Benedict: The 'True Philosopher'

It's been a while since I've said much about the whole reason I started this blog in the first place.  After all, what would In Umbris Sancti Petri be without the successor Petri?

So what is the pope up to these days, you might ask?

Well, aside from promulgating apostolic constitutions that bring Anglicans back into communion with Rome and making pastoral visits to his flock (at home and abroad), Pope Benedict has been doing what good popes do.  That is, teaching the faith.

Most recent on the roster of papally endorsed lessons has been the historical development of monastic and scholastic schools of theology--a trend that endures also throughout Ratzinger's earlier work.  Since its October 28th inception at the Wednesday audiences, the topic has seen two subsequent installments; which leads one immediately to the question: "Why?"

Naturally, as an interested student of philosophy and theology myself, I'm a big advocate of the integration of faith and reason.  And I think that Pope Benedict's persistent teaching on the importance of understanding Catholic intellectual history is evidence that, even at the level of the Church universal, the integration of faith and philosophy is absolutely critical for our very salvation.

In a recent post about Edith Stein, I stressed the importance of a Christian philosophy; and I cited St Thomas Aquinas as a key example of such a synthesis.  But here I want to touch rather on the idea that each individual Christian--insofar as he or she is a Christian--must also necessarily be a Christian philosopher.

If a "philosopher" is one-who-loves-wisdom, then it should come as no surprise that for the Church to endorse philosophy is nothing else than for the Church to endorse a love of Christ, who is the spoken Word of God himself.  In his book, The Nature and Mission of Theology, Ratzinger writes that:

As early as the second century, Justin Martyr had characterized Christianity as the true philosophy, for which he adduced two main reasons.  First, the philosopher's essential task is to search for God.  Second, the attitude of the true philosopher is to live according to the Logos and in its company; that is why Christians are the true philosophers and why Christianity is the true philosophy.

Furthermore, Ratzinger also claims that there is something else distinct about the Christian philosopher.  While he uses his intellect to discern the truth of reality through natural reason, he also "carries in his hand the Gospel, from which he learns, not words, but facts.  He is the true philosopher, because he has knowledge of the mystery of death."  This problem of death, he says, is the "only real existential question facing man" after all; and it is because of the inescapable reality of death (and of its significance and role) that the Christian can ultimately make any sense of Christ'a Passion and Resurrection--the very core of the Christian faith.

Insofar as each of us faces this harsh reality, then--and insofar as we face anything which is simply beyond us--we are true philosophers.  Moreover, inasmuch as we resolve the tension of these conflicts by an assent to faith in Christ (who conquers and makes sense of what is innately senseless) we are each Christians.  And insofar as the two coincide--which they must quite necessarily--we are indeed Christian philosophers.  Quite simply, we make sense of the mysteries we encounter not merely by natural knowledge, nor by supernatural faith, but by an integration of both.

And this is precisely what we are designed to do.

'Respectful' Research: A Gross Misrepresentation

Well, I suppose I should have seen this one coming.

Recently, the pharmaceutical group, Neocutis--which specializes in the production of burn treatments and skin creams--cited a 2005 Vatican document from the Pontifical Academy for Life in defense of its implementation of aborted fetal tissue research in the manufacturing of biomedical products.

To develop its treatments, the company uses processed skin proteins derived from the tissue of a single, aborted, 14-week-old fetus, attained from the University Hospital of Lausanne in Switzerland. Although none of the original tissue is still used, Neocutis defends its derivative research by stating that "the small skin donation that, ultimately, made the development of our treatment possible originated from a single terminated pregnancy that could not survive to term and was deemed medically necessary by the attending physicians."

Neocutis' directors released a statement, attesting to the morally disputed character of its research; but which also underscored the importance of research that is, in alleged accord with Catholic moral teaching, "respectful of the dignity of human life, and that is conducted in a highly controlled and responsible manner." ("Moral Reflection on Vaccines Prepared from Cells Derived from Aborted Human Fetuses," Pontifical Academy for Life, 2005) Ultimately, according to the Catholic News Agency, Neocutis believes that "'extremely limited use' of fetal skin tissue obtained in a respectful manner can lead to 'significant medical benefit.'" (CNA)

The real question raised by all of this seems to be: what constitutes "respectful" research; and what, ultimately, ought to be the object of such respect?

Certainly, I think, a few things are clear. First, it is clear that the Pontifical Academy for Life never intended to provide any justification for the abortion of human fetuses for any purpose whatsoever--including, even, for important and genuinely well-intentioned biomedical research. To abort a human being is always and everywhere a moral evil; and to do so with "good intentions" makes the evil no less severe. Neocutis' statement fundamentally opposes this basic stance of the Catholic Church, since it attempts to justify the abortion of the initial fetus on the grounds that the baby could not have survived to term, and that the elective termination of the pregnancy offered greater merit than would have been yielded otherwise.

Second, the directors of Neocutis (and I'm sure many other organizations and individuals) are grossly misinformed regarding their understanding of "respect," and the rightful object of respectful action. By its very nature--and certainly in the work of the Pontifical Academy for Life--respect must always and necessarily be concerned with the ultimate good of its object--not in some utilitarian sense, but rather in an absolute sense. In other words, to be "respectful" of the aborted child, whose initial skin tissue enabled the production of further processed skin proteins, is not to consider the effect such a child's vital contribution would have on the future of the biomedical industry; but rather, it is necessarily to consider what is good for that child itself. And this, for human beings, is always the opportunity for life, and the chance to flourish.

Neocutis' stance on biomedical research stemming from aborted fetal tissue is firmly rooted in an attitude of utility that quantifies human life according to the degree to which it can be used to further advance medical science; and it is strongly opposed to the dignity of human life that arises from the very incommunicable and unrepeatable personhood present in each human being.

For this reason, to have cited a Vatican document in defense of the destruction of human life is a vast misrepresentation of Catholic moral teaching, and a mistake that warrants an extreme reconsideration Neocutis' guiding principles, and subsequently a drastic change of action.

Edith Stein: A New Look at Catholic Philosophy

Each spring semester, the M.A. Philosophy Department at the Franciscan University of Steubenville holds a conference on some particular topic of study in the field of philosophy. Last year, the area of interest was Neoplatonism (in its ancient, mediaeval and modern contexts). And this year, in 2010, the conference will be devoted to the philosophical works of Edith Stein--also known as St Teresa Benedicta of the Cross.

For those who have been reading the blog for a while, you might already know that I have a great passion for studying and discussing Neoplatonism (particularly as it has influenced the history of Catholic philosophy over the centuries). Neoplatonism--most basically--is the tradition of interpreting the philosophical positions of Plato; and its adherents include personalities all the way from Aristotle (who considered himself first of all as a commentator on Plato) to Plotinus, Pseudo-Dionysius, St Augustine, St Bonaventure and--in the estimation of many--St Thomas Aquinas. All in all, Neoplatonism is a vast philosophical tradition that spans the entire history of Christian thought, and then some.

In a very real way, this year's conference on Edith Stein will be an extension of that Neoplatonism conference last year.

Edith Stein was born in Germany in 1881. She was Jewish; although at a relatively early age she lost her faith and devoted herself entirely to philosophy. She was a student of Edmund Husserl--perhaps the most influential single philosopher of the 20th century. As such, she also proved to be a great advocate of Husserl's "phenomenology"--a look at reality from the perspective of man's encounter with the essences of things; and a position that emphasizes, above all, the primacy of the ego in the question of existence.

After spending years studying and teaching, Stein converted to the Catholic faith in 1922; and in 1934 she entered the Carmelite monastery in Cologne, where she took the name, Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. After evading the Nazis for a number of years, she was finally arrested and deported to Auschwitz, where she was executed in 1942.

Stein's preparedness for martyrdom at the hands of the Nazis, nonetheless, was greatly prefigured (and evidenced) by much of her earlier philosophical work. Among her highest academic priorities were 1) providing a synoptic look at faith and philosophy as two co-dependent fields of knowledge and 2) grasping at an understanding of the Christian Trinity as the basis of a metaphysical realism. Given her background, Stein implemented Husserlian phenomenology to a great extent, always beginning her investigations from the perspective of an encounter-with-reality, and moving only subsequently to metaphysical reality itself.

Nevertheless, though, her philosophical rigor was tempered very much by an appreciation of revealed truths as equally-given in the first moments of one's experience of reality. In other words, Stein--very much like Aquinas, in his own sort of Neoplatonism--considers the Trinity as co-given alongside the impressions of "being" that arise from an Aristotelian investigation of the world. For both Stein and Thomas, the Logos (reason, understanding) is not something deduced from real-world experiences; but rather, it is something within the context of which all real-world experiences abide. As such, God-as-Logos (i.e. the Word, or the Second Person) is a co-given reality, without which an authentic understanding of the world (and of metaphysics) is simply not possible.

By reiterating Thomas' centuries-old position in her new, phenomenological terms, Stein does something for Thomistic philosophy that is entirely invaluable. Not only does she help to clarify many points in Aquinas that are often subject to criticism, but she also revitalizes his understanding of the importance (and even the very possibility) of a truly Christian philosophy; and of one that is rooted not simply in supernatural faith, but with utilizes reason to prepare the way for even deeper faith.

The philosophy of Edith Stein is a real treasure for the Catholic Church in the 21st century. Because of her relatively short life, and the volatile and anti-scholastic philosophical milieu of the 20th century, much of Stein's work has remained largely untouched by commentators and scholars. For this reason, the conference at Franciscan University in the spring of 2010 holds a great deal of potential for breaking open what has long been kept locked up in Stein's own manuscripts. The detail and spectrum of her work will ultimately prove helpful--I think--not only for the discipline of philosophy as a whole, but most especially for the area of Christian philosophy, which is in great need of renaissance and revitalization.

'Faithful' Dissent: Where's the Line?

During my days as an undergraduate student at a (Jesuit) Catholic university, one could pretty well count on the fact that most campus ministers would define themselves, proudly and primarily, as 'faithful dissenters.' "I am Catholic," they would invariably admit, "but the Church is really behind the times on [insert dogmatically defined issue here]." From small-group leaders to musicians to sacristans, almost anyone involved in serving the Catholic community at my college was somehow at odds with some aspect of Church teaching.

And in all cases--on the heels of such discordant convictions--their 'ministry' to the community suffered. Instead of attesting to the truth of the Church's magisterial authority with their very lives, they spent most of the time discussing why such-and-such was holding them back from really living out an authentic Christian vocation.

Five years after those tumultuous (and tiring) days as an undergrad, I still can't seem to escape the phenomenon of 'faithful dissent.' And, what's more, of 'faithful dissent' coupled closely with a desire to minister to the people of God. In particular, an encounter I had just last month reawakened many questions that had, for a while, lain dormant in the back of my mind. Now, again, they persist.

For the last few months, I've been heading up the Gregorian chant schola at my local parish. After singing at a Mass the other weekend, the parish organist/music director approached me to discuss how Mass had gone. "You sounded good," she said, and proceeded to mention her thoughts on chant, music and our schola as a whole. "Gregorian chant is nice," she finally said, with a bit of a chagrinned look on her face, "but I don't want to go back."

"Go back to what?" I asked.

"Back! This diocese has a tendency to go back, not forward," she suddenly retorted. "And I don't know why! It's not doing what all the other dioceses are doing; and I think our diocese needs to realize that the past is not the answer. The Church needs to realize that it won't go anywhere until it reconsiders how it does things--and starts to let women up there!" She pointed toward the sanctuary.

In less than a minute, our friendly discussion of liturgy and music degraded into a diatribe against the male, celibate priesthood, and the very foundations of the Church's teaching authority. Without so much as hinting at a reason, our music director had bypassed all logical segues and proceeded directly into a rant about 'antiquated' rituals and mediaeval hierarchical nonsenses. However, I have to admit that (sadly) I was not all that surprised. And I immediately thought back to those folks at college--those 'ministers'--whose energy was spent more on rationalizing and justifying than on serving and teaching.

In light of this most recent run-in, I'm left with the same perennial questions: namely, is it really possible for someone who dissents from a dogmatic teaching of the Church--and who dissents so vehemently--to be an authentic minister of that Church? Or, to put it a different way, what's the line beyond which one's actions in the name of the Catholic Church cease to be effectively Catholic, and start to be effectively something-else?

For my old college campus ministers, being a 'faithful dissenter' was a badge of pride; and they wore is courageously on their breasts (probably alongside a rainbow ribbon and a "Catholics for Choice" button). For my present colleague, 'faithful dissent' seems rather to arise from some long-held resentment, which betrays a deep and fundamental divergence from the faith of the Catholic Church. In both cases, Christians feel a desire to serve others; but it is a desire weighted down heavily by the burdens of constant complaint, disagreement and capriciousness. In either case, the very bedrock of ministering to others "in the Catholic tradition" (as some are wont to phrase it) is utterly compromised by the desire to hold in tension two conflicting and diametrically opposed viewpoints--i.e. that of the Church, and that of unwavering personal opinion.

Certainly, there is no easy answer to this dilemma. It is an ubiquitous one both in America and throughout the entire world. But it raises deep questions that ought to be dealt with, lest we lose sight of the responsibility of Christian ministers--in whatever capacity--to serve with honesty and integrity. If one can only give to others so much as he or she has received from the first Giver, then how much of a unified, true message can one convey who himself sees truth as negotiable and unity as simply an option?

To minister to others requires that we first be ministered to by the Church herself. If our understanding of that Church promotes any sort of disunity among its members, then we are not aspiring to the true Christian Church. And if we are not ministers of the true Church, we are not ministers to the faithful of that Church after all.

"Saint John Bosco: Mission to Love"

As far as Catholic movies go, this one seems to be top-notch.

As it occurs, the real life of St. John Bosco is already pre-dramatized: there's lots of action, plenty of heartbreak, and an ending that can only suggest the impeccable Providence of God. Don Bosco sees the beauty of his "mission to love"; and he carries it out with the joy that only a truly humble and holy man could exhibit.

Nevertheless, though, the real merit of the film is not an exaltation of Don Bosco's sanctity, but an artful and honest portrayal of the depths of his struggle, and of the diametric opposition that can exist between diverse understandings of 'social good.'

Throughout the movie, Bosco is forced to submit his own desires to help the youth of Turin to the local civil authority. While the saint recognizes the dignity of the young men--who've often turned to theivery and crime to survive in this tough industrial city--the state continuously deems the ragazzi to be beyond rehabilitation. "They are the sons of theives," attests the local prefect, and they will all turn out to be like their fathers. "Their fate," he says, "was written at birth."

Because of this, the primary conflict in the movie surrounds this stark opposition between Christian hope and social order. The government prefect, advocating judicial order, sees no place for mercy in the structure of a well-run state. Delinquents should be jailed, not coddled. However, Bosco, representing the true Christian, does not simply imply that hope in the future of such young men should be blind, or unreasoned. Instead, he is forced throughout the movie to overcome his own false suppositions, and to recognize in them a dignity that is truly aligned with man's highest capacity.

Perhaps the most striking feature of this film has nothing to do with Don Bosco himself. Instead, I think, it lies in the slow and thorough character development of various boys in Bosco's care. In particular, the interaction between two of the older boys--Bruno and Enrico, the hardest criminals in the group--and two younger--Giovanni and Michaele--evidences the heart of the movie's transformative ethos. In short, those whose fates had been most definitively 'written at their births' are in fact those who are most remarkably saved. And those boys who were, through it all, somewhat soft-hearted serve as the conduit of that salvation.

Through it all, Don Bosco is portrayed accurately as the spiritual father and driving force behind the conversion of so many souls. He is never falsely exalted; and his struggles are never subjected to some sort of fairytale euphoria. He lives, works and dies as a poor laborer, begging and crying (both to the public and to his ecclesial superiors). Although his designs to help the poor boys were not fully realized during his own life, Bosco's complete self-emptying can clearly be seen as the very Providence of God, being poured out into the lives of so many, young and old alike.

"Saint John Bosco: Mission to Love" is not only a good Catholic movie, but an artistic and well-produced movie as well. It is a credit to recent Catholic filmmaking; and it showcases the fact that every-day life--no matter its simplicity or mundane character--is the real ground upon which holiness is ultimately cultivated.

Pro-Life Updates

Much has happened since our last encounter! And although I can't possible share it all here, suffice it to say that changes in my own employment status (from "non" to "employed") have really taken away a vast chunk of my free time. So, once more, I was forced to stop writing for a while.

As many of you know, another project that's eaten up quite a bit of time—and that is currently picking up steam once again—is the movement I've helped to found: ProLife | ProPatria. In the last few weeks, lots of new things have happened—including the advent of a few new writers/editors, some leads on important connections, and the creation of a new website that will be launched by the beginning of October (same URL: www.prolifepropatria.com).

As always, I'll try my best to make some time for this site; but most of my 'teaching' efforts will have to be put forth both at school, and with the movement. If you've been a follower of this blog for long, ProLife | ProPatria will be a nice addition to your RSS feeds; and the content we discuss—coupled with the new array of fresh writers—will certainly pique your interest!

So stay tuned, and venture over to check it out!

Duruflé's Messe "Cum jubilo"

One of the most interesting things I've been a part of in recent months (or really ever, for that matter) has finally come to fruition. No, not my M.A. But it's almost as good!

Last Spring, the choir of the Pontifical North American College recorded a full-length CD of a Mass setting by the 20th century French composer, Maurice Duruflé. The record, his Messe "Cum jubilo" is now available through JAV Recordings here. For anyone interested in classical/sacred music, it's a great buy!

Altogether, the CD is an entire Mass (sung the way it ought to be!) comprised of both Gregorian chant (Introit, Alleluia, etc.) and Duruflé's compositions of the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus/Benedictus and Agnus Dei. It even includes all the prayers, propers and readings from the Mass of the Immaculate Conception—the College's patronal feast.

What's more, there's a great deal of organ improvisation as well, done by one of the most influential and noted organists in the world today: Stephen Tharp. From the bells on the first track to the organ sortie on the final, this recording is something worth checking out. Even the CD booklet has some cool pictures, and some interesting (and meditative) shots of the NAC that some might enjoy. (The cover photo, above, is the mosaic in the apse of the Immaculate Conception chapel at NAC.) Plus, you'll get to hear me sing—and you'll be supporting a good cause.

So visit JAV and pick up a copy. And play it for your kids. They will like it too! [And if they don't, you can teach them!]

Three "I-Know-Not-Whats"

In honor of the Feast of the Holy Trinity, a fellow blogger at I Limoni posted a quote from Msgr. Luigi Giussani that reads: "La Trinità vuol dire che la natura dell'Essere è comunità" ('The idea of the Trinity is to say that the very nature of being is "community"').

How often we forget about this element of our Catholic faith: the Holy Trinity. Rarely do we hear prayers addressed to the Trinity as such; rather, we generally approach the Father, or the Son or the Holy Spirit by themselves. In fact, our faith teaches this as well, that certain qualities or characteristics are associated with certain persons. But how often do we stop to think, "What does it mean to say God is three persons in one God?"

Without launching into an extravagant historical analysis of all this, it suffices to say that understanding God to be three persons in one substance goes all the way back to the early Church writers—and particularly the Cappadocian Fathers, like St. Basil the Great. For almost two-thousand years, the Church has interpreted Christ's revelation of the Father and Spirit in terms of person, or 'one in relation to another.' This is evidenced in writers like Tertullian, Athanasius, and in Basil's work especially; and it is a teaching that has endured throughout the centuries.

On the other hand, despite being able to say that there must be some relation/community in God, the idea of how that ought to be formulated has had a much rockier road. There are a myriad of various (and accurate) descriptions of the Trinitarian life, also tracing back to the early fathers, and culminating (more or less) with the Cappadocian formulation. But that doesn't mean it hasn't undergone serious challenge and 'constructive criticism' since then.

One of the best examples is that of St. Anselm of Canterbury (c. 1033AD), who even called God "three substances in one person," rather than the traditional "three persons in one substance." Although Anselm reversed the formulation, he probably did it with a specific goal in mind: to show that the Trinity is a dynamic being; and that each Person (while not a 'substance' in the classic sense) is nevertheless a subsistent relation. But this varied formulation seems to lack a certain clarity (and doctrinal force) that is maintained in the traditional formulation. In fact, Anselm concedes in the end that God is a Trinity "because of the three I know not what" (propter tres nescio quid).

The underlying point, though, is that God is Trinity; and that the Trinity is a personal community. The Father is the Father only because he stands in relation to the Son. And the Son is the Son only because he stands in relation to the Father. These relations are subsistent relations, in that they account for the very identity of the ones in relation (i.e. the divine persons).

Really, struggling with the idea of the Holy Trinity is something eminently Catholic; and something that the greatest minds and saints have been doing now for two millennia. We should continue to do the same thing, and continue to address God under his majestic and solemn title: Sancta Trinitas, unus Deus.

What's the Deal with Liturgy?

"Everything's better in Latin," say the 'traditionalists.' "Why do anything other than the red and say anything other than the black?"

On the other side of the fence, the über-progressivists contend that Mass ought to be anything but cookie-cutter. "Jesus is present in the people, and people are dynamic and alive, so Mass should be too."

Finally, for the pietists, "Mass is Mass; and as long as Jesus is present, that's all that matters."

[N.B. For those who don't care for sweeping generalizations, this post is not for you.]


So, again we ask: "What's the deal with liturgy, anyway?" Why all this hubbub about the Mass? In a few short lines, we are able to class the vast majority of liturgical sensibilities into three (fairly) tight-knit groups; and despite the (resounding) accusations that such categories are naïvely cliché, the fact is that stereotypes arise from empirical data. After all, there's probably a reason that we don't speak about neo-Arians and hyper-Origenists: no one cares. But something about the liturgy fascinates people; and it fascinates them enough to divide them into distinct and undeniable camps (regardless of what we decide to call them).

Whatever's at the heart of all this debate about the way the Mass 'ought to be' is certainly a powerful concept. It's something that must strike to the core of what it means to be a Catholic, or at least a Catholic in the twenty-first century. No doubt, this central issue is deeply connected to various ideas of how the Church ought to interact and exist in the modern world. The question of liturgy is one that permeates the entire Christian life, since it is a question of man's openness to the divine, and his practice of worshiping God, the Creator of all that is.

Really, it's this last notion, I think, that forms the real edge of liturgical disagreement and dialogue. The idea that the Catholic liturgy is the prima theologia is undeniable, even for those who are far from being theologians in any other respect. There is something unavoidably 'theological' about Mass; and I think this inevitable sense of encounter is what makes liturgy such a touchy topic.

In fact, I would be remiss in failing to admit that a certain facet of this concept of prima theologia is present in all three of the liturgical camps I mentioned initially. For the 'traditionalists,' it is apparent that the Church's authority to discern the appropriateness and fittingness of certain liturgical activities is absolute. The Church is the Body of Christ, and she is reliant upon her divine Head (whose Vicar is the pope) to distinguish what will benefit the entire Body as a whole. For the 'progressivists,' the idea of dynamism is ever present; and a dynamism that really does capture the reality of a Body fully alive. The same Body of Christ is ever growing and developing in its environment. It is the Body of a divine Person, but in human form. And for the 'pietists,' there is the simple fact that "God alone is enough." No matter the form of the Mass, or the political agendas vying for supremacy, the really important thing is that God-made-man is present among us; and we, as a Church, are there to pay him homage.


In some way, perhaps, this distinct, tripartite theologia is actually a Trinitarian theology. In other words, each emphasizes a Person of the Trinity which, unless seen in relation to the others, loses its relational subsistence. God the Father is the ungenerated font of all being, and of all Truth. He is the source of all reality, and the ultimate term by which are understood the Son and the Spirit. Accordingly, the Holy Spirit is the dynamic breath of the Father, sweeping through his creation and imbuing it with life. And finally, the Son, Jesus Christ, is the vision of the Father. He is the way we approach the Father, and the one to whom all praise and honor is due.

Ultimately, the trick with any 'theology' is in coming to get all the parts to fit together. And this is without a doubt the trick with liturgy. But the more we come to appreciate the individual contributions of any given liturgical sensibility, the more we'll come to see the Mass as a real prima theologia; and as the true vision of the Paschal Mystery that it is.

Pro-Life: Beyond the Rhetoric

With all the recent flurry in the news about the killing of Dr. George Tiller, it’s hard to avoid for very long the question: “Just what does it mean to be ‘Pro-Life’?”

On the one hand, most Catholic moral and ethical authorities have come out stating strongly, that ‘the murder of George Tiller is a gravely wicked thing, and is an absolutely unjustified transgression of the moral law.’ Their stance seeks to maintain a hermeneutic of continuity, so to speak, in the Pro-Life movement, valuing the life of both unborn babies and abortion doctors equally and without distinction. ‘Violence is never the solution’ in such cases, they say, and to kill an abortionist in cold blood is murder just as much as to kill an unborn child is murder. Rather, the ‘solution’ (for them) lies in recourse to civil authorities, and in the hope that the future will bring a reversal of the current abortion laws in America, and a defense of all life, from conception to natural death.

On the other hand, some Pro-Life activists have come out strongly in support of the slaying, noting that the exercise of lethal force is justified in such a case where the civil authorities condone the murder of children; and where Dr. Tiller’s stated intent was to continue performing such genocidal atrocities. For these people, to gun down Tiller in cold blood is not murder, but rather an implementation of a sort of “just war” theory on the civil level. In other words, from such a standpoint, the ‘murderous’ character of the slaying is alleviated by the fact that killing an abortionist is really the protection of innocent human life, which would otherwise be in imminent danger of utter destruction.

I trust that the Catholic moral authorities have stated something true. And I don’t want to launch into a debate, here, on the objective moral status of such a killing as happened in Kansas this week.

More importantly, I think, is the fact that much of the debate surrounding abortion in America today has become one of polemics and rhetoric, rather than a debate situated in the context of immediate and government-sanctioned genocide. Abortion is, as Dr. Robert George notes (regarding President Obama), not presumed to be the extermination of mere biological matter, but rather the killing of real (little) human beings. And thus, the ultimate tragedy is that an open declaration of class-genocide is in effect; and it is genocide that is fundamentally supported by American law.

This isn’t a debate between political ideologies. And it isn’t a disagreement that ought to be hashed out with rhetoric. The abortion debate in America is one that involves real, imminent, widespread murder; and murder condoned on the level of civilly sanctioned genocide.

Certainly, the reality of this debate doesn’t mean that we ought to go out and kill abortionists. But it does mean that we must, at least in our own minds and in our actions and convictions, restate the basic terms of the ‘argument.’ The reality of the plague of abortion means that we must understand the relevant object of our concept (i.e. the actual murder of unborn children), and bring it to the forefront of our consciousness. It will do no one any good to suppose that abortion is merely a word (even if a heinous, unbearable one). “Abortion” is a reality; and it ought to be treated as such.

The media frenzy covering the killing of Dr. George Tiller is, at the very least, bringing some of this reality to our immediate attention. And we should take the opportunity to make the most of it.

Pro-Obama Catholics?

In a recent debate, hosted by the Catholic University of America, Robert George and Douglas Kmiec faced off on the question: "The Obama Administration and the Sanctity of Human Life: Is there a common ground on life issues? What is the right response by 'Pro-Life' Citizens?"

For those unfamiliar with the two debaters, Robert George is a professor of jurisprudence at Princeton University, and an outspoken and poignant proponent of the Pro-Life cause; and Douglas Kmiec is a professor of constitutional law at Pepperdine University. Both men are Catholic; however both differ severely on how their faith ought to affect their decisions and actions as American citizens.

The cornerstone of the debate—and what probably caused it to occur in the first place—is the fact that Kmiec has openly supported President Obama on a number of occasions (even voting for him in the election) while George has remained staunchly opposed to the president's policies, and continually expresses heavy criticism toward those Catholics who supported him last November, knowing full-well his stance on issues of human life.

All in all, the debate unfolded like most do. Kmiec presented his case, George countered, and then they had a period of Q&A with moderator, Mary Ann Glendon. The main focus of the discussion was, quite naturally, the hard-line stance of President Obama toward anti-life legislation; and the responsibility of Catholics to act conscientiously in the face of such evil. A number of striking points were made on both sides, but the final tally was surely not in favor of Kmiec.

Perhaps the most notable aspect of the whole event was Dr. George's candid presentation of the Obama administration's shortcomings in his 20-minute portion of the debate. George is, without a doubt, a tremendous and clear-headed thinker; and his portrayal of both the pros and cons of almost any situation is bound to be thorough. Once again, he did not disappoint, leveling a barrage of hard-hitting questions against Kmiec's Catholic-Democrat position. He outlined (quite thoroughly) the fact that Obama does not deny the human fetus to be a human being, but that it has rather become a question of 'when must we treat such a being as having fundamental right?' The critical thing, George pointed out, is that Obama's pro-abortionism is not one grounded in ignorance of biological facts; but rather in the alienation of an entire demographic of American citizens.

Overall, I thought the George-Kmiec debate was a real testament to the integrity of the Pro-Life position—and especially one so grounded in philosophical and academic honesty as is presented by Robert George. I would strongly encourage anyone interested in the the roots of the Pro-Life argument to check out this video and see what they think.

Podcast (Episode #1)

I'm a young guy; and that mean's I ought to be technologically savvy. Right?

So, in an attempt to diversify the reach of In Umbris Sancti Petri (to those iTunes enthusiasts unfamiliar with the glories of Blogger), we're going to try a little podcasting.

This episode isn't much more than a prototype, but at least it will give your eyes a break for today!

The Inner Way to God (Part 2)

In the last post on Rahner’s inner approach to God by the “pre-apprehension” of being, we discussed the possibility of an encounter with God based on our ‘pressing against’ his infinite being. As we saw, Rahner believes that the best account for God’s real existence is by coming to realize his Infinity—something opposed to our human finitude. We cannot conceptualize God’s fullness. But we can experience it when we find ourselves troubled by our own finitude; and when we realize how finite our lives and actions are in relation to the Infinity beyond us.

In this post, we will get a little more theoretical. (After all, Rahner was a serious philosopher/theologian, and it doesn’t do him justice to take him too lightly.)

There are some valid critiques to Rahner’s position, which we need to look at in order to justly present his theory, and set it in relation to the fuller context of the Catholic faith. And I will try to do that as concisely and clearly as possible.

The first objection might be: “Why does such a ‘pressing against’ the Infinite mean that God must exist? Couldn’t this just be evidence of some other being beyond us and greater than us?”

Most importantly, here, is Rahner’s continual mention of “infinity.” In other words, he is not simply speaking of a being-greater-than-others, but an infinite being. And this is, at least in our Christian faith, part of the definition of God. So pressing against the Infinite (if that is really what is happening) cannot be pressing against anything other than God himself—even if it doesn’t tell us much about his personal character.

A second critique might be: “Doesn’t Rahner’s inner approach to God border dangerously on making man into his own measure (perhaps a la Feuerbach and some other modern atheists)?”

I think this is a legitimate criticism. But I also note that Rahner’s argument can be used in direct rebuttal of a full-on Feuerbachian/atheist response. In other words (for those unfamiliar with Feuerbach and modern atheism), in the Vorgriff auf das Sein, Rahner stresses the fact that this “pre-apprehension” of Infinity is not something we create; but rather something we bring to our experience of the world. Whereas Feuerbach supposed that the idea of God was a mere projection of man’s best qualities into a divine “other,” Rahner wants to maintain a strong sense of man’s finitude, and the absolute reality and existence of the divine “other” over and above man’s relation to him.

For Rahner, man brings this realization of the “I” to all of his encounters with reality. This foundational self-awareness is the “horizon” upon which he experiences the entire world. And this self-awareness continuously presses against an awareness of the Infinity beyond—that is not man. In fact, man-as-man, for Rahner, even relies on this understanding of finitude; the continual longing for an Infinity that is unachievable in human experience. But again, the fundamental response to the criticism itself is that the Vorgriff is something brought to experience, and not the effect thereof nor the projection of any sort of human quality into the realm of eternity.

In the end, I think Rahner’s argument for God from this inner approach is very striking. I think that it offers quite a bit, and augments both cosmological and ontological arguments for God’s existence.

But I think, too, that it must be read with care. And I hope that I have done this—and shown this—in these last two posts.

[Thanks to StMichael for his comments on Part I of this post, which helped in formulating the objections stated here.]

The Inner Way to God (Part 1)

There are many arguments for the existence of God. Among others are Thomas Aquinas' "Five Ways" for the cosmological existence of God, and St. Anselm's "ontological argument" for God from the perfection of his essence. The first, Thomas', explores an approach to the divine as the necessary cause of all existing things—which could not be their own causes. The second, based on ontology, argues that God's existence must be necessary since God is a perfect being, and therefore must always and unfailing exist in reality.

Here, though, I want to look at a third (and somewhat under-valued) argument for the existence of God: the inner way.

Perhaps one of the most striking cases for the inner way to God, at least in my mind, comes from Karl Rahner's argument for the Vorgriff auf das Sein. While Rahner is a rather complicated read, and to really understand his thought requires quite a bit of work, his idea of Vorgriff auf das Sein—or the "pre-apprehension of being"—is something almost anyone can come to grips with.

Rahner's basic premise lies in the fact that we, as human beings, are limited in our ability to conceptualize (i.e. form abstract notions) about things we encounter in reality. In other words, we can see a pencil, lying on a desk; and we can form a pretty good "concept" of what that pencil is in our minds (viz. yellow, thin, long, includes-eraser, sharp-pointed, etc.). Still, though, something of our concept is left lacking, and there remains an understanding of the pencil-as-a-whole that eludes us. The longer we stare at the pencil, the more we come to learn about it.

Now imagine that deficiency when it comes to our "concept" of God. We can say lots about him—that he is good, true, loving, merciful, etc.—but our abstract sense of him always fails to capture the fullness of his being. And to a far greater degree than with the pencil. Since God is immaterial, any understanding of his "essence" is one that relies on our apprehension of a spiritual reality, which isn't easy!

Rahner's idea is that, in our fundamental and 'regular' human experience, we have a "pre-apprehension" of something that transcends our situation in the world. To put it another way, although I am faced with countless particular situations each day, there is something about the "I" that is identified with me that persists no matter what the situation, and that I come to experience in a non-conceptual way. "I" am more than the decisions I make; "I" am a person who acts in the world.

This fundamental realization (pre-apprehension) of our deepest being is the basis for all further conceptualization. In fact, only because I am "I" can I possibly form a concept of the pencil on the table. It's length and color and weight are all things foreign to "me"; but when I see them and think about them, I can come to understand them.

But more importantly, my fundamental realization of myself—the Vorgriff auf das Sein—tells me quite a bit about the way I stand in relation to what is superior to me. Whenever I act or think, I always have a sense of an infinity beyond me; and an infinite number of things that I will not and cannot be/know. To be a human person is to be limited. I am what I am. But this constant pressing against the infinite, though, is a common experience shared by all human beings. And it is, in Rahner's estimation, the common acknowledgment of something beyond me and something superior to me. It is a primal acknowledgment of the Infinite that is not me. And this is God.

Resurrexit?

After a long time out of the loop and hitting the books, it seems that a little resurrection may be in order. I miss writing here, and having forayed a bit into uncharted waters outside this little haven of mine, I think there's something to be said for regular readers, familiar topics and concise, to-the-point posts.

This time off has given me the opportunity to reflect on a few things, which I'd like to mention.

1) First, having the chance to focus intently on my philosophical studies has opened a door that I never even realized existed. I'm coming to realize that philosophy, far from being the nit-picky and uneventful discipline most take it to be, is actually much more along the lines of what St. Augustine said of it: the "true religion." In fact, this view has been expressed by many great saints and theologians throughout the ages, including our own Holy Father, Pope Benedict, who writes of it in his book, The Nature and Mission of Theology.

[The theologian] carries in his hand the Gospel, from which he learns, not words, but facts. He is the true philosopher, because he has knowledge of the mystery of death.

Studying philosophy is something more than groping at reality. It is groping at the Reality. And it is one of the most important and engaging responses Christians can give in a modern world that so often seeks to extinguish this Reality.

2) Secondly, in the last months, having some time to myself and my books has also given me a wonderful opportunity to focus more on the vocation that the Lord seems to be showing to me in marriage. I am confident (partly because of my prayer, and party because of my studies) that marriage is a good thing, and am entirely sure that it is beautiful, since I see that beauty each day when I approach it. A vocational decision is something rooted in peace and joyfulness, and I can honestly say that I am filled with both of these as I more closely consider God's design of marriage, and how that plays into my own longing for fulfillment and union with another.

In particular, I think that 'going through' this intense (and radical) spiritual shift has been made easier by the people God has given to me, and by the desire he has placed in me to continue my studies. Together, they have made eminently clear what before was simply obscure and far-off. I am sincerely grateful for that.

So, all that being said, here's to a new incarnation of In Umbris Sancti Petri. I hope you will enjoy it once more; and I look forward to hearing from you all, whom I've lost touch with!