Are all Catholics equally traditional?

Recently I have come across blog posts and comments from Catholics who are displeased that certain Catholics have taken to calling themselves “traditional Catholics”, and the traditional Latin mass — now known as the “Extraordinary Form” of the mass — the “traditional mass”.  (See the posts linked to in this previous post.)

Some of these people have argued that the entire Catholic faith is essentially traditional, in that it has been handed down from generation to generation for twenty centuries (the Latin root word for “tradition” meaning literally “to hand over”), and therefore so are all Catholics.

For the same reason they argue that the mass is essentially traditional, the Ordinary Form as well as the Extraordinary.

Further, they argue that Summorum pontificum has made it juridically inappropriate to consider one mass more traditional then the other (see here).  I’m not clear on the ground for this argument, but apparently it’s something to do with the two forms of the mass now enjoying equal status under Church law.

To me such arguments seem essentially defensive in tone.  Those making them sound as if they are reacting to having been accused of not being traditional enough, and hence not Catholic enough.  And they may well have been accused of that.  Some Catholics who consider themselves “traditional” may well have implied that those who are less tradition-minded are that way because of being less wise or devoted to Catholic truth.

Thus certain Catholics, who consider themselves loyal and faithful, and by no means “Cafeteria Catholics”, are offended at the implication that they are less Catholic than others.  They feel that they are being branded that way merely by virtue of not sharing as strong an affinity for older forms of worship, architecture, music, and art, as some others.  Since these things are not of the essence of the Faith, they feel it an unfair ground of criticism.

Some have gone so far as to argue that such labels as “traditional”, “liberal” and “conservative” are bad in and of themselves, since they divide the Body of Christ into factions.  We should all simply consider ourselves “Catholics”, and should apply no other label to our fellow Catholics than that.

Traditional mass

I myself do refer to the Extraordinary Form of the Latin Rite mass (the “EF”) as the “traditional Latin mass”, or sometimes the “traditional mass” for short.  What I believe to have been the thought process leading to my use of that label is the following:  For a long time people have referred to the Ordinary Form (“OF”) as the “new mass”.  This is perfectly natural since the mass was one way for many, many centuries and then was dramatically changed after Vatican II.  One may argue that the OF is essentially the same as the EF.  Nevertheless to look at the two side-by-side, as they have been commonly celebrated, many external differences immediately jump out at you.  No one argued at the time the OF was introduced that the changes were minimal.  Most everyone perceived them as dramatic (some going so far as to call the differences “essential”).

Since the OF was called the “new mass”, it was natural to refer to the EF as the “old mass”.  However in our modern society the word “old” connotes something that is worn out, outdated and no longer useful.  Think of an old pair of shoes:  “Those are my old shoes.  You can have them if you want.  I don’t need them any more, I have new ones.  If you don’t take them I’ll just throw them out.”  We who prefer the EF don’t like those connotations.

But think of the connotations of “traditional”, as in “the traditional Thanksgiving china”.  When I was a kid my grandma had a set of china and silverware that belonged to her mother, my great-grandma, about 100 years ago.  We would use them every Thanksgiving.  Not that they were better than our newer dishes, but they provided a sense of nostalgia for the past, of continuity with previous generations, and of reverence for those who were no longer with us.

So rather than refer to the EF as the “old mass”, I chose instead to call it the “traditional mass”, connoting time-tested and time-honored, the faith of our fathers, handed down reverently from generation to generation.  This is a perfectly fair contrast to the “new mass”:   which, insofar as it differs from the old, is precisely not time-tested and time-honored, nor was it known to our fathers in the faith, nor handed down continuously from generation to generation for centuries.  That doesn’t make it bad necessarily, just less traditional.

Thus to me, it seemed the perfect adjective for distinguishing the older form of mass from the newer.  There is no necessary implication that the new mass is totally non-traditional, nor that those who like the new mass have rejected all tradition.  What it does intentionally imply is that insofar as the old mass was changed, certain things that were handed down from generation to generation — traditional things — were removed; and things that were not handed down from generation to generation — non-traditional things — were inserted.  Thus insofar as the changes between the old and the new are considered, it’s perfectly fair to consider the old mass more “traditional” than the new.  And since the term only came into use as an alternative to “old”, as a way of distinguishing the two forms of the mass, it’s perfectly fair to refer to the two forms in terms of those changes.

Traditional people

Now I would agree that it’s bad for “traditionalist” Catholics to consider themselves superior to other Catholics.  But is that necessarily what they are doing?  The holding of any opinion implies that contrary opinions are believed to be inferior.  If I didn’t think this opinion was truer than that, I would not hold it.  But is asserting the superiority of a certain set of opinions necessarily equivalent to asserting one’s own superiority?  If it were, then all opinions whatever would be forbidden by Christian charity.

But no, opinions are not forbidden by charity.  I consider the Gospel of Christ to be truer than any other religion.  But it doesn’t follow that I consider myself, as an adherent of the Gospel, to be superior to all non-Christians.

It seems to me that what is uncharitable is to interpret the expression of an opinion as a judgment against those who don’t share that opinion.  It’s uncharitable to assume that those who favor the old mass have judged themselves superior to those who prefer the new.

Who’s judging whom?

But some people object not just to people judging other people, but even to judging one form of the mass to be better than the other.  However let us not forget that for most of the past 40 years, it’s adherents of the new mass who have judged that form of the mass to be superior to the other — even to the extent of using their power to virtually suppress the older form of the mass, such that the majority of American Catholics born after Vatican II have not experienced it even once in their lives.  Even after the issuance of Summorum pontificum, many OF adherents have continued to object to the celebration of the EF, and many bishops and priests who favor the OF have refused to make provision for the celebration of EF masses even when requested to do so; or if they have made provision, have done so only minimally, at odd times and places. 

Thus if the essential problem is people judging one form of the mass to be better than the other, I think that’s a much larger problem, in terms of numbers as well as actual hindrances imposed, on the OF side than on the EF. 

 Be traditional if you want to 

If I may now be frank and controversial:  I can’t help wondering whether underlying the rather defensive tone of people who don’t like the EF being called the “traditional mass”, or EF adherents calling themselves “traditional Catholics”, is a suspicion that the OF really is less traditional, and in a sense, less Catholic, then the EF.  Perhaps it’s hard enough persuading themselves that the OF is every bit as traditional as the EF, and the last thing they need are people stating flat-out that it’s not.

But that’s wild speculation and I admit it.

But be that as it may, there’s nothing unfair or inaccurate about calling the EF the “traditional mass” and EF adherents “traditional Catholics”.  After all, OFers are welcome to apply the same label to themselves and to the OF if they want to.  If the shoe doesn’t seem to fit, that’s not our fault.

Does Donum Veritatis permit dissent?

Interlocutor kindly commented on my post “The Permissibility (or Not) of Dissent“, asking whether the instruction Donum Veritatis (DV), issued in 1990 by the Congregation for the Doctrine for the Faith, doesn’t imply the allowability of a certain degree of dissent.  I hadn’t read DV, but having now had the chance to do so, here is my answer to that question: 

DV first explains the role of theologians in the Church, which is “to pursue in a particular way an ever deeper understanding of the Word of God found in the inspired Scriptures and handed on by the living Tradition of the Church” [para. 6].  This is for the purpose of seeking the “the ‘reasons of faith’” and offering those reasons “as a response to those seeking them”, for “men cannot become disciples if the truth found in the word of faith is not presented to them” [para. 7].  In summary, the theologian helps the People of God to “contemplat[e] ever more deeply, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, the contents of the faith itself” and to “present[] the reasonableness of the faith to those who ask for an account of it” [para. 5]. 

Theologians may use “the elements and conceptual tools of philosophy or other disciplines” from the “surrounding culture”, in order to “illumine one or other aspect of the mysteries of faith”, but when it does so, “revealed doctrine … itself must furnish the criteria for the evaluation of these elements and conceptual tools and not vice versa” [para. 10].  There may be “[f]reedom of research”, but in the context of theology such freedom “means an openness to accepting the truth that emerges at the end of an investigation in which no element has intruded that is foreign to the methodology corresponding to the object under study“.  In theology the methodology, as said before, consists in using as the criteria for evaluation “[r]evelation, handed on and interpreted in the Church under the authority of the Magisterium, and received by faith.”  To do otherwise is “to cease doing theology” [para. 12].

It then reflects upon the role of the Magisterium in the Church.  I will assume that Interlocutor and I know and agree what that role is.  If not our differences may become clearer after further correspondence.

It goes on to discuss the collaboration between theologians and the Magisterium:  “The theologian, to be faithful to his role of service to the truth, must take into account the proper mission of the Magisterium and collaborate with it” [para. 20].  It must work with the Magisterium, not against it.  “[T]he theologian is officially charged with the task of presenting and illustrating the doctrine of the faith in its integrity and with full accuracy” [para. 22].

Interlocutor writes, “the assent to infallible teaching (sacred assent) is different from assent to ordinary teaching”.  Maybe so, but is dissent allowed from either?

The way DV puts it is, “When the Magisterium of the Church makes an infallible pronouncement and solemnly declares that a teaching is found in Revelation, the assent called for is that of theological faith.  This kind of adherence is to be given even to the teaching of the ordinary and universal Magisterium when it proposes for belief a teaching of faith as divinely revealed.”  [para. 23]. 

“When the Magisterium proposes ‘in a definitive way’ truths concerning faith and morals, which, even if not divinely revealed, are nevertheless strictly and intimately connected with Revelation, these must be firmly accepted and held” [para. 23]. 

Finally, “[w]hen the Magisterium, not intending to act ‘definitively’, teaches a doctrine to aid a better understanding of Revelation and make explicit its contents, or to recall how some teaching is in conformity with the truths of faith, or finally to guard against ideas that are incompatible with these truths, the response called for is that of the religious submission of will and intellect. This kind of response cannot be simply exterior or disciplinary but must be understood within the logic of faith and under the impulse of obedience to the faith.”  [para. 23]

Thus even the lowest form of teaching mentioned by DV requires “religious submission of will and intellect”.

It is only after setting forth these three levels of magisterial teaching, and the appropriate response to each, that DV begins to discuss “questions under discussion”, in paragraph 24, part of which Interlocutor quotes.  Frankly I’m not certain what “questions under discussion” refers to, but apparently they are of lower import than the three levels of Magisterial teaching just now set forth, since those were set forth in decreasing order of importance and immediately precede this paragraph.  In fact calling them “questions under discussion” seems to indicate that they are not teachings, per se, at all.  Thus to the extent that this paragraph implies the allowability of disagreement with the Magisterium, apparently it’s only to the extent that the Magisterium has not made a formal pronouncement on the question at all, which is why it remains a “question under discussion”.

Next, finally, is mentioned for the first time what might be conceived of as some slight degree of dissent on the part of theologians.  However it does not refer to “dissent” at all, but only says that the theologian may, “according to the case”, raise questions.  But before doing even that, he must “assess accurately the authoritativeness of the interventions which becomes clear from the nature of the documents, the insistence with which a teaching is repeated, and the very way in which it is expressed” [para. 24].

Further on in paragraph 24, we get an admission that “some Magisterial documents might not be free from all deficiencies” — but this refers to “the question of interventions in the prudential order”, in other words questions having to do with practical matters.  This is the context of the other section of paragraph 24 which Interlocutor quotes, concerning “some judgments of the Magisterium” which may have contained “true assertions and others which were not sure”.  It is of these, i.e. Magisterial documents concerning practical matters, that it is said that some “filtering … occurs with the passage of time”.

DV continues, speaking of possible “tensions” which “may arise between the theologian and the Magisterium”, which, depending upon “the spirit with which they are faced” can become “a stimulus to both the Magisterium and theologians to fulfill their respective roles while practicing dialogue”.  [para. 25]  But “[e]ven if the doctrine of the faith is not in question, the theologian will not present his own opinions or divergent hypotheses as though they were non-arguable conclusions” [para. 27].  Thus the theologian must proceed with caution in disagreements with the Magisterium, even when they don’t involve doctrines of the faith.  How much more so when they do?

It then discusses theologians who “might have serious difficulties … in accepting a non-irreformable magisterial teaching”.  But note that it mentions only “difficulties” in accepting — it gives no permission for outright dissent.  If someone does have difficulties, he may not base them on the ground that “the validity of the given teaching is not evident”, or that “the opinion that the opposite position would be the more probable”, nor even on the grounds of “the subjective conscience of the theologian” [para. 28].

Such a theologian must undertake “an intense and patient reflection” and “if need be, … revise his own opinions and examine the objections which his colleagues might offer him” [para. 29].  If after this his difficulties remain, he “has the duty to make known to the Magisterial authorities the problems raised by the teaching in itself, in the arguments proposed to justify it, or even in the manner in which it is presented”.  He must do this “in an evangelical spirit and with a profound desire to resolve the difficulties” [para. 30].

Note DV’s consistent use of the term “difficulties” in this context, as opposed to “dissent”.

Even then, the theologian’s “difficulty” might remain, “because the arguments to the contrary seem more persuasive to him”.  In this case, when “[f]aced with a proposition to which he feels he cannot give his intellectual assent”, is the theologian now permitted to dissent from magisterial teaching?  On the contrary, he “has the duty to remain open to a deeper examination of the question. For a loyal spirit, animated by love for the Church, such a situation can certainly prove a difficult trial. It can be a call to suffer for the truth, in silence and prayer, but with the certainty, that if the truth really is at stake, it will ultimately prevail.”  [para. 31]

Finally DV gets around to discussing “dissent” per se — identifying it immediately as a bad thing, in the chapter heading titled, “The problem of dissent”.  It turns out Paul VI issued an apostolic exhortation of “this problem”, “which must be distinguished from the situation of personal difficulties treated above” [para. 32].  So difficulties in accepting magisterial teaching are not the same as dissent. 

Dissent has “diverse forms” and multiple “remote and proximate causes”, such as “[t]he ideology of philosophical liberalism, which permeates the thinking of our age” and “[t]he weight of public opinion when manipulated and its pressure to conform”.  In any case, “[w]e are dealing … here with something quite different from the legitimate demand for freedom in the sense of absence of constraint as a necessary condition for the loyal inquiry into truth.”  [para. 32]  Indeed, “[t]he freedom of the act of faith cannot justify a right to dissent” [para. 36].  And “[f]inally, argumentation appealing to the obligation to follow one’s own conscience cannot legitimate dissent.” 

So in answer to your question, “Surely development must entail a degree of dissent?”, DVs answer is a clear “no”.  Difficulties may arise, but when that happens, theologians “should seek their solution in trustful dialogue with the Pastors, in the spirit of truth and charity which is that of the communion of the Church” [para. 40].  “To succumb to the temptation of dissent, on the other hand, is to allow the ‘leaven of infidelity to the Holy Spirit’ to start to work” [para. 40].

As Newman famously wrote, “Ten thousand difficulties do not make one doubt.”  It seems to me that by the same token, it may be said that a thousand theological difficulties do not justify dissent from the authoritative teaching of the Church.  According to DV, one must work through difficulties in concert with the Magisterium, without resorting to the rebellion against authority which is necessarily entailed in dissent.

Science and Immateriality

The following is my response to UnBeguiled’s latest comment on this thread.  It is too long to fit in his comment box.

UB writes, “Your immaterial/material distinction is irrelevant, as are natural/supernatural distinctions.”

I disagree.  Again going back to the article you linked to:  The National Academy of Science says this:  “Science is a way of knowing about the natural world. It is limited to explaining the natural world through natural causes. Science can say nothing about the supernatural.”  And the National Science Teachers Association says this:  “Similarly, science is precluded from making statements about supernatural forces because these are outside its provenance. Science has increased our knowledge because of this insistence on the search for natural causes.”

The author himself says, “God, traditionally conceived of as a non-physical, spiritual being set apart or above nature in some respect, is logically barred from being incorporated into a scientific understanding of the world.” 

And this:  “Put another way, if science as it’s currently practiced were successful in proving the existence of God, that god could no longer have the supernatural characteristics traditionally attributed to it.”

And this:  “You are free to justify what you believe is true by any and all means that suit you, e.g., appeals to faith, tradition, commonsense, intuition, revelation – whatever it may be.  But equally, you can’t compel science to lead where, by it’s very nature, it **cannot**.   Such an effort can only end in the manifest contradiction of using methods which generate ontological unity while trying to safeguard the categorically different nature of a deity, designer, or supreme intelligence. It can’t be done anymore than you can draw a round square.”  Thus trying to prove God by science is like trying to draw a round square.

Further, the “scientific method” is defined in terms of empiricism:  “To be termed scientific, a method of inquiry must be based on gathering observable, empirical and measurable evidence subject to specific principles of reasoning.” 

Empiricism is explained as follows:  “In the philosophy of science, empiricism emphasizes those aspects of scientific knowledge that are closely related to evidence, especially as discovered in experiments. It is a fundamental part of the scientific method that all hypotheses and theories must be tested against observations of the *natural* world, rather than resting solely on a priori reasoning, intuition, or revelation. Hence, science is considered to be methodologically empirical in nature.” 

An immaterial thing is by nature unobservable and thus unmeasurable.

And how would you conduct experiments on God?  When experiments are conducted on people, a control group is needed, because when people know they are being experimented upon that very knowledge can skew the results of the experiment.  Thus in a control group, “neither the doctor nor the patient know if they are receiving the drug under test or a placebo, and don’t find out which substance was administered until after the experiment is concluded”.  But God, as traditionally defined, is all-knowing — how could you possibly control for his knowing that he is being experimented upon?

Thus his immaterial and supernatural nature is absolutely relevant. 

UB writes, “I never said it was ‘the only way [of acquiring knowledge]‘. I said it was the most reliable way so far.”

An equally reliable way of acquiring knowledge is simply being told it by reliable people.  No doubt you will say that this is much less reliable than science.  But consider:  Even in the field of science, most of what you know was told you by other people whom you trusted to provide reliable information, whether your parents, teachers, scientists, or what have you; or you have read it in textbooks, on websites, etc. 

If you are a scientist, possibly you have acquired some knowledge via your own experiments.  But that would only be in one small area of one field of science.  And even then, according to scientific standards, you would not be justified in considering that information reliable since science requires experiments to be repeated by different people at different times before their results may be judged reliable.  Thus virtually all your “reliable” knowledge about science has been passed on to you by other people.

When you say that science is the “most reliable means of acquiring knowledge”, you are saying that it is more reliable than any other way.  But your scientific knowledge cannot be more reliable than the method which is used to pass it on to you.  If that method is unreliable then so is the information received via that method. 

Thus science can only be equally reliable to observation, logic, and “tradition” (which I define as the passing on of information from person to person).  To the extent that any of those other methods is considered less reliable, science itself becomes less reliable, since it is utterly reliant on those methods.

Furthermore, science can be no more reliable than the philosophy which undergirds it.  Which philosophy is basically “realism”, the belief that what we see around us is what actually exists.  (Coincidentally, this is the same philosophy which undergirds the Catholic faith:  Popes have actually issued pronouncements saying that non-realist philosophies (such as Kantianism) are incompatible with the Catholic faith.  Which is why St. Thomas Aquinas is required to be taught in Catholic seminaries.)

Science didn’t develop in a vacuum.  It had to grow out of a culture which was permeated by realist philosophy.  Before scientists could think of conducting experiments to find out things concerning the real world, they had to have a firm belief that the world was intelligible and subject to experiments which would provide knowledge about actual reality.  Thus science can’t be more reliable than realist philosophy, the underlying belief that we can know the world as it really is.  If that belief is unreliable, then so is scientific knowledge. 

Science and philosophy have in common the fact that both use observation and logic.  Science uses in addition to these experimentation, which makes it particularly well suited to investigating material phenomena, which is really all it can investigate.  Whereas philosophy, being subject to no such limitation, is capable of investigating non-material things as well.

Is “Traditional Catholicism” Controversial?

This is a continuation of a discussion which I jumped into on Catholic and Loving It (continued here), and later continued on Catholic Commentary (also here).  I am responding to the most recent post of Joe’s on the latter, but because of its length decided to post my response here instead of in his comment box.

Joe:

I’m glad you decided to continue the discussion. 

1.  Frankly, I find much of your “synopsis” confusing.  I think that’s because from the outset you start talking about “traditional Catholicism”, but without having defined it.  For example you object to “traditional Catholics” defining themselves solely with reference to the EF mass, but don’t tell us to whom you are referring by that term.  If you’re referring merely to people who prefer the EF mass, then you are using the very definition you say should be rejected.

You then refer to specific people whom you consider “traditionalist Catholics”, such as some who attended World Youth Day, and some priestly orders.  But by what criteria are you including these people under the umbrella of that term?  Is it their preference for the EF mass only?  If so, then are they not merely “Catholics”?  Why do you stick the label “traditionalist” on them?

Possibly it was part of your intention, in beginning the discussion, to arrive at a definition.  But if that’s the case shouldn’t you wait until a definition has been arrived at before proceeding to make all sorts of comments about “traditional Catholicism” and traditional Catholics, what they say and do versus what you feel they ought to be saying and doing, etc.?

2.  You write, ‘As a response to the illicit ordinations, I would say that Ecclesia Dei’s direction of glance was towards those associated with the Society of St Pius X who wished to remain in communion with the Holy See, intending that they should be given every opportunity so to do.’

I disagree in part.  I think Ecclesia Dei was intended to benefit everyone who was attached to the traditional form of mass, who are not limited to SSPX members.  (I for one have never attended an SSPX mass.)

You write, ‘But Summorum Pontificum also introduced a second direction of glance, towards the Church as a whole. This is expressed in the language of “ordinary form”-”extraordinary form”; in the agenda of “mutual enrichment”; and in the consideration that there should not be an “in principle” rejection of the ordinary form. This two-fold glance is referred to in my earlier post.’

Regarding “mutual enrichment”, the Pope’s letter accompanying Summorum pontificum says only that “the two Forms of the usage of the Roman Rite *can* be mutually enriching”, and specifies in what way:  “new Saints and some of the new Prefaces can and should be inserted in the old Missal,” and says that the Ecclesia Dei Commission “will study the practical possibilities in this regard”.  It then goes on to speak of the ways in which the mass according to the Missal of Paul VI may be enriched by the freeing of the older rite, specifically that it will “be able to demonstrate, more powerfully than has been the case hitherto, the sacrality which attracts many people to the former usage”.

But let us not forget that it was the EF, not the OF, which was largely suppressed for decades after Vatican II.  The primary purpose of SP was to point out that it was never abrogated, which in my view means it should never have been suppressed:  since it was legitimate all along it should have been allowed all along.  In reading your posts one almost gets the impression that it is EF adherents who have been suppressing the OF, rather than the other way around; and now that the oppression has ended EF adherents have an obligation to take some sort of affirmative action to help the OF get back on its feet.  I mean no offense, but from the other side of the aisle your complaints of EF attitudes of superiority and exclusivity sound rather backward. 

If anything the actual oppressors should be trying to think of ways to make amends to those who have been oppressed.  Once the availability of EF masses attains to some significant fraction of that of the OF, then maybe we can start talking about how EF adherents can help out the OF.  But for now, why not let’s concentrate on helping the emaciated ex-prisoner, stumbling and blinking in the sun, get his strength back.  (Frankly I’ve heard — from bishops and others — a lot more cries of “Put him back in!” than of “Get him some food and water!”)

3.  You write, ‘post-Summorum Pontificum, I think these institutes do need to take on board the second direction of glance, that towards the wider Church . . .”, which might involve “engagement with the ordinary form in the sense of encouraging that enrichment of the ordinary form” and “engaging in a dialogue about how the celebration of the extraordinary form might develop in the light of the mutual enrichment of the two forms’ . . .

Again it’s interesting how you put the onus on the traditionalist priestly orders (“TPOs”) to reach out to the other side and get these things accomplished.  It seems to me that if anything, it would be easier and more fitting for the local ordinaries to initiate dialogue with the TPOs.  You make it sound as if the poor bishops have been trying to do so, while the TPOs have been rebuffing them.

But more importantly, if any bishop is really interested in learning how to make his OF masses more beautiful, reverent and dignified through the influence of the EF, the obvious first step would be to instruct his priests to say more EF masses.  This would give his diocese a supply of priests who are fluent in both forms of the mass, thereby enabling the kind of cross-pollination you seem to think is needed.  The miniscule numbers of additional EF masses to have been instituted since the issuance of SP clearly indicates a lack of any such interest (if not an outright hostility) on the part of most bishops.  What are the TPOs supposed to do in the face of this?

4.  You write, ‘If I take [Agellius's] contributions as a fair reflection of the concept of “traditional Catholicism”, I still think it is defining itself in terms of affiliation to the extraordinary form and to a particular understanding of the ecclesial tradition in relation to the contemporary teaching of the Church, in particular, in relation to the Second Vatican Council.’

Would you please specify what you mean by “a particular understanding of the ecclesial tradition in relation to the contemporary teaching of the Church, in particular, in relation to the Second Vatican Council”?

You write, ‘The question of a charism that “traditional Catholicism” tries to live in the Church will, in this context, remain unanswered outside the context of the societies referred to above.’

As I define “traditional Catholicism”, a specific charism is not required.  I consider myself a Catholic, period, but one who values certain things which have been largely abandoned, and wants them restored.  That’s it.  If you believe “traditional Catholicism” needs a defined charism then you must have a different understanding of that phrase than I do.  In which case, to make our discussion more meaningful, you might want to tell me what your understanding is.

5.  You write, ‘There is a careful sense in which it should be possible to live entirely with the Catholic faith as taught by the contemporary magisterium – because it is the living expression of the “traditional magisterium”.’

I agree, it should be possible.  And I’m sure you would agree that the current Magisterium should not contradict the prior Magisterium, in which case this will never be an issue.

Too hard on the Pauline Missal?

A friend writes, “I just feel that many who prefer the older form are too hard on the Pauline Missal, and the clerics who promulgated it.”

That may be true, though I do always try to make clear that my problem is not with the Pauline Missal itself but with the new attitude towards the liturgy which was ushered in simultaneously with it.

Recently I came across the saying that “rather than conforming the liturgy to ourselves, we need to conform ourselves to the liturgy”. (I would give credit to the author but I can’t remember where I read it!) In reflecting on this in recent days I have become more and more convinced that it sums up all the post-Vatican II problems with the liturgy, and indeed in the Church as a whole.

The introduction of the new mass was accompanied by the idea that the liturgy can, and indeed should, be conformed to suit ourselves. Nobody said that straight out, instead they said the liturgy needs to be updated in order to appeal to people in modern society. We need to make it more accessible and relevant to modern man. Thereby we will attract people (who are put off by the old mass) to the Church and encourage those who have left to return.

The old liturgy (they said) is too distant, mysterious, elitist and sexist. So we’ll make it cozier, down-to-earth, democratic, and inclusive — which is really what is meant by saying that the new mass is more “welcoming”.

Suppose we grant that this is something that needed to be done in our day: That our society needs a more democratic and inclusive mass in order to make people feel welcome. But if we change the mass to meet this need, does this not imply our assent to a general principle: that the mass needs to be changed in order to meet whatever “needs” exist in the time and place in which it happens to be celebrated?

Supposing this is the case, where do we draw the line? Should the mass be changed to suit each nation, but not each province (or state) within each nation? Or should it indeed be changed to suit each province, or even each city in each province — nay the needs of each individual parish? For that matter why not the needs of each family, or each individual? Maybe every one of us needs to have a mass that meets his own particular needs.

So the principle is introduced but is neither defined nor limited in any objective way. Thus it leads to the conclusion that the mass is the subjective creation of each of us, meeting us where we’re at in order to meet our subjectively perceived needs — not something objective, given to us by God, requiring us to meet it where it’s at, which is really meeting God where God is at.

If lex orandi, lex credendi (“the law of prayer is the law of belief”) is true, there are serious consequences with this attitude. For if the “law of prayer” (the mass) is that it ought to be tailored to meet the needs of individuals in varying times and places, then the law of belief is the same, and therefore beliefs too ought to be tailored to meet our needs, rather than we conforming ourselves to beliefs which exist objectively and are taught us by an authoritative Church.

If anyone doubts that this follows logically, nevertheless we have seen it carried out in reality, in the post-Vatican II phenomenon of the Cafeteria Catholic. Cafeteria Catholicism is not just a matter of individuals deciding to pick and choose what to believe, it has been encouraged by the teachings of theologians, priests (who were taught it in seminaries), religious, diocesan newspapers, and even some bishops.

Thus the changes to the mass were accompanied by, and in my view were a result of, this widespread and general attitude that our faith is about *us* and needs to be changed to suit *us*. It’s *that* attitude that I object to, and I am critical of the new mass, and those who implemented it, to the extent that I believe it is a product of that attitude and promotes it.

If the new mass were a direct product of Vatican II, its final form deliberated and officially approved by the Council, probably I would be more sanguine about it and more willing to attribute its final form to the inspiration of the Holy Spirit (to which I attribute the form of the Traditional Latin Mass). But since the mass wasn’t revised until after Vatican II was concluded, and went way beyond what the texts of the Council specifically authorized, I am a bit more skeptical: I can’t help viewing it as the product mainly of committees made up of persons of a certain ideological, philosophical and theological bent, and a Pope who somehow let himself be persuaded to accept and approve it. Doubtless the Holy Spirit was involved in the process, preventing it from being even worse. But I can’t help doubting whether the end product was entirely what the Holy Spirit would have willed.

My friend writes, “the Holy Spirit would [not have] allow[ed] such a state of affairs, were there no good to come of it”. I can understand that opinion, and agree that in the end we might realize a net gain, some decades down the line. But even this might not persuade me that the new mass was what the Holy Spirit willed, since the earthly Church has allowed itself to be dragged into a lot of things over the centuries which in the end were shown to have been the result of mistake or even evil intent, even when the Holy Spirit did eventually bring some good out of it.

I will grant that some revision of the mass, as expressed in the documents of Vatican II, was the will of the Holy Spirit. But I submit that it was intended as a limited and extremely cautious revision, eliminating and restoring certain specified things, and allowing a limited use of the vernacular. I strongly doubt that the wholesale re-vamping and perpetually ongoing revision, which have actually resulted, were in accord with His will.

St. Augustine (and Others) on Music at Mass

I normally attend Sunday mass in the Extraordinary Form (i.e. the Traditional Latin Mass). But the TLM is not permitted during the Easter Triduum, so for Holy Thursday I was forced to attend mass in the Ordinary Form (i.e. the mass as revised after Vatican II) in the vernacular, or not at all. (I will refer to the Extraordinary Form as “EF” and the Ordinary Form as “OF”.)

Since it had been quite a while since I attended an OF mass, of course I noticed a lot of things about it that are different from what I’m used to. One of the first things was the music, specifically the Gloria. It was one which I know is familiar to a lot of people — I remember it from my pre-EF days — but unfortunately I don’t know the composer so I can’t identify it for you. Suffice it to say that it’s quite rhythmic, with a lot of syncopation. (Maybe I can express it in Morse Code: The chorus which starts, “Gloria in excelsis Deo”, would go like this:
“… __ . __ __ __ __, … __ . ____ … __, __ . __ . __ __”)

It’s a lively song and was played in a fairly lively manner. But I was struck by the contrast between the liveliness of the music and the relative stillness of the congregation. It seemed as though the music was designed to get people rocking and rolling, clapping hands, singing along, etc. But the people weren’t having it. Pretty much everyone just stood stock-still, scarcely even singing along, let alone clapping or dancing.

I don’t know if the people were keeping still and quiet because they didn’t like the music, or because they didn’t think it would be appropriate to dance and sing at mass. But in any event it was kind of pathetic: The music was rocking and rolling and the people were just not responding at all. I thought, if this were a concert or a wedding this song would be considered a big flop.

As I stood there, like everyone else, stock-still, I realized that the experience was illustrating what I hate about a lot of modern mass music: It tries to force the people to adopt a certain emotional state which the authors, or the liturgists who choose the songs, think is appropriate for mass: that of enthusiastic joy bubbling over into physical activity.

But what if you just don’t happen to feel joyful that day? What if your wife just died, or you’ve lost your job? You may not be in despair: you may be perfectly prepared to resign yourself to the Lord’s will and endure the suffering until such time as he chooses to grant you consolation and comfort. But nevertheless, dancing and singing may be the last thing you feel like doing.

(This is also the problem with lay “announcers” who walk up to the microphone before mass and say, “Good morning!!” And when the people don’t respond loud enough repeat somewhat louder, “I said GOOD MORNING!!!” As much as to say, “What’s wrong with you people?! We’re here to worship the Lord! Let’s be joyful dammit!!”)

Do I mean that music at mass should not evoke any emotion? I would say not. Most music in fact evokes some kind of emotion, to a greater or lesser extent. The question is, what kinds of emotions should mass music try to evoke?

Not only what kinds of emotions, but to what degree should it evoke them? Should it try to evoke extreme joy or intense, dramatic sadness? Or should it be more moderate and subtle?

It seems to me — and it seems obvious — that the primary emotion that mass music should evoke is reverence. Reverence is an emotion that is always appropriate at mass — unlike, say, joy, which may be appropriate at some moments during mass, but is not always appropriate. At the moment of consecration for example, should we be feeling joyful, when what we’re doing is offering to the Father Jesus’ suffering on the Cross? Or during the Confiteor, when we’re expressing sorrow for our sins? (Though in my experience, the word “sin” often is not mentioned during OF Confiteors.) But reverence is appropriate at all these times.

Furthermore, reverence is compatible with most of the emotions we might happen to be feeling when we walk into mass: Reverent music is not going to jar the nerves of someone who has just lost his job, for example. And if we walk into mass feeling active and playful, well, it’s good to have music that reminds us that it’s time to calm down and pay attention.

Here is a description of what St. Augustine, among others, thought was the most appropriate type of music for mass:

‘The great Christian theologian Augustine (344-430) reinterpreted in a Christian vein this sense of music and its effects. He did so theoretically (and mainly in terms of metrical theory), in book 6 of De Musica, and with more practical awareness in the Confessions. Thus, in book 10 of his Confessions, Augustine reports how in his first years as a committed Christian he was moved to tears by the singing of psalms in church. But he worries that sometimes he may be moved more by the music itself than by the truth of the words being chanted. He acknowledges that when the words of a psalm are chanted well, piety is kindled with warmer devotion than when the words are merely spoken. But physical delight, he adds, must be checked from enervating the mind. Consequently, Augustine concludes that he can welcome singing in church only when it is restrained and moderate–conceding, though, that music of some sort may be needed so that “weaker minds” may be stimulated to devotion through the “delights of the ear.”

‘Augustine in this passage provides a classic expression of the ambivalence that church fathers, like the pagan philosophers, typically felt about the emotional powers of music. Respecting music as God-given and good, Christian leaders of the patristic era were generally very guarded about music’s effects on the emotions. They worried, as Christian theologians continued over the centuries to worry, about the bodily and erotic basis of certain emotions to which music and dance might appeal; and in general they advocated restraint rather than musical ecstasy or enthusiasm. Moreover, many a church father declared that what should give pleasure in sung prayer is not so much the singing itself as the words.

‘Because musical instruments were widely associated with frenzied or ecstatic pagan rituals, lewd dancing, and bawdy drama, early church leaders restricted church music to unaccompanied chanting–shortly ruling out even the voices of women. Judging from repeated warnings about the use of instruments and dance in church, it appears that music as practiced by Christians in late antiquity must have transgressed such norms with some frequency. Even so, the use of instruments in church was mostly forbidden for the next thousand years or more; and in Eastern Catholic churches, Orthodox Jewish synagogues, and Islamic mosques, instruments (and often women’s voices) continue to be proscribed to this day.

‘Still another aspect of Augustine’s musical restraint became a prominent feature of Christian attitudes toward music–namely, the priority he gave to words and their intelligibility. It is true that Augustine himself seemed to approve of occasionally singing to God in free jubilation, without always being able to understand or express in words what is sung in the heart–establishing a warrant for the long melismatic passages later given over to the “Alleluia” in the liturgy. Augustine claimed that because God is ineffable, it is sometimes fitting for the heart to rejoice wordlessly in singing God’s praise. Yet, as choral singing in Roman Catholicism frequently included polyphony from the High Middle Ages on, church leaders complained that the simultaneous sounding of multiple melodic lines of music inevitably tended to obscure the texts being sung. Thus the Council of Trent (1545-1563) placed more stress on the need for the words of a sung mass to be set in an intelligible way than on emotional tenor. Indeed, the documents of Trent caution against music that “delights the ears more than the mind” and excites the faithful to “lascivious rather than to religious thoughts.” Instead, they say, the mass should be sung clearly, and in such a way that it “may reach tranquilly into the cars and hearts of those who hear” it, not giving “empty pleasure” but drawing listeners to desire heavenly harmonies and to contemplate the Joys of the blessed.’

From The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Emotion, John Corrigan, Ed., 206-207, Oxford University Press US, 2008.

You can see that happy-clappy music is definitely not what St. Augustine or the Council of Trent would have considered ideal for mass.

The Permissibility (or Not) of Dissent

This is my response to Kelly Wilson (kakistokrat.wordpress.com) in a discussion he and I have been having regarding the permissibility of dissent, specifically in regard to the issue of birth control. Since the post to which I am responding seems to have been taken down, I am including Kelly’s latest comment, to which I am responding here, at the bottom. Here’s my response:

Kelly:

In response to my first question, apparently you do believe that dissent from the teaching of Lumen gentium is permissible.

With regard to my second question, you did not provide any magisterial statement which says specifically that direct, knowing disobedience to express, longstanding papal teaching is permissible.

You did give a Theological Commmission’s reply to an emendation to Lumen gentium proposed by three bishops at Vatican II. But this is not a magisterial statement (not that you said it was), since for one thing it teaches nothing nor defines any doctrine, but only describes sources that are to be consulted. In fact it was not even a public pronouncement.

Also let’s not overlook the fact that the emendation — which if I’m reading you correctly, proposed to include in Lumen gentium a statement that dissent for ‘well founded reasons’ was permissible — was rejected, since it does not appear in Lumen gentium. Therefore we have an absence of magisterial statements giving specific permission to disobey papal teaching, and also a specific rejection of such a statement when one was proposed at Vatican II.

At any rate, from one of those “approved treatises” you glean a quote from Lercher in which he says that “it is not unthinkable that the error (on part of the Church) should be excluded by the Holy Spirit in this way: that the subjects [of the Church] recognize the decree to be erroneous and cease to give their assent to it.”

Unfortunately we don’t seem to have the quote in context, since I only found it online in Curran, and you found it in Sullivan. But we have to work with what we have, so why not take a look at it and see what it says, and what it doesn’t say.

It says that it’s possible, theoretically, that God could correct error on the part of the Church, by having the people recognize a “decree” (is this the same as a “teaching” or a “definition”? or could it be more like an instruction or a direction? the context might tell us) to be wrong and refuse their assent. I say “theoretically” because of the way it’s phrased: It says “it’s not unthinkable”, which is very tentative, like saying “it’s barely possible” or “in theory it could happen” — as opposed to saying “it’s likely”, or “it’s happened several times”.

Let us also note that it’s a statement about what the *Holy Spirit* could do: he *could* correct error by having Catholics recognize a decree as erroneous. It is not a statement of what Catholics *may* do: it does not give any specific permission.

You apparently extrapolate from this quote — based on the fact that the treatise in which it appeared was an approved treatise, and that the Theological Commission of Vatican II directed the bishops to consult such treatises — that the Church permits the laity to dissent from non-infallible magisterial teaching. But given that the quote gives no specific permission, and that Lumen gentium itself expressly states that the laity are required to submit internally to noninfallible papal teaching, this is a very tenuous extrapolation.

But suppose it does give the laity some kind of permission. How then does it work in practice? Does it mean that Catholics are supposed to take it upon themselves to judge every non-infallible teaching handed down by the Magisterium, as to whether or not it’s correct, and decide for themselves whether or not to obey it? But if a significant number of them end up rejecting and disobeying it, who is competent to judge that this was due to the influence of the Holy Spirit rather than, say, some other spirit? The laity, or the Magisterium?

Also, for the laity’s rejection of a magisterial teaching to be judged a movement of the Holy Spirit, does it have to be an immediate rejection, or can they assent to it for 1,000 years and then finally begin refusing assent? But if that happened, how would we know which was due to the Holy Spirit’s inspiration: the former assent or the current dissent?

And again, how many of the laity have to reject a magisterial teaching for their rejection to be considered an expression of God’s will: Is 51% sufficient? But how do we know what proportion is dissenting? Do we take a vote? In that case shouldn’t it become the Church’s usual practice to have the laity vote, thumbs up or thumbs down, on every magisterial document?

I conclude that you are pitting a non-magisterial statement which is apparently theoretical in nature, and which in any case is vague as to how it would work in practice and who would judge whether it has taken place, and which gives no permission nor direction to the laity to act in any way to bring it about; against the specific teaching of an ecumenical council — that is, the teaching of the actual Lumen gentium which was ratified by the Council and the Pope, not a theoretical Lumen gentium which might have included something supportive of your position if only the Council had not rejected it — that internal submission of mind and will is required. Do you argue that the former trumps the latter?

Finally, your position creates quite an irony, in my view: You say that the magisterial teaching on birth control is open to dissent since it’s non-infallible. But the teaching on the permissibility of dissent (assuming for the sake of argument that such a teaching exists) is less clearly defined, if it’s defined at all, than the prohibition of contraception. Therefore if the prohibition of contraception is open to dissent, surely the permissibility of dissent is open to dissent.

But what would it mean to dissent from the permissibility of dissent? A person inclined to rebel in that manner would find himself undermining his own dissent, since he would have to deny that it is permissible to dissent, yet in doing so would be dissenting!

I ask you to consider that a position which results in such an absurdity simply has to be wrong.

————

Kelly’s comment to which I am responding follows:

[quoting me]

“-Do Catholics have the right to dissent from the teaching of Vatican II which says, “This religious submission of mind and will must be shown in a special way to the authentic magisterium of the Roman Pontiff, even when he is not speaking ex cathedra; that is, it must be shown in such a way that his supreme magisterium is acknowledged with reverence, the judgments made by him are sincerely adhered to, according to his manifest mind and will”? (Lumen Gentium, 25.)

“-What magisterial statements say specifically that direct, knowing disobedience to longstanding papal teaching is specifically permissible, notwithstanding that Lumen Gentium specifically says that submission is required?”

These two questions are connected: While no Vatican II document mentions
the possibility of dissent, with regards to the exact paragraph of Lumen
gentium that you cited, something very relevant can be discerned from
the Theological Commission’s reply to an emendation proposed by three
bishops who “invoke a particular case, which is at least theoretically
possible, in which a certain learned person, in the face of doctrine
that has not been infallibly proposed, cannot, for well founded reasons,
give his internal assent.” The response given is that the approved
theological treatises should be consulted. Lercher would be one of those
sources, and I have already recorded what he said. I distinctly remember
you being more entertained by Lercher being referenced in Curran, than
with what he said. I took him from Sullivan, whose works “Magisterium”
and “Creative Fidelity” I would strongly recommend, which I will attempt
to reread over the summer.

More Irresponsibility and Danger

I recently posted a short excerpt from a news article in which it was noted that the governments of France and Germany, as well as the British medical journal The Lancet, condemned the Pope for being “irresponsible and dangerous”, for daring to suggest that condom distribution might not be the best way to check the spread of AIDS in Africa.

I posted substantially the same text in a discussion group which I frequent, the majority of the members of which are atheists and liberals. I am the only Catholic and I know of only two other Christians who are members of the group: One of whom rarely makes an appearance and another who made one appearance and then never showed up again.

The gist of my argument, again, is that it seems racist to condemn the Pope for dissenting from the prevailing orthodoxy with respect to the best way to mitigate the effects of promiscuity in Africa, namely the spread of AIDS; while never uttering a word of criticism, let alone condemnation, of those who are committing the promiscuity itself. The reason it’s racist is this: It implies that the Pope is worthy of condemnation while promiscuous Africans are not. Which in turn implies that the Pope should have known better and should have moderated his actions so as not to commit such an “irresponsible and dangerous” act — but that Africans cannot be expected to know better or to moderate their actions so as not to commit “irresponsible and dangerous” acts of promiscuity which spread AIDS.

Condemn one who declines to endorse condoms as a way of mitigating the effects of actions which put people’s lives in danger — but don’t condemn those who are committing the acts themselves!

One liberal atheist responded, “If Catholic priests molest children and don’t seem willing to alter their behavior, what right does the Pope have to demand that non-priests should alter THEIR behavior?”

Which is an excellent point. In favor of my argument, that is. You don’t see the governments of France and Germany, or The Lancet, holding back on their condemnation of molesting priests. Yet they decline to condemn promiscuous Africans.

Again (and again), the implication is that promiscuous American and European priests should be able to control their libidos, and should be condemned for failing to do so; but promiscuous Africans should not be expected to do the same, nor condemned for failing to do so, even when the results may be deadly. Why are priests be expected to control themselves while Africans are excused from doing the same?

It’s clear from what I’ve written, yet I’ll spell it out all the same: I’m not saying molesting priests should not be condemned. I’m saying that all people ought to be given credit for being able to control themselves, and therefore should be asked and expected to control themselves, rather than being excused from any obligation to do so. This includes priests (above all, in fact) as well as Africans, Europeans and Americans, and homosexuals as well as heterosexuals. In fact it’s my belief that underlying the priestly molestation scandal was a societal relaxing of the expectation that people in general can and should control their sexual urges, and the idea that in fact people should indulge them and use them as a means of self-expression. I suspect that these ideas were allowed to seep into the seminaries and were a partial contributor to the molestations.

But you don’t see me, or the Pope for that matter, or The Lancet or the governments of Germany or France, saying that the poor priests couldn’t help themselves since they received such poor priestly formation, so let’s all give them a break, huh? It wasn’t realistic to expect them to control their sexual urges under those circumstances, right? On the contrary, everyone agrees that they should be held responsible for their actions.

Yet when it comes to the AIDS epidemic in Africa, you see no such calls from European governments or the liberal media, to encourage people to control their urges and either abstain from sex or remain monogamous, for the sake of saving lives. Instead all you hear is that it’s unrealistic to have any expectation that the people will control themselves, even when their actions might kill people.

This, I repeat, is insulting to Africans, and possibly racist.

Of course some make the point that those who condemned the Pope, but don’t condemn promiscuous Africans for their share of responsibility for the spread of AIDS, aren’t racist since they also don’t condemn promiscuous Europeans or Americans. Well of course they don’t. And the reason is obvious: It’s simply taboo in the liberal Western media to condemn the promiscuity of those who spread AIDS, because aside from the question of how true it is, the widespread perception is that AIDS in the West is a primarily homosexual disease. So to condemn those who spread AIDS would be perceived as condemning homosexuals. Which is a BIG no-no in our society.

So we may not condemn promiscuous Africans for spreading AIDS, because it might be perceived as condemning blacks; and we may not condemn promiscuous Europeans and Americans who spread AIDS because it might be perceived as condemning homosexuals. We would rather let people die than break these taboos.

In recent years there has been a massive media campaign in the U.S. against smoking, which seeks to portray purveyors of tobacco as evil, and people who smoke as stupid and as dupes of the tobacco companies. The idea apparently is to try to remove the “cool” factor from smoking, by portraying smoking as decidedly uncool. A laudable intention, really: to use the power of the media to influence attitudes, in the service of saving lives.

Why hasn’t a similar media campaign been launched in an attempt to stanch the spread of AIDS? They could portray large corporations who try to use sex to make money, including movie studios, TV networks and their advertisers, as evil; and promiscuous people as dupes of these evil corporations. They could at least try to use their power to influence attitudes in the service of saving lives.

But again this would encroach on forbidden ground. More important to obey the taboos than to save lives.

Do changes in women’s fashions tell us anything about men’s and women’s reactions to the opposite sex?

I recently had a short discussion with a woman who rejects the commonly accepted notion that men generally are more lustful than women (there may be men who reject it too, but I don’t know any). She rejects specifically the idea that Catholic men more often find themselves battling and needing to confess sins of lust, than do Catholic women. I have met other women who take the same position. It’s only an impression, but some of them even seem to find the idea vaguely insulting for some reason (thinking specifically of my mom right now). I don’t see why since it’s only a matter of physiology. Maybe they find the idea of any inequality between the sexes whatsoever to be repugnant. Or maybe they think men are just making excuses for their weakness, and find that repugnant.

Anyway, here is why I’m convinced that men generally are more easily aroused than women, and why Catholic men have to struggle more, and more often, with sins of lust than do Catholic women:

One hundred years ago women’s fashions in European and European-derived civilization were far more modest than they are now. Women often wore floor-length dresses with high collars. Bathing suits then were more modest than evening clothes are now. Underwear then was more modest than bathing suits are now. 

Between then and now fashions have become exponentially more revealing. I drive by a high school on my way to work and once in a while I get to the intersection just as a crowd of students is crossing on their way to school. Almost invariably the girls are wearing jeans that could not possibly be any tighter. At least 95% of the girls I see every day are dressed that way. Meanwhile the boys are wearing baggy jeans and sagging t-shirts.

When I go for walks during my lunch hour, it’s a constant battle to keep guard over my eyes. Women left and right, front and back, are dressed in ways that only prostitutes would have dressed 50 years ago.

To understand why women’s fashions have changed in this way, we may need to ask, what else has changed in the last hundred years?  A hundred years ago men had far more control over the women in their lives than they have now. Women were not allowed to vote and their career choices were far more limited. Women have now gained the right to vote; no-fault divorce has become common; use of birth control and abortion have skyrocketed. Coincidentally, or not, the influence on public mores of the Christian churches and the Catholic Church in particular – all churches run primarily by men — have waned dramatically.

As women have gained more and more control over their own lives, and the corresponding influence and power of men over their lives has diminished, women’s fashions have become more revealing and less modest. Correspondingly, as we move backwards in time, the more power and influence men had over women, the more modestly women dressed. What do these facts tell us? I will try to answer with a few illustrations.

When my wife and I were newly married, I found it necessary on occasion to ask her to change her clothes because what she was wearing was immodest to one degree or another. Now my wife, in terms of her intentions, is the most modest (and humble) of women, and would never think of trying to make herself appear “sexy”. But her idea of modesty was simply to make sure that certain body parts were well covered. It seemed not to have occurred to her that clinging dresses and tight-fitting pants could be considered immodest, since she was completely “covered up”.

I did my best to explain to her how men tend to look at women and how the slightest revealing of certain body parts, even through a layer or two of clothing, can lead to a whole train of lustful thoughts and fantasies in a man — to varying degrees, of course, partly depending on how serious a man was about keeping such things under control. However the majority of men are not very serious about such things, and those who are serious are nevertheless not always successful. Finally it puts an extra burden on the serious ones, making a struggle that is already hard even harder.

She said she had had no inkling of these facts, but since then has worked to avoid dressing immodestly, and when I point out that a dress or a pair or pants are a little too clingy or “hugging” she immediately understands and agrees to wear something else.

A few years later one of her nieces came into the room wearing very tight jeans, and asking whether they were “too much”. My wife told her yes, they are too tight, too sexy, immodest. But her other niece, about ten years older than the first, was also in the room and she said “no, they’re fine”. My wife tried to explain what I had explained to her, about how men look at women, etc., but her niece would only say, “no, there’s nothing wrong with tight pants, it’s the style nowadays”, etc. In other words, the only woman in the room giving a “no” vote was one who had been persuaded to that position by a man.

The first niece ended up wearing the very tight jeans, and still often wears clothing that is equally immodest, causing temptation and occasions of sin everywhere she goes, to which I believe she is oblivious.

The second niece (the older one) has a teenage daughter. They came to our house to visit my wife and I, and our two teenage sons, for an extended time. I finally had to ask the mother not to let her daughter wear skin-tight jeans and t-shirts in the house all the time, as it was conflicting with the standards we were trying to instill in our boys.

Now my wife and my nieces are not promiscuous women. They grew up in a very conservative family and all attend Mass weekly. Boyfriends are few and far between. They don’t sleep at men’s houses or go on weekend trips with men. I’m convinced that if they understood the way men look at them in the clothes they often wear, they would run screaming to the nearest dressing room and cover themselves from head to toe. The reason they dress the way they do is that they don’t, in fact, understand how men’s minds and imaginations work with regard to sex.

I think the same mechanism is at work in the culture at large. The reason women dressed more modestly when men had more control over them, is that men knew how men looked at women, and were determined not to let the women in their lives be looked at that way by other men. And the reason women dress exponentially less modestly now that they can dress any way they want, is that they have no idea how men look at them when they are dressed that way, and therefore have no reason to believe that they should be more cautious.

You would think that when men had more control over women, they would have made women dress as minimally as possible, for their own enjoyment; and that once women gained the power to dress as they pleased, they would take the opportunity to cover themselves up in order to shield themselves from the disrespectful and ogling eyes of men. But in fact the opposite occurred in both scenarios. How is this to be explained?

Surely most women don’t want men ogling after them and gazing upon them lustfully everywhere they go. A certain number of women may get a kick out of that. But at least we can say that sincere Catholic women neither want to be objects of lust, nor would wish to be an occasion of sin to sincere Catholic men (or any other men). Therefore if such women, being able to dress in any way they choose, nevertheless wear clothing that hugs their body lines and could scarcely be any tighter, the fact can only be explained by supposing that they don’t understand the effect that their manner of dress has on men.

But if they do not understand the effect that it has on men, then it follows that they must not react the same way towards men that men do towards women. If men and women reacted to the sight of each other in the same way and to the same degree, then they would understand each other perfectly, and women would dress a lot more modestly – in short, they would dress the way women dressed when fashion mores were dictated by men.

There is a funny blog I enjoy visiting occasionally, called June Cleaver After a Six-Pack. Its author is a self-identified Catholic woman. She displays a picture of the Blessed Virgin on her blog, and one of the Pope, and the daily mass readings, and on Good Friday dispensed with her usual humorous prose in favor of a photo of a bloody crucifix accompanied by a devotional poem. She never cusses on her blog, as far as I have seen, nor discusses sex openly or in a disrespectful manner.

But she has a regular feature on her blog called the Monday Swoon, in which she posts photos of handsome men in seductive poses, sometimes shirtless, sometimes not, accompanied by subtly risqué jokes and remarks. If a man were to post equally seductive photos of women on his blog once a week, accompanied by equally suggestive comments, I submit that it would be nearly impossible for him to maintain any credible claim to being a serious Catholic.

Be that as it may, I’m quite sure that June has very little idea of her Monday Swoon postings being immoral or constituting occasions of sin for potentially hundreds or thousands of her women readers (it’s quite a popular blog); otherwise she wouldn’t do it. It seems clear that the reason she does it, and the reason it doesn’t occur to her that it’s a bad thing to do to other women, is that she and her women readers simply do not react to sexy photos of men, the way men react to similar photos of women. If they did, June would realize that at best, she was not helping people to be good Catholics. 

Someone once questioned whether it was proper of her to post the Monday Swoon, but June’s answer only addressed the fact that her husband didn’t mind.  It didn’t seem to occur to her that there could be another issue, such as its being an occasion of sin for dozens of women every week.

In summary, although I can’t be scientifically certain, I am convinced that the majority of women have little notion how their manner of dress affects men. To believe that women understand men perfectly in this respect, would require me to believe that 90% or more of women positively want men to ogle and think lustful thoughts about them as they go about their daily activities. Otherwise there is no way to explain the manner in which the vast majority of modern women dress.

Condescension and Racism

Vatican decries reaction to pope’s condom remarks

By NICOLE WINFIELD  VATICAN CITY (AP)
 
Critics of the Catholic Church’s social teachings are trying to intimidate Pope Benedict XVI into silence, the Vatican charged Friday in responding to attacks on the pontiff’s remarks about AIDS and condom use.

In a strongly worded statement, the Vatican defended the pope’s view that condoms aren’t the answer to Africa’s AIDS epidemic and could make it worse. On his way to Africa last month, he said the best strategy is the church’s effort to promote sexual responsibility through abstinence and monogamy.

France, Germany, the United Nations’ AIDS-fighting agency and the British medical journal The Lancet called the remarks irresponsible and dangerous. The Belgian parliament passed a resolution calling them “unacceptable” and demanded Belgium’s government officially protest.  

I draw your attention to the third paragraph of this report. Note that the Pope is called upon to be responsible and to avoid dangerous behavior; and his remarks are pronounced by the Belgian parliament to be “unacceptable”. Thus he is held to standards of responsibility and safety, and is expected to exhibit “acceptable” behavior. 

But according to them, the reason we need to freely distribute condoms in Africa is because holding Africans to standards of responsible, safe and acceptable behavior, such as abstinence and monogamy, is unrealistic. The Europeans don’t condemn Africans who actually, physically spread AIDS because of irresponsible and dangerous behavior. But they do condemn European Catholics who believe distribution of condoms to be a bad idea, on the grounds that such a belief is irresponsible and dangerous. Again, differing standards.

Holding white Europeans to these standards, but not black Africans, I think is racist, and insulting to the latter.