A long time coming...

Wow! Has it really been so long? Being that my most of my readership knows me in person, perhaps it doesn't seem so, but as midterms approached, and thereafter finals, I have not had time to update until now.

Dear friends, my fall semester has finished and I am enjoying a small and greatly appreciated break before I embark upon what will be my third semester in my master's program. My past semester's research topics were the feminine person in the work of Hildegard von Bingen, liturgical inculturation, and psalms of lament and cursing, and while these were interesting, I must say that the knowledge I gained in regard to these topics pales in comparison to what I have gained through listening to the lectures of Eleonore Stump, reading Thomas Merton's The Seven Storey Mountain, talking with the Dominican student-brothers of the Central and Southern provinces, and preparing for my wedding alongside my fiancée. In these things I have been convicted of my own place as a pilgrim, and all the roles that are demanded of me: companion, preacher, seeker, student, and all the rest which call to compassion, contemplation, discipleship, love, and virtue. These themes, above all others, have I been convicted of.

This pilgrimage is far from easy, however. I feel like a small child, or even a small animal (a raccoon comes to mind), distracted by the newest shiny thing, even when I know something of surpassing brilliance is on the horizon. How I long to abide with that most shiny of shiny things! Yet, am I am constantly distracted by something much less brilliant, much less fulfilling, just a little off the path. As I struggle against my own sinfulness, I am astounded by the immense mercy of God, who is compassionate to his easily distracted child.

It is in this vein that I ask for help:

St. Jacob the Greater, Patron of Pilgrims, pray for me...

St. Thomas, Patron of Students, pray for me...

St. Gabriel the Archangel, God's messenger, pray for me...

Our Lady, Seat of Wisdom, pray for me...

Pope Benedict XVI catechizes on the Role of Women (a series):

This is the first in a series in which I will repost, for easy access, the Pope's addresses in this catechetical series.

How do you Adore?

"O inestimable charity! Even as You, true God and true Man, gave Yourself entirely to us, so also You left Yourself entirely for us, to be our food, so that during our earthly pilgrimage we would not faint with weariness, but would be strengthened by You, our celestial Bread. O man, what has your God left you? He has left you Himself, wholly God and wholly Man, concealed under the whiteness of bread. O fire of love! Was it not enough for You to have created us to Your image and likeness, and to have recreated us in grace through the Blood of Your Son, without giving Yourself wholly to us as our Food, O God, Divine Essence? What impelled You to do this? Your charity alone. It was not enough for You to send Your Word to us for our redemption; neither were You content to give Him us as our Food, but in the excess of Your love for Your creature, You gave to man the whole divine essence..." - St. Catherine of Siena

I was priveleged, this evening, to spend an hour with both my fiancée and Christ, in Eucharistic adoration. Her parish has a perpetual adoration chapel, and so there was no separate liturgy for the adoration... we were left alone with Christ and whatever means of prayer we might muster.

Adoration is a new practice for me, having grown up Protestant, and I found that I desired to stay very close to the theme of "adoration" in my prayers and mindset. This was difficult to do for an hour. I prayed the liturgy of adoration to myself, but found myself mostly silently singing songs of praise - every Eucharistic hymn in my book of Christian Prayer, and then every chorus of adoration I could think of - and that seemed to satisfy my conscious desire to devote this time to "adoration."

I'm incredibly new to this form of worship and spiritual devotion, so I'm asking the handful of you that might read this... how do you adore our Lord?

Recommended Listening: Christopher Tin - Baba Yetu

Oldie but a goodie - this is the Lord's Prayer in Swahili:

It's the menu music for the game Civilization IV, which explains the video.

Ramblings on the Role of Women

The treatment of women in the history of Christianity has been a largely shameful ordeal. What started out as a movement of radical liberation in which there was "neither male nor female" and husbands and wives were exhorted to "submit to each other out of reverence for Christ" eventually became a political entity that relegated religious women to convents and away from the education it had once afforded them.

This is not to say that by "radical liberation," I mean that women should have been or should be ordained to the priesthood, but rather, that women enjoyed much greater freedom and notoriety in the first two centuries of Christianity than they likely had in the first two centuries before it, directly tied to Christ's inclusion of them in his ministry and their subsequent prominence as consecrated virgins, widows, deaconesses, and martyrs in the Early Church.

Yet, there was a backlash. Especially in the Middle Ages, Western society continued to devalue the roles of women, and even my beloved St. Thomas Aquinas wrote against the idea that a woman should lead or teach in any faculty outside of her household. The 20th Century inherited this bias, as did, I surmise, the feminist movement, so that even the traditional roles of women such as bearing and educating children and keeping house were viewed with disdain as menial tasks and symbols of oppression.

This is a great tragedy, for God reveals our Scripture that woman is not a replacement for, but a helper to man, equally the imago Dei. What role can she play, though? To say that she bears children is well and good, but what of her purpose after this, or if this never occurs? Is there a ministerial role she can have? For many, myself included, there is a strong desire to be faithful to the teachings of the Magisterium, but the gender (sex?) restriction for the sacrament of holy orders remains a perceived injustice.

Now, Augustine and Thomas speak of a lack of a certain spiritual capacity in the soul of a woman that -- despite being made in the image of God and having equal capacity, therefore, for salvation --prevents them from taking certain roles. Mulieris Dignitatem and Ordinatio Sacerdotalis speak of the equal dignity of the sexes, however, without really defining "dignity." I assume we might use Thomas's definition that dignity is that which "signifies something's goodness on account of itself." I wonder what sort of lack of spiritual capacity would enable a woman to yet have equal dignity? My thought is perhaps that if females lack one spiritual capacity that a male has, perhaps a male then lacks one that a female has.

John Paul II spoke of the idea of "motherhood" as extending to the spiritual domain, and in general, I find that helpful, but not in all instances, because I'm not certain that "motherhood" or "fatherhood" get at the heart of the "(lack of) Women's Ordination" problem in sufficient ways. A priest isn't merely a "father," but he acts sacramentally in persona Christi.

I think perhaps part of the clamoring for women's ordinations comes from a continued devaluing of motherhood: a failure to appreciate what an amazing calling that truly is. Again, though, I'm not certain that a revaluing of motherhood is the entire solution - though it should be pursued with great fervor. For my part, I've been musing about what Mary showed us womanhood could be in an analogous sense:

Mary, as woman, was the New Eve, the Ark of the New Covenant, and the Theotokos,

As the New Eve, she is obedient to God where Eve had failed.

As the Ark of the New Covenant and the Theotokos, she is the Bearer of the Word.

Yet she is not the only woman in the New Testament to be so... The women at the tomb are also bearers of the Word, the first witnesses of the Resurrection. Constantly, where the men of the gospel narrative are bewildered, women seem to have unique insight into just who and what Jesus is.

What is the male response? Proclamation. The Ark bears the Covenant, the Covenant is God's Word, the Word is Proclaimed. The Evangelion first comes to the men through the women, and the men proclaim it. Mary approaches Elizabeth, bearing Christ in her womb, and John himself, not much further along, leaps within the womb. I don't think this is an exhaustive notion - it's merely an analogical model, but...

Is this role of Mary indicative of a spiritual capacity, found in women par excellence, that we are not recognizing? Could this capacity be sacramental (it did indeed mediate grace, and Christ, in a manner of speaking, did institute their unique place in bringing him forth) ?

And what of the question of sex vs. gender? To what degree must someone identify as male to be considered male, or is it merely a question of biology? Can we still use a (JP2's?) notion of male-female complementarity? How can we shape our ministry to encompass those who would seek Christ yet have, in the words of Thomas, "some obstacle" which confounds our either/or model which doesn't take into account what current gender theory seems to suggest: that gender, sex, and sexual orientation, while related, are not the same things?

Whatever answers can be given for these questions, there are a few things that we must assert: Women are of equal dignity, and their unique proclivities as women must be elevated and valued to represent this. We must acknowledge in all areas of culture that they are people of dignity, not to be denigrated for their beauty to the male eye (and made to be objects of lust or adornments), not to be thought weaker for their role in motherhood (but rather, stronger), and not to be thought unable to accomplish something because of any accident of their soul (we must avoid falling into the archaic "fairer" / "lesser" sex mindset). We must also endeavor to respect, trust, and be obedient to the Magisterium in this regard as well, despite having the courage to challenge weak arguments and leaps of logic, so that what is true and what is just is what is affirmed not merely in content of Church teaching but in form and expression in letter and practice.

Feast of the Archangels

Art by Sarah May Butcher

Today was the feast of the Archangels! I was fortunate enough to be able to read at midday prayer, and fact that it was the feast day of my confirmation and patron saint (St. Gabriel) lifted my mood despite some otherwise undesirable circumstances.

Why do I love St. Gabriel so much? Part of it has to do with a fascination with angels I had when I converted, but also because it is Gabriel who comes to Mary and announces her to be the ark of the new covenant, which exalts her womanhood and motherhood. It is Gabriel who speaks the words of God so clearly, who helps Daniel to understand his dreams, announces the births of John the Baptist and Jesus, and even instructs the unborn in the womb. For Christians, Gabriel is the angel of the Incarnation, consolation, and mercy. He's just so cool!

As is my custom, here's a bit of prayer, with a few pieces of the litany that I particularly identify with or aspire to emphasized:

Litany of St. Gabriel

Lord, have mercy on us. Christ, have mercy on us. Lord, have mercy on us.
Christ, hear us. Christ, graciously hear us.
God the Father of Heaven, Have mercy on us.
God the Son, Redeemer of the world, Have mercy on us.
God the Holy Spirit, Have mercy on us.
Holy Trinity, One God, Have mercy on us.

Holy Mary , Queen of Angels, pray for us.
Saint Gabriel, glorious Archangel, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, strength of God, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, who stands before the throne of God, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, model of prayer, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, herald of the Incarnation, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, who revealed the glories of Mary, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, Prince of Heaven, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, ambassador of the Most High, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, guardian of the Immaculate Virgin, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, who foretold the greatness of Jesus, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, peace and light of souls, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, scourge of unbelievers, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, admirable teacher, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, strength of the just, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, protector of the faithful, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, first adorer of the Divine Word, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, defender of the Faith, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, zealous for the honor of Jesus Christ, pray for us.
St. Gabriel, whom the Scriptures praise as the Angel sent by God to Mary, the Virgin, pray for us.

Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world, Spare us, O Lord.
Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world, Graciously hear us, O Lord.
Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world, Have mercy on us.

Christ, hear us. Christ, graciously hear us.

V. Pray for us, blessed Archangel Gabriel,
R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Jesus Christ.

Let Us Pray: O blessed Archangel Gabriel, we beseech thee, intercede for us at the throne of Divine Mercy in our present necessities, that as thou didst announce to Mary the mystery of the Incarnation, so through thy prayers and patronage in Heaven we may obtain the benefits of the same, and sing the praise of God forever in the land of the living. Amen.

Blankets, and my Grandpa, in Dreams.

A recurring theme in my dreams of late has been that of giving a cold person blankets. A few weeks ago, I dreamed that I was huddled in some blankets (the blankets usually on my bed) when a homeless person approached me and asked me for spare change. The environment was apparently such that I appeared to be wealthier than he, in any case. I told him that while I had no change, I had spare blankets he could keep warm in... and he seemed pleased with this, and took them graciously.

Just now, I awoke from a dream in which I recognized my Grandpa Torbeck was with me. He was reclining on a mattress, and we spoke a bit. The light in the room was the same brightness and colour it had always been in his living room - shaded lamplight, hued a slight orange from the lampshades and wood-paneled walls. I told him that he has many grandchildren to be proud of (ironically only one more than when he passed away, so it's not as if he didn't know this - and indeed, he responded, "I know."), and that I was writing a book (I'm not currently, though I hope to). I mused quietly that I had so much to ask him, and then I noticed he was shivering.

"Grandpa, are you cold?" I asked. "Actually, I'm freezing, buddy," he answered. I covered him with two blankets (again, from among those I generally have on my bed, the warmest two), and he pulled another (one that I had grown up sleeping with but no longer have) over him as well. He fell asleep, looking a frailer man than I had realized him to be at first.

I wonder if there's any significance to the blankets in my dreams... Anyway, this dream meandered through all kinds of scenarios, and this was but the end, but what a joy it was to talk to Grandpa again, even if only in a dream.

Virtue as Refuge: A Reflection on a Dharma Talk

I beamed this morning as our car wound down through the fog and trees of the Missouri countryside toward the sleepy sanctuary that was our destination. My fiancee, her sister, and I would meet a friend of mine there, and we would spend the day among an unfamiliar culture and a mostly unfamiliar faith.

The Mid-America Buddhist Association (MABA) sprawls over sixty acres of secluded hillside, set back from the main road amidst trees and a beautiful pond full of waterlilies. A handful of Buddhist monastics work the grounds and keep the gorgeous area up for their weekly communal gatherings - gatherings that seemto me more like a family getting together than a worship service. Perhaps by virtue of the commitment required - being so secluded, the journey to MABA is quite a drive - or by the virtue of the small number of Buddhists in Missouri, the congregants arrive, chant, meditate, eat, and visit together over the course of three hours or more each Sunday. It's humbling, compared to many experiences I've had in parishes more familiar, where the congregation is too busy worrying about other business to enjoy the koinonia that could be theirs. A minute too long, and the congregation is unhappy and grumbling. I've even heard of one congregation that neglects the Gloria in the Mass because they think it takes too much time.

None of that is really the intent of this entry, however. The intent is to comment a bit on a talk that Venerable Kaizhao gave just after meditation, on the application of Dharma (essentially the Buddhist notion of "Gospel") in our daily lives. I was particularly struck, being heavily formed by the Thomistic theology of the Dominicans I study with, by the notion of Karma, specifically as refuge. Karma is essentially what Thomas speaks of when he talks of the relationship between virtue, vice, and habitus.

Karma can be roughly spoken of as the energy that forms the habitus from virtuous (or vicious) action. The action cultivates an energy that then returns to us - in the case of virtue, we cultivate peace and move toward Happiness. In the case of vice (also referred to as unwholesome action), we cultivate unhappiness. Venerable Kaizhao spoke of Karma as a refuge. This idea seemed intriguing and played at my imagination; I wondered,
what can I take from this notion?"

In Thomistic Anthropology, virtues reside in powers of the soul, and shape the power in which they reside. For example, Prudence resides in the Intellect, and prudent actions will shape the intellect so that it makes better decisions, and becomes more naturally prudent. A more prudent Intellect will more readily and easily guide the Will, which will help guide the Soul and the whole being of the person toward Happiness. To the contrary, vicious actions, imprudent, frivolous, hateful, and other types of actions, cultivate the opposite effect.

Virtue, then, is our refuge in that it provides our souls shelter from unhappiness. Unwholesome acts invite bad karma, inviting chaos and destruction into our shelter, casting our house (our souls) into disarray. We see this manifest in the disordered concupiscences of the Will and Sensitive Appetite, in the corruption of our imagination, and in the lack of prudence in our Intellect.

Venerable Kaizhou emphasized that these results are both public and private, and inescapable. I would add that these results are fostered not only large obvious acts of sin or virtue, but by the small things, the venial things as well. In a Catholic context, this is why the sacrament of Confession is so important, even for such things as venial sins - it cultivates a virtuous habitus by acknowledging and absolving even the peccadillos, so that all the small harms we may do to ourself and others are not stumbling blocks and obstacles in our den. Confession "cleans our house," so to speak, setting our soul aright so that our actions might be free and excellent, unhindered by the burden of sin, and ordered to their proper end: our Happiness, found only in God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

So, flee from sin, and cultivate virtue: pray, fast, give alms, partake in the sacramental life of the Church in all its fullness, both celebration and penance. This is the path to Happiness, our hope and our salvation.

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~jacob w torbeck

The wind cries, "Mary..."

Yesterday was the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows, and I was so busy I forgot to blog...


However, I was in a Hendrix sort of mood, and this song seemed so appropriate I wanted to share it:







The traffic lights they turn up blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down on my bed
The tiny island sags downstream
‘Cause the life that lived is, is dead
And the wind screams "Mary..."

Distributism and Catholic Social Teaching

Unlike some things which I have a purely academic interest in, Catholic Social Teaching and Social Justice are issues of practical and immediate interest to me. Catholic Social Teaching should shape the day-to-day actions of each and every Catholic to a transformative degree - and thus, it should make a difference in our world.

Thomas Storck of the Distributist Review is doing a series of articles on Catholic Social Teaching that summarize the development and promulgation of our doctrine, so, as is becoming my tradition, I've compiled his articles thus far and linked them for handy use. One may be advised that the author writes with a bend toward economics and politics, with favor given toward the theories of Distributism; this is merely one facet of Catholic Social Teaching.

An Introduction to the Social Doctrine of the Catholic Church

From the Beginnings Through Leo XIII

Catholic Social Teaching: St. Pius X Through Pius XI

Catholic Social Teaching: Pius XI

From Pius XII Through Paul VI

John Paul II, Laborem Exercens

John Paul II, Sollicitudo Rei Socialis

John Paul II, Centessimus Annus, Part One

As Mr. Storck continues to write, I'll update this post.

Grace and Peace,

Jacob

On Solitude

Some more on solitude:

"There is another self, a true self, who comes to full maturity in emptiness and solitude – and who can of course, begin to appear and grow in the valid, sacrificial and creative self-dedication that belong to a genuine social existence. But note that even this social maturing of love implies at the same time the growth of a certain inner solitude.

Without solitude of some sort there is and can be no maturity. Unless one becomes empty and alone, he cannot give himself in love because he does not possess the deep self which is the only gift worthy of love. And this deep self, we immediately add, cannot be possessed. My deep self in not ‘something’ which I acquire, or to which I ‘attain’ after a long struggle. It is not mine, and cannot become mine. It is no ‘thing’ – no object. It is ‘I’. "

- Thomas Merton, "Disputed Questions"

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"Solitude is not something you must hope for in the future. Rather, it is a deepening of the present, and unless you look for it in the present you will never find it."

- Thomas Merton, "The Sign of Jonas"

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And links to other articles:

The Lost Art of Solitude

Solitude: Where your Life is Waiting


h/t to Thom at Ad Dominum for sharing the video with me.

The Feast of St. Augustine of Hippo

At at mass at St. Francis Xavier College Church sometime in the past, the priest began his homily with a story that went something like this.

Recently, I was reminded of a friend of mine: One of the brightest young men I've ever known; his dad didn't have much to do with religion but his mom was an incredibly pious and faithful Catholic woman. Despite this, when my friend went to college, he got mixed up in some Eastern spirituality, started hanging out with the wrong crowd, moved in with his girlfriend and they had a child. . . But then, something miraculous happened. He started reading the Desert Fathers, had an incredible conversion experience, and now his faith is an inspiration to me.

My friend, by the way, is St. Augustine of Hippo...

The priest's (Fr. David Meconi, S.J.) creative summary of the life of St. Augustine had the attention of the entire congregation, and the moment we realized that this was the life of the great saint, we realized, together I hope, that the story of St. Augustine's life and conversion could be any of our stories.

So, in honor of the day, two prayers for the intercession of St. Augustine and the help of God:

Beloved Saint of our age, you were at first wholly human-centered and attached to false teachings. Finally converted through God's grace, you became a praying theologian -- God-centered, God-loving, and God-preaching.

Help theologians in their study of revealed truth. Let them always follow the Church Magisterium as they strive to communicate traditional teachings in a new form that will appeal to our contemporaries.

Amen.

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God of life, there are days when the burdens we carry chafe our shoulders and wear us down; when the road seems dreary and endless, the skies gray and threatening; when our lives have no music in them and our hearts are lonely, and our souls have lost their courage. Flood the path with light, we beseech you; turn our eyes to where the skies are full of promise.

Amen.

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Grace and Peace,

Jacob

The Feast of St. Louis, King of France

"When dining with St. Louis, the French King, he fell into a brown study and suddenly smote the table with a mighty fist, saying: "And that will settle the Manichees!" The King, with his fine irony of innocence, sent a secretary to take down the line of argument, lest it be forgotten."

-GK Chesteron, on Thomas Aquinas.

Though my parish celebrated the feast day on Saturday and Sunday (it's a bit deal hear in the Rome of the West), the day is truly today. I thought I'd be remiss if I didn't mention it, as the great St. Louis, King of France is the patron of my city, my parish (The Cathedral Parish), and yet another basilica here in St. Louis (The Old Cathedral, pictured below).

So in honor of the day, I pray that we all may be so just, so holy, have so much integrity that our friends would come to us as mediators of conflict; that our enemies would treat us well at the realization of our personal holiness, and that when we are confronted with wisdom, we may realize its importance and commit it to our lives.

Amen.

O God, who didst call thy servant Louis of France to an earthly throne that he might advance thy heavenly kingdom, and didst give him zeal for thy Church and love for thy people: Mercifully grant that we who commemorate him this day may be fruitful in good works, and attain to the glorious crown of thy saints; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

On Comparative Theology

From theologian Henry Karlson,

One of the principles of comparative theology is that one can learn truths from other religious traditions, truths which nonetheless will have to be interpreted via the prism of one’s faith. This is how and why religious traditions can have much to teach each other. It is not that we necessarily will agree with interpretations of truths which are either produced from natural contemplation (natural theology), or truths which were once revealed to people of different religious traditions (rays of revelation found in other religious traditions showing a kind of revealed theology in those other faiths). It is important for us to recognize the truth, and to learn about it, wherever it can be found. Modern science, for example, is a kind of natural theology, and its truths, when discovered, must be seen as compatible with the Christian faith (truth does not contradict truth, as Pope John Paul II pointed out). However, the meaning established for those truths are often in conflict with the meaning Christians would have for them; this does not have to lead to hostility, but rather, dialogue and mutual learning.

Mr. Karlson writes a decent, if brief, overview of the value and method of comparative theology, one out of my handful of academic subinterests, so I thought I'd share.

Grace and Peace,

Jacob Wayne

My Journey of Faith: Final Part

Greenville College is a Mecca for young Christian musicians - when I arrived there in 2001, I was a starry-eyed young idealist looking forward to honoring God with my talent by becoming a better minister and musician. To an extent, I did that, though not as intended. My first major was Contemporary Christian Music, as it was for 33% of the freshman class. And like most freshmen, I realized quite quickly that it wasn't for me. I switched my major to Digital Media, and gave up my dreams of professional musicianship after one semester.

It was in the second semester at Greenville that the seeds of Catholicism that had been planted long ago in the masses I attended at St. Anthony of Padua in Effingham began to be watered. Greenville has a required curriculum in the liberal arts that also requires some degree of general faith formation - I say general because there wasn't anything denominationally particular about these courses, and inter-sectarian discussion between Catholics, Wesleyans, Reformers, Lutherans, and Charismatics was encouraged. Despite this, there was a bias among most of the religion faculty toward high-church tradition, and many were Free Methodist ministers with PhDs in Philosophy or Historical Theology from St. Louis University. From them I learned that "tradition" and "ritual" were not dirty words or obstacles that stood between a believer and God, but rather the continuing preservation of the Church Universal's collective experience of God.

This faith formation curriculum had in this second semester course a very unique bit of experiential learning - a trip to the religiously diverse city of Chicago, to tour and dialogue with other faith traditions (Catholics, Anglicans, Charismatic Catholics, A Christian Commune, Black Church United Church of Christ, Greek Orthodox, Buddhists, Muslims, Jews, and Baha'i). Numerous were the reactions among the students, some of whom had never attempted to engage in any tolerant dialogue with any tradition but their own. Some were angry; some evangelicals tried passionately to convert our tour guides on the spot; some began a slow turn away from Christianity to agnosticism... I still quite vividly remember the moment that I felt my heart embracing the Catholic portion of my faith tradition.

Until then, I had associated Catholicism with empty ritual and passionless, spiritually lethargic congregations (not that these aren't all too common), and with my mother and step-father, who, despite having been forgiven for the sufferings they caused my brothers and I during adolescence, still did not strike me as role models. When I came into Holy Name Cathedral of my own accord, saw the noontime worshippers in prayer, the homeless sleeping in the pews, and felt again the rhythm of the mass, I knew immediately that this unique part of my spiritual heritage could be neglected no longer. My professor encouraged me to integrate this heritage into my faith tradition, but as I grew deeper in faith, a mere integration would become less and less acceptable.

In the meantime, I began preaching. What started as a few sermons given on special "youth" Sundays at the First United Methodist Church of Vandalia grew into my being a confirmed and certified lay minister in the United Methodist Church. I led a worship band for a contemporary service, often leading the entire service and preaching the homily on days when Holy Communion wasn't to be celebrated. On one occasion when a pastor of three nearby churches had to be away, I took his "circuit" for the day and preached at all three - a truly exhausting experience that I believe the Holy Spirit wholly guided and sustained me through. I studied homiletics and scripture and theology at Greenville, taking a minor in religion and continuing to explore Catholic belief.

I wish I could say that my transition from United Methodist minister to Catholic laity was always smooth, charitable, and well-ordered... but it wasn't. By 2004, I was burnt out from balancing my ministry at the church against the demands of school and my then girlfriend. My girlfriend broke up with me just before Lent, my car broke down, and the keyboardist and self-styled leader of my band at the time decided my services were no longer needed. Depressed and exhausted, when my pastor was transferred to a new church, I took my leave as well.

What seems obvious in hindsight as the Adversary's attack on my faith and my morality did not occur to me then to be anything but a string of unfortunate events. After several months of only occasional attendance at church services, I presented myself to the pastor of St. Lawrence Catholic Church in Greenville for RCIA. My motives were aesthetic and theological - the mass was to me, beyond compare as a method of worship. Where I had seen some contemporary worship services become an irreverent spectacle, or cults of personality centered around charismatic musicians and speakers, the masses I had experienced were always reverent and beautiful times of prayer and celebration (though I would later learn firsthand about liturgical abuses that make them less so) . Where I found Lutheran and Reform theology deficient, and exclusivist -- a trait I found unloving -- I found Catholic theology robust, inclusivist, and loving, even when I disagreed. Conversion, however, was not easy. St. Lawrence had no active RCIA program, and so as my initiation classes, I helped teach the high school confirmation class, learning the tenets of the faith as I taught them. My scriptural knowledge impressed my fellow RCIC instructors, and perhaps it was this knowledge that blinded them to the fact that the obligations of the faith were as yet unknown to me; for example, my attendance at mass and my obedience to rules was out of a love for mass and God, and it never occurred to me that one had an obligation to go to mass on Sunday, since the opportunity was there every day -- something I never had as a protestant -- so if I slept in on Sunday or didn't feel up to going, I'd "make it up" through the week, or not, whatever.

In addition to educational difficulties, I began to feel ostracized and separate from the protestant community and tradition I was leaving. Where once, I could identify with being a "good child of the Reformation," as I had been, now I found the phrase and even the notion problematic when the president of the college used it in a general address to my class, now seniors. I was bitter and uncharitable in my heart and speech toward churches that used a "stage" instead of a dais or altar. I was making provocative art to challenge perceptions, I wore makeup to challenge convention, and I drank alcohol -- strictly prohibited by the college's guidelines for communal life -- to challenge the institution. I settled down to some extent as graduation approached, and immediately after graduation I moved to St. Louis. I realized I had been uncharitable, and unwise, but I was still a poorly catechized new Catholic with no Catholic friends, newly out on my own in an environment filled with more options than I had ever encountered.

Despite my unwavering belief in God, and my love of the Catholic Church, my life over the next few years was one that could be accurately summarized with the phrase "Drugs, Sex, and Rock 'n' Roll." My drug of choice was alcohol, and lots of it, though I tried a few others. I gave up my virginity, and though I regretted that, I continued having sexual relationships without regret or remorse; the infamous "Catholic Guilt" is not something I possess. It was toward the end of one of these relationships that I realized that my growing interest in and understanding of Catholic teaching was convicting me of the glaring contradictions in my life. I sought answer after answer, and was slowly making some friends that were also Catholic, but orthodox in their beliefs and practice. I, naturally, as I learned, became more orthodox as well, and the buried desire to minister in some fashion became awakened within me. The permanent diaconate appealed to me, but my lifestyle was an evident problem - If I truly sought holiness, I knew I could not live a double life.

I finally got the nerve to go to confession. It was my second confession, the first since my confirmation. My confessor was an ancient, half-deaf Jesuit, but he definitely heard my confessions, as I heard the surprise in his voice as he responded to the long list of grave sins spanning not days, weeks, or months, but whole years, and helped me through the rest of the rite.

"Well..." He paused a moment. "Welcome back!"

It is good to be back.

My journey of faith has been one of continual motion, from the foundational faith of a child, the passionate faith of a youth, the jaded faith of a wanderer, to the reforged faith of the reconciled. I feel like I have reclaimed the joy that I had felt as a zealous youth, my heart stirs when I read the pages of a theology book and marvel at the complexities of God and faith and the Church, and there is no feeling like it.

As I look forward, trying to see the end of my journey, I can't fathom what comes next, and judging from what I thought I'd be doing at 16 and 21, at 27, it seems almost foolish to venture a guess. But, as I've chosen to summarize myself on facebook, I'm a trusting, passionate scholar and artist: I want to make a difference, and I want to have faith. Lord help me be all that you made me to be.

On Justification

Matt Boettger, over at An Enlightened Faith, has finished his series on Justification at long last! I've done the work of linking them all here so that you may read his excellent explanation of the Catholic understanding of Justification:

Justifying the Doctrine of Justification:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Grace and Peace,

Jacob

My Journey of Faith: Part Three

I sought The Lord, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears. Look to him, and be radiant; so your faces shall never be ashamed. This poor man cried, and The Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles. The angel of The Lord encamps around those who fear Him, and delivers them.

-David, Psalm 34

Christmas came and went, and I refused to speak to my mother, or visit for the holiday. Every evening ended the same: me, face down in my pillow, praying through the tears that often came when I stopped to think about my situation. These couple of months in my life are perhaps the months that created the most radical change in who I am.

I remember, in hindsight, that I had been dedicated to God even before my birth, and what that really means, I'm still not totally certain, but I can say that were I had been, my faith and my devotion were not being nurtured. The hostility of the environment was hardening my heart. The pain of feeling forsaken and the need to adapt in my new situation would strip all that away, and begin a new work within me.

In the first days of matriculation, I learned quickly that my arrogance and pride must be diminished if I was going to make any friends. The new kid in school wasn't going to make any friends because he was competitive, and while my confidence, competitive spirit, and my particular style of sarcasm will always be part of my personality, it was then that I first knew that coming in and attempting to immediately assume my old roles as lead percussionist and chief thinker wasn't going to work out all that well. A new approach was needed.

It wasn't long after I figured this out that a classmate and distant cousin of mine, Tiffany, invited me to play drums for the praise band at the Free Methodist Church. It seemed provincial, for them, and later for me - their previous drummer had just moved away, and I replaced him without them missing a week. This new church, this new group of friends, were passionately in love with God. Playing with a praise band was a new musical challenge, and because I was at church so often to rehearse and play, I was participating in the study and discussion about faith that I had previously not had much exposure to.

Before the semester was over, I was deeply committed in all venues religious and musical, and the same distant cousin handed to my care the before-school prayer group, Students High on Christ. Not feeling up to the task by myself, I, like Moses, found others to help me, a boy named Devin from the FM church, and a pastor's son from a Baptist Church, named Tim, who himself is now a pastor.

By the end of the year, I was reading the Bible daily, preparing talks to give to others at the prayer meeting, playing drums for the FM praise band, competing alongside my peers in a Bible knowledge competition at the Lutheran church where I had been Christened, singing in a youth choir over at the United Methodist church, playing in a Christian Punk Rock band with two guys from the praise band, organizing the See You at the Pole rally, and attending a Wednesday night Bible study when I wasn't playing at the FM church. My mother and I reconciled. I forgave her. My step-father and I reconciled. I forgave him.

Behind my back, the kids that snuck off at lunch to smoke dubbed me "God-boy," and behind my back, my brother defended me. A less-popular girl once told me she thought I was nicest person she knew. Somehow, without noticing, I'd become passionately kind. I'd learned to be more humble, less sarcastic. Where I had been emptied and broken, by God's mercy I was now mended and full, and headed off to Greenville College, a small free methodist school not far away, to pursue a degree in Christian music.

At Greenville, my faith would be radically challenged, and would radically grow in ways that I had never previously anticipated.

Again, there's more yet to come...

Recommended Listening - Jónsi

Jónsi is the lead singer of the Icelandic band Sigur Rós. The soundscapes he has created have given me some of the most numinous auditory experiences I could ever imagine having.

My Journey of Faith: Part Two

Let me preface this section by saying that this leg of my spiritual journey was a desert, and despite their role in making it so, I love my family dearly and have long since forgiven them. Nevertheless, to adequately tell this story, all things here must be included.

My adolescent life could be described accurately as tumultuous.

My parents divorced when I was nine, and I had six addresses in a span of seven years. My mother behaved as if she saw her divorce as a casting off of the shackles that bound her to her former mundane roles as stay-at-home mother and housewife. In many ways it was, and she wasted no time bringing around a new boyfriend that would, a handful of years later, become my step-father.

The newfound freedom my mother enjoyed did not include a lot of child-friendly fun. She and my future step-father would go out together, sometimes all night, sometimes without leaving my brothers or me a clue of where they were or when they'd return, and often they would return drunk, yelling at each other, yelling at us. This was what we grew accustomed to over a span of seven years. If my parents' divorce had put in me a suspicion of authority, the next seven years continued to erode what trust was left in me.

There were at least two bright points that are crucial, however, to the rest of this story, and I'll mention them both at once.

The first crucial item is that my step-father is Catholic. He has not always been the best witness to the faith (have any of us?), but he is a mass-going Catholic, nevertheless, and because of this, I attended Mass sporadically during my teenage years.

The second crucial item is a conversation that I had with my mother, one day when I was fourteen. I don't remember the whole context, but I remember standing in the entrance to the kitchen, as my mother sat at the kitchen table, drinking either diet coke or sweet tea, and her saying to me, "Jake, I've raised you and taught you what I believe, now your salvation is your responsibility."

This mini, personal, pseudo-confirmation ritual had a great impact on me. I often wonder if, because my brothers did not get the same release, it somehow gave them greater reason to rebel against faith. From then on, however, my salvation was mine to "work out with fear and trembling."

It was also at this time that conversations about religion and faith began to take place among my friends at school, and I remember first articulating what amounted to doctrinal differences with my peers when it came to the question of the "Perseverance of the Saints," or, as they would have put it, "Once Saved, Always Saved." I rejected this, though, among my friends at this point, mine was a minority view.

The very general faith I possessed was slowly becoming more specific, but I did not attend services regularly, I did not read the Bible often, nor did I identify myself as any specific type of Christian. I merely prayed, as I always had, in the same, conversational manner, thanking God for what was given, asking for blessings and protection of loved ones, sending messages to deceased loved ones, telling him that I loved him.

Meanwhile, at home, my parents spiraled deeper into alcoholism, and while we had ignored for so long the mental damage that we were made to suffer, when the clear and obvious threat of physical harm not only presented itself but was actualized, we left. On 30 November 1999, after returning from a school function, my brothers and I grabbed our things, and left. My father's house was a safe haven - one we'd initially rejected because of the relationship one forms with a stay-at-home mother, then later one we rejected because of our established friends and school, but one we weren't going dismiss any longer.

Each night for months forward, on the hide-a-bed in my father's basement, I fell asleep crying and praying into my pillow desperate and anguished pleas for help and mercy for my brothers and myself. When I remember those nights, I can feel the tightness in my jaw, the sting in my eyes, and the cool sheets in between my tightly clenched fingers as I sobbed my petitions and wondered in between them why we had to hurt so much.

This crisis stripped from me every familiar support. Despite being safe and loved in my father's house, I felt forsaken. If God was going to answer me, it was going to be in a manner that would be new, and therefore visible.

More to come.

The Great "Perhaps"

"It may be appropriate at this point to cite a Jewish story told by Martin Buber; it presents in concrete form the above-mentioned dilemma of being a man.

An adherent of the Enlightenment [writes Buber], a very learned man, who had heard of the Rabbi of Berditchev, paid a visit to him in order to argue, as was his custom, with him too and to shatter his old-fashioned proofs of the truth of his faith. When he entered the Rabbi’s room he found him walking up and down with a book in his hand, wrapped in thought. The Rabbi paid no attention to the new arrival. Suddenly he stopped, looked at him fleetingly and said, “But perhaps it is true after all”. The scholar tried in vain to collect himself—his knees trembled, so terrible was the Rabbi to behold and so terrible his simple utterance to hear. But Rabbi Levi Jizchak now turned to face him and spoke quite calmly: “My son, the great scholars of the Torah with whom you have argued wasted their words on you; as you departed you laughed at them. They were unable to lay God and his Kingdom on the table before you, and nor can I. But think, my son, perhaps it is true.” The exponent of the Enlightenment opposed him with all his strength; but this terrible “perhaps,” which echoed back at him time after time broke his resistance.

Here we have, I believe—in however strange a guise—a very precise description of the situation of man confronted with the question of God. No one can lay God and is Kingdom on the table before another man; even the believer cannot do it for himself. But however strongly unbelief may feel itself thereby justified it cannot forget the eerie feeling induced by the words, “Yet perhaps it is true.” The “perhaps” is the unavoidable temptation which it cannot elude, the temptation in which it too, in the very act of rejection, has to experience the unrejectability of belief. In other words, both the believer and the unbeliever share, each in his own way, doubt and belief, if they do not hide away from themselves and from the truth of their being. Neither can quite escape either doubt or belief; for the one, faith is present against doubt, for the other through doubt and in the form of doubt. It is the basic pattern of man’s destiny only to be allowed to find the finality of his existence in this unceasing rivalry between doubt and belief, temptation and certainty. Perhaps in precisely this way doubt, which saves both sides from being shut up in their own worlds, could become the avenue of communication. It prevents both from enjoying complete self-satisfaction; it opens up the believer to the doubter and the doubter to the believer; for one it is his share in the fate of the unbeliever, for the other the form in which belief remains nevertheless a challenge to him."

- Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, Introduction To Christianity

My Journey of Faith: Part One

Jesuit theologian Bernard Lonergan spoke of conversion as a wholly unrestricted state or moment of being in love. To Lonergan, the convert, at the moment of conversion, is "a subject held, grasped, possessed, owned through a total and so an other-worldly love." Conversion experiences are not merely moments that dapple our lives, but even the processes of falling in love again and again.

Stories of conversion are the heavenly romances of our faith. The Old Testament speaks more to us of people answering God's call, the New Testament tells us of this, in addition to Paul's dramatic conversion. The stories of the saints, especially St. Augustine's conversion story, as well as more modern Christians, like John Henry Newman, C.S. Lewis, and numerous others, continue to share with us the power of love to surround and transform our very being. I'm going to begin my story at my very beginning. I hope that someone, if only in some small way, might be encouraged or helped by it, as I am encouraged reading the stories of others.

Before I was born, my mother prayed for the privelege of having a child. I'm not exactly sure of her exact words, but the story she tells is that she even prayed for my face to have certain characteristics... That the life in my grandmother's eyes would be in mine, that I would have a face like my granddad's, and so on. My mother, in these prayers, promised to dedicate me to God should she be so lucky that they be granted.

Whether by chance or providence, when I was born in the wee hours of a Late-May Saturday in 1983, the sparkle of my grandmother's eyes, and my granddad's nose and jawline were mine, just as my mother had prayed. And I was dedicated to God.

I was Christened at Holy Cross Lutheran Church in Vandalia, Illinois, not long after I was born, but it was my mother who took the responsibility of attending church most seriously. My father, having grown up quite poor, felt uncomfortable in church, among people he viewed as cut from a different, wealthier cloth than he. My mother, however, despite not coming from much means herself, did not, and made certain that as I, and later my brothers, grew up, we were involved in the life of our small country church.

As far as raising me to be Christian, by the time I have memories of church and prayer, my parents had done an outstanding job - my prayers to God, as far back as I can remember praying, were conversational prayers. I didn't have a living great-grandpa, but I figured that God must be something like that, but stronger, and a whole lot older. When I imagined God it was always as the Father, alternately appearing as an elderly, bearded man (similar to Santa Claus), or as Michael Landon, after I had watched enough "Highway to Heaven." When my grandparents died, I asked God to care for them and to tell them I said "hi."

My creed, until age 9, written as I approximate I may have articulated it, were I that age:

I believe in God the Father, who made everything (even dinosaurs!).

I believe the stories in the Bible are true and that it is God's word, and God knows everything (he's smarter than Dad)!

I believe in Jesus, His Son, who loves everyone.

His mommy was Mary and her husband was Joseph

We celebrate his birthday at Christmas and give gifts like the three wise men did.

Jesus had twelve disciples and taught good things and did miracles.

Jesus died on a cross and came back to life three days later

So that good Christian people can go to Heaven,

We celebrate this on Easter.

He went back up to heaven but will come back again someday.

People should be baptized, and then they can take communion.

I believe in the Holy Ghost

I believe that the Devil and Sin are bad.

My parents divorced when I was nine. My grandfather had just passed a way a year earlier. We stopped going to church because my mom feared being shunned, judged, or treated with intolerance; perhaps she felt ashamed, or feared the gossip mill would smear her name in our small town. I realized that when my parents promised me that they'd love each other forever, it was a lie. I also knew by this time that Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy were also lies. I didn't understand what was going on, I knew it wasn't my fault, but I at that point learned that my parents were fallible in ways that could hurt me.

It was a horrible couple of years that I came through alright, despite developing a keen suspicion of authority. Nevertheless, I kept praying. It surprises me that the existence God never crossed my mind as something that may have also been a lie. In retrospect, I'm not certain why I didn't doubt, except perhaps that God, to me, even at that time, was just as real as the ground beneath me or the sky above me - a fundamental fact of the universe that seemed silly to deny.

...It wasn't really until I was fourteen that I had to begin to ask questions of my faith.

More to come.

Recommended Listening - Audrey Assad

Audrey Assad is a convert to Catholicism (like me!), and a wonderful musician making her way up in the CCM world. This song has grabbed me by the heart this weekend:

Fr. Robert Barron on Renewing and Reforming Theology

Simulacra and Sacramentality

An excerpt from my undergraduate thesis, and I thought that occurred to me on a re-reading:

The Presence of Simulacra

“The simulacrum is never that which conceals the truth – it is the truth that conceals that there is none. The simulacrum is true.”

--Ecclesiastes

Art cannot transcend artifice. Although art mimics reality, anything that is representative as real is still understood as to be a facsimile. Plato holds that appearance of reality can never truly merge with reality (Ibid 159). However, it would seem that the world that has fostered the growth of postmodern thought is not functioning within Plato’s belief. American culture even seems to thrive upon the suspension of belief that lets us live within a fantasy world similar to a television show. Almost any appearance of reality can easily be accepted as authentic reality in our society, for enough time, at least, to justify our shiny new convertible. Over time, these justifications and ideas become our reality, our values shift and adapt to this new reality that was once just an image on a billboard or in a magazine, or some statue in a plaza.

Film and cinema have also blurred the lines between the real and the imitation, being mediums that can show us both pictures of reality and images of fantasy that to the viewer may appear one and the same if the frame of reference is skewed or removed.

Photography, which I will discuss further in the next chapter, started as a means to record and study the real, and the content of a photograph was considered “real” and “true” by its viewer.

“Thus perhaps at stake has always been the murderous capacity of images, murderers of the real, murderers of their own model as the Byzantine icons could murder the divine identity.”

Baudrillard fears the aforementioned tendency for an image to oppose what he terms an “intelligible mediation of the Real.” (Baudrillard, Simulations, 10.) A critic of postmodern art, Baudrillard warns of absolute reality being reduced in some way to a mere visual signifier that speaks to it’s own existence. If that which gives order to representation is reduced to representation (which is then subjectively perceived), Baudrillard argues that the entire system of order and the rubric upon which interpretation stands now falls away to a simulacrum – a representation that does not refer to reality, but another imitation.

The simulacrum, a meta-representation, then, has the power to subvert the object. However, it also possesses the power to convey meaning, perhaps even adding meaning to the signified by virtue of its own existence as a simulacrum. In the film Waking Life, Caveh Zahedi and Daniel Jewell discuss what Andre’ Bazin calls the “Holy Moment,” a moment of awareness that acknowledges the divine presence within the other. As they converse, however, they are actually on a movie screen, their conversation a film being watched by Wiley, the main character within Waking Life. So the film that we watch, in essence is the simulacrum, an object that gives reference to a reference to this conversation between Zahedi and Jewell. However, instead of being inert, we find that the simulacrum, the film that we are viewing, is actually the vehicle for meaning (Waking Life).

So here we have at least one example where simulacra can convey meaning that seems valid. Because of this instance, which I consider to be a positive use of simulacra, I am inclined to apply Baudrillard’s warning subjectively, as would seem suitable, given that his arguments are placed within the framework of postmodernism that visual culture theory works from.

Despite a willingness to apply scrutiny with subjectivity, one must continue to be conscious of the presence of simulacra, as without an awareness of their occurrences within our culture, Baudrillard’s “collapse of meaning” may be more likely to occur.

Food for thought:

A true sacrament is that which actually participates in what it represents in a real way... not merely symbolic. If we lose our sense of sacramentality, then our rituals become simulacra, and Baudrillard's "collapse of meaning" becomes a real danger to our faith and praxis.

St. Catherine on Dominican Preaching

Fr. Romanus Cessario, O.P., lectures on St. Catherine of Siena and Dominican Preaching:

On Natural Law: A Synopsis

My final paper under Fr. Michael Carey, O.P., was a brief synopsis of Natural Law in Aquinas. Here it is:

Natural Law: A Foundational Understanding for Calls to Goodness

The current climate of American Catholicism, perhaps even Western Catholicism in general, has changed greatly in the last century. Global war, secularization, scandal, and a slide into moral relativism has tested and reshaped the faith of Western culture, to such a degree that one might wonder what future a traditional Christian morality might hope to have. Yet, in a culture that might be considered post-modern or even post-Christian, the task of evangelization remains with us, the survival of the faith depends on it. It is in the interest of this survival that the issue of natural law comes to the fore of Catholic thought in the public arena. It seems that it is no longer enough, in dialogue with those both outside and within the faith, for faithful American Catholics to appeal only to the Gospel message and the teachings of the Church - much of the wider world does not see such things as reasonable, and thereby rejects them. We must start with something more basic: natural law - the idea that we all share some common morality, and at least in this, there may be some common ground on which we may start the difficult process of transforming lives and transforming culture. In current debates about the dignity of the human person, abortion, biotechnology, and war, natural law has been invoked in an attempt to offer what Catholics and many non-catholic ethicists believe to be a philosophically reasonable and theologically correct understanding of right action. To employ this knowledge, however, we must correctly ascertain what it is that we, as faithful Catholics, believe this to be, at least foundationally. Where does natural law come from? What does it consist of? And what does this mean, practically?

The most current, though not the most complete, understanding of natural law can be seen at work in the encyclical of Pope John Paul II, Veritatis Splendor:

The primary and decisive element for moral judgment is the object of the human act, which establishes whether it is capable of being ordered to the good and to the ultimate end, which is God. This capability is grasped by reason in the very being of man, considered in his integral truth, and therefore in his natural inclinations, his motivations and his finalities, which always have a spiritual dimension as well. It is precisely these which are the contents of the natural law and hence that ordered complex of "personal goods" which serve the "good of the person": the good which is the person himself and his perfection. These are the goods safeguarded by the commandments, which, according to Saint Thomas, contain the whole natural law.[1]

John Paul II here asserts a teleological worldview in which actions might have a quality of moral goodness related to their contribution toward the end pursued in the aforementioned worldview, in this case, God. In fact, before moving forward, it is necessary to clarify that Thomas's understanding and also the dominant Catholic understanding of natural law, and indeed law in general, is that they are underpinned and surrounded by affirmation that God is the eternal source, sustainer, and end of all things.[2] To say that God is the eternal source of all things (and therefore the source of law) is to say that God, as reasonable creator and ruler of the universe, governs all things with divine reason, which can then be said to be the law of creation.[3] Because this is the case, creatures participate in this law, the eternal law, insofar as they are subject to it. But being rational creatures, humans are governed in a specific fashion, not as recipients of continual directives, but as reasonable beings that can use this very reason to order their own acts according to their reasonable assessment of good and evil. This reasonable participation in God's eternal law is natural law.[4]

Aside from the existence of God as source and sustainer, we have also the notion of God as end pursued, or merely, that each thing pursues its natural purpose (which Christians understand to be God), an idea famously espoused by Aristotle, and reconciled to Christian thought quite smartly by St. Thomas Aquinas. The teleological worldview at work in the theory of natural law maintains that objects' essences might be better known by their purposes, and might be judged to be good to a degree that it fulfills its essence.[5] For example, the essence of a knife is to cut, and a knife that cuts well is said to be a good or excellent knife. Likewise, an animal's purpose seems to be its own flourishing, which includes things which one might consider under one banner of health and reproduction: movement, perception, taking nutrition, and propagation.[6] Humans, as social animals with reason and free will, must in addition to health and propagation, exercise free will in achieving their end as they reason it.[7]

Thus, the essence of a human might be stated as consisting of life, procreation, knowledge, and socialibility. If something's quality of goodness might be judged on the degree to which it exemplifies its essence, as previously stated, then a human may be said to be good to the extent that it is social, knowledgeable, fruitful, and healthy, and a human act might be said to be good to the extent that it contributes to the improvement of one or all of these qualities.[8] Conversely, something that contributes to the diminishing of these qualities or to the abolition of these can be said to be the opposite of good, that is, evil. And it is this very knowledge, the response to the question "Is this good for myself and/or others?" that is known by natural law.[9]

St. Thomas Aquinas codifies the basic, universal rule of natural law in what he names "the first principle," stated as "Do and pursue good and avoid evil." From this first principle, he states, humans use reason to deduce or infer any number of secondary principles that "will be based upon it, presuppose it, be less common than it."[10] The aforementioned Decalogue, containing the whole natural law, is such that it is a collection of these secondary principles - deductions that flow naturally from the axiom that one should "do and pursue good and avoid evil."[11] This first generation of deductions from the first principles is asserted to be true by virtue of reason. However, further deductions, precepts, or judgments made from secondary principles are admittedly, not universal to all.[12] How then, outside of very formal circumstances, can we use natural law at all?

We can say that conscience, in fact, is natural law in practical application, affirming our reason's participation in eternal law:

. . . [W]hereas the natural law discloses the objective and universal demands of the moral good, conscience is the application of the law to a particular case; this application of the law thus becomes an inner dictate for the individual, a summons to do what is good in this particular situation. Conscience thus formulates moral obligation in the light of the natural law: it is the obligation to do what the individual, through the workings of his conscience, knows to be a good he is called to do here and now. The universality of the law and its obligation are acknowledged, not suppressed, once reason has established the law's application in concrete present circumstances. The judgment of conscience states "in an ultimate way" whether a certain particular kind of behavior is in conformity with the law; it formulates the proximate norm of the morality of a voluntary act, “applying the objective law to a particular case.”[13]

Conscience understood thusly, as our moral judgment that takes as its measure natural law, can also then be said to be our own reaction to our own participation in eternal law; and it is precisely this reaction, this judgment that ethicists, moral theologians and especially the Magisterium hope to change and form when they speak out against abortion, war, the death penalty, and certain biotechnologies on the basis of natural law and its first principle. For Catholics in particular, these exhortations are calls to conform our consciences to the teachings of the Church, which we trust echo eternal law, God's divine wisdom. For our wider, secular culture, exhortations from natural law are earnest admonitions to change the way we think about a particular issue in a way in keeping with something many will find common to all: human reason and the desire to do good over evil. The common ground we are able establish in the invocation of natural law becomes a renewed chance to reach those of a reasonable mind but a hardened heart, a new field on which we may continue our work of transforming our world into a world that seeks more of the Good than it did the day before, and truly seeks to be delivered from evil.

---

[1] John Paul II, Encyclical Letter Veritatis Splendor (06 August 1993), 79.

[2] Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia IIae, q. 91, a. 1.

[3] McInerny, Ralph, Aquinas on Human Action: A Theory of Practice. (Washington, D.C: Catholic University of America Press, 1992), 110.

[4] Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia IIae, q. 91, a. 2

[5] Timmons, Mark, Moral Theory: An Introduction. (Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2001), 68.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid., 73.

[9] McInerny, Ralph, Aquinas on Human Action: A Theory of Practice. (Washington, D.C: Catholic University of America Press, 1992), 110.

[10] Ibid., 125.

[11] Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia IIae, q. 100, a. 1.

[12] Ibid., q. 94, a. 4.

[13] John Paul II, Encyclical Letter Veritatis Splendor (06 August 1993), 59.