Laughing With God, Part I

I recently have become infatuated with this song by Regina Spektor entitled “Laughing With”.  The lyrics are very clever.  I normally don’t spend much time with poetry-esque things, but I’ll make an exception for this song.  Here are the lyrics; here is the song.

First, is this song written from a religious perspective?  Second, is this song a series of observations, or is it a critique?  If it is a critique, of whom is it a critique?  I’ll answer the first two questions in this post, and answer the third question in subsequent posts.

First.  I’m not sure that ‘religious’ is a good adjective in this question.  It is my experience that everyone thinks they know what it means, but everyone understands the term differently.  I think the question can be focused better if we replace ‘religious’ with ‘believer’s’.  So, is this song written from the perspective of a person who believes in God?

While there are some wonderful ambiguities in this song that offer several different ways to interpret them, I think the speaker’s belief in God is indisputable.  In order to prove this, I need to show that there is an aspect of this song that cannot be explained from both a believer’s and a non-believer’s perspective.  Aspects that can be explained by both does not cut against either interpretation.  Thus, my goal is to show that there is an aspect of this song that does not lend itself to atheism, but can only be explained if the speaker believes in God.  If this song were written from an atheist’s perspective, God would exist in the mind as a concept, but not in reality.  For the believer, God must exist in the mind and in reality.  Thus, if I can show that this song assumes God exists in reality and not merely in the mind, then I will have shown that the song writer believes in God.  I propose to demonstrate my point by analyzing the theme of laughter in this song.

The song begins with a string of statements with the structure, “no one laughs at God in x”.  In the next phase, the song switches to statements about ways in which God can be funny.  Until the end of the song, no different types of statements are introduced.  However, the last statement is different:  “we’re all laughing with God.”  The statement has its origin in a common expression:  “We’re not laughing at you, we’re laughing with you!”  The saying is usually used when a person or group is making someone the target of his jokes.  When someone calls him out on his humor because it is in some way in bad taste, the jokester may defend his conduct by saying that he was never ridiculing the person in the first place.  Humor can injure someone if the object of the joke does not wish to be teased.  But if the object of the joke sees the point of the humor, then the joke is not ridicule, but good fun.  In fact, even if the object of the joke doesn’t get the humor, but the jokester is attempting to help the object see his situation in a more humorous/less serious way, the jokester may be doing the object a favor.  For example, if a man is upset because his girlfriend broke up with him, and his friends can make him “step back” from the pain he is feeling and see some previously unseen irony or humor in the situation (e.g. “dude, when your girlfriend asked if she looked fat in that dress, at least you were honest!”), it can help alleviate the pain.

Up until that point, God could be treated as either a concept or a person.  We can laugh at both concepts and people.  We have discussed how people can be the object of ridicule already.  Concepts can be the object of jokes, too.  For instance, atheists make jokes about God all the time, or ridicule God as a glorified Santa Claus.  If they are correct and God does not exist, then they are ridiculing a concept, not something that actually exists in reality.  Furthermore, it is possible to not laugh at both concepts and persons.  We always have the option of not using humor and seriously entertaining a concept, and we can always choose not to use humor and treat a person’s suffering, circumstances, dignity, etc seriously.  Thus, throughout the entire song, neither belief nor disbelief in God is clearly demonstrable.  However, the last line cannot be accommodated into an atheistic interpretation of the song in which God is a mere concept and does not exist in reality.  It is possible to laugh at either a concept or a person; but it is not possible to laugh with a concept.  Concepts are not capable of laughter:  only really existing people are.

The clever part about these lyrics is how the very last sentence changes the entire meaning of the song.  Until the last line, the lyrics presented a simple contrast:  we laugh at God when times are good, but we don’t laugh at God when times are bad; God is an object of ridicule in good times, but we don’t ridicule him in bad times.  Not laughing, laughing.  Not ridiculing, ridiculing.  Yet the last line in some way changes the meaning of the “not-laughing” segments of the song:  we are not laughing at God, we are laughing with God.  The statement “we are not laughing at God” means that we do not laugh at God.  Period.  To say, “we do not laugh at God, but we laugh with God” implies that we are laughing, but God is not treated derisively as the object of our jokes, but as an object of good-natured, non-abusive humor.

We now must explore how (i.e. the “in some way”) that the last line changes the entire meaning of the song.  Does this song imply that we are laughing at all times, in the good times and in the bad times, whereas without the last line we would simply be contrasting situations in which we don’t laugh at God with situations in which we do?  I don’t think so.  First, because it’s patently false.  No one actually laughs at God in the circumstances mentioned in the song.  No one laughs at all-whether at God or with God—when the police come to his door, and the same can be said for the rest of situations mentioned in the “no one laughs at God” segments of the song.  No:  the last line of the song changes the meaning in a more subtle way.

I suggest that the song needs to be understood as a narrative of a person’s or group of people’s life.  Perhaps some people experience good times before they experience bad times; others may experience bad times before the good times.  Yet most people experience both.  In the bad times, we take our own pain seriously and ask God for help just like we would ask a friend for help (the song does not directly say that we ask God for help, but it is strongly implied:  in the good times, we make jokes about God as if he were a genie or Santa Claus that grants wishes.  In the bad times, we really wish or hope that he does grant wishes like a genie!)  Then, when times are good and we are not in need of God’s help, we make all sorts of jokes about him, jokes that do not portray God in a favorable light (e.g. we make jokes about how God hates us, or as if he were at our beck and call like a genie or Jiminy Cricket).  Then, when times get bad again (or for the first time), we beg for God’s help again.  However, if we ask for someone’s help after we have ridiculed them, what is their natural response?  To say no, of course!  So it’s as if the person is saying, “God, would you help me out here?  What?  Oh, those jokes?  You don’t think I was actually being serious, do you?  I wasn’t laughing at you!  I was laughing with you!”  Thus, under this interpretation we do not laugh at God in the bad times, but we try to excuse the jokes we made when times were good.  This interpretation preserves the laughing v. not-laughing distinction that is found throughout the song, and it also explains how we can be laughing with God in situations in which normal people never laugh.

Second. We have finished discussing the theme of laughter in this song.  Next, we ask whether the song’s speaker is criticizing anyone, or whether she is merely making observations.  If we consider the words themselves, it is clear that the speaker only presents a list of observations.  In no place does she make any normative statements, such as “you shouldn’t be doing that” or “x behavior is immoral/stupid/etc”.  And yet, while there are no manifest judgments in this song about how we treat God in good times and in bad times, the song’s observations suggest certain critiques.

How does this happen?  Humans by nature tend towards certain goods that assist in the perfection of their nature, such as life, health, food, pleasure, security, freedom, etc.  My purpose is not to give an account of human happiness and how these goods must interact in the life of a flourishing human being.  The important thing to note is that these things are good, and their negations are seen as evils:  death, sickness, starvation, pain, defenselessness, slavery.  Normative statements about such evils are built into human nature.  One cannot be human without in some way fearing one’s own mortality, or not liking sickness, starvation, pain, etc.  We don’t get to choose what the ultimate ends of human nature are–even if we can choose to pursue some more than others.

Because certain things are seen as good or evil by virtue of our human nature, it follows that certain facts imply certain values.  So if someone merely observes that another person has actively brought one of these evils about, the observation implies a critique.  For example, let’s say that Steve walks into a room in which Dave is standing over the body of Sally with a knife in his hand dripping with her blood.  Let’s say that Steve walks into the room and says, “Dave, I see that you killed Sally.”  Because we are completely and utterly instantiated in our human nature, it is nearly impossible to leave such statements as mere observations.  It’s as if the observation demands an interpretation or a normative statement.  The situation with Steve and Dave has a much different character than a situation in which Steve says to Dave, “Dave, I see that you are drawing a picture”, or “I see a shooting star.”  In both cases, Steve can be making an observation without necessarily making any normative judgments.  The earlier example does not lend itself to mere observations, but almost begs for a normative interpretation.

If God exists, which the song writer clearly believes, and this God is personal, i.e. someone who can laugh and be laughed at, and someone who can be the subject of petitionary prayer, then God’s existence is not just a mere fact among facts.  God’s existence has something to do with our happiness.  Our relationship with this God becomes a human good, just like health, life, or any of the goods mentioned earlier.  Thus, while the speaker is merely making observations about how we act towards God in good and bad times, her observations demand a normative interpretation:  our treatment of God is too closely related to our own flourishing as human beings not to require a normative interpretation!

In the next set of posts, I shall examine who the song’s speaker criticizes.  If you appreciated the discussion in this post, or admire the cleverness of the song, I think you will appreciate it more after seeing how clever the criticisms are!

Seeking the Good

To always see the good in others does not imply that we ignore the evil.  On the contrary, it is to find God in spite of this world’s messiness.

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.