei fundamenta demonstret, eiusque lumine illustrata rerum divinarum scientiam excolat; fides vero rationem ab erroribus liberet ac tueatur, eamque multiplici cognitione instruat. Quapropter tantum Not only can faith and reason never be at odds with one another but they mutually support each other, for on the one hand right reason established the foundations of the faith and, illuminated by its light, develops the science of divine things; on the other hand, faith delivers reason from errors and protects it and Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith abest, ut Ecclesia humanarum artium et disciplinarum culturae obsistat, ut hanc multis modis iuvet atque promoveat. Non enim commoda ab iis ad hominum vitam dimanantia aut ignorat aut despicit; fatetur imo, eas, quemadmodum a Deo scientiarum Domino profectae sunt, ita si rite pertractentur, ad Deum, iuvante eius gratia, perducere. Nec sane ipsa vetat, ne huiusmodi disciplinae in suo quaeque ambitu propriis utantur principiis et propria methodo; sed iustam hanc libertatem agnoscens, id sedulo cavet, ne divinae doctrinae repugnando errores in se suscipiant, aut fines proprios transgressae, ea, quae sunt fidei, occupent et perturbent. Neque enim fidei doctrina, quam Deus revelavit, velut philosophicum inventum proposita est humanis ingeniis perficienda, sed tamquam divinum depositum Christi Sponsae tradita, fideliter custodienda et infallibiliter declaranda. Hinc sacrorum quoque dogmatum is sensus perpetuo est retinendus, quem semel declaravit Sancta Mater Ecclesia, nec umquam ab eo sensu, altioris intelligentiae specie et nomine, recedendum. Crescat igitur et multum vehementerque proficiat, tam singulorum, quam omnium, tam unius hominis, quam totius Ecclesiae, aetatum ac saeculorum gradibus, intelligentia, scientia, sapientia; sed in suo dumtaxat genere, in eodem scilicet dogmate, eodem sensu, eademque sententia (Vincentius Lerinensis, Commonitorium, 28 [PL 50, 668]). 953 furnishes it with knowledge of many kinds. Hence, so far is the Church from hindering the development of human arts and studies, that in fact she assists and promotes them in many ways. For she is neither ignorant nor contemptuous of the advantages which derive from this source for human life, rather she acknowledges that those things flow from God, the lord of sciences, and, if they are properly used, lead to God by the help of His grace. Nor does the Church forbid these studies to employ, each within its own area, its own proper principles and method: but while she admits this just freedom, she takes particular care that they do not become infected with errors by conflicting with divine teaching, or, by going beyond their proper limits, intrude upon what belongs to faith and engender confusion. For the doctrine of the faith which God has revealed is put forward not as some philosophical discovery capable of being perfected by human intelligence, but as a divine deposit committed to the spouse of Christ to be faithfully protected and infallibly promulgated. Hence, too, that meaning of the sacred dogmas is ever to be maintained which has once been declared by Holy mother Church, and there must never be any abandonment of this sense under the pretext or in the name of a more profound understanding. May understanding, knowledge and wisdom increase as ages and centuries roll along, and greatly and vigorously flourish, in each and all, in the individual and the whole Church: but this only in its own proper kind, 954 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith that is to say, in the same doctrine, the same sense, and the same understanding (Vincent of Lérins, Communitorium, 28 [Patrologia Latina 50, 668]). CANONES CANONS I. De Deo rerum omnium creatore 1. On God the creator of all things 1. Si quis unum verum Deum visibilium et invisibilium Creatorem et Dominum negaverit; anathema sit. 2. Si quis praeter materiam nihil esse affirmare non erubuerit; anathema sit. 3. Si quis dixerit, unam eandemque esse Dei et rerum omnium substantiam vel essentiam; anathema sit. 4. Si quis dixerit, res finitas, tum corporeas tum spirituales, aut saltem spirituales, e divina substantia emanasse; aut divinam essentiam sui manifestatione vel evolutione fieri omnia; aut denique Deum esse ens universale seu indefinitum, quod sese determinando constituat rerum universitatem in genera, species et individua distinctam; anathema sit. 5. Si quis non confiteatur, mundum, resque omnes, quae in eo continentur, et spirituales et materiales, secundum totam suam substantiam a Deo ex nihilo esse productas; aut Deum dixerit non voluntate ab omni necessitate libera, sed tam necessario creasse, quam necessario amat seipsum; aut mundum ad Dei gloriam conditum esse negaverit: anathema sit. 1. If anyone denies the one true God, creator and lord of things visible and invisible: let him be anathema. 2. If anyone is so bold as to assert that there exists nothing besides matter: let him be anathema. 3. If anyone says that the substance or essence of God and that of all things are one and the same: let him be anathema. 4. If anyone says that finite things, both corporal and spiritual, or at any rate, spiritual, emanated from the divine substance; or that the divine essence, by the manifestation and evolution of itself becomes all things or, finally, that God is a universal or indefinite being which by self determination establishes the totality of things distinct in genera, species and individuals: let him be anathema. 5. If anyone does not confess that the world and all things which are contained in it, both spiritual and material, were produced, according to their whole substance, out of nothing by God; or holds that God did not create by His will free from all necessity, but as necessarily as He necessarily loves Himself; or denies that the world was created for the glory of God: let him be anathema. Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith 955 II. De Revelatione 2. On revelation 1. Si quis dixerit, Deum unum et verum, Creatorem et Dominum nostrum, per ea, quae facta sunt, naturali rationis humanae lumine certo cognosci non posse; anathema sit. 2. Si quis dixerit, fieri non posse, aut non expedire, ut per revelationem divinam homo de Deo, cultuque ei exhibendo edoceatur; anathema sit. 3. Si quis dixerit, hominem ad cognitionem et perfectionem, quae naturalem superet, divinitus evehi non posse, sed ex seipso ad omnis tandem veri et boni possessionem iugi profectu pertingere posse et debere; anathema sit. 4. Si quis sacrae Scripturae libros integros cum omnibus suis partibus, prout illos sancta Tridentina Synodus recensuit, pro sacris et canonicis non susceperit, aut eos divinitus inspiratos esse negaverit; anathema sit. 1. If anyone says that the one, true God, our creator and lord, cannot be known with certainty from the things that have been made, by the natural light of human reason: let him be anathema. 2. If anyone says that it is impossible, or not expedient, that human beings should be taught by means of divine revelation about God and the worship that should be shown Him : let him be anathema. 3. If anyone says that a human being cannot be divinely elevated to a knowledge and perfection which exceeds the natural, but of himself can and must reach finally the possession of all truth and goodness by continual development: let him be anathema. 4. If anyone does not receive as sacred and canonical the complete books of Sacred Scripture with all their parts, as the holy Council of Trent listed them, or denies that they were divinely inspired: let him be anathema. III. De fide 3. On faith 1. Si quis dixerit, rationem humanam ita independentem esse, ut fides ei a Deo imperari non possit; anathema sit. 2. Si quis dixerit, fidem divinam a naturali de Deo et rebus moralibus scientia non distingui, ac propterea ad fidem divinam non requiri, ut revelata veritas propter auctoritatem Dei revelantis credatur; anathema sit. 3. Si quis dixerit, revelationem divinam externis signis credibilem fieri non posse, ideoque sola interna cuiusque experientia aut inspiratione privata homines ad fidem moveri debere; anathema sit. 1. If anyone says that human reason is so independent that faith cannot be commanded by God: let him be anathema. 2. If anyone says that divine faith is not to be distinguished from natural knowledge about God and moral matters, and consequently that for divine faith it is not required that revealed truth should be believed because of the authority of God who reveals it: let him be anathema. 3. If anyone says that divine revelation cannot be made credible by external signs, and that therefore men and 956 Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith 4. Si quis dixerit, miracula nulla fieri posse, proindeque omnes de iis narrationes, etiam in sacra Scriptura contentas, inter fabulas vel mythos ablegandas esse: aut miracula certo cognosci numquam posse, nec iis divinam religionis christianae originem rite probari; anathema sit. 5. Si quis dixerit, assensum fidei christianae non esse liberum, sed argumentis humanae rationis necessario produci; aut ad solam fidem vivam, quae per charitatem operatur, gratiam Dei necessariam esse; anathema sit. 6. Si quis dixerit, parem esse conditionem fidelium atque eorum, qui ad fidem unice veram nondum pervenerunt, ita ut catholici iustam causam habere possint, fidem, quam sub Ecclesiae magisterio iam susceperunt, assensu suspenso in dubium vocandi, donec demonstrationem scientificam credibilitatis et veritatis fidei suae absolverint; anathema sit. women ought to be moved to faith only by each one’s internal experience or private inspiration: let him be anathema. 4. If anyone says that all miracles are impossible, and that therefore all reports of them, even those contained in Sacred Scripture, are to be set aside as fables or myths; or that miracles can never be known with certainty, nor can the divine origin of the Christian religion be proved from them: let him be anathema. 5. If anyone says that the assent to Christian faith is not free, but is necessarily produced by arguments of human reason; or that the grace of God is necessary only for living faith which works by charity: let him be anathema. 6. If anyone says that the condition of the faithful and those who have not yet attained to the only true faith is alike, so that Catholics may have a just cause for calling in doubt, by suspending their assent, the faith which they have already received from the teaching of the Church, until they have completed a scientific demonstration of the credibility and truth of their faith: let him be anathema. IV. De fide et ratione 4. On faith and reason 1. Si quis dixerit, in revelatione divina nulla vera et proprie dicta mysteria contineri, sed universa fidei dogmata posse per rationem rite excultam e naturalibus principiis intelligi et demonstrari; anathema sit. 2. Si quis dixerit, disciplinas humanas ea cum libertate tractandas esse, ut earum assertiones, etsi doctrinae revelatae adversentur tanquam verae retineri, 1. If anyone says that in divine revelation there are contained no true mysteries properly so-called, but that all the dogmas of the faith can be understood and demonstrated by properly trained reason from natural principles: let him be anathema. 2. If anyone says that human studies are to be treated with such a degree of liberty that their assertions may be Dei Filius—The Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith neque ab Ecclesia proscribi possint; anathema sit. 3. Si quis dixerit, fieri posse, ut dogmatibus ab Ecclesia propositis, aliquando secundum progressum scientiae sensus tribuendus sit alius ab eo, quem intellexit et intelligit Ecclesia; anathema sit. Itaque supremi pastoralis Nostri officii debitum exsequentes, omnes Christi fideles, maxime vero eos, qui praesunt vel docendi munere funguntur, per viscera Iesu Christi obtestamur, nec non eiusdem Dei et Salvatoris nostri auctoritate iubemus, ut ad hos errores a Sancta Ecclesia arcendos et eliminandos, atque purissimae fidei lucem pandendam studium et operam conferant. Quoniam vero satis non est, haereticam pravitatem devitare, nisi ii quoque errores diligenter fugiantur, qui ad illam plus minusve accedunt; omnes officii monemus, servandi etiam Constitutiones et Decreta, quibus pravae eiusmodi opiniones, quae istic diserte non enumerantur, ab hac Sancta Sede proscriptae et prohibitae sunt. 957 maintained as true even when they are opposed to divine revelation, and that they may not be forbidden by the Church: let him be anathema. 3. If anyone says that it is possible that at some time, given the advancement of knowledge, a sense may be assigned to the dogmas propounded by the Church which is different from that which the Church has understood and understands: let him be anathema. And so in the performance of our supreme pastoral office, we beseech for the love of Jesus Christ and we command, by the authority of Him who is also our God and savior, all faithful Christians, especially those in authority or who have the duty of teaching, that they contribute their zeal and labor to the warding off and elimination of these errors from the Church and to the spreading of the light of the pure faith. But since it is not enough to avoid the contamination of heresy unless those errors are carefully shunned which approach it in greater or less degree, we warn all of their duty to observe the constitutions and decrees in which such wrong opinions, though not expressly mentioned in this document, have been banned and forbidden by this Holy See. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 959–962 959 Further Reading Selected Works on Vatican I Aubert, R. Vatican I. Histoire des conciles oecuméniques, 12. Paris: Orante, 1964. Cecconi, Eugenio. Storia del concilio ecumenico Vaticano scritta sui documenti original. 4 vols. Rome: Tipographia Vaticana, 1872–1879. Granderath, Theodor. Geschichte de Vatikanischen Konzils. 3 vols. Fribourg im Breisgau: Herder, 1903–1906. Translated into French as Histoire du Concile du Vatican, ed. C. Kirch, 5 vols. Brussels, 1907–1913. Hocedez, Edgar. Histoire de la théologie aux [19]e siècle, 3 vols. Paris: Desclée, 1948. McCool, Gerald A. Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism: The Search for a Unitary Method. New York: Fordham University Press, 1977. O’Malley, John. Vatican I: The Council and the Making of the Ultramontane Church. Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 2018. Schatz, Klaus. Vaticanum I, 1869–1870. 3 vols. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1992–1994. Text and Translations of Dei Filius Tanner, Norman, ed. Pages 804–11 in Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 2, From Trent to Vatican II. Washington DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990. © Norman Tanner, 1990, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Sheed & Ward, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc. Denzinger, Heinrich, ed. Compendium of Creeds, Definitions and Declarations on Matters of Faith and Morals, nos. 3000–3045. 43rd edition, Latin–German, edited by Helmut Hoping and Peter Hünermann. Latin–English edition edited and translated by Robert Fastiggi and Anne Englund Nash. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2012. Butler, Cuthbert. The Vatican Council: The Story Told From Inside in Bishop Ullathorne’s Letters, 247–75. London: Longmans and Green, 1930. Mansi, Ioannes Dominicus, ed. Columns 429–36 in Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, vol. 51. Leipzig: H. Welter, 1923–1927. Granderath, Theodor, ed. Constitutiones dogmaticae sacrosancti oecumenici concilii Vaticani ex ipsis eius actis: Explicatae atque illustratae. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1892. 960  Further Reading ———, ed. Columns 247–56 in Acta et decreta sacrosancti oecumenici concilii Vaticani. Collectio Lacensis 7 (Presbyteris S. J. e domo B. V. M. sine labe conceptae ad Lacum). Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1892. Selected Works on or Relevant to Dei Filius Allen, Jeffrey A. “A Commentary on the First Vatican Council’s Dei Filius.” Irish Theological Quarterly 81, no. 2 (2016): 138–51. ———. “Faith and Reason in the First Vatican Council’s Dei Filius and the Writings of Bernard Lonergan.” PhD diss., University of St. Michael’s College, 2012. Alsteens, André. “Science et foi dans le chapitre IV de la Constitution Dei Filius au Concile du Vatican.” Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 38, no. 2 (1962): 461–503. Aubert, R. Le probleme de l’acte de foi. Louvain: E. Warny, 1945. ———. “Le Concile du Vatican et la connaissance naturelle de Dieu.” Lumière et Vie 14 (1954): 21–52. Beck, Karl. Offenbarung und Glaube bei Anton Günther. Vienna: Herder, 1967. Caudron, Marc. “Magistère ordinaire et infaillibilité pontificale d’après la Constitution Dei Filius” Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 36 (1960): 393–431. Chossat, Marcel. “Dieu (Connaissance naturelle de).” In Dictionnaire de théologie catholique, vol. 4 (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1911), cols. 756–874. Fitzer, Joseph, ed. Romance and the Rock: Nineteenth-Century Catholics on Faith and Reason. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1989. Garrigou-Lagrange, Réginald. “Relativism and the Immutability of Dogma According to the [First] Vatican Council.” In A Dialogue Delayed: The Thomistic Response to the Nouvelle Theology Concerning the Truth of Dogma and the Nature of Theology. Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, forthcoming. Originally “Le relativisme et l’immutabilité du dogme,” Angelicum 27, no. 3 (1950): 219–46. Gómez-Heras, José. “La constitución Dei Filius y la teología del cardenal J. B. Franzelin.” Revista Española de teología 23 (1963): 137–90, 451–87; 25 (1965): 79–114; 27 (1967): 375–97. ———. “‘Iusta scientiae libertas’: La antítesis ‘Libertad de la ciencia–Autoridad de la Fe’ en la Constitución Dei Filius del Vaticano I.” Scripta Theologica 2, no. 1 (1970): 61–118. Guarino, Thomas. “Vatican I and Dogmatic Apophasis: Historical and Theological Reflections.” Irish Theological Quarterly 61 (1995): 70–82. Hammond, David. “Interpreting Faith and Reason: Denys Turner and Bernard Lonergan in Conversation.” Horizons 35, no. 2 (2008): 191–202. Kerr, Fergus. “Knowing God by Reason Alone: What Vatican I Never Said.” New Blackfriars 91 (2010): 215–28. Kerrigan, Alexander. “Doctrina concilii Vaticani I de ‘sine scripto traditionibus.’” In De Scriptura et Traditione, 475–502. Rome: Pontifical International Marian Academy, 1963. Knorn, Bernhard. “Johann Baptist Franzelin (1816–86): A Jesuit Cardinal Shaping the Further Reading 961 Official Teaching of the Church at the Time of the First Vatican Council.” Journal of Jesuit Studies 7, no. 4 (2020): 592–615. Montes, Adolfo González. “Dei Verbum sobre el fondo de Die Filius: Explicitación, desarrollo y progreso en el concepto de revelación.” Salmanticensis 43 (1996): 341–64. Nau, Paul. “Le magistère pontifical ordinaire au premier Concile du Vatican.” Revue thomiste 62 (1962): 341–97. Nichols, Aidan. From Hermes to Benedict XVI: Faith and Reason in Modern Catholic Thought. Leominster, MA: Gracewing, 2009. Orbán, László. Theologia Güntheriana et Concilium Vaticanum. 2 vols. Analecta Gregoriana 50. Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1949–1950. Paradis, Georges. “Foi et raison au premier Concile du Vatican.” Bulletin de littérature ecclésiastique 63 (1962): 200–226, 268–92; 64 (1963): 9–25. Pottmeyer, Hermann-Josef. Der Glaube vor dem Anspruch der Wissenschaft: die Konstitution über den katholischen Glauben Dei Filius des Ersten Vatikanischen Konzils und die unveröffentlichten theologischen Voten der vorbereitenden Kommission. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1968. Pritz, Joseph. Glauben und Wissen bei Anton Günther: Eine Einführung in sein Leben und Werk mit einer Auswahl aus seinen Schriften. Vienna: Herder, 1963. ———. “Offenbarung: Eine philosophisch-theologische Analyse nach Anton Günther.” Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie 95, no. 3 (1973): 249–85. ———. Wegweisung zur Theologie: Briefe A. Günthers an J. N. Ehrlich mit einer Einleitung. Vienna: Domverlag, 1971. Ryan, Ambrose. “The Knowledge of God Attainable by Human Reason, according to the Vatican Council.” Franciscan Studies 3, no. 4 (1943): 364–73. Schatz, Klaus. Vaticanum I, 1869–1870, vol. 2, Von der Eröffnung bis zur Konstitution Dei Filius. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1993. Schäfer, Theo. Die Erkenntnis-theoretische Kontroverse Kleutgen-Günther. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 1961. Schlund, Robert. “Zur Quellenfrage der vatikanischen Lehre von der Kirche als Glaubwürdigkeitsgrund.” Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie 62, no. (1950): 443–59. Vacant, J. M. A. Études théologiques sur les Constitutions du Concile du Vatican. 2 vols. Paris: Delhomme and Briguet, 1895. Vincelette, Alan. Recent Catholic Philosophy: The Nineteenth Century. Milwaukee, WI: Marquette University Press, 2009. Walter, Peter. Die Frage der Glaubensbegründung aus innerer Erfahrung auf dem i. Vatikanum: Die Stellungnahme des Konzils vor dem Hintergrund der zeitgenössischen römischen Theologie. Mainz: Grünewald, 1980. Wenzel, Paul. Das wissenschaftliche Anliegen des Güntherianismus: Ein beitrag zur theologiegeschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts. Essen: Ludgerus-Verlag Hubert Wingen, 1961. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 20, No. 3 (2022): 963–994 963 Book Reviews Benedict XVI, A Life: Volume 1, Youth in Nazi Germany to the Second Vatican Council 1927–1965 by Peter Seewald, translated by Dinah Livingstone (London: Bloomsbury Continuum, 2020), xi + 500 pp. What better way to spend Pope Benedict XVI’s ninety-fourth birthday than by reviewing a Ratzinger biography while having Apfelstrudel and some traditional Bavarian beer? German journalist and author Peter Seewald, who in his many interviews has asked Joseph Ratzinger / Pope Benedict XVI a total of two thousand or more questions (ix), has written a splendid biography that surprises even someone who has already read dozens of books by and about Benedict XVI. Written in an extremely enjoyable style and divided into chapters of just the perfect length, this page-turner deserves the highest praise. It will likely take its place alongside George Weigel’s famous (and equally massive) biography of Pope John Paul II, Witness to Hope. The German biography has been divided into two volumes in English (vol. 2 was just published in November of 2021). Volume 1 deals with the years 1927–1965, dominated by two historic “Twos”: World War II and Vatican II. Theologically, this is the period of the progressive Ratzinger (regardless of whether he “converted” to a more conservative stance later on), or as Seewald puts it, a man formed by “liberal Bavarian Catholicism” (124). Seewald provides lots of new and interesting information about Joseph Ratzinger, both bitter and sweet. One example from the early chapters concerns the origins of Ratzinger’s mother. It turns out that she was an illegitimate child and not actually from South Tyrol, contrary to what her children had thought. A local historian has discovered that Ratzinger’s mother Maria was actually born in Mühlbach “in the district of Rosenheim, . . . in a house that specialized in helping unmarried pregnant women to give birth” (15). For the romantic, the sweetest story of the book comes when Seewald 964 Book Reviews pushes the reserved Pope Emeritus to reveal more about the “painful decisions” that the young Munich seminarian had to make in relation to his vocation as a celibate priest. “‘Were you in love with a girl?’ ‘Perhaps.’ ‘So, yes?’ ‘It could be interpreted like that.’ ‘How long did this passionate time last? A few weeks? A few months?’ ‘Longer’” (219). Ratzinger was in love! Or at least it could be interpreted like that! Other heart-warming details include the revelation that Ratzinger’s childhood teddy from Marktl followed him all the way to the Apostolic Palace, as well as the fact that, when his blind brother Georg (now deceased) needed a housekeeper, Benedict XVI personally organized the job interview in the Vatican gardens. A darker episode, minimized in Ratzinger’s autobiographical memoirs, concerns his role in the radar crew of the German anti-aircraft forces in World War II. The future Pope was entrusted with the task of targeting British bombers. Seewald fills in the narrative: “Ratzinger delivered readings for three guns, . . . . The more precisely Joseph measured, the higher the hit rate. As the war demanded” (101). Years later, Ratzinger confessed that these experiences still occasionally gave him sweaty nightmares. Seewald goes on to describe the exceptional postwar context in which Ratzinger prepared for the priesthood. The future priests knew that they would soon have to hear confessions of ex-Nazis who had shot people in the war (153). Indeed, after the war, many old Nazis turned to the Church and attempted to get de-Nazification certificates. Ratzinger’s parish priest even joked that one day “they will say the only Nazis were the priests” (131). As did everyone, Ratzinger also felt the effects of poverty in postwar Germany. Whenever a festive dinner had to be given for a visitor at the seminary, “we went hungry on the most meagre rations for four long weeks in order to gather the ingredients” (189). After a short period of pastoral ministry subsequent to his ordination, the stellar theologian went back to the seminary as a teacher. Barely twenty-five-years-old, he was younger than many of his students. Among the seminarians, Ratzinger was not only a popular lecturer but also a popular confessor, because he was so “broad-minded” (262). Most people are not familiar with the image of the progressive Ratzinger, the liberal Bavarian Catholic. What is a liberal Bavarian Catholic? It is someone who explains the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles (Booths) as “a kind of Oktoberfest,” someone who traces the Bavarian yodel to St. Augustine’s concept of jubilus. “He introduced things that we had never heard of before,” said one of his students, while a close friend added: “Now at last someone had come bringing a new wind, a new style” (271, 273–74). Book Reviews 965 Another feature of this “left-wing Catholic” of the time was a “fearlessness about asking questions ‘which no one had dared to ask hitherto,’” especially on subjects such as ecumenism, which were regarded as a “minefield” (272). In his first published article, Ratzinger stated plainly that the traditional interpretation of extra ecclesiam nulla salus (according to which all faithful Muslims go to hell because they do not belong to the Church) was simply inhuman and impossible to believe (298). Other sobering reminders of the ecumenical position (or lack thereof ) of the Church Ratzinger grew up in include excommunication for mixed marriages (444) and (re)baptizing converts from Protestantism (110–11). Perhaps the most significant contribution of this first volume of Seewald’s biography is that it shows just how influential Ratzinger was at the Second Vatican Council. Even as someone who has written a book about Vatican II and a doctoral dissertation about Ratzinger, I must admit that I had not realized the extent to which Vatican II was Ratzinger’s council. To me, Ratzinger was an important young peritus, but not much more than that. In retrospect, though, it is shockingly simple. To put it bluntly: Ratzinger was Frings; Frings was the majority; the majority was the Council. Cologne’s Cardinal Josef Frings’s vision for the Council, as expressed in the famous Genoa speech, was endorsed by Pope John XXIII in 1962: “You have said everything that I’ve thought and wanted to say, but was unable to say myself ” (361). But this speech, like virtually every speech Frings delivered at the Council, came almost “word for word from Ratzinger’s pen” (402). Previously known as a strict conservative, Frings now took on a new role as the leader of the Central European group that became the Council’s progressive majority. In order to get something through at the Council, one had to go to Frings: “To win him over was almost indispensable for anyone trying to organize any action in common” (443). If there is a case that Seewald makes in this book, it is this: Ratzinger has belittled or underplayed his own contribution to the Council (461). Seewald ends with the claim that there was no “change” from a formerly progressive theologian into a reactionary thinker. “‘The true legacy of the Council lies in its texts,’ Ratzinger would never tire of saying” (463). Reading this, a thought came to my mind: “No wonder—he was behind them.” This is obviously an unjust simplification, and it sounds more like something a one-sided critic (whether Lefebvrist or Küngian) could make use of. But perhaps it is worth thinking about, if only as an objection to answer. In terms of technicalities, it is natural that any work of this size and scope will have some errors in it. Some of the more frustrating factual 966 Book Reviews mistakes include calling St. Peter’s Basilica a “cathedral” (336, 337, 394— the cathedral of Rome is St. John Lateran), claiming that the relationship between Catholics and Judaism was the subject of the schema Gaudium et spes (388; instead of Nostra aetate), and attributing Hagia Sophia to Emperor Constantine (197; instead of Justinian). The English translation is, at least in my opinion, good and readable. Sometimes, there are traces of the German, such as in Francis und Dominic (245) and in the original title of Karol Wojtyła’s Love and Responsibility, which was of course written in Polish (as Miłość i odpowiedzialność), not in German (cf. 217). Basic German (and Latin!) is also required to understand some of the young Ratzinger’s jokes, such as when he “glanced at the menu and called out: ‘Habemus Apfelmus!’” (147). Having finished my Bavarian beer and Apfelstrudel, I can think of no better way to conclude this review, written on Ratzinger’s ninety-fourth birthday, than to quote French theologian Yves Congar’s assessment of the German peritus: “‘Fortunately, we have Ratzinger! He is reasonable, modest, unbiased and very helpful’” (452). We can say the same about Seewald and his new biography. Emil Anton Vantaa, Finland Modernity as Apocalypse: Sacred Nihilism and the Counterfeits of Logos by Thaddeus J. Kozinski (Brooklyn, NY: Angelico, 2019), 231 pp. Whether the names Adrian Vermeule, Fr. Edmund Waldstein, and Sohrab Ahmari provoke anxiety or glee in readers’ minds will depend on where they stand on integralism, the brand of Catholic traditionalism that all three have sought to promote through various websites and publications. Presenting themselves as the authentic interpreters of magisterial teachings on church–state relations, the integralists have challenged the long-standing attempt (especially in North America) to combine the Catholic faith with a commitment to political liberalism, natural rights, religious liberty, and state neutrality toward religion. For the integralists, attempting such a combination succeeds only in distorting the Catholic faith and causes us to forget what the Church taught before the Second Vatican Council, which still obliges the assent of Catholics, they claim, and is desperately needed to stand against the onward march of secularism. Book Reviews 967 Although Thaddeus Kozinski, former professor at Wyoming Catholic College, may not be one of the more well-known integralists, his latest book presents an interesting iteration of Catholic traditionalism that displays both what is valuable and what is most worrying about contemporary traditionalism. Kozinski’s previous book was a closely argued critique of John Rawls and Jacques Maritain using the thought of Alasdair MacIntyre. It built up a cumulative case for the impossibility of resolving the political problem of religious pluralism without moving beyond philosophy by making a decision to reject or accept the political importance of the Catholic Church and its teachings.1 Although the author’s preference for some sort of confessional state was already clear in that book, he preferred not to defend it, but rather to argue that it is impossible to be agnostic or neutral toward the ideal of church–state union. Now he goes on the offensive, presenting in the twenty brief chapters of Modernity as Apocalypse his “sundry attempts over the past decade to grapple with the question of modernity” (14). More precisely, he is grappling with the questions of what defines modernity, how we arrived at where we are, and what Christians should do while living in it, particularly in the fields of education and politics. The two chapters that form the first part (entitled “Modernity”) use Charles Taylor’s A Secular Age to argue that modernity’s increasingly pluralistic and secular culture creates “an entirely new incapacity to experience the reality of a particular worldview in a naïve way, that is, without the consciousness of there being other viable options” (37). Yet the problem also reveals a blessing. “Encountering reality through the lens of other perennial traditions can serve to expose that false dichotomy in our minds that leads us to interpret other views as nothing more than full-fledged errors and our own personal lenses as nothing less than the whole truth” (21). Anyone who has read what passes for commentary on websites such as Church Militant or Rorate Caeli will find that statement surprising and refreshing. The second part (“Logos”) contains four chapters that lucidly discuss contemporary disagreements in ethics between Kantians and virtue-ethicists, between new natural lawyers and MacIntyreans. Chapter 4 makes an effective and moving argument to read Plato “as a precursor to Faith, and a guide along the way home” (50). There are some brief but suggestive remarks drawing on Benedict XVI’s Caritas in Veritate in 1 Thaddeus J. Kozinski, The Political Problem of Religious Pluralism: And Why Philosophers Can’t Solve It (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2010). 968 Book Reviews chapter 6 to argue that an ethics of gift can enable us to express the moral teachings of the New Testament in terms that are potentially convincing to a broader audience. “Metanoia” is the title of the third part, dedicated to education. Chapters 7–8 and 10 give not very original and yet timely arguments for the importance of the liberal arts, the need for Catholic universities to be institutions that can foster, rather than deform, the practice of philosophy, and the need for pedagogy to be rooted in the transmission of a community’s tradition.2 However, one cannot help but be startled when arriving at this sentence in chapter 9: “Regardless of what the ‘scientific community’ now holds to be indubitable, I have yet to come across any scientific evidence that conclusively proves evolution or an old earth, and even today a serious case can be made for a motionless earth at the centre of the universe” (100). The impression we get from the previous chapters of the author as a well-read, open-minded traditionalist leave us wholly unprepared for this. The quotation is found in a chapter entitled “Catholic Education and the Cult of Theistic Evolution,” and if Kozinski’s purpose were merely to remind us that the macro-evolution of species is not an a priori fact but a hypothesis that needs to be weighed by the evidence, then I would not object. But high-handedly dismissing the scientific consensus in the aforementioned quotation and making bizarre claims about “the soft blood tissue found in dinosaur bones” (104) without any references or evidence make us think the author rejects what he does not care to understand. Part 4 (“Keep Yourself from Idols”) begins by rehearsing some useful arguments expressed in Kozinski’s previous book on the impossibility of being agnostic or neutral about “whether God has communicated His will to man regarding the political order”: The absence of such a judgment on this matter is a judgment. By not prescribing an authoritative role for political theology, both MacIntyrean Thomism and pragmatic, secular liberalism effectively deny that God has spoken authoritatively regarding the proper construction of the political order. (127) Chapter 12 continues in this skeptical vein using MacIntyre and William Cavanaugh to turn against the American Constitution, attacking 2 Regarding the last point, Kozinski echoes some of the same arguments made by Luigi Giussani in The Risk of Education: Discovering Our Ultimate Destiny (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2019). Book Reviews 969 it for being an expression of Lockean liberalism from its inception and hence creating a state capable of securing only instrumental private goods, instead of the common good. Kozinski’s lack of due proportion in his estimation of the modern nation-state could have been corrected had he read his hero MacIntyre’s work more closely. In the following chapter, Kozinski expresses his bafflement at why MacIntyre, the relentless critic of liberal individualism and of the modern state’s pretensions, should have defended the nation-state’s use of coercion “in the realms of health, education, military service, and public speech” (140) in a plenary lecture at the University of Notre Dame in 2015. Yet, if anyone reads beyond After Virtue and Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, as Nathan Pinkoski has definitely shown,3 one can see that MacIntyre tempers his critique of liberalism by recognizing that there are no alternatives to liberal political institutions and that it was right for those institutions to arise to address the “arbitrary coercive power, unjustified hierarchies, and insufficient respect for the individual”4 of medieval Europe. Kozinski could also see in MacIntyre’s latest book that MacIntyre still believes the good can be pursued within, and under the authority of, modern political institutions.5 Unfortunately, the number of unbalanced and even outlandish claims increases in the following chapters. References to “the Rulers in the Deep State” and “official government narratives, such as IXXI” (both 157) in chapter 14 distract attention away from Kozinski’s reasonable criticisms of the conservative Christian commentators who turned against Kim Davis. Chapter 15 makes many justifiable criticisms of conservative Catholics for failing to think with the mind of the Church, rather than according to the policy agenda of the Republican Party. Yet one cannot help but be disturbed by that same chapter’s repeated criticisms of the official explanation of 9/11 (167) and of Zionism and the State of Israel (165–67). The remaining chapters use Girardian thought to claim that modernity has an apocalyptic quality because we can see developing a subversion of Christianity’s defense of victims into an even worse form of scapegoating, which seeks to identify the victims of its violence as putative aggressors. What analytic power this idea may have had, however, is buried under the frankly ridiculous claim that 9/11 was a watershed moment in a global plan “by 3 4 5 Nathan Pinkoski, “Why Alasdair MacIntyre Is Not a Conservative Post-Liberal,” The Political Science Reviewer 43 (2020): 532–64. Pinkoski, “Why Alasdair MacIntyre Is Not a Conservative Post-Liberal,” 553. See especially Alasdair MacIntyre, Ethics in the Conflicts of Modernity: An Essay on Desire, Practical Reasoning, and Narrative (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 176–83, 243–315. 970 Book Reviews the elitist puppeteers of academia, religion, bureaucracy, and media” (182) or “Western military, financial, and governmental elites” (215). Kozinski’s use of the roman numerals IXXI to refer to 9/11 is telling: a quick search online refers us to countless absurd and predictably anti-Semitic theories using the numerals IXXI as a means to discover the sinister interests orchestrating events behind the scenes. Kozinski even raises the possibility that the widespread incredulity toward certain conspiracy theories could be considered to be a sign of their truth, proving that the culprits have done everything in their power to sow skepticism toward anything that might draw attention to their activity (170). It is disheartening too that these final chapters do not refer to peer-reviewed books or articles in the footnotes as often as to blogs and other internet scribblings. One could mention other problems, such as Kozinski’s tendency to imitate John Milbank in piling up adjectives, abstract nouns, and –isms one after another, or the lack of an index and bibliography. But clearly the most disconcerting thing about Modernity as Apocalypse is seeing how the traditionalist rabbit-hole can lead a well-read, well-educated mind to search credulously for answers in the online swamp. It is true that, like many of the more prominent traditionalists, Kozinski perceptively brings to our attention the need to search more deeply into the Tradition of the Church on church–state relation, and to put liberalism and (ostensibly) secular political systems under greater scrutiny than we have tended to do. Yet I feel a secondhand embarrassment for the eminent scholars, such as D. C. Schindler, Glenn Olsen, and Michael Hanby, who have written endorsements for Kozinski’s book, presumably (one hopes) without reading much of the book. For Kozinski has shown us that, when Christians encounter the horrors of our age and the senseless violence that continues to be carried out in ever-more creative and unsettling ways, they face a choice. One may either take the narrow path of continuing to believe by faith in Providence, in spite of these many signs to the contrary, or one can turn aside to the security offered by the certainties of esoteric conspiracy theories. Mehmet Ciftci University of Oxford Oxford, England Book Reviews 971 Dogma and Ecumenism: Vatican II and Karl Barth’s Ad Limina Apostolorum edited by Matthew Levering, Bruce L. McCormack, and Thomas Joseph White, O.P. (Washington, DC: Catholic University Press of America Press, 2020), ix + 369 pp. In May 1966 Karl Barth visited Rome. He was invited to reflect on the Second Vatican Council, to ask questions to leading curial figures, and peritus theologians, as well as Pope Paul VI. Barth’s book Ad Limina Apostolorum: An Appraisal of Vatican II contains his questions and an account from Barth of his visit, along with some other important essays. It is still deeply challenging in its incisiveness, despite its brevity. I have always been struck by Barth’s Marian criticisms that are so central to his viewpoint about divine agency and human cooperation. These give us an excellent insight into his ecclesiology. They represent the reasons for much of his questioning of various Roman Catholic positions on all sorts of matters. Eberhard Busch’s diaries, while Barth’s assistant during this period, form a fascinating complimentary account of the visit. These tell of the not-so-fruitful visit to Augustin Cardinal Bea and the great highpoint (for Barth) of his one-hour audience with Pope Paul VI. Barth was impressed by the Jesuits during his visit, but not so much by the Dominicans. He thought the latter had absorbed too many streams of liberal modernity. The two Dominicans participating in this book turn those tides. Indeed, all the authors could be located within the conserving wings of their ecclesial membership, which makes the volume all the stronger in raising serious unresolved disagreements and noting important common ground. It is testimony to Barth’s enduring value that this volume seems so timely. The Barth Centre at Princeton and the Pontifical Faculty of the Dominican House in Washington were the sponsors of this collection. The volume is structured around five of the key documents commented on by Barth, with a Catholic and Reformed voice reflecting on both the particular document and Barth’s input (with the exception of Francesca Aran Murphy, who deals with George Lindbeck rather than Barth), thereby simultaneously pushing forward the Catholic–Reformed engagement with the Council and with Barth. There is a preface with a penetrating introduction by Thomas Joseph White, O.P., and an irenic opening chapter by Matthew Levering on biblical renewal at Vatican II. Then follow the twin reflections on the five documents. First (and rightly so) comes the Dogmatic Constitution on Revelation, Dei Verbum. Katherine Sonderegger develops a nuanced reflection on the metaphor of Scripture as mirror of God (found in Dei Verbum), showing 972 Book Reviews a deep appreciation of currents within Dei Verbum that Barth had not detected, but which are more connective with his concerns and preoccupations. Lewis Ayres rather impishly takes what Barth saw as the main weakness of the text (its chapter 2: “Handing on Divine Revelation”) and makes it the greatest strength. Ayers provides a deeply learned and original exploration of the concept of “tradition” as sacramental. In this duet, Barth comes out looking like he may have missed hearing the melodies while too closely studying the score. Then follow two profound essays on Lumen Gentium, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church. Christoph Schwöbel builds up a strong Protestant case for the necessary visible ecclesial identity of the Church, thus showing a deep convergence without denying differences that remain. White, in a deeply insightful and probing essay, goes to the heart of the ecclesiological difference between Barth and Yves Congar (and some other key Catholics at the time): the relationship between uncreated divine agency and created human agency, especially within the context of the post-apostolic Church. White suggests that, without some stable ecclesial mediations, there can be no proper relationship envisaged between the transcendent causality of God operating in Christ and the created, active cooperative acts with this grace. While building up both a metaphysical and a theological case against Barth’s criticisms, White graciously registers how Barth’s worries are a strong reminder to some Catholic interpreters of the Council. After these two dogmatic constitutions come the Declaration on the Relationship of the Church to Non-Christian Religions, Nostra Aetate. It is slightly puzzling that the essays in the collection were not ordered as per their importance or their theological architecture. Can a declaration be more significant than a pastoral constitution or a decree? Not according to the bishop’s conference attending to the authority of Vatican II documents in 1980 which said that the constitutions should guide our reading of the decrees, and at a lower level of authority, the declarations. Regarding the theological ordering, within the Council, Lumen Gentium, a Dogmatic Constitution, treats other Christians first in §15, followed by non-Christians in §16, as both of these topics rely on the nature of the Church in §14. This mirrors Paul VI’s Ecclesiam Suam, which was the background to §16. Barth’s Ad Limina Apostolorum respected these gradings and ordering, and the powerful impact of this volume would be better heightened were that ordering followed. Bruce L. McCormack brilliantly draws out a type of Barthian critique against the assumption that the God of Islam is the God of Christians, Book Reviews 973 a take-home message often claimed to be deduced from both Lumen Gentium and Nostra Aetate. “God” does not exist outside the grammar and economy of Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and thus there needs to be a much stronger case if it is to be assumed that Muslims are actually referring to the Christian “God,” especially as they explicitly reject the Incarnation and Trinity. It should be noted that Jews reject the incarnation and trinity, so in itself, those are not reason enough to deny the “same God.” Bruce D. Marshall, in the complementary essay, makes a double case, agreeing with Barth—explicitly and implicitly. The explicit agreement lies in criticizing the grouping of Judaism with non-Christian religions in both Lumen Gentium and Nostra Aetate as if the sui generis nature of Judaism did not demand separate treatment. Marshall is aware of the intense political and social pressures on the Vatican from both Arab states and Eastern Christians to derail any separate document on the Jews. This in part explains the conflation of “Jews” and “non-Christians.” It was Paul VI’s genius to navigate the Scylla and Charybdis of, on the one hand, a “pro-Jewish seen as anti-Arab” position, and on the other, the “saying nothing about the Jews after the Holocaust would be a scandal” concern. After Paul VI’s trip to the Holy Land during the Council recess, when the Jewish document was held back because of the dispute, Paul VI had been received warmly by Muslims in the West Bank and Jordan. It is said that he suggested to Bea on his return that, whenever the Jews are mentioned, so should be the Muslims. That way, the document might see the light of day and could not be judged as partial. The implicit agreement with Barth lies in Marshall’s fine treatment of the non-salvific value of “other religions,” while nevertheless affirming that there may be related to the Paschal mystery (Gaudium et Spes §22). On this, Marshall adopts the language of Charles Journet, which is indeed fruitful, but perhaps he might have helpfully related it to the language of implicit desire that was the main currency for addressing this question prior to the Council. Marshall rightly criticizes the Rahnerian reading that has often been imposed on the Council documents. The Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, Gaudium et Spes, chapters display a profound ecumenism—borrowing from each other’s traditions to further plumb the depths of the documents. Reformed theologian John R. Bowlin employs Aquinas to engage with the ambiguous currents running within the pastoral constitution. Bowlin locates human dignity and rights within the natural-law tradition. In doing so he deftly responds to Barth’s questions to Dignitatis Humanae. Murphy continues this reading of Guadium et Spes through the eyes of Lindbeck— who it turns out, in Murphy’s view, profoundly misread the document. This 974 Book Reviews continues her long-running battle against narrative theology. The essay could have been tied to Barth to enhance its value in the collection, but it is nevertheless deeply provocative and creative. The final three pieces of the book turn to ecumenism, the subject matter that perhaps should have followed the doctrine of the Church. These chapters are well worth waiting for. Hans Boersma renews Barth’s questions but lets them bite deeper. He wonders whether Unitatis Redintegratio can ever deliver if it fails to allow for any real modification of minor doctrines in the hierarchy of truths or grant legitimate plural and even incompatible expressions of them. He argues for an eschatological unity of the Christian churches, as a recognition that the full visible expression of unity is always going to be hampered by human inability and sin. Reinhard Hütter, in stark contrast, shows that all of Barth’s questions to Unitatis Redintegratio were addressed in John Paul II’s Ut Unum Sint (1995). Hütter goes further. He suggests that, had Barth engaged with Newman’s account of the development of doctrine, he might have seen anticipated the Roman Catholic responses to his challenges. As does White, Hütter develops an acute criticism against another aspect of Barth’s presuppositions. Barth falsely presumed that Catholics could not accept that the Church should not serve its own word and cannot seize or possess or control that revelation that is always spoken. In Newman’s idea of the development of doctrine, Hütter argues, we find the way Barth’s presuppositions are kept intact, but development, not dialectics, becomes the means by which revelation is constantly attested to and safeguarded within the Church. Here, as with some of the other couplet essays, it would have been instructive to have had very brief comments from each Roman Catholic and Protestant contributor on each other’s essay. This collection ends with a gem from Richard Shenk, O.P., who has the capacity of historically contextualizing disputes with great penetration. This volume is a must for anyone concerned with Barth, Vatican II, and Catholic–Reform dialogue. Gavin D’Costa University of Bristol Bristol, England Book Reviews 975 The Trinitarian Christology of St. Thomas Aquinas by Dominic Legge, O.P. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), xvii +261. Dominic Legge’s interesting and valuable The Trinitarian Christology of St. Thomas Aquinas provides exactly what its title suggests: an account of how Aquinas’s Christology is, at heart, Trinitarian. Although certainly not polemical in tone, the book does have what might be called a polemical purpose: Legge wants to push back against authors who see Aquinas’s understanding of the Incarnation as divorced from his understanding of the Trinity. But this negative aim is subordinated to the positive, concomitant aim of showing how, for Aquinas, the Incarnation and the inner life of the Holy Trinity are not two separate topics, best given independent treatment in separate “treatises,” but instead intimately related. Christology, for Legge’s Aquinas, is “Trinitarian theology clothed in flesh” (237). The book has three main parts. In the first, Legge lays out background material on the Trinitarian missions. Crucial for Legge is to emphasize that, for Aquinas, the missions “extend” the eternal Trinitarian processions into time. Legge strongly opposes any suggestion that, for Aquinas, processions are one thing while missions are another, with any connection between them being at best contingent and accidental. Key points in this section include the following. A mission of a divine person is that person’s eternal procession together with a new created effect in a rational creature. This created effect, while caused by the Trinity as a whole, relates the rational creature to the sent person individually, insofar as it causes that rational creature to resemble the Son, by wisdom, or (as the case may be) the Spirit, by charity. Furthermore, such missions not only relate creatures to a divine person but also draw them to that person. All this applies both to the “invisible” missions (invisible because the effect in the creature—e.g., grace in the soul—is not perceivable by the senses) and to the “visible” missions, such as the Son’s coming in the flesh. In the second part, Legge shows how this material applies to the mission of the Son. Much of the discussion here is focused on the question of why it was the Son who became incarnate, and not the Father or the Spirit. Legge is at pains to show that, although Aquinas does allow that a different Person could have become incarnate, we utterly fail to understand Aquinas unless we see that, for him, it was most fitting that the Son became incarnate; furthermore, had it been another divine person that became incarnate, salvation would have taken place very differently. Putting things the other way around, the Incarnation as we have it is thoroughly marked 976 Book Reviews by the fact that the one who became incarnate was the Son—the one who receives everything from the Father and who sends his own Spirit so as to lead us back to the Father. In the third part of the book, Legge turns to the relations between Christ and the mission of the Spirit. This material can be divided into two parts. First, there is the mission of the Spirit to the man Christ himself. Qua man, Christ is sanctified (ch. 5), he has beatific and infused knowledge (ch. 6), and he acts in a theandric (divine and human) way (ch. 7). All of this, for Legge’s Aquinas, is true not merely on account of the hypostatic union, but also on account of the gifts of the Holy Spirit to Christ as man, gifts by which Christ is made internally capable of acting in a supernatural way, and gifts by which Christ is led by a Person distinct from himself, namely, his own Spirit. Second, there is the mission of the Spirit to other humans (ch. 8), ultimately aimed at drawing believers back to the Father. In this mission, the Spirit is sent not only from the Father, but from the Son as well. Flagging a development in Aquinas’s thought, Legge emphasizes that Aquinas came to hold that the Spirit comes from Christ not only as God, but also as man. Thus our sanctification is mediated by Christ’s. This book should be no one’s first book on Aquinas’s theology, and maybe even no one’s second. It more or less presupposes that the reader already has a fairly firm grasp on the basics of Thomistic Christology and Trinitarian theology; background explanations are very brief. For example, we are told that “the visible mission of the Son is necessarily accompanied by the invisible mission of the Holy Spirit” (17). For readers who already know about the distinction between visible and invisible missions, saying this is perfectly fine, but readers who do not already know about the distinction will probably find the quoted passage confusing, at least until the point is brought up explicitly (24). Again, a point is made that turns on the distinction between created and uncreated grace (26), but what that distinction amounts to does not start to become clear for a few more pages. To make another point about the kind of book this is, Legge’s account is more expository than critical. The example that most stands out for me here has to do with the very idea that missions are temporal extensions of processions. The broader theological issue can be put as follows: Does the ancient principle that all three Persons act as one principle ad extra mean that, in the end, soteriology is best understood in a unitarian fashion? The answer, it seems, has to be “no”; and yet, how are we to distinguish different soteriological roles for the different Persons without abandoning divine simplicity, or even lapsing into full-on tritheism? Legge does a good job of laying out Aquinas’s basic claims and relating them to various issues in Book Reviews 977 Christology, but he might have gone further in working out the details, and in asking whether Aquinas’s proposal is satisfactory. I say this not as a criticism of the book, but simply as a description of the type of book it is. The broad question—to the study of which this book is an important contribution—is immensely difficult and in need of much further inquiry, both on the systematic level and in terms of the historical sources. (Scholars may want to put to the test Legge’s suggestion that setting Christology in a Trinitarian context is a “unique hallmark” of Aquinas’s Christology [14]). And for a third general remark about the book: it ranges very widely through the Thomistic corpus, including the Scripture commentaries. I found myself wondering at times why so many of the most interesting points seemed to come from the Sentences commentary—why, in other words, did Aquinas seemingly not see fit to reassert these points later in his career? But developmental questions such as these are not the main focus of Legge’s investigation. Of all the book’s chapters, I most appreciated the fifth. It does a very nice job of cutting through a false dichotomy that has bothered a lot of theologians: does the holiness of Christ qua man come (merely) from the union of his human nature to his divine nature, or does it come (instead) from his receiving, qua man, the gift of the Spirit? Legge lays out nicely how, for Aquinas, it’s an error to choose one over the other. Yes, the gift of the Spirit is required so that Christ’s humanity could be elevated in an authentically human way (see, e.g., 168), but the hypostatic union could not have happened without the Spirit being given as well, according to “a necessity that goes beyond fittingness. . . . the Word is never present without his Holy Spirit” (159). I confess to finding myself frustrated by chapter 6’s account of the Spirit’s role in Christ’s knowledge. If the account of the missions given in the book’s first part is to be believed, then it seems we ought to say that Christ’s supernatural knowledge is a result of a mission of the Word, not a result of a mission of the Spirit (inasmuch as knowledge would seem to assimilate us to the Word, rather than to the Spirit). Legge brings up this worry himself (179–81), but the response seems to be merely that the Spirit is efficient cause of Christ’s knowledge. Drawing on Legge’s own presentation (21–23), it seems this would not be sufficient for saying that Christ’s having that knowledge is a case of the Spirit’s being sent to him. At times, the book’s formulations are not as clear as one might have wished. For example, sometimes we hear that a mission involves a creature’s being assimilated to the Son or the Spirit himself (e.g., 31), but sometimes we hear that a mission involves a creature’s being assimilated to the 978 Book Reviews procession of the Son or the Spirit (e.g., 34, 39). For another example, we sometimes hear of Christ’s human nature being related to the Son according to personal esse (e.g., 108–9), and sometimes we hear of Christ’s human nature being related to the personal esse of the Son itself (e.g., 111, 112). As illustration of the second case, notice the quick shift in the following: “St. Thomas understands Christ’s human nature to belong uniquely to the Son: that humanity has a relation to the Son ‘according to esse.’ What is this ‘personal esse’ in which Christ’s human nature terminates?” (106–7). If we keep divine simplicity in view, of course, we will have to say that the distinction between a Person and his procession is a subtle one, and likewise for the distinction between the Son and the Son’s personal esse. But that does not license us to exchange terms at will. In places like these, more commentary and clarification would have been helpful. Let me finish by returning to the big picture. For Legge’s Aquinas, the Son’s temporal mission as incarnate Logos is not something merely added to, but is rather an extension of, his procession from the Father; it is, in Legge’s formulation, “the Son’s Trinitarian procession as extended into time” (237). Furthermore, while of course the Spirit’s temporal mission (an extension of the Spirit’s procession) as sanctifier, illuminator, and so on, is aimed at all humans, it takes a special form in the case of Christ himself: the Spirit is “an indispensable principle of the elevation of Christ’s human nature” (6), and it is only as Spirit-filled that Christ sends the Spirit to others for the sake of their sanctification. To repeat, Christology on this approach is “Trinitarian theology clothed in flesh” (237): “The processions of the persons are the ratio, cause, origin, and exemplar of both creation and salvation” (228). This book is an extremely useful contribution to our understanding of Aquinas’s Christology and his Trinitarian theology. No doubt many will continue to say that, for Aquinas, Trinitarian theology exists in a hermetically sealed realm, never to be joined to the salvific life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. But now that we have this book, their ignorance will be culpable. Michael Gorman The Catholic University of America Washington, DC Book Reviews 979 What Does It Mean to Believe? Faith in the Thought of Joseph Ratzinger by Daniel Cardó (Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Academic, 2020), xv + 116 pp. Father Daniel Cardó’s book What Does It Mean to Believe? is a concise and penetrating synopsis of Joseph Ratzinger’s theology of faith, especially “faith as an act” (7). As any reader familiar with Ratzinger knows, the subject of faith or belief is the very axis on which his theology turns. Ratzinger identifies this question of belief as the impetus of his theological research: “I chose fundamental theology as my field because I wanted first and foremost to examine thoroughly the question: Why do we believe?” (13). Cardó has thus chosen the perfect topic to introduce readers to Ratzinger who might otherwise be too intimidated by the Pope emeritus’s countless homilies, lectures, and writings. Yet, Cardó has not merely provided us with another introduction to Ratzinger; rather, we may justly apply the author’s words regarding Ratzinger to this book and say that its “simplicity almost hides [its] erudition” (3). In this book, Cardó assembles what might be compared to a medieval catena or florilegium, as he gathers excerpts from a wide variety of Ratzinger’s works and conveniently organizes them for the reader. From the outset, Cardó contextualizes his book by presenting faith in God as the only adequate response to the contemporary scandals within the Church. In this way, he aligns his position with Ratzinger’s 2019 essay on the sexual abuse scandal, wherein the Pontiff writes: “Only where faith no longer determines the actions of man are such offenses possible. . . . Ultimately, the reason is the absence of God” (5). Thus, the origin of this book, explains Cardó, is his conviction that “understanding more deeply the richness of the act of believing can help renew our faith” (6). Following his introduction, Cardó divides his book intro three parts, each a different angle of approach to the act of faith. The first part situates the act of belief in the context of two contemporary challenges, agnosticism and relativism, and explains how doubt (not as an act of defiance but as the experience of uncertainty) is a necessary, rather than incompatible, component to trust in God. In this section, Cardó draws heavily from Ratzinger’s Introduction to Christianity, which remains an accurate assessment of faith’s place in a secular society a half-century after it was first delivered as a series of university lectures. Moreover, Cardó summarizes Ratzinger’s argument that we must reclaim a notion of faith not as a subjective feeling or opinion, but as a mode of accessing and entrusting oneself to a reality that transcends the human 980 Book Reviews capacity to examine empirically or recreate it and is for this reason the only sure ground on which to base one’s life. Agnosticism and relativism, the twin diseases of our era, deprive humans of their only reliable existential footing. Cardó writes: “Without truth, it is impossible to believe with certainty in anyone or anything. The common inability to trust and to have deep interpersonal relationships . . . are some of the characteristics of a society that believes that one cannot believe anymore” (34). In the second part of his book, Cardó considers the act of faith both as given by God and as received by humans. Just as God cannot be confined to human techne or faciens, neither can the act of faith be reduced to human effort; rather, Cardó writes, “faith is a gift that God gives to us, . . . [and] God’s giving of the gift takes precedence over human initiative” (36). Faith, according to Cardó, is an “act that has the character of an answer: that is, it is a response to the initiative of God” (35). Cardó characterizes this response as encompassing the entirety of one’s daily existence, which is carried out on the foundation of a logos that both causes and transcends human reason. The third and final section of the book describes faith as personal, integral, and ecclesial. In short, faith in Christ is an encounter with a divine person that takes the form of friendship rather than philosophical theory. For this reason, the act of belief is integral, involving not just the intellect and the will but also the affective dimension of the human person. In other words, the whole person is involved in the act of faith, which draws man into a relationship with God. Lastly, Cardó explains that faith is not only an exchange between God and the individual; rather, faith is offered through a community, the Church, and incorporates the believer into a wider body of other Christians, both those still on earth and those who, having gone before us, walk alongside the Church today even in death (96). Cardó writes: “The Church is an environment of unity of faith, in which the ‘I’ of the believer is converted from a private to an ecclesial ‘I’” (94). In this unassuming book, Fr. Cardó lucidly introduces Ratzinger’s theology of faith in a manner that demonstrates both the author’s clarity of thought and his command of the vast body of Ratzinger’s work. If Cardó were to extend his book, a section devoted to applying Ratzinger’s diagnosis of the modern world to the unique challenges that faith faces in the twenty-first century would be appreciated. This suggestion, of course, detracts nothing from the work, as it is beyond the book’s intended scope. Instead, and to his credit, Cardó takes a step back and allows the Book Reviews 981 reader to come into immediate contact with Joseph Ratzinger’s answer to the question “What does it mean to believe?” Jean-Paul Juge Boston College Chestnut Hill, MA The Light that Binds: A Study in Thomas Aquinas’s Metaphysics of the Natural Law by Stephen Brock (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2020), xv + 277 pp. How does the natural law fit the definition of law? Opinions clash among different interpreters of Saint Thomas Aquinas. Stephen Brock’s book provides both a magisterial and a definitive answer to this question. Like fine wine, this book has been fermenting and maturing for almost thirty years. Originally a doctoral dissertation, this recently published work has been rewritten, and to a certain extent, reworked by the author with respect to some of its content. Without disregard for nuances, the first chapter introduces the reader to four different groups of Aquinas’s interpreters. The first two groups question the full legal character of the natural law in its dependence to the eternal law. The third one questions its naturalness. The fourth group, instead, upholds both the divine origin of the natural law’s full legality in its dependence on the eternal law, as well as its natural character. Brock places Dom Odo Lottin, Wolfgang Kluxen, Germain Grisez, and John Finnis in the first group. They maintain that the natural law is a law only in a qualified sense and that it does not entirely fulfill the definition of law. The natural law would provide an intrinsic morality. It should be treated independently from the eternal law. The second group is composed by authors such as Frederick Copleston, Alan Donagan, or Gregory Stevens. Similar to the first group, they argue that the natural law is an autonomous self-standing law, legislated by human reason. Thus, it should be treated independently from the eternal law, except to point out its ultimate origin. The author who exemplifies the third position is Ernest Fortin. Reacting against Finnis, Fortin’s position jeopardizes the natural character of the natural law. In his view, the legal force of the first principles of practical reason is not fully actualized until one recognizes the divine institution sanctioning them. 982 Book Reviews All the authors of the fourth group uphold that the natural law is fully a law on account of its divine origin and that it is also entirely natural insofar as it is naturally known by human reason. Herein Brock places commentators of Saint Thomas such as Francisco Suarez, Dominic Farrell, Lawrence Dewan, and himself. He also includes in this last group other philosophers such as G. E. M. Anscombe and Peter Geach. In the course of his whole study, Brock shows how Aquinas’s true position differs from the other members of this group. Special attention is given to the differences between Aquinas’s true mind and the interpretations offered by Suarez, Farrell, and, to a certain degree, even by Dewan. In order to better appreciate the depth of this process, I have found it very helpful to read Farrell’s The Natural Law According to Aquinas and Suarez in conjunction with Brock’s work. The second chapter targets the natural law’s legal character in its dependence to the eternal law. It proves that Thomas provides a strict definition of the natural law when he says that it is nothing but a participation of the eternal law in the rational creature. This chapter opens with a historical study concerning the influence of the Summa Fratri Alexandri in the Summa theologiae (ST). Aquinas’s understanding of the dependence of the natural law on the eternal law turns out to be more systematic and refined. It is based on a fuller comprehension and development of what law is (the ratio legis). The remainder of the second chapter consists in a superb commentary regarding ST, I-II, q. 91, a. 2, on whether something existing in man is fit to be called a natural law. Promulgation is the element of the definition of law that specifies the different kinds of laws. Hence, the natural law is differentiated from the others by its natural promulgation, namely, by the act through which the order of the eternal law (already instituted by God) is transmitted to the rational creature. Natural reason shares in the rational character of the eternal law, thereby retaining the full form of law. Additionally, natural reason is natural to man. Therefore, it can be called “natural law.” In this way, the natural law is not independent from the eternal law. The latter is a formal component of the definition of the former. Consequently, the natural law is “an ordination of divine reason, for the common good of the universe, promulgated to man, through the instilling of the natural light of his intellect, by God, the author and governor of the universe” (61). Chapters 3–5 provide an affirmative answer to the following question: is man’s natural practical knowledge sufficient to account for the natural promulgation of the natural law? Chapter 3 opens with a discussion on the Book Reviews 983 natural knowledge of the precepts of the natural law. All people understand its common principles. Yet, not all people know God’s existence and attributes. Hence, the natural promulgation of the natural law must not entail the advertence of God. To follow Brock’s argument, it is indispensable to distinguish the natural law functioning in man from man reflecting on it and calling it a “natural law.” His argument is that the advertence of God is not needed in the first scenario. These clarifications are followed by a detailed analysis of question 94 in ST I-II. The second article is left for a more extensive analysis in the following chapter. Nevertheless, Brock already explains the general outlook of the whole quaestio: it is a discussion on how natural law is a natural perfection of the intellect. The notion of natural promulgation is further illustrated by comparing and contrasting the first precepts of the natural law with the precept of faith to believe in God. The infusion of the intellect on the rational creature is sufficient (natural) promulgation of the first precepts of the natural law: “The first impression of the command of the eternal law is a rational conception of the very order contained in the command, together with a natural inclination to act according to this conception” (77). The first precepts of the natural law are grasped as rules and measures ex ipsa ratione boni. God alone has the power to give the natural law its natural force and remain its origin. God remains the source of the precepts of the natural law and of their binding force. He makes them binding in a natural way. Their intrinsic binding force is their truth. But the source of that truth does not presuppose it. Such a source is none other than the eternal law, viewed as a full-fledged law. Thus, for instance, sins are bad because they are forbidden by God, not the other way around (see ST I-II, 71, a. 6, ad 4). “The command by which things are brought into being, God’s creative fiat, must be understood not only as the work of an artist or a maker but also as the work of a governor and legislator” (92). Nevertheless, Thomas would hold that no knowledge of God being the source of the precepts of the natural law is needed for their binding force to be experienced, that is to say, for the natural law to function in man. The reader familiar with the writings of Brock will realize that chapters 4–5 have been reworked in light of some articles written by the author after his dissertation and before the publication of the book. They can be divided into two main sets. The first set of articles concerns the famous text from ST I-II, q. 94, a. 2, on the precepts of the natural law and the natural 984 Book Reviews inclinations. The second set concerns the moral significance of the principle “art imitates nature.” In contrast with other interpreters, Brock explains that the natural inclinations mentioned in ST I-II, q. 94, a. 2, are inclinations of the human will which result from the natural knowledge reason has of their goods. Moreover, Brock explains the moral significance of the principle “art imitates nature,” pointing to the divine pedagogy and dispelling any fear of physicalism. God is the Author of the natures of irrational beings. Understanding how he guides them to their end is a good lesson for us to learn how to conduct ourselves toward our own due acts and end. We learn best, after all, from the nature of material things. Since they are the proper object of the human intellect, they are a very suitable pedagogical tools used by the divine teacher. Chapter 6 offers a detailed argument concerning the binding force of the natural law apart from the explicit knowledge of God as its author. For the most part, the book concentrates on Aquinas’s mature views, expressed in the Summa theologiae. However, the main text commented on in this chapter is from De Veritate, q. 17, a. 3. Conscience binds with the force of a divine precept. And it does so through our knowledge of the precept (“in spiritualibus praeceptum non ligat nisi per scientiam”). But the precepts and their truth, or binding force, can be known even when the person does not yet know God as the ultimate source of those precepts. Chapter 7 closes the book with an evaluation of the different positions within the fourth group of commentators in light of the analysis carried out in chapters 2–6. Special attention should be drawn to the evaluation made of Dewan and his apparent affinity with Suarez’s claim that an explicit knowledge of God is needed for the natural law to function in man. In conclusion, Brock’s work is a definitive and mature demonstration of the legal character of the natural law and of its naturalness. Its aim was not to show the internal development of Aquinas’s thought on this subject matter. Yet, I believe that it would have been beneficial to do that, on one specific point: the “natural” knowledge we have of God (In I sent., d. 3, q. 1, a. 2, ad 1; De veritate, q. 10, a. 12, ad 1; Summa contra gentiles I, ch. 11; ST I, q. 2, a. 1, ad 1; etc.). Perhaps, this would have contributed to shedding even more light on Dewan’s apparent affinity with Suarez. Angel Perez-Lopez Saint John Vianney Theological Seminary Denver, CO Book Reviews 985 Modern Biblical Criticism as a Tool of Statecraft (1700–1900) by Scott W. Hahn and Jeffrey L. Morrow (Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Academic, 2020), 312 pp. Almost anyone who has suffered through a course in biblical studies at a secular (or, increasingly so, Christian) university, read a book, or heard a lecture from one of its scholarly progenies is acquainted with the litany of hermeneutical absolutes. Among the factum historicum are the following certainties: the Enlightenment rescued the Bible from the Dark Ages; the Old Testament was shaped out of the mythical clay of Hellenism; Israel’s priesthood was a lamentable development that hijacked an earlier, socially oriented love-of-neighbor religion, replacing it with its bloodthirsty, sacrificial cult; the Documentary Hypothesis is not merely a theory, but the scientific truth of how the Pentateuch emerged; one must separate the Jesus of history from the Christ of faith; Peter and Paul clashed over their dueling Christianities; and above all, historical criticism is the only reliable lens by which the Bible is to be studied. In Modern Biblical Criticism as a Tool of Statecraft (1700–1900), Hahn and Morrow expose such positivisms as the outflow of Europe’s secularized universities over these centuries. Not only did politically motivated institutions seek to diminish the theological truths of Scripture (and sadly, were often successful at it), but they eventually repurposed the Bible as “a work of historical fiction,” such that the Sacred Page was “to be studied like other ancient myths and fairy tales; it is one fairy tale among many” (24). The authors present a thoroughly researched and meticulously detailed study of the period, and throughout the book amply demonstrate that the aforementioned tropes (and numerous others), no matter how often or how confidently recited, are merely one slant on “the story of biblical criticism” in the modern age. Taking their lead from the lead of Pope Benedict XVI, Hahn and Morrow provide a much-needed critique of historical biblical exegesis and its “appearance of quasi-scientific certainty.”1 These salient words of the biblical-theologian Pope, articulated in a variety of contexts (e.g., Verbum Domini), provide the jumping-off point for this robust three-hundredpage voyage. And it is a journey through a divided and secularized Europe, with notable stops in England, France, and above all, Germany. This “divided” Europe, the authors explain, was not a result of the Protestant 1 Pope Benedict XVI, God’s Word: Scripture—Tradition–Office, ed. Peter Hünermann and Thomas Söding, trans. Henry Taylor (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2008), 100. 986 Book Reviews Reformation, nor of the so-called “war of religions” that sprang from it—no. The divisions run much deeper still. Drawing upon Andrew Jones’s important Before Church and State, Hahn and Morrow rightly lament the societal competition that developed within late medieval Christendom between church and state.2 Building upon Jones’s work, the authors rightly stress that there indeed existed “a unified medieval worldview wherein what we might think of as temporal authorities and spiritual authorities were united in a single purpose—the extension of the kingdom of God—and this was the background that unified Christendom” (3). As Jones point out, this earlier period of European history “was a world not of the religious and the secular, but of the New Testament and the Old, of virtue and vice, grace and law. . . . It was an integral vision which included all of societal reality.”3 Sadly, the reality of “sacramental kingdoms,” in which there lived a reciprocal respect and vision of unity between throne and alter, was torn asunder long before the 1700s, the time at which the present volume commences. Over time, this formerly unified European world gave way to the very complicated, deeply skeptical, and highly politicized world of nation-states. And biblical criticism (along with many other worthy and creative endeavors), became deeply mired in “statecraft.” Here, it is worth mentioning that the book should be approached as the rightful heir to an earlier volume (which involved one of its authors, Hahn), Politicizing the Bible.4 While Modern Biblical Criticism may be intelligently read upon its own merits, the reader would do well to pick up the earlier volume. One of the many contributions of the well-written earlier book is that it directs the reader’s focus back about four centuries. Whereas most studies of this sort discuss the birth of biblical criticism in the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries, Politicizing the Bible digs deeper, into the soil of thirteenth-century Europe, and much nearer to the burgeoning fissure between church and state (see above). Behind Modern Biblical Criticism, then, is the groundwork laid in the earlier volume. As mentioned, Jones’ Before Church and State provides an additional pillar of historical support. Yet, undergirding both of these 2 3 4 Andrew Jones, Before Church and State: A Study of Social Order in the Sacramental Kingdom of St. Louis IX (Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Academic, 2017). Jones, Before Church and State, 3 (emphasis added). Scott W. Hahn and Benjamin Wiker, Politicizing the Bible: The Roots of Historical Criticism and the Secularization of Scripture, 1300—1700 (New York: Herder & Herder, 2013). Hahn and Morrow indicate that a third volume is planned, presumably from 1900 to the present day. Book Reviews 987 formidable foundations is none other than Joseph Ratzinger / Pope Benedict XVI. It was indeed the prodigious Pontiff who lit the torch now carried by Hahn and Morrow (as well as by Hahn and Benjamin Wiker in the earlier volume). In this wider context, then, Modern Biblical Criticism is not only a grand achievement as a stand-alone study, but the next worthy installment in the ongoing and essential critique of biblical criticism. Modern Biblical Criticism is eight chapters in length and includes both an introduction and a conclusion. Chapter 1 lays out the necessity of the study and the complicated nature of the task. Here, the authors summarize the main findings of Politicizing the Bible. It is far from redundant and not to be skipped over, even for those who have read the previous work, as it provides the proper historical backdrop to the present volume. Familiar figures dot the landscape of the earlier period (1300–1700), like William of Ockham, John Wycliffe, Martin Luther, and René Descartes. Hahn and Morrow unpack their key contributions, and along the way, introduce the reader to some lesser-known and surprising players, such as Marsilius of Padua, John Toland, and Niccolò Machiavelli—the last being a key influencer of the Henrician reform back in England. Although this chapter is something of a review, there is gold in its hills, and mining it is well worth one’s time. It is presented in a straightforward, and even personal way, as Hahn and Morrow take turns in synthesizing the earlier work, commenting on it from their own angle of vision. Chapter 2 begins the long ascent up the mountain of fresh, fascinating figures, along with socio-political developments, twists, turns, and surprises. There are several major take-aways here. The first is a finding which seems to have alluded most others: the changing nature of scholarly patronage in this period. This is no small detail. In fact, the “transformation of patronage” (30)—away from individual patrons of wealth and nobility to state-sponsored universities—resulted in the increasing weight and power of “the state,” and so exerted its influence upon biblical interpreters. In an eye-opening discussion, the authors carefully document the story and the “why” beneath it. The reader will appreciate the analysis of how modern biblical criticism found its initial footing in England, and not Germany as one might have believed. Nevertheless, something innovative soon began in Germany that decisively swung the pendulum back in its direction. Specifically, German biblical critics found financial support from a new type of patron: the state-sponsored and state-controlled university. This had far-reaching and long-lasting implications such that “one is even tempted to quip that 988 Book Reviews Gottingen laid the egg that [the University of ] Berlin hatched” (3).5 The second key insight in the chapter dispels the notion that there was anything like one, monolithic Enlightenment. Following Colin Brown, Hahn and Morrow explain the complex and multifaceted nature of Europe’s numerous enlightenments. The chapter closes with an important exposé of the so-called dark(er) ages as anything but (through the looking glass, indeed). Chapter 3 deepens the discussion begun earlier, and a particularly pivotal figure that emerges here is Johann Semler, one of the architects of modern criticism. Semler placed inordinate weight upon the faculties of reason to explain the Scripture. Yet, he went beyond other figures of his time by advancing the idea of mythological “condescension.” As the authors explain, “thus, truths could be couched in mythology in order to facilitate their appropriation by the ignorant” (64). Semler proposed that Jesus himself engaged in such condescension, knowing “full well that there was no such things as demons. Rather [for Semler], Jesus behaved appropriately for that cultural context in order to teach the deeper truths of God” (64; emphasis added). Chapter 4 goes on to explain the shifting nature of university studies. Included here is a helpful narrative about the “Academic Bible Versus the Scriptural Bible” (78–83), along with a review of Johann David Michaelis, who advanced the idea of Hebrew as a dead language. In chapters 5 and 6, the theme of a rising anti-Semitism (especially in Germany) begins to take on fuller force. In these later chapters of the book, Hahn and Morrow provide clear evidence that a “re-purposing” of the Bible was under way at Protestant, state-controlled universities. From the beginnings of Old Testament source criticism ( Johann Eichorn, Jean Astruc) to its full flowering (Wilhelm de Wette, Julius Wellhausen), the authors describe the secularization and historicism of the Sacred Page which was playing out en masse across Germany and, more broadly, the European continent. In chapter 7, the story of New Testament source criticism is by no means neglected, as Hahn and Morrow narrate the story of how the roots of Markan priority and the Q source lay in Wellhausen’s presuppositions about the Old Testament. They walk the reader through the radical re-thinking of the “myth” of the Gospel (Heinrich Holtzmann, Hermann Reimarus) and conclude with David Strauss’s attempts to demolish “the historical facticity of the Gospels” (180).6 By the end of chapter 8, Hahn and Morrow bring us 5 6 Citing Thomas Howard, Protestant Theology and the Making of the Modern German University (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 88. Citing Suzanne L. Marchand, Down from Olympus: Archaeology and Philhellinism in Germany, 1750–1970 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), 221. Book Reviews 989 to the end of the nineteenth century, and to the undeniable anti-Catholic / pro-Prussian atmosphere of Otto von Bismarck’s Kulturkampf. Unveiled here in all of its horror is what was allude to at the beginning of the book: “Far from emerging as a neutral and objective scientific method to get at truth, uncovering what really happened in the history the Bible tells us, modern historical-biblical criticism emerged from the work of multiple scholars over a period of centuries, each of whom were influenced by specific philosophies, theological leanings, and political motivations. . . . The biblical scholarship that emerged at the universities had state interests in mind” (23). This richly informed volume is a pleasure to read. Hahn and Morrow take an objective, scholarly approach to the topic. A lesser volume might have felt cursory, dry, bookish. Though the text is accompanied by ample annotations and followed by a considerable bibliography, it never feels arid. The authors keep the story moving, and there is indeed a narrative structure to the book. Modern Biblical Criticism is lively and fresh in its presentation, and the authors’ critiques land in a fair and charitable manner. Finally, while this book will be of particular interest to scholars and students of Scripture, Hahn and Morrow have made the volume accessible to a larger audience without compromising the immense value of its content. Steven C. Smith John the Theologian and His Paschal Gospel: A Prologue to Theology by John Behr (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), xv + 388 pp. Father Behr’s book defies summary. Its ambitions span several fields— patristics, contemporary biblical scholarship, speculative systematics, phenomenology—and Behr has controversial proposals in each. The book is not (expressly) a work of systematic theology, but its speculative élan and its ambition to give a normative account of Christian theology’s beating heart is unmistakable. If a vice of the book is vagueness on questions of burning Christological, protological, and eschatological interest, among its virtues is the verve and vividness with which it provokes such questions to begin with. Behr has written, not a book on John, but a Johannine manifesto on theology. 990 Book Reviews The book is a “symposium” in three parts, each inviting a different kind of reader of John’s gospel. The first is predominantly “historical” (the early Fathers of the Johannine school, reconstructed by modern scholarship), the second predominantly “exegetical” (contemporary biblical studies), and the third “philosophical,” with a single guest in Michel Henry. The book’s heart is an argument about what “incarnation” means. When it comes to the Incarnation, we labor, Behr says, under what Quentin Skinner calls a “mythology of doctrine,” the hermeneutical fallacy of projecting onto a tradition’s classical writers positions and whole doctrinal categories developed only later (6–8). The mythology of doctrine Behr opposes is, in fact, a mythological notion of the Incarnation as “an episode in the biography of the Word” (a phrase from Rowan Williams), the episode when a “pre-incarnate Word” is born as Jesus (3, and throughout). To break the ice on this mythology, part 1 reconstructs an original milieu for John’s Gospel—a school of John the Evangelist, centered upon an original Pascha celebration—in which “becoming flesh,” “Word,” and “human being” mean something other than the dogmatic meanings we project back onto them. This Johannine school is not the Johannine “community” posited by historical-critical studies, but the school of John’s “hearers” that J. B. Lightfoot traced from Polycarp of Smyrna, Ignatius of Antioch, Papias of Hierapolis, and Melito of Sardis down to Irenaeus (30–31). Behr’s reconstruction makes the following proposals. Our evangelist is John the Elder, the beloved disciple, not the Synoptics’ son of Zebedee. This John was plausibly an eyewitness to the crucifixion—alone among the evangelists. He authored both the Gospel and the Apocalypse bearing his name, according to near unanimous second-century tradition (76). The Apocalypse was possibly written before the Gospel, perhaps before the Temple’s destruction. John the Elder originated the yearly Pascha celebration, and it remained peculiar to his school until the second half of the second century. This feast originally celebrated the crucifixion, burial, resurrection, ascension, and Pentecost as the single event of the Passion, just as in John’s Gospel Jesus’s ascension (12:32), glorification (13:31–2), and “handing down the Spirit” (19:30) are identified with the crucifixion. Only later was the Passion’s simple white light refracted into the liturgical cycle’s rainbow of distinct feasts (91–92, 243). This reconstruction is explicitly speculative. Its purpose is to enliven our imaginations about what the evangelist’s vision may possibly be. If the mythological picture of the Incarnation is easily recognized as false, our theological traditions still have not entirely exorcised it from their standard narration. Behr proposes a Johannine narration untroubled by this Book Reviews 991 mythology. The Incarnation is not a novelty occurring for God at some moment. No previously fleshless divine agent undergoes change to become flesh at some time. The Incarnation must instead be understood “apocalyptically,” as the eternal mystery of Jesus Christ being revealed for us in time (256–57). The Incarnation is Jesus’s eternal identity as the Word being revealed and wrought in time and pro nobis by the Passion (24, 29, 257, 130). John’s Gospel should be read, in John Ashton’s words, as “an apocalypse—in reverse, upside down, inside out” (4, 99, 108–9). This inside-out apocalypse aims not at unveiling a heavenly vision, but at unveiling Jesus the Crucified as the Son of Man uniting heaven and earth. This Son of Man sends the Holy Spirit to open the disciples’ eyes to see how “the formerly closed book” of the Scriptures and of Jesus’s life all speak of God’s eternal victory in Christ, the Apocalypse’s slain lamb (122; cf. 111–12). For John, the Cross is the “apocalypse of God” par excellence, and so this apocalyptic Gospel is a “paschal gospel”: the Passion reveals and accomplishes this eternal victory in time. Following Origen and Gregory of Nyssa, the Passion is “the ‘assumption’ or ‘ascension’ (ἀνάληψις) of Christ’s human nature into the divine reality, so that,” like iron white-hot in the fire, “it is no longer known by the properties of the flesh, but rather is thoroughly permeated by, and only known by, the properties of divinity,” even while “remaining the human flesh that it is” (29). Though we once knew Jesus according to the flesh, after “the transformative event of the Passion,” we know him thus no longer: he passes out of bodily sight, and we no longer know him as the son of Joseph from Nazareth, but as the divine Word and Eucharistic flesh of the Son of Man, invisible, living flesh available across time and space (26–27, 328; 2 Cor 5:16). The Incarnation, then, is more about flesh becoming Word (in the Passion) than Word becoming flesh (29). The Passion deifies Christ’s humanity. In time, it reveals him to be the God-human he atemporally is. But his divine-human identity is not chronologically before or after his temporal becoming; it is not chronological at all. The archē of creation is precisely “the crucified Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ” (196, 264n63, 255–56; Rev 1:5, 3:14). The crucified and risen Lord Jesus, the divine-human Word, stands in no chronological relation of “before” or “after” vis-à-vis the order of temporal becoming. He is atemporally the principium of the whole order of temporal becoming (its exemplary and final cause, in language Behr does not use). His eternal identity is ontologically superordinate to his becoming in the world, so that, by his becoming (by what he does in the order of oikonomia), we come to know his atemporal identity (in the order of theologia) as God of God, the Word (248; 992 Book Reviews cf. 259–60). Although it pivots on the Cross rather than the annunciation, this picture of the Incarnation has nothing adoptionist about it, since the atemporal identity of Jesus as God of God is not in question (25–27). In all this, Fr. Behr offers considerable grist for the mill for those strains of theology for which protology and eschatology are one and the same science, for which the archē of all things is their final end. “What we will be” is what we are in our first beginning, and creation is only completed at eschatological consummation. I suspect this basic vision is what motivates some otherwise puzzling arguments, like Behr’s insistence that early Christians positively did not understand the Passion as the culmination of a narratable, linear salvation history in any sense. The originary patristic impulse, Behr says, is to see the Scriptures (our “Old Testament”) not as a linear history, but as a “mosaic” whose tiles are arranged so that the glory of the crucified may shine in the Scriptures (125, 128). The eternal Gospel, Behr says, is “veiled under” the canonical Gospel narratives as a non-narrative exhortation which causes hearers to be reborn as Christ’s members (111–13). Certainly, reading the Scriptures theologically means seeing that they are not stories distinct from the Gospel, but rather encryptions of the Passion “unlocked” by the Cross (130). And one can surely say, as Behr understands Irenaeus, that the Scriptures are merely “myths” (even if historically true), so long as they are not read as the glorious Passion veiled under narrative (124). But a both-and position is possible here. One may both hold that the crucified and resurrected Jesus is the final and exemplary cause of the whole order of temporal becoming (and so hold that history’s “end” is its “beginning”) but also hold that there is a narrative order intrinsic to the gradual rendering-intelligible, in time, of that supratemporal archē. This archē never comes to be in its eternal truth, but it still comes to be in time and pro nobis, and there must be an intelligibility to that coming-to-be. In any event, chapters 3 and 4 give us an anthropology proportionate to this Johannine vision. It is a Christological, or “martyric,” anthropology. What is “finished” ( John 19:30) in the Passion is God’s intention announced in Genesis 1:26: to make human beings in his image. The Incarnation in its widest scope is God’s creating the living human being—“the glory of God” (Irenaeus)—when, through our sharing in Jesus’s martyrdom by Eucharist, baptism, and discipleship, our flesh is joined with, and suffused by, Christ’s Spirit. Only when we pass (as Irenaeus says) from mere animated life to spirit-vivified life has the enspirited, enfleshed human being finally been completed in God’s image—in the image of Christ crucified, of whom the temporally prior Adam is the unfinished sketch (202–3, Book Reviews 993 211n33, 216). This martyrdom is the completion of the eschatological Temple (chapter 3): the ongoing enfleshment of God in those who “take up the cross to become his witnesses, born of God in their own martyrdom and born into life as living human beings” (5). Behr ends his exegetical part 2 with a rereading of John’s Prologue, the locus classicus for the mythological view he rejects. The Prologue is a “paschal hymn,” Behr says, a chiastic summary of the Gospel’s narrative of Jesus on his way to glorification on the Cross. Verse 14 speaks not of the Word’s birth from Mary, but of the crucified and risen Jesus’s enfleshment in “all who received him,” tabernacling “in” them by baptism and Eucharist (v. 12). Part 3 turns to the French phenomenologist Michel Henry. Behr finds in him the same unity of eschatology and protology. For Henry, what we are supratemporally is sons taking flesh in the Son. We are invisible flesh engendered in the arch-flesh—“the Arch-Pathos”—of the First Living One (279–80, 312). We come into true life only by returning to what we always are in our transcendental birth (316). And we make this return by undergoing the Son’s Passion as our own pathos, so “becoming flesh” with Christ and returning to this invisible life. The Word’s historical Incarnation in a visible body reminds us that our beginning and true birth is in this Word’s invisible flesh (302). Behr shows Henry to be suggesting something like what Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory of Nazianzus, and Maximus mean with their distinction between our creation by God (γένεσις) and our generation in the womb (γέννησις). In a “temporality. . . not of this world,” we are brought into life as flesh in the Arch-Pathos of the Son (our γένεσις) (295, 315–16). But in this same supratemporal moment, we reject, or “forget,” the Life into which we are engendered, and turn instead toward the world of appearances. We succumb to a “false egoism, in which the Ego considers itself to be the ground of its own life,” turning “from the source of life, Life itself.” We forget our true, filial self, grounded in the Word’s taking-flesh, and project into the world a paltry, egoistic “I,” absorbed in appearances (286). So says Maximus: Simultaneous with coming-to-be, the first human being turned the mind’s natural desire for God toward taking unnatural pleasure in perceptible things, and so brought about birth (γέννησις) as the entirely simultaneous consequence.1 The material body is the “reflection or . . . projection” of our invisible flesh. For Henry, “there 1 Quaestiones ad Thalassium 61 (Behr, 319); see also Ambigua ad Iohannem 42.3–7, in On the Difficulties in the Church Fathers, ed. and trans. Nicholas Constas (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013), 2:124–34. 994 Book Reviews is no flesh without body,” but it is our flesh that is immediately vivified by God (295). This vision is sure to find critics, and the systematic details of Behr’s proposals are not always clear. What is clear is that Behr makes a tour de force case for this vision being an Ur-form of Christian theology. Matthew Z. Vale Boston College Chestnut Hill, MA