"This is my name forever..."

Moses said to God, “But when I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ if they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what am I to tell them?” God replied, “I am who am.” Then he added, “This is what you shall tell the Israelites: I AM sent me to you.” (Exodus 3: 13-15)

Amid the torrent of human words in which we are ever immersed, it is easy to forget that God is the only true theologian. We are but thick-headed students; and our learning will go on forever even when, if our choices have permitted it, we behold his face in patria and are thus divinized by partaking of the Trinity's life. Our knowledge is and always will be relative and limited; his is absolute and infinite. The Son of God who saved us is the Word of God spoken eternally by the Father, and thus is divine in virtue of being the perfect expression of the primordial, unoriginate divine. The Name of God revealed to Moses in the burning bush, known as the Tetragrammaton (Hebrew: אהיה אשר אהיה, pronounced Ehyeh asher ehyeh), is an explosively economical expression of both who God is in himself and his grace toward his people. It means that God is Being Itself, the source of all beings, and that his presence to us abides eternally. Hearing that Name, Moses was luckier than those of us who have studied academic theology. Fortunately, he was also humbler than most who teach it.

Even so, he and his people were not spared tuition. They complained bitterly in the desert despite all that had been revealed to them and done for them. I do that too. I am in the desert and, when I neglect prayer and love, complain bitterly to God. Sometimes, I am sorry to say, it can reach the point of blasphemy. In my better moments I pray, among other things, that such an attitude will not raise my tuition even further. It helps to contemplate the Name that good Jews will not utter, inclining instead to refer to God as Hashem, "the Name". Contemplating that name, I realize that my goal awaits eternally and patiently, drawing me ever to himself despite myself. My prayer this Lent is to be in the right frame of mind when I see him face to face. I'm not holy enough to shine now with the Fire that does not consume; but there's still time to get out of my own way long enough to receive that gift eternally.

Development of doctrine, Fr. Louth, and ecumenism

Ever since, for good reasons of his own, Fr. Al Kimel sharply restricted comments at Pontifications, this site has taken on much of the Orthodox-Catholic dialogue and debate that used to occur there. At any rate, the pertinent posts of mine garner far more comments than those on any other themes. Two issues stand out: in what sense is there such a thing as authentic development of doctrine ('DD' for short); and whether those distinctively Catholic doctrines which have developed over time are compatible with what both sides profess in common, thus meeting what is rightly assumed to be a necessary condition of authenticity. The two are obviously related. Here I want to discuss the first, leaving the second to subsequent posts.

Since Catholicism takes for granted that there is such a thing as authentic DD, the question is really whether Orthodoxy can also accept the idea. Notice that I did not pose the issue as whether there is such a thing as DD simpliciter. I take for granted that there is, or has been, in each of the three major Christian traditions. So did the late, great Jaroslav Pelikan, convert from Lutheranism to Orthodoxy, among whose works I've found profitable are Development of Christian Doctrine: Some Historical Prolegomena; and his five-volume The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine. To my knowledge, Pelikan never disputed the very idea of authentic DD after his conversion to Orthodoxy; and certain Orthodox thinkers in America today, such as Fr. Patrick Henry Reardon and Prof. David Hart, also accept authentic DD in some sense.

As I've implied, a burning question is which instances of DD are "authentic." But that obviously raises the still more basic question what criteria, if any, beyond compatibility with what both sides profess in common, a developed doctrine must meet to count as authentic. With my own church and most of my interlocutors here, I further take for granted that the revelation in Jesus Christ is complete and definitive, so that no instance of DD can count as authentic if it adds in substance to the deposit of faith "delivered once-for-all to the saints" (Jude 1:3). So the question gets narrowed still further: how can DD can be authentic without constituting addition to said deposit? If a common answer to that question can be reached, we have a basis for ecumenical dialogue between Catholicism and Orthodoxy primarily, and between both and some branches of Protestantism secondarily.

A major if not the primary obstacle to reaching a common answer is a view, held by most Orthodox and conservative Protestants as well, that distinctively Catholic developments are incompatible with the substance of that faith of the Apostles which all parties claim to profess. My own and their faith commitments aside, I don't find that view plausible. For it has one of two implausible consequences: (a) the Catholic Church is simply unaware that her distinctives are incompatible with the faith the parties profess in common; or (b) Catholicism cannot be said to profess the substance of the faith.

Given the rich intellectual history of Catholicism, (a) is simply incredible on its face. Given the undisputed premise that there was a common faith in the first millennium, identical in substance with that of the Apostles, (b) entails that Catholicism since then is at best a perversion of that faith and, as such, is inspired by a spirit other than the Holy Spirit. The monks of Mt. Athos, and other Orthodox who refuse to recognize the validity of Catholic baptism or the Pope as the canonical bishop of Rome, take essentially that position, as have a good many conservative Protestants. When, in college, I was deciding between Catholicism and Orthodoxy, (b) was the key claim for me to consider.

In the end I rejected (b) because I found too much in Catholicism intellectually and spiritually—especially, but not limited to, the lives and work of her saints—to find (b) plausible. That is why I remained Catholic; and if I weren't Catholic, it would be because I believe (b). But not all the relevant non-Catholic parties seem to believe it; and it is with the Orthodox and Protestants who do not that ecumenical dialogue is possible. For reasons I lack time to rehearse, I restrict myself to the Orthodox among them. Since people such as Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew and Metropolitan John Zizioulas of Pergamum, as well as the Orthodox co-authors of the 2003 SCOBA statement, are among them, I proceed on the assumption that such dialogue is useful.

As per the recommendation of several of my Orthodox interlocutors, I have carefully read a paper by Orthodox priest and ex-Anglican Andrew Louth, written for the recent Pelikan festschrift and entitled "Is Development of Doctrine a Valid Category for Orthodox Theology?" (I could post the PDF for thirty days at XDrive, but I'm not sure that wouldn't be a copyright violation. Jonathan Prejean, please advise.) Erudite and relatively moderate, Louth's article shall serve as my focus for the rest of this post. Of course I welcome other suggestions for study, and am confident I'll get a bibliography in response.

Louth states the problem thus (page 47):

On occasions when, one might have thought, it would be of value to employ such a notion, it is striking that Orthodox theologians do not do so. A couple of examples spring to mind—the doctrine of icons and the distinction between essence and energies in the Godhead. It would seem obvious to an historian that neither the eighth-century doctrine of the necessity of making and venerating icons nor the fourteenth-century Palamite distinction between essence and energies can really be found in the fourth-century Fathers—especially, in both cases, Basil the Great—to whom appeal is generally made, yet I know of no Orthodox theologian who calls on the category of authentic development to justify the later doctrine. Development does not seem to be perceived as an available category for Orthodox theology.

Thus, what would seem obvious to the historian is, at the very least, far from obvious to the theologian. Why?

The answer is best provided by contrast. Partly under Newman's influence, the Second Vatican Council said (Dei Verbum §8; emphasis added):

...the apostolic preaching, which is expressed in a special way in the inspired books, was to be preserved by an unending succession of preachers until the end of time. Therefore the Apostles, handing on what they themselves had received, warn the faithful to hold fast to the traditions which they have learned either by word of mouth or by letter (see 2 Thess. 2:15), and to fight in defense of the faith handed on once and for all (see Jude 1:3) (4) Now what was handed on by the Apostles includes everything which contributes toward the holiness of life and increase in faith of the peoples of God; and so the Church, in her teaching, life and worship, perpetuates and hands on to all generations all that she herself is, all that she believes.

This tradition which comes from the Apostles develops in the Church with the help of the Holy Spirit. (5) For there is a growth in the understanding of the realities and the words which have been handed down. This happens through the contemplation and study made by believers, who treasure these things in their hearts (see Luke, 2:19, 51) through a penetrating understanding of the spiritual realities which they experience, and through the preaching of those who have received through episcopal succession the sure gift of truth. For as the centuries succeed one another, the Church constantly moves forward toward the fullness of divine truth until the words of God reach their complete fulfillment in her.

The words of the holy fathers witness to the presence of this living tradition, whose wealth is poured into the practice and life of the believing and praying Church. Through the same tradition the Church's full canon of the sacred books is known, and the sacred writings themselves are more profoundly understood and unceasingly made active in her; and thus God, who spoke of old, uninterruptedly converses with the bride of His beloved Son; and the Holy Spirit, through whom the living voice of the Gospel resounds in the Church, and through her, in the world, leads unto all truth those who believe and makes the word of Christ dwell abundantly in them (see Col. 3:16)

By contrast, Louth approvingly quotes a "young Romanian friend" of his (p. 60; emphasis added):

Like Christ's Apostles and their immediate heirs, martyred in the first three centuries, the Christian theologians of the fourth century were not in search of a doctrine, but in search of truth. To spread the Gospel to the Gentiles meant for St. Paul to present the image of Christ in different cultural idioms, which despite their peculiarity were meant to preserve the universality of a unique proclamation. This explains why the elements of the Christian doctrine of God stemmed from the earliest times of the Church and could acquire new connotations even one thousand years after Nicaea...The profound dogmatic elaborations of the fourth century, on the side of the orthodox theologians, did not somewhere further on to a deeper level of understanding. Given their relative flexibility regarding the language, the champions of orthodoxy in the fourth century only provided new means of conceptualization of what is essentially encapsulated in the proclamation of Christ's lordship and divinity..."Development of doctrine," within and beyond the fourth century, represents not the evolution from a primitive stage (of the primitive Church) toward more recent and more intelligent levels of understanding, but the spontaneous process of unfolding of what is already given in the apostolic and unsurpassable confession of Christ as "God and Lord."

Ostensibly, the central contrast between Vatican II's view and the one being proposed by the Romanian is that the former posits an evolutionary "growth in understanding" whereas the latter, denying that kind of growth, posits only a "spontaneous process of unfolding of what is already given." Louth proposes taking the latter "a step further":

...we cannot expect to surpass the Fathers because it is as Fathers in the faith that we reverence them. This might lead to a deeper reflection, if we consider what they thought theology to be....The central theological task, as the Fathers see it, is to interpret the writings of the theologoi, that is, the Scriptures, in the light of the mystery of Christ. It is a task that cannot be surpassed; it remains for us all the touchstone of any authentic "theology" in our sense. There is no development beyond seeking, again and again, to deepen our understanding of the Scriptures in the light of the mystery of Christ (p. 61).

And from this, Louth concludes:

...though the notion of development is bound up with way of historical understanding from which we Orthodox have plenty to learn, the idea of development itself is not an acceptable category in Orthodox theology....

Historical methods, I repeat, have much to offer theology, especially perhaps Orthodox theology. What such methods implement, however, is not the tracing of some upward curve of development but rather the preserving of access in the present to the great theologians of the past. Historical theology is, if you like, a way of refreshing, or revitalizing, the memory of the Church. It prevents our paying too much attention to the clamoring voices of our contemporaries, and enables us to hear the voices of the great witnesses of the past, those to whom we owe our faith, our Fathers in the faith.

Again, emphasis is added.

I find the above puzzling to say the least. Louth insists that development of doctrine is "not an acceptable category in Orthodox theology," so that, presumably, authentic development would not be either. In context, it is clearly a Newmanesque account of development, using predominantly organic metaphors, that is being rejected; yet even on that account, authentic development consists not in addition to the deposit of faith but rather in ever-greater articulation and understanding of what is already given in the deposit. And in the same article, Louth allows that there have been "new connotations" and "new conceptualizations" until at least the 14th century, signifying the "spontaneous unfolding of what was already given"—a metaphor of growth quite similar to Newman's—and that we can "deepen our understanding" of the theologoi, i.e. the Scriptures. Presumably, the new connotations and conceptualizations Louth approves did, and would, help deepen that understanding. How, then, is what Louth allows different from what he rejects?

Apparently, he conceives the difference thus. From the Newmanesque account, adopted in essentials by Vatican II, it follows the Church over the centuries comes to understand the faith better than the Fathers, which consequence is unacceptable; whereas on the account Louth prefers, all the admittedly "new" connotations and conceptualizations that have arisen, and that presumably have enabled us to "deepen our understanding" of the Scriptures, serve at most to "revitalize" the Church's collective memory of what the Fathers taught. Thus the new connotations and conceptualizations put forth by the Fathers revitalized the Church's memory of what the Apostles taught, and historical theology today would enable us to revitalize our memory of what the "unsurpassable" Fathers taught. Hence, if there were such a thing as DD, which there isn't, it would consist in recovery not progress.

The problem with that argument is its false dichotomy between recovery and progress. If, as is granted all around, authentic DD does not consist in addition to the truth contained in the deposit of faith, then it can consist only in new articulation of the material, as distinct from formal, content of the truth fully given in the faith-once-delivered. New articulations that are authentic thus served, and would serve, as the recovery and revitalization of which Louth speaks. And that is what "deepens our understanding of the Scriptures," something whose possibility and desirability both the Fathers and Louth take for granted. In achieving that, we do not "surpass" Scripture and the Fathers in the sense of discovering more truth than they together did. We surpass them when, taking Scripture and their interpretations of it as points of departure, we formalize the same material content they did, but in ways that exhibit it ever more fully. Now unless that augmented the Church's understanding in ways in which mere repetition of canonical and patristic writings would not, there would be no point in doing it. But there's always been such a point. And that, as far as I can tell, is just the kind of authentic DD that Newman and Vatican II advocate.

It's a shame that Louth and some of his colleagues seem so averse to that. There's enough in what he's willing to allow, it seems to me, to comprise what the Catholic Church would consider authentic DD that does not constitute addition to the deposit of faith. I would prefer not to think that he and others reject the idea of authentic DD all the same merely because the Catholic Church affirms it.

Next "right": incest

Dave Morrison, author of Beyond Gay, takes note at his blog of a young German family that's unusual partly because it is large. But mainly it's unusual because the young, unmarried parents of four children are—well, brother and sister. Their attorney is going to Germany's highest court, with the usual arguments, to obtain for them the right to marry. Morrison asks: "Is anyone really surprised?" The question, of course, is rhetorical.

That's probably the most depressing thing about this. A taboo taken for granted since time immemorial is no longer taken for granted. One now has to come up with arguments against incest. And given what the courts are like throughout the so-called developed world, there's no guarantee of winning the debate. Sanity might win in the short term, but the handwriting is on the wall.

The inbreeding argument won't work anymore, or soon won't. Based on risk/benefit assessment, it's purely utilitarian; and not everybody can be expected to believe that the relevant calculations of utility outweigh arguments from alleged individual rights. Leviticus and sacred texts from other religions prohibit incest without using the inbreeding argument. The real argument, it seems to me, is from the psychological integrity of the family. But in our age, fewer and fewer people know or care what that means.

Turning toward the Lord

The Latin conversio, whence comes the English "conversion," is a translation of the Greek metanoia, meaning a change of mind or heart. Metanoia is the New Testament word for conversion, meaning repentance and turning toward the Lord for one's very life. It is a repudiation of the old, doomed self in favor of the self one will become in eternity if we let Christ truly live within us. Lent is a time for renewed conversion in that sense. And liturgy is meant to facilitate that. Unfortunately, that's exactly what liturgy in many quarters of the Catholic Church today fails to do.

Last night I attended a Sunday Mass at an average-sized parish in Charlotte. That was unusual for me. Having worked third shift Saturday night/Sunday morning, I could not get up for the liturgy I usually attend, the 11:00 am Mass at Belmont Abbey. I must say that I was appalled. The music by the teenaged choir was, without interruption or mixture, the worst of the saccharine, 70s Jesuit stuff I thought I had left behind for good after abandoning the Catholic campus ministry in college three decades ago. The priest—whom nobody would mistake for an intellectual, or even for an NPR listener—practically tied himself in knots with solecisms. His five-minute homily, which relied on The Lone Ranger as an extended metaphor, preceded a long presentation by a portly, middle-aged woman about the Diocesan Support Appeal. The chief feature of that was exhaustive number-crunching done dialogically with the congregation in the format of a quiz show. (Don't ask any more, please.) That lasted fifteen minutes; they ought to give partial indulgences for having to sit through such a thing. Toward the end of it I began reading the classifieds in my search for an affordable apartment. Catholic Social Services in the diocese, I had recently discovered, doesn't "do housing."

The announcements that immediately followed the usual drab Liturgy of the Eucharist took another ten minutes. In good Catholic fashion, I left after five of those minutes so as to beat the crowd out of the parking lot; there are, after all, few places on earth more dangerous than the parking lot of a Catholic church after Mass. All I could do as I sped forth was grit my teeth, offer it up to the Lord inside me, and make my way to my favorite pub for an oatmeal stout.

What can one say? In the Catholic Church, it is time to "reform the reform" of the liturgy so that Mass once again becomes a place where the eternal can be perceived as penetrating and elevating the temporal. One gets the sense that many Catholics, including clergy, don't even know what that means anymore. Yet as I've also observed, enough do to make such a reform doable.

A good place to start is to, um, turn toward the Lord physically. Let's bring back celebration of the Mass ad orientem, which means that both priest and people symbolically face the Lord together by facing east during those parts of the Mass when the priest addresses God on the people's behalf. For more on that topic, I recommend Fr. Scott Newman's recent post and the book he himself recommends.

Pope John Paul II's private chapel did Mass that way. There's no reason why it can't even be offered as an option for the mass of laity. I'd bet the bishops would be surprised at how well received the option would be.

Transfiguration, faith, and hope

Today's Gospel recounts the Transfiguration of Christ before Peter, James, and John. While greater souls and minds than I have sermonized on it, and I've been exposed to some of that, I've always had thoughts about the topic that I've never seen shared or addressed.

The episode of the Transfiguration tells us, among other things, that the glory of God is ordinarily hidden in the ordinary. The light that transfigured Jesus was always there; its appearance on Mount Tabor merely manifested who he really was underneath his daily appearance as a normal man. Why, then, is the Divine Light usually not manifest similarly? Most of us do not see it directly in this life. Is that solely because we are called to have faith, exercising our wills in the acceptance of that divine gift? Or is it also because, burdened and blinded by sin, we cannot see what is always there? If both, why doesn't God cure the latter and thus ease the former by manifesting the Light regularly?

One might say that the three apostles in Luke's account had the manifestation but didn't get it and hence were not transformed by it. They only "got it" after the Resurrection and Pentecost. Well, we know about all that now and have had saints in every generation to make it concrete for us. Why, then, does it seem so unreal for most of us? I sometimes catch myself telling myself: "If only I could see angels or miracles of healing or the Virgin Mary or—why not?—the Lord himself, I would be released from my struggle with depression and energized by faith, hope, and love. Others are given such gifts from time to time. Why aren't I?"

I have outgrown the cry of "Unfair!" Life is not about fairness, but about mercy and love. Then I went through a stage of accepting the pat answer: such things are unusual because they are supernatural: they are "above" nature and thus cannot be expected to happen often within the natural order without undermining that order. And that is true. But it only pushes the question back. I now ask: Why did God, in his infinite freedom, create a natural order whose supernatural destiny is more hidden by than manifest in it? Is it because that's what it means for there to be a natural order, distinct from the supernatural yet meant to be elevated by it? If so, that isn't at all obvious. If not, then what is the reason?

I don't know the answer, and I would be at least suspicious of anybody who pretends to. But it's a rich theme for meditation and a great invitation to trust. Perhaps that is the answer, or at least as much of it as is given us to know in via.

It's the demography, stupid

My vast readership knows that I've sounded the alarm before about the juxtaposition of below-replacement birthrates in the developed world and much higher birthrates in the Muslim world. I have pointed out what ought to be obvious: if present trends continue, Islam will accomplish by demographics that conquest of Western Europe which it was never able to accomplish militarily. The West is in fact dying; check out Mark Steyn's Wall Street Journal article, which originally appeared in the January New Criterion. My occasion for writing today is to apply the lesson to much of online "Christian" interaction.

Steyn says: "What's worrying is that we spend so much time worrying about things that aren't worth worrying about that we don't worry about the things we should be worrying about." That's what I'm worried about. Online at least, Christians of all stripes spend so much time debating theological fine points that they barely heed how Western civilization and its non-Western allies are evaporating before our (mostly blind) eyes. There might be some excuse for that if the unfolding disaster were unprecedented. But it isn't, so there isn't.

In the seventh century, as the Christian world had been fighting itself intellectually and militarily for a few centuries, Islam rose from the sands of Arabia to conquer half of it within a few generations. Spain aside, Christianity never recovered those realms. Yet today, even as we fight what is misnamed "the war on terror," the Islamization of Western Europe proceeds apace; the Russian and Japanese populations are already in absolute decline; and the family in the Anglosphere continues its astonishing collapse. But thank God for small mercies: people my age probably won't live to see the new Dark Ages now looming. That sad duty will have to be borne by the children we're too selfish to have enough of.

Still, there are enough Christians left who are loyal to the Great Tradition to make a difference. But we won't make a difference unless we focus together on what we need to be most worried about. We can do that only if, together, we articulate and defend our shared values with enough vigor to affect public attitudes. See, e.g., Robert George's remarks. And so, to orthodox Catholics, practicing Orthodox, and conservative Protestants, I say: Unite! Soon there will be nothing left to lose.

The study: prominent Catholics respond

A week ago I noted and briefly commented on a study done by Crisis about the state of the Catholic Church in America. I neglected to point out that, in the same issue, "seven prominent Catholics respond." To me at least, the responses are fascinating.

Here are two excerpts, one positive and one negative:

• From George Sim Johnston:

The good news right now is the apostolate going on at the grass roots, much of it inspired by the teachings of John Paul II. In most places, there is a small but critical mass of young Catholics who have responded to the late pope’s marching orders. In addition, Pope Benedict XVI, in his brilliant writings, has provided these new evangelizers with a compelling story to tell—an up-to-date Christian humanism that ought to resonate with anyone who has ears to hear. Those dioceses where the bishop and his staff are eager to promote and harness these energies are the ones that are going to thrive in the coming decades.

The other good news is the increasing number of bishops who champion a vibrant orthodoxy. We are at a tipping point in this regard. Although there are still bishops whose core convictions are political rather than apostolic, they are a minority. The statements on contraception and homosexuality that recently issued from the U.S. bishops’ conference meeting in Baltimore would not have happened a decade ago.

• From Russell Shaw:

Of the three criteria used in ranking sees, two (priestly morale and priestly vocations) concern clerics, while the third (“effective evangelization”) refers to newcomers to the Church. None reflects the situation of the great majority of Catholics—the longtime lay faithful. Casual readiness to disbelieve...is typical of an alienated, marginalized, and apparently large segment of this mass. But the laity doesn’t make it into the special report.

Both are right.

What are we examining when we examine our conscience?

Lent anticipates the Easter Triduum liturgically for good reason: if followed, the discipline of Lent helps us to live more fully the Paschal Mystery to be celebrated at the Triduum. We thus prepare ourselves for authentic celebration of our salvation by allowing more room for the Holy Spirit to recapitulate in us the Son's accomplishment of our salvation while on earth. That is why self-denial—both the kinds life requires and the kinds we impose on ourselves—is so important a part of Lenten discipline. But for acts of self-denial to be effective instruments of divine grace, we must strive consistently to be honest about the self we are denying. That means looking at ourselves from as much of the God's-eye point of view as we are given to share. Which brings me to conscience.

A good forum for the needed honesty is the sacrament of reconciliation, which is sometimes named by its most challenging feature: confession. Some say that a good psychotherapist helps too, and that can be true. But I have found psychotherapy useful only with a therapist who believes in God, is not committed to professional fashion or theological heresy, and who combines empathy with objectivity—which last is another way of saying that s/he knows how to love. Such are most of the qualities I also look for in a good confessor. Yet, and as is often said, confession is not the same as therapy. While it can have therapeutic effects, its most obvious focus is on how we have sinned—whether or not we also have mental-health issues related to our sins. And that is where the focus must be when the issue is our salvation: i.e., whether and how we will persevere in that transformation-in-Christ which has been wrought in us by baptism. In order to understand how we have sinned, we must conduct what the neo-scholastics came to call "examination of conscience."

One of the main reasons, if not the main reason, why relatively few Catholics go to confession these days is that they cannot conduct a meaningful examination of conscience. I have no time to go into all the reasons for that, which have been amply discussed elsewhere. (I would welcome links from those who have any to offer.) In my experience, the minority who take the notion seriously seem to think of the process as no more than going through a checklist of no-nos to see how many points one is down with God. It ought to go without saying that thinking of examination of conscience in just that way is both aversive and childish. While a checklist is necessary, it is hardly sufficient, and exclusive focus on it can actually be harmful. Accounts of what the spiritual journey is, why one lives it willy-nilly, and where one is on it are also important. But even more basic, one must know what conscience is and why it is so important. Most Catholics, even those who do not hesitate to proclaim the primacy of conscience, seem clueless about that too.

For those non-professionals interested in exploring the topic, I offer two online articles:

• A talk by Auxiliary Bishop Anthony Fisher of Sydney
• My own (brief) "The Primacy of Conscience: Real and Imagined."

I'm sure that other, still better pieces can be found out there, both online and in more traditional hard-copy form. I solicit suggestions.

Lenten Friday indulgence

No, I don't mean an all-you-can-eat fish fry. I mean that Catholics can get a plenary indulgence by doing something pretty simple today. I shall do it.

I said "simple," not "easy." To be actually received, indulgences plenary or partial require freedom from "all attachment to venial sin." Pray well, and good luck.

The Anglican Scotist on gay marriage: Round II

A year and a half ago, I took note of and criticized a theological argument for gay marriage propounded by the Anglican Scotist, Todd Bates. That post of mine prompted a defense of Bates' argument from a prominent "progressive" Catholic blogger, to which I replied. Aside from a few desultory exchanges between Bates and me in various comboxes, there the matter stood until Bates revived his argument several weeks ago at his own blog. His argument has been burnished by gloss to take account of what had been, in effect, my main objection. This time, though, the rebuttal comes from an erudite pro: Brandon of Siris. The state of the debate, with links to the posts so far by Bates and Brandon, can be found on Bates' blog.

Bates' main move has been to argue that the Pauline account of marriage as a sacrament (mysterion) of Christ's relationship with his Church applies to each member of the Church individually as well as to the Church corporately; therefore, "marriage" between males can be just as much a sacrament of said relationship as marriage between males and females. Just as in my replies, Brandon's main point of attack has been to argue that the inference in question is fallacious.

I shall be following the debate closely to see where it leads, and will step in only if I believe Brandon to be seriously misstepping. I suggest you follow it too.

The Catholic citizen's Lenten ascesis

That's on top of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, folks. The purpose of those things is to empty ourselves so that Christ can fill us and thereby give himself to others. Even in the blogosphere, it is still possible for him to do that. All of us are called.

A good manifesto about the call is from Robert P. George's NRO article "Families and First Principles," available in full only to digital or hard-copy subscribers. So I rely on Vivificat for the most pertinent passage:

Our task should be to understand the moral truth and speak it in season and out of season. We will be told by the pure pragmatists that the public is too far gone in moral relativism or even moral delinquency to be reached by a moral argument. We will be advised to make the moral arguments to the social-conservative "base" but to frame those arguments in coded language so as not scare off the soccer moms or whoever is playing their role in the next election cycle. All of this must be resisted.

We must, to be sure, practice the much-neglected and badly underrated virtue of prudence. But we must have faith that truth is luminously powerful: so that if we bear witness to the truth about, say marriage and the sanctity of human life—lovingly, civilly, but with passion and determination—and if we honor the truth in advancing our positions, then even many of our fellow citizen who now find themselves on the other side of these issues will—some sooner, some later—come around.

To speak of truth frightens many people today. At least they seem to be frightened when conservatives speak of truth. They evidently believe that people who claim to know the truth about anything—and especially about moral matters—are "fundamentalists" and potential totalitarians. But this is silly. As Hardley Arkes has patiently explained in the pages of NATIONAL REVIEW and elsewhere, those on the other side of the great debates over social issues such as abortion and marriage make truth claims—moral truth claims—all the time. They assert their positions with no less confidence and no more doubt than one finds in the advocacy of pro-lifers and defenders of conjugal marriage. They proclaim a woman's "fundamental right" to abortion. They insist with moral conviction that "love makes a family." They condemn "Bush's immoral war in Iraq." The question is not whether there are truths about the morality of abortion and the nature of marriage; the question in each case is: What is the truth?

That last question is not to be asked with the relativistic cynicism of Pontius Pilate, so common today. It is to be asked with the expectation that we have already been given enough of the answer to act upon. This Lent, let us empty ourselves of worldliness so as to be filled with the courage and hope to act accordingly.

New blog: The NeoChalcedonian

If you don't have to ask what means, this new blog is for you. Authored by William Ballow, an earnest ecclesiological enquirer who sometimes comments here, The NeoChalcedonian promises an absorbing ride along those routes of history that are relevant to the competing ecclesiological claims of the different Christian communions.

Thought for the day

The first human words quoted in Genesis are of a man's delight at his wife. The last human words quoted in Revelation are of a woman's delight at her husband. Christ's marriage with the Church restores the unity intended from the beginning.

HT to Disputations.

By contrast, this. It gets worse and worse.

The Lost Tomb of Jesus

OK, I just had to say something about that film before it airs March 4 on the, ahem, Discovery Channel. Click the title for the article I'm going by.

If this is the best they can do, we're in good shape. By "they" I mean what Schliermacher called Christianity's "cultured despisers." He didn't handle them particularly well, but we can. Atheistic controversialists haven't come up with anything new or interesting lately. As for rewriting history, just see what's been done to The DaVinci Code. The present bit of pseudo-scholarly marketing will fare no better as anti-theology than the book has.

For a few withering reviews, go here and here. (HT to Pontifications.) Be forearmed.

My main worry is not about the Western enemies of the Church, but about what Christians do to themselves by their divisions and their contracepting in the face of militant Islam.

Vanity: the dilemma

I just came across this article suggesting that today's college students are more "narcissistic" than those of the past, perhaps as a result of the emphasis on "self-esteem" in education during the 1980s and 90s.

Thus:

"We need to stop endlessly repeating 'You're special' and having children repeat that back," said the study's lead author, Professor Jean Twenge of San Diego State University. "Kids are self-centered enough already."

Twenge and her colleagues, in findings to be presented at a workshop Tuesday in San Diego on the generation gap, examined the responses of 16,475 college students nationwide who completed an evaluation called the Narcissistic Personality Inventory between 1982 and 2006.

The standardized inventory, known as the NPI, asks for responses to such statements as "If I ruled the world, it would be a better place," "I think I am a special person" and "I can live my life any way I want to."

I believe that such silly questions were asked, but I'm afraid I don't believe the conclusions drawn from what were presumably the answers.

Take the three statements quoted as having been offered on the "inventory" for a yes-or-no response. As for the first, it's one that most people would answer in the affirmative—at least if my experience is any guide. But that doesn't mean narcissism is on the rise. It's always been true that most people think things would be better if they were in charge. Next, the statement "I can live my life any way I want to" is true, but only trivially so. One "can" indeed live one's life exactly as one pleases—but only for a time, and only at a cost. When the cost becomes too great to bear, the time runs out. The question, then, should not have been whether one "can" live as one pleases. Beyond a certain age, one clearly can. The question should have been qualified: how long, and at what cost? Answers to that would have been interesting indeed.

Finally, the offering of "I am a special person" as a question is almost pricelessly idle. The article closes with a student's observation: "Besides, some of the responses on the narcissism test might not be worrisome," Dalane said. "It would be more depressing if people answered, 'No, I'm not special."' She is quite right. The students have been presented with a dilemma: if they think themselves special, that is taken as a sign of narcissism; but if they don't, that could with as much or as little justice be taken as evidence of a lack of healthy self-regard. Which is worse, I cannot say. That's the sort of thing that's depressing about the study.

Indeed, the idea that each person is special is just that double-edged. In one sense, everybody is special, for everybody has some God-given role and charism that nobody else has been given. That holds even for the "disabled." Perhaps that's all some students meant when affirming, on the inventory, that they are special. But of course, if everybody is special in that particular way, then nobody is special simpliciter. Nobody stands out just for having a role different from everybody else's. If not all college students realize that while they are of standard college age, they will learn it quite quickly when they fully enter the world of work. So saying one is special in the present sense isn't any cause to worry about proliferating narcissism.

What is more usually meant by saying that somebody is "special" is that they are special to somebody else. But most of us are special to somebody else—if only our mothers. So that doesn't get us very far either.

Of course, by affirming one is special, one might mean that one's individual role and charism really do make one stand out. Sometimes that is true; more often, it is not. But the inventory makes no such distinctions as I have been making. Largely for that reason, it is useless.

This is why I've always had a lot of difficulty with soft psychology masquerading as science. The standard methodologies do not capture the relevant subtleties. I doubt they could. Mind you, I don't doubt the value of a good psychotherapist for some people. But good therapy is more of an art than a science. And as for spiritual growth—well, how many reliable surveys have you seen of that?

Still, vanity or narcissism—the least dangerous form of pride—is just as much a dilemma in the spiritual life. Of certain things, it is sometimes said that "believing makes it so." Here, there's a sense in which believing makes it not so: if one believes oneself special in God's eyes, in the sense of being holier or more important than others, then one isn't. On the other hand, if one believes oneself to be the chief of sinners, that too can be vain posturing and thus threatens to become self-verifying. I know quite well that I am a sinner; but I also know it would be the height of pride for me to imagine myself the chief of sinners. I just don't have that kind of juice. Sometimes, to be sure, regarding oneself as the chief of sinners is mere overgeneralizing from one's narrow experience. But that too can lead to narcissism: in this case, that of regarding one's own experience as definitive.

I realize there is such a thing as "narcissistic personality disorder." But there aren't that many NPDers walking around, torturing those around them. Aside from them, I suggest we stop worrying. Reality has a way of curing garden-variety narcissism. We need to be more worried about how terrible so many people really feel about themselves.

Ooops, I did it again..

Two Orthodox bloggers have posted reactions to my recent series of posts reacting to the Ochlophobist's recent series of posts on pansexualism, Orthodoxy, and contraception. John of Ad Orientem and Fr. Gregory of Koinonia have both focused on the third and shortest of my series: "Does Orthodoxy allow contraception or not?" In a way I find that disappointing, since I was hoping more for reaction to my argument that allowing barrier-method contraception, as some Orthodox clergy and theologians do, is a mistake. What I've got instead is are instructions on ecclesiology from John and on pastoral economy from Fr. Gregory. But I suppose I asked for that, because I went and did again something I used to do as a teacher: I closed by raising a question. Whenever I do that, it's the question—not my position or arguments—that gets the attention.

John spends a fair amount of time explaining why I'm mistaken to expect a straightforward answer to the question, at least at this stage in history. Orthodoxy, you see, just does take a long time to settle controversial issues, if and when they are settled; it doesn't have things dictated from a single center like that church. It has bishops, after all—not just "one bishop" with an army of "mitred assistants." But once things are settled, that's it. So maybe I should ask again in a few generations, or centuries.

Such an approach, John suggests, is advantageous for ruling out a kind of "development of doctrine" that allows Rome to reverse previous doctrinal commitments swiftly and unilaterally, and thus confusingly, under the guise of "development of doctrine." So, once Orthodoxy does reach some sort of consensus on this issue, we can be confident it won't change its tune.

The digs at Rome are not only unnecessary in themselves but unhelpful from John's own viewpoint. He knows quite well that I've expended much effort showing that the Catholic Church has changed no teaching in such a way as to negate any teaching that meets her stated criteria for infallibility. To my knowledge, he has not criticized that effort. Of course, as his example he picks one of the specific issues I did not address, namely capital punishment: Rome used to approve it under certain circumstances as necessary for both the good of society and the satisfaction of justice; nowadays, says the CCC, it is "rarely if ever necessary." I didn't address that topic because I consider it obvious that what's changed is pastoral judgment in the light of changing social conditions, not any moral principle that had been taught from the beginning. That is a perfectly legitimate "development" for the better. On the specific issue of contraception, by contrast, the traditional ban has been reaffirmed with better reasons than had been given in the past. How is any of this a less trustworthy process than what Orthodoxy is undergoing regarding contraception?

Given the technological and intellectual options available today, I'm not so sure that Orthodoxy is going to reach on consensus on an issue it doesn't consider church-dividing enough to warrant a "great council." Indeed, it seems to me that Orthodoxy has been moving away from the old consensus about birth control. What was once unquestioned is now considered debatable. Unless John can predict with confidence that the outcome of the debate is also going to be a reaffirmation of the ancient doctrine, which Rome continues to uphold, he is in no position to compare Rome's handling of doctrinal development in morals unfavorably with Orthodoxy's. Any attempt to do that merely evades the interesting questions.

To his credit, Fr. Gregory does not evade and saves his dig at Catholicism for the end. Essentially, his argument is that while the traditional teaching against all forms of contraception is true, good pastoral sense calls for the spiritual father to take people's weakness and levels of spiritual development into account. What's wrong in itself is often the lesser of evils given where people are; the job is to apply economy while doing everything possible to encourage the kind of healing, ascetical regimen that Orthodox praxis embodies. Catholicism is then taken to task for failing to do the latter.

Well now. Given all the ignorance, weakness, and cultural poison out there, Fr. Gregory's application of economy is understandable; whether or not it is actually justified in Orthodox terms, I am unqualified to say. Although it leaves me unsatisfied, I can't pretend that Catholic priests do a better job. To the dig, however, I have no better reply than that of The Sarabite, Arturo Vazquez:

Give the blessing, Father.

These are very strong words, and I would hope that we would better reflect on them. It seems a bit of a broad generalization, does it not? After all, how many people in Orthodox countries actually keep the four fasts of the Church? How many actually go to church? Russia, I know, has very, very low church attendance, and I doubt that most people in Orthodox countries are practicing.

Among practicing Orthodox, what you say is the case. But you would be suprised how it is the case among serious, practicing Catholics as well. Broad generalizations do not help; our pious faithful are just as pious as your pious faithful. It is a matter of how seriously one takes one's faith. Maybe the Orthodox Church has the theoretical tools to better understand the question, but the result is always the same if genuine holiness is there.

And I think accepting the consequences of marital intercourse is very ascetical indeed. It probably takes a greater level of faith than weakening oneself from fasting.

Indeed. I would add that, if a couple is living as they ought, then the best form of birth control is children. Loving God's gifts of children as they ought leaves parents with too little energy for going at it like bunnies.

The next question I was going to ask is why so few Orthodox seem able even to field a serious question from a Catholic without getting in a dig or two at Catholicism. Don't they realize how unattractive that is? But I hereby unask the question—or at least disinvite answers. They would only reinforce what I already know the answer to be, which I wish were otherwise.

Being led into temptation

The Lord's Prayer petitions God: "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." That is why today's Gospel in the Latin-Rite Catholic calendar, Luke 4:1-13, has always puzzled me. The selection begins: "Filled with the Holy Spirit, Jesus returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days, to be tempted by the Devil." It would appear, then, that God did to the Son of God what the Son of God instructs us to ask God not to do to us. How can that be if the Church, as she has always done, presents Jesus' forty days alone in the desert as a model of asceticism and spiritual combat for us during Lent?

One explanation is that the KJV translation of the Lord's Prayer, which English-speaking Catholics still insist on using today, is misleading. The translation should really be: "Subject us not to the trial, but deliver us from the evil one," or something like that. Although I lack the specialized scholarly knowledge to know which translation is the best, the original does seem vague enough to admit more than one translation that would, inevitably, be interpretation. After all, the original Greek itself is a translation of Jesus' Aramaic. The alternative translation I've just cited is certainly one such interpretation. The idea seems to be that it's not just any old temptation we are to ask to be spared; it is obvious that none of us past the age of reason are, or are going to be, spared temptations. We are asking to be spared the sort of naked confrontation with Satan that nobody with the slightest idea of what that would mean would desire. I think that's true; but it can't be the whole story, and in fact it only heightens my puzzlement.

For such a confrontation is exactly what Jesus had in the desert; and he is our exemplar as well as our savior. Such confrontations were well-known to the desert fathers and mothers who were the progenitors of monastic spirituality. Indeed, the more serious one is about transformation in Christ and acts accordingly, the more likely one's ascesis is to occasion such a confrontation—or an experience enough like it as to make no difference. The lives of many saints confirm that. So, does the Lord's Prayer petition that we be spared something that is likely in almost direct proportion to our spiritual progress? I can't help thinking that unlikely.

Another explanation I know is the Thomistic one, which Tom Kreitzberg of Disputations expounds well today with appropriate references. St. Thomas distinguishes, rightly, between temptation in the sense of "testing," as in trials that test one's virtue, and temptation in the sense of "solicitation to evil." Clearly, God doesn't do the latter, because he cannot; so it would be unreasonable to interpret the petition in the Lord's Prayer as asking him not to do it. But does the petition really seek exemption from testing? Well, nobody beyond the age of reason is exempt from trials that test their virtue. I've had some; I've failed some. (Okay, most.) Being enjoined to ask for what one knows isn't going to be granted doesn't seem rational; and Jesus was, among many other things, rational. So, what does St. Thomas have to tell us that doesn't just reduce to the previous explanation?

According to Aquinas, "God is said to lead a person into evil by permitting him to the extent that, because of his many sins, He withdraws His grace from man, and as a result of this withdrawal man does fall into sin."

Tom glosses:

In other words, the petition amounts to, "Do not abandon us when we are tempted to sin." It is a way of praying for the promise St. Paul records in 1 Corinthians 10:13: "God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength; but with the trial he will also provide a way out, so that you may be able to bear it." By petitioning God to do what He has promised to do, we draw our own hearts, minds, and wills closer to His.

The difficulty I find here is not with the conclusion Tom draws, which is true, but with the premise Aquinas lays down. I do not believe that God "withdraws" his grace from anybody, for any reason. We are all, always, given grace sufficient for passing the really big tests. If God's grace abandons us, it is because we have already chosen to abandon it. When God chooses not to override that choice, that is respect not withdrawal.

Here's the explanation I prefer. Unlike us, Jesus was incapable of sin; hence, having nothing to fear from temptation himself, he was led to experience it so that his successful resistance would strengthen us to succeed too. Indeed the entire Paschal Mystery, of which Jesus' temptation in the wilderness was an important part, suffices to provide us with the necessary strength for the temptations (in both senses of 'temptation') we will inevitably face. But it would be presumptuous of us to assume we would abide in his grace manfully enough to be guaranteed success. So, when we pray that the Father not lead us where the Spirit led Jesus, we are not asking God spare us something which he manifestly does not spare us. If we are sincere, we are performing an act of humility by which we avail ourselves of Our Savior's infinite strength.

The State of the Catholic Church in America: Diocese by Diocese

A very interesting summary bearing that title appears in the current issue of Crisis. The report will load as a PDF in your browser window, and you can print it out in a clear format for easy distribution to classes or friends.

Two conclusions stand out; one surprises me. The unsurprising conclusion is that bishops can and do significantly affect the spiritual vitality of their dioceses, and in certain particular ways that the authors describe. They reach that conclusion partly by a well-argued process of statistical elimination and partly by just talking to bishops and those who work with them.

The surprising conclusion is that the whole spectrum from vital to dismal can be found among the dioceses making up the Church in the United States. Most everybody who is not in denial is familiar with the problems; but in every region of the country, one can find dioceses that are bucking the negative trends. They provide clear, explicable examples of what works, which shows that it's possible to address the problems successfully.

Hence the mystery: why aren't the dioceses that are doing poorly addressing the problems by emulating those that are doing well? Is it primarily that there aren't enough priests who would make the right sort of bishop? Or are other factors, either on their own or in combination, more important?

I wish I had the answer. Not that any bishop would give me a job if I did....

Does Orthodoxy allow contraception or not?

I'd be interested in reactions, especially from Orthodox believers, to the online article of the above title. At the very least, there appears to have been some backtracking in Orthodoxy on the topic. And as usual, there is the problem that nobody seems to speak for Orthodoxy as such.

Anti-pansexualism: right for (some of) the wrong reasons

The Ochlophobist ('T.O.' for short) continues his series on "pansexualism" in our culture with Orthodoxy and Contraception, part II. I had already discussed Part I last Monday. I recommend the series to all.

Once again, I largely agree with T.O. about the state of sexuality in our culture and about the great need for Christians to resist and roll back what has occurred. My disagreement is with his view that non-abortifacient contraception, unlike sodomy, is not intrinsically wrong, which is only to be expected given that I am a neoCath who has blogged quite a bit about just this point, especially here. But my demurral is not merely academic. In my view, T.O.'s view on this matter is part of the problem and in no way contributes to the solution.

In my comments on Part I, I briefly explained why I believe that there is no sound theological basis for the distinction T.O. and, it seems, many other Christian thinkers want to draw. Rather than respond to that directly, T.O. gives us in a footnote (!) what he considers reasons grounded in Orthodox theology for refusing to condemn non-abortifacient contraception. Thus:

In Orthodoxy, the telos of a given act (if acts of the will can even be said to have a telos, as some moderns posit) is always to be subject to the telos of the person. Likewise, within Orthodoxy the telos of the person is not determined by the perceived telos of the acts appropriate to that person. Orthodoxy is not bottom up in its anthropology. Thus the logic: sex is meant, finally, for procreation; as a married man I am to have sex; thus my sexual activity is meant, finally, for procreation - does not work in Orthodoxy. Within Orthodoxy the "telos" of the given act is derivative of the telos of the person or persons involved. I am finally meant for salvation. My wife is finally meant for salvation. As two who have become one our marriage is to serve us as we are , finally, being saved. Sex within our marriage is to serve our telos. We are not meant to serve the "telos" of a given act. Thus God's soteriological personalism frees us from natural determinisms. This does not mean that we ignore or reject nature, quite the contrary. God intends to save me as a man, and to save my wife as a woman, and our salvation must be worked out in its proper course. But my sex and what is natural to it is meant to serve me, I am not meant to serve it. Thus, abortion always violates the telos of a person, whereas non-abortifacient birth control does not, if one accepts a modern biology with regard to then what must be the ontological status of sperm and egg (unless one can show that the use of any contraceptive necessarily involves a willful sin such as lust, greed, selfishness, etc. to such a degree that it perverts the goodness of the sexual act, in which case non-abortifacient birth control would violate the telos of the persons involved because it would involve a sinful state contrary to salvation). When someone who accepts modern biology says that non-abortifacient contraception is unnatural, they are referring to the telos of an action, primarily, and not a person, or they refer to a person only in the sense in which their telos is subject to the "telos" of the action.

In context, that seems meant as an alternative to the Catholic doctrine, which T.O. critiques as follows in the main body of the post:

I think that the best arguments against Rome's strict anti-contraception stance have to do with the manner in which Rome arrives at that conclusion. Rome uses a natural theology, via a "theology of the body" or some other such theological mechanism, to arrive at its theology of human sexuality. [I am inclined to think that most of what is called "theology of the body" today is so popular and theologically vague, even imprecise, as to be rendered useless by Orthodox. While JPII's theology of the body in the original texts is not popular (it might even be called esoteric, in the current sense of the word), it remains theologically vague, which is the curse of all personalist theologies which are derivative of Husserl and Scheler. The "theology of the body" is one of these many contemporary theological manifestations of the "Incarnational theology" fetish. If one takes issue with this or that point in such a theology, its proponent will normally suggest that one is "anti-Incarnational." When a Western "Incarnational theology" advocate suggests that an informed Eastern Orthodox believer is anti-Incarnational we have a situation which is rich in humor. Every dogmatic point concerning the Incarnation was made using Greek patristic theological language. The entire project of Eastern Orthodox theology is intended to answer the question, "Who is Jesus Christ?" Do not fret that Orthodox theology is not always in keeping with the latest philosophical/theological fads. In a few more decades it will be the "theology of something else."] In my opinion, these theologies of the body tend to lack a primacy of emphasis on the soteriology of the human person and the teleology of the human person. Theologies of the body do have a focus upon a sort of natural teleology of the body, but that is found to be lacking from an Orthodox perspective. From an Orthodox point of view, what a given act is naturally intended for is not the question. The question is, what is the person intended for? The answer is, theosis. Then with contraception the question becomes, in what way(s) might contraception help or hinder theosis? The answer to this question will not be couched in legal terms, as Orthodox frame it (given a modern biological framework). When it comes to how contraception affects the human spirit, things do tend to get legalistic and even deterministic when a theology of the body is employed. The intuition of this legalism on the part of some Orthodox causes them to reject Rome's teaching regarding contraception wholesale. Which, in the end, is fine and predictable, as Rome's teaching on contraception is not put forth in the theological language which the Orthodox Church speaks.

The "who's-more-incarnational-than-whom game"—no matter which side plays it—certainly does merit an ironic smile. Aside from that, it is idle. But I found the same kind of smile crossing my face when I compared the two passages just quoted. "Rome" is faulted for invoking something called "a theology of the body" that focuses too narrowly on the teleology of specific acts as opposed to persons, while at the same time, the one theology mentioned whose author actually called it a "theology of the body," that of Pope John Paul II, is faulted for being a "theologically vague" form of personalism! What we have here are two kinds of fallacy: false dichotomy and damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don't. I have found those particular patterns of argument depressingly common among Orthodox, on a variety of topics, when they criticize "Rome." A fertile ground for irony, indeed.

The false dichotomy is that between the moral teleology of acts and the moral teleology of persons. In the teaching of the Catholic Church, the moral significance of acts consists precisely in how they relate, either instrumentally or constitutively, to the good of the acting (and the affected) persons. That holds for "natural law" as well as moral theology; the latter integrates the former without being limited to it. And so the good of the person(s) must always be seen, either immediately or indirectly, in relation to the divine will for us. The biological processes that form part of some such acts, or in some cases naturally flow from them, have no moral significance apart from that context. But they are of course morally significant within said context. Thus Humanae Vitae, which was about birth control (§11-§13; emphasis added, footnotes omitted):

The sexual activity in which husband and wife are intimately and chastely united with one another, through which human life is transmitted, is, as the recent Council recalled, "noble and worthy.'' It does not, moreover, cease to be legitimate even when, for reasons independent of their will, it is foreseen to be infertile. For its natural adaptation to the expression and strengthening of the union of husband and wife is not thereby suppressed. The fact is, as experience shows, that new life is not the result of each and every act of sexual intercourse. God has wisely ordered laws of nature and the incidence of fertility in such a way that successive births are already naturally spaced through the inherent operation of these laws. The Church, nevertheless, in urging men to the observance of the precepts of the natural law, which it interprets by its constant doctrine, teaches that each and every marital act must of necessity retain its intrinsic relationship to the procreation of human life.

This particular doctrine, often expounded by the magisterium of the Church, is based on the inseparable connection, established by God, which man on his own initiative may not break, between the unitive significance and the procreative significance which are both inherent to the marriage act. The reason is that the fundamental nature of the marriage act, while uniting husband and wife in the closest intimacy, also renders them capable of generating new life—and this as a result of laws written into the actual nature of man and of woman. And if each of these essential qualities, the unitive and the procreative, is preserved, the use of marriage fully retains its sense of true mutual love and its ordination to the supreme responsibility of parenthood to which man is called. We believe that our contemporaries are particularly capable of seeing that this teaching is in harmony with human reason.

Men rightly observe that a conjugal act imposed on one's partner without regard to his or her condition or personal and reasonable wishes in the matter, is no true act of love, and therefore offends the moral order in its particular application to the intimate relationship of husband and wife. If they further reflect, they must also recognize that an act of mutual love which impairs the capacity to transmit life which God the Creator, through specific laws, has built into it, frustrates His design which constitutes the norm of marriage, and contradicts the will of the Author of life. Hence to use this divine gift while depriving it, even if only partially, of its meaning and purpose, is equally repugnant to the nature of man and of woman, and is consequently in opposition to the plan of God and His holy will. But to experience the gift of married love while respecting the laws of conception is to acknowledge that one is not the master of the sources of life but rather the minister of the design established by the Creator. Just as man does not have unlimited dominion over his body in general, so also, and with more particular reason, he has no such dominion over his specifically sexual faculties, for these are concerned by their very nature with the generation of life, of which God is the source. "Human life is sacred—all men must recognize that fact," Our predecessor Pope John XXIII recalled. "From its very inception it reveals the creating hand of God."

The above does not invoke the "natural" in isolation from the "personal." It does not even invoke either apart from God, our creator and our ultimate end. It cites the former two in relation to each other, and both together to the third. There is no dichotomy here between the biological and the personal, or between both on the one hand and our relationship with God on the other. So much for the alleged dichotomy.

The "damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don't" argument is that Catholic teaching is criticized, in a single paragraph, for being both too narrowly naturalistic and too vaguely personalistic. What T.O. clearly doesn't realize is the key contribution made by John Paul II's theology of the body, which was propounded in a series of audiences consisting largely of a commentary on the original union of man and woman recounted in Genesis and spoke of Christocentrically in Ephesians. By invoking natural-law norms within a biblical personalism, the late pope integrated Catholic sexual teaching into a theology of communion, whereby sex and marriage are seen as the primordial way in which humans image the tri-personal, perichoretic God outwardly and in relation to each other. The whole is both-and, not either-or: both natural law and personalism, and both together in relation to our eternal destiny. I've provided the link for anybody who cares to verify what I've just said by immersing themselves in the "esoteric" text.

Once the fallacious criticisms of Catholic teaching are cleared away, it becomes clear that, on such teaching, contraceptive sex is seen as lustful sex in which people incline to treat each other more as objects than as persons. Precisely by suppressing the procreative in favor of the unitive aspect of conjugal intercourse, by whatever means, one corrupts the unitive. That makes people less and less able to make a gift of themselves sexually in marriage as it is meant by God to be: a mysterion of Christ's relationship with his Bride, the Church.

Paul VI predicted that would happen once the contraceptive mentality set in, and he was absolutely prescient. In the last forty or fifty years, we have all observed the steady coarsening of sexuality throughout our culture. The universal availability of cheap, effective contraception has allowed people to fornicate with less cost than ever, and the effect on women has been even worse than on men. In the course of my baby-boomer lifetime, I have seen women approach if not equal men in their rates of fornication and adultery: not only are men freer than ever to treat women as sexual objects to be used and, if the whim strikes, discarded; more and more women now do the same to men. Based on my personal experience, the anecdotal evidence I've heard, and even the statistical studies I've seen cited, there seems to be little or no difference between the sexual behavior of men and women anymore. As C.S. Lewis once said, traditional Christian morality held that men ought to be as chaste as honest women were always expected to be; but now it seems women are permitted, nay expected, to be as unchaste as men have always striven to be. Sexual equality, indeed. This is the kind of equality that the widespread availability and use of cheap, effective contraception inevitably causes. It is the equality of pansexualism.

The problem would probably not be quite so bad if the only available contraceptives were "barrier"—condoms, diaphragms, IUDs, and whatnot—rather than abortifacient. But it would still be more than bad enough. The problem less the technology than the principle. Thus John Paul II (Evangelium Vitae §13):

In order to facilitate the spread of abortion, enormous sums of money have been invested and continue to be invested in the production of pharmaceutical products which make it possible to kill the fetus in the mother's womb without recourse to medical assistance. On this point, scientific research itself seems to be almost exclusively preoccupied with developing products which are ever more simple and effective in suppressing life and which at the same time are capable of removing abortion from any kind of control or social responsibility.

It is frequently asserted that contraception, if made safe and available to all, is the most effective remedy against abortion. The Catholic Church is then accused of actually promoting abortion, because she obstinately continues to teach the moral unlawfulness of contraception. When looked at carefully, this objection is clearly unfounded. It may be that many people use contraception with a view to excluding the subsequent temptation of abortion. But the negative values inherent in the "contraceptive mentality"-which is very different from responsible parenthood, lived in respect for the full truth of the conjugal act-are such that they in fact strengthen this temptation when an unwanted life is conceived. Indeed, the pro- abortion culture is especially strong precisely where the Church's teaching on contraception is rejected. Certainly, from the moral point of view contraception and abortion arespecifically different evils: the former contradicts the full truth of the sexual act as the proper expression of conjugal love, while the latter destroys the life of a human being; the former is opposed to the virtue of chastity in marriage, the latter is opposed to the virtue of justice and directly violates the divine commandment "You shall not kill".

But despite their differences of nature and moral gravity, contraception and abortion are often closely connected, as fruits of the same tree. It is true that in many cases contraception and even abortion are practised under the pressure of real- life difficulties, which nonetheless can never exonerate from striving to observe God's law fully. Still, in very many other instances such practices are rooted in a hedonistic mentality unwilling to accept responsibility in matters of sexuality, and they imply a self-centered concept of freedom, which regards procreation as an obstacle to personal fulfilment. The life which could result from a sexual encounter thus becomes an enemy to be avoided at all costs, and abortion becomes the only possible decisive response to failed contraception.

Suppressing the procreative in favor of the unitive corrupts the latter and thus makes us readier to kill for our pleasures. That is why the much-loved distinction between abortifacient and non-abortifacient contraception is useless, and worse than useless, as a way of combatting pansexualism. Although the former is wrong for an additional reason, both are also wrong for the same reason.

For those who don't want to wade through papal writings any further, I close with a neat summation by Catholic philosopher J. Budziszewski:

The greatest obstacle to the communication of Paul VI’s message is that the spirit of the age has burdened most people with a false picture of nature. Their eyes dazzled by what technology can do, when they gaze upon human nature they see not a Design, but a canvass for their own designs. Because they can sever the causal link between sex and procreation, they suppose they have severed the link between sex and procreation. This helps to explain why, despite having been vindicated by the passage of time, the Pope’s warnings about the moral and social consequences of contraception have been so roundly ignored.

First the encyclical admonishes that artificial contraception will make it easier for people to rationalize sexual immorality. When modern people hear this they are dumbfounded. If there is artificial contraception, how could any sex be immoral? The pill changed human nature, don’t you see? For old nature the old rules were necessary; for new nature we have new ones. If the new ones too should prove confining, we’ll change our nature again, just as we did before. It is the same sort of reasoning that leads some people to propose making future astronauts like tadpoles because on long space journeys they won’t need legs.

The Pope’s second warning is that husbands who become accustomed to artificial contraception will "lose respect" for their wives; finding it unnecessary to heed the cadences of feminine fertility, they will disregard the cadences of feminine feelings too, finally demanding that their wives be ready for sex at all times. Of course the Pope was right, but this is turning out to be one of those cases where the new rules too prove confining and we must "change" human nature yet again. Why can’t a woman be more like a man? With the woman’s version of Viagra, maybe she can.

Paul VI’s third admonition was that once people view artificial contraception as morally indifferent, it will become an instrument of state policy; governments will interfere in the mission which God has given intimately and exclusively to spouses. And so, of course, they have. The difficulty is that in order to object to the interference, one must believe in the mission. Anyone who regards artificial contraception as morally indifferent has already rejected the mission. But not to worry: Once women become more like men, fertility rates will fall so rapidly that not even the most obtrusive commissar will think the growth of population a threat.

The nature of a thing, said Thomas Aquinas, is a purpose implanted in it by the Divine Art, that it be moved to a determinate end. Human nature is not an object to be manipulated, but a creation to be honored: not just a collection of processes, but an embodiment of purposes. The teleological link between sex and procreation persists even after the causal link is broken, for in the long run, to demand the gift of conjugal love without its accompanying fertility is to demand the impossible. The end of saying "I will give myself to spouse but not to children" is to say "I will give myself to no one; I belong to myself." Deliberate sterility insults the past and destroys the future; it makes us like the animals, who have neither history nor hope.