St. Joseph and the Thomists

Whilst perusing the local parochial bookstore one never knows what one might find amidst the piles of pre-owned volumes of forgotten preconciliar lore. Some will be seminary castoffs, some will be dust magnets with even dustier theology, and some will be a long-lost collection of Thomistic Josephology.

A Thomistic Josephology is a collected edition of articles written between 1961-1966 by James J. Davis, O.P. for the purpose of examining "the teachings of St. Thomas Aquinas on St. Joseph, the husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the foster father of Jesus Christ." I had never heard of this collection before finding it on an unassuming shelf, and even a search online comes up with scarcely any results.

Those who remember my old series on Josephology may recall a brief installment concerning the relevant doctrines of St. Thomas. What I treated summarily, Davis treats with over 300 pages of commentary and quotation, both in translation and out of it. Indeed, the bulk of the word count can be found in the Latin footnotes.

The first two-thirds of the collection very straightforwardly quote Thomas on his few Joseph-related passages and a many other vaguely related passages. These come not only from the two Summas, but also from the Catena and Thomas's scriptural commentaries. If there is one thing Davis is not it is lazy; his thoroughness could be considered pedantic, but in reality he has provided a helpful compendium of all that St. Thomas could possibly be argued to have written about St. Joseph. Davis establishes Thomas's arguments with their many dependencies on St. Jerome, particularly his doctrines of Joseph's vow of celibacy and of an actual marriage between Joseph and the Virgin Mary.

At around page 190 Davis descends into the odd realm of later Thomistic speculation. Suarez's "order of the hypostatic union" appears, as do many arguments according to fittingness. Davis actually does address the problem of Joseph supplanting the older belief in St. John the Baptist's preeminence, and admits that there is no simple solution to the problem. His section on the virtues and gifts of St. Joseph do not admit that he was in possession of every possible spiritual magnificence. He suggests there is much to doubt at the doctrine of Joseph's sanctification in the womb, and also at the idea of his resurrection and assumption. He traces the origin of some now-forgotten quotation attributed to Thomas about the great patronage of St. Joseph and proves it false. All things considered, this is a very reasonable work and not one to be easily dismissed like many devotional books. It would be better if those popular works were all replaced by this forgotten volume on the shelves of Josephite devotees.

Indeed, one wishes that Davis had applied his intellectual powers to a study of the Church Fathers and not restricted himself to Thomas's immediate influences and to the speculations of his followers. It is good to have a collection of Thomistic thought on St. Joseph, but Davis is too prone to accept Thomas's argument as a fait accompli rather than the thought of one Doctor among many, all working within an existing tradition. Many times Thomas is proof-texted in the way a Baptist might quote St. Paul. (In the prefatory material it is boasted that it "is obvious that the sole sources for this work are the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas," as if that were not indicative of a problem.)

This is a good reference volume for those who don't wish to rummage through their multi-volume set of the Summa Theologica for quotes, but it is not a useful survey of Church teaching and tradition on St. Joseph. Sadly, one comes away feeling that it could have been thus if the author had only been willing.

St. Joseph the Workingman, pray for us!

The Legality of the Old Rite

In the following article I shall endeavor to make a case for the public re-introduction of the pre-1962 Roman liturgy, both Mass and Office, from the perspective of Ecclesiastical law. First, I will specify what I mean by the pre-1962 liturgy. Then I will explore the concepts of abrogation, reprobation, custom, and the competing concepts of law present in the Tridentine decrees and the 1983 CIC.

Part I: Defining the Old Rite

By the "old rite" in the context of this blog I generally mean the Roman liturgy as it existed at the dawn of the 20th century, prior to the textual reductions of Pius X and John XXIII to the Office, the ceremonial changes of Pius XII to Holy Week, the vitiations of the kalendar, and the festive ranking system. 

A few posts ago, when discussing Msgr. Schneider's comments on the un-reformed Breviary, a commenting reader asked, presumably in derision, why not go beyond Trent? Why not re-introduce medieval sequences and see how far back into history we can transport ourselves. For the purposes of this article we will confine ourselves to the liturgical books promulgated at Trent and in use in the Latin Church, excepting for local tradition, until John XXIII. Consequently, this includes the typical editions published by Pius X, Pius XII, and early in the life of Papa Roncalli. 

The reason for this is that arguments about Canon Law must be reasonable. Canon Law is not very like modern secular law of the Common Law tradition, whereby established precedents and judicial decisions from prior times guide our contemporary interpretation of law. Additionally, the Codex is not a sacred book in the way law is sacred and uplifting to quotidian society. It is a rule book for governing holy things rather than the holy thing itself; in this it is subject to criticism and historical contrast, but it cannot be interpreted to mean anything other than what it plainly says, the very strange case of the FSSPX not withstanding.

The "Tridentine" liturgy neatly comports to this argument because its use is reasonable in that it is practical, something that could be done without resorting to medieval commentaries, reproducing long lost manuscripts, or resurrecting long dead cultures that used these traditions. The Tridentine liturgy, so named, was ratified by both an ecumenical council and an indefinitely (not the same as eternally) binding papal decree; it was built upon ancient custom and crystallized according to the highest standards of Church law: general episcopal ascent and the judgment of the pope in unison.

"Reasonable", in canonical terms, generally means compelling or necessary, but in the context of someone asking for something it could also mean practical. In this, the Tridentine liturgy, up to '62, is also "reasonable" in that it could be revived without extravagant effort. Before Summorum Pontificum there were enough Missals from which the 1962 Mass could be derived, but most Missals seem to be more recent prints. The older liturgy is accessibly easily enough through the same existing books, older books which can be found with little effort for purchase, and even smaller scale re-printing which one hopes might expand to a larger base.

Legally, a distinction must be adumbrated concerning the Tridentine Office and the Divino Afflatu scheme. In the penultimate paragraph of the aforementioned document Pius X explicitly suppresses the immemorial psalter and declares those who violate his new schema will incur the wrath of Ss. Peter and Paul. This issue will be addressed when we discuss abrogation and its place in law below. Otherwise, there are no such statements in subsequent 20th century liturgical reforms that openly repeal the existing forms, they merely introduce new ones with the assumption clergy will adapt them.

Part II: The Place of Custom

When a liturgical tradition has textual and practical continuity for over a millennium the most immediately obvious canonical precedent is that of custom. Custom in the common parlance means common or habitual practice, but also unwritten law. The Angelic Doctor's own words about "custom" in the Summa, II.97, form the basis for the canonical understanding of custom and, in many respects, are a more complete understanding of Ecclesiastical custom than what is in the current Codex.

Saint Thomas discusses custom in a larger question about whether human laws should be changed and how. In article 2 the Common Doctor observes that "the binding power of the law is diminished, in so far as custom is abolished." More broadly, he means that custom is one with the law and that to change custom is to change law, written or unwritten. Just as Divine Law proceeds from the "reasonable will of God," so Human Law proceeds from the "will of man, regulated by reason." Thomas presumably pauses from calling Man's will "reasonable" because it is not always reasonable, but can be tempered by reason; along a similar vein a great deal of what men do is habitual, not intentional, making those habits inapplicable to law and custom.

As a basis for the rest of his answer, Aquinas adduces St. Augustine's views on Christian custom having the force of Divine Law:

"The customs of God's people and the institutions of our ancestors are to be considered as laws. And those who throw contempt on the customs of the Church ought to be punished as those who disobey the law of God." 

Law is normative, but for Thomas man-made law is also fungible, even Ecclesiastical law. The repetition of external action in union with interior will forms a reasonable custom from which law derives and which has the power to alter law.

"Wherefore by actions also, especially if they be repeated, so as to make a custom, law can be changed and expounded; and also something can be established which obtains force of law, in so far as by repeated external actions, the inward movement of the will, and concepts of reason are most effectually declared; for when a thing is done again and again, it seems to proceed from a deliberate judgment of reason. Accordingly, custom has the force of a law, abolishes law, and is the interpreter of law."

If liturgical historians ever wanted a tight definition of "organic development" they would find it in Thomas's above words. Like administrative law, liturgical norms gain structure, substance, and interpretation through custom. 

Part III: Codex Iuris Canonici MCMLXXXIII

Modern Canon Law, according to the 1983 Codex, makes provision for existing customs and the intentional creation of new customs. Canons 23-28 deal with the erection of customs; intentional customs must:

• not violate Divine Law
• be introduced to a "community of faithful" capable of receiving it under its legislative head
• not violate current Canon Law (unless it has been used for thirty years or holds the force of immemorial custom)

The old Mass and Office certainly do not violate Divine Law, unless all of those Counter-Reformation Saints were as legitimately canonized as Papa Montini.

It is the second of these points that is most critical to understand, that a custom must prevail upon a "community of faithful" capable of receiving it under its legislative head, whoever that happens to be. A custom cannot be a private practice. If a parish priest, for example, were to come upon a Pius IX era Breviary and wish to say it, he really would not carry the force of custom if he were only to use this Office privately. He would, however, have legitimate access to it if he celebrates Mass, whenever he celebrates the pre-Conciliar rites, according to the same rubrics, kalendar, and commemorations; the same would apply for any public celebration of the Office. John Beal's commentary on the Code goes on to remark that a custom must be stable and an intentional norm for a community. There can be no variation, optionality, or mixing-and-matching; otherwise a custom is not realized. This is critical, as custom, both canonically and Scholastically, have the force of Law because they govern popular behavior and belief as much as Law if not more. If it is not "popular" then it cannot be a custom, just a personal habit. 

Who is the legislator or canonical authority for such a decision? Presumably the head of a "community of faithful" as envisioned by the Law, be it an Abbot in a monastery, a Mother Superior in a convent, the parish pastor, or a bishop, should one wish to expand orthopraxis.

With respect to the old liturgy there is the issue of the abrogation of the Roman Psalter by Pius X, which could seemingly end conversation about a liturgical revival, at least of the full blown Latin rite. This is not necessarily the case. In his New Commentary on the Code of Canon Law, Beal observes that the canons regarding custom suppress "reprobated" custom, which is not the same as abrogated custom—custom administratively suppressed, but not something inherently wrong. He goes on to observe that abrogated customs could be legitimized again, whereas a reprobated custom is one that violates Divine Law, morals, or the liberty of the Church. 

The Tridentine Office does exist contrary to modern Law. It also enjoys immemorial custom in every sense of the word. One can pinpoint its official publications and typical editions after the Council of Trent, but its contents reach back centuries and its essentials far beyond that. Indeed, most of it is so very old that no one could really say when its specific contents started. Along the same lines, it met canonical abrogation, but simultaneously enjoys the highest state of approval possible, that of a pope in union with an ecumenical council and the full force of custom. Its revival would be contrary to the current force of liturgical norms, but would, simultaneously, be quite legal in virtue of its "reasonable" nature, the ability of a community of faithful to receive it under the correct authority, and its immemorial precedent.

In short, Pius X, and potentially Pius XII, suppressed the old rite, yet the 1983 Codex provides for immemorial custom to be reasonable enough to contravene existing law and for new custom to be imposed on those who would receive it.

Part IV: Greater Concepts of Law

Canon Law's recognition of custom reminds us of an opening point of this short article, which is that while the Codex cannot be read as saying anything other than what it does (ex. Archbishop Lefebvre rejecting the 1983 CIC altogether), it is not the only source or end of law in the Church. In fact, the general idea of Canon Law today has a very different tone from the medieval decretals from which is derives. Canon Law, both in the 1917 and 1983 forms, comes across as prescriptive, whereas the older outlook was that law is proscriptive and protective. Custom and stability give form to Law itself, which must be stable. Any system of law that changes at a whim debases the authority of the law giver.

Before Canon Law, at still embedded in the general outlook of Catholics and of the Councils we are bound to believe, custom and canons reign supreme, both of which are protective and proscriptive by nature. In our case, Pius V confirmed the Roman rite in the interest of perpetuating its use, not dictating what it is. In light of this plain fact, we can apply Saint Thomas's statement on the legal force of custom—and the Summa was placed on the altar, beside the Gospels, at Trent—guides our outlook on all Church law.

This more ancient and more universal outlook on law and custom resides in the very document which began the question of pre-Conciliar forms, Summorum Pontificum. Upon its issuance in 2007 many understandably raised their motu proprio copies in the air and screamed the old fashioned Traditionalist bromide "Never abrograted." How Michael Davies would have loved to see that day!

The passage of time has discovered another far more illuminating and enduring phrase within Summorum, that "What earlier generations held as sacred, remains sacred and great for us too, and it cannot be all of a sudden entirely forbidden or even considered harmful." 

Concluding Thoughts

The historic concept of Canon Law, omnipresent in councils and theology, is that law derives from custom and should custom be stable, it gives guidance to the understanding and interpretation of law. In no greater point is this more apparent than in the older Roman liturgy as it existed after Trent, which passed on what had been understood as the Roman rite and which tangibly, firmly continued to be the Roman rite for centuries. Modern Canon Law accommodates for both the introduction of custom and the use of immemorial custom, even if contrary to abrogation. Under this aegis, the leader of a Catholic community could reasonably revive use of the old rite if he did in fact intend to do so as a custom, that is, as the normal way of practicing the old Mass and Office in a given place.

Fathers, let go of apprehensions and buy a Ordo for the old Ordo. Get out of the folded chasubles or have them made. Embrace the old liturgy as a custom, both of the past and the future.

The Legal Force of Tradition

The Roman Church is much more traditional than it was twenty years ago, but one cannot say tradition governs that Church, at least not the way it once did and some hope it might one day govern again. The Church is ruled by men, by bishops and other representatives of the Apostles who may or may not faithfully execute their sacred charges. A general guideline of administration has been received for these times. No, not the Didache or the canons of Trent; no, it is the 1983 Code of Canon Law, a modern reduction of a slightly less modern consolidation of authority.

On its own a code of law may be a good thing. The code could provide the same protections and processes in Church law that Common Law does in secular administration. The problem is that while the "spirit" of secular law is often alive and well with regard to trial by a jury of one's peers or property rights, the 1983 Code of Canon Law does little regarding Christian living other than set widely ignored minimums which make establishing a stronger standard of Catholic life difficult.

Take, for instance, fasting.

The Eastern Churches, Catholic and Orthodox, still take fasting very seriously; the more ethnic the parish the stricter the observance. Lent, to the best of one's ability, admits one vegan meal a day after sunset. In practice the vegan diet is more widely observed than the Spartan quantity, but the spirit and a degree of the letter remain. Less fasts for the Apostles, Dormition of the Blessed Virgin, and the Nativity of the Lord fill out the rest of the year. One cannot say fasting is not a legal requirement of the supposedly non-legalistic Eastern Churches. Fasting and abstinence are laid out in the canons of various synods of Eastern bishops and their antiquity has not made them any less binding than current law. The difficulty in observing the fasts and abstinence often results in genuinely pastoral accommodations and the encouragement to do as much as one can during those seasons. Does tradition of this sort, so embedded in Christian life and the basic outlook of repentance that it cannot be reduced to mere custom, have a force of law where standards lack?

None other than the Common Doctor warned against men altering their own laws and weakening their effect:

"Consequently, when a law is changed, the binding power of the law is diminished, in so far as custom is abolished. Wherefore human law should never be changed, unless, in some way or other, the common weal be compensated according to the extent of the harm done in this respect. Such compensation may arise either from some very great and every evident benefit conferred by the new enactment; or from the extreme urgency of the case, due to the fact that either the existing law is clearly unjust, or its observance extremely harmful." Summ. Theol. II.97.2

Another Dominican, Saint Pius V, was aware of this in making the Curial Missal and Office the normative rite for Latin Christianity. Rites more than two centuries old retained the force of obligation and could only make way for the Roman rite with the mutual consent of both the ordinary and the unanimity of his cathedral chapter, which often happened only out of laxity. The problem in this case is that the current Code of Canon Law asks very little, tradition asks very much, and the latter is a hard case to make to people who prefer the niggardly standards of the former.

The aim of tradition, in the sense of this post, was always to cultivate the dictates and continued presence of Christ in the Church. Christ sanctified fasting by spending forty days in the desert to subdue what is wanting in human nature and in doing so subdued Satan, too. Our Lord even put fasting on par with prayer as a necessary means of driving out devils (Mark 9:29)—how many devils have we that we refuse to confront? In the kalendar the Church historically pairs fasting with feasting so as to unite ourselves to the sufferings of Christ and to share in His joy afterward. This is most visible from Septuagesima until Whit Wednesday, but also during the vigils of great saints and the ensuing feasts in their octaves. Ember days and Lent once saw abstinence on par with Eastern custom until the dawn of the French Revolution. Keeping vigil, of which fasting was a part, was so integral to medieval feasts that a feast would be considered a lesser occasion if it lacked a strong vigil. Now fasting is required two days a year and, in the United States at least, accompanies the previous six Fridays of Lent as the only days which do not permit substitute "penances" for abstinence. It is difficult for this writer, who is as guilty as any of having scallops and swordfish drenched in French sauces on Fridays, to conceive a way of convincing others to observe abstinence and fasting when the written law, equivalent with direct obeisance to the current episcopate in the eyes of some, asks nothing more. If something is not explicitly asked for how can its neglect be a sin?

To end this very inconclusive post, I leave you with another quote from the Angelic Doctor's dealing with law:

"All law proceeds from the reason and will of the lawgiver; the Divine and natural laws from the reasonable will of God; the human law from the will of man, regulated by reason. Now just as human reason and will, in practical matters, may be made manifest by speech, so may they be made known by deeds: since seemingly a man chooses as good that which he carries into execution. But it is evident that by human speech, law can be both changed and expounded, in so far as it manifests the interior movement and thought of human reason. Wherefore by actions also, especially if they be repeated, so as to make a custom, law can be changed and expounded; and also something can be established which obtains force of law, in so far as by repeated external actions, the inward movement of the will, and concepts of reason are most effectually declared; for when a thing is done again and again, it seems to proceed from a deliberate judgment of reason. Accordingly, custom has the force of a law, abolishes law, and is the interpreter of law." Summ. Theol. II.97.3

The Origins of "Church Militant"

Recently while reading the discourses of P. Gregory the Great with Peter the Deacon concerning the immortality of the soul, I came across this interesting passage recounting how the death of multiple monks in Gregory's old monastery was foretold by an angelic visitor:

That those also, which lie a dying, do oftentimes by divine revelation foretell what shall happen afterward, we may learn by such things as have fallen out amongst us in divers Abbeys. For ten years since, there was a monk in my Monastery, called Gerontius, who, lying sore sick, saw by vision in the night time, certain white men beautifully apparelled to descend from above into the Monastery, and standing by his bed-side, one of them said: "The cause of our coming hither is to choose out certain of Gregory's monks, to send them abroad unto the wars": and forthwith he commanded another to write in a bill the names of Marcellus, Valentinian, Agnellus, and divers others, whose names I have now forgotten: that being done, he said further: "Put down also the name of him that now beholdeth us." By which vision he being assured of that which would come to pass, the next morning he told the monks, who they were that should shortly die out of the Monastery, adding also that himself was to follow them. The next day the foresaid monks fell more dangerously sick, and so died all in that very order which they were named in the bill. Last of all, himself also departed this life, who had foretold the departure of the other monks before him. (IV.xxvi)

What interested me especially was the phrase used by the angel of death, that these monks were being recruited to be "sent abroad unto the wars." This imagery of the saints in Heaven engaged in warfare is not, to my knowledge, found elsewhere. It makes sense that the souls of holy men war against the Devil just as the holy angels do, but still the appellation Ecclesia Militans is applied to us here on earth, and Ecclesia Triumphans describes those safe in the harbor of Heaven.

The imagery in the Militant-Triumphant metaphor is clear: the soul of a man on Earth is in constant warfare against sin, the world, the flesh, and the Devil; while the soul of a man in Heaven has triumphed over all these enemies and is established forever in grace. St. Thomas Aquinas used the Militant-Triumphant dichotomy in his Summa (II-I.102.4), but I cannot otherwise trace the origins of this terminology.

I have to wonder why the Gregorian imagery of the holy dead being sent off to war did not gain purchase in popular piety. Was it because of a increasing consciousness of the middle state, the Ecclesia Dolens? Did Purgatory conquer so much of the imagination that theologians desired to emphasize the rest and triumph of the state of blessedness? The ecclesial phrases suggest a transition from activity to passivity, but if the holy angels truly rest in the Beatific Vision and yet are perpetually active on our behalf, why should not the great "cloud of witnesses" do the same? We might we not go from one sort of militancy to another?

Mind you, I am not being critical or especially skeptical of the popular terminology of Militant-Suffering-Triumphant. I am merely curious about its origins. If any of our good readers have knowledge of this aspect of Catholic piety, I would love to hear it.

A Challenge for the Feast of Saint Thomas Aquinas

Something has bothered the Rad Trad for years, readers. It is the issue of valid ordinations to the diaconate and the priesthood, both the lower and higher degrees. Every Sacrament has an abbreviated version that can be used to emergencies (Baptism on a crashing plane, Absolution or Confirmation in articulo mortis) except for the Eucharist and Holy Order.

When we speak of the intent behind a Sacrament we do not, as many believe, speak of the inner faith of the person confecting the Sacrament; we speak of the intention symbolized in the external forum where a Sacrament is celebrated. Communion cannot come to be in any context other than in the celebration of the Eucharistic sacrifice at the hands of one given the power to do so by a successor of the Apostles. A priest in good standing cannot walk into Trader Joe's, turn to the bakery aisle and say the essential form "This is my body", then face the booze and speak "This is my blood" and expect something to have happened.

Ordination is more complicated, if only because it is less discussed. It is the only Sacrament that is always celebrated in full, without reduced ceremony, within the context of the Eucharistic sacrifice. No short form exists; no extra Missam form exists, at least to my knowledge. While historically one might say that all Sacraments were once celebrated within the context of the Eucharist—save Marriage—Ordination is the only one that does not seem to have budged for a moment. Beyond historical circumstance and the rite's rarity in contrast to Baptism, Marriage, and the rest that most receive, why?

Give your best Thomistic response and do the Angelic Doctor well. If anyone answers in the structure of an article that commentator will receive a free crayon!

Saint Thomas & Scholasticism, a Legacy of Orthodox Christianity

Underneath the glow of candles lit before icons of the Pantokrator and the Theotokos and the sweet scent of incense a current runs in Greek Christianity that says "We have never changed or thought about anything, ever." One deacon told a very confused congregation "We don't write things down, we just do what the people before us did," a remark which only further befuddled the befuddled. Any contrast with Latin Christianity draws buzz words like "legalism", "Aristotle", "juridical", "original", "mystical", "pastoral", and "the Fathers". What the faithful do not often hear is that Scholasticism and the forces behind it are as much or more integral to Orthodox Christianity than the writings of St. Symeon the New Theologian or Palamas.

A "Scholastic" is a "school man", a variation of the word schola, school in Latin. Schools were not centers of textbook reading, flag saluting, and learning how not to offend men in dresses in prior ages. A schola, East and West, was a center of instruction through dialogue and disputation, a system of purely Greek invention, one founded on Socrates' smart aleck ways and more coherently developed in the Dialogues of his student, Plato. Dialogue proved a useful oral tool in directing conversation to concentrate on crystallizing certain points of inquiry, in finding the finer points of a thing; similarly, dialogue was a useful written tool in answering objections as a point developed and in keeping the reader's interest rather than lugubriously lecturing him like a hipster, post-modern bore. Even when Plato waned in popularity his teaching methods remained in vogue in Orthodox and Latin culture until the end of the Middle Ages.

For as much grief as modern Orthodox writers give Augustine for his reliance on Plato and the Doctor Angelicus for his extensive use of Aristotle, Greek Christian history is plentiful with more notable example of applying the language of popular philosophy to contemporary theology and binding it upon future generations. The definition of a matter of theology in the language of philosophy is not a wholesale baptism of whatever that particular Greek said, merely that certain concepts were found useful to explain a certain elements of Christian truth for all time. In defense of ICEL's caterwauling over the translation of "consubstantial" in the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed, the idea of substance very much belongs to Greek philosophy and not to any familiar thought in the last few centuries. Far from excusing our ignorance of "substance"—or prosopon in the case of Trinitarian theology—the Church is obligated to teach us about God using these very fitting terms. 

Similarly, the "legalistic" and exacting approach of Aquinas and the Schoolmen survives today only in courtrooms, yet for centuries was the acceptable means of settling a matter. When Leo III, Leo V, and Michael III stripped the holy images from the churches of Constantinople and rendered the Hagia Sophia as barren and dull as a Dallas church, Saint John of Damascus did not throw up his hands in objection and exclaim "We've always venerated icons! But why is a mystery, so let us do it and not discuss it!" In his third treatise against the iconoclasts, John taxonomizes numerous levels of veneration and their related sub-types:

1. Veneration due to God, of which there are
1. Worship
2. Wonderment
3. Gratitude
4. Petition
5. Repentance
1. Repentance out of love
2. Repentance out of fear for loss of love
3. Repentance out of fear for punishment
2. Veneration of persons or things through which God has worked
3. Veneration due to things dedicated to God
4. Veneration of types of God
5. Veneration of God in other human beings
6. Veneration of authority that comes from God
7. Veneration of benefactors

In a like manner, Saint John examines specific ways in which something can be an image:

1. A natural image, like God the Son is an image of God the Father
2. A prophetic image of what is to come
3. An imitation
4. A Scriptural type
5. A type of an event
6. A memory

After a resurgence of iconoclasm in his own time, Saint Theodore the Studite got in touch with his inner-Plato and wrote a lengthy dialogue pitting the "Orthodox" against the hopeless "Heretic". Contemporaries would have read the names as the "True Worshiper" and "The One Who Chooses". Like the ancient Greeks Theodore uses his protagonist to propose his doctrine and the counterpart to present objections as each brick of teaching builds a wall of belief. 

During the same era the Roman Church produced relatively few notable theologians and no worthwhile movements of thought. Perhaps more genuinely in line with what modern would-be Hesychasts present Greek Christianity to be, the Romans did little else than what was given to them because much of their intellectual inheritance had been lost in the years following the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. The odd notable writer like Saint Gregory the Great or Saint Bede the Venerable relied heavily on Scripture for his terms and monasticism for his outlook.

"Do you like the Pope?"
"No."
"Great! You're in charge."

Amid disputes from the Greeks against the Spanish introduction of the Filioque and the "Azymites", as well as from Latins against the deteriorating relationship with the papacy, a renewed interest in theology emerged during Palaiologan Byzantium that did not preclude the Schoolmen. If anything the introduction of Saint Thomas Aquinas' writings shocked the Greek intellectual world. The Summa was probably first translated from Latin to Greek by Maximus Planudes in the early 14th century and quickly gained a following. Opinions of Aquinas and the established Latin theological traditions of Scholasticism and Scotism enjoyed a popularity irrespective of one's opinion of the Filioque, unleavened bread, and the pope. "As a star of the West, [Saint Thomas] illumined the Church of Christ" in the words of hymnographer Janus Plousiadenos (thanks, Marko!). Basilios Bessarion may not have been an outright Thomist, but Scholasticism certainly influenced his speculative theology. Among opponents of Rome, Mark of Ephesus (accomplished in many things and remembered only for giving Rome the middle finger on the eve of Byzantium's fall) criticized Aquinas' rejection of the Immaculate Conception from Scotistic grounds. 

Gennadius Scholarius recanted of his Scholasticism after leaving the Council of Florence without voting on any propositions to lead the separatist party back home. Yet, before Florence he sang Aquinas' praises:

"Would O excellent Thomas that you had not been born in the West. Then you would not have needed to defend the deviations of the Church there.... You would have been as perfect in theology as you are in ethics."

According to Hugh Barbour O. Praem, Palamite emperor John VI took an interest in Thomas and patronized Demetrios Kydones' translation of the Summa contra gentiles. Two other opponents of the Florentine Union quoted Aquinas' arguments for the Incarnation and consecrated virginity word for word and without attribution; these two opponents, Makarios Makres and Joseph Bryennios, were cited as examples of fidelity to Orthodox tradition in a letter of Athonites monks against the ecumenism of the Greek patriarch.

Why were Palaiologan Orthodox so fond of Saint Thomas when their descendants today are not? It seems likely that, aside from where Thomas "needed to defend the deviations" of Rome, the Greeks perceived him as one of the highest expressions of their own approach to theology, to argument, and to reasoning. There was no antithetical relationship between reason and mysticism, between logic and tradition; there was only truth and falsehood, and Aquinas enunciated the former more eloquently and with greater edification than any other writer centuries forward or backward, East or West; his imitators were less successful.

A separate Scholastic tradition would develop in Russia, firmly separated from Rome and independent of Constantinople after the events of 1453. Russia lacked an indigenous theological tradition, relying instead on sparsely available translations of Greek writers. There was a need for stability in both church and state which the Scholastic method supplied. Today some writers consider these centuries as the "Western Captivity of Orthodoxy."

Now that we have seen Greek Christianity's well rooted similarities to Latin Scholasticism and their amenable history with Saint Thomas, the question remains why Aquinas has fallen out of favor and into disrepute with Orthodox theologians. The answer is simple: because Orthodox Christianity, not unlike modern Roman Catholic theology, is under the intellectual domain of a small clique of thinkers who do not represent their tradition in its entirety. I will close with a quote from Patrick Reardon, a priest of the Antiochian Orthodox Church:

“What almost always passes for ‘Orthodox theology’ among English-speaking Orthodox these days is actually just a branch of the larger Orthodox picture. Indeed, it tends sometimes to be rather sectarian.

"The Orthodox Church is an ancient castle, as it were, of which only two or three rooms have been much in use since about 1920. These two or three rooms were furnished by the Russian émigrés in Paris between the two World Wars. This furniture is heavily neo-Palamite and anti-Scholastic. It relies heavily on the Cappadocians, Maximus, and Gregory Palamas (who are good folks, or course). Anything that does not fit comfortably into that model is dismissed as “Western” and even non-Orthodox.

"Consequently, one will look in vain in that theology for any significant contribution from the Alexandrians, chiefly Cyril, and that major Antiochian, Chrysostom. When these are quoted, it is usually some incidental point on which they can afford to be quoted.

"Now I submit that any ‘Orthodox’ theology that has so little use for the two major figures from Antioch and Alexandria is giving something less than the whole picture.

"Likewise, this popular neo-Palamite brand of Orthodoxy, though it quotes Damascene when it is convenient, never really engages Damascene’’s manifestly ‘Scholastic’ approach to theology.

"Much less does it have any use for the other early Scholastic theologians, such as Theodore the Studite and Euthymus Zygabenus. There is no recognition that Scholasticism was born in the East, not the West, and that only the rise of the Turk kept it from flourishing in the East.

"There is also no explicit recognition that the defining pattern of Orthodox Christology was formulated in the West before Chalcedon. Pope Leo’s distinctions are already very clear in Augustine decades before Chalcedon. Yet, Orthodox treatises on the history of Christology regularly ignore Augustine. 

"Augustine tends to be classified as a ‘Scholastic,’ which he most certainly was not.
But Western and Scholastic are bad words with these folks.

"In fact, however, Augustine and the Scholastics represent only other rooms in the larger castle.

"For this reason I urge you, as you can, to read in the Orthodox sources that tend to get skipped in what currently passes for ‘Orthodoxy.’ For my part, I believe the Russian émigré theology from Paris, which seems profoundly reactionary and anti-Western, is an inadequate instrument for the evangelization of this country and the world. I say this while gladly recognizing my own debt to Russian émigré theology.”

Hymn for a Creationist

St. Peter of Verona receives the Triple Crown: as virgin, martyr, and doctor.

In the twenty-seventh year of Thomas of Aquino's life, his fellow Dominican Peter of Verona was murdered by Milanese Cathars, against whom he had vociferously preached for years. The great contention between Peter and the Cathars was the creation of the world by God instead of the Devil or some Devil-like deity. The orthodox Peter contended that the world was good, the heretics that it was evil or thoroughly corrupted.

Eleven years after this gruesome martyrdom, Thomas made a pilgrimage to the saint's tomb—for Peter had been canonized less than a year after his death—and composed the following eulogy. It would later be engraved in a slab near the sepulcher.

Praeco, lucerna, pugil Christi, populi, fideique,

Hic silet, hic tegitur, jacet hic mactatus inique.

Vox ovibus dulcis, gratissima lux animorum.

Et verbi gladius gladiis cecidit Catharorum.

Christus mirificat, populus devotus adorat,

Martyrioque fides sanctum servata decorat.

Sed Christus nova signa loqui facit, ac nova turbae

Lux datur, atque fides vulgata refulget in urbe.

Loosely Englished by Msgr. H.T. Henry:

Here silent is Christ’s Herald;

Here quenched, the People’s Light;

Here lies the martyred Champion

Who fought Faith’s holy fight.

The Voice the sheep heard gladly,

The light they loved to see

He fell beneath the weapons

Of graceless Cathari.

The Saviour crowns His Soldier;

His praise the people psalm.

The Faith he kept adorns him

With martyr’s fadeless palm.

His praise new marvels utter,

New light he spreads abroad

And now the whole wide city

Knows well the path to God.

St. Peter's killer, the hired assassin Carino of Balsamo, soon repented of his crime and fled to a Dominican monastery at Forlì. He performed penance, became a lay brother, and lived a religious life until the end of his days, having taken the name Peter.

The Common Doctor of the Church

(Benozzo Gozzoli)

A prayer in today's Lauds exhorts us:

O God, Who dost enlighten thy Church by the wonderful learning of thy blessed Confessor Thomas, and quickenest her through his godly labours, grant unto thy people, we humbly beseech thee, ever to apprehend by their understanding what he teacheth, and in their life faithfully to practise the same.

St. Thomas Aquinas is a polarizing figure among Catholic theologians, although when he is disliked it is often more because of the later Thomists than Thomas himself. Few in the Thomistic school have exuded the sheer joy of knowing that Thomas did in his Summas (where he essentially decides to play chess against himself) and in his many scriptural commentaries. The accusation that Thomism is dry and dusty is usually all too true.

In an age when non-theologians and even non-Catholics are being initiated into the ranks of the Doctores Ecclesiae, it is tempting to consider the ranking itself to be of little worth. St. Thomas deserves the title more than most, even if certain aspects of his theology ran out of control and led to some unfortunate obsessions among lesser-minded theologians in later years.

Do yourself a favor and peruse a few of his works, especially his scripture commentaries. Even his short exposition on the Hail Mary is rich with insight.

Ergo Concluso in Contra Manicheus!

(Thomas von Aquin bei Ludwig dem Heiligen, by Niklaus Manuel)

Louis IX of France is known as a saint, a moral leader, an affectionate husband, a (less than successful) crusader, and a holy mentor to his son. It is not my purpose here to expound upon his life and saintliness, but rather to consider an odd incident late in his life. The fame of Tommaso d’Aquino’s theological genius had grown so great in Europe that he was known to dine occasionally with the king, who no doubt enjoyed speaking on matters of the Faith with the Angelic Doctor.

One day the two were lunching together, and Tommaso’s mind began to wander back to the Summa he was in the midst of writing. His dining companions apparently did not notice his mental withdrawal until he pounded his fist on the table and shouted out, “Ergo concluso in contra manicheus!” (With this I finish the Manicheans!)—for Thomas Aquinas had conceived of a new argument against the dualist heretics plaguing Europe.

Stunned, it only took King Louis and Thomas’ secretary Friar Reginald a few moments to find ink and paper so that the argument could be preserved for theological tracts and debates. Once written, the meal continued with new vigor and joy.

One could formulate an entire theology of feasting from this incident alone. The sharing of good food and sacred conversation is a joy known best to orthodox Christians. We rejoice in truth, and are driven to celebrate by enjoying the best the fruits of the earth. Is it any coincidence that Chartreuse, that most Catholic of drinks, was invented in Louis’ old realm?

As St. John the Golden-Mouthed once said, “Ubi caritas gaudet, ibi est festivitas” (Where love rejoices, there is festivity).

St. Louis of France, pray for us! (source)

Corpus Christi: "Being Himself Man So That Men Might Become Gods"

"He that eateth My Flesh, and drinketh My Blood, dwelleth in Me, and I in him." To dwell in Christ, therefore, and to have Him dwelling in us, is to "eat of that Bread and drink of that Cup," and he which dwelleth not in Christ, and in whom Christ dwelleth not, without all doubt doth not spiritually eat His Flesh nor drink His Blood, although he do carnally and visibly press the Sacrament with his teeth but, contrariwise, he " eateth and drinketh damnation to himself," because he dareth to draw nigh filthy to that secret and holy thing of Christ, whereunto none draweth nigh worthily, save he which is pure, even he which is of them concerning whom it is said " Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." St. Augustine of Hippo 26th Tract on John (third nocturne of Mattins)

Josephology Part 8: The Angelic Doctor

“I would like to commission an awesome carving of St. Gabriel.”

While the Angelic Doctor has only a little to say about the Virgin’s spouse, he does follow his teacher St. Albert Magnus in following the Hieronymic belief in St. Joseph’s constant virginity. This, mixed with some truly bizarre applications of other Thomistic principles, has fired the small but persistent group of Josephite devotees since the Middle Ages.

But what does Thomas actually write about Joseph? First, he agrees with St. Augustine that the union of Joseph and Mary was a true marriage, not a perpetual betrothal or a kind of legal fiction:

The marriage of the Virgin Mother of God and Joseph was absolutely true: because both consented to the nuptial bond, but not expressly to the bond of the flesh, save on the condition that it was pleasing to God. For this reason the angel calls Mary the wife of Joseph, saying to him: “Fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife”: on which words Augustine says (De Nup. et Concup. i): “She is called his wife from the first promise of her espousals, whom he had not known nor ever was to know by carnal intercourse.” (ST III.29.2)

Secondly, he agrees with St. Jerome that there is no evidence to believe that Joseph was previously married and fathered children:

Some, as Jerome says on Matthew 12:49-50, “suppose that the brethren of the Lord were Joseph’s sons by another wife. But we understand the brethren of the Lord to be not sons of Joseph, but cousins of the Savior, the sons of Mary, His Mother's sister.” For “Scripture speaks of brethren in four senses; namely, those who are united by being of the same parents, of the same nation, of the same family, by common affection.” Wherefore the brethren of the Lord are so called, not by birth, as being born of the same mother; but by relationship, as being blood-relations of His. But Joseph, as Jerome says (Contra Helvid. ix), is rather to be believed to have remained a virgin, “since he is not said to have had another wife,” and “a holy man does not live otherwise than chastely.” (ST III.28.3)

Thirdly, when speaking of Mary’s vow of virginity, he touches on Joseph’s part in this action:

It was therefore fitting that her virginity should be consecrated to God by vow. Nevertheless because, while the Law was in force both men and women were bound to attend to the duty of begetting, since the worship of God was spread according to carnal origin, until Christ was born of that people; the Mother of God is not believed to have taken an absolute vow of virginity, before being espoused to Joseph, although she desired to do so, yet yielding her own will to God’s judgment. Afterwards, however, having taken a husband, according as the custom of the time required, together with him she took a vow of virginity. (ST III.28.4)

This is actually quite a modest claim when compared to later and even to some earlier sources. A few of the legendary works covered in earlier entries of this series claimed that Mary made a total vow of virginity long before her betrothal, but here Thomas suggests that she would have been willing to bear children through carnal means if God had so willed it, despite her wishes to the contrary! Thomas also says that the vow to abstain from carnal relations was made at the time of their marriage, not before.

Lastly, it is worth noting Thomas’ interpretation of Joseph’s decision to “put away” Mary when he had found her with child: “Joseph was minded to put away the Blessed Virgin not as suspected of fornication, but because in reverence for her sanctity, he feared to cohabit with her” (ST sup.62.3). This reading is a rejection of that in the Proto-Gospel of James, wherein Joseph decides to put her away as a compromise, because he is uncertain if she is lying about the divine paternity of her Son. Thomas simply says that Joseph was certain about her claims, apparently saying this in opposition to those who said that Joseph firmly believed she had committed fornication. The Proto-Gospel’s solution is a more nuanced one, but Thomas does not seem to even consider it.

I had thought to write more on the development and distortion of Thomistic Josephology over the ages, but that will require more research before I can do it properly. Instead, next time I will take a step back from the specifically theological works to look at the change of Joseph in iconography and the supplanting of St. John the Baptist by St. Joseph in the popular Catholic mind.

St. Joseph, out for your morning constitutional, pray for us!

Placing St. Thomas

I have criticized the prominence of neo-Scholasticism and the aphoristic attitude towards clerical education is elicited in the post-Tridentine age, culminating in the three generations of bad clergy who met in Rome from 1962-1965 (the old bishops, the middle aged monsignori and auxiliaries, and the priests and monks who would succeed them). At night, when I find a moment, I navigate John Senior's The Restoration of Christian Culture. Chapter Four, Theology and Superstition, begins with a series of astute mini-rants observations about the problem of Thomistic education, which has little to do with the portly, saintly friar who wrote the Summa:

"Superstition" is something "standing over" from a former time which we no longer "understand...." The theology of St. Thomas has become something like that, a superstition among twentieth-century Catholics, including conservatives and traditionalists, his formulas, like rakes and hoes, hanging in our theological gingko trees; and it is no wonder that the younger generation has decided to junk them.

A few uncommon and relatively unknown, and old, theologians still study and teach St. Thomas, but he is no longer received as the Common Doctor of the Church. The Summa Theologiae, St. Thomas himself says in the Prologue, is a book "for beginners;" but we have few real beginners anymore. Our schools and colleges turn out advanced technicians in what are called the arts and sciences, but none has the ordinary prerequisites to traditional philosophical and theological study, none with the famous mens sana in corpore sano of the ancients, that is, disciplined in the perception, memory, and imagination of reality. To compensate for our failures, seminaries in the decades preceding Vatican II tabulated maxims based upon the Summa as texts for easily testable courses run on principles remotely traceable to Descartes, full of method, and having little to do with reality, ess of memory and nothing of imagination or the spirit of St. Thomas. In the great Catholic universities at Rome and elsewhere, the grand old Dominican and Jesuit masters went on lecturing in Latin to students, many from America, who had to get laugh-in signals from the graduate assistants when the master cracked a joke because none knew Latin well enough to tell a joke from a Scholastic formula. It is hardly surprising that in such universities scholastic formulas became jokes. The only usual skill you had to master at the Roman colleges, they say, was to read the easy Latin upside down because on oral examinations the professor would read aloud a question form the manual—holding it right there in front of him. If you had the trick of reading upside down you could give the answer word for word to pass with high distinction. Through a gross misunderstanding of docility, students sat on their disengaged intelligences through hours of what to them was gibberish, at the end of which they received gilded Italianate certificates in Canon Law and Theology certifying in reality an education in outlines, "ponies," and tests whose questions had been leaked in advance with answers right in front of them. And with these doctorates, as professors, rectors and even bishops, their graduates occupied positions of authority in Catholic universities and seminaries. Of course there were exceptions, but I think, brutal as it seems, this is a fair description of the general situation....

....It is better, as Socrates repeatedly said, not to know and know you don't than not to know and think you do. Or as the poet said.... A little learning is a dangerous thing/Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring....

....Neo-Thomism in our own time couldn't even stand up to the grasshoppers of relativism and Social Darwinism. Nor could the few serious Thomists such as Garrigou-Lagrange propose a real theology to those who couldn't see beyond the rhetoric of popular science, which dazzled them with figures of speech in place of the quiet light of thought. Gilson recounts in one of his last, sad books, how he had refused a request from Pius XII to write a refutation of Teilhard de Chardin.... because there was no clear doctrine in Teilhard to refute, only a kind of poetry which confused the imagination and affected the emotions but without argument, evidence, or substance.

So I do not advocate anything like a revival of St. Thomas. I think it is impossible under present conditions. He is better off where he is and incidentally needs no "revival" because he isn't dead; we're the ones who are dead, or almost dead; the rent is overdue and we are starving in ruined torment.

Liturgy & Sacrament: Another Dialogue with the Maestro

Earlier the Maestro and I had a series of exchanges concerning the anaphora of Addai & Mari. Recently we discussed the relationship between the liturgy and the Sacraments, the proper place for each and the historic understanding of the Church in these matters. The Maestro brings a Scholastic perspective to the dialogue.

I am publishing this, with the Maestro's permission, because this is a discussion that needs to be had in public and not in private settings among people who already agree on everything. Readers, do feel free to chime in with comments on this one!

Maestro: A question along the lines of our discussions on liturgy and its relation to theology and revelation. The saying is "legem credendi lex statuat supplicandi" - the law of prayer determines the law of belief. My reading of Kavanagh did help me understand this saying a little better, although I still wonder the following things:

Are we saying that the liturgy determines what we must believe, i.e. the object of faith, or that the object is already there but that it is primarily in the act of liturgical worship that our act of belief is actuated, as it were? Kavanagh seemed to me to be explaining that the act of faith happens first and foremost in the act of worship, as a consequence thereof. The "faith" of which he speaks seems to be basically equivalent to the act or virtue of faith that is within the soul of the person who prays. This, in my mind, is to be distinguished from the faith, that is, the truths of faith themselves, or the object of faith. So what do we mean when we say the law of prayer determines the law of faith? That it determines, or constitutes, or builds the virtue of faith in us, or that it determines what is thetruth of faith?

The Rad Trad: If you, one Sunday morning 1980 years ago, saw a man who had been brutally executed a few days prior walking about, chatting with women and old friends, eating food, and passing through walls would you believe that he might be God because you figured out what he did or because you encountered him?

On Good Friday evening we had Jerusalem Mattins here (Mattins & Lauds of Holy Saturday sung late Friday night), the theme of which is the descent into Hades, the wait of Resurrection, and the resting in the tomb. There is a sepulchre set up in which a corpus is buried. The deacon explained to visitors that we believe these past events are renewed before our very eyes, that we visited Christ's tomb that night and that we await His Resurrection in time which is already in eternity. Now, does someone believe—Catholic or just Joe Off the Street—that he visited Christ's tomb because the Church worships that way or because he already believed it when he walked into the Church? Does the Church worship that way because she already believes in these events or does she believe because she maintains this in her worship?

My answer is simply "yes." To put these things in teleological opposition to each other misses the point and reduces the liturgy to some sort of play acting which culminates in the consecration and which might have didactic value. The liturgy is the Church's theology. The lex credendi is not so much what is believed as much as it is how and why it is believed, the sensus fidelium. In older times credo/credere meant "believe" in the way we mean it, but it also meant "ascent" because we ascent to God, we give ourselves to Him, which is vital to understanding the dialectic between revelation and faith which survives as a dialectic between liturgy and belief.

The resting in the tomb in obedience to the law, the descent into Hades and release of the dead, and the Resurrection are what the Church believes, but one must encounter these things to understand the how and the why of this belief.....

On that note, I cannot stand to bring non-Catholics to the Pauline Mass lest they get the impression that it represents Catholicism. Do you ever feel the same way? I had the interesting experience two years ago (and lost a neo-conservative friend over it) of going with some protestants to a Novus Ordo Easter Vigil wherein a mutual friend of ours was received into the Church. The next day we rented a car and went to the old rite for the Paschal Mass of the Resurrection. The reaction of the protestants could not have been more starkly in contrast to the previous night. Yes, they did not quite feel comfortable with the Litany of Saints and the literalism of the Communion rites, but the general lex orandi seemed almost un-obtrusive to their lex credendi. The Latin Mass the next day was dead against it and spoke far more to them about what, why, and how Catholics believe than any explanation I could have given.

When asking of God "Is it A or is it B?" the best answer is usually "Yes."

The Maestro: Alright, so my follow-up questions are these: 

Do we therefore say that the Pauline Mass or the Pian Holy Week is strictly speaking contrary to faith? I think you admitted to me once that it could be good if celebrated rightly. I just wonder how we can say this and maintain at the same time that such a change in the liturgy literally leads to a change in faith. Or do we even say this latter? Would it be right to say that, although what we must believe was not changed when the liturgy was changed, how we believe it, and perhaps even whywe believe it (this would need to be explained to me), was changed? Does that change amount to a loss of faith? Also, does the difference between the various rites of the Church affect how and whythe Catholics in those different rites believe? Why is variety in respect of these rites legitimate, but not so great variety in respect of changing the liturgy?

Finally, sort of on a tangent, by the account which you give of liturgy being the theology of the Church in which we encounter the actual mysteries of faith before our very eyes, I wonder how you would distinguish it from the seven sacraments. Or - and I have seen this objection made - is that enumeration a mere scholastic invention? The sacraments, by my understanding, are classically defined by the fact that they contain the actual graces which they signify. Their efficacy is ex opere operato. As such they are often distinguished from liturgy and other prayers and sacramentals, whose efficacy is ex opere operantis. The sacraments contain the actual mysteries they signify, whereas the others merely signify; their efficacy is accidental to themselves, and dependent on the disposition of those who pray. The Mass is the selfsame sacrifice of calvary, because the Eucharistis the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Christ; whereas, it would seem to be the convention to say that that the liturgy is not itself literally an encounter with the mysteries of which it speaks, but only brings them to mind. Obviously, you don't seem to consider the liturgy in quite this way - and I am strongly attracted to that idea of liturgy. But how would it account for the sacraments? 

 The Rad Trad: My how thou art inquisitive! In better times you would be an excellent candidate for a degree at the Angelicum and a stint in the Holy Office, possibly followed by a professorship and a fake (errrr "auxiliary") bishopric!

I, as a private individual, do not consider the Pauline liturgy, the Pius X Office, or the Pius XII unHoly Week necessarily contrary to the faith as much as I consider them removed from it, alienated and distanced like an estranged family member. The Pian Good Friday is gutted, irreverent, stupid, a-historical, politically correct and based on poor research, but its main sins are by omission. The problem with the Pauline liturgy is that one cannot really deduce how it ought be celebrated (if that is different from how it is normally celebrated) and what the intentions behind it were: you have Ratzinger's "continuity" line, you have the pseudo-historical researchers pretending to restore ancient liturgy like Braga, you have the ecumaniacs like Bea, and you have those obsessed with being "pastoral" like Bugnini. Who was right? Whose line best epitomizes the Pauline liturgy? It can be done well, but I am un-convinced that is the intended norm for it. The Church, in many decades, when this nonsense has passed or been replaced, will have to judge the matter. I am not giving answers. I am providing food for thought.

As far as changing the liturgy, it does not always mean changing the faith. Indeed it can augment the faith. At some point during the reign of Gregory the Great someone celebrated a Pre-Sanctified Mass, which became the Good Friday norm in the West and a weekday communion rite in Constantinople (next Lent go to one, it is amazing). It bridged the gap between the Mass and the Sacrifice on Good Friday. I think replacing it with a generic communion service (and that is exactly what Pius XII did, look at any hand Missal from the era that has a ritual for an extra Mass Communion ritual) was far more harmful that outright scrapping it. It sends confusing messages, whereas eliminating the service altogether would have been horrible, but sent no messages (other than that Pius XII and his Commission had little regard for the past).

Legitimate variation occurs when several expressions of one idea or fact of the faith are expressed according to local tradition. Continuing on the point of Good Friday, the Byzantine tradition has normal Vespers—during which the deacon sings the Passion—followed by a burial procession. It is the funeral of a King, a conqueror of death. It is the worship of His Passion. The Roman rite has that, but also the Pre-Sanctified Mass: On Yom Kippur proper Jewish people would bring animals to the Temple for sacrifice, the blood of which would "cover" their sins. The high priest would enter the Holy of Holies, sacrifice one goat and spread its blood on the Mercy Seat of the Ark of the Covenant while confessing the sins of the people, sending them into the other goat (the "scape goat") which would be set free. What did Christ do other than act as priest, sacrifice, and scape goat? What is the Mass other than the immemorializing of that sacrifice? This is why the Pre-Sanctified Mass was so important! It was priest and sacrifice without consecration (well, maybe). A simple Communion service misses the point from both angles!

Altering the liturgy does not immediately alter the faith, but, if done poorly and out of sync with what preceded it, it will alter how people believe and hence their faith.

As to your second set of questions, I am not sure this line of thinking can be found in the Fathers or really anyone prior to the Scholastics. Even then, Scholasticism's popularity was limited to central Italy, the Roman Curia, and the University of Paris until the creation of seminaries in the 17th century. I do not find the distinction helpful. The Church requires us to go to Communion once a year, but to go to Mass at least once a week, probably hoping we will go to Communion during the Mass. To separate liturgy and Sacrament is a bit strange. The Sacraments—all of them—are liturgical by nature and were once done publicly. As someone with a bit of a shameful past I am not too eager to return to public Confession, but is it not interesting that until 1961 the rite of expelling public sinners on Ash Wednesday and receiving them back into the Church on Mandy Thursday was still used? Why was it that in the 9th century an announcement was made at Papal Mass during the Offertory telling anyone who was not going to Communion to leave? Baptism is by its very nature a public Sacrament: a person is "plunged" into the Church, into the new creation; it is why Baptism was always done on great feasts, particularly ones to do with water (Pascha, Pentecost, and Epiphany come to mind). To put the Sacraments in a vacuum and then say their "efficacy" depends on personal disposition is to say that the Sacraments depend on private piety! But what disposition meant in the middle ages, when that line of thinking developed, was almost certainly liturgical! I remember reading a letter from the 11th or 12th century from an English bishop to his faithful reminding them that going to low Mass did not meet their Sunday obligation: Mattins, Lauds, high Mass, and Vespers were the obligation! And you can bet anyone going to Communion did a week of fasting prior to reception. It was all part of the lex orandi. This is the trouble with minimalism, with reducing and defining everything holy to its bear bones. As times and definitions change concepts become fungible and we, centuries later, read them wrongly. 

So with regards to your questions (or were they objections?) I say "I agree, those terms jut do not mean what people often think they mean!"

The Maestro: Continuing on the sacraments. Just one minor thing - I didn't mean to say that the sacraments' efficacy depend on disposition. The distinction is that the sacraments are efficacious of their own power - although certainly the disposition is involved in the end result - but prayer and sacramentals and the liturgy are efficacious only insofar as they are expressions of a holy disposition. 

Anyway, what then would you make of the Council of Trent: "If anyone says that the sacraments of the New Law were not all instituted by our Lord Jesus Christ, or that there are more or less than seven, namely, baptism, confirmation, Eucharist, penance, extreme unction, order and matrimony, or that any one of these seven is not truly and intrinsically a sacrament, let him be anathema."

Often that idea is connected to the divine institution of the sacraments, whereas liturgy - though certainly divine in a sense - is nonetheless said to have been instituted post-Christ or post-revelation. There is the doctrine that divine revelation - i.e. the revelation of the deposit of faith, that collection of the truths of faith - ended with the death of the last apostle, John. Part of that deposit, say the scholastics, is in the seven sacraments. Liturgy falls outside that deposit, strictly speaking. Because the sacraments are part of the deposit, having been directly instituted by Christ, their efficacy is straight from God; they produce their effects because God is working directly through them. Whereas anything outside that deposit is only efficacious insofar as it might be an expression of or an aid to piety in the soul men. The scholastics commonly classify this doctrine on the number of the sacraments and their divine institution as de fide - meaning it is heretical to deny. I am not sure of this; admittedly I am hoping there is some way to reconcile this with your idea. But again admittedly I am having a hard time seeing what it would be.

The Rad Trad: Concerning the Council of Trent, I agree with the canon entirely. The meat of the canon is that there are seven Sacraments (and not two as the protestants thought and not more as those who believed the coronation of a king to be a Sacrament thought). I will also say though that St Thomas did write famously Deus virtutem suam non alligavit sacramentis. We are bound to seven Sacraments where we know we can find God's grace. God is not bound and can do whatever He wishes (it was in the description when He took the job from all eternity).

Perhaps I am confusing your perception of what I am saying. I am not saying that the liturgy is a Sacrament or on par with Sacraments. I am saying that the liturgy is the proper place of Sacraments, that it exists for them and that to separate the two convolutes both apart from each other. What of the deposit of faith? Did the Church's liturgy not come into being as an expression of that deposit? As the place where people find that deposit? As the setting of those things Christ instituted? If the Sacraments can exist outside the liturgy why bother with the entire Mass? Why does the Church not simply do the consecration and place the Elements in the tabernacle? The liturgy may not be the deposit of faith, but neither is doctrine. Doctrine is an explanation of something, which I distinguish from non-negotiable dogma. I guess one could say Original Sin is not part of the deposit of faith then. It may not be in the "deposit" but it is part of Tradition, as much as the liturgy. 

As far as the notion of "efficacy," why do things other than the Sacraments only aid piety or provide expression? Again I return to the belief that the mysteries celebrated in the liturgy are not merely symbolic, but actually are revisited (the difference from a Sacrament being that grace is not directly and un-ambiguously conveyed). I would suggest, as a personal opinion open to correction, that an added benefit of receiving the Sacraments—Communion for example—in a liturgical setting is that it perfects and completes one's celebration of a divine feast or mystery by direct interaction with God through His grace. This Pascha began when the priest held out his candle and I took "light from the Light that is never overtaken by night and [glorified] the Christ, Who is risen from the dead," I walked about searching for Him with the myrrh bearing women, heard of his Resurrection at the Mattins Gospel, celebrated it at the Divine Liturgy, and culminated it by receiving Him directly in Holy Communion. Is not efficacy increased in such a setting, one hopes? There may not be a Scholastic term for this qualitative difference, but it is certainly something significant.

Again I repeat, when the Angelic Doctor wrote what he did and when the Council of Trent defined what it did, the congruity between liturgy and Sacrament was presumed. For reasons that are interesting and complicated, but not related to this discussion, the two drifted apart during the Counter-Reformation and a narrow, highly minimalistic and legalistic reading of Scholasticism developed. The conflict you perceive might be the result of reading the Scholastic literature on the subject as both complete and definitive. 

Allow me to introduce to you the first Scholastic. Low Mass supposedly originated in the 10th or 11th century when monks, out of devotion of their deceased brethren, sought to celebrate as many Requiem Masses as possible. I imagine one day, after the conventual Mass, one priest-monk popped on his vestments, took his chalice, bread, and book to the altar, and recited in 20 minutes everything that had been sung just moments earlier. Perhaps at the end of Mass the priest is greeted by a brother monk who came into the church for cleaning. Stupefied, the brother asks "You can do that!?" to which the priest replies "Oh yes! It valid and efficacious ex opere operato!" "Huh," says the brother, "I should tell Father Abbott, we could knock out two a day at that rate and that's twice as efficacious!"

I am irreverently tongue in cheek, but you see my point!

The Maestro: This reply does clear up a lot of things for me; thank you. So it is possible, in your account, to delineate between the Sacraments and liturgy in theory, although they are by nature meant to be connected. The liturgy is the proper setting of the Sacraments; and I suppose this is more than saying that it is merely an external aid to our devotion whilst participating in those Sacraments. 

On the distinction between ex opere operato and ex opere operantis, do you think it is a legitimate distinction in any sense? The Council of Trent, in the same session from which I earlier quote, appears to assume this distinction in another canon, wherein it states "If anyone says that by the sacraments of the New Law grace is not conferred ex opere operato, but that faith alone in the divine promise is sufficient to obtain grace, let him be anathema." You do admit that the distinction between sacraments and liturgy is that the latter does not so directly and unambiguously convey grace, while it does reenact the actual mysteries rather than merely symbolize them. Could we then still say, at the same time, that they confer grace ex opere operantis? In other words, that a right disposition and participation by faith in these mysteries is requisite for grace to be conferred at all? Whereas the sacraments confer grace by their own power, even if the end result involves disposition.

These concepts do seem important in determining what are the rules of liturgical development. I haven't read Laurence Paul Hemming's book yet, but in his preface of one of Dobszay's books he blames this distinction between the kinds of efficacy as part of the origin of the corrupt notion of liturgical development that is responsible for the recent reforms. Basically his argument seems to be that if the efficacy of liturgy is dependent on the disposition of the person or of the Church, then the person/Church is automatically granted a great deal of freedom to change the liturgy. I'm wondering, though, if this distinction can still be preserved in some sense, while also maintaining as you do that liturgy isn't mere symbolism but is primary theology, a re-presenting of the actual mysteries of faith; and that this is enough to define the limits of liturgical development, which have been transgressed in the last century. 

The Rad Trad: I think what you write in your second paragraph is more or less on the mark with what I think, albeit using a different set of terms. The Tridentine Canon is concerned with affirming that the Sacraments have grace in and of themselves, that private belief or worthiness does not determine whether or not one receives grace (although it does influence what that grace does, for instance Communion in mortal sin). I certainly admit a distinction between liturgy and Sacraments. I reject the idea of a separation of the two.

Do read Hemming!