Faith begins with the recognition of mystery

Over the course of the day I've had the opportunity to reflect a bit more over the conversation between Jean-Louis and Vidal in Rohmer's Ma Nuit Chez Maud. Since the conversation happens near the beginning of the movie, it becomes clear pretty quickly that Pascal's "wager" forms what might be called the thematic center of the film.

What Jean-Louis says about Pascal- "I feel I know him almost by heart, yet he tells me nothing. It all seems so empty. I'm a Catholic, or at least try to be, but he doesn't fit in with my notion of Catholicism. It's precisely because I'm a Christian that his austerity offends me. If that's what Christianity is about, then I'm an atheist"- has bearing on a great number of things of concern to a Catholic, a Christian, not least among which is evangelization, which we often reduce to mere apologetics. It seems to me a fairly safe bet that for most Catholics today, especially in the United States, the only utility for doctrine is in apologetics, which quickly becomes a dry, historical discourse. It seems that the days are long gone when a leading theologian like August Adam could write a book such as Tension and Harmony: About the Value of Dogma for Personal Life and expect it to sell well. It is a source of consolation to me that many of Dietrich Von Hildebrand's books, like Liturgy and Personality: The Healing Power of Formal Prayer, remain in print and are still read, albeit by a small group of Catholics.

Éric Rohmer

With Jean-Louis' expressed view on Pascal, Rohmer shows his viewer, even if unintentionally, why most atheistic critiques of Christianity aren't worth the time of day. It's not that Pascal is incorrect, or his reasoning is faulty. While consonant with and even complementary to reason, it is easy to forget that faith, being a theological virtue, is a gift.

How often do we treat it as such? Is it fair to say that beauty is both the mediator of truth and goodness and between truth and goodness? It seems fitting here to once again employ an observation of Hans Urs Balthasar, one I used when I wrote about Pasolini's Mama Roma last summer: "Our situation today shows that beauty demands for itself as much courage and decision as do truth and goodness, and she will not allow herself to be separated and banned from her two sisters without taking them along with herself in an act of mysterious vengeance."

Faith begins with the recognition of mystery, which leads to a refusal to reduce everything to my own measure. In this context by insisting on recognizing faith as a gift, I mean to imply the rejection of it as a product of our own deductive calculation and/or inductive insight. It is an event borne of an encounter and so it changes everything.

Hope is not a mathematical calculation, but it entails a risk

In Éric Rohmer's 1969 movie Ma Nuit Chez Maud- My Night At Maud's (which begins with a peek at the then-newly reformed Mass) Jean-Louis runs into his friend Vidal in local café. Vidal teaches philosophy at the university in Clermont, where Jean-Louise finds himself living. Surprised that they bumped into other, the two friends decide to sit, enjoy a drink, and talk. Jean-Louis asks his friend if he frequents the café. Vidal responds that he almost never goes there and, in turn, asks Jean-Louis the same question, to which he replies that he has never set foot in that café before. Vidal, commenting on their surprising encounter, remarks, "And yet our paths cross right here. How strange." Jean-Louis disagrees that their meeting is strange, noting that their "ordinary," that is, daily "paths never cross." "Therefore," he reasons out loud, "the point of intersection must be outside those ordinary paths."

After noting the unsurprising nature of their bumping into each other, Jean-Louis confesses that in his spare time he's "been dabbling in mathematics." He goes on to say that it would "be fun to calculate our chance of meeting in a two-month period." Vidal asks, "Can it be done?" Jean-Louis replies that it can certainly be done, pointing out that it is "a matter of data and how you handle it," assuming that the data is available. He goes on to say that in order to calculate this probability he would need information, such as where Vidal lives and works. He then asks Vidal if he is interested in mathematics. Vidal answers enthusiastically that he is and also notes that mathematics are increasingly important in contemporary philosophy. Vidal next mentions Pascal, not knowing that Jean-Louis has just purchased a copy of Pensées and is re-reading them in addition to studying mathematics, noting that Pascal's "arithmetical triangle is connected to his wager." He concludes that it is Pascal's mathematical precision that makes him "so amazingly modern," while also going to pains to note that "Mathematician and philosopher are one."

Pascal's triangle

Jean-Louis is intelligent enough to agree with both of Vidal's assertions (i.e., Pascal being so modern and the contemporary mathematician and philosopher being one). Unlike his friend, who is a self-professed Marxist, Jean-Louis, a committed Catholic, is unimpressed.: "Good old Pascal," Jean-Louis replies, which prompts Vidal, who seems a little impressed with his own insights, to ask, "Are you surprised?" This is when Jean-Louis confesses to his present re-reading of the Catholic philosopher and mathematician. Vidal is curious and asks, "And?" Jean-Louis pointedly says, "I'm very disappointed." Now Vidal is "really interested" and urges his friend to continue. Taking up Vidal's invitation, Jean-Louis begins, "Oh, I don't know" before he says, referring to Pascal,

I feel I know him almost by heart, yet he tells me nothing. It all seems so empty. I'm a Catholic, or at least try to be, but he doesn't fit in with my notion of Catholicism. It's precisely because I'm a Christian that his austerity offends me. If that's what Christianity is about, then I'm an atheist

He then asks Vidal if he is still a Marxist. "Absolutely," Vidal responds before continuing:

For a Communist Pascal's wager is very relevant today. Personally I very much doubt that history has any meaning. Yet I wager that it has, so I'm in a Pascalian situation. Hyopthesis A: Society and politics are meaningless. Hypothesis B: History has meaning. I'm not at all sure B is more likely to be true than A. More likely it is the reverse. Let's even suppose B has 10 percent chance of being true, and A has an 80 percent chance. Nevertheless, I have no choice but to opt for B because only the hypothesis that history has meaning allows me to go on living. Suppose I bet on A, and B was true, despite the lesser odds. I'd have thrown away my life. So I must choose B to justify my life and actions. There's an 80 percent chance I'm wrong, but that doesn't matter

To Vidal's impassioned discourse Jean-Louis wryly replies, "Mathematical hope: Potential gain divided by probability. With your Hypothesis B, though the probability is slight, the possible gain is infinite. In your case, a meaning to life. In Pascal's eternal salvation." Vidal says, "It was Gorky, Lenin, or maybe Mayakovsky who said about the Russian revolution that the situation forced on them to choose the one chance in a thousand. Because hope became infinitely greater if you took that chance than if you didn't take it."

Let us weigh up the gain and the loss involved
in calling heads that God exists. Let us asses the
two cases: if you win you win everything; don’t
hesitate then; wager that he does exist.

–Pascal

St. Hwin of Narnia, or Bree has an encounter

I post this in the realization that it only adds to the catalog of posts that make many of my readers say, "Duh!"

The penultimate chapter in C.S. Lewis' A Horse and His Boy is entitled "How Bree Became a Wiser Horse." Of course, Bree, along with Hwin, is a talking horse from Narnia who had been taken captive and led away to Calormen as a young foal. Bree served with distinction as a war horse for a Tarkhan, which is what the great lords of Calormen are known as in the Chronicles. Cutting to the chase, Bree became a wiser horse by experiencing a direct encounter, thus not requiring an event he has to decipher.

Just prior to Aslan making himself manifest to Bree, Hwin, and Aravis (the daughter of a Tarkahn who ran away to avoid being married off to another, much older, Tarkhan) Bree was answering a question posed to him by Aravis about Aslan. Aravis asked her question in response to one of Bree's many exclamations, "By the Lion's Mane." She asked, "Why do you keep on swearing By the Lion and By the Lion's Mane? I thought you hated lions."

Bree confirms that, indeed, he does not like lions. "But," he replies "when I speak of the Lion, of course I mean Aslan, the great deliverer of Narnia who drove away the Witch and the Winter. All Narnians swear by him."

Aravis wonders, "is he a lion?" To which Bree, "in a rather shocked voice," responds, "No, no, of course not." Aravis points out that all the stories she has heard about Aslan in the Calormen capital of Tashbaan indicate that Aslan is a lion, a real lion. She adds, "And if he isn't a lion why do you call him a lion?"

Bree plays the worst card in his hand when he says, "Well, you'd hardly understand at your age," but then more humbly admits that he "was only a little foal" when he was taken from Narnia and doesn't fully grasp it himself. As he makes that admission, out of nowhere, Aslan appears on the wall of the hermit's garden where Bree, Aravis, and Hwin are talking. Not seeing him, Bree continues his learned theological discourse: "No doubt... when they speak of him as a Lion, they only mean he's as strong as a lion (to our enemies, of course) as fierce as a lion. or something of that kind. Even a little girl like you, Aravis, must see that it would be quite absurd to suppose he's a real lion. Indeed it would be disrespectful. If he was a lion he'd have to be a beast just like the rest of us."

It seems pretty clear that what Lewis here is pointing at is the scandal of the Incarnation, the scandal of the Godman, the Son of God, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, taking on human flesh.

Just as Bree is finishing his abstract discourse, he feels one of Aslan's whiskers tickle his ear. Hwin, upon seeing Aslan draw near (she and Aravis saw Aslan when he first appeared, but could not speak), says to the Lion, "Please, you're so beautiful. You may eat me if you like. I'd sooner be eaten by you than be fed by anyone else." "'Dearest daughter,' said Aslan planting a lion's kiss on her twitching, velvet nose, 'I knew you would not be long in coming to me. Joy shall be yours."

Then, turning back to Bree, in a scene that is beautifully reminiscent of Jesus' resurrection appearances in the Gospels of St. Luke (24:36-49) and St. John (20:19-29), Aslan tells the proud, but insecure and somewhat shaken horse to draw very near to him. Aslan tells Bree, "Do not dare not to dare. Touch me. Smell me. Here are my paws, here is my tail, these are my whiskers. I am a true Beast."

As noted in my last post on The Chronicles of Narnia, in his encounter with the Lion, Shasta, who is shortly to be revealed as Prince Cor, heir to the throne of Archenland, asked why he had wounded Aravis. Refusing to tell the boy the story of another, Aslan deferred. At his point, which comes later in the story, after reassuring Bree, Aslan turns to Aravis and says, "Draw near, Aravis my daughter. See! My paws are velveted. You will not be torn this time." To which Aravis quizzically replies, "This time, sir?" Aslan reveals to her "It was I who wounded you," before asking her if she knows why he did it. She does not. "The scratches on your back, tear for tear, throb for throb, blood for blood were equal to the stripes laid on the back of your stepmother's slave because of the drugged sleep you cast upon her. You needed to know what it felt like." Then, out of concern, Aravis asks if the servant she set up will have to endure any more injury. As with Shasta's inquiry about Aravis, the Lion repeats, "No one is told any story but there own."

This is not the law of karma, but a brilliant literary attempt by Lewis to explain how justice and mercy meet in the person of Jesus Christ. As Pope Benedict wrote in his second encylical, Spe Salvi:

Both these things—justice and grace—must be seen in their correct inner relationship. Grace does not cancel out justice. It does not make wrong into right. It is not a sponge which wipes everything away, so that whatever someone has done on earth ends up being of equal value. Dostoevsky, for example, was right to protest against this kind of Heaven and this kind of grace in his novel The Brothers Karamazov. Evildoers, in the end, do not sit at table at the eternal banquet beside their victims without distinction, as though nothing had happened (par. 44)

We were delayed in finishing, but not deterred from doing so. On to Prince Caspian!

Listening to the Scriptures- examining myself

When it comes to the readings from Scripture for Mass on Sunday I am a big advocate of reading them before turning up for Mass and an even bigger advocate of listening to the readings as they are proclaimed from the ambo, that is, not reading along from a missalette, but sitting or standing and just listening. Reading and listening are different ways of perceiving. It seems to me that most of us could stand to improve our listening skills, but maybe I am projecting.

While attending the Vigil Mass for this Fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time last evening, as I was listening to the longer version of the second reading from St. Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians, his "hymn to love," I was struck by these words: "Love... is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth" (1 Cor. 13:5b-6).

Two things stood out in my mind as I pondered these words, one more general and one uncomfortably personal. Generally, what I was struck by is the fact that in many respects we are not that different from people who lived 2,000 years ago. New Testament scholars tell us that the apostle's First Letter to the Corinthians and his First Letter to the Thessalonians were the earliest books of our uniquely Christian Scriptures to be written, both dating from the around AD 50. The fact that I found this somewhat comforting only serves to show the hold these "not love" qualities exert upon me and my willingness to cooperate. This is a nice segue to the more personal point.

Before Mass I went to confession. Without making a public confession of my sins, these words touched on an area that I would be hard-pressed to point out the last time I did not mention them as part of my confession. Especially at home, I am often quick-tempered and prone to brood over injury, especially in my relationship with my wife. Rejoicing over the wrongdoing of others is another place the Holy Spirit prompted me to check myself, especially since I made the determination to weigh in on the events affecting the Church in Los Angeles.

The publican and the Pharisee

Even before Mass yesterday, I was reminded of something put out by Communion & Liberation back around Easter in 2010, when questions kicked up about the Holy Father's handling of an abusive priest when he was the archbishop of Munich and Freising: "Alongside all the limitations and within the Church’s wounded humanity, is there or is there not something greater than sin, something radically greater than sin? Is there something that can shatter the inexorable weight of our evil? Something that, as the Pope writes, 'has the power to forgive even the greatest of sins, and to bring forth good even from the most terrible evil'?"

To my mind and from the depths of my own heart the only possible answer is "Yes. It is Christ Jesus the Lord."

In the words of St. Silouan the Athonite: "The man who cries out against evil men, but does not pray for them will never know the grace of God." There certainly are evil people in the world, but we are all guilty of committing evil acts and letting evil reside in our hearts. As St. Paul pointed out: "For there is no distinction; all have sinned and are deprived of the glory of God" (Rom. 3:22b-23). I don't know about you, but I sometimes comfort myself by rejoicing in the wrongdoing of others, thinking like the pompous Pharisee, who, as he looked at the humbled and contrite publican, prayed, saying- "O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity—greedy, dishonest, adulterous—or even like this tax collector" (Luke 18:9-14). From such blindness deliver us good and gracious Lord.

This brings up a matter that I reflect on often, the relationship between truth and love. As I noted recently in a reflection on a verse from Ephesians, while there can be no love without truth, there can be truth without love, which seems to me exactly the pitfall St. Paul urges us to avoid.

Turning in the red hat; resigning as a Cardinal

I was intrigued by something mentioned in passing by Fr. Z about the last Cardinal of the Holy Roman Church to resign, that is, turn in his red hat. It occurred in 1927 and the Cardinal was Louis Billot, a French Jesuit. Today he is most remembered as a theologian, particularly as a Thomist and a rather innovative one. These days he is often mentioned in the same breath as his fellow French Jesuits Henri de Lubac and Jean Daniélou, both of whom were also created Cardinals of the Holy Roman Church.

After a brilliant academic career in Rome, Billot was created a Cardinal by Pope St. Pius X during consistory held on 27 November 1911. He participated in the conclave of 1914, which chose Giacomo della Chiesa to walk in the shoes of the fisherman. Prior to Benedict XVI, della Chiesa was the most recent Pope Benedict. Billot also participated in the conclave convened in 1922 on the death of Pope Benedict XV, during which Milan's Achille Ratti was picked. It was Ratti who chose the name Pius XI.

Louis Cardinal Billot

From what I can glean, Billot's resignation, given to Pope Pius XI on 13 September 1927 was not forced, but chosen and tendered at the end of a stormy meeting with the pope. Pius XI formally accepted the resignation eight days later, on 21 September 1927. The Holy See did make Billot's resignation public until December 1927. The dust-up with the Holy See occurred as a result of then-Cardinal Billot's involvement with Action Français, a far right, French monarchist movement. It seems the immediate cause of the meeting that resulted in Billot's resignation was Pius XI putting the movement's self-named newspaper on the Holy See's Index Librorum Prohibitorum, or "Index of Forbidden Books."

Pope Pius XI was quite correct not to let the Church be co-opted by Action Français and to place the newspaper on the Index, which did not stop anyone from reading it, but made clear the Holy See disapproved of the movement. The movement was anti-Semitic and favorable towards fascism. This is why the leadership of the movement actively collaborated with France's infamous Vichy regime. It bears noting that Action Français certainly had less extreme members, but the movement as a whole was certainly beyond the pale. The movement advocated for the restoration of the French monarchy, the repeal of the 1905 law that separated the Church from the State, in addition to making the Roman Catholic Church, once again, the state religion.

After his resignation, Billot remained a priest and a Jesuit for the rest of his life. He died at age 85 in 1931.

There are eleven canons (349-359) in the current Code of Canon Law that deal specifically with Cardinals of the Holy Roman Church. While none of these deals specifically with a cardinal resigning, or being removed from the college, it seems to me as a non-expert that Billot's resignation, or, more specifically, Pope Pius XI's acceptance of it, shows that it is possible for a cardinal to resign as long as the Roman Pontiff accepts his resignation.

In addition Cardinal Law and now Cardinal Mahony, another modern Cardinal who brought disgrace on himself and the Church was the Austrian Benedictine Cardinal Archbishop of Vienna, Hans Hermann Groër. While Groër was removed from all ecclesiastical duties and responsibilities, he died a Cardinal.

Addressing the pastoral failure in L.A.

I have been silent on many simmering intra-Church issues because engaging in Church polemics and politics is not the point nor purpose of Καθολικός διάκονος, which is dedicated to the diakonia of koinonia (i.e., the service of communion). I became very enlightened about this during the summer of 2011 when I weighed in on l'affair Corapi. While my two posts on that sad affair remain some of the most popular posts that have appeared on my blog, I don't want to be popular on those terms.

But in light of the revelations out of Los Angeles this week, chronicled by the Los Angeles Times and other sources, that Cardinal Roger Mahony, along with his then-Vicar for Clergy, Bishop Thomas Curry, back in the mid-to-late 1980s (several years before the first round of the child sexual abuse scandals in the Church- which would mark the beginning of what the late Fr. Richard John Neuhaus referred to as the Church's long lent), together conspired, in the words of the Times, "to conceal the molestation of children from law enforcement," it is in the service of communion that I reluctantly weigh in.

The two bishops' conspiring was done with an eye towards protecting several abusive priests. In one memo Bishop Curry even suggested to Mahony, who was the fairly new archbishop of Los Angeles at the time, "strategies to prevent police from investigating three priests who had admitted to church officials that they had abused young boys."

In response to all of this coming to light, the current archbishop of Los Angeles, José Gómez (a priest of Opus Dei), published an open letter (the entire text can be found at the L.A. Times link above). In his letter Archbishop Gómez wrote- "Effective immediately, I have informed Cardinal Mahony that he will no longer have any administrative or public duties. Auxiliary Bishop Thomas Curry has also publicly apologized for his decisions while serving as Vicar for Clergy. I have accepted his request to be relieved of his responsibility as the Regional Bishop of Santa Barbara."

On his blog today, Cardinal Mahony posted a letter he wrote to Archbishop Gómez in response. I found this letter to be both disingenuous and disheartening. Cardinal Mahony took no responsibility for his deliberate decision to conceal the molestation of children from law enforcement, thus protecting priests who committed these horrifying offenses, which is the immediate cause of this whole dust-up.

At least for me, this prompts several questions: Does Cardinal Mahony seriously believe he should still have public duties in the archdiocese? Does he think he should be entrusted with administrative, or other responsible ecclesiastical duties? In light of what Archbishop Gómez correctly called "the failings of the past," does His Eminence believe himself to be above public chastisement?

This represents but ONE instance in this whole sickening mess where a bishop has held another bishop to account. So, to Archbishop Gómez, Thank you! In my estimation, Cardinal Mahony could've retained a modicum of dignity had he simply and humbly acknowledged his failings, said he was sorry, and lived in quiet retirement instead of trying to justify his failures and to indict his successor as both unfair and uncharitable. As Archbishop Diarmuid Martin of Dublin discovered, if you take on the club you'll pay a price.

Let's not forget that Fridays are days of penance. Perhaps this Lent we should also undertake acts of reparation for sins committed against children by the Church's ministers. Above all we should pray for and, if you know someone who was abused, help those who were the victims of abusive priests. I would also ask for prayers for Cardinal Mahony and Bishop Curry as they are confronted with the consequences of their failure to take steps to safeguard the young people entrusted to their pastoral care.

It was our blessed Lord who said, "For nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest, nor is anything secret that will not be known and come to light" (Luke 8:17-ESV). This is good for each of us to keep in mind. It also serves to remind us of our need to confess our own sins and failings, not only in the Sacrament of Penance, but directly to those we have sinned against. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer sagely observed, "It is not the sins of weakness, but the sins of strength that matter."

"You are my Lord and I long for You"

It's Friday. I haven't posted anything since Sunday. Life is busy. 2013 has proven to be a challenging year thus far. It's important to recognize that struggle is the stuff of life, a necessary component of human existence. In CL-speak, struggle is a catalyst, turning something that happens to me into a genuine experience. Or, as Chesterton averred: "A dead thing goes with the stream. Only a living thing can go against it."

So, this morning, perhaps a bit too predictably, I turn to Brother Glenn Kaiser. His album All My Days has given me succor over quite a few years now. I realize many of my Catholic and Orthodox friends do not care for this kind of music, but for some reason it resonates with me. I don't feel the need to analyze, justify, or defend it. Our Friday traditio is the title track off Glenn's worship album- "All My Days."

"Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus" (1 Thess. 5:18). In the words of the antiphon for the Invitatory Psalm for Morning Prayer today- "Come, let us give thanks to the Lord, for his great love is without end."

How I long for Your presence
How I look to Your grace
How I search for Your hearts's desire
To walk with You... all my days

This despite me not being a very steady companion.

Each day is a new beginning. It helps that today is the first day of a new month. The holy season of Lent begins in less than two weeks.