The Use of Invective in Discourse

A professor of mine recently defended St. Jerome for his use of invective in his writings.  St. Jerome is often found making comments about his opponents from which many contemporary readers shy away.  For those readers not familiar with St. Jerome’s style, consult the first paragraph of his work, On The Perpetual Virginity of Mary.  Here are the arguments given in class in favor of the use of invective, as well as some arguments not mentioned but could nevertheless be used:

1.  Many saints used invective in their writings, including St. Jerome and the Fathers of the Trinitarian and Christological controversies.  Therefore, invective is morally permissible.

2.  Invective was an acceptable literary style in Jerome’s time.  Invective helps to break of the monotony of an otherwise technical discussion and helped popularize his writings, which contained sound doctrine.

3. Our Lord uses invective, calling the Pharisees a brood of vipers and hypocrites.  Since Jesus is incapable of acting outside of charity, invective is not wrong in itself.

4.  Those who don’t like invective confuse charity with niceness.  It is often the case that being charitable requires doing something that isn’t nice.  Invective is not nice, but it may be a vehicle for charity.

5.  Invective is acceptable in other spheres of debate, e.g. political discourse.  But if it is acceptable in political discourse, it is acceptable in religious discourse as well.

On the contrary, St. Thomas argues that charity is friendship (ST II-II q.23 a.2).   But friends do not belittle one another, even when correcting each other.  Thus, invective is not charitable.

Our Lord often criticized the pharisees using strong, offensive language.  Since our Lord is a model of charity, it is clear that some acts of invective are also acts of charity.  Nevertheless, it is also true that our Lord knew perfectly the souls of those whom he was criticizing, and thus knew perfectly when his use of this device produced the right effect.  Just as our Lord on earth was free to judge on earth whether a person was destined for heaven or hell (whereas we are not), so too did our Lord know perfectly when invective was appropriate for the instruction of the ignorant and conversion of sinners.  Thus, Invective speech is not intrinsically disordered.

But, since no human person is God, no human person is capable of knowing perfectly when invective will produce the right effect.  Hence, it is difficult to judge whether invective is an appropriate tool in a given set of circumstances for correction or instruction.  For invective used wrongly more often than not has the effect of shutting down discussion rather than enhancing it.  Furthermore, invective tends to place the person in a disposition in which he is unwilling to listen.

Although invective is not intrinsically opposed to charity, nevertheless it is frequently viewed as a sufficient condition of a lack of charity because it is more often than not used in a manner beyond of the limits of Christian charity, as is abundantly clear from experience.  But if invective is so frequently misused and rarely used as a vehicle of charity, and because there are numerous ways to correct and instruct that make no use of invective, we can formulate a general rule that it is better to err on the side of avoiding invective than to err on the side of using invective.  The reason for this general rule mirrors the argument used by St. Thomas when he argues that we ought to interpret our doubts about a persons character for the best (ST II-II q.60, a.4, ad.1):

“He who interprets doubtful matters for the best, may happen to be deceived more often than not; yet it is better to err frequently through thinking well of a wicked man, than to err less frequently through having an evil opinion of a good man, because in the latter case an injury is inflicted, but not in the former.”

The parallel argument against invective is this:  a person never using invective may at times fail to use a tool that is at his disposal for the correction or instruction of another, but he does not sin in failing to use invective when correcting and instructing.  But to use invective wrongly inflicts undue injury on the person being insulted and gives an example of uncharitable behavior to those watching or listening.  Thus, it is better to err on the side of not using invective and not harming the subject than to err on the side of using invective and sinning.

In response to the objections:

1. The Church Fathers were sinners by their own admission.  It therefore does not follow that because certain Fathers exhibited a certain behavior that therefore that behavior is permissible.  Furthermore, if we give the Fathers the benefit of the doubt and assume that they were acting in a manner in adherence with the principles of charity, then it must be said that they used invective in such a way that it constitutes a counterexample to the general rule expounded above.  Nevertheless, the general rule stands, and unless one is sure that he possesses the same prudence that is exhibited in the Fathers, then invective is best avoided.

2. From the fact that such and such was an acceptable cultural phenomenon of the time, it does not follow that therefore such and such is a permissible practice, just as it does not follow that child sacrifice was permissible for the Aztecs because it was an acceptable cultural phenomenon of the time.  Furthermore, the question of whether such and such is morally permissible takes precedence over whether such and such is entertaining.

3. The body of this article is sufficient to answer this objection.

4.  While invective may be a vehicle for charity, it is more often than not abused rather than used correctly.  Since failing to use invective when correcting or instructing does not possess the same potential to fall into sin, it is better to err on the side of not using invective than to sin in its abuse.

5.  While invective is certainly used in political discourse, it does not follow that it is acceptable in political discourse.  More often than not, invective is used in place of argument in political discourse, not for the correction of the ignorant, and is thus more often than not used not for the sake of charity, but for the sake of something more reprehensible.

ADDENDUM:  Question 72 on reviling from the Summa Theologiae II-II directly pertains to the question at hand.  Note what Thomas means by “the dishonoring of a person” and honoring another.  The honor we owe one another extends not just to his good features.  In other words, as in a.1, ad.3, reviling consists in revealing someone’s faults to others.  To use invective against a person clearly falls into this category.  See also a.2, ad.2, in which Thomas discusses when it is permissible to use invective.  Note that he says it should be used seldom, only when very necessary, and for God’s service, not our own.  Thus, to use invective for the purposes of entertaining an audience–as some argued was acceptable–is ruled out.

I believe in Zeus, Athena, and One God

What would happen if Zeus, Athena, Artemis, and the entire pantheon of Greek gods, Norse gods, etc. appeared before us all and asserted their existence?  Would the monotheistic religions be refuted?  The answer is no.  Jews, Muslims, and Christians would still boldly assert that there is only one God.  There are important distinctions between God and gods; hopefully this set of distinctions will help clarify what monotheists mean when they say that there is only one God.

1)  As mobile beings, the gods would be in potency in some way.  Only God is without potency.  Thus, the gods are not God.

2) To call the gods ‘gods’ and God ‘God’ is to commit an equivocation, just as ‘bat’ refers to a long piece of wood and a flying mammal.  When we speak of God and gods we are not speaking of the same type of thing.  For Christians, these other gods would be akin to angels, demons, or some really big powerful creature.  They would not be God.

3) The gods are a type of being, just as trees, pigs, and flowers are types of being, albeit a majestic type of being.  As such, they are part of the world.  God, on the other hand, is not a type of being at all, but the source of all types of being.  God is not a part of the world, but rather is a necessary condition for the world’s existence.

4)  To say that I believe in one God does not mean that He is merely the biggest, baddest god among the gods.  As parts of the world, the gods only exist because God sustains them in being.

Thus, to acknowledge the existence of one God does not mean that I must deny the existence of the gods.  As a matter of fact, I boldly state that I believe that Zeus, Athena, and the entire pantheon of gods exist (life is more interesting that way).  I also proclaim that I believe in only one God.

Bad Catechizing

There is an argument that I hear frequently from catechists of a certain generation.  The faith, they argue, cannot be taught, it must be caught.  To have the faith is to have a relationship with a person, not just to know facts about that person.  Thus, the focus of our catechism classes ought to be on developing this relationship, not on facts.

I never accepted this argument:  I usually denied the conclusion because of the implicit premise that we can love a person without knowing facts about them.  There is, however, another problem with this argument that just occurred to me.  If the faith cannot be taught, and our goal in catechizing is to spread the faith, then there is no purpose to catechism classes whether we are attempting to teach facts or whether we are trying to teach a relationship.   In other words, the argument proves too much:  by denying that the faith can be taught, they deny the very approach to catechizing that they promote.

Two additional thoughts.  First, there is a lack of clarity in what is meant by ‘faith’ in this argument.  ”The Faith” can mean two things:  first, it can mean a set of propositions to which the mind gives assent.  If someone asks us what we believe, we respond by giving a set of such propositions.  ”The Faith” can also mean the virtue of faith, a virtue obtainable only by grace.  The Faith in the former sense can be taught; the Faith in the latter sense cannot be taught.

Second, while it is our hope that our children inherit the faith in the latter sense, it is not the case that it can be taught.  Thus, if we are to teach “the Faith”, it cannot be in this latter sense, as noble of an end as it may be.  I suggest that “the Faith” must be taught in the more modest, first sense of the word.  To catechize is to teach children a set of facts about the community to which they do or will belong.  God works through nature to achieve his ends:  he often uses such facts about himself as a means by which to give the virtue of Faith.

Losing Friends

Losing a friend by the dissolution of the friendship is like losing a friend to death.  In both cases, we remember what was and we are saddened by the loss.  However, the dissolution of friendship is like a living death.

The interesting consequence of this line of thought:  in some ways, the dissolution of a friendship is worse than losing a friend to death.  In both cases the person is no longer part of your life.  But in death we tend to recall the person fondly, despite their flaws in life.  I talk frequently with a parishioner whose wife died–she must have been a lovely person because everyone in the parish talks fondly of her.  But whereas no married person would canonize their spouse in life, they speak lovingly of her in death.

With the dissolution of friendship, we may remember the good times, but the first thing that comes to mind is the painful circumstances surrounding the ended relationship.  To remember the good qualities of the person with whom we were once friends requires charity that only grace can provide, for it requires us to see the good in one who hurt us or hates us.  This death is not just felt by the former friends:  it is also felt by the friends of those former friends.  If they are really friends, they must show their loyalty and support to both without taking sides with one or the other.

The pain of losing a friend is very strange.  If the person were a true friend, then to lose them is something regrettable. Yet many strong friendships never would have dissolved unless some matter arose that was serious enough to cause the rift.  Thus, despite regrets and perhaps the desire to recover what was lost, there is also the tacit realization that the good of that friendship often cannot be recovered.  The mere possibility of recovering the friendship makes the loss so painful, because it is a good that can conceivably be recovered, but most likely won’t be.  The hope is likely a false one.

An Augustinian Moment

Augustine famously threw up his hands as he wondered why God would wish to resurrect the body.  His Platonist metaphysics denigrated the body, making Augustine accept on faith rather than reason that the resurrection of the flesh is a good thing.

I’m having an Augustinian moment regarding prayer.  I know we are supposed to pray for our daily bread, as it were; but why?  If Christ taught us anything, it was that salvation comes through following Him to His passion and death.  Why, then, do we pray to eliminate our suffering?  Rather, should we not pray for the strength to carry the crosses that we are given?

The obvious response seems to be that the Church has always acknowledged that prayer for strength in times of persecution is more valuable than prayers for material needs; i.e. that the Church agrees with my assessment.  But that’s only half of the answer.  Even if the former type of prayer is more praiseworthy, God still answers the prayers of those who ask for healing.  Give what Jesus taught, those healings seem counterproductive.  Why not answer those prayers with the grace to endure the suffering with dignity and holiness rather than granting a quick healing?

I guess this is more evidence that we will never have access to God’s plan from this side of heaven.

Learning Humility from Blogging

I’ve been told that the human mind has an amazing capacity to forget painful experiences.  Maybe that is why I cannot remember writing some of the posts on my blog from two years ago.

The Vincentian Canon and the Development of Doctrine

Over the years I have heard many Anglicans and Orthodox criticize the Catholic Church for teaching innovative doctrines not taught by the early Church.  In particular they will cite St. Vincent of Lerin’s words in his Commonitory that “we hold that faith which has been believed everywhere, always, and by all.” (Commonitory chapter 2, paragraph 6)  In other words the orthodox tradition has a claim to universality, antiquity, and consent that the heterodox traditions lack (I refer to this doctrine as the Vincentian Canon, or VC, throughout this paper).  These critics of the Catholic Church cite the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception or the Assumption of Mary as novelties not taught everywhere, always, and by all; thus the Catholic Church does not have a claim to be the true Church.

I want to demonstrate that these objections miss the point of St. Vincent’s argument.  I think we ought to take St. Vincent at face value and see him as writing for a man already in possession of the tradition (i.e. himself; see chapter 1.1) rather than for a man outside the tradition trying to determine which tradition is correct.  When I first read the Commonitory I was reading it like those Orthodox and Anglicans I mentioned earlier read it; the result, I found, was a point so poorly argued that I began to wonder a) if St. Vincent was a very poor thinker, or b) I had misunderstood what St. Vincent sought to demonstrate in the first place.  After reading his work as advice to those already in the Church rather than those hoping to find the true Church, the argument of the Commonitory made much more sense.  In this post, I assume for the sake of argument that St. Vincent really seeks to give criteria on how to discover the true Church.  In showing how bad his argument is when viewed in this way, I hope the reader begins to understand why this interpretation cannot make  sense of the text.   As I will show, the VC must first assume prior knowledge of the correct tradition as a standard by which to judge a particular doctrine as a ‘novelty of words’.  Any appeal to the VC as a means of determining which church is orthodox will inevitably end up begging the question against its rival traditions.

The first criterion for determining which tradition is correct is to find the tradition that is held universally, i.e. throughout the whole world (chapter 2.6).  If there are a few who hold a different teaching, St. Vincent appeals to the General Councils to determine what the ancient faith is:  “But what, if in antiquity itself there be found error on the part of two or three men, or at any rate of a city or even a province?  Then it will be his care by all means, to prefer the decrees, if such there be, of an ancient General Council to the rashness and ignorance of a few.” (Commonitory 3.8)  Does Vincent of Lerins judge General Councils to be orthodox because they conform to what has been held “everywhere, always, and by all,” or does he determine what has been held “everywhere, always, and by all” by an appeal to the General Councils?  The latter seems to conform to the text, as the quotation cited above indicates.  But from where do the General Councils derive their authority?   St. Vincent cannot answer that a General Council is authoritative if it conforms to the preceding tradition held “everywhere, always, and by all” because such a move would make his reasoning circular.

In fact, St. Vincent never addresses how the man of simple faith is to determine which Councils are orthodox and which are not.  In chapter 31.79 he gives an example of a council that conforms with the Tradition (i.e. the Council of Ephesus); but to say that a council is orthodox is not to explain why a council is orthodox.  The early years of the Church saw many councils, many of which dissented from those traditions which St. Vincent calls orthodox in the Commonitory.  These councils were attended by a great number of bishops who ultimately taught doctrines contrary to the teachings laid forth in the VC.

Although St. Vincent never addresses how we are to determine which councils are orthodox, perhaps his second criterion may help.  The second criterion for determining which tradition is orthodox is to determine whether the doctrine taught conforms to the faith of antiquity.   We can distinguish orthodox councils from heterodox councils by seeing which councils contain some novelty of words that was not previously contained in the deposit of faith.  In order to determine which councils are orthodox and which aren’t, we ought to refer to Scripture or the teachings of the Apostles, whose faith was guaranteed to be pristine.

St. Vincent makes this very move in chapter 28.71 to determine the means by which the true believer can detect and condemn the novelties of Heretics.  Against new heresies, he argues, it is enough to investigate the ancient consent of the holy Fathers to determine what is true doctrine.  In the case of long-standing heresies, however, ought not to be dealt with in this way; rather, we should appeal to “the sole authority of Scripture”, or “to shun them as having been already of old convicted and condemned by universal councils of the Catholic Priesthood.”

Now obviously the second criterion cannot be used to establish the authority of a council without begging the question; what about the first way, by appeals to Scripture?  Here St. Vincent seems to contradict himself.  In chapter 2.5 St. Vincent argues that Scripture—although sufficient in every way—requires the Church’s interpretation.  For, “owing to the depth of Holy Scripture, all do not accept it in one and the same sense, but one understands its words in one way, another in another; so that it seems to be capable of as many interpretations as there are interpreters.”  Furthermore, when arguing for the necessity of the ancient Tradition for the interpretation of Scripture, St. Vincent notes the variety of interpretations of Scripture:  Novatian interprets it one way, Sabellius in another way, etc.  Later on, he complains that the heretics are very good at using Scripture to support their own novelties.  Thus, an appeal to Scripture in order to determine which doctrines are heresies assumes that one is already in possession of the tradition of the Church in the first place.

The VC faces other difficulties.  In chapter 23.54-59 St. Vincent argues that there is such thing as a genuine development of religious knowledge.  Such knowledge cannot be contrary to or in addition to the knowledge that was taught by the Father’s of the Church.  Real progress is not an alteration of the faith, but an adornment of it.  It is the job of brilliant minds to fashion and polish, consolidate and strengthen those ancient doctrines that antiquity had left shapeless and rudimentary (23.59), not to mutilate it with an addition, subtraction, or mutation.  A true development designates an old article of faith by a new name.  In this way we are able to move from that which was believed in simplicity to that which is believed intelligently.

St. Vincent contrasts truly developed religious knowledge to what 1 Timothy 6:20 terms “novelties of words.”  But how does a sincere seeker of the truth determine what is real development and what is not?  The sincere seeker of truth by definition does not have, but seeks to obtain, the orthodox tradition.  But how does he go about doing this?  He does not have the luxury of the ancient Tradition to aid him in his reading of Scripture in determining which tradition is the correct one.  Nor can he decide which councils possess authority and which do not.  Thus, what the Arians would call sound doctrine is a novelty to the Nicaean Fathers, and what is sound doctrine to the Nicaean Fathers is accused of being a novelty by the Arians.  The only way of accurately labeling one of these sets of teachings as novel or sound doctrine is to have knowledge of what the correct tradition is in the first place.

Taking all of these considerations into account, I conclude that the VC has little value in helping an outsider determine which church is possession of right doctrine.  In order for the VC to be of any use in the first place, the reader must first assume that he already is in possession of the orthodox Tradition.  There is no non-question begging way to use the VC to separate true doctrine from long-standing false doctrine.  None of the criteria—what is believed everywhere, always, and by all—can be used in a non-question begging way to determine what is true and what is novel.

Thus, the VC cannot be used in a non-question begging way to demonstrate that the Catholic Church’s doctrines of the Immaculate Conception and the Assumption of Mary are noveldoctrines.  The Catholic believer without inconsistency can claim that these doctrines are truly developed religious knowledge, developed from premises contained in but not developed adequately by the preceding Tradition.  Far from being “novelties in word”, these doctrines are legitimate developments of religious knowledge.  The means of distinguishing the orthodox tradition from its heterodox opponents must be a means other than the VC.

Edit:  I did a major overhaul on the introduction to this post.  I struggled and struggled, and finally said want I want to say.  I also added a link to the Commonitory in the first paragraph.

Love Your Enemies

Christ commands us to love our enemies.  But if an enemy is someone that we hate or do not like, can we love those that we hate?  Clearly the answer is no.  Then what does Christ mean here?  I answer that ‘enemy’ must be construed as a one-way relationship, not a two way relationship:  an enemy is someone who wishes harm to us; we do not have to wish ill-will toward our enemies for them to be our enemies.

My little analysis of the word ‘enemy’ is deceptively simple.  I heard these words, “Love your enemy” for years before taking the time to critically reflect on what ‘enemy’ meant.  However, upon examination the meaning of the word is clear.   I have no data to back this point up, but I think many people are unreflective enough about how they use the word that they may unconsciously understand the hatred-relationship as being two-way unless the meaning of the word is brought to their attention (as I did for many years).  It wouldn’t be the first time that speakers use words without reflecting on what they mean.

Aristotelian Justification of the State

A problem that has bugged me is how we justify judging the government by seemingly different moral standards than we judge individuals.  Why do we give the state the authority to kill people, take our money, etc under certain circumstances when we would never allow private citizens that authority?  How do we justify the existence of the state, i.e. demonstrate such authority to be just?

Aristotle calls man a political animal; thus, the laws established by the polis are necessary for fulfilling man’s nature.  If there is no polis, man cannot fulfill his nature.  But interestingly, Aristotle also says that the polis is necessary because it is a necessary condition for the formation of virtue in citizens.  Without the community/polis, man would not have a context in which to act well or badly.  If someone is disrupting the order and peace of the polis, they are disrupting other citizens’ chance at flourishing.  The coercive power of the polis, therefore, is justifable if it aims at the common good.  It is okay to kill a violent individual for the sake of the common good, or kill the citizens of another state in defense of one’s own polis.

Note that Aristotle’s argument depends on placing the common good (which differs, by the way, from the collective good) above the good of any particular citizen.  The common good at the private goods are not incommensurable.  Why is the common good more important?  Because it is a sine qua non for the flourishing of the private citizen:  without the preservation of the common good, there can be no context for flourishing, and thus no good of the private citizen.

Another observation:  note how this line of argumentation justifies a certain amount of patriotism in one’s state.  Many modern liberals frown on patriotism in part because it seems to justify a degree of elitism and hostility of one nation towards another.  Under Aristotle’s reasoning, however, a certain degree of patriotism is justifiable because one’s state provides the context in which one can flourish.  While other states might *possibly* provide that same context, they currently are not.  Thus, we have an obligation to respect our nation and love it for the goods it provides us.

Does Pleasure Bring Happiness?

Thomas categorically says that it does not.  But there is more to the story than this one article.  Consider the following:

“As is evident from what has been said above (Question 23, Article 4), pleasure is a kind of repose of the appetite in a suitable good; while sorrow arises from something unsuited to the appetite. Consequently in movements of theappetite pleasure is to sorrow, what, in bodies, repose is to weariness, which is due to a non-natural transmutation; for sorrow itself implies a certain weariness or ailing of the appetitive faculty. Therefore just as all repose of the body brings relief to any kind of weariness, ensuing from any non-natural cause; so every pleasure brings relief by assuaging any kind of sorrow, due to any cause whatever.” (ST I-II:  q. 38 a.1)

Thomas is arguing that every pleasure is capable of assuaging sorrow.  Sorrow arises because the appetite is unfulfilled (or perhaps receives something contrary to one’s appetite).  Since pleasure arises when an appetite is fulfilled, all pleasure helps stave off sorrow.

Several interesting consequences follow.  First, the tidy summary:  although pleasure cannot bring us happiness, it brings a lack of sorrow.  The value of pleasure, then, is negative, not positive.  It does not bring us happiness, but it combats unhappiness.

Also, this passage implies an interesting account of why the pursuit of pleasure (rather than the obtainment of pleasure) leads to unhappiness.  Because pleasure-seekers wish to fulfill rather than master their desires, those who fail to achieve pleasure will find sorrow; those who do obtain pleasure merely “break even”, as it were, in the pursuit of happiness.  But whether or not he succeeds, the pleasure-seeker is setting himself up for more frequent occasions for sorrow because his desires are more numerous than the man who seeks to master his desires.