Baptized Humanism?

The Reformation arose out of the Renaissance. Protestants are ready to acknowledge the fact that the Renaissance emphases upon classical literature and a return “ad fontes,” to the sources, played an important part in the birth of their movement. This dependency is obvious in the Protestant insistence upon Scripture alone. But were there any other Renaissance influences upon Luther and his allies?

It seems to me that the answer is an emphatic “yes.” Another element of Renaissance culture had its effects as well: humanism. I do not mean to say that the Reformers were secularists, nor that the Renaissance humanists were essentially no different from modern secular humanists. That would be anachronistic. But humanism emphasizes the human by its very definition. One author has said that the Renaissance humanists “asserted ‘the genius of man… the unique and extraordinary ability of the human mind.’”

Man as the measure of all things: this is the watchword of humanism. And this was an integral part of Renaissance culture. It would be absurd to pretend that such influences had no effect upon the Reformers, particularly given assertions such as this from Luther: “Accursed into the abyss of hell be all obedience that is rendered to government, father, and mother, yea, and the church, too, at the cost of being disobedient to God!” (The quotation is from a book called What Luther Says. I pulled this quotation from an email to a friend. I used to own this book, but I wound up giving it to a Lutheran friend who could make much better use of it than I; unfortunately, this means I cannot provide a full citation). There isn’t really much left to question here: Luther has rejected the authority of governments, of parents, and of the Church to instruct him as to what God requires of man.

Sola scriptura means that the Protestant not only rejects Sacred Tradition; it also means, on the assumption that all men err, that he will not submit to anyone else when it comes to understanding the Bible. Oh, he may do so formally speaking – that is, he may agree that a particular Protestant creedal formulation presents the truth of the Bible – but if at any time he finds himself in disagreement with that formulation, his sole allegiance becomes clear: he will deny the validity of that creed or confession, and stick to what he understands the Bible to be saying. Solo Scriptura.

Now it must be said that Protestant devotion to the Bible is a commendable thing. By no means do I wish to be misunderstood about that. But the point here is that Sola Scriptura is, it seems to me, clearly and unambiguously a fruit (a baptized fruit, but a fruit nonetheless) of Renaissance humanism: “I, with my Bible, will determine what it is that God says. I will ignore the testimony of the centuries, and return to the very sources themselves, and discover what it is that God says.”

This is what I mean by an unexamined presupposition of Protestantism: unwittingly they have not imported only the Renaissance interest in source documents, but just as significantly a measure of Renaissance humanism: “I will decide.” Man as the measure of all things. The Protestant declares that he will decide for himself.

I am admittedly putting things rather coarsely. What I want to show, however, is that – however unwittingly – the Reformers and their heirs owe more to the Renaissance than merely an interest in ancient manuscripts. They also owe their determination to decide for themselves what those manuscripts mean, without reference to the teaching of the Church. To this extent, the Protestant approach to the Bible’s meaning amounts to a sort of baptized humanism (please note that I am not saying that Protestantism in its entirety can be described this way).

[This post is drawn for the most part–with some amendments–from this article of mine written several years ago.]

On Grace and Merit

It is not news to say that many Protestants claim that the Catholic Church teaches a form of salvation by merit in contrast to their own belief in salvation by grace. This claim about the Church’s teaching is of course false, as we have observed many times at this blog. A long time ago I wrote on the same subject, and it seems like a good idea to rehearse the main points I made at that time (along with, perhaps, some additions).

That about covers the gamut, I think, but it is hardly the last word from the Church on the subject. The much-maligned Council of Trent has a thing or two to say as well. By way of summary: “…it is necessary to believe that sins neither are remitted, nor ever were remitted save gratuitously by the mercy of God for Christ’s sake” (Decree on Justification, chapter IX). Furthermore, the entire seventh chapter (see previous link) of the Decree enumerates the various causes of our justification. As anyone can see, none of them are human efforts; all of them are divine.

This hardly seems necessary since Protestants have been resorting to the “legalism” canard since the sixteenth century, but for the sake of completeness it’s worth observing that the Church today still affirms salvation by grace alone.

Our justification comes from the grace of God. Grace is favor, the free and undeserved help that God gives us to respond to his call to become children of God. (CCC 1996)

And: “Faith is a gift of God, a supernatural virtue infused by him” (CCC 153).

And: “Believing is possible only by grace and the interior helps of the Holy Spirit” (CCC 154).

Our Protestant brothers’ claim is obviously based upon a deficit of information about the actual facts, which makes the claim invalid.

(This post borrows heavily from one that I wrote several years ago.)

What is a Form?

I have said it before, and I will say it again now, and I am quite certain that I will repeat myself more than once after this: to limit one’s reading of Aquinas to the Summa Theologiae is like reading the first chapter of a book and then setting it aside. There is so much more to learn from the Angelic Doctor than can be found in ST, and that’s saying an awful lot. Even the Summa Contra Gentiles, as brilliant as it is, seems to merely scratch the surface.

For one of the best, most succinct descriptions of what Aristotle (and Aquinas) mean by the notion of forms you can quite likely do no better than to read what St. Thomas says in his commentary on Arisotle’s De Anima in the second lesson on Book II. I cannot do it justice. Go read it in the saint’s own brilliant words. Go. I will still be here. So will the rest of the Interwebs.

Written with StackEdit.

While I am on the subject

Here is a quotation from CS Lewis that I think relates well to my previous post.

If no set of moral ideas were truer or better than any other, there would be no sense in preferring civilized morality to savage morality. (Source: Twitter)

I think this exemplifies what is wrong with a strictly pragmatic view of law. Who decides what is pragmatic? What is to stop the Deciders from pragmatically formulating barbaric laws? The answer, of course, is nothing whatsoever. Understand please the context in which Lewis says this: if various moral ideas are all equal in value — if none is objectively truer or better than any other — then there is no objective standard by which to reject the barbarous and favor the civilized.

But we all know this to be nonsense. Clearly it is better for all if there are laws against murder, against rape, against theft. Why? Because men and women by their very nature are worthy of life and safety. If this foundation is taken away, then all laws in defense of either society or individuals are reduced to the arbitrary and become subject to the whims of those who make the laws. If there is no intrinsic reason why my life should be protected, I guarantee you that one day a government will come along which sees no reason at all why it should be protected.

Lewis knew this. He understood the necessity of natural law. What is natural law? Aquinas says this (quoted in CCC 1955):

The natural law is nothing other than the light of understanding placed in us by God; through it we know what we must do and what we must avoid. God has given this light or law at the creation.

There is no question of laws being arbitrary; they must conform to natural law, which is to say that they must conform to right reason:

The natural law, the Creator’s very good work, provides the solid foundation on which man can build the structure of moral rules to guide his choices. It also provides the indispensable moral foundation for building the human community. Finally, it provides the necessary basis for the civil law with which it is connected, whether by a reflection that draws conclusions from its principles, or by additions of a positive and juridical nature. (CCC 1959)

We are not trapped with no way to know what laws are just or unjust, thought it isn’t necessarily easy, either.

The precepts of natural law are not perceived by everyone clearly and immediately. In the present situation sinful man needs grace and revelation so moral and religious truths may be known “by everyone with facility, with firm certainty and with no admixture of error.” (CCC 1960)

So, with all due respect to my thoughtful interlocutor, we are not trapped between a choice between law as rhetoric and law as pragmatic.

[Written with StackEdit].

Reply to a Reader

Recently a gentleman left a couple comments in response to a post here, and I don’t think I did justice to his remarks. In this post I would like to rectify that situation.

He begins with this:

Unfortunately, it seems that a variety of people claim to speak for God. A fundamentalist Muslim may believe that women have no right to show their face in public, and requires them to wear a burka.

It is true that many people claim to speak for God. It would be an invalid inference, however, to conclude from this fact that none of them actually do speak for God. It would be an even less valid inference to conclude from this fact that God does not exist. The question of identifying who (if anyone) genuinely speaks with divine authorization is a distinct one from the question of whether God exists. Furthermore, it appears that Mr. Edwards intends his appeal to the Muslim customs surrounding the burka as a kind of reductio ad absurdum. If so, then it seems to me that the reductio does not accomplish what he hopes. First, not even all Muslims adhere to those customs. Secondly, it seems as though he expects the Western reader to reckon those customs to be extreme. He is quite likely correct about most Westerners, but clearly our objection to those customs by itself demonstrates nothing whatsoever about the truth of those claims. That is a completely separate question, and although I suspect that he and I are in agreement about it at least to some extent, it should be pointed out that Western objections to the burka do not disprove Islam and certainly do not disprove theism in its entirety.

Mr. Edwards continues:

Basically there two kinds of rights: “rhetorical” and “practical”. Those who invoke God or Nature are speaking rhetorically.

Given that “rhetorical” usually refers to either the art of persuasion or to the invocation of a question as a statement, I am not sure what Mr. Edwards means by rhetorical rights. Presumably he means something to the effect that such rights are nothing more than declarations without substance. If this is so, then it seems to me that he has done nothing more than issue a declaration himself. Unless he has some special sense of rhetorical in mind, the number of people who invoke God as a source of human rights merely for rhetorical effect is a vanishingly small percentage of all theists.

He goes on:

To show that it is more than rhetoric Jefferson would have to arrange for God to come down here and speak for Himself. And, who knows, He might say women need to wear burkas.

This claim assumes that the only way for us to know that God exists is for Him to show Himself to us. This is a false assumption, effectively disproved by Aristotle 2300 years ago and again by Aquinas 700 years ago. Aquinas offers multiple arguments in defense of the thesis that God exists in his Summa contra Gentiles, including the few that he repeats in the Summa Theologiae. Frankly I think his arguments are effectively airtight. At the very least they certainly belie the notion that the only proof of God’s existence must be oriented to our senses. Man is an intellectual creature, able to draw more conclusions about reality than what he can see or touch or hear.

Mr. Edwards also says this:

A practical right is one that we have agreed to respect and protect for each other. We reach agreement through a legislature made of people we elect. They pass laws against behavior that violates a right. … All practical rights arise by agreement.

If this was true, then our rights dangle from the most precarious of precipices: that of majority rule. Job had it wrong on Edwards’ view: the majority giveth, and the majority taketh away. Blessed be the name of the majority.

Obviously this is absurd, and I seriously doubt that he would agree with it himself if we asked him. But it is the inescapable outcome of his view that “practical rights arise by agreement.” It means that the only rights we have are those that some majority decides to give us. A different majority might take away those same rights. What he has effectively done is deny that human beings have any rights until they are granted by those around us, and this is clearly absurd. It is also dangerous, as when majorities decide to take away or deny the rights of various minorities. On Edwards’ view we cannot say that slavery was (and is) an evil thing; the very most we can say about the US Civil War is that it represented a shift in the opinion of the majority about the status of Africans as the equals of their European-descended owners. I think we can do better than that, and so did Jefferson (though a slave owner) when he wrote that we are endowed by our Creator with inalienable rights. No one can justly take them away, and those who do take away any of those inalienable rights have acted unjustly — whether they be a majority or a tyrant. I believe that we can do better than to relinquish our hopes of freedom to the whims of the 50% + 1.

Musings on Nature

There are two ways in which living creatures have powers for preservation: preservation of self, and preservation of their kind or species. Just as suicide is a moral evil (destruction of self is contrary to nature), in the same way failure to preserve our kind is a moral evil. The latter is more complicated, by virtue of the communities of which we are part: we are parts of neighborhoods, towns, nations, religious communities, companies, and so forth. Most generally we are part of the human race. Now obviously the preservation of one’s employer is of far less significance in the grand scheme of things than, say, the preservation of the human race or his home country. In all of these cases, though, the common good is more important than the individual’s good. This is why men give their lives for their country in wars; it is why they sacrifice their time and talents for the good of their communities by offering themselves for service in various ways.

In passing, this twofold power or inclination towards preservation is part of who we are as human beings. To the extent that I understand them, the libertarians (and perhaps some political conservatives) tend towards error with respect to the common good, favoring the individual’s interests instead. On the other hand the socialists and other statists err with respect to the individual’s good, absorbed as they are with the good of the community absolutely.

In further passing, the Catholic Church’s social teaching affirms both ends of the spectrum: the individual does not and cannot live apart from the community, and has positive duties towards it; the community must never arrogate to itself any sort of absorption of the individual which nullifies his value apart from the community as a unique being created by God. The social teaching of the Church refers to these two values as subsidiarity and solidarity. Both are essential.

You probably thought this post was going to discuss rocks and mountains or trees and flowers, didn’t you?

The Way of the Cross

The way of the Cross is the way of suffering.

It makes me happy to be suffering for you now, and in my own body to make up all the hardships that still have to be undergone by Christ for the sake of his body, the Church. (Col. 1:24, NJB)

According to St. Paul, there are afflictions (the word used by the NIV) still to be suffered by Christ for the sake of the Church! But wait a second. We know that Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross paid the entire price of our sins. What then can St. Paul mean when he says something here that sounds suspiciously different? The Navarre Bible proposes this:

The most common explanation of this statement is summarized by St. Alphonsus as follows: “Can it be that Christ’s passion alone was insufficient to save us? It left nothing more to be done, it was entirely sufficient to save all men. However, for the merits of the Passion to be applied to us, according to St. Thomas … we need to cooperate (subjective redemption) by patiently bearing the trials God sends us, so as to become like our head, Christ. (Thoughts on the Passion, quoted in St. Paul’s Captivity Letters, p. 142; emphasis added)

This is why the way of the Cross is the way of suffering: we cooperate with God by patiently bearing the trials He sends us. St. Alphonsus refers to the teaching of Aquinas on this subject, which we find here:

As stated above (1, ad 4,5), in order to secure the effects of Christ’s Passion, we must be likened unto Him. Now we are likened unto Him sacramentally in Baptism, according to Romans 6:4: “For we are buried together with Him by baptism into death.” Hence no punishment of satisfaction is imposed upon men at their baptism, since they are fully delivered by Christ’s satisfaction. But because, as it is written (1 Peter 3:18), “Christ died” but “once for our sins,” therefore a man cannot a second time be likened unto Christ’s death by the sacrament of Baptism. Hence it is necessary that those who sin after Baptism be likened unto Christ suffering by some form of punishment or suffering which they endure in their own person; yet, by the co-operation of Christ’s satisfaction, much lighter penalty suffices than one that is proportionate to the sin.

We must suffer this “lighter penalty” because we sin after Baptism. This is not inconsistent with what is said in Hebrews:

My son, do not scorn correction from the Lord, do not resent his training, for the Lord trains those he loves, and chastises every son he accepts (12:5-6, NJB)

So we must suffer.

That is not to say that it is in any way a fun thing. Again, Hebrews says any discipline is at the time a matter for grief, not joy (12:11). That is why the word is suffer. We cannot escape this, and we really shouldn’t try. Obviously we do not have to seek suffering out, and it is rational to seek relief, but the wisdom of God is foolishness with men: we benefit from our suffering, whether we can see that or not. We believe it because God says it. So I need to bear my trials with patience, because in this way I am united to my Savior and God. It is necessary, as we recently learned.

Faith is a gift

Faith is a gift of God, a supernatural virtue infused by Him. (CCC 153)

Heaven is beyond our reach.

It is not a place on this earth so that we can walk, swim, drive, climb, or fly to it. It is not a place in outer space to which we may travel in a rocket, or even see with the most powerful telescope. No powers we possess by nature can reach heaven. None. No number of good deeds done is sufficient, because natural things just don’t and can’t bridge a gap that is supernatural. By its very definition heaven cannot be grasped by any means we might employ.

The Catechism reminds us of the fact that we are not left as orphans despite our frailties. God who made us knows that we cannot reach Him on our own. He who made us to be with Him knows that, left to ourselves, we can never be with Him at all. And so He gives us supernatural gifts (above all faith) so that in the strength of His gifts we really can reach the unreachable. The cry “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief” is a perfectly rational plea for God’s saving help.

Until we see this fact, the most that we can ever do is try to reach heaven on our own. But that is striving after wind. We must humble ourselves, acknowledge our weakness (to say nothing of our sins!!), and beg for God’s gracious help. Even then, the very act of begging His aid is a gift from Him, because we can never really do that until we accept the fact of our weakness and unworthiness, until we know that we can only reach God and can only be truly satisfied in and by Him. Until that day we will never come to Him at all.

Ideas have consequences

Where do our human rights come from? According to the Declaration of Independence,

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…

Our rights, according to the Declaration, are ours because God gave them to us: we have certain rights by virtue of being human. Just because of who and what we are we have rights which cannot be taken away from us.

Okay, so what happens when (for example) a government pretends to grant us those human rights, and presumes on that basis to have the authority to withhold them from us when it deems fit? In the event that this happens, that government will have usurped its authority. It will have taken upon itself powers which it intrinsically lacks, and to the extent that it abridges human rights it has delegitimized itself.

This seems rather obvious on the face of it, I suppose, but sometimes we need to have cold water thrown in our faces. The truth may be obvious, but that does not mean it is always acknowledged. Sometimes we have to be reminded of what we should never forget. Pope Leo XIII gave us such a reminder in his encyclical Rerum Novarum (aside from many other reminders in that excellent document). In particular I have in mind what the Pope had to say about the family as one example of what I am talking about:

Hence we have the family, the “society” of a man’s house – a society very small, one must admit, but none the less a true society, and one older than any State. Consequently, it has rights and duties peculiar to itself which are quite independent of the State. (RN 12)

Families do not exist at the whim of the State, as though they are some kind of stop-gap to hold things together only because the State lacks the resources to fill the role of the family. So if a court (or some other agent of the State) pretends to be the source of the family’s authority, we may be sure that it does not know what it is talking about, or that it is attempting to exercise an authority which it emphatically lacks.

So it is with all our natural human rights. The State does not grant them to us, and consequently it cannot withhold them from us (though I would not deny that a prudential regulation of them may in some cases be necessary for the common good, of course: I am not allowed to shout Fire in a crowded theater unless there really is one, and this is for the best). We need to remember where our rights come from. If we forget, we may acquiesce in the day when usurpers take them away from us. Ideas have consequences, and to forget the idea that our natural human rights are ours by nature and not by the State’s whim or donation is to become helpless in the face of tyranny.

Your own garden matters

No, this is not about horticulture. In my last post I wrote about the importance of blooming where you’re planted. Today I hope to expand upon that theme a bit.

The Author wrote:

Yet it is not our part to master all the tides of this world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule.

We do not control the future, and we have plenty to concern ourselves about today (Matthew 6:34). There is more than enough bad stuff going on in the fields that we know to occupy us for a lifetime. Rather than trying to change the world, is it not enough to clean the weeds out of the fields we know? This is what the Catholic Church calls the principle of subsidiarity. Put another way, “all politics is local.” For the majority of us, it is more than enough of a task or calling to improve things in our own communities. The gardens where we are planted need tending, and that is plenty of work for us.