A fascinating medieval disputation.

The decayed idea that scholasticism can be dispensed with as futile arguments over angels and pins disintegrates quickly upon honest examination. Yes, there is bad scholasticism, but that is light years away from the scholasticism bad! reigning in secular and too many Catholic minds.

For those on the inside, it is a treasure house of carefully-reasoned thought. 

For example: What is the "motive" of the Incarnation?

The Angelic Doctor said that it happened because man had sinned. 

Per the Subtle Doctor, Blessed John Duns Scotus, it was willed for itself. 

An introduction:

Though it has its roots in the writings of the Church Fathers, it did not receive its first systematic treatment until the time of medieval scholasticism. At that juncture, opposing theses were advanced by two of the most authoritative scholastic theologians of the 13th century: St. Thomas Aquinas and Bl. John Duns Scotus. 

The former, which we may call the Thomistic thesis, argued that if Adam had not sinned, God would not have become man. Thomas wrote the following in his Summa Theologica: “the work of the Incarnation was ordained by God as a remedy for sin; so that, had sin not existed, the Incarnation would not have been.”1 Thus, for Thomas, the only reason for the Incarnation is the redemption of fallen man. 

The Scotistic thesis, on the other hand, argued that the Incarnation was willed by God from all eternity prior to any consideration of sin, and thus it would have come about even had Adam not sinned. For Scotus, God created the world and everyone in it for the sake of Christ, sin or no sin. Christ, then, was not an afterthought of God, but rather the first thought, so to speak. 

The essay focuses on the Scotistic Thesis for the Universal Primacy of Christ and is an excellent explanation of it.

Definitely worth contemplating.

Simcha Fisher on the slog of the daily Rosary.

"The slog" is my term, but her experience sounds very familiar.

Despite these past failures, we have returned once again to this old practice of walking through the events of the life of Jesus of Mary, one bead at a time, a verse or two of scripture per prayer, just one decade a night, because that’s what’s sustainable. As with so many other things in my life these days, I’ve arrived at a possible workable solution by failing at everything else. The plan is just to respectfully witness what happened. Just speak the words if it’s my turn to lead, and listen if it’s not, and just be a witness.

What I’ve found is that the extreme familiarity is not a bad thing, any more than it’s a bad thing to be extremely familiar with the events and memories of my own life. In fact, that’s kind of the point: The mysteries of the rosary ought to be very close to our hearts, very familiar, very well-known. They ought to live with us. We do a different mystery each night, so it’s not the exact same prayers every night. The kids take turns leading, so there’s some variation there. There’s enough variety that you have to pay some attention, so we avoid the rocket prayer effect. But basically, it’s nothing new. And that’s a good thing.

* * *

But I don’t think it’s necessary or helpful to try to torment ourselves into some kind of jarring insight or ecstasy every single time we approach the mysteries of the rosary. Spiritual novelty, it turns out,  is overrated, and probably has to do more with spiritual vanity than with a genuine thirst for holiness. Sometimes it’s more important to sit right where you are and just accept what God has given us, even if it’s just the same old same old. Especially if it’s the same old same old. (It’s called “humility.” Look it up, sweaty.)

My Much Better Half and I have been reciting a daily rosary for more than a year now.

Spiritual insights occur, and this long-out-of-print classic is a very worthwhile companion.

The Presentation in the Temple, featuring one of my favorite New Testament figures, Simeon, is one which holds my focus better than most.

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace according to thy word.
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,
Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles and to be the glory of thy people Israel.

Faith rewarded, at the very end, right before the Short Darkness falls: it never fails to move me. 

Honestly, though, recitation is often a drill we push ourselves through. And I have come to the conclusion that that is not a bad thing. Love is at least to some extent an act of will: we have to act, and sometimes our heart is not entirely in it. Feelings are far from infallible guides to what love is, let alone to what love may ask of us.

I like to think it has made me a better pray-er, praying more for than against. I also liken it to a kind of spiritual training. As with any other form of training, it is a process with ups and downs--and frequently no obvious results. But with God as the trainer, He will be the judge of progress.

Fair questions about an influential theologian.

Hans Urs von Balthasar looms large over the Catholic theological landscape, most notably with his near-to-fully (depending on whom you read) universalist take on salvation.

But I'm not interested in that taffy pull.

Rather, I am more interested in the mystical influences on his thought, having taken an interest in Catholic mysticism (e.g., St. Bonaventure) in my middle age.

Sacred Heart Seminary Professor Ralph Martin argues that in von Balthasar's more speculative forays, it may have been less the former Jesuit speaking than his friend, Adrienne von Speyr. Von Balthasar took down volumes of her purported mystical utterances--and Martin applies some critical criteria to evaluate the purported part. 

An interesting and--despite some furnace-hot responses to the contrary--reasonable evaluation. Critical--sure. But not a hatchet job.

Just so I can offend everyone: it reminds me of the arguments over Bl. Anne Catherine Emmerich and Clemens Brentano--the relationship and line between mystic and recorder has to be very carefully and objectively evaluated.

Sacred Heart Statute of Bilbao.

My only problem with the Sacred Heart devotion is aesthetic. In this, the month of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, I have to confess that I find almost all of the popular imagery saccharine at best and off-puttingly androgynous at worst.

However, if we could duplicate the statute of the Sacred Heart in the Basque city of Bilbao, we'd be on the right track. Completed in 1927 after a subscription campaign by the Jesuits, it is still a major attraction today.

I mean, just making small copies of the depiction of Jesus would put us on the right track.

 

Good advice for Catholics, regardless of whether or not one wears a boina roja.

 

The Thanksgiving Indult: an update.

Sharon Kabel has written the definitive essay on the question of the legendary "Turkey Indult."

It cites me, so you know it's good. 

Humor aside, it is exhaustively-researched and well-worth a read. It also prompts questions about the relaxation of abstinence and fasting requirements before the 21st council. Tolle, lege.

Yes, Virginia, there *was* a Thanksgiving Indult--with caveats.

My respect for Sharon Kabel's research skills knows know bounds. She is the daughter-in-law of my good friend Jon Kabel. 

She recently put her unmatched talents for searching the historical record to good use to address the question of the much-discussed "Thanksgiving Indult" of Pope Pius XII, which supposedly allowed American Catholics to keep chowing down on the bird on Fridays after Thanksgiving.

Her verdict--which is supported by her startling ability to sift the archives--is that there may have been one once, or granted here or there, but as a general rule, no.

The only problem with her research is that the best source for researching dispensations is the hard-to-find work of the late Jesuit T. Lincoln Bouscaren. Father Bouscaren was an eminent American canonist and the compiler of the invaluable early volumes of the Canon Law Digest. 

The books are fascinating--even for non-legally-minded nerds. They show church tribunals and other authorities wrestling with issues as varied as imaginable, from granting an annulment to a Catholic woman whose husband had himself sterilized two weeks before their wedding to how to translate the Good Friday prayer for the Jews. When I get a moment, I will devote a more in-depth post to the volumes of the Digest and the remarkable material they contain. 

In any event, Volume V of the Digest (Bruce Publishing Company, 1963) settles the dispute over the historicity and reach of the Thanksgiving Indult once and for all:

1. Yes, there was a general indult for bishops to grant dispensations on American civil holidays, and it had existed as far back as Pius XI;

2. Yes, there was one specifically available for Thanksgiving--but it was granted either at the tail end of the reign of John XXIII or the very beginning of that of Paul VI;

3. But there was no general, universal indult straight from the Pope--it had to be applied for, and not every bishop did.

My middle son was confirmed yesterday.

In the traditional rite, no less.

His confirmation Saint is Germanus of Auxerre, a Roman courtier turned bishop, scourge of Pelagians and inspirer of drinking songs.

 

Blind voter guides.

I actually agree that mere support of a pro-life policy does not necessarily trump (rimshot!) all other considerations during a presidential election. And I think it's important to emphasize presidential elections because of the insanely-outsized role played by the Presidential officeholder.

So, if you were to say that President Bush's genuine support for the pro-life movement wasn't worth wrecking the Middle East and countless thousands of human lives, I'd say you were on to something.

But some arguments on this calculus are better than others, and Franciscan theologian Fr. Daniel Maria Klimek outlines the problems with the arguments of a very prominent Jesuit reverend.

Read the whole thing, but it is worth the time for the discussion of "proportionate reasons" alone.

The expression “proportionate reasons,” therefore, is applicable when issues of the highest moral gravity, those that constitute intrinsic evils, are quantified against each other in trying to choose a candidate who represents the lesser of two evils. And not when quantifying less egregious (although still important) moral issues against those that constitute the direct killing of innocent human life.

The political climate in America is the worst in my lifetime. Finding clarity through the moral smog of the landscape is absolutely essential.

Tips of the Blogging Cap.

For those of you looking for more interesting sites to visit, I am happy to offer two.

First is Tito Edwards' Big Pulpit, a Catholic blog/article aggregator that is "Just the links, ma'am."

It is nice to have an aggregator site that doesn't try to editorialize, which makes Tito's work invaluable. Yes, he links to my stuff often, explaining surging tides of viewers. And for that I am grateful--but I recommend it regardless.

The second is the return of Saint Corbinian's Bear, and our ursine lawyer guide is as steady as ever. Right now, he's explaining why modernists win, and it's worth your time.

Happy Birthday to my father, who turns 74 today.

Dad will spend a day of semi-relaxation at the lake in celebration today. And as a sign he prominently displays on the garage says:

If you're lucky enough to live on a lake, you're lucky enough.

And we get to see him and Mom this coming month.

Dad happened to be the inspiration for a blog post that was turned into a guest essay at the National Catholic Register all the way back in 2004. 

Back when I thought American expeditions in the Middle East and Vatican II were great ideas. 

The river has changed course a bit since then...

Aaaanyway: you can read it here.

Love you, Dad. 

Sacramental Cascade Effects.

The big news in the local church in Detroit was the CDF's ruling that the baptismal formula used by a now-retired deacon at a suburban parish in Troy was invalid.

From 1986 to 1999, the deacon used "We baptize you" instead of "I baptize you."

In this rather good summary report on the invalid sacrament, the CDF is quoted:

"To say 'We baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit' does not convey the sacrament of baptism. Rather, ministers must allow Jesus to speak through them and say, 'I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.'

There are three points worth noting in this story. 

The first involves a priest who was not a priest for three years, Fr. Matthew Hood.

Three years of non-Masses, non-confirmations, non-absolutions and non-anointings. 

It is horrifying to contemplate, though we can trust in God to judge fairly the good will of those who sought and administered the non-sacraments in an ignorance that was far from culpable.

Though, ironically, the baptisms he performed were perfectly-valid. 

The second and third points are not mentioned in this story but have to be mentioned.

Secondly, it appears that during that span of 13 years, the deacon did not always use the wrong formula. So, he performed valid as well as invalid baptisms, meaning that, barring videotaped evidence (as in the case of Fr. Hood), people might not remember what formula was used.

Thirdly: out of concern for validity, in 1999, the Archdiocese instructed the deacon in question to use the proper formula, and he immediately complied. 

Buuuuut....nobody in the then-leadership bothered to fire the question upward or do anything to cure what they clearly recognized was a potential spiritual catastrophe.

"His 'baptisms' may be null and void, but we told him to stop, so it's all good."

If you want to growl at the formation process, go ahead. The church in Detroit has had more than its share of liturgical and doctrinal issues, and that most emphatically included the seminary at the time. If you want to be hacked at the deacon, fine--within limits. Freelancing with sacramental formulas should never be done. Sacramental intent is a low bar, but it can be lacking. Even when you use the right words (note the author). But the deacon obeyed immediately--and he's retired, too.

No, the real failure here was at the Archdiocesan level in 1999. That's who you should direct your criticism towards. The records should have been poured over with the assistance of the deacon and other parish witnesses, conditional baptisms given and the other potentially-null sacraments re-administered. Instead, it was left to fester, and here we are.

Archbishop Vignernon had all of the parish priests reach out during their Sunday homilies about the problem--and it turns out that the parish where we were attending Mass yesterday has a young man who needs to leap back through the sacramental hoops. 

And I will not fault the Archbishop's actions here--he's doing what can be done.

But here's a disquieting thought: what about those who moved out of the Archdiocese after their non-baptisms?

With the best will in the world...

I firmly believe Bishop Barron is a man who operates in good faith. An energetic and irenic shepherd, he shows the treasury of the Faith to the world. Yes, I am aware of his stumbles on the Last Things and in other areas, but I will bracket those for now.

However, like all contemporary bishops, he firmly shackles himself to the crumbling Vatican II paradigm, insisting that, contrary to what our sensory and statistical input are constantly telling us, things have been good since 1965, all things considered.

 

Exhibit A: this brand-spanking-new FAQ on the most recent ecumenical council.  

Hoo, boy. 

There's a lot to respond to there, but I will confine myself to two areas.

1.    First, the question of deliberate ambiguity in the conciliar documents.  

This answer does not cover itself in glory, he says politely. First, it engages in the genetic fallacy by dismissing the late French Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre's quote of the progressive Dutch Dominican Edward Schillebeeckx because Lefebvre reports it. Sorry, doesn't work that way, even if you don't like the man. 

Secondly, while no, Schillebeeckx did not vote on the final form of the documents, his influence on the conciliar documents and debates is well-documented. He would certainly have been privy to the various drafts and discussions. For him to say such a thing--especially in light of his overall theological record--is far from implausible.

Thirdly, no less than Walter Cardinal Kasper acknowledged in L'Osservatore Romano that the documents offered compromise language which can be interpreted in different ways--in other words, inherent--and certainly foreseeable--ambiguity. If you want to quibble about "deliberate," go ahead and lawyer. 

How about "wilful and wanton disregard for the consequences"?

[Pope John XXIII] saw a new era unfolding, which he met with optimism, in the unshakeable trust in God. He spoke of a pastoral objective of the council, meaning an update, a "becoming today" of the Church. It was not meant a banal adaptation to the spirit of the times, but the appeal to make the faith transmitted today speak.

The large majority of the Council Fathers grasped the idea. He wanted to meet the requests of the biblical, liturgical, patristic, pastoral and ecumenical renewal movements, which arose between the two world wars; to begin a new page of history with Judaism, full of burdens, and enter into dialogue with modern culture. It was the project of a modernization that he did not want [to--]and could not even be[--]modernism.

An influential minority stubbornly resisted this attempt by the majority. John XXIII's successor, Pope Paul VI, was fundamentally on the side of the majority, but he tried to involve the minority and, in line with the ancient conciliar tradition, to reach an approval, as far as possible unanimously, of the conciliar documents, which in total were sixteen. 

He succeeded; but he paid a price. In many places, compromise formulas had to be found, in which, often, the positions of the majority are immediately alongside those of the minority, designed to delimit them.

Thus, the conciliar texts have within themselves an enormous potential for conflict; they open the door to selective reception in one or the other direction.

It is understandable that the Word on Fire staff did not stumble across a L'Osservatore Romano article from April 12, 2013 which was only in Italian. But trust me--it's well known to those who have long-noticed such ambiguous formulations.

2.    Blame for the obvious decay in sacramental practice and belief.

I will agree that blame for clerical corruption can hardly be laid at the feet of the 21st council. This grim and pervasive infection existed long before 1962, and its effects will be with our descendants.

Those who still practice the Faith, that is.

Because that's the essential problem with this section: it asks us to look at raw growth numbers outside of Europe. But it does not directly acknowledge that sacramental participation continues to crater even in places where the nominal numbers continue to rise. 

To wit, look at these daunting figures for Catholic observance in the United States between 1970 and 2019. Yes, the number of nominal Catholics inches upwards, but actual sacramental practice is fading away.

And two quotes from Archbishop Fulton Sheen from the 1970s do not a convincing rebuttal make. I love Sheen and look forward to his canonization. But he left this vale of tears in 1979, and things have not exactly turned the corner. 

Forty more years have passed, and it has become worse than turbulence, with no end in sight. One does not have to reject a council recognize its failure in its expressed aims. And one does not have to blame the council for everything to recognize that it played a negative role, even if just via contested interpretations of ambiguity. 

Indeed, refusing to accept either failure or a share of the blame suggests that the council has ceased being an historical event conditioned by time and place. Instead, it has become an idol which is not to be blasphemed.

That mindset does not bode well for the future.

A worthwhile analysis of Jacques Maritain at 1P5.

In all the cacophony over the spreading plague in March, I missed this fine essay by Jerry Salyer on the legacy of the great French Thomist.

Maritain is a cuss word in many trad Catholic circles, despite his steady adherence to the Magisterium of the Church. I readily confess to being a fan, profiting from my reading of the philosopher's works. I think his fellow French layman Etienne Gilson is better still, but I like Maritain. But virtually every time I see Maritain quoted by a traditionalist, he is given the most crabbed and uncharitable reading possible, which is a shame.

Some of the roots of anti-Maritain animosity are found in the soil of the Second World War, which saw France occupied and reduced to a rump Axis satellite whose capital was at Vichy.

[Because I can't avoid an aside in a longer post to save my life:

By the way, a good argument can be made for the de jure legitimacy of Vichy as the heir to the Third Republic--such is done here by historian Julian Jackson, who as an Englishman has no skin in the game. As I sense pearls being clutched, let me swiftly remind readers who are not up on critical legal nuances that legitimacy simply means that the government is properly constituted under the law. It does not mean that all of said government's actions are "legitimate" in a broader moral--or even legal--sense. But it is worth noting that Vichy economic modernization efforts were continued by the Fourth Republic under what was called the Monnet Plan.]

The French Church and its members were as split as the rest of France when it came to the question of allegiance. And in this case, Maritain supported de Gaulle and the great Dominican Thomist Garrigou-Lagrange supported Petain, which destroyed what had been a solid friendship.

Since Fr. Garrigou-Lagrange's theology is rightfully (Hint: read him) held in high honor in traditional circles, wagons also circle in defense of the Father against all threats, real or perceived. I confess to also being a fan of de Gaulle, so make of that what you will.

However, it is fair to question whether Maritain's stalwart defense of democracy during the age of totalitarian ascendancy left him unable to see its flaws. And this can be seen in another indictment laid at the pedestal of Maritain's legacy: what can only be described as blind admiration for Saul Alinsky. But while embarrassing, Maritain is only guilty of naivete', mis-reading a man who charmed many into thinking he was something other than a prophet for centralized state power.

Maritain could not see that Alinsky’s “community organizations” were always meant to be substitute churches which were ordered by their very essence to the derogation of the proper authority of the most important of the natural and supernatural mediating societies, namely, the natural family and the Catholic Church. Maritain could only see in Alinsky’s work the coming-into-being of new guilds, along the lines of the medieval guilds, that could put a check on the greed and radical individualism that underlies so much of the practice of free market capitalism. He thought that these organizations could embody the Catholic principle of subsidiarity, so that the grave social injustices of capitalism could be held in control without tyrannical federal intervention. But he failed to realize that these organizations were in fact meant by Alinsky to be stepping-stones to the advent of, and eventual workers for, a centralized power structure that would coercively bring about his dreary, ugly, a-religious concept of social justice. Maritain seems to have failed, in other words, to recognize that it is perilous indeed to make common cause with those who have rejected the religious essence of man. Social justice without a truly Christian, religious foundation is a perversion of social justice.

That analysis jibes with my reading of Maritain: with respect to postwar political and social developments in democratic societies, he read them with a generous Catholic lens. While he easily saw the dangers of openly-totalitarian movements, he was less able to see how the language and processes of democracy could be co-opted by those who did not call themselves communists or fascists, but who had goals which ended in the same neighborhoods. He would see small community organizer movements as analogous to the early bands of disciples from Acts...but was unable to recognize the far different ends toward which such movements strove.

And now to the Salyer piece itself, which carefully weighs defenses and critiques of Maritain, past and contemporary.

To be sure, Maritain speaks appropriately of “correcting and transfiguring” pagan wisdom in one breath, yet in the very next he talks of “triumphing over” and “toppling” it. If the former expression suggests nature’s fulfillment and regeneration through grace — evoking as it does the Thomistic dictum gratia non tollat naturam, sed perficiat — the latter expressions have a decidedly aggressive ring and seem to have slipped into Maritain’s discourse via equivocation. “Correcting” is not “triumphing over”; “transfiguring” is not the same as “toppling.” By the same token, it is worth noting that Maritain countenances the phrase “Greek and pagan,” even though the two adjectives in question are no more synonymous than are “Arab” and “Islamic.” The New Testament is itself written in Greek, after all, and to try to describe in any detail the thought of Saint Augustine without ever alluding to Platonism is rather like trying to understand Dante without making any reference to Virgil. For that matter, with regard to Father Eschmann’s dig about paganism, Maritain’s opponents could just as easily have retorted that it is characteristically gnostic and Protestant to understate the spiritual significance of community, authority, and institutions.

Read the whole piece. It is thoughtful and fair-minded. And then pick up some Maritain for yourself.

Another one from the vaults that I am particularly proud of.

As a quick scan of the archives proves, I published nothing at this blog in 2019.

But that doesn't mean I didn't get something published in long form back then.

Indeed, I did: I had an essay on how to go about seeking used Catholic books published at my good friend Steve Skojec's One Peter Five site.

Since (1) I am proud of it, (2) I think it has broad applicability to hunting down used books in general, (3) it provides an historical perspective and (4) it allows me to quote myself, here's a sample:

As the 19^th century gave way to the 20^th, English-speaking Catholics finally had their footing in both Britain and North America. Decades of emancipation in the former and successes in beating back fiercely anti-Catholic movements in the latter had led to legal and financial stability.

As a result, the English-speaking Catholic world enjoyed a publication explosion during the sixty years prior to the most recent council. Numerous publishers sprang up and offered not only works from Anglophone writers, but also translations of significant European Catholic material.

We can measure the publishing burst thanks to the remarkable efforts of the late Walter Romig (1903-1977) of Detroit. Romig was an energetic editor, author, compiler, and publisher of things Catholic. Sacred Heart Seminary in Detroit keeps his memory alive with an annual award for distinguished lay alumni of the school.

But he deserves to be far better known for his tireless efforts on behalf of Catholic literature. For twenty years, he painstakingly chronicled the growth of Catholic works in the first six volumes of The Guide to Catholic Literature and in his six-volume The Book of Catholic Authors series. As a publisher, he also printed reference works to black Catholic and American Catholic convert authors. While I haven’t been able to find any verifiable biographical details about him online [1], I can say with confidence that Romig made it his mission to tell fellow Catholics and the world about the Catholic impact on the written word. All of this was done in the age of snail mail, card catalogues, and databases consisting of file cabinets, pens, and paper.

The Guide bears witness to this. The first volume covers 1888-1940 and totals 1,240 pages. The next volume covers 1940-44 and clocks in at 633 pages. So even in the midst of the planet’s worst conflict, Catholic publishing saw an astonishing expansion. The subsequent volumes show the growth continuing. The last volume edited by Romig covered 1956-59 and came in at 729 pages. Catholic books poured forth like an oil strike geyser.

By the end of the 1960s, the geyser guttered out, and the great old Catholic publishing houses – Sheed & Ward, Bruce Publishing, Burns & Oates, Benziger Brothers, Hanover House, B. Herder, P.J. Kenedy & Sons, Longmans Green, Newman, Joseph F. Wagner – went out of business, were bought out, or became shadows of their former selves.

Anglophone Catholics not only left “the ghetto” after Vatican II, but blew up their publishing industry when they departed. And while some new companies have come into existence since, most have little connection to the fallen giants of the past.

Amy Welborn's two-part introduction to the history of Black Catholics in America is a must-read.

Today's post outlines the profoundly-complex and second-class experience of most of our African-descended brothers and sisters over the course of American history.

 Historical reality is, of course, much more complicated. We can celebrate the existence of all-Black religious orders of sisters, but why did they have to exist? Because white religious orders wouldn’t accept Black women as members and white religious orders didn’t want to serve Black populations. We can celebrate, for example, predominantly Black parishes and schools in New Orleans, but why did they come to exist? Because the institutional Church acceded to Jim Crow laws, both in letter and spirit. 

In short: when we look at the history of the Catholic Church and African-Americans in the United States, there is no room for institutional or majoritarian self-congratulation. It’s a history marked by fearful submission to civic, cultural and social prejudice, which teaches us, among other things, that there is nothing new under the sun. And, like all history, it’s quite interesting, and for those with the time and motivation, provides endless fascinating rabbit trails. A couple of places to begin.

And she then provides plenty of resources to begin study of that history. 

Read it all, and do not miss the first post.

It's OK to admit failure. Sometimes it's a necessity.

And now for something completely-different:
 

It was only sixteen months ago--but it seems like a lifetime, doesn't it?

Remember the newsworthy joint declaration from the pontiff and the Sunni head of the Al Azhar University in Cairo? That bit about the Almighty willing religious diversity the same way He willed us to be male and female?

In defending that heretofore-unrevealed spin on Catholic teaching, the pontiff was adamant: "From the Catholic point of view, the document does not pull away one millimeter from Vatican II."

Interpreting what Vatican II said or what the footnotes supposedly help it say is an exercise reminiscent of late-stage scholasticism: a lot of ink spilled over puzzling/ambiguous minutiae to no benefit at all. Except for the publishing prospects or feuds of a ring of clerics or clericalized-laity who have the parchment license to use the cant of the initiated.

No, for the purposes here, the important thing is that, once again, Vatican II is invoked. In my snarkier moments I call it "Vatican Too," because like "too," the council is inserted into an embarrassing number of church contexts.

No ecumenical council insists upon itself quite like the 21st.

But why do we let our thinking be dominated by a failed enterprise?

FAILED ENTERPRISE?!

How can you say any such thing about an ecumenical council of the Catholic Church?

Well, why don't we do a couple of things before we flee to our fainting couches? First, let's consider the stated intent of that council.

Back in 1963 Pope Paul VI identified the goals of the Second Vatican Council as follows:

  

"You know the purpose of this council, which has more participants than any other: As it was expressed by our illustrious predecessor [Pope John XXIII], the Church must appear in its perennial vigor, the instrument of salvation for all; to her Our Lord Jesus Christ has entrusted the deposit of the Faith, to be guarded faithfully and in an apt and convenient way. This energetic vigor of the Church, which illuminates, attracts, moves souls, can take new strength from the council, which meets at the tomb of St. Peter.”

And how has that worked out for us, three generations later? The Church is dead in Western Europe, moribund in Latin America, withering or barely holding its own in Asia and well on the way to irrelevance in North America.

Only sub-Saharan Africa is a place of consistent growth, but that can hardly be taken for granted.

Thus, according the stated goals as set forth by Paul VI, one of the presiding popes of that council, Vatican II has failed. 

Some of you are mentally recoiling in horror right now (or haven't stopped)--but why? 

The second thing you have to remember is that the long history of the Church tells you you should not be freaked out. A searching look back across the centuries demonstrates that a failed ecumenical council is Just One of Those Things. 

Councils have failed before and will fail in the future. Is anyone still talking about the Spirit of Vienne, or asking about Lateran IV?

I hear the sputtering "Butbutbut--it's *you* who aren't taking the long view. Everyone knows it takes a century for a council to take effect!!!”

And where is that written? That’s just one of the popular apologetics slogans, right alongside the no True Scotsman-y "hasn't been implemented properly," "it's not in the actual documents" and "bad translation." It's spin--pure ahistorical, corporate spin.

And it’s especially laughable if you peruse Church history. Lateran V closed in 1517, but by 1545 it had been justly forgotten after half of Europe had become Protestant. Certainly, there was no one in the Catholic world dumb enough to suggest that Lateran V just needed some more time to leaven the dough of faith, or some similar happy metaphor defending the downward trajectory.

Unfortunately for our time, the one thing that unites the entire leadership of the Church, regardless of label, is that Vatican II Was Just Fine, no matter what the statistics say about the disintegration of Catholic observance across three continents.

So instead of accepting the fact that VToo was, by virtue of its pastoral mindset and focus on the moment, reaching out to the world of the 1960s, it had a built-in sell-by date...it is turned into a platonic Form. It is a super-council, "a language event" unconstrained by time or place, a totally unique episode in the Church untethered from her past.

While the “hermeneutic of continuity” scholastics would argue against the last clause, it really has been treated like that, even by the 'conservative' popes. Both of whom unswervingly took the Council as the unalterable touchstone and functional super-event in one way or another. And they agreed that, of course, “these things take time.”

The only difference with the current pontiff is that he takes the gestalt of the council to its logical end. He’s a true believer in singing a new church and has not the slightest qualms. Forward, forward, always forward! The only problems he sees in the Church are with those who object—rigidly, of course—to another half-century of giddy autodemolition praised as a fruit of the spirit.

When you consider the undeniable ambiguity of the conciliar documents, the wholesale re-constitution of the liturgy which followed and the declarations of independence from the magisterium which were only occasionally and half-heartedly reined in, the much-derided “spirit of the council” is usually the council itself on laughing gas.

And the fact that 'conservatives' and 'liberals' alike insist on using "*the* council" as *the* polestar in the face of disintegration….well, that makes Vatican II the wordiest suicide note in history.

Vatican II spoke to the 'New Frontier' era, albeit dishonestly in spots (e.g., no mention of communism). And for that, it probably did a decent-enough job. But the problem is that the New Frontier Man died in 1968, both his children are divorced, none of his grandchildren go to church and the lot of them are happy with the straitjacket of bourgeois Western leftism so long as their streaming services and WiFi are up.

Fast forward from 1963 to 2020: The perennial vigor of the Church has almost entirely dissipated. The deposit of the Faith, far from being faithfully guarded, is presented as a grab-bag of implicit novelties, the latest of which now includes God willing other religions. Far from illuminating and attracting souls, the Church’s tired, debilitated voice suggests that people are just as well off looking elsewhere for their own truths. 

If that’s not failure, I'd hate to see what actual failure looks like.

It is past time to move on. Honesty requires no less.