“I agree with Sam. I also suspect that with titles like “Gay Rights Are Human Rights“ (with banners flying), and “A Hero Dead” in referring to a famous atheist (that is, famous for being an atheist), it just might be the case that Kelly is deliberately trying to press people’s buttons. : )”

Kelly deleted the comment. He was kind enough to email me to inform me of the reason. I do appreciate that courtesy. I won’t say what his reason was, since it was set forth in a private email. He is welcome to comment here if he chooses to make his reason public.

I’m posting this because I am opposed to blog censorship for reasons other than incivility (and of course spamming). I think it was a civil comment and didn’t deserve to be trashed.

I reply that faith and doubt are incompatible.

To my mind, “doubt” is basically indecision: We have not yet determined whether to believe or assent to something. We don’t believe it’s true, and we don’t believe it’s false. If we believed it were true, we would no longer be doubting; and if we believed it were false, we would no longer be doubting; for in either case our mind would be made up.

To have faith is to decide to believe that something is true. Once we have so decided, we are no longer in a state of doubt. If doubt re-enters the picture, then we are no longer in a state of faith. It’s certainly possible to waver between belief and unbelief, but it’s not possible to do both at once.

Cardinal Newman writes that there are three types of propositions:  Interrogative, conditional, and categorical.  You may ask a question (interrogative); you may draw a conclusion (conditional, since it depends on premisses); or you may make an assertion (categorical).  He writes further that these types of propositions correspond to three modes of holding propositions in the mind:  Doubt (interrogative), inference (conditional), and assent (categorical).

Applying these three modes to revealed religion, Newman writes that a man is either a skeptic towards religion; a philosopher, having arrived at the conclusion that it is more or less probable based on logical inferences; or a believer, having an unhesitating faith in it.

You may alternate between these states at different times.  Also you may infer and assent simultaneously; but you can’t infer and doubt, or assent and doubt, at the same time.

To put it another way:  When you are in a state of doubt, you are questioning whether a thing is true.  It is simply not possible to question and assent to the same proposition at the same time.

One reason they give for this belief is the Church’s criteria for a mortal sin: They say you can’t commit a mortal sin unless you are fully aware that committing the act will cut you off from God’s grace and imperil your soul. No one would deliberately cut himself off from God’s grace and go to Hell if he were fully aware of the consequences of doing so — unless he were insane, in which case he can’t be held responsible for his decisions, and therefore can’t commit mortal sin.

By this criteria, they say, hardly anyone could ever actually commit a mortal sin, even when they fear they have done so. Therefore, Hell must be sparsely populated.

But are these really the criteria for a mortal sin?

The Catechism teaches the following: “For a sin to be mortal, three conditions must together be met: ‘Mortal sin is sin whose object is grave matter and which is also committed with full knowledge and deliberate consent.’” CCC 1857. But this doesn’t say what “full knowledge” and “consent” consist of. Full knowledge of and consent to what?

A couple paragraphs down we find an elaboration: “Mortal sin … presupposes knowledge of the sinful character of the act, of its opposition to God’s law. It also implies a consent sufficiently deliberate to be a personal choice.” CCC 1859.

It doesn’t mention full knowledge of cutting yourself off from God’s grace and all that entails.

First, strictly speaking, no human being can have “full knowledge” of all that God’s grace entails. Being finite beings our knowledge is necessarily imperfect, especially where God is concerned. But aside from that, according to the Catechism the knowledge required for a sin to be mortal is not full knowledge of the consequences of the sin, but simply, knowledge that the act is a sinful act.

As to full consent, again this doesn’t mean full consent to being cut off from God’s grace and all that that entails, based on a full knowledge of those matters; but merely, “a consent sufficiently deliberate to be a personal choice”.

In other words, a mortal sin requires you make a personal choice to commit an act involving grave matter, which you’re fully aware is sinful. So if you know full well that adultery is sinful, and make a personal choice to commit adultery, you have committed a mortal sin.

Basically these people are saying that the gate is small and the way is narrow that leads to damnation, and there are few who enter through it. But this turns Jesus’ teaching on its head, since he says, “[T]he gate is wide and the way is broad that leads to *destruction*, and there are *many* who enter through it.” Mt. 7:13.

The narrow gate is the other one.

Bruce:

Mine and Andrew’s discussion started with Andrew’s comment 14, in which he wrote (to you), ‘If God does not define morality, but morality exists independently of God, then God is limited in a certain way. However, if God does define morality, then the problems that you mention arise (e.g., couldn’t God *conceivably* change his mind?)’

To which I responded, ‘I would say (as a Catholic) that the objective standard of morality is God, but that doesn’t have to make morality arbitrary on God’s part. He himself simply is the definition of goodness, and so to be good is to conform oneself to his nature. Without God goodness simply would not exist (nor would anything else).’  (18)

Andrew replied by asking me, ‘why is God good?’ (20)

To which I responded by arguing (basically) that God just is, and so is goodness, and there is no further explanation for either.  (22)

Andrew then argued on in the same vein (‘”is the pious loved by the gods because it is pious, or is it pious because the gods love it?”‘), and claiming that I had copped out as to that question by saying that good simply is.  (23)  But note that at this point the question concerned the nature of “good” and its relation to God, and whether or not good is subjective.  We were not discussing morality in the sense of a law pointing to the good, but were discussing goodness itself.

I replied in 25 by saying that I suspected that his doubts as to the objective existence of good and evil were based on a kind of skepticism (not atheism per se but philosophical skepticism); and we thereafter agreed to disagree.

What came next, from my point of view, was that you jumped in and said that Andrew and I had argued the issue very well, but that I seemed to have contradicted myself in comments 18 and 22.  (35)  Let’s look at this.

What I was addressing in 18 was Andrew’s question whether, if God defines morality, he could not change his mind about it.  To which I replied that to a Catholic, God is the standard of morality, but that doesn’t mean it’s arbitrary on his part.  (Note that this is the first time the word “arbitrary” is used in the comments, as opposed to the original post.)

Whereas in 22, the question I was addressing was Andrew’s question, “why is God good?”  To which I replied that he just is.

Now in 35, you say that my alleged contradiction was this:  “In #18 you state that God is not arbitarily choosing morality but has reasons for it.  But in #22 you more or less state that morality is not a choice at all but was the only logically possible choice.”

But note that in 18, I was specifically addressing *morality*, whereas in 22 I was addressing *goodness*.  At this point you were already treating them as synonyms whereas I was not.

I learned later that the reason you thought I was saying that God “has reasons” for morality in 18, was because I said it was not arbitrary, and you were defining “arbitrary” has “not having reasons” (therefore “not arbitrary” means “having reasons”).  I think you now realize that that’s not what I meant when I said morality was not arbitrary.  Rather, I meant that God did not have multiple moralities before him, from which he chose one for no particular reason over the others.

You also misstate (in 35) what I said in 22, when you characterize my position as “morality is not a choice at all but was the only logically possible choice”.  Whereas in reality, I never mentioned “morality” at all in 22, but was addressing goodness specifically.

This explains my rather puzzled response in 36, where I say, “I don’t know how to prove that I didn’t say those things, since I don’t know why you think I did.”

In 37 your misunderstanding of 22 continues, where you say, “#22 is a, in my opinion, brilliant way of demonstrating why morality is the way it is – because nothing else is actually possible”.  But again, I was not addressing morality in 22, but goodness.

In 38 I try to explain the definition of “arbitrary” that I was assuming in 18, when I say, “When I said the objective standard of morality is God, but that doesn’t make morality arbitrary on his part, I meant that the context assumed in that definition doesn’t exist: God doesn’t decide that morality will be one way or another “for no reason beyond his own discretion” – because he doesn’t *decide* morality at all.”

In the same comment I define “morality” for the first time, and I do it this way:  “Morality is the rules governing the conduct of beings with minds, or in other words, spiritual beings. The moral law is the law governing rational beings insofar as they are purely rational.”  Now this is the same comment in which you say that I conflate “morality” and “goodness” by saying that God, in a sense, is morality.  But that could only be true if I were also defining “goodness” as “the rules governing the conduct of beings with minds” — which I have never done in my life. The fact that I define “morality” in this way in comment 38, proves that the statement that “God in a sense is morality”, in the same comment, was not intended to mean that “goodness” and “morality” were synonyms.

Further, in that same comment I write, “Because God is mind, logic exists. Because God exists, existence exists. Because God is good, goodness exists, and existence is good.”  But note that I do not say, “Because God is moral, morality exists, and existence is moral”, which to my mind would be nonsensical; particularly the statement “existence is moral”, which to me makes no sense at all.  So again, I always knew, at least intuitively, that “morality” and “goodness” were not synonyms.

In 40 (in response to your 39) I say, ‘To clarify, I don’t say morality “just is that way”. I say God “just is that way”.’  This again points up the distinction I had always held in mind between goodness and morality — they are closely related in that the latter has to do with the former, but I never considered them synonymous.

Then I further explain the distinction between the two by saying, “Goodness exists as an attribute of God’s. Morality, or the moral law, is that which tells us – us rational creatures – what is good and what isn’t.”  Which is consistent with how I had used both words previously, particularly when I defined “morality” in 38.

Yet in 41 you rather snarkily grant me “clever points” for ‘deciding to make a split between “goodness” and “morality”‘.  However as explained, there never was a time when I did not distinguish between them (except perhaps by careless choice of words).1

You say that I suddenly decided to make this distinction “for the sake of taking word-offense against what I said rather than respond to the actual meaning of the point being made.”  However I did not make the distinction for that purpose, rather I had the distinction in mind all along, implicitly if not explicitly, as shown above; and I pointed out the distinction for the purpose of trying to clarify the position I had been holding all along.

You go on in 41 to say, ‘you know plain well that “goodness” and “morality” can also be used as synonyms and in fact used it that way yourself.’  But in fact I had not done so, at least not on purpose.

In 46 you say “I’m going to make one more attempt to explain why I felt you had gone back on what you had previously said via equivocation. . . if you continue to claim that you never said, in essence, that ‘morality is just that way’ then I’ll continue to claim you did and you can claim you didn’t and we’ll be done …”

You then quote me as saying, ‘God doesn’t decide that morality will be one way or another “for no reason beyond his own discretion” – because he doesn’t *decide* morality at all. Rather, in a sense he *is* morality.’  You write, “I took your meaning here to be that you see ‘morality’ as being an aspect of God’s Eternal nature and a synonym for ‘goodness.’”

But as shown above, I never considered them synonyms.

You then (also in 46) quote me as saying, “At some point you have to hit a wall, which is the source of other things because it just IS.” And, “They [mind, logic, God, goodness] just are, and there is no further explanation beyond God himself. Andrew argued that there needed to be a further explanation to avoid the charge of copping out, and I argued that further explanation was neither logically necessary nor logically possible.”  And you write, “So naturally I took your meaning to be that morality, as an aspect of God, is ‘just that way’ and has no other possible logical explanation.”

But again, the latter quote was in direct response to Andrew’s question, “why is God good?”  And the former, as I stated in the comment from which you quote it, was “in answer to [Andrew's] question, whether good is good because God arbitrarily decides it is, or God decides it’s good according to some external standard”.  Again, addressing goodness specifically, not morality.

You also write, “You go on to partially agree with me but still seemed to me to be claiming I misunderstood you based on a split between the meaning of ‘morality’ vs. ‘goodness’”.  That is exactly what I was, and still am, claiming.  And again you write, “It seemed to me that you were arguing that I had misunderstood what you had said and were denying that you ever claimed morality was an aspect of God’s nature on the grounds that ‘goodness’ was rather than ‘morality.’ [sic]“  Again this is what I was, and am, arguing.

You continue, “But even a simple and innocuous attempt on my part to summarize what you said almost always ends in a disaster where you carefully correct me but your corrections seem like a restatement of exactly what I just said with no further clarification other than a lot of extraneous definitions. Then, when I point this out, you then usually accuse me of having a motive of maligning your character.”

What I accused of being a maligning of my character was your statement that I knew “full well”, and yet denied, that “morality” and “goodness” are synonymous, which implies that I was being disingenuous.  That’s all.

In 46 you again explain that you understood that I considered goodness and morality synonymous on the ground that I had said “God in a sense is morality”.  You write, “I took your meaning here to be that you see ‘morality’ as being an aspect of God’s Eternal nature and a synonym for ‘goodness.’”  I realize that you took it that way, however I afterwards explained (in 49) that I didn’t mean it that way when I said, ‘But note that I said “in a sense”. “In a sense” conveys that I meant it “in a manner of speaking”’.  This was the first of several times that I tried to explain this.

I even admitted (in 49) that ‘when I made the quoted statement above, I had not yet arrived at the express distinction between “goodness” and “morality” that I expressed in a later comment’.  By this I didn’t mean that I was unaware of any distinction, but that I had not yet thought of it expressly.  If you had asked me at any time during our discussion whether I considered them synonyms, I would certainly have said no, since that would have caused me to focus on the question.  As it is I didn’t focus on it until the course of the discussion led me to do so, at which point I promptly explained that I considered them distinct.

As I explained, ‘If I had [focused on the question], I might have worded the quoted statement more precisely.  I still say that “God doesn’t decide morality”. But instead of saying “because God is morality”, I would now say, “because God is goodness and morality is a way of expressing what is good” (or something like that).’  Yet you continued to hold me (in nos. 5 and 9) to the “God is morality” statement as if I meant it in some literal sense as being one of God’s very attributes.

Further, in 49 I said ‘Nevertheless I have never understood “morality” to be strictly synonymous with “goodness”, nor “morality” to be an attribute of God’s. If I implied otherwise it was unintentional.’  But you apparently didn’t find this credible.

After 49 we drifted off into the area of giving and taking offense, and somehow worked through it to the point where we could get back to the main point.

As for my changing meanings, equivocating or contradicting myself, I quite simply deny it, and I don’t believe I have anything more to defend in this regard.  I have admitted fault for my occasional carelessness, and have clarified and re-clarified what I intended to say.  I feel it’s time to let the record speak for itself and don’t care to say any more about it.
_____________________

1  An example of a careless choice of words was this statement in comment 38:  “No. 22 is basically an elaboration on 18: Explaining that morality has no other cause or standard than the attributes of God’s own nature.”  This was a misstatement since, again, no. 22 doesn’t mention morality at all but was a response to Andrew’s question, “    Why is God good?”  You’ll have to excuse me, most of the time when I’m commenting here I’ve got a lot to say and not a lot of time to say it in.  So it’s often done from the hip and in a fair amount of hurry, without a leisurely review of what I’ve said before or what I’m about to say.  Which might explain a lot.  : )

I think the element of sacrifice is insufficiently emphasized nowadays, even though the Sacrifice of the Mass is what our entire religion hangs on. The very purpose of the Church is to join people to Christ so that they can participate in his continual offering of himself to the Father, and thereby be saved.

This is what makes participation at Mass a participation in the Heavenly liturgy:  The fact that we are participating in one and the same sacrifice on earth which Christ continually offers in Heaven. The whole life of the Church, including our individual lives, is one long, continuous offering to the Father, made acceptable by virtue of being united with Christ’s offering of himself.

Communion has no meaning aside from being a participation in the sacrifice offered on the altar.  As St. Paul wrote,

“16Is not the cup of blessing which we bless a sharing in the blood of Christ? Is not the bread which we break a sharing in the body of Christ? … 18Look at the nation Israel; are not those who eat the sacrifices sharers in the altar? … 20 but I say that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to demons and not to God; and I do not want you to become sharers in demons.”  (1 Cor. 10:16ff.)

St. Paul’s point in this context is that Christians should not eat meat sacrificed to idols because when you eat of a sacrifice you are participating in the sacrifice — you are ratifying it, approving it and communing with the “god” to whom the sacrifice is being offered. As Christians we cannot commune with both God and demons.

You see the point:  Communion is not simply a matter of all of us eating the same bread and thereby being united. The point of Communion, and the reason it unites us, is that each of us who eats it is thereby joining in the sacrifice in which the Body was offered — we are not merely united, we are united in sacrifice.

Thus referring to Mass as a celebration and a supper and a thanksgiving, without stressing the sacrificial element, overlooks the essential point. It’s not merely a supper, it’s a sacrificial supper; not merely a thanksgiving but a sacrifice of thanksgiving.

This is the primary thing that differentiates us from the Protestants: They have no priesthood and therefore no continual sacrifice, and absenting themselves from that continual offering is the main thing that makes Protestantism a danger to one’s soul.

I suspect that an effort to make Catholic doctrine palatable to Protestants, around the time of Vatican II, is what led to the de-emphasis of the sacrificial nature of the Mass, and everything connected with it. Protestants have an aversion to the idea of continually offering sacrifice to the Father and thereby averting his anger and satisfying his justice, as if we were primitive people sacrificing oxen or virgins. But in fact that is what we are doing, the difference being that our sacrifice is truly efficacious and actually able to avert God’s anger and satisfy his justice, since it is a pure sacrifice offered by One who is God himself.

I feel that we must begin to re-emphasize this fact. The lack of understanding on this point is part of what makes our Masses so insipid and often ridiculous. When you realize that you are literally offering sacrifice to appease a living God who is offended by sin, it’s harder to take it lightly. (This is where the Traditional Latin Mass excels — not reverence and solemnity for its own sake, but in recognition of the gravity of what is taking place.) Conversely, if the mood at Mass is one of frivolity and fun, is that not insulting to Christ? If you were standing at the foot of the Cross, would you clap and dance and tell jokes?

We mustn’t continue softening this doctrine to avoid offending Protestants, at the cost of failing to instruct our people in the essentials of their own Faith, and watering down our liturgy.

‘This is but one example in the new lectionary of how the men who promised us “more scripture” [in the post-V2 lectionary] gave us less of its message.’  I hear you.

I came across my own example of editing the scriptures to preserve “niceness” at mass.  The first reading for the Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time is 2 Samuel 12:7-10, 13:

7Nathan said to David, “You are the man! Thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, ‘I anointed you king over Israel, and I delivered you out of the hand of Saul. 8And I gave you your master’s house and your master’s wives into your arms and gave you the house of Israel and of Judah. And if this were too little, I would add to you as much more. 9 Why have you despised the word of the LORD, to do what is evil in his sight? You have struck down Uriah the Hittite with the sword and have taken his wife to be your wife and have killed him with the sword of the Ammonites. 10Now therefore the sword shall never depart from your house, because you have despised me and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife.’ 13 David said to Nathan, “I have sinned against the LORD.” And Nathan said to David, “The LORD also has put away your sin; you shall not die.”

Phew!  David got lucky, huh?  He admits that he’s sinned, and gets  off scot-free!  What a sweet, kind God we have!

But what was edited out?  Verses 11-12 say, “11Thus says the LORD, ‘Behold, I will raise up evil against you out of your own house. And I will take your wives before your eyes and give them to your neighbor, and he shall lie with your wives in the sight of this sun. 12For you did it secretly, but I will do this thing before all Israel and before the sun’”; and verse 14:  ’14Nevertheless, because by this deed you have utterly scorned the LORD, the child who is born to you shall die.”‘

How rude!

What should we conclude?  Were the editors of the post-V2 lectionary promoters of modernism as the linked article suggests?  Maybe, maybe not.  But if not, they seem at least to have thought that Catholics needed to be protected from God — or from his embarrassing lack of tact anyway.  Back off, God!  We don’t need that kind of language in our mass, thank you!  You may be the Lord of Hosts who sends his avenging angel to wreak justice upon the earth, but OUR religion is one of sweetness and light, so you can check that stuff at the door, fella!

The premise, apparently, is that taking the Pill and NFP are morally the same. (Let’s assume that by “NFP” we mean restricting sexual intercourse to those days of the month when the female spouse is likely infertile.)

It is asserted that the Pill and NFP are the same because the intentions and ideal end result are the same. What are the intentions and ideal end result? Presumably they would say, to enjoy sexual intercourse while not conceiving a child.

Therefore the argument runs like this:

Major: The Church teaches that it’s immoral to engage in sexual intercourse while having the intention of not conceiving a child.

Minor: Both NFP and the Pill have the same intention.

Conclusion: Both NFP and the Pill are immoral according to the Church’s teaching.

This person doesn’t see how the Pill ends up immoral in the conclusion, while NFP escapes that fate.

However I deny the conclusion since I deny the Major. As affirmed in Humanae Vitae (see paragraph 16), the Church does not teach that it’s immoral to engage in sexual intercourse while having the intention of not conceiving a child. Rather, the Church teaches that it’s immoral to take steps to artificially, i.e. unnaturally, thwart the natural result of sexual intercourse.

Correcting the Major, then, the syllogism runs thus:

Major: The Church teaches that it’s immoral to take steps to artificially, i.e. unnaturally, thwart the natural result of sexual intercourse.

Minor: Both NFP and the Pill artificially, i.e. unnaturally, thwart the natural result of sexual intercourse.

Conclusion: Both NFP and the Pill are immoral according to the Church’s teaching.

But in this case I deny the conclusion because the Minor is false: While the Pill does artificially thwart the natural result of sexual intercourse, NFP does not. Most would agree that the Pill does this, but some may dispute that NFP does not.

But NFP basically consists of two things: (1) abstaining from intercourse during fertile periods; and (2) engaging in intercourse during infertile periods. Which of these is artificial?

I deny that it’s artificial or unnatural to abstain from intercourse during fertile periods. There is nothing unnatural about abstaining from intercourse when one wishes not to conceive a child. In fact there could be nothing more natural. It’s pure common sense. Further, doing so does not thwart the natural result of intercourse, since no intercourse is occurring in the first place.

I deny that it’s artificial or unnatural to engage in intercourse during infertile periods, for the simple reason that there’s nothing unnatural about engaging in intercourse at any time whatsoever.

Therefore there is nothing unnatural or artificial about the practice of NFP.

Some may argue that it’s not the practice of NFP that is artificial, but the intention. But there is nothing unnatural or artificial about choosing not to conceive a child at a particular time; nor does such a choice violate the Church’s teachings, provided one makes the choice for a legitimate reason.

Humanae Vitae itself says,

“It cannot be denied that in each case the married couple, for acceptable reasons, are both perfectly clear in their intention to avoid children and wish to make sure that none will result. But it is equally true that it is exclusively in the former case that husband and wife are ready to abstain from intercourse during the fertile period as often as for reasonable motives the birth of another child is not desirable.”

In my view, it is here that Paul VI points up the salient difference between the Pill and NFP: It’s only in NFP that the couple make the perfectly natural decision to abstain from intercourse at certain times for the purpose of avoiding the conception of a child. Whereas with the Pill, the couple make the unnatural decision to engage in intercourse at any time they please while at the same time intending that no children should result. “In the former the married couple rightly use a faculty provided them by nature. In the latter they obstruct the natural development of the generative process” (HV 16). In the latter case, rather than respecting the reproductive functions, leaving them intact and working around them, they take deliberate action to suppress them, the woman deliberately and artificially rendering herself incapable of conceiving a child, not only at certain times of the month but at all times. It’s this artificially messing around with the reproductive functions that violates the natural law.

As HV says,

“[T]o experience the gift of married love while respecting the laws of conception is to acknowledge that one is not the master of the sources of life but rather the minister of the design established by the Creator. Just as man does not have unlimited dominion over his body in general, so also, and with more particular reason, he has no such dominion over his specifically sexual faculties, for these are concerned by their very nature with the generation of life, of which God is the source.”

NFP respects “the design established by the Creator” and acknowledges that man does not have “unlimited dominion” over his body or over his “specifically sexual faculties”. The Pill does not.

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.

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.