Flos Carmeli

We Are Not Amused. .

We Are Not Amused. . .

. . .although other members of blogdom (who shall not for long remain nameless) have considered our deep cogitations and thoughtful probings into the world of things about which we haven't a clue the source of great amusement. I'm still trying to decide whether to write him out of my will--please go here and read the post titled, "SNL, Consumerism & Walker Percy" and let us know what you consider the proper response to such temerity, such audacity, ah. . . words fail us, we shall have to retire to our fainting couch before we are overcome by an incipient attack of the vapours.

From a Gift of a Magnificent Benefactor

I was blessed with a wonderful gift today, and my immediate response is to share part of that with you all.

from Joy Bertrand Weaver, C.P.

The fundamental reason for joy in faith is that faith opens up a whole new and wonderful world. We have a way of thinking and speaking about the other world as though we were going to eneter it only when we die. The fact is that we are living in the other world now. The other world is not only all about us but within us. The joy of the convert is the joy of discovery of this new and exciting and infinite world. If the joy of a born Catholic in some cases does not equal that of a convert, it is because the former has allowed his faith to become dulled. [ p. 8]

Now, a passage from the intro:

A Fueurbach says that world is a madhouse, a jail, and a St. Thomas Aquinas says that happiness is the natural life of a man. A Schopenhauer observes that life is a sham, an annoying and useless interruption of the steady calm of eternal nothingness, and a St. John of the Cross say that soul of one who serves God always swims in joy, always keeps holiday, and is always in the mood for singing.

Rejoice, for the Lord, Our God, Savior and Brother is risen indeed, and with Him we rise!

Didn't Have to Change or

Didn't Have to Change or Fake a Single Answer

On this one. However, the caveat is that my soul came from God--but He probably felt fit to give it a bath before it was put into a body:

You come from the Ocean. You've always been drawn
to the sea, the sound of the waves, the crystal
blue water, near the sea is where you belong.


Where Did Your Soul Originate?
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I drive the people where I work insane trying to make the entire color scheme of any project fall in the teal/light blue/caribbean scheme. And if they have one more picture of a surfer, there may be a lynching.

(found at Mixolydian Mode, who apparently came from the night sky--that too would be most appealing.

A Place to Start Discussion

A Place to Start Discussion

To give you a sense of where I'm coming from--books of spiritual direction have echoed the refrain I'm trying to sound for some time. The following excerpt from the somewhat severe Imitation of Christ will set the stage:

The Imitation of Christ Thomas á Kempis Book I Chapter 2 :The Doctrine of Truth

HAPPY is he to whom truth manifests itself, not in signs and words that fade, but as it actually is. Our opinions, our senses often deceive us and we discern very little.

What good is much discussion of involved and obscure matters when our ignorance of them will not be held against us on Judgment Day? Neglect of things which are profitable and necessary and undue concern with those which are irrelevant and harmful, are great folly.

We have eyes and do not see.

What, therefore, have we to do with questions of philosophy? He to whom the Eternal Word speaks is free from theorizing. For from this Word are all things and of Him all things speak -- the Beginning Who also speaks to us. Without this Word no man understands or judges aright. He to whom it becomes everything, who traces all things to it and who sees all things in it, may ease his heart and remain at peace with God.

O God, You Who are the truth, make me one with You in love everlasting. I am often wearied by the many things I hear and read, but in You is all that I long for. Let the learned be still, let all creatures be silent before You; You alone speak to me.

The more recollected a man is, and the more simple of heart he becomes, the easier he understands sublime things, for he receives the light of knowledge from above. The pure, simple, and steadfast spirit is not distracted by many labors, for he does them all for the honor of God. And since he enjoys interior peace he seeks no selfish end in anything. What, indeed, gives more trouble and affliction than uncontrolled desires of the heart?

A good and devout man arranges in his mind the things he has to do, not according to the whims of evil inclination but according to the dictates of right reason. Who is forced to struggle more than he who tries to master himself? This ought to be our purpose, then: to conquer self, to become stronger each day, to advance in virtue.

Every perfection in this life has some imperfection mixed with it and no learning of ours is without some darkness. Humble knowledge of self is a surer path to God than the ardent pursuit of learning. Not that learning is to be considered evil, or knowledge, which is good in itself and so ordained by God; but a clean conscience and virtuous life ought always to be preferred. Many often err and accomplish little or nothing because they try to become learned rather than to live well.

If men used as much care in uprooting vices and implanting virtues as they do in discussing problems, there would not be so much evil and scandal in the world, or such laxity in religious organizations. On the day of judgment, surely, we shall not be asked what we have read but what we have done; not how well we have spoken but how well we have lived.

Tell me, where now are all the masters and teachers whom you knew so well in life and who were famous for their learning? Others have already taken their places and I know not whether they ever think of their predecessors. During life they seemed to be something; now they are seldom remembered. How quickly the glory of the world passes away! If only their lives had kept pace with their learning, then their study and reading would have been worth while.

How many there are who perish because of vain worldly knowledge and too little care for serving God. They became vain in their own conceits because they chose to be great rather than humble.

He is truly great who has great charity. He is truly great who is little in his own eyes and makes nothing of the highest honor. He is truly wise who looks upon all earthly things as folly that he may gain Christ. He who does God's will and renounces his own is truly very learned.

Is this any longer relevant? Do we need to heed its advice? Or has our society as a whole so advanced in maturity and in the ability to deal with sophisticated elements that these words are no longer relevant?

E-text Announcement For those who

E-text Announcement

For those who do not frequent The Catholic Bookshelf (shame on you!), this redundant announcement of the e-text availability of Hillaire Belloc's The Path to Rome.

Okay, I'm Still Not There

As you will see in the comment box below, I still haven't refined what I really want to say to the point where I can express the intent, which I truly believe is not at odds with what John da Fiesole would say.

But why, you ask, am I concerned at all about the issue? Am I anti-intellectual? Do I want to see a return to the bad old days of confining Galileo for his views about heliocentrism (a myth, by the way)?

Not at all. I am concerned because personal experience has acquainted me with a great many people who began with all good will to study and who studied with all due humility, or so it would seem, and who came to the conclusion that all they had learned in the faith was false--that in fact, the only truths were mechanistic, logical positivist, demonstrable truths. I am concerned, perhaps beyond my need to be, for the safety of souls.

I think much may depend upon what you study and why. For example, the study of the works of St. Thomas Aquinas for the purpose of understanding one of the major influences of Catholic thought and philosophy for a great length of time, conducted in all due humility with respect to the magisterium, seems quite beneficial. If one stands ready to be corrected and to submit one's work to the teaching authority of the Church, then one stands in good stead.

What, then, might constitute "bad study." I don't know that there is any (apart from things forbidden us, such as occult ways). But there may be bad pursuit of study, or a fundamental lack of knowledge of one's self that would tend to lead one off track. Or there is the insidious possibility of being slowly pulled off-track by various influences. Most theologians who are now in disrepute started out as fairly orthodox. Few of them just went of the rails from the start. Many theologians whose works may be too easily misinterpreted by lay people--Häring, for example--were surely thoroughly Orthodox at the start.

I'm going to think and pray more about this to try to say clearly what I wish to articulate. But I think at the core, it amounts to a much, much greater emphasis on humility. "Above all else to thine own self be true. . ." if we interpret that line in conjunction with Socrates's injunction to "Know thyself." In other words--know who you are in Christ, respect the limitations of your intellect and personality. And that restated is the fundamental truth--exercise humility in all your actions.

This does not mean that you cannot take joy in your discoveries. I'm afraid I tweaked a very precious, very good Carmelite in the course of these comments, and she should not have been tweaked. There is great, deep, wonderful satisfaction in discovering the things of God, and there is a natural impulse to want to share these discoveries. We must watch ourselves, and as Carmelites particularly, we must be willing to allow these consolations to pass from us and back to God. But surely no harm comes from innocent delight and pleasure in the knowledge of God.

So it's back to the drawing board, and perhaps working with my good blogfriends, I will finally be able to say precisely what I am aiming at. Thanks to all for your patience and kindness in following this track.

Clarifying Knowing About God

Clarifying Knowing About God

What are the aspects of knowing about God?

There is the good, right, and proper knowing about God, which John da Fiesole sees as a legitimate end in itself--and I cannot entirely disagree, if, as he posits, it is conducted under humility. And there is a "knowing about God" that serves the human purpose that all knowing can serve, namely, "Look at me! Look at me! Look how very, very clever I am!" It is this latter, this pursuit of knowledge of an object, not for the object but for our own self-aggrandizement that I am critiquing when I refer to a certain type of "knowing about God."

Okay, So It Helps If

Okay, So It Helps If You Make Sense of the Entire Post

All right. Stop, back up. Erase our disagreement, and I evidently misunderstood St. Thomas's vision of the vision as it were--it seems to be part and parcel of an entire nexus of events. Okay. But better to leave the previous post because despite its misapprehension of some things, when I come back to it, there may be some language I wish to rescue. My thanks to John da Fiesole, and I do think our "difference" is more along the lines he describes--

"She is his Aunt"

"Not at all, he is her nephew."

Thanks.

Knowing and Loving I said

Knowing and Loving

I said in John da Fiesole's comment box that would attempt to spell out my disagreement with him, and perhaps with St. Thomas Aquinas, though I suspect not, in some detail this evening. The crux of our essential disagreement occurs in this passage:

Unfortunately, I don't think I do agree. I think the point of knowing about God is to know God, and following the trusty old Baltimore Catechism I think knowing God is distinct from loving God. Knowing God is a means of loving God, but it is also an end in itself. In fact, according to St. Thomas, knowing God -- the union of the human intellect with God's very Essence -- is the end, the way we will be happy with God for ever in heaven.

My disagreement in the statement above is the "vision" of happiness in heaven. I could be wrong, but the vision of St. Thomas as indicated seems somewhat sterile and incomplete. However, looking at the passage from St. Thomas cited, I see that it may be that the summary of it that may be at fault. St. Thomas says, "I answer that, Final and perfect happiness can consist in nothing else than the vision of the Divine Essence. " With this it would not seem possible to disagree. Where there may be some difference is that I would posit that it must be more than the intellect that participates in this "vision." Love is an act of will and it seems to me that Love of that essence, immolation of our Will in the great will, or at least the utter union of both wills must, in some wise be included in the ultimate end. If not, than any pursuit of that Union here on Earth would be largely a futile endeavor. What indeed one should spend all of one's time doing is thinking about God, pursuing the knowledge of God. But we know that Jesus said, "If you love me you will heed my commandments." These commandments enjoin us to defend and provide for our brothers and sisters, to pray for all and to exercise charity toward all. The Shema Y'Israel seems to include what is required from us and what will ultimately be our joy:

"Hear O Israel,
The Lord Your God
The Lord is One.

Love Him with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind
And love your neighbor as yourself."

So, as I stated, my disagreement is not in kind, but in degree. It would seem that heaven must consist of more than a participation of intellects--there must be participation of the whole person in the resurrected body. We sha'n't be disembodied intellects floating around a vast energy center--or at least so I think the Church teaches. We shall have glorified bodies--"real" things--though real in ways that we probably cannot perceive and understand in our places here on earth. These real bodies must have some participation in the beatific vision, just as must the other faculties of the full person.

An Old Debate Revisited

Warning: Maximus Quibblius follows. Please do not infer from this anything other than the deepest respect for the person whose work is so examined. I do this for a point I keep trying to make, somewhat unsuccessfully and that is--the validity of an argument depends for its success upon acceptance of the terms, definitions, and postulates upon which the argument is founded. And that acceptance is a good deal more slippery and less clear than might at first be thought.

From another blog I love (do you get the impression I am fickle--well I am--why do you think the blogroll is so long. There isn't anything on it that I don't love for some reason), Minute Particulars we get the usual incisive, quite intelligent commentary. In this case a remarkable meditation on action, object, and moral theology or philosophy. Explained with aplomb and lucidity, with one small faux pas that I must quibble over:

I raise this because I'm beginning to suspect that some folks have become inured to claims that human beings are substantially unique among all beings of the Universe. For Catholics, this inattentiveness would surely be a grave failure to contemplate and cherish the Incarnation and its inexhaustible implications for human beings, human nature, the human person, and the startling fact that every human being was willed freely and deliberately into existence by the Creator:

It is the first sentence that gives pause, and again, it is a matter of language. Which beings are not "substantially" unique as a class? One of the ways you determine the class and order of a group is to sequence the cytochrome C from the mitochondrial DNA (assuming the beings you are studying have organelles--but let us leave that aside for the moment). That difference in chemistry is indeed a substance-ial difference by any meaning of that term. Then we have the problem of what "substantially unique" might mean. Does it mean the substance of the creature (however one defines the term: mechanistically or philosophically) is unique, or does the term in fact mean that it is "nearly unique." If the latter, what then is nearly one-of-a-kind--there are merely two, three, or four of that kind? I must accept that I probably don't quite understand the term substantially unique because it may refer to a philosophical entity and set of propositions with which I am not sufficiently acquainted.

Now, what I have articulated above is a quibble that I wouldn't really bother with normally because it is perfectly clear from context the manner in which Mr. Mark (whose last name slips my mind at the moment, so please pardon the infelicity) places it. However, that argument will have implications for my overall quibble.

My real objection is of another sort. Who is to say that the incarnation did not have some substantial effect on other beings we know not of? We do not know all of the beings in the universe--we don't know even all of those on Earth--although we are sufficiently well acquainted to see that humans have no close correlatives here. We certainly don't know all of those in the Solar System--though here again, we are sufficiently aware to suggest the truth of our Blogmaster's proposition. However, we do not know that elsewhere in the Universe God did not see fit to create another similar form of life. Biblical revelation is silent on the matter, as is (at least presently) the universe.

So my quibble is that we can only speak substantially of what we know with some degree of intimacy and as the state of the entire universe is largely an unknown the first proposition can have only the contextual meaning and the effectiveness of the argument is thereby inhibited. Unless we define substantially in the first sense outlined above, we cannot know for certain if there is a substantial difference. If we do speak of substantial difference in the terms I outlined above, then the argument sinks of its own weight as there is no creature that is not substantially different from any other.

The solution is simple and consists of two parts: (a) Steven should stop quibbling; and (b) we need to limit the proposition above to what we know can be proven and is true. Therefore we can say, of all of the creature we know of in the universe, Human beings are substantially unique as a class.

Now all of this is what comes of being too much a reader of science fiction in my youth, and too hopeful that someday we'll encounter others "out there" who will help us to better understand our place in creation.

And the point of all of this is not that the argument is malformed, but that reason can and will produce constructs in which small errors gradually propagate to abrogate the entirety of the argument. The problem is the ability of any individual to recognize the inherent small errors in the articulation of the argument. We all say things the way we say them. For the person speaking, what is said is perfectly clear, but the person hearing may have no real understanding of what is said--or may have an understanding that is completely different from that of the speaker.

Now, our PoMo friends leap upon this incongruity and suggest that it is impossible to communicate--that meaning is substantially within the person making the expression and it is essentially incommunicable to others as they are quite differently constructed. I would take exception to this as well because refinement of the argument can produce an articulation that, unless we are being unbearably obtuse, most, if not all can agree upon the meaning of. Now, that does not mean that they will agree with the proposition, but they can at least agree that it has some meaning outside of their solipsistic ally constructed realities.

This is often how I feel in the sea of theological arguments. A says Rahner is heretical in his teaching on the Eucharist. I read Rahner and from what I can make out there is nothing particularly heterodox. I'm not sure I understand the need for the new articulation--but that is another matter entirely. B says Balthasar is heterodox in his articulation of the population of Hell. C says that Garrigou-Lagrange is ultramontane and irrelevant to any real philosophical/theological debate of the day. And so it goes. What does one who is substantially ignorant of all the niceties do? Research is nearly impossible because you must pick a place to stand, and the choice of that place will inevitably affect the outcome of your research. As an example, John da Fiesole (whose opinion on these matters I respect greatly) does not care for some aspects of the theology of Balthasar. Mr. da Fiesole may be accurate in his assessment. But might it not also be that Mr. da Fiesole is analyzing Fr. Balthasar's work as a Thomist facing a theologian who is not working from a strictly thomistic base? Might the lack of agreement be the result of different ways of argumentation and what constitutes "proof?" I can't say because I have insufficient grasp of either Aquinas or Balthasar to say one is right and the other wrong; however, my inclination would be to agree with a person whose judgment in these matters I trusted. On the other hand, Mr. Serafin, whom I respect and admire greatly, thinks a great deal of Balthasar's theology. Admitting my ignorance, I am now in a quandary--which opinion should I follow if I lack the time, ability, and discernment to properly articulate my own?

So I'm back to my question--how does the average layperson discover were the truth is in this thicket? And I must conclude that unless one is seriously dedicated to the pursuit either professionally, or as a serious part of one's vocation, it is a thicket better avoided. We walk in dangerous territory when we walk unprepared, and I can be swayed by Aquinas, Balthasar, Küng, or Cullen if I don't know where I'm going. I have read all of these, and I find that the reasoning of each is persuasive. I can rely upon the magisterium of the church to point me in the right direction (I can safely disregard select teachings of the latter two theologians--though one does risk tossing the baby out with the bathwater). However, the church rarely makes a statement about the correctness or lack thereof of a theologian whose work is not substantially flawed or in error. For example, I have read nothing from the Vatican with respect to Rahner, Balthasar, de Lubac, or any number of others who are, in various arenas attacked--justly or unjustly. And the sad part of this is that I cannot say whether the commentators are correct or incorrect in their assumptions.

Where am I going with this? I suppose I simply wish to say that one needs to be most selective and extremely careful when studying any aspect of theology--a caution to which I am sure no one would object. Obviously such study should be done after and as part of prayer, with guidance from the Holy Spirit. And finally, the results of one's researches should be laid open to the criticism of all and sundry and submitted to the authority of the Holy Mother Church (as is true of all of the great works of the Saints) and redacted and corrected according to authoritative teaching.

As all of that is far too exhausting to contemplate, I think I will read with great enthusiasm the wonderful defenses and analyses others propose. I will ask my ignorant questions and make my stupid statements to try to correct my own misapprehensions. And I'll stick with someone who I can understand and who speaks to me--St. John of the Cross, St. Teresa of Avila, St. Therese of Lisieux. My brain is not a razor, and I put myself in danger when I try to use it as one. So expect the same speculations, ruminations, and sometimes simply idiotic meanderings that you have always seen here. But time and time again, I will return to this roost--the skeptic of theological speculation--occasionally poking a finger at it, but trying to avoid the tar-baby syndrome.

[Mr. Mark's (is it Sullivan?) complete argument which, despite the impression you might get from the nonsense above, is well worthy of your consideration, may be found (eventually) here. I say eventually because it is the first post on the blog right now, and until another crops up, the direct link does not work.]

Later: Correction incorporated to attempt to more truly represent Mr. da Fiesole's position--which, by the way, I do not fault.

A New Motto Let's see

A New Motto

Let's see if I can life up to it:

"Less said, said better."

Later: Well, evidently not today. Nevertheless, one tries.

Found Chez Mr. Obscure And

Found Chez Mr. Obscure

And as it is from one my all-time favorites, I simply must post:

You are The Cheshire Cat


A huge grin constantly plastered upon your face,
you never cease to amuse. You are completely
confusing and contradictory to most everyone.


What Alice in Wonderland Character Are You?
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Knowing, Loving, and Comprehending John

Knowing, Loving, and Comprehending

John da Fiesole quote St. Augustine in his comments box to the effect that, "We cannot love what we do not know." This is a truism that is an example of one of the points I was trying to make before. I want to get to the main point, but I tarry here to point out that agreement on this premise is entirely predicated on the depth of the meaning of "know." If we mean simply knowledge of, then agreement must follow. But if we mean more than knowledge of, then the premise is debatable. We can love what we do not know in any intimate way. It is perhaps not wise, but it is possible. But it is also entirely beside the point that I wish to make.

That point plays on the same comment in which a very useful distinction is made between knowing and comprehending. Tom says (I paraphrase) we cannot love what we do not know, but we can love what we do not fully comprehend. And he reiterates my point that not only can we do so, but that it is in fact the common fact of most love. How many of us can truly say that we understand everything about those around us who we love?

We must know at least of the existence of an object or idea before we can love it. But fortunately, love is used to lacunae. We do not need to know completely or all about. We do not need to understand everything about an object, idea, or entity in order to love it. This is the fundamental kernel of my statements about the limits of the intellect. As John da Fiesole points out--knowledge and study of the things of God are a good in themselves, but they are not the highest good, and they cease to be good when they become the sole purpose of our study. The point of knowing about God is to love God. When our study of God inadvertantly becomes wrapped up in our image of ourselves, or becomes a kind of intellectual game (witness the Jesus Seminar in most of its pronouncements), it cease to lead toward its proper and natural object--love and union with God.

I'm certain that my language will be further refined or examined by John, but it will only lead to clarity because I am certain my intent is clear. Study and argument is good so long as the study or argument does not become an end in itself. It seems that perhaps our strongest disagreement is upon the probability of this happening. I would say, because the matter is holy and Divine does not mean that one cannot be led astray from its fundamental purpose--loving God. John might say that the nature of the study itself affords some degree of protection--at least that is how I have interepreted previous statements. Here I am dubious, but willing to be convinced.

A Pleasure from Another Realm

A Pleasure from Another Realm

Don McClane granted us this enormous pleasure on another blog--presenting the very finest of August Strindberg for those who need an introduction.

Two Excerpts from Alban Goodier

Two Excerpts from Alban Goodier

One dedicated to a Nostalgiac dylan:

from Spiritual Excellence--"Live in the Present" Fr. Alban Goodier, S.J.

Meanwhile the present alone is ours and we let it slip through our fingers. The past is gone, whether for evil or for good, to be stored up in better hands than ours. The future still belongs to God alone; and it is not the least of His wonderful mercies that He keeps it entirely to Himself. It is what I am now, not what I have been or shall be, it is what I do now, not what I have done or shall do, that here and now matters most to me, to God, and to all the world besides.

Or to quote the Man of the Day (who had the great good taste to be born and die on the same date in different years)--

"All our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. . ."

(Isn't this a great deal of fuss to kick up over a mild reminiscence of a defunct blog. On the other hand, what other excuse would I have for posting this wonderful tidbit?)

The second fondly dedicated to two more of my favorite bloggers:

from Spiritual Excellence (pgs. 123 and 130) Alban Goodier

"Jesus, therefore," says St. John the Evangelist, par excellence, of the troubles of our Lord, "when He saw her [Mary] weeping, groaned in the spirit, and troubled Himself." He is troubled at the trouble of those around Him. His sympathy for them makes Him "groan in the spirit." He is troubled at the loss of a friend, even though He knows that He is going to bring him back to life.. . .

There are troubles from without and troubles from within that are consistent with perfection. To kill the power of feeling these troubles, to put ourselves, in this sense, beyond the reach of trouble, may be very good philosophy--let philosophers look to that!--but it is no special imitation of our Lord and His Mother. To be troubled at the loss of a friend is possible for a saint; to be above such trouble means, if anything, something on the other side.

What Can Be Learned From

What Can Be Learned From a Footnote

A fascinating understanding of the true damage of modernism and its associated Biblical scholars from a footnote:

from Mystics Evelyn Underhill

In the great dynamic vision which marks the consecration of Isaiah (Isa, vi.) we have the evident record under pictorial imagery of a mystical experience of God of the highest order.*

*Rudolf Otto, Das Heilige regards this as one of the greatest of all descriptions of man's apprehension of the Divine. We may compare the opinion of those Biblical critics who consider that it describes a heavy thunderstorm, in the course of which Isaiah became unnerved.

Isn't modernist and postmodernist Biblical Scholarship wonderful? Don't you wish we had more Jesus Seminars? Look at the wonderful insights into scripture that we are missing as a result of not partaking more fully of the great wisdom that springs from those deconstructing poetry and dismantling the Divine.

Theology I Can Handle While

Theology I Can Handle

While John da Fiesole waxes poetic about the virtues of Fr. Reginald (Genesis of Dust) Garrigou-Lagrange (even the name would choke a horse), I retreat rapidly to the consolation of the only theology I have any hope of beginning to understand. From this morning's office of readings:

"Once you were no people but now you are God's people; you had not received mercy but now you have received mercy." (1 Peter 2:10).

I leave it to other, sharper, more vigorous minds than mine to figure out exactly how and when and under what circumstances this happened. Meanwhile I relish both the divine poetry of it and the reality of it, and I cry out to God with great thanksgiving.

(Lest anyone get the wrong impression, I hope it is clear through my frequent citations of Mr. da Fiesole's site, that though we frequently disagree, ocassionally quite vigorously, perhaps even vehemently, Disputations is one of my favorite sites, and were I to site a single place other than Chez Dylan for people to go, it would be Disputations. The atmosphere is heady, the arguments intense and sometimes tortured and difficult, but the spirit of charity and civility, and the remarkable expansiveness and generosity of Mr. da Fiesole to those of us less capable and yet arguing anyway, is truly a sign of grace here in blogdom. I relish every word, even when those words aggravate me heart and soul, because I know my aggravation is a good thing, an inspired thing, sent by God to remind me of my own terribly limited capacity. Mr. da Fiesole provides us all with a wonderful service in the exercise of his chosen vocation, and despite my frequent tweaks, I hope my fondness for his site does show through.)

At Disputations

I've meant to say a few words regarding some of the on-going commentary at Disputations. Of recent date, John da Fiesole has been posting some interesting ruminations and aggravations at, toward, and about the theology of Hans Urs van Balthasar. Now, I am not a Balthasarian champion, neither am I a detractor. I do not think him a destructive modernist who, with fire in his eyes set about the deconstruction of all that we hold near and dear. On the other hand, I also do not hail him as Prince of Theologians.

Frankly, much of what he writes bores me to tears. I tried earnestly and with great vigor to plow my way through his treatise on Prayer--to no avail. This is not a failing on his part, but on my own. The digests I have read regarding his thoughts on the population of hell (among other things) have been intriguing and utterly fascinating--but I have against Balthasar the fact that the native language was German and nearly everything German in translation is leaden and dull. Even Thomas Mann is a labor in English. I can't imagine that if the wooden prose that represents itself as the translation of Thomas Mann actually reflected his felicity in German that anyone would ever have read a word. I have noted this same problem with the vast majority of works in translation from German.

But the case of Balthasar once again raises a point I often make and often get derided for from the Thomists and proto-Thomists out there. Thought and speculation about God is wonderful and good so long as it leads the thinker and those who can follow him or her toward God. But thought about God is not an end in itself. We will not be quizzed about whether the Father and the Son were or were not separated or united in the final moments on the cross. I suppose it is an interesting matter for theological speculation--but I honestly can't see how it would make an iota of difference in my life if I knew and truly understood the answer. And it does make a great deal of difference (or could if I would let it) to my present life because it is utterly frustrating, aggravating, and irritating not to know the answer and be able to apply it to something.

So, Balthasar, Rahner, Küng, Häring, you name whom you choose--even the remarkable St. Edith Stein in much of her work (The Problem of Empathy, for example), do not do much to enhance my love of God. And yet, I rejoice that they have written, as their work undoubtedly must move people of a certain bent closer to the Lord. Anything that does that is a good work--not to be denigrated or derided. But I would venture to guess that despite the pleadings of the few about the importance of such things, for the vast majority of us, the simple complexity of the words of our Savior and of the authoratative exposition of His teaching through the magisterium suffice. If we do not understand ever nuance of how we got to where we are, it is hardly a salvation matter. And if we do not care to do so, it is not a comment upon those who pursue such things with great vigor.

"In my Father's house there are many mansions." And I suspect that each of those mansions has as many libraries, courtyards, salons, ballrooms, and parlors. If some find themselves in at the desk one library, while others are on the window seat with a book of poetry--still there is room for us all.

Avery Cardinal Dulles on the

Avery Cardinal Dulles on the Population of Hell

In First Things this month, an excellent article analyzing the Balthasarian/Scanlonian positions. I particularly relished a passage that will have Feeneyites and even those less extreme frothing at the mouth:

from "The Population of Hell, First Things, May 2003 Avery Cardinal Dulles

One might ask at this point whether there has been any shift in Catholic theology on the matter. The answer appears to be Yes, although the shift is not as dramatic as some imagine. The earlier pessimism was based on the unwarranted assujption that explicit Christian faith is absolutely necessary for salvation. This assumption has been corrected, particularly at Vatican II. (p. 40)

Let the fulmination begin. Personally, I find it unconscionable and horrifying to think of a supposedly loving God who would condemn all the humans of ages before Christ to damnation for an ignorance for which they could hardly be culpable. But then, I suppose I shall be disproven a thousand ways from Friday. No matter, I continue to hope.

Posting in the Near Future

Posting in the Near Future

I'm hoping that I will be able to work out a reasonable schedule, but I've entered a very busy period at work and home and right now don't have the mechanics of posting worked out. So posting may be sporadic. In addition, I've been carefully reconsidering direction and the kinds of things I would like this site to post and represent. This doesn't indicate any radical departure from things as they were in the recent past, but it may mean that posting is slower as I more carefully choose and compose those items that I would like to post. Never fear, I'll be here. I just have to figure out exactly how that may occur.

He is Risen indeed!

Joyous Easter to All He

Joyous Easter to All

He is Risen! Incarnate Love returns to us! Rejoice! Jesus is Lord!